#and that makes me not want to watch even more

[rottenaero]

They were gonna put Eddie down like a damn dog.

The group had insisted that Steve visit the hospital today, one year and two months after the incident. It was a random day, and he thought, ‘ why the hell not?’

Family Video had been closed for months, doing ‘ repairs’, so he really didn’t have much else to do.

He thought it was weird, the way the group was as far away from the bed as possible, and how when he entered the room, Hopper almost blocked the exit.

He doesn’t question it though, sidling up to the open chair beside Eddie, who was still asleep after all this time, and punching his shoulder lightly.

“ Hey, Hero.”

He’d taken to calling it sleeping instead of what it was, a coma. Sleeping sounded more peaceful, because with sleeping came dreams and relaxation.

Eddie doesn’t respond, doesn’t react. Steve didn’t expect him to.

He turns his head to Dustin, the one who’d called him in the first place. “ So, why’re we gathered here today? Any updates?” He asks, addressing the whole room.

The boy swallows, and something tells him something’s wrong. Really wrong.

“ Yeah, actually. Uhm, since it’s been so long, we were thinking-“ He cuts himself off, crosses his arms and starts tapping his foot. Thinking, probably.

Hopper glances to him, and sighs, deciding to lead. “ We’re gonna have to let Munson go.” He states.

Steve takes a sharp breath.

“ What?”

‘ Let him go’ like this is a job. Like this isn’t him losing his life. He wonders when they decided to do this, in the hospital room for the ten minutes they were waiting.

Eddie doesn’t give any indication he hears what’s being said, the beeps from the heart monitor still steady and even as ever. A constant metronome of the exact same sound on the exact say beat, all the time, always.

Except maybe not always.

Dustin takes over again, arms placating. “ It’s been a really long time, Steve. We’ve come to terms that he probably won’t wake up, and it’s doesn’t have to be sad-“

“ You’re killing him.” He hisses, “ You’re killing him and it’s not meant to be sad?”

Nancy steps forward, seeing it as her time to speak. “ Steve. You barely knew the guy, and you spend all your time here, it’s not good for you.”

“ There’s been no good signs, no nothing, not even when El looks into his brain.” Dustin nods at the girl across the room, who’s fiddling with her fingers.

Steve furrows his brow, “ Oh, so I guess you’re gonna pull the plug on Max too?”

Lucas’s eyes widen, mouth dropping open, and Nancy glares. “ That is not fair, Steve.”

“ This whole situations pretty fucking unfair, so I guess you’re gonna have to explain to me how this is different from Max.” He stands, stance wide as he points to the man in the hospital bed.

“ Max is making progress.” Lucas says weakly, and El sets a hand on his shoulder. The boy deflates.

He turns toward Hopper and Joyce, the latter still not having spoken. The Byers family had moved back to Indiana for God knows what reason, and Steve knows that if he had the money, that he could’ve moved somewhere else long ago.

“ Does Wayne know you’re killing his kid?” He asks.

He’d met the man while visiting, and they’d usually sit in silence and watch baseball or whatever was on. He never questioned why Steve was there, or why he was holding a limp body’s hand and taking off it’s rings and putting them back on.

When they did speak, it was stories he had from Eddie’s childhood, about how he buzzed his head because a spider crawled on him and he was convinced it was hidden in his hair, making babies.

Hopper pinched his nose, like he was being a pest. “ Stop using words like killing, and yes. He said he didn’t want Eddie to have to suffer, and his bills are getting expensive.”

And he blinks, realization dawning.

This hadn’t just been decided, had it? This wasn’t a ten minute decision while Steve was getting ready to come here.

He speaks, his voice low and keeping even through each word, “ You guys had a meeting.” The ‘ without me’ goes unsaid, but still echoes throughout the room like if would’ve if he shouted it.

They’d decided this whole thing beforehand, somehow knowing that Steve would hang on. And he would, will. He can’t let him die, he can’t lose.

Will nods, and next to him Mike and Dustin look ashamed. He would’ve thought they’d hold out more.

He racks his brain for any reason they should keep alive, can’t find one. Somehow, even without one for them, he has a million for himself.

“ If the bills are the reason, I’ll pay the damn bills. He’s fucking alive.” He tries.

“ You don’t have a job, Family Video is closed. Just let it be, Steve. Please.” Robin had been eerily quiet during this entire conversation, and it brings him chills him when she speaks.

His best friend had been in on it.

He crosses his arms, “ I’ll get a job. Listen, I’ve been having dreams,-“ He lies. He lies because there’s nothing true to prove Eddie is getting better. “-dreams that he’s alive in like a dark space, I don’t know- his mind maybe? I just- I really think he’s in there.”

The hope Dustin gets on his face hurts, but he doesn’t care. The guy will wake up and it won’t matter that the ‘ dreams’ never existed.

Maybe it’s because he’s an optimist, and that’s why he’s trying so hard, as pessimistic as he can be sometimes.

“ Why didn’t you tell us?” Dustin asks and Steve licks his lips.

Why didn’t he tell them? “ Despite all this crazy shit, me having dreams that he’s alive still sounds crazy.” He doesn’t look at the boy as he says this, eyes roaming over Eddie’s face.

He looks serene, the bat bite on his face as healed as it can get. The doctors had mentioned swelling on his back shoulder blades, but Steve thinks his would be swollen too if he sat on them for a year.

‘ A year and two months.’ He corrects himself.

He stares at the hair that, occasionally when it got matted, Steve would go through and brush it, not wanting him to wake up to being bald because a doctor seemed it necessary.

Wayne mentioned how much he hated the shaved head, and he wouldn’t put him through that again.

As he looks at him, he thinks ‘ I’m doing this for you, so you better wake up, asshole.’

Dustin’s eyes are wide, staring at the members of Hellfire. Steve could only describe the look as ecstatic.

“ Holy shit, I mean, holy shit!” He laughs, and Mike breaks into his own grin.

Jonathan chimes in, disbelief sketched into the lines all over his face. “ Sorry, but doesn’t that seem too convenient? I’m not saying you’re lying Steve, just… If El didn’t find anything, that’s pretty much it.”

His lips form into a line, determined. “ I told you, I’ll be paying for whatever. It’s no skin off your back, or money out of Wayne’s pockets.”

Joyce nudges Hopper when he goes to speak, and nods at Steve. “ If you wanna try, sweetheart, you can. But I don’t want you visiting too much, it’s doing you more harm than good.” She wraps him in a hug, before leading the ex-chief of police out of the room.

Slowly, everyone vacates, until it’s just Steve, Eddie, and El.

She doesn’t make a move toward the door, eyes locked onto his face.

“ You’re lying.” She whispers like a secret.

He nods.

She looks toward Eddie, nervous, and she messes with the hem of her shirt when she starts to speak again. “ I lied too.”

She doesn’t elaborate, walking out of the room without anymore information, and Steve blinks.

The hospital has to call Wayne to confirm the transfer, that's how he learns of the circumstances. He doesn't say much of anything, aside from a promise of a visit on Tuesday before he hangs up.

That night, that same fucking night, he gets a call.

It's the front desk lady, voice distressed rushing through an explanation.

" Eddies gone...Only blood in his bed...We don't know where he is."

Steve stares at the wall, the rest of the words falling upon deaf ears.

Someone had probably found out where he was being held, murdered him a year later for his crimes, and stashed the body away.

He sets the phone back in its holster without saying anything to the other line. Not even a goodbye, or a thanks.

He thinks, it only for a second, that he should've let them just pull the plug, it would've been far less painful.

A creaking brings him out of it, and his eyes dart to his door.

It's dark, too dark, and Steve's aware the Upside Down fucked him up in incomprehensible ways, and now every shadow looks like something,

But there was definitely someone in his house.

He keeps slumped on his bed, the same position as when he'd answered the call. He doesn't flinch when the door pushes open enough for a body to slip in.

There's the sound of something dragging along the carpet as they come closer, probably a shotgun, or maybe they're gonna beat him with his own nail-bat.

He doesn't care to decipher the shape, instead shutting his eyes.

A hand grabs his, sets it on dry skin. His thumb touches a rough patch, a scar like feeling.

One his hands had roamed over while patching up his stomach, refusing to get looked at. That concave patch of scratchy skin that they tell you eventually will just be soft, scarred, but normal.

The skin stretches, and he feels a cheek.

Somehow, he thinks if he keeps his eyes shut, he doesn't have to face the thing in front of him, that it somehow isn't real.

A scratchy, disused, and croaky voice sounds out.

" ' Hey, Hero.' "

[nats--sw]

Gold chain (pt1) | Leah Williamson

Leah Williamson x tennis player!reader For the past year, Leah had been a big fan of yours, and now her mother wasn't missing any opportunity to tease her during Roland Garros. warnings: none, just fluff and slow burn note: this one is long (maybe?), sorry about that. The next part has more Leah and reader interactions, I promise. This was written with an oc, i changed everything at the last minute so sorry if there are any mistakes there,, pt2 my masterlist

Leah Williamson, England captain, European champion, Miss Arsenal.

That was how she was publicly recognised within the world of football, a sport that had always been her passion, but lately, or rather, since she had been invited to Wimbledon in 2023, she had begun to share some of that passion with tennis. 

She explained to everyone that she fell in love with tennis during a deep conversation with the legendary Billie Jean King. While there was truth to that, tennis didn't captivate her so much because of the sport itself, but rather because of a certain player, who since that Wimbledon semifinal, Leah had watched almost all of her matches. 

“Believe me, that girl Y/N is great, don't let this match fool you” Billie had muttered to her after witnessing your unfortunate loss in the last set.

And who was Leah to doubt the words of the greatest tennis player in history?

Since then, Leah has managed to watch as many of your matches as possible. And yes, you were undeniably beautiful, but what truly captivated Leah was the elegance with which you played. Each swing of your racket held a mesmerizing grace that left Leah spellbound every time.

And now, with a break after the final game of the European qualifiers, it was the opportunity for a holiday.

"Hey, Leah!" Georgia barged into her room on the last day of camp, now that they were back in England. "Got any plans for this week?"

"Yeah," Leah replied, without giving any details, more focused on packing her suitcase than engaging in conversation with her friend.

"Where? With who?" Georgia asked, raising her eyebrows suggestively. She knew Leah tended to keep her romantic interactions with girls in private, not just from the public but even from her own friends.

"With my mom, you idiot," Leah replied, rolling her eyes. "We're headed to France."

"Now? What's so interesting about France?" she asked, with a look of disgust on her face. Sure, there were plenty of interesting things to do in France, but Georgia didn't want to hear anything related to that country for a couple of days.

"Roland Garros? Does that ring a bell for you?" Leah retorted, her tone laced with sarcasm.

"Huh? Since when do you go to another country for a tennis match?"

"My mom likes it" Leah lied smoothly, without any hint of shame. If only Georgia knew that Leah had sweetened the deal for her mother with promises of fine wines and breathtaking views post-match.

"Well, that's too bad... but text me if your plans change,"

Leah nodded, though it was in vain because she wouldn't change going to France to see her favorite tennis player.

"Who are we rooting for?" Amanda said, taking a sip of her drink, not really interested in what was happening on the clay.

"Uh, we're impartial," Leah said, settling back in her seat.

Four games had already been played, each player winning their respective games. 

"I have a feeling we're rooting for the girl in the white visor," her mother said. 

Leah looked at her, pulling her sunglasses down a little. "What?"

"Well, you make a face every time the other player makes a point."

Leah said nothing to that comment, her attention had returned to you, now one point away from managing to break your opponent's serve. It was an important match, a semifinal, so every point would be valuable to put you in the final of the tournament.

Still not saying anything back to her mother, Leah held her breath for a few seconds. The ball was going back and forth across the court, but you, with impressive precision, hit the ball with a spin that made it graze the top of the net. For a moment, it seemed like it might fall short, but the ball dropped just over, catching your opponent off guard.

"Wonderful" muttered Leah, crossing her arms with a smile, ready to enjoy the rest of the match. 

There were times when tennis was mentally overwhelming. You felt this every time you played, and it had cost you a lot of matches in the past. A whole court filled with hundreds of people, all watching you, many anxiously waiting for you to make a mistake that could cost you the match. It was more than overwhelming.

That's why, at times, you had to pause your mind and take a deep breath, despite how difficult that was for you.

You only needed one more game to win the set and secure a place in the Roland Garros final. No pressure, of course.

The advantage was that you were serving in this game, but ironically, this often made you even more nervous. The pressure of delivering a strong serve was immense. 

The crowd was overwhelming, so many eyes watching you, so many unfamiliar faces focused on you, watching every move, your family and team sitting behind you. In this position you couldn’t look at them to calm down. 

You needed to focus your eyes on something, to steady your nerves. As you walked towards your position, after drying your face with the towel, you looked in a diagonal direction, right towards the area where you were supposed to put the ball. 

As you raised your gaze slightly, something caught your eye. In the stands, amid a sea of blonde and brown heads, was a woman with striking red hair. The woman stood out, not only because of her hair, but also because she was the only person not looking at you, instead, her attention was elsewhere.

You stole a glance at the red-haired woman as you inhaled deeply, preparing for your serve. With a fluid motion, you raised her arm, tossed the ball into the air and delivered a powerful strike.

Ace!

The ball zipped across the court with velocity, catching your opponent off guard. Convinced it would fly out, your opponent made no attempt to chase after it.

A satisfied smile tugged at your lips.

Once more, your gaze flickered toward the red-haired woman in the stands. Drawing another deep breath, you focused intensely as you prepared to serve again. With a determined flick of your wrist, you sent the ball hurtling across the court, this time, your aim wasn’t for an ace, but rather to set up a play that would complicate the things for your opponent.

Within minutes the score stood at 40-15. Just one more point. 

You didn't want to take any unnecessary risks, but you craved to close the match with a decisive point, one point to make it clear why you were here.  

So, you adjusted your visor, brushed your fingers over the gold chain hanging from your neck and looked up, for the first time looking directly at the woman, not even getting a good look at her, because the woman was quite far away, but the woman's disinterest helped you to clear your head and focus your mind, ignoring the bunch of other faces watching you. 

Just one more point.

You lifted the ball, the familiar weight of your racket in your hand, a quiet groan escaping your lips before you swung. Then, the sound of the impact echoed through the entire court and as the ball bounced on the clay.

Ace!

Leah was up from her seat at the same time as you fell backwards onto the clay. 

"That was incredible," Leah exclaimed, joining the chorus of applause. 

"Incredible?" Amanda asked without understanding that much. However, what truly caught her off guard was the sight of her daughter like that, grinning from ear to ear. It was common to see her like that when it came to football matches, but not usually during tennis.

"Are you kidding? It was phenomenal! If you hadn't been glued to your phone, you’d have felt the same as the rest of us!" Leah retorted.

"So, did we win?" Amanda inquired.

"Well, you have won a few more days in France," Leah replied, attempting to temper her excitement. "The final is in two days."

"Do we have tickets?”

"Of course, I purchased them in advance. I already knew Y/N would make it to the finals."

Amanda regarded her daughter suspiciously. "You're not into gambling, are you?"

"Of course not," Leah replied with a grin. "But if I were to bet on her I'd do pretty well”

As they made their way toward the exit, following the crowd, Amanda broke the silence. "Do you know that player?"

"No… not personally" Leah replied "But I watched her play at Wimbledon last year."

"Did she win?"

"No" Leah shook her head, a hint of disappointment in her expression. "She lost"

"So, she's not that good?" 

"Actually, she's quite impressive," Leah defended you. "She went up against the number two player in the world."

"What rank is she?" Amanda inquired.

"Four," Leah answered.

"Then she's not the best," Amanda said confidently.

"Mom!" Leah nudged her playfully while Amanda held back her laughter. "You couldn't even hit the ball."

"Neither could you, I remember your attempts at tennis when you were little," Amanda chuckled. "But what I don't get is why you're defending her so much"

"Because she's great, she’s talented! Look over there!" Leah pointed behind her, where a large screen displayed the game's results alongside your photo.

Amanda's eyes immediately gravitated toward the image, ignoring the points table. "And she's quite pretty," she remarked, studying your face for the first time.

"And she's talented," Leah emphasized, feeling a blush creeping up her ears. Thankfully, her hair concealed it from her mother's curious gaze.

"Whatever you say, sweetheart," Amanda replied with a smile.

It was a tough match, quite a tough match, but that's what you would expect in a Roland Garros final. 

The first set ended 6-4 in favor of Iga Swiatek.

You had faced her numerous times throughout your professional career, but had never managed to defeat her in an official match. Despite your old friendship with Iga, there was an undeniable intensity when you two met on the court, and you were determined to shine this time.

As the first set concluded, you sank into your chair, you had to use the break to ease the tension in your legs. Uncapping your water bottle, your fingers instinctively found the gold chain around your neck, adorned with your initials. It may have seemed superstitious, but wearing it had always brought you luck on the court.

Suddenly, your coach's voice pierced the distance, signaling for you to relax and loosen up your play. You brushed off the advice, as if you hadn't already realized that. Ignoring your coach's guidance was risky, but you already had your own voice in your mind against you. 

Taking a long sip of water, you refocused your gaze forward. Then, something caught your attention.

The same woman from the previous match was in the stands again. You hadn't noticed her before, too engrossed in your opponent. Again, that was the key to your game, you needed to block out distractions and focus on yourself and the ball. Just like you had done during the semifinal match, you needed to tune out everything else.

"How many points before your girl loses?" Amanda said, glancing sideways at Leah, who was leaning forward, her elbows on her knees and a faint blush on her cheeks. According to Leah it was from the sun hitting her face, but Amanda knew her daughter well enough.

"Don't pester me, now's not the time," Leah replied, sitting up straight in her seat and adjusting her sunglasses.

"I'm not pestering you, but you claimed that girl was fantastic. Yet, from what I've seen today, the other player seems better to me."

"Well, she's number one after all"

"So, you admit she's the best."

Leah rolled her eyes. "Y/N just needs to take a breath. After this break she'll bounce back, you'll see. She'll shut your mouth"

"If you say so."

And so it happened. You had won the second set 4-6, breaking Iga's serve at the crucial moment. The victory was almost surreal, even Leah found it hard to believe.

"Stop biting your nails," her mother said, giving Leah's leg a slap as she saw her nervous habit.

"She's going to win," Leah said without looking at her mother, her gaze fixed on you, as you refreshed yourself by wetting your hair before the final set.

"Leah, you've been saying that since yesterday," Amanda remarked, a mixture of amusement and exasperation in her tone.

"I’m excited," Leah defended.

Amanda shook her head, a smile tugging at her lips. "If she wins, will you approach her?"

"Are you being serious?" she said, shaking her head "What would I even say?" Leah replied, a hint of uncertainty in her voice.

"You've been crushing over her for days. I've never seen you like this with someone you don't even know," Amanda teased.

"It's not a crush. I just admire her athletic ability and determination, that's all," Leah insisted.

"Well, then you two have something in common. I don’t see why you don’t talk to her" 

"Because... I just don't," Leah stammered, her cheeks flushing with embarrassment.

"What a coward," Amanda teased.

The set stood at 4-5 in your favor, but now it was Iga's turn to serve, and she was already in position. You shifted your weight from side to side, preparing for the shot, a smile gracing your lips as you caught sight of the red-haired woman just above Iga’s head. The woman had become your anchor, helping you refocus on your game. 

It was almost amusing, thinking that no one else existed in the crowd, just you and the woman. You could tell the woman wasn’t at all interested in what was going on in the clay. You often caught the woman glancing at her phone during the set. Yet, you found solace in playing as if you were solely performing for the woman.

However, you didn’t forget the game at hand, swiftly responding to each shot with your racket, rallying back and forth several times before you had a moment of brilliance that allowed you to execute a breathtaking drop shot in the opposite direction of Iga's sprint.

It was the highlight of the tournament, perhaps even of your career, your best point. Yet, when you glanced up and noticed the red-haired woman looking away, you couldn't help but chuckle.

With the score now at 40-AD, you needed just one more point to clinch your first grand slam title. As Iga's shot came straight towards your body, you managed to get your racket in position to return the ball. The exchange of the ball was intense, this time you had to sprint to reach a ball you never thought you could. You struck it with the edge of your racket, hoping for the best as the ball sailed toward the line.

As you watched the ball clear the net, you felt the light weight of your gold chain around your neck and remembered that luck was on your side this time.

Everything happened in slow motion as Iga dropped her racket to the ground, and moments later, you found yourself on your knees on the clay court, the crowd erupting into cheers around you.

You didn't know how, but now you were already in the stands, being hugged by your family and your team, with your coach by your side, trying to shake some of the clay off your clothes. 

"I need you to do me a favor" you said to him before the tournament staff took you away for the trophy presentation.

As Leah and her mother descended the stairs toward the exit, Leah couldn't contain her excitement. "I told you Y/N would win," she exclaimed, her hand firmly grasping her mother's arm. The trophy presentation had concluded, and the crowd was beginning to disperse. 

"It was luck," Amanda teased her daughter, though she couldn't deny her surprise at your remarkable turnaround.

"We should have placed a bet. We would have won"

"At least I won't have to endure your grumpy face during dinner," Amanda said with a playful smirk.

Leah rolled her eyes as they walked through the crowd.

"Excuse me!" A man's voice behind them interrupted their conversation. Leah's eyes widened as she recognized him. "This might sound strange… but Y/N wants to see you," the man explained to Amanda, who didn't understand the situation at all, her daughter didn’t either.

Leah felt a tug on the arm her mother was holding on.

"Uh-"

"It's Y/N's coach," Leah clarified to her mother.

"And she wants to see me?" Amanda asked.

The man nodded awkwardly. "I wish I could offer more explanation, but Y/N is sometimes unpredictable."

After a moment of contemplation, Amanda flashed a mischievous smile and nodded, gripping her daughter's arm even tighter. "Sure, take us to her."

Leah's heart raced. How was it possible that she was going to meet her crush the athlete she admired thanks to her mother? 

Your coach, after a few minutes of walking in silence, led them through a door into a room where you were lying on a couch, eyes closed.

"Hey, Y/N. Your guests are here," your coach announced, giving your shoulder a squeeze.

You quickly opened your eyes and stood up, ignoring the fact that you had just played a two-hour match less than half an hour ago. 

You were no longer wearing your visor and your shoes, but you were still in your white uniform with lilac accents. Leah couldn't help but notice that your socks were now stained with clay.

"Y/N L/N" you introduced yourself, extending your hand toward Amanda. Your attention seemed focused on Amanda, oblivious to Leah standing behind her. "I'm introducing myself because I have a slight feeling you don't know me," you said with a smile.

"Amanda," she said, shaking your hand. "Don't worry, I know who you are. A little voice hasn't stopped repeating your name since we arrived in France."

Leah blushed and glanced away.

"Oh," you released Amanda's hand and turned to the blonde, whom you hadn't noticed during either match. "Shouldn't I introduce myself then?" you asked, extending your hand toward Leah.

"No need," Leah said, feeling her mother's not-so-subtle nudge as you extended your hand. "My name is Leah, and I'm a big fan of yours."

"Your number one fan," Amanda chimed in with a smile.

"Mom!" Leah protested, feeling her cheeks flush with embarrassment.

You released Leah's hand and turned to Amanda.

"She brought me all the way from England just to see you," Amanda explained, noticing the way you were looking at her daughter. 

"England?" you asked, curious about the mention of England.

"Yes, we're from England," Leah confirmed.

"And my daughter is the captain of—"

"Mom, no!" Leah interjected, her cheeks turning pink as she attempted to silence her mother's impending revelation.

You couldn't help but laugh at Leah's embarrassment, finding the exchange amusing.

"Why are we here?" Leah asked before her mother could continue.

"Oh, right," you replied, regaining your composure. "I wanted to thank you," you said, turning to Amanda and clasping your hands behind your back.

"Me?" "Her?" Amanda and Leah exclaimed simultaneously, surprised by your words.

"Yes," You said softly, your gaze shifting to Leah, a smile returning to your face. "Since the semifinal match, I noticed your mother in the stands. Although, it's hard not to see her," you added, gesturing towards Amanda's red hair. "She was the only person in the whole court who wasn't looking at me. Thanks to her, I was able to concentrate and win. It may sound silly but—"

"Oh, don't worry honey," Amanda interjected. "They usually tell me that I bring good luck in big games," she said, nodding towards Leah with her thumb.

"You're an athlete? Sorry, what was your name again? I don't have a good memory with names," you said, this time blushing slightly.

"Honey, Leah is the captain of the England team," Amanda clarified, speaking on behalf of her daughter.

"Oh... Football? Volleyball?" You inquired.

"Yes, football," Leah replied, feeling a flush of embarrassment. She had never felt so embarrassed in her life, not even as a child.

You glanced Leah up and down once more. You had never imagined a football player could dress so stylishly. You found yourself so engrossed in observing Leah's attire that you only snapped back to reality when your coach cleared his throat.

"Well, I just wanted to make sure to thank you for your help, even if you didn't realize it," you said, pulling an autographed tennis ball out of your pocket. "I'm not sure how valuable this is to you, but perhaps your daughter will appreciate it," you added with a laugh, glancing sideways at Leah. "Well, I must be off now, interviews and all that," you explained, walking away to grab your bag. "Hope to see you two at Wimbledon," you said, winking at Amanda before leaving.

The next day, Leah found herself at the airport, keeping an eye on their suitcases while her mother went to grab something to eat. Suddenly, a notification on her phone caught her off guard.

Y/N_kz started following you

[et6rnalsun]

something about rafe and his little obsession with you riding him until you both pass out. . .

“'s too much,” you whimpered as you continued to tirelessly bounce on his already-hardening cock, your thighs practically burning with every violent impact they had against his own skin.

rafe didn't care if you had already made him cum multiple times, he really didn't. he was too mesmerized by how you kept moaning and whining pathetically, hoping he would be clement, how your pretty lil’ boobs practically pressed against his face at every frantical movement your sore body made. “focus on pleasing me” that was his only response as he breathed heavily, lifting your hips up briefly before slamming you hard on his cock again, only to get him deeper. at that, you were genuinely giving in, your movements slowing as you cried out. until a hard slap on your ass made you snap out of it. "the fuck you think you're doin'?"

“sorry” you were quick to apologize, your cracked voice reaching his ears so deliciously as his rough fingers caressed the spot he just hit which was already turning a slightly redder color. & he really thought it suited you. your fucked up expression turned him on to no end, making him want to ruin you more than he was already doing.

“you can do better than this, c’mon. don’t act like you aren’t a pretty little slut for me” he grunted, his hips finally starting to meet your movements as he pulled his head back slightly, holding you in place with his tight and almost bruisingly grip. you mewled at that, lips parting in pleasure as tears almost fell down your big eyes. "there we go..," he cooed, watching the way your face contorted into one of the pretty little slut he mentioned, who craved nothing but cock. his cock.

"bout to fill you up again, doll" he breathed, one hand reaching up to grip your hair and pull at it slightly, arching your body just right. "i'll fuck you full until you can only feel satisfied with my cum" rafe then let out a string of curses, stilling inside you and allowing his cum to fill your tight pussy to the brim. “fuck, yeah”

he was dead tired at that point. sweat was rolling down his hard, muscular chest, his breathing even more labored as he slowly lifted you up, watching the milky substance seeping out with a grunt of satisfaction. "that's it. this is exactly how little things like you need to be treated.”

likes & reblogs are highly appreciated

[pin-k-ink]

"just friends" // kozume kenma

tw ⇢ friends to lovers(?), pet names, strong sexual tension, implied first kiss, dry humping, grinding, making out, face sitting, overstimulation, cunnilingus, praise kink, squirting, dirty talk, fingering,

wc ⇢ 4.7k

"For real, this is just shameless at this point," Kenma deadpanned, slouching even further against the footboard without looking up from his game.

You shot him a sidelong glance where you were sprawled on your back beside him, manga dangling precariously. "Oh come on, it's not that bad!"

One pewter brow arched high over his intense golden stare that remained fixed on the TV. "They're literally naked and making out, [Y/N]. That's the entire page."

"Well yeah, but that's just building the tension!" you protested with a laugh, rolling onto your side to face him more fully. "It's an art form, you uncultured heathen."

Kenma's lips twitched with the barest hint of a smirk at your teasing jibe. "I'll pass on studying that particular form of art any further, thanks."

You huffed out a dramatic sigh, mock affronted by his dismissal. Though you couldn't quite ignore the way your belly did a tiny traitorous swoop at how close you found yourself pressed against his thigh in this position. Kenma's clean, musky scent surrounded you completely in the best way.

"That's too bad," you drawled before you could think better of it. "Here I was getting all excited to show you my bookmarked collection of the real spicy stuff..."

Kenma started minutely, those striking feline eyes finally tearing away from the game to bore into you with renewed consideration. Your breath hitched slightly at the weight of his laser focus zeroing in on you so intently, all teasing smirks fading away to leave him looking adorably serious.

"You, uh..." He cleared his throat roughly, adam's apple bobbing in that way that always had you following the motion unthinkingly. "You...really enjoy that kinda stuff?"

It wasn't often Kozume Kenma allowed any genuine curiosity to bleed into his apathetic front, even around you. So you found yourself nodding before you could second guess it, utterly transfixed by those blown pupils studying you so raptly.

"There's...nothing wrong with a little spice every now and then," you admitted in a small voice laced with faux bravado. "Doesn't everyone have those kinds of urges?"

Kenma shifted minutely closer until your knees brushed together with each inhale. His rich, honeyed scent surrounded you in a heady cloud, making your head spin dizzily. The controller lay forgotten in his lap as his attention settled solely and intensely on you in a way that set your heart racing.

"I dunno," he murmured, something heated flickering in those amber depths as he trailed them over your features leisurely. "Do they?"

You felt the tips of your ears warming at the subtle challenge and blatant innuendo in his husked query. Yet you refused to be the one to balk first in this...whatever this building tension between your bodies had become. If suggestive teasing was the game Kenma wanted to play--well, two could certainly tango.

"Mmm, you don't need to act so shy with me," you purred, propping yourself up on one elbow to arch your body into a sinuous line beside him tauntingly. "I'd never judge your own perfectly natural...curiosities, you know."

The tips of Kenma's ears went pink to match your own, but his gaze remained steady and heavy-lidded in a way that made your belly flip. He shifted his legs subtly apart in a clear unspoken invitation for you to insinuate yourself closer.

"So says the one who clearly has experience with...indulging those kinds of curiosities," he murmured in a low rumble, piercing eyes roving over your prone form in a way that stole the breath from your lungs.

You watched his adam's apple work convulsively, worrying his lower lip with sharp canines for just a beat in an unconscious display of compulsion. Then, without warning, he slid his legs wider in a graceful vee and patted the space between them invitingly.

"Well c'mere then," Kenma husked, fingers stroking the plush bedspread in a utterly distracting gesture. "And we can...experiment and see what all the fuss is about, just us friends."

Your mouth went bone dry as your wide eyes flicked back and forth between his half-lidded stare and the vee of his thighs splayed in wanton invitation. Mindlessly, your tongue stole out to wet your lips as your stare drifted down the lean, toned lines of his torso to where his midriff disappeared into the dark cotton hugging those thighs you yearned to—

"[Y/N]?" Kenma's voice was gone to gravelly sin itself, roughened into the most delicious rasp that hooked your focus right back onto him remorselessly.

He searched your face with his head tilted slightly in that unconscious gesture that always had your heart seizing in your chest. Silky raven locks fell across his forehead, framing that improbably pretty face to heartbreaking effect in the dimness of his bedroom.

Finally, you found your voice buried somewhere amidst the rush of arousal fogging your senses from his intense proximity and bold offer.

"A-Are you sure?" you stammered out huskily, unable to look away from the dusky rose tinting the apples of his cheeks. "About...experimenting, I mean?"

The words rang hollow and pointless even to your own ears as Kenma's eyes hooded further. He shifted his hips minutely, splaying his thighs wider in clear invitation and inducement for you to nestle deeper against his sleek form.

"It's just practice," he rumbled out in affirmation, tilting his chin up while studying your parted lips with naked yearning. "No strings attached, right kitten?"

A bolt of molten heat arrowed through your body at the throaty endearment dragging from his perfect mouth. Before conscious thought could reassert itself, you found yourself rising up on your knees and slinking forward to fill the cradle of his spread thighs instinctively.

Kenma's lids dipped to rapturous half-mast, finally allowing himself to drink in the sight of you hovering over his lap in clear invitation. His hands roamed up to bracket your hips with maddening leisure, calloused fingertips skating over the thin cotton of your sleep shorts teasingly.

Your chests were a hairsbreadth from brushing together now, sharing each shuddering inhale in the charged space between your trembling forms. With infinite gentleness, Kenma nuzzled his brow forward until it met your own in the barest graze of feverish skin on skin.

"Just friends," he exhaled in a gossamer whisper against your lips before closing the final distance in a tender, fervent glide.

Twin groans vibrated through your molten collapse as his velvet mouth melded against yours with exquisite pressure. You arched forward bonelessly, hands scrabbling for purchase against the sleek muscles of his shoulders to keep yourself anchored as Kenma's fingers spasmed around your hips.

This close, you could feel and taste his warm, musky essence in every breath you stole and surrendered back in tandem. Kenma mapped the lush seam of your lips reverently, molding and savoring each nuanced caress until you were utterly dizzy with needy want clawing at your insides.

Without conscious thought, you parted your mouth around a pleading whine, silently begging him to deepen the contact, to sear you to your core with the same satin glide of his tongue. But Kenma exercised admirably restraint, keeping the filthy heat of his kisses confined to the lush press of lips and the occasional velvet rasp of his own as breaths turned ragged.

Finally, after several endless eternities suspended in your lover's drugging embrace, Kenma dragged his mouth from yours with a low, devastated groan. You watched with glazed eyes as the tip of his tongue swept out to lave at his own lower lip hungrily, as if chasing your lingering taste there.

"Sweet hell, [Y/N]..." he rasped out, lashes fluttering as he pinned you with a look of pure desperation. "I want...fuck, I need..."

You swallowed thickly, silently urging him on with your own breathless nod. Need spiraled through your entwined bodies in raging riptides, licking higher with every passing heartbeat fueled by Kenma's burning stare and the erotic sprawl of his powerful form cradling you so intimately.

It was he who lurched up to slant his mouth over yours once more before you could find your voice. But this time, he parted those perfect lips wider around your own in blatant invitation - an offering and a plea all in one. Without hesitation, you answered him by delving your eager tongue forward to twine with his in a sultry, sensual glide perfectly befitting of your most lurid manga fantasies.

And with a low, vibrating groan against your mouth, Kenma succumbed to your emboldened depths wholeheartedly.

Kenma's mouth was hot velvet and feverish demand, stealing your every shallow breath with each insistent sweep of his talented tongue. You clung to his broad shoulders in a daze, whimpering against his pillowed lips as he expertly coaxed yours apart wider on a slick glide.

The wet sounds of your messy makeouts filled the bedroom - harsh panting gasps punctuated by obscene smacking as Kenma changed angles forcefully to delve deeper. Your cheeks burned, sticky trails of mingled saliva rapidly cooling against your flushed skin, but you were utterly powerless against the drugging thrall of his passion.

With a devastated groan, Kenma fisted one hand in your tousled hair to tilt your head aside, arching your throat into a wanton line he eagerly traced with ravaging swipes of his velvet tongue. You cried out brokenly as he blazed searing paths across your thundering pulse, lapping up the sweet-salt taste of your desire like a man unhinged.

"Ken-Kenma!" you gasped out dizzily, feeling his swollen cock jerk against your inner thigh in visceral response to your plaintive keen.

He snarled wordlessly in reply, mouth crashing over yours once more to swallow each fractured whimper you surrendered to his thorough plundering. You lost all sense of time or space beyond his scorching caresses, allowing his ravenous passion to sweep you under the crashing tide completely.

Only when your velvet tug-of-war reached a shuddering, panting climax did Kenma allow you to break free with a gasping inhale of cool air. You sucked it in greedily, nerves singing from the rough drag of his stubble and swollen lips leaving you utterly wrecked in their wake.

Kenma himself appeared utterly unraveled - chest heaving in sharp gulps, onyx locks disheveled wildly around his slack features, and lips so thoroughly reddened they verged on bruising from your heated frenzy. Slowly, his hooded golden gaze flicked back to yours with unmistakable languor and sated heat smoldering in its depths.

"Holy shit," he rasped out at last, sounding utterly wrecked in the most delicious way. "How's...how's that for 'experimentation' then, pretty kitty?"

You could only stare at him wordlessly, tongue darting out to trace your tingling lips in a shameless search for the lingering taste of his hungry mouth upon you. But Kenma was already stirring to disentangle you from his lap with careful hands at your waist.

Once you were resettled amid the rumpled bedding, he leaned back and raked an assessing, satisfied look over your dazed sprawl that made you shiver anew. Humming with distinctly male approval, Kenma palmed himself over the obscene tenting in his sweatpants before replacing his discarded controller.

Watching with stunned, hooded eyes, you settled back on your heels as he easily resumed his game as if you hadn't just suffered mutual ruination at his skillful hands mere moments ago. The sheer audacity and nonchalance of it made your breath hitch traitorously and belly clench beneath the rucked fabric of your skimpy tank.

Eventually, you found your voice amidst the rhythmic clicking of Kenma's renewed gaming focus. "That's...that's seriously it?"

One silvery brow winged upward, though Kenma's eyes never left the television screen. "Did you want something more, Kitten?" he husked out in that delicious rasp still slightly slurred with lingering arousal.

You swallowed hard at his sultry insinuation, the pet name caressing your sensitized nerves in the most wanton way. Kenma had utterly unraveled you with nothing more than some dirty kisses.

How on earth could you coherently admit to craving the impossible temptations his raw physicality promised with every sensual roll of those lean hips and thrilling flex of firm muscle as he moved?

As if sensing your hesitation, Kenma hummed disinterestedly and shifted onto his side facing you fully - one leg bent beneath him and the other trailing out in an artful sprawl mere inches from your own folded limbs. His sluggish repose angled his groin tantalizingly, making the distinct outline of his thick cock pressing against the dark fabric utterly impossible to ignore.

You inhaled sharply at the brazen display, eyes snapping up to find Kenma watching you from beneath hooded lids with knowing indolence flickering in the depths. His tongue traced the lush swell of his lower lip slowly, sensually, as if savoring your yearning reaction for himself.

"Not enough, then?" he drawled, lazy syllables dripping with sinful promise that made your thighs tense convulsively. "Well...I'm always happy to further your education, pretty girl."

His heated stare remained locked on you shamelessly as he trailed the backs of his knuckles down the crease of his groin in a vulgar caress, hips canting minutely into the motion with a nearly imperceptible shudder. You forgot how to breathe entirely as his thick bulge shifted, engorging within its cotton confines in blatant display of burgeoning arousal.

What little functioning rationality remained in your lust-hazed mind scattered completely as Kenma palmed himself more boldly, relishing the chance to gauge your dark rapture openly. Before you could think better, you surged forward onto your knees to hover over him once more - pupils blown wide and breath coming in ragged pulls that did nothing to stifle the raging fire licking up your nerve-endings.

"Show me, Ken..." you heard yourself plead in a quavering rasp choked with desperation. "Please, I need...fuck, I need it all..."

In one fluid surge, Kenma rolled you back beneath his scorching weight with an animalistic growl that ignited the wick of your desire into a raging conflagration. As you keened and arched into the exquisite drag of his hips cratering yours, he sank his teeth into the fevered juncture of your neck and shoulder with exquisite pressure.

"Then let me teach you, kitty," he rumbled against your inflamed skin as his calloused palms roved over every quivering inch. "Show you what it means to be utterly, deliriously craved...to have someone so hungry for you, there's no choice left but to indulge endlessly..."

With a ravenous snarl, Kenma sealed his mouth over yours in a searing, devouring kiss that stole every last shuddering, pleading breath as his skilled hands set to mapping out the sweetest forms of rapturous ruination imaginable.

Kenma's mouth slanted over yours in a series of lingering, drugging kisses that left you both panting harshly. You arched into the snug cradle of his hips, fingers knotting in the soft cotton at his shoulders as he coaxed your lips apart masterfully.

A low, guttural moan vibrated against your tongue from deep in his chest when you tentatively stroked him in exploration. The gravelly timbre of his pleasure had frissons of liquid heat arrowing through you. Kenma nipped at your jaw in clear reward, ravenous for every keen and shudder he wrenched from your rapidly unraveling form.

"Sweet fuckin' hell," he growled against the fevered hollow of your throat, stubble scraping deliciously. "The sounds you make, baby...like silk on sandpaper."

You cried out breathily as he sealed his mouth over your thundering pulse to suckle hard enough to sting. Every nerve ending was lit up like a livewire as Kenma mapped your body with unhurried leisure, savoring each needy whine he elicited like fine wine.

Just when you thought the building coil of ecstasy would surely snap and shatter you, Kenma abruptly disengaged with a devastated groan. He flopped onto his back beside you, chest heaving and utterly wrecked - eyes glazed and plump lips reddened from your heated kisses.

For several endless heartbeats, you could only lie there and gulp down lungfuls of tepid air in a daze, bereft and keening silently from the loss of his scorching weight. Until Kenma stirred, turning to press himself flush along your side as his wandering palm trailed down your hip and over your thigh possessively.

The thick ridge of his cock prodded insistently against your hip, precum leaving a damp patch cooling through the thin fabric between you. Despite your body thrumming like a live wire desperate for release, you instinctively parted your thighs in unspoken invitation for Kenma to insinuate himself deeper between them.

He shuddered harshly at the apex of your legs, groin stuttering against yours as his breath left him in a shaky rush. Lifting himself up on one forearm stretched over your body, Kenma gazed down at you through a haze of lust, heavy-lidded and utterly undone.

"Pretty kitty," he rasped out huskily against your burning cheek, blunt fingertips trailing from knee up to the damp juncture of your thighs in blatant exploration. "Do you...have any idea how fuckin' delectable you look like this?"

You shuddered bodily as he traced the slick seam of your folds through the sheer, damp material separating his touch from direct contact. Each nerve ending felt electrified by his slightest caress, ratcheting the coil of tension within you higher and higher by the second.

"Please..." you managed to keen breathily, arching your body into a wanton bow against Kenma's ministrations unconsciously. "Ken, I...I need..."

He growled a guttural negation before you could finish, fingers curling to drag the soaked fabric of your sleep shorts down your legs and leave your pussy bare to his scorching perusal. You sucked in a sharp inhale at the sudden exposure, sweat prickling your hairline at the intensity clouding his golden stare.

"What you need..." Kenma husked out, the arm not bracing his weight sliding beneath your knee to expose you fully to him. "Is to let me absolutely ruin you right now like I've been desperate to do for months."

His scalding breath ghosted over your parted thighs as he noseddown to nuzzle the plump curve of your hip with open-mouthed maddening reverence. A strangled keen punched itself free as his lips skated featherlight over the dewy juncture between hip and groin tauntingly.

"I don't deserve to see you like this," he confessed in a gravelly rasp shot through with palpable remorse and adoration. "So fucking gorgeous and perfect it makes a man repent of every second wasted not worshipping you properly like my goddess."

With that husked declaration, Kenma dipped his shaggy head lower to lay a blazing, openmouthed trail of worship along your inner thighs - laving his wicked tongue over each crease and trembling tendon until you were a sobbing, arched mess of desperation.

Only when you were panting his name on a litany of pleading, mindless babbles did Kenma resurface from his rapturous exploration. His chin and cheeks were gilded by the musk of your desire while his swollen lips and scorching bedroom eyes roamed over you shamelessly. He looked ruined in the most debauched way, utterly delirious from drowning in the essence of your wanton arousal.

"You’re being such a good girl for me," he rumbled out, voice utterly shredded as his broad palm skated from hip to inner knee greedily. "Gonna feast on you for fucking hours until you're utterly spent and ruined, sweetheart...take you apart with just my tongue until you're screaming my name..."

You very nearly burst into flames right then and there as he gently coaxed and splayed your knees wider into the most lascivious offering imaginable. But before your body could succumb completely to that spiraling crest rapidly cresting, Kenma delivered his killing blow with mouthwatering finality:

"So what d'you say, baby?" he drawled in a rasp of pure sin, eyes hooding heavily as you teetered on the knife's edge of madness. "Wanna sit on my face and smother me in that sweet little cunt?"

All the breath left your lungs on a single, shuddering cry as he punctuated his filthy query by dipping his head to lay a scorching line of wet, sucking kisses up your slit in blatant promise. You writhed and keened, unable to formulate a response beyond wanton begging as Kenma's perfect, plush lips grazed over your pulsing clit in a teasing nip.

"Kenma! Fuck, please, please, I need it, please just-"

Before you could finish the frantic, garbled plea, Kenma hooked his arms beneath your spread thighs to hoist you up with startling ease. With a guttural groan of anticipation, he settled back onto the mattress with his face directly beneath the apex of your spread legs and his hands firmly clamped around the jut of your hips.

You swallowed a gasp at the utterly erotic sight of Kenma's flushed features gazing up the sinuous line of your body as he tugged you closer to his mouth. His golden gaze was a molten, searing brand that held you riveted even as your thighs twitched in an instinctive need to close and hide from such an intense stare.

But before you could move, Kenma dragged the flat of his velvety tongue over your aching center with a low groan that resonated through your entire core. Your vision swam at the overwhelming sensation, head dropping back as his perfect mouth latched onto your clit and suckled with obscene fervor.

Kenma devoured you with abandon, letting you rest your entire weight on top of him to feast on your dripping folds like a man starving. His muffled moans and growls vibrated through your sensitive flesh, drawing forth a steady stream of incoherent gasps and breathless cries as he worked you over.

The coil within your core wound tighter and tighter with every swipe of his tongue, every lewd suckle and greedy nip and filthy slurp of him lapping up the evidence of your arousal. But you were utterly powerless to stop the inevitable crest looming as his strong, slender fingers flexed bruisingly around your hips and his nose nudged your clit with every slick glide.

You felt the tip of his tongue spear deep, twisting and thrusting until you were shaking above him - barely holding on by the thinnest thread of control. Kenma's golden eyes cracked open, peering up the line of your heaving torso and watching your rapturous face intently as his velvet tongue slithered inside you.

"Let go, pretty kitty," he growled against your folds before closing his mouth over your throbbing clit once more and suckling hard enough to send you soaring into freefall.

"Kenma!" you cried out as the first spasm hit, back bowing into a perfect arch as his hands clamped around your thighs to pin you down against his ravenous mouth.

He held you there, suspended above his devouring mouth as he lapped up the flood of your release with a rumbling moan. You were utterly powerless in his grip, writhing and trembling as wave after wave crashed through your veins.

Only when you were a whimpering, oversensitive mess did Kenma finally release you, guiding your limp form back to sprawl out beside him. He propped himself up on one forearm and raked an assessing look over your flushed, trembling body, pupils blown to black with naked lust and mouth glistening with your essence.

"You're such a good girl," he purred in a graveled rasp, calloused fingers trailing the sweat-dampened skin of your quivering belly reverently. "Look at you, coming so perfectly for me...so beautiful, baby..."

You whimpered weakly as his hand trailed lower, tracing the slick folds still twitching with aftershocks. Kenma's gaze zeroed in on your face, studying your reactions raptly as he teased your clit with featherlight strokes.

"Such a good, sweet girl..." he husked, circling your entrance with two fingers while never breaking that molten golden stare. "Do you think you can give me another one, pretty kitty?"

Before you could respond, Kenma leaned down to capture your lips in a lush, velvet kiss. You gasped and arched as he breached you in a single fluid motion, curling his fingers just right to drag across your g-spot with deadly precision.

He swallowed each of your breathy cries with relish, languidly working his digits in and out until your thighs were spread wide and you were grinding against his palm desperately. When you finally reached the peak, Kenma was there to catch you - murmuring words of praise and encouragement as he pumped his fingers and rubbed circles around your clit until you were a sobbing, trembling mess.

This time, the wave crashed harder and faster, wringing the last of your strength as you squirted all over Kenma's wrist. He groaned against your slack mouth, dragging the heel of his hand against your hypersensitive nub until you were clawing at his biceps and sobbing his name.

As the last of the shudders wracking your spent body faded, Kenma pulled his drenched fingers from you and brought them to his lips. You watched, dazed and utterly wrecked, as he made a show of lapping up every trace of your slick with a low hum of approval.

When his glistening fingertips returned to trace the puffy seam of your folds once more, you found the breath to speak at last. "I...I can't..."

Kenma's mouth slanted over yours, tongue thrusting deep to let you taste yourself on his plush lips and silky tongue. "Yes, you can, sweetheart," he breathed against your fevered skin, nuzzling the damp hollow of your throat. "One more time, pretty kitty, for me..."

Your weak protests fell away on a shattered whimper as he began rubbing your clit again, this time with gentle, languid swipes that quickly had you keening and arching. Kenma hummed with smug satisfaction, watching your face closely as his dexterous fingers worked your slickened flesh with practiced ease.

"That's it," he rumbled against the swell of your breast, tongue laving over your peaked nipple while his other hand slid lower to dip two fingers back inside you. "C'mon, baby...wanna see you squirt one more time..."

You whimpered at his filthy command, bucking into his touch with mounting urgency. Kenma's teeth and tongue scraped across your nipple, tugging and soothing as his digits curled against your inner walls expertly.

It was almost too much - the overstimulation bordering on pain but somehow still pushing you higher and higher in a dizzying rush. The air stuttered from your lungs as the coil in your core wound tighter, every muscle seizing up as you teetered on the verge of yet another climax.

"C'mon, beautiful," Kenma growled, lifting his head to watch your face closely. "Give me one more...squirt all over me…"

As if waiting for his permission, your body clenched and shook, muscles contracting rhythmically. With a keening cry, you came for the third time, gushing slick all over his hand as he coaxed the orgasm from you with filthy praise and languid swipes of his skillful fingers.

"There's my good girl," he murmured as you came back down, easing his fingers from you gingerly before using two of them to rub lazy circles onto your hypersensitive clit. "So fucking gorgeous, baby..."

You could only lie there, limbs spread bonelessly as he toyed with your pussy in lazy, sated strokes. His molten stare drank in your flushed and debauched sprawl, utterly undone by his talented hands.

After several hazy, dreamlike moments, Kenma lifted his fingers to his mouth once more and cleaned them of every trace of your slick. The gesture was so viscerally erotic, it made you whimper and flush anew.

Once his hand was clean, Kenma slid off the bed and stood at its foot. You blinked blearily up at him, too thoroughly spent to do much more than take in the sight of his flushed, sculpted body, now gloriously bare to the waist.

His lean torso rippled as he hooked his thumbs in the waistband of his sweats, pushing them down until his cock sprang free. You could only stare at the thick, flushed length jutting out proudly from a trim thatch of curls.

Kenma stroked himself slowly, eyes hooded and glazed as they trailed over your prone form. Your breath caught as a bead of precum pearled at his flushed tip, a low groan rumbling in his chest.

"Now that I’ve gotten you nice and creamy, baby," he husked out, fist working his cock with unhurried strokes. "What d'you say we go all the way?"

With those sultry words, Kenma climbed back onto the bed to settle between your splayed thighs. His hips slotted against yours, hot length prodding at your still-twitching entrance as he lowered his weight over you.

"Just a taste, kitten," he growled against your throat, slipping the flushed tip right between your folds teasingly. "You can give me one more, right?"

[woso-dreamzzz]

Kidnapped II

Fridolina Rolfö x Baby!Reader

Summary: You're sick

The league win is tonight.

Or, rather, the presentation of the trophy is tonight and Frido's excited. It should be a fairly easy win for the team so that combined with the trophy lift is going to make this day amazing.

It falls just short of perfect because you've fallen ill.

Frido's parents arrived nearly two days ago and, while you were perfectly fine on the plane, you're now a bit wheezy with a sore throat and a cough that just won't seem to go away.

"Älskling," She coos, bouncing you around as she gets ready to leave," You sound so bad."

You've been up most of the night coughing and Frido stayed up in solidarity, allowing her parents some sleep while she cared for you.

You cough again, as if to prove that you are feeling incredibly bad.

She measures out some medicine. Most of the team thought it was a little silly for her to be stocked up on kid's medicine when the only kid she hung out with was Cub but Frido had wanted to be prepared for if you got sick during any of your visits.

She'd be smug about it if it didn't mean that you were feeling terribly icky today.

She sways you softly as she squirts the medicine from the syringe down your throat.

"I know," She coos," Yucky, huh? I'll give this away to Mapi and Ingrid and find you some nice-tasting stuff for next time."

You whine a little and drop your head against Frido's collarbone. She keeps rocking you, rubbing your back softly as she lays kisses on top of your head.

"I'm going to call in," Frido says when her parents finally join the two of you in the kitchen," It's a fairly easy match. I won't be needed."

"Trophy is presented today," Her father replies gruffly," You can't miss that."

"Älskling is sick," Frido insists," I don't want to leave her. She needs me."

"You're not her mother," He says," You can't just pause your world because the little one is sick. Go to your match. Your mother and I will decide what to do with her. One of us will be there."

Frido puffs out her cheeks just like you do when you're annoyed. "I can stay!" She insists," She needs cuddles!"

"Cuddles that we are more than capable of giving her," Her father reminds her.

"Not sister cuddles!"

Her father laughs a little bit with an eye roll, taking you from Frido and soothing you easily when you whine against his chest.

"You know, I thought we left this petulance behind when you became an adult."

"I'm not petulant."

"Sure you're not.

Frido stamps her foot. "I'm not!"

Her father keeps laughing. "You're thirty years old and you're still stamping your foot? You're showing your baby sister a bad example."

The rumble of laughter from your father's chest has you let out your own raspy giggle that has Frido beaming at you.

"I'm staying here," Frido insists," Just to watch her a bit. It could get worse, you know."

"We raised you," Her father replies, adjusting you on his hip and bouncing slightly to help you settle," I think we know all about sickly children. She's much more well-behaved than you ever were."

"But-"

"Fridolina," He says, pulling out the full name and essentially silencing Frido with one word," If I have to drag you into that stadium by your ear then so help me I will. Your sister is capable of watching you on the tv no matter how sick she is."

Frido knows her father very well so the threat isn't empty.

She is going to the pitch even if he has to drag her there himself. It doesn't mean she has to be happy about it though.

Actually, Frido decides that she's not going to be happy at all even if the trophy is being lifted tonight. She forces herself to keep a frown on her face even when she listens to Ingrid complain about the two ginger cats that have now taken over her house.

Frido refuses to let herself be happy after being forced out of her own house while you're still wheezy and coughing.

"You can smile, you know," Mapi says," It won't break your face or anything."

"I'm proving a point," Frido replies," I am letting my parents know I'm not happy with this situation."

"Are you twelve? Because this is super childish."

Frido ignores her.

"Is this what I have to look forward to? God, I hope Cub never grows up."

"It's the principal of the matter," Frido says," My parents will understand."

It's difficult to keep the frown on her face when the team go seven nil up by the end of the match but if there's one thing Frido is, it's stubborn and she refuses to act like she's enjoying herself when you're sick in her home.

The trophy is brought out while the team celebrates and Frido gets up to join them before there's a familiar call of her name.

It's her mother's voice and Frido now knows it's her father who stayed home to look at you.

Good.

Because Frido isn't quite sure how she would react to seeing him here after her forced her to come without you.

Only...

You're being dangled over the railing to her, looking much happier and perkier than before.

"Look who decided to get over her little cold to see her sister win the league."

Frido grabs you and you clumsily fall onto her chest, giving her a big wet kiss on her neck.

She laughs. "Thank you, Älskling!"

You screech something unintelligible and Frido nods.

"I love you too!"

[eiightysixbaby]

take a dip

pairing: lifeguard!eddie munson x bestfriend!fem!reader

word count: 4.3k (this was supposed to be a short little blurb lolz)

summary: eddie wants to get you in the water with him while you're alone at the community pool. he ends up getting a lot more than he bargained for.

cw: 18+ ONLY - SMUT. reader doesn't know how to swim, eddie is a relentless menace, brief food mention, use of pet names (baby, sweetheart), fingering, unprotected piv, creampie

“Get in the pool.”

“No!”

“Get. In. The pool.” Eddie's voice is deadpan, his expression flat. He holds out a hand, waiting for you to take it and let him guide you.

“It's cold! I'm going to freeze!” you whine, stomping your feet on the concrete like a toddler.

“Uuuuuuuuugh, you are impossible,” he groans, kicking off the wall and letting himself glide backwards, floating in the water.

He stops at the middle of the pool, going fully under the water before coming back up. He shakes his wild curls, blinking rapidly to get chlorine out of his eyes.

“Will you please come in? It's not even bad,” he begs, giving you his best puppy dog eyes.

He'd been tasked with getting the community pool ready for opening day, and he's spent the last several hours doing just that. You had stopped by to bring him some food, and ever since you both finished eating, he'd been trying desperately to get you in the water with him. He's entirely unsure why you're being so stubborn.

“Eddie, come on, I don't want to. Can we just go back to your place?” you ask, fingers worrying at the hem of your shorts.

“We can go back to my place once you get in this damn water with me,” he retorts. You know he doesn't mean anything by it, but his relentless insistence makes your stomach churn. It's not even his fault, it's not like he knows your reasoning. You should've known that by coming here you were in for it.

You're silent, shifting your weight from foot to foot as you debate what to say next. Luckily, you don't have to speak before Eddie notices your discomfort.

“Woah, hey.” He swims back to the edge of the pool, resting his arms on the concrete. “What's wrong? If you really don't want to get in you don't have to, we can just leave.”

He reaches a wet hand out to squeeze your ankle, cocking his head to the side as he looks up at you.

“It's just...” you start, voice suddenly much quieter than it had been. “I don't... know how to swim.” It feels simultaneously amazing and embarrassing to get the words out into the open, for Eddie to know.

“What?” he asks, making you shrink into yourself. You sit down on the pavement, tucking your knees to your chest.

“Yeah, I know. It’s humiliating, okay?” you snap, defensive.

“No, no, no. Hold on,” he interjects, pushing himself up and out of the water. “How come I never knew this?” he asks softly, scooting to sit beside you.

“Well, it wasn’t something that ever really came up until you got the lifeguard gig. It was an easy topic to avoid.” You shrug, watching water drip from his body.

This was only Eddie’s second summer working at the pool, and the previous summer you’d managed to dodge the task of going swimming with excuses about carting the kids around to and from the arcade or the Wheeler’s or the mall; having to work; being on your period and not feeling like it.

“Shit, I didn’t mean to act like an asshole,” he tells you earnestly. “If you don’t want to get in the water, we won’t. I’m sorry,” he searches your face with soft eyes, remorseful.

You sigh, resting your forehead on your knees, hiding your face away. “It’s not even that I don’t want to get in. I’d love to get in the water with you,” you say, muffled. “But I’m scared.”

“I mean,” he starts, leaning back coolly, “you are sitting next to the best lifeguard in Hawkins, Indiana.”

You snort, looking up from your hiding spot. “Between you, Billy, and Heather? Not a tough competition, champ.”

He gasps, mock offended. “Rude!”

You turn pointedly to face him. “Billy’s always distractedly flirting with someone and definitely couldn’t care less if any of the residents in this town live or die. Heather is always busy gawking at Billy, and she hates getting her hair wet.”

He thinks about this. “Okay, fair point.”

You laugh, a sort of sad sound. “But!” He stands, extending a hand to encourage you to join him. “I am still a lifeguard. One that actually cares whether you live or die, and I’d very much like it to be the former.” He pulls you onto your feet. “We can take it super slow, heck, we don’t even have to actually teach you to swim tonight. We can just stand in the water, get you comfortable being in it.”

“Isn’t that… I don’t know. Silly?”

“Why would it be silly?” he asks simply. “The more you’re in water, the less scary it will be.”

You think this over, eyes flicking back and forth from the pool to your clasped hands. “I honestly want to, but I didn’t even bring a swimsuit,” you say finally, feeling a bit dejected.

“I mean, and don’t hit me when I say this—” Eddie begins, taking a step back with a smirk. “But you could just get in in your underwear.”

You feel your face heat wildly at his suggestion, feeling simultaneously nervous and intrigued by the thought of stripping to your bra and panties in front of your best friend. The intrigue surprises you a little bit, your heart fluttering in your chest.

“Eddie—” you murmur, but he cuts you off.

“It’s no different than seeing you in a bikini. And I have seen you in one of those, at that car wash fundraiser for the cheer team in high school,” he says matter-of-factly, giving you no real reason to back out.

And truly, you don’t want to.

“Okay, fine,” you huff, playing up your reluctance. “Turn around,” you motion in a circle with your finger, and he rolls his eyes before turning his back to you.

You slip out of your sandals before peeling your shorts off, letting them pool around your ankles. Your shirt comes next, and you hoist it over your head before tossing it onto a lounge chair with your bottoms.

There’s a very subtle chill to the air, the full heat of summer not yet present. It kisses your skin, making goosebumps erupt all over.

“Okay, get in the water and close your eyes until I’m in,” you tell him.

“You do realize I’m going to have to look at you at some point?”

“I know! Just— not yet.”

“Fine.”

He lowers himself back into the water with a slight splash, covering his eyes with his hands. You giggle at the sight, feeling like you’re playing hide and seek and he’s counting.

Slowly, you step over to the pool’s edge, sitting down and letting your feet dip into the water. It’s cold, too fresh to have been heated by the sun, and it sends a shiver running up your body.

“Eddie, it’s really cold,” you whine, already knowing he’ll be having none of it.

“Yeah, ‘s why you have to just get all the way in in one go.” You hesitate, but as if he can read your mind, he goes on. “Your feet can touch here, nothing’s gonna happen. Promise.”

His eyes are still covered, and you bite back another giggle. You know you’re safe with him, and you swallow your nerves as you slip fully into the water. The level of depth keeps the waterline at the top of your chest, your head and shoulders remaining dry.

“Can I look now, your highness?”

“Shut up. Yes.”

He removes his hands, grinning at you. “Look at you! In the pool with me.”

You allow yourself to smile a little, too, although you feel silly for celebrating the mere fact that you’re standing in a pool.

The look on Eddie’s face doesn’t let you feel silly for very long. He’s practically got stars in his eyes. In fact, you can’t help but notice the way they seem to linger on your lips, trailing down to the soft hills of your breasts. Your heart beats rapidly in your chest.

He holds his hands out to you, and you take them, letting him walk backwards while you follow. He moves slowly into the deeper end, and your toes try their hardest to cling to the bottom of the pool the further you go. You’re about to back away, return to the shallow side, but he does damage control before you can run.

“C’mere,” he coaxes, pulling you close to him as he wraps his arms around you. “Put your legs around my waist.”

You oblige, albeit flustered, wrapping your limbs around his thin waist and letting your chests press together, your arms hanging loosely around his neck. You become acutely aware of the way your core rests barely exposed against the fabric of his swim trunks, and suddenly you feel like all of the oxygen has been sucked out of this portion of the world around you. You swear you hear a rather strangled breath leave him, and you wonder if this proximity is affecting him the way it seems to be affecting you.

You find yourself more enamored than ever with the tattoos littering his body, black ink scrawled into his pale skin. Your eyes trace constellation patterns between the freckles splattered on his torso, holding yourself back from reaching out to touch them.

In Eddie’s arms, you’re safe in the water, and your nerves ease as you try to shove down the butterflies that roam beneath your ribcage. It’s just Eddie, being close to Eddie isn’t anything new.

But being this close to Eddie while you’re both barely clothed, is.

He holds you easily; you’re weightless in the water, which allows him to maneuver fluidly. The water is still cold around you, but your body feels like it’s hot enough to start boiling it. Eddie’s fingers press into your thighs to keep you supported, and suddenly it’s the only sensation you can focus on.

“Still cold?” Eddie asks, and it makes you visibly startle.

“N-no, not really,” you choke out. If only he knew.

He raises a brow at your demeanor but says nothing more, and you wonder how long he’ll float around with you for. You wonder how long you can take it before you start clawing at him like a rabid animal.

Your lack of inhibition alarms you, your sudden hunger toward the man in front of you new and slightly terrifying. Eddie’s always been attractive, but in an objective way. In a way you never felt like you really needed to act on. You could admit that he was attractive and also remember that he was your best friend, and that trying to go any further than friendship would be moronic.

But right now, you think you’d let him swallow you whole.

You’ve zoned out, looking blankly at the illuminated blue of the pool, and when you focus back in you notice that Eddie is staring at you, unwavering.

“What?” you ask him, but it comes out as little more than a whisper.

“Would it be fucking crazy to kiss you right now?” he asks, his usual boisterous attitude gone. He’s nervous.

Your heart swells, battering against your ribs. “Maybe. But you should do it anyway.” You swallow hard, watching as his wild eyes search your face. You feel a peculiar sort of giddiness, like a child that's about to snatch a cookie from the jar when they know they aren’t supposed to.

You only hope this won't come back to bite you in the ass.

Everything seems to go quiet save for both of your shaky breaths, Eddie's hands curling into your half-wet hair as he presses your back against one wall of the pool. His lips meet yours so softly, encouraging your mouth to open and move with his.

Your brain feels like it's lagging, unable to catch up with what's happening. You would've expected this to be awkward, clumsy, embarrassing — but it's none of those things. His lips slot against yours like they were made to fit there, and you find yourself wondering why you never did this sooner.

He draws back, grinning wildly. You're sure your expression matches.

“I can't believe it took me so long to do that,” he admits, eyes eagerly searching your own.

They look especially dark now that the sun has set, yet something in them seems to sparkle.

“I was thinking the same thing,” you respond. He laughs and you join him, clinging tight to wet skin.

When the laughter subsides, you let him kiss you again, his tongue licking experimentally into your mouth. It makes you clutch him even tighter, deepening the kiss before he can think about pulling away; encouraging his tongue to test the waters further. You grind your core against him before you can register that you're doing it, pulling a throaty groan from him, and that's when you feel it. The outline of his hardening cock strains against his swim shorts, brushing up against you just right to create a delicious jolt of friction.

You pull back to look at him, grinding against him once more in hopes of eliciting more sounds from him. His eyes pinch shut, his mouth falling open in a curse. You can see the pink blush in his cheeks even in the fading light of day.

“Fuck, baby.” Baby, you think. That's new.

“Yeah?” you ask, taunting him just a little bit. “Does that feel good?”

“Fuck yes, god. Makin' me feel like a horny teenager,” he chuckles, a strained and breathy thing. You can tell he's trying hard to keep himself together.

But maybe you don't want him to.

You let your lips attach to his neck, wanting to see how far you can go before he gives in; before he can't hold back any longer.

He takes in a sharp breath when you begin sucking on his soft skin, aiming to leave a bruise in your mouth's wake. His head tips, further exposing his neck to you, and you move to cover more of the pale surface. His cock is fully hard now, or at least it feels like it, rubbing against your core as you continue to grind against him to the best of your ability.

“Shit, you're driving me crazy,” he says, digging his fingers into your hips.

“What're you gonna do about it?” you ask, challenging him in a moment of surging confidence.

His expression darkens, his index finger reaching beneath your chin and tilting it up, until you're looking at him. “Do you really want to do this?” he questions, arching a brow. His question holds a double meaning: Do you really want to try me? and Are you sure you want this, with me?

You're certain about both.

“Yes,” you breathe, barely audible. His lips are mere centimeters from yours, his finger still hooked under your chin. He stays like that for a moment, as if judging that you're sure, and once he seems to find his answer it's like something in him snaps. He lets go.

His lips press to yours, hot and urgent, his hands digging firm into your thighs. You swear every inch of skin he touches turns molten as his palms roam to squeeze fistfuls of your ass, new territory that sets you on fire. Your nails dig into his shoulder blades, your mouth open as he licks into it with a hunger like no other. His teeth catch your bottom lip, tugging it as a whimper escapes your throat.

“You're so fucking gorgeous,” Eddie nearly growls, his voice wrecked, like simply saying the words makes him want to bust. “Need to have you, baby, let me have you.” His mouth is dipped close to your ear, his hot breath sending a shiver throughout you.

“Please, Eddie,” you beg, rolling your hips into him yet again. He groans, eyes falling closed and hands digging harder into your skin. Like he's bracing himself.

When his eyes open again, he takes a moment to just study you, scouring every inch of you that he can see.

“Look so fucking sexy like this,” he murmurs, nosing at your cheek before pressing another kiss to your lips. His words make your cheeks burn. “Just so it's on record, I was a fucking idiot for not kissing you sooner. God, sweetheart,” he says, making your heart pound. Another kiss.

“I'm just as big of an idiot,” you reply, tangling your fingers in his damp curls.

When you tug on them, a low grumble of a sound leaves his throat. “Fuck, you're gonna kill me.”

He reaches behind you, gripping the edge of the pool with one hand as the other slips down to caress your breasts. He lets his fingers glide over the fabric of your bra before dipping them beneath the cups, squeezing one and then the other. You gasp, throwing your head back with a whispered curse of his name.

One corner of his mouth twitches up in smug amusement, his head tipping down so he can kiss at your neck, your shoulders, your collarbone. You let your legs fall from around his waist, feet planting on the bottom of the pool. His hand traces down your side, stopping to toy with the waistband of your cute cotton panties. You suck in a breath in anticipation of his next move, and you exhale when his warm hand slips beneath the fabric, cupping your sex in a calloused palm.

You let your own hands wander, trailing your fingers down his toned chest until you reach the drawstring of his swim trunks. His breathing grows shallow, his cock kicking up against your hand when you cup his bulge through the smooth material. It sends a wave of satisfaction through you, at the fact that you have the ability to make his body react in such a way.

Meanwhile, his fingers tease your core, drawing loops around your entrance, almost dipping in but not quite. You involuntarily rut your hips against his hand, body desperate for more.

“Aww, a little needy, are we?” Eddie smirks, squeezing your ass with his free hand.

You frown. “You're making fun of me,” you whine, looking at him with big sad eyes, exaggerated in your attempt to garner his sympathy.

“Nooooo,” he coos softly, folding entirely as he leans in to kiss your pout away. You smile, kissing him back and letting your hand dip beneath his bottoms.

He makes a little ‘aah’ sound, letting his hips roll against your hand, providing more friction that he so desperately craves. Your fingers wrap tentatively around the base of him, and your eyes widen. You don't need to see him to realize how big he is. Your hand runs up and down his length, your breath hitching in your throat at the thought of fitting him inside of you; the stretch he'd provide. You never thought you'd be experiencing this with Eddie of all people, but you're not about to complain.

He finally dips two fingers inside of your throbbing center, the sensation making your vision blur. You want him so terribly, more than you think you've ever wanted anyone, and it all seemed to come out of nowhere. He feels incredible, and he's barely done anything.

His fingers reach deep, curling at your sweet spot, making your back arch. You lose focus on the way you were teasing his cock, your hand freezing in place as he fucks you on his fingers.

“That feel good?” he murmurs, his eyes scanning your face expectantly.

“Yes, fuck, Eddie,” you praise, brow furrowing as his fingers start to move quicker. “So fucking good.”

He seems satisfied with himself, smiling almost shyly, and it only makes you want him more.

“Ed, please—” you croak. “Need you inside me,” you press, pawing urgently at his shorts in an attempt to push them down his legs.

“Fuck,” he curses. “Okay, baby, I got you,” he reassures, removing his fingers from your core and instead grabbing the base of his cock and tugging it free from its confines.

You're nearly trembling with desire, each second agonizing as you wait to be filled up by him.

“Take these off,” he instructs, tapping at your hipbone over the fabric of your underwear.

You do as told, awkwardly pulling them off and tossing the soggy garment behind you.

“God, that was so sexy,” he says, making you snort.

“Shut up and fuck me, Munson.” Your smirk reaches your eyes, a glint of recklessness coursing through them.

“Fuck. Yes ma’am.”

He instructs you back into your previous position, your legs around his waist, opening you up for him perfectly. He looks down, guiding himself to your entrance to the best of his ability through the wonky lens of the water. He isn’t sure if he’s quite got it until a gasp escapes your lips, your nails digging into his back.

And then he’s pressing further in, not too much but enough to get you to make more pretty sounds for him. You cry out from the feeling of him parting your walls, a delicious pleasure-soaked burn that has your eyes screwing shut.

Eddie’s having none of that, though.

“Nuh-uh,” he rasps. “Look at me. Need to see your face while I fill you up.”

Your eyes open slowly, head lolling deliriously to meet his stare. His eyes are heavy-lidded, lip sucked between his teeth as he gives you more of him. His cock is thick, an intrusion the size of which you’ve never felt before. You feel full to the brim and he’s not even balls-deep yet. The thought makes your head spin.

His eyes are so gentle, deep and familiar pools of brown that feel a lot like home. It’s obscene, the juxtaposition between lust and adoration you feel for him.

“God,” he grunts, “you’re so tight around me, baby. Can feel you squeezing me.”

You whine in response, his cock finally sheathing itself entirely within you. His name escapes you on a high pitched moan, and you see a blaze of fire pass behind his eyes. He’s feeling this aching desire just as much as you are.

“Please,” you beg. “Please fuck me.”

“Yeah?” he purrs. “You want it?”

It’s teasing, he’s mocking you and your impatience to be ruined by him. In any other circumstance you’d tease him right back, but you’re too drunk on him to care.

“I need it. Please, Eddie.”

“Shit, you’re gonna be the fuckin’ death of me,” he replies, steadying himself with one hand gripping the concrete edge behind you.

Your back is pressed firmly to the pool’s wall, Eddie’s chest pressed to your front. You’re caged in, loving your proximity to him. He gives you one final glance before his hips begin to rock into yours.

His thrusts are fast, yet you feel them in slow motion. Every inch of his cock dragging out of you before pushing back in, the fat head of him pressing deep inside. Your body feels like it’s on fire in the best way, the water around you doing nothing to extinguish you. Eddie is the oxygen, bringing you roaring to life, and you don’t want any bit of it to stop.

You cling onto him, your wet hands not getting much grip against his wet shoulders. Your breath comes out in spurts with each thrust he gives you, a repetitive ‘ah-ah-ah’ with each snap of his hips to yours.

“Christ, sweetheart,” Eddie pants. “Feel so fucking good on my cock, holy shit.”

A half-smile graces your lips, and he leans forward to snatch them in a heated kiss. The combination of his warm tongue slipping into your mouth and his cock pressing perfectly against your sweet spot has you reeling, tension winding itself tight in the pit of your stomach. Your hands move to hold his face, keeping him right where he is. He smiles against your lips and it makes your heart soar, pulse pounding in your chest.

Every thrust sends pangs of pleasure straight to your gut, and you know you won’t last much longer. How can you last, when the sounds he’s making are sinful and his cock fits inside of you like it was made to be there.

“Fff-uuuuck,” he groans, eyes screwing shut. “I’m gonna cum, babe, where do you want it?”

“Inside,” you croak, barely getting the word out in your breathless state. Your head is lolling back, eyes closed in complete bliss.

“Shit, are you sure? Look at me — are you sure?” he asks, tilting your chin up.

“Yes, Ed. Please,” you insist, hurtling towards your release.

He gives you a few final thrusts, hard and fast before he’s twitching inside of you, giving you all that he has for you. Your name falls from his lips again and again; a chant, a prayer. You’re cumming within seconds of him, clamping down around his cock as pleasure crashes over you in heavy waves. Your legs grow weak, barely able to keep yourself wrapped around him. He senses it, holding you up as you ride out your high.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” you pant, chest heaving with each breath.

Eddie’s watching you intently, waiting to make sure you’re okay, that you enjoyed yourself. That you aren't going to leave. That this wasn’t a dream.

When you meet his gaze, a lazy smile tugs at your mouth.

“Please tell me that was as good for you as it was for me,” Eddie says, leaning to press his forehead against yours.

You laugh lightly, arms looping around his neck. “Yeah. It was,” you chew at your lip, suddenly feeling shy again.

“Come on, let’s get you dried off,” he says, pressing a sweet kiss to your soft lips, before fully pulling out of you.

You wince at the loss of him, hands pressing against his chest when he moves to lift you out of the water.

“Wait,” you say, halting him.

He cocks a brow, hands resting on your hips.

“You never taught me how to swim,” you murmur, feeling a newfound boldness.

“Well shit, sweetheart. If all I had to do to get you to learn was fuck you, why didn’t you say so?” he jokes, bellowing a laugh when you slap him, more a spray of water than any actual impact.

“If you want the chance to do it again, Munson, I suggest you shut your mouth,” you quip, smirking as he gives you a mock salute.

“Once again — yes ma’am. Let the swimming lessons commence.”

[rosesaints]

*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟgojo thinks he might be obsessed with your mouth. 

his little fixation always flares at unfortunate times, times that should be meaningless and innocent, knows you're not even trying and that angers him even more. like when you're savoring some expensive gelato he's gotten for you, pretty lips parted between a silver spoon and you're moaning lowly from the taste, looking up at him with gratitude and unabashed adoration. "tastes so good, 'toru!"

he forces himself to nod, but he can't quiet keep his eyes away from how your tongue licks the spoon clean, wants to lean over and throw that fucking gelato away and make you look at him, clashing his mouth to yours and tasting the sweetness on your lips.

you also have this nasty little habit of applying lip gloss and using him as a mirror of sorts, forcing him to hold up your tiny little mirror and having to watch as you pucker up and apply the glassy, shimmering liquid, lips slightly parted and he has to will himself to ignore the rock hard erection that's rapidly forming in between his legs. "'toru, does it look good?"

and it's when you're lost in thought, the plump of your bottom lip catching between your teeth, and he watches tiny little imprints form, imagines it was him biting down instead and making you squeal in delight and pain. he replays that little fantasy over and over at night, jerking himself off with a desperation and forcing himself to stay quiet.

he thinks about what you would do, if only you knew just how depraved your best friend was, bringing himself over the edge with these small, innocent interactions. thinks about your lovely face crumpling up in disgust at the realization of his obsession, lips curling, and he cums just like that.

swears to himself that he'll never do it again, knows it's wrong but he just can't help it, even when you're laying him to absolute filth, yelling obscene things at him with murderous intent after a particularly risky move from him that almost obliterated half of tokyo. the key word being almost. eyes glazing over when he spots the pink of your tongue, your pouty and undeniably fuckable lips, graphic images of him feeding you his heavy cock, tongue swiping across the bulbous head and then your lips wrapping around the length of him—

"satoru! god, are you even listening to me?"

it's never satoru, with you, always 'toru, you never get this mad at him. but he just can't quite focus on that, mind hyperfixating on the other thing instead. "what did you call me?"

"satoru. fuck, you're so dense sometimes, just forget about it—"

gojo rises to his full height, and your eyes widen just slightly, lips forming into that pout he's come to adore. "wanna try that again?"

he knows that sometimes, sometimes you just need a little push. something to occupy that little brain of yours, going a million miles an hour. he thinks he might've just found a nice solution to fulfill both your needs, three fingers shoved past your mouth as he drills into you from behind in an abandoned stairwell.

he coos, and you're probably frowning, chest huffing and puffing as you desperately try to maintain this image that you're not going as crazy as him, but he can see right through it. his fingers are absolutely soaked with drool and his pace gets even more brutal everytime your throat tightens around him. you yelp when he hits that gummy, delicious spot inside you, and finally, you let that dam break.

when he flips you over to finally face him, he appreciates his handiwork, your mouth and the bottom half of your face coated with saliva. pulls his fingers back and abruptly stops fucking into you, just to watch the panic flare in your eyes, pushing forward to try and get him back inside you. "no, 'toru, no, don't stop, come back, come back—"

gojo smiles, thumb swiping back over your bottom lip and watching as they part almost obediently. "you gonna beg for it, sweetheart?"

© ROSESAINTS ! — do not repost, translate, plagiarise or claim any of my works as your own.

[moonchild9350]

Napping With Stray Kids

Summary: Just my thoughts on napping with Skz!

Pairing: OT8 idol Stray Kids x reader

Word Count: 881

Genre: fluff, suggestive

Warnings: none (shocking for me lol)

Notes: This was fun to write and had to put something together real quick before life gets busy again! I'm happy this came up in our convos @jeonginsleftcheek! I hope you guys like it!

Likes, reblogs, and comments welcomed as always :)

Please do not copy, translate, modify, use, or repost this work elsewhere without my permission. ©moonchild9350 (2024)

Bangchan We all know Bangchan has insomnia and doesn’t sleep well or much at all but he’s more than happy to at least try to nap with you if you suggest it. He’ll hold off on his never ending to do list, because he’ll do anything for his baby girl. You snuggle into his arms, as he pulls the blankets up and around you to keep you warm. His fingers lightly drag up and down your spine, soothing you. He’ll even sing you a song to help you fall asleep if you want. Tucking your head into his chest, your breathing starts to slow as you fall asleep. Chan tries, he really does, to fall asleep and nap with you but he’s perfectly content watching you sleep in his arms.

Lee Know I’m convinced that if you try to nap with Minho, sleep won’t come right away. He’ll try and tickle you knowing how ticklish you are, giggling as you squirm and grab a pillow to throw it at him. He’ll tackle you and press kisses all over your face while you laugh and tell him to stop (even though you don’t want him to, not really). After retrieving the pillows off the floor, you’ll both settle in, Minho wrapping his arms around your waist and snuggling his head into your neck. If you’re lucky the kids will come nap with you guys too, Soonie napping by both of your heads, Doongie at your feet, and Dori snuggling into your side.

Changbin Changbin would be one to be watching videos on his phone like tik tok or YouTube and would giggle every two seconds at something funny. Every time you close your eyes to nap, his giggle would fill the room causing you to open your eyes and laugh back with him. You can’t help it, he’s just so darn cute! Eventually you do fall asleep, your head resting on your chest. Binnie notices you’re asleep (which is a miracle honestly because the man can’t multitask to save his life) and tries his best not to make a sound, you just look so peaceful and he wants to make sure his baby gets plenty of rest.

Hyunjin I believe that napping with Hyunjin would be the most poetic? Like you’re all curled up in his bed, blanket wrapped around you, your hair fanned out on his pillow. He’s sitting at his desk painting, cause when is he not. But you don’t mind. You watch him for a while, the way his hands move around the paper, the little face he makes when the color doesn’t come out the way he wants. You eventually drift off to sleep. Hyunjin notices, and smiles, happy you’re here with him. Little do you know, you’re sleeping form is the subject of his painting, as he thinks you look like an angel.

Han Han is the certified nap man, this is no secret. He is always down for a nap, add you in the equation and he’s the happiest man on earth. He’ll pull you into his arms, pressing sweet kisses and nuzzling his head into your neck. It doesn’t take long for you both to fall asleep. You’re just so cute together. And bonus points for the members if you guys fall asleep at the studio. They’re ohhhing and awwing at you two love birds, fast asleep together.

Felix On his off days, he’s at his computer, playing Genshin. It’s really the only time he has to play. But the moment you come over, he logs off and he goes to snuggle with you. You love looking at Felix’s face, tracing his freckles while he looks deep into your eyes. You’re both just so in love with each other. Your eyes slowly close, perfectly content in his arms. Felix would lean down to press a kiss on your nose, before closing his own eyes. He finds he sleeps best when you’re by his side.

Seungmin Now Seungmin could go both ways when it comes to napping with you. He could be a total menace by poking your face and tickling you. Making fun of your protests (lovingly of course) and not letting you sleep. Or he could be the exact opposite, a sweet puppy, pulling you close and softy singing you a song to help lull you to sleep. Either way he will end of falling asleep with you, mind blown at how he could have ended up with such a sweet person as you.

I.N. Now Jeongin is a middle child and hates skinship, this we all know. But I’m convinced if he’s going to snuggle and fall asleep with someone it’s you, the love of his life. It’s different when you touch him, he craves your touch more than he thought possible. He makes sure you’re all tucked in, nice and warm, but not so much so that he can’t feel you anymore. You’ll laugh at his actions, telling him you’re fine as long as he’s there. He doesn’t listen, he wants to make sure you have a nice rest and being warm and comfortable is part of that. To top it all off, he’ll drape your legs over his, and wrap his arms around you as you both drift off to sleep.

Taglist: @jehhskz @jeonginsleftcheek

[mostlymarvelsstuff]

Reader Receives WandaNats Nudes Accidentally

Authors note: For my ease, all of the drabbles for the couples will have reader receiving the couples nudes in the same manner (Though circumstances do differ). I apologize if this becomes repetitive.

Warnings: smut (fingering and mirror sex)

Word count: 902

WandaNat Masterlist Marvel Masterlist How They React To Masterlist

   Wanda lets out a small mewl as Natashas fingers curl inside of her and she leans further back into the redhead's embrace. The feeling of her girlfriends hardened nipples against her bare back has Wanda feeling even more flustered, and she closes her eyes in an effort to regain some semblance of composure

   “Ah ah, open your eyes” Natasha commands, monetarily halting the movement of her fingers, “You're supposed to be watching how I fuck you, remember?”

    Wanda squirms slightly, but nods her head, “Sorry Tasha….”

    “It's alright” she replies, kissing the side of the younger woman's neck before she starts pumping her fingers once more, causing a moan to escape the brunette, “So pretty…”

   All Wanda can do is whimper in response as she subconsciously spreads her legs further apart, which only causes Natasha to chuckle at her neediness. The older woman moves the hands that had previously been resting on Wanda's waist up to her chest, first just feeling each shuddering breath she was taking before groping her

   “O Bozhe(Oh god)!”

   Natasha can’t help but smile against her girlfriend's bare shoulder, there is absolutely nothing that compares to this. She loves being able to make the younger woman fall apart like this while bringing her the heights of pleasure and the fact that Wanda trusts her with such vulnerabilities always has her own heart racing

   They both look in the mirror's reflection, watching how Wanda's pussy eagerly swallows the older woman's two slender digits, her arousal dripping down the Russians wrist and onto the bed sheets below. The sight has Wanda feeling even more turned on, but also slightly embarrassed by the vulnerability and mess

   Natasha can sense this and not wanting her girlfriend to worry she offers up some praise, “Thats it dorogoy(sweetheart), you're doing so well”

   Wanda shudders as the words are whispered against her, and her walls flutter around Natashas fingers indicating she's approaching her release. Nat brings her thumb to circle the younger womans clit as her fingers start thrusting even faster, and she brings her other hand up to squeeze her neck

   “I know you're close….cum for me”

   “Ah! Tasha!” Wanda shouts, her legs shaking as her walls clamp down on her girlfriends fingers and her juices gush out onto the redheads palm

   Nat continues to gently pump her fingers to help her ride out her orgasm and only pulls them out when she hears Wanda whimper, telling her without words that she's too sensitive to continue. She brings her fingers up to her own lips and sucks them clean, savoring the taste of her girlfriend while still making eye contact in the mirrors reflection, causing Wanda's now free hole to twitch around nothing

   Once her fingers are clean an idea enters her head and she quickly grabs her phone from beside them. Wanda groggily watches as she holds it up beside them, pointing it towards the mirror and the thumb of the hand that had still be wrapped loosely around her neck rubs a soothing circle

   “Look at your reflection, detka(baby)” she listens and hears a picture be taken, and it must turn out well based on the reaction of, “Perfect”

   Nat kisses her cheek as her hand moves back down to rest on her waist, but before she can set her phone down again Wanda's turning slightly, “Can you send it to me, please?”

   Nat smiles, “Of course lyubov'(love)”

   She quickly sends it off, not noticing that she's hit the wrong chat before she helps Wanda to the bathroom. By the time she's done helping clean her up and get her into her pajamas a bit of energy has come back to Wanda and she excitedly makes her way to grab her phone. She's happy with what she sees, and finds it very hot. Until she notices that its actually been sent off to the groupchat with their bestfriend and not so secret crush, Y/n

   “Tasha…lyubov'(love), you sent it to our chat with Y/n….”

   The Russians green eyes go wide with anxiety and she squeaks out a small, “Shit”

   Downstairs you're in the compound's kitchen, unfortunately listening to Steve drone on about something regarding the new training routine when you hear your phone go off. But thanks to Captain blabbermouth you can’t yet check it, which sucks considering that it's most likely from one of the beautiful and amazing women you get to call best friends and certainly don't yearn for in a more than friends way.

   Finally his speech is over and you quickly grab your sandwich and start to head off for your room before remembering the message and pulling out your phone. When your eyes take in the sight of a naked, spread open and clearly freshly fucked Wanda whose leaning against an equally naked Natasha who has ahold of the younger womans throat, you nearly drop your sandwich in the hallway

   Your mind races as you try to comprehend everything, but the shock must make you take too long because suddenly a text from Wanda is coming through, Y/n, are you ok?

   Am I okay? Wands, I’ve just seen you and Natty nude after sex…I think I’ve ascended 

   “Yeah, she's fine” Nat says with a smirk beside the brunette before sending a reply, Well, if you enjoyed it so much, why don't you ascend your way to our room 

    Without hesitation you drop your sandwich and hastily make your way to the elevator down the hall, Yes ma'am

Taglist: @wandaromamoff69 @when-wolves-howl @danveration @sheneonromanoff @sayah13 @likefirenrain @nighttime-dreaming @just-a-torn-up-masterpiece @chaoticevilbakugo @crystalstark02 @wackymcstupid @lovelyy-moonlight @blackwidow-3 @mistressofinsomnia @that-one-gay-mosquito @yomamagf @yourfavdummy @justarandomreaderxoxo @scoutlp23-blog @whoischanelle15 @lissaaaa145 @eline03 @wizardofstories@imthenatynat @marvelonmymind @fluffyblanketgecko @bitch-616 @dakotastorm @zoomdeathknight @aeroae @sashawalker2

[certifiedlovergirlsstuff]

kiss kiss fall in love | s.r. x pregnant!fem reader

your hormones have peeked at your five month mark. your belly started to properly show now and your tastebuds were only slightly concerning. at least the morning sickness was gone, top two worst things about pregnancy, second having to give birth.

you lounged on the couch as you watched your daughter and husband playing on the floor, bits of their hair covered their faces in a curtain. spencer was already teaching her the ways of chess, she asked him many questions.

“how come the queen isn’t wearing a gold crown? she’s special.” holding a black chess piece in her small palm. you chuckled at the childish question.

“well she is wearing a crown, but if you want we can paint it gold. she is the most important piece of the game.” spencer agreed with annabeth, ruffling her locks. he stood from the ground, made a quick stop to kiss your cheek and went into the hallway to comeback with the craft supplies box. he pulled out the paint pens, “why don’t you decorate all of them how you want? it’ll be our special set.”

annabeth went quick to work on coloring over the pieces, some covered in swirled and dots while others had hearts or stars. she even drew a couple of happy expressions, then one sad one, “because he’s just a pawn.” you and spencer chuckled at her reasoning.

you rubbed your palm along your swollen stomach, old stretch marks reappearing at the bottom. your cotton shorts and simple tank feeling suffocating even with minimal fabric. “oh!” a tiny yelp from your lips, eyes widening and mouth pursing.

spencer snapped his head your way, “what’s wrong?” hurrying over to you. annabeth stopped her work to watch both of you with her big eyes. you let a smile ease onto your face, “the baby kicked.”

annabeth scrambled over, “can i feel?” tucking her hands into her chest for restraint. “of course, sweets. here,” holding a palm out for her tiny hand to sit and you guided it over to where the kick happened.

“try speaking to them. they like hearing our voices,” whispering to your daughter when the baby didn’t kick right away. little annabeth leaned in close, her lips grazing your ticklish skin, “i can’t wait to meet you. i’m gonna be the best big sister to you.”

it took a moment but then another kick appeared, “kick! i felt a kick!” she squealed, giving a little jump to her body. she looked to spencer, “daddy! daddy feel the baby!” reaching for his hand like you did earlier.

spencer cooed and gasped with annabeth when another kick appeared. “hi little one,” spencer whispered close, “i’m your daddy and your big sister is next to me. we can’t wait to meet you.” another strong kick followed.

“okay, how about we give mommy a rest. cause my organs aren’t feeling happy about being a soccer ball.” ruffling at your daughter hair. annabeth pressed a kiss goodbye to the growing baby and went back to her art project.

spencer joined you on the couch, arm thrown behind your head and resting on your shoulders while you leaned into him. “how are you feeling? need anything?” his rich voice caressing your ear and making your heart race.

you turned to him with a bright smile, “i do actually. i need a thousand kisses from you. haven’t been given my usually attention.” pouting exaggerated.

spencer looked surprised, “a thousand? man i must be really behind.” clicking his teeth. you nodded, “you have mister. better get started.” puckering up with your eyes closed.

spencer’s light giggles filled your soul and then his lips on yours caused a craving. “more,” a quiet demand.

a fast peck, “oh this is gonna take awhile.”

a lingering drawl, “we’re getting somewhere.”

another fast kiss, but you could tell spencer didn’t move far away. his breath tingled your wet lips, “i’m gonna have to call hotch to babysit if you want all those kisses.” a fifth kiss before his weight left the couch and his footsteps disappeared. you thought it was a little funny he was gonna call his boss on an off day so your child and his could have that playdate that’s been in the works.

“bethie,” calling for your daughter with outstretched arms. she worked her way beside you on the couch an wrapped her arms in a side hug, here genetic reid puppy eyes glaring upon you. “would you be okay to have a playdate with jack today?” smoothing a hand over the crown of her head.

“really?” eyes wide with excitement. you nodded, “you have to be a good girl for mr and mrs. hotchner. that’s daddy’s boss and our friend, say please and thank you. and also make sure you’re cleaning up after yourself.”

spencer walked back into the living room, “the hotchners are on their way. and they happily agreed to bethie joining them on their trip to the aquarium.” scooping annabeth up, both of them yelling “aquarium! aquarium!”

“i wanna see the stingrays!” annabeth declared to jack when him and hotch appeared at your door fifteen minutes later. the three of you watched the two chat while you packed her little backpack of supplies, you handed it off to hotch with a grateful smile.

“thank you for accepting on short notice. i just really want to be alone with my husband, im deprived of attention. i’m wilting like a flower.” sighing and aching as you talked to hotch.

the older man smiled and lightly chuckled, you’re one of the few to crack that stone facade spencer says. “jack’s been missing her anyway, he was trying for a sleepover as well tonight.” you raised your brows, “we’ll see how the afternoon goes.”

once you were completely alone, you dragged spencer behind you into your shared bedroom. “more kisses please,” sitting at the foot of the bed.

spencer moved to stand in the space between your spread legs, his hands cupping at your cheeks like you were fine china. your wandering fingers slid under his plain t-shirt, sitting in his waistband and rubbing against his slim stomach. “don’t keep me waiting, pretty boy. i will start getting angry.”

spencer bent in and let his plush lips mesh with yours, his nose tickling at your cheek when he changed angles to broaden the intimate act. a hum sounded from your throat as you opened your mouth wider and let your tongue wonder, desperately needing a french kiss. a moan echoed in the room as spencer moved from your lips to your jaw, further down onto your neck.

“this- this is nice,” letting a hand sink into the ends of his hair. your nails scratching at his scalp as your eyes fluttered and pulse spiked.

“i love you so much,” lips causing a shiver to erupt. you sighed, “i- i love you too. so lucky for- for marrying you.” your hands starting to mess with spencer’s belt and zipper.

“gonna show you how loved you are.”

[hoshifighting]

okay imagine mingyu returning back from touring and is trying to getting into reader’s pants but the boys don’t get the clue and tag along to his apartment, the sexual tension between gyu and reader is over the roof, reader keeps gesturing mingyu to send the boys home but they’re just clueless...please add in some moreeeee

Synopsis: where you and mingyu want to catch up in bed after he return form touring, but the boys don't pick up on the little signs mingyu gives about wanting them to leave his apartment.

Warnings: Fingering, penetrative sex, chocking, biting, sexual tension...

mingyu had just returned from touring, and the excitement of seeing him again was almost unbearable. you’d missed him so much, and now, after what felt like forever, he was finally back. but the reunion wasn’t going as planned.

mingyu had brought some of the boys back to his apartment. you’d been hoping for some alone time, but now, the place was bustling with noise and laughter. mingyu looked at you with those smoldering eyes, the sexual tension between you two palpable, but the boys just didn’t get the clue.

you sat on the couch, mingyu beside you, his arm casually draped over your shoulders. you could feel the heat radiating off him, his fingers lightly tracing circles on your skin. every touch making you melt, and it was getting harder and harder to keep your composure.

“hey, mingyu, pass the remote!” one of the boys called out, oblivious to the silent plea inyour eyes.

mingyu sighed, shifting to grab the remote, and you took the opportunity to lean in, whispering in his ear. “can’t you get them to leave?”

he glanced at you, a wicked smile tugging at his lips. “i’m trying,” he whispered back, his voice low and husky. “they’re just not getting it.”

you decided to take matters into your own hands. standing up, you stretched, deliberately arching your back a little more than necessary, knowing mingyu’s eyes were on you. “i’m going to get some drinks,” you announced, heading towards the kitchen.

mingyu followed you, a little too quickly, drawing curious looks from the boys. in the kitchen, he pressed you against the counter, his body flush against yours. “you’re killing me,” he murmured, his lips grazing your neck.

“you need to get rid of them,” you insisted, your hands roaming over his chest. “i can’t wait much longer.”

he groaned, reluctantly pulling away. “okay, okay. give me a minute.”

mingyu returned to the living room, clapping his hands to get everyone’s attention. “alright, guys, i think it’s time to call it a night. i’ve got some serious jet lag.”

the boys groaned but started gathering their things. you breathed a sigh of relief, leaning against the doorway as you watched them slowly trickle out. mingyu was charming as always, thanking them for coming over, but you could see the impatience in his eyes.

finally, the door closed behind the last of them, and before you could even turn around, mingyu had you pinned against it. his lips crashed onto yours in a desperate, hungry kiss, his hands roaming over your body as if he couldn’t get enough of you.

“i’ve been waiting for this,” he murmured between kisses, his voice thick with desire. “you have no idea how much i’ve missed you.”

you moaned softly, your body melting against his. “show me,” you whispered back, your hands fumbling with the buttons on his shirt.

he lifted you effortlessly, carrying you to the bedroom, his lips never leaving yours. he laid you down on the bed, standing back for a moment to admire you. “you’re so beautiful,” he said, his voice full of awe.

you blushed, reaching out for him. “come here.”

mingyu joined you on the bed, his hands and lips exploring every inch of your body. he took his time, kissing and caressing you, making sure you were thoroughly aroused. his fingers found their way between your legs, teasing you, driving you wild with need.

“you’re so wet for me,” he murmured, his breath hot against your skin. “i need you so bad.”

you whimpered, your body arching towards his touch, but instead of giving in, he kept teasing, his fingers flicking over your clit in maddening circles. “mingyu,” you panted, frustration lacing your voice, “please, don’t tease me. not after this long without you.”

he scoffed lightly, a mischievous grin spreading across his face. “okay, okay,” he said, positioning himself between your legs. “i just wanted to make sure you’re ready.”

his cock brushed against your entrance, and he slowly pushed inside, the feeling of your velvety walls hugging him making him groan in pleasure. it was almost too much for him, the sensation so intense that he had to brace himself to keep from falling over you. “god, you feel so good,” he murmured, his voice thick with desire.

he started to move, his thrusts deep and deliberate. he bit your chin, then your neck, trailing open-mouthed kisses along your skin. his hand slid up to your neck, fingers wrapping around your throat in a gentle choke.

your eyes rolled back in your head, your body trembling with each powerful thrust. “i missed you so much,” you moaned, your voice barely more than a breathless whimper. “so much, mingyu.”

he groaned, tightening his grip on your neck slightly, his hips driving into you with more intensity. “i missed you too,” he panted, his lips finding yours in a desperate, hungry kiss. “you have no idea how much.”

each movement brought you both closer to the edge, the room filled with the sounds of your sex. the intensity of it all, the feeling of being connected after so long, was almost overwhelming.

as you reached your orgasm, your body tensed, a cry of his name escaping your lips. mingyu followed soon after, collapsing beside you, both of you breathing heavily.he pulled you close, his lips pressing a tender kiss to your forehead.

“worth the wait?” he asked, a teasing smile on his lips, even as his fingers continued to trace lazy patterns on your skin.

“absolutely,” you replied, snuggling into his embrace. “but next time, let’s skip the reunion party.”

[kenntolog]

“kento! c’mere for a moment, please!” your head pops from the bedroom as you smile at him, a little bit too excited, which makes him wonder what’s up. of course, he nods and puts his book away to stand up and walk over to you.

he watches you fiddle with a baby pink satin ribbon and scissors, cutting a lengthy piece of it before turning to face with a giddy smile.

you step closer, looking up at him coyly, the pleasant lilt of your voice filling his ears, “can you help me with this, baby?”

“what do i have to do?” he asks, hands already moving to take the ribbon from your hands, assuming you need him to do something with it, but you pull it away quickly, your smile turning a little mischievous.

“just stand there and look pretty, kento, that’s all i need.”

his brows raise at that yet he doesn’t interfere, a little more intrigued now.

the ribbon is not as lengthy as nanami thought it would be — he realises it only when you start wrapping, well, more like trying to wrap it around the expanse of his shoulders and back. he watches in amusement how you huff and puff, struggling to get it right, and he caves his shoulders in a little more.

finally, a minute of his sore limbs feeling even worse later, you’re able to tie a small bow right in the middle of his chest. admiring your work with a small ‘yay!’, you step away and sit down on the bed while nanami continues standing in front of you, still very much uncomfortable and waiting for some kind of command from you.

“so? was this all you wanted, m?”

“‘course not, kento! i need you to stand straight now.”

his brow raises once again, but he complies, straightening his back and shoulders as the ribbon rips off with a small pop. he carefully watches the way your eyes widen, glistening with something he can only decipher as fascination and excitement. you giggle giddily and clap for him a few times, making him chuckle as he sits down by your side.

“are you bored, my darling?”

“heh, kentoo~” you whine with a smile, arms wrapping around him as you position yourself on his lap swiftly. “jus’ wanted to admire you a lil’ bit.”

he can’t help the corners of his lips from tugging up in a small smile, just like he can’t stop himself from turning you over onto the bed and hovering over you on his forearms to admire you too.

[notebooks-and-laptops]

The thing that gets me about Varric in The Missing and the new gameplay, is that this has happened to him before.

He already had a friend who tore down his world - even if on a much smaller scale. He had a friend who was a mage, who had suffered and experienced injustice, and who used that as fuel to do something awful that might achieve his aims but would kill a lot of people, would tear about Varric's chosen family and...and he couldn't stop him. He didn't really try.

Varric in Inquisition is bitter - horribily bitter - about Anders. About what happened in Kirkwall. From da2 in his ambient dialogue we see that he knew something was wrong. He even says he thinks Anders will get himself killed if he keeps doing what he's doing. He's rightfully suspicious of him in the third act. But ultimately, he does nothing. Even when Anders is waiting there, possibly about to die, he refuses to commit to an opinion, to a side. And then in Inquisition he blames Anders bitterly. He's angry at him. But he also blames himself, it's all tangled up in the deep roads, in bartrand and red lyrium and the fact that he was the one who brought all these individuals together.

So skip forward to now. To Veilguard. To Solas trying to tear down the veil. And I honestly think Varric is seeing them both. He looks at Solas and he sees his friend Chuckles, and he sees his friend Blondie and he already failed one of them when they were in this situation. He stood by even and let Anders die! He didn't try and stop him, he saw the signs and did nothing. And this time he will not let that happen. This time he will not lose his friend. He will not stand by and watch him die, and he will not stand by and watch him destory the world.

The whole Solas thing is just a larger expansion of what happened in Kirkwall to Varric, except this time it's happening everywhere and the stakes are much higher. Which makes it even more tragic that all he wants to do is talk him down, give him another option, get his friend back. I just...fhjudbhajfdhfhareli

[ghoulbrain]

The Cost of Flesh

18+ 4.9k the ghoul x f!reader. gif credit. dirty talk, vaginal fingering, clothed/naked, finger sucking, grinding on a cowboy boot, cooper's busted anatomy forces him to get creative, body worship, lightly established dynamic, surprisingly sentimental. a prompt from @tearueful that got wildly out of hand. thank you, friend! 🖤

When what starts off as a purely sexual arrangement with the Waste's most notorious bounty hunter–the ghoul–gradually grows into a living, breathing love, you're both forced to confront the inevitable humanity that comes with sharing your body with another.

There’s a living myth that walks the wastes, a figure known exclusively as the ghoul. He’s enigmatic, a force of nature that declares himself to the world with his every step. If you're unaware of sharing a room with him, it’s likely because he’s hunting you, in which case it’s not a matter of if he catches you, but when.

Naturally, it was the talk of the town when he made a regular haunt out of the saloon you worked in.

He watched you serve drinks all evening, his gaze a physical thing upon you. Normally you expected a degree of harassment from clientele, raiders and the like often rolling through, but it was as though everyone else sensed his attention on you as much as you did. You could tell from the tilted angle of the wide brim of his hat when he was listening to your conversations.

It was as eerie as it was intriguing. You couldn’t fathom a bounty on your head, so what did he want?

You would soon be ensnared by him, but not for a bounty. It was for pleasure. Your pleasure.

“Come upstairs with me,” He murmured in your ear, standing close behind you, a gloved knuckle rolling up your spine. “Y’ain’t gatta do nothin’. I won’t hurt’cha none. Just wanna hear a pretty bird sing.”

You shivered, caught unaware. You never even heard his approach, even though the din of the bar had quieted in the late evening.

“I’m not for sale,” you replied, testing the water. He was close enough that you felt him, but not so close you were pinned. You could move if you wanted to.

“I ain’t buyin’,” he gave back. You could feel the heat of his breath on your neck. “But I’ll make it worth y’while.”

The gravel grit of his voice was nearly drowned out by the drumming of your own pulse in your ears. To this day, you don’t know what possessed you to agree, but you did. He took your hand in his, the leather of his glove soft with wear, and led you away from the bar. The next thing you knew, he was stripping you bare in one of the dark rooms above the bar.

The ceremony with which he undressed you had felt disconcertingly like meal prep. He tied your hands above your head, and your heart thundered with the understanding that there was nothing to stop him from devouring you alive where you lay sprawled out on the bed. 

By the time his gloved hands were dragging away your underwear, you felt dizzy with the heady mix of arousal and fear, an unquiet ache thrumming between your thighs. Your only meager assurance was that of all the legends you’d heard of the ghoul, seducing and eating barmaids wasn’t among them. 

And yet devour you he did. You were hooked from that very first wet, hot slide of his tongue against your clit. He spent hours with you that night, mapping your body with his tongue, your scars and blemishes serving as waypoints and constellations. He nipped and sucked until dark marks blossomed under his tongue, and he relished those spots more than any other.

He never took off more than his gloves, and he never let you touch him. He never fucked you. He brought you to climax with his mouth and his hands so many times you lost track of the number. All you could do was writhe and moan your pleasure. He didn’t stop until those moans turned to sobs, until you begged him to. After that, he cut your binds loose and left you a mess on the bed, aching and used. 

You laid there for a long time, thinking you would never see him again.

The ghoul returned not a week later. 

He wasn’t subtle about what he wanted from you, beckoning you from across the bar with a crook of two fingers. You felt your knees weaken with the memory of those same fingers in your mouth, your cunt, that hand pinning you by your throat to feel your cries against his palm. He stared at you from beneath the brim of his hat, cocked his head. You nodded, and his eyes flashed.

Hungry.

You didn’t learn his name until your third encounter. He whispered it in your ear.

“Now scream it for me, sweetheart.”

You did.

The two of you would meet several more times. He would stay a little longer after each session, and bit by bit, you would come to understand the man beyond the ghoul. He doesn’t talk about himself, and he doesn’t ask anything of your life in turn, but he reveals himself in pieces nonetheless. Beneath the ruthless pragmatism of his legendary persona, you find the manners of a shockingly tender gentleman lurking.

He’s always unhurried in disrobing you, devoted to the task at hand: taking you apart piece by piece. He treats each article of frayed clothing like a piece of paper that might tear if he pulls too hard. He makes the process of being undressed in and of itself feel like sex, every move intentionally sensual. 

For you, the experience ranges from thrilling to maddening depending on your mood that day. He never heeds you, always keen to take his time regardless of your impatience. He takes a particular kind of enjoyment in your body, the likes of which you’ve never known. You’re certain he knows it better than you do at this point, and yet he’s never laid himself bare to you. Never let you bring him the kind of pleasure he brings you.

He’s never kissed you.

“Please. I wanna touch you, too,” you tell breathlessly, knelt between his legs, naked as sin. His focus breaks, gaze snapping to yours. You lick your lips, relishing the rare feeling of catching him off guard. You slide your hands up his thighs, inching towards his groin. “Taste you. Make you twist. When’re you gonna let me, huh?”

He catches your wrists as quickly as a viper strikes, holding you still for a long, tense moment. You hold his gaze without any of the fear or reservation you’d felt that first day. 

Despite the warmth that’s grown between you in the time since that first night, you’re uncertain of what exactly the two of you are now. It would be romantic to think of this feeling in your chest as love. Certainly it is intimacy. Familiarity. What is love if not consistency? Perhaps it’s like masonry. Steel against stone, and the conscious choice to change something as immutable as solid rock.

For as long as he chooses to come back to you, to find his pleasure in you, is that not love? If it isn’t, it might just be the closest you’ve ever come to it.

Dumbstruck for a moment by the tenderness in your gaze, Cooper’s own drops to your hand, lifting it to his mouth. His grip is tight, but not painful. As he does with everything else, he takes his time answering.

“Won’t do much good, darlin’,” he says, folding your hands wrist over wrist. You perk up. He’s never given a proper explanation for why he seems to have no interest in your reciprocation. From his belt, he withdraws a length of rope and begins encircling your wrists. You allow it, the ritual a familiar one. “Plumbing’s long busted, but that don’t mean I don’t enjoy myself. Enjoy you.”

Like the final piece of a puzzle falling in place, understanding dawns. His initial use of you drops perfectly into context. It was like you were more an object to him than a person, a vessel for him to exact sensation upon. You understand now that that’s exactly what you were. Be it the radiation or the myriad of drugs he takes to keep the degeneration at bay, it’s likely just one more piece of him the Wasteland has stolen.

“Oh.”

“Disappointed?” He asks, fastening the rope with a sharp tug that shoots a hot throb between your thighs. If he’s apprehensive about your answer, he hides it well. If they still made movies, he’d make for a fine actor.

You pause, giving the question the thought it deserves. “Not exactly. Maybe a bit,” you say, struggling to articulate the feeling. “Kind of relieved, though. I didn’t know if you couldn’t, or just didn’t want to,” you admit, leaning into it when he brings his palm to the side of your face. Your lips part automatically for the brush of his thumb along them. “I just want to do more.”

Cooper’s gaze softens, the line of his mouth twitching in what almost looks like a smile before it’s tampered by a profound sense of sadness. However, it disappears as quickly as the smile that nearly was. His expression smooths back out into controlled focus.

“So do more,” he says in that molasses drawl, thick and sweet. It could be your imagination, but his voice sounds warmer than it did a moment ago. “Put on a show for me.” He widens the spread of your legs with the press of his boot to your inner thigh. “I got plenty ‘a things for you t’ride.”

He lifts the worn leather to the wet heat gathering between your thighs and you shudder, lashes fluttering. His boot sinks back to the ground and you follow it, grinding down against the leather with a soft sigh of pleasure. He hooks his fingers through the tether around your wrists and draws you forward by it, his knee pressing between your breasts, your bound hands resting on his thigh.

“Don’t take much t’get you moanin’, do it, sweetie?” He baits, mouth curved in a crooked smile. You roll your hips with a soft keen, shaking your head. You were already tingling all over from the slow way he’d undressed you, and now that ache is growing rapidly into thrumming need. He whistles lowly. “All that noise for a li’l friction.”

He bucks his boot against your cunt, wringing a cry out of you. You screw your eyes shut, clutching at his pant leg while you roll your hips, embarrassed by how right he is. Everything he does is electrifying, and his honied voice in your ears helps turn the curve of his boot into the most exquisite touch you’ve ever known.

With his teeth, Cooper tugs off his glove and touches your cheek with warm, rough fingers. His bare thumb hooks your bottom lip, easing it open until you taste the salt of his skin pressing down on your tongue. “Or just didn’t want to…” He echoes through a frayed laugh, sounding equal parts amused and wistful at your words on his tongue. “Y’got no idea what I’d do to this sweet mouth if I could.” He presses his thumb deeper, watching with dark eyes as you start to suck. “What I’d give t’see how pretty you cry, chokin’ on my cock.”

He paints such a pretty picture that you long for it, too. Releasing his thumb with a breathy sound, you open your mouth. “More,” you say, your breaths shallow. “I want more.”

His own chest is heaving with each breath, his tongue caught between his teeth. He slips two fingers into your mouth, pushing them all the way to the knuckle. You both moan with it, pressure creeping slowly up your spine. He rocks his fingers in and out, and you start to match his pace, grinding against his boot as fast as his fingers fuck your mouth. 

Catching on, he kicks his pace up a notch, captivated by the pull of your lips, the shimmer of your saliva on his weathered skin. You can see it in his eyes, how he loses himself in your pleasure as if it’s his own, filling in the gaps with faded memories. He pushes in a third finger, teeth raking over his bottom lip. You push your tongue between them, over them, sucking and lapping as if it really is his cock in your mouth. 

“Fuck, darlin’,” he hisses, pulling sharply on your bindings. You make a noise around his fingers, so close to the peak of release that your lungs begin to seize, throat quieting. It’s pure agony when Cooper abruptly hauls you up onto your knees, halting your ascension. “C’mere,” he growls, all grit and throaty need. His fingers slip from your mouth and he manhandles you up into his lap, bringing you into a straddle over him, your bound wrists thrown over the back of his neck.

The same fingers he had halfway down your throat now move between your thighs, pressing into your slick, yielding body with two wet fingers in one deep push. You groan, the burning ache of it so good your eyes roll back. His free hand skirts up the length of your torso to the underside of your breast, kneading soft flesh with a rough hand. Then, so quick all you can do is gasp, he pushes the weight of it upward, meeting pearl-soft skin with lips, tongue and teeth.

All the while his fingers sink deeper, moving faster. He adds a third and you strain against your binds, arching your back, pressing your chest into his hungry mouth. He scissors his fingers, determined to make you feel every inch he fills you with.

“C-Cooper…” You keen, shivering for the hot slide of his tongue over your nipple, how he sucks it into his mouth.

Pulling off with a wet pop, he drags his tongue up the line between your breasts, greedy for the taste of you. “Shh, shh,” he hushes, already teasing a fourth finger. His breath is hot on your damp skin. “Just a little more, you can take it,” he says, pressing his thumb to your clit, rubbing circles to soothe the burn of being filled so suddenly.

“I can’t, I can’t,” you protest, nails biting into your own hands, eyes screwed shut.

“Y’already there, sugar,” he rumbles, each word rougher than the last. He’s right, you’re seated in the crook between his thumb and index finger, so full of him that your thighs are trembling from the strain of it. He rocks his hand slowly, fucking you deep, crooking his fingers until a sharp jolt of pleasure makes you shudder. “Doin’ good, takin’ everything I give you. That’s it. Go on, pretty bird. Sing me a song.”

Your eyes meet, both bleary and wild. You could lose yourself in the darkness of his gaze, and given his insatiable hunger, you know he would swallow you whole. You moan for him, sing his praise with the breathlessness of your voice, with the sway of your hips as you pick up his rhythm. He nods absently, watching you with such voracious wonder, you feel beyond yourself. Half human, half embodiment of pleasure. 

The meteoric rise back to the cusp of your climax feels like flying, your stomach tightening, the velvet walls of your cunt throbbing and squeezing his fingers so tightly, you feel their every slide.

You come hard on his fingers, crying out just before the height of your pleasure seizes you. Cooper watches every second of your release, his own lids flickering, though he never blinks. He slips his arm around your body and pulls you to him, naked skin pressed snug against leather and tattered fabric. You collapse into him, held up only by his grip and the tether binding your hands around his neck.

He holds you through the aftermath, savors every last wet quiver of your cunt around his fingers. His thrusts slow, but he doesn’t stop until–in a quaking breath–you beg him to. His fingers settle in deep, lingering a moment before he slides them free. The relief of escape from overstimulation is rivaled only by the awful emptiness that his fingers leave in you. You clench your shaking thighs on either side of him so that he might understand.

Stay.

Either he understands, or he simply isn’t through with you. His gloved hand slides up and down your back, thumb brushing the back of your neck on every upward swipe. Before long you hear a decidedly wet slurp, and you lift your head from his shoulder to look at him through euphoria addled eyes.

One by one, Cooper licks every one of his slick fingers clean, purring his approval. “Not even decades of radiation poisoning can erase the taste of good pussy,” he says, voice low and lazy. “And this, darlin'? Gourmet."

You smile, heat rushing up your chest to your cheeks. “I think you have an addiction,” you say, a slight slur to your words. You roll your fingers, which tingle faintly, the rope taking its toll on your circulation.

He clicks his tongue, hands settling on your hips. His hands are warm, and his touch erupts goosebumps up your spine. “Y’say that like it’s a problem. Gonna cut me off?”

“As your dealer, it’s in my best interest to encourage said addiction,” you say, cocking your head. Up close like this, focused only on each other’s eyes, it’s easy to forget he’s anything other than a man. His eyes are beautiful, the color of sand in that fleeting hour of sunset that turns the whole world gold. Not even the hole left from the decay of his nose takes away from the beauty of them. Truth be told, you find the whole of him entirely too handsome. “Besides, I find myself similarly afflicted.”

His lips split into a slow smile. “Y’somethin’ rare, darlin’. Fine company’s scarcer than clean water these days.”

Another wave of heat washes through you, but this time it concentrates in your chest, coiling around your heart and squeezing. “You’re just not used to talking to people who know how to read,” you say, trying and failing to swallow back the sentimentality swelling in your throat.

He chuckles. It’s a rare sound, one that does nothing for the growing affection suffocating your heart. “True, true.” He already admitted that the way you spoke is what caught his attention in the first place.

“Say…” You begin, hesitant. “You remember what I said to you when we first met? Down in the bar.”

Gently, Cooper lifts your arms from around his neck, setting your hands between your bodies. He blows out a breath and starts untying your hands. “I’m old, sweetness. Refresh my memory.” 

"I told you I wasn't for sale," you remind him, blood rushing back into your hands with the removal of the rope. You rub them together.

He makes a small noise of recollection, winding the rope around his hand. “Y’did.”

“I’ve changed my mind,” you say, watching him carefully.

His gaze flickers up to yours, searches your expression. He can tell you’re guarding it, and his own sobers in response. “Dare I ask the cost?”

"Love,” you blurt out, far more graceless than you’d been in your mind. His eyes widen a fraction, caught off guard. In any other moment you’d be smug about that, but now it’s precarious. Whatever nebulous sentiment exists between the two of you, you know it’s fragile. “Love. Yours, or just… mine. The cost is love.”

“Y’don’t love me, sweetheart,” he says, but the gentleness of his words does nothing to dissuade you. It only worsens the yearning in your heart.

“You don’t get to decide that,” you say, a frown tugging at your lips. 

He’s quiet for a moment, gauging you. “Y’don’t know me.”

“You let on more than you think you do,” you counter, hands braced on his chest. “I might not know everything about your life, but I know you.”

You know he read westerns and science fiction novels written by a man named Louis L’Amour, but confessed to liking his poetry best. You know the variations in his smiles. You know the sound he makes when he gets up from sleep, stiff-limbed and weary. You know him in intimacy. You know how he craves  peace and grace in the warmth of your body. If blinded and deafened, you would know his touch.

Whether he likes it or not, you know him the way souls know each other.

His eyes drift away as if he’s leery about you seeing anything more than you have. “What you’re lookin’ for, y’not gonna get it from me. I’m burnt out, darlin’. All dried up.”

“I’m not asking for more than you’ve given,” you say, trying not to let the terrible ache in your chest color your tone. You could scream at him for how wrong he is. How much left of him there is to love. “I’m telling you that I have more to give, and I want you to have it.”

“I wouldn’t even know what t’do with it anymore,” he says, gazing somewhere distant.

You wish he’d at least look at you as you bled your heart. “Nothing you haven’t already done, if that’s what you want.”

“Then why say anything at all?” He asks, an edge creeping into his tone. He does finally look at you, the lines of his expression as guarded as they were the first day you met him. “If y’didn’t want t’change things, why say anything?”

You stiffen to keep from shrinking away. You want this too badly to let him spook you now. 

“So that you know,” you say, choosing your words carefully. Each one feels sharp on your tongue, too honest. Too vulnerable. You’re giving him too much power with each one that falls. “I’m telling you so that you know I love you. I’m telling you because if I don’t, I might explode with it,” you say, fervency climbing in your voice, spurred on by the beginning sting of rejection. “I’m telling you for me. Is it easier to accept my love if it’s selfish?”

There it is again, that flicker across his face. Whatever he expected to hear, it wasn’t that. Slowly, Cooper removes his other glove, dropping it to the wayside. With that same hand, he brings his knuckles to your face, ghosts the heat of them down your cheek.

“Y’deserve better than half measures from a broken old man,” he says so quietly, you strain to hear each word. “Most of me’s always gonna be out in the sands, lookin’ for what’s lost. That’s no life for you.”

Taking his hand in yours, you hesitate a beat before you start to place gentle kisses on his every first knuckle. “Maybe. Maybe not,” you say between kisses, not meeting his eye yet. You’ve never been quite so openly affectionate. “But it’s like you said… Fine company is scarce,” you say, kissing each second knuckle next. “Don’t deny me the best I’ve ever known.”

His smile is reticent, tugged from the corner of his mouth as if by an invisible string. There’s something wistful in his expression. He watches you kiss the pads of his fingers next, the prints of them long worn away and replaced with thick calluses. His thumb is last. You give it a playful little nip, lest the softness of your lips scare him off.

Cooper slips his hand out of yours, the wistfulness of his gaze replaced with somber resignation. “M’sorry, darlin,” he murmurs, cupping either side of your face. 

Your stomach drops, the bitter stench of a goodbye settling into the air between you. You remind yourself that you knew this might happen. You repeat the thought again and again, as if being right will make it hurt less.

His thumbs stroke over your cheeks. “If I were a better man, a stronger man,” he says, gaze dipping to your lips. “I’d walk away for good.”

Your brows furrow. “Wh–”

He kisses you with such gentleness it breaks you apart. Your hands fly to his jacket, holding him to you. It’s as if the entire world spins on its axis, your stomach flipping wildly with it. It leaves you floating, tethered only by the grips you have on each other. What begins as a chaste press quickly heats up into a gnawing hunger, his tongue slipping into your mouth, your teeth scraping his bottom lip.

“Lucky for me that I ain’t even a good man,” he says, words peppered between kisses. 

The world spins again, but this time you really are moving through the air. You let out a yelp as Cooper flips you onto the bed, kissing a trail down your naked chest. You’ve felt his tongue and his teeth, but never the reverent press of his lips. As if you’ve only just given him permission to see you as something more than a tool for vicarious pleasure, he touches your body the way a superstitious man worships–full of intent and genuine belief.

“Cooper,” you sigh, smiling. “It’s my turn to touch you,” you remind him, tugging at the shoulder of his tattered jacket. The most he’s ever taken off is that jacket and his hat, but you want more.

He looks up at you from between your breasts, hesitating a beat. “You should know that it only gets uglier ‘neath the collar, sugar.”

“You’re not ugly,” you tell him. At his skeptical expression, you continue, “I’ve seen ugly. Heard it, felt it. You’re not ugly. Not to me.”

He quirks a hairless brow and lets out an incredulous little breath, adjusting himself onto his knees between your legs, swayed. “Y’might consider glasses,” he tells you, shrugging out of his coat. 

You hook your legs over his and use them as leverage to sit up, reaching for the buttons of his vest. “That might not end well for you,” you say coyly, popping each one loose. 

“I’m used to it,” he says, leaning down for another kiss. This, too, is reverence. He takes his time, savoring the feel of your lips against his, licking the taste of you from them like you’re the sweetest thing he’s ever known. With his vest open, you work on his undershirt next, tugging them loose while sucking on his tongue.

Halfway down, he stills your hand with a firm grip on your wrist. “That’ll do,” he tells you, voice little more than a rasp. You bite back a protest and nod, understanding that this is likely more exposed than he’s been in a long, long time. You push back into the kiss and press your hand to his chest, sliding slowly down. 

The skin beneath is as gnarled as old tree bark, pitted in places and scarred in most. For as durable as ghouls are, Cooper’s skin has been shredded and torn and riddled with bullets enough times that parts of his body have taken hold of those memories forever, formed around them.

You treat them gently, tracing them with your fingertips. You feel unreasonably powerful when he shivers subtly beneath your touch. You press your hand flat to his heart to hold the beat of it in your palm. It’s slow, but each thud is strong. You break from him with a deep breath, dizzy from the way he makes your head spin with each kiss.

“Lie down,” you say breathlessly. You’re almost surprised when he does, unaccustomed to taking so much control. You cozy up against him, laying your head where your hand had been a moment ago, and close your eyes. His heartbeat sounds just as it felt. Steady, firm, slow. You imagine the radiation has scarred him inside and out, left his heart thick and misshapen as well. Alive nonetheless.

After a brief hesitation, Cooper’s arm slips around your waist. His thumb caresses your hip. “For what it’s worth,” he begins, his tone overly conversational, masking whatever true feeling lurks beneath. “I won’t hold you to none of it. Not if y’get sick of it.”

If you get sick of him, he means.

You tip your head back to look up at him. His gaze is affixed to the ceiling, but you can see apprehension in his distant expression. You drop your eyes, nuzzling your cheek against his chest. His hand cups the back of your head in response, stroking. You smile faintly, soaking in all these little affections. You wonder how long he’s been holding back from touching you like this, denying himself such simple intimacies in order to maintain a distance he didn’t feel, but deemed necessary.

“You’re wrong, Cooper.”

“‘Bout what?”

“You are a good man.”

He goes quiet at that. The two of you lie there a long while, his hands absently roaming your body like he’s committing you to memory. Your hands do the same, dipping under the hem of his shirt to explore further. He hooks his knuckle under your chin, tips your head back to kiss you languidly.

There’s a surreal domestic feel to the unhurriedness of it all, as if he won’t be gone to the winds come morning. You make a home of this moment in your mind, constructing four walls in which to imagine another life. The kind you’ve read about in tattered books and seen on fuzzy old screens.

All the while Cooper holds you, his lips never long from your skin.

You eventually find your way under the covers together, past the point of words. You drape yourself back down against him, your ear finding the chamber of his heart once more. You fall asleep listening to the beat of it, content for now to take each day you spend with him as they come.

[999h34rt]

MISS 20 SOMETHING | EMILY ENGSTLER

➣ emily engslter x gf!reader

➣ sypnosis: comments are always expected when you're a 20 year old girlfriend of 25 year old WNBA player, but at the annual team dinner, y/n finally breaks.

➣ warnings: 5 year age gap. underage drinking.

➣ a short one

You were fresh 19 when you met your now girlfriend, Emily. There wasn't necessarily a cute story on how you two dated, you just clicked. Met at a local new york bar, which you weren’t supposed to be in but you somehow got into. And to be frank, you did tell Em your real age.

You being a child star, had its perks. Fame (which you didn’t see as a perk) , no money problems,connections and more. But also it had its disadvantages, for one, people always think your young. Which you were, but being with a 24 year old, made it worse.

The 5 year age gap wasn’t that bad, but it was enough of a gap for critics or haters to talk about or give their opinion to. Neither you or Emily cared, it seemed like it was you two against the world.

When you first met Emilys friends, it was 4 months into your relationship. The meet up was fine, all had fun but they’re also comments, jokes, which you laughed off even though some of them bothered you.

If you did tell Emily how you felt, it would make you seem like a child, immature. So you guessed its better to put up with it hoping they would stop at some point.

☆

they didn’t.

This girl just didn’t stop, she was brutal with it too. She was a teammates plaything of the month, you would assume, as you watched the player get annoyed by her.

You sighed after you laughed off another one of her comments, as you turned to your right, you were met with Ems brown eyes, immediately tension eased off your shoulders as she smiled at you. “You okay?” she asked with her eyes.

“Yes” you responded with yours.

Just put up with it, you told yourself, it’s worth it for her.

As you got into a conversation with another spouse, you could feel the bitches eyes on the other side of your face. You didn’t know what her problem is or what you had done to her. but it seemed like she wanted a reaction out of you.

“Emily i seriously don’t know how you do it” She said 10 minutes ago, her eyes gleaming with mischief.

“Do what?” Em responded confused.

“Babysit every day” She laughed. Only 3 other people laughed, Emily forced out a chuckle and you a smile which didn’t reach your eyes. The whole table didn’t say anything, just watched the scene awkwardly, before you finally broke the silence and opened another conversation.

You thought she was done with that one. but nope.

When the waiter came back to get refill orders a couple minutes after, you had ordered a glass of wine, and as soon as the waiter was out of the room.

“Are you even old enough to drink wine, Miss 20 something?” she asked laughing. Her partner side eyed her, and you heard the conversation stop at the end of the table.

But you just laughed, and continued your conversation with Em. And yes, you were old enough, in a European country yes. And you were literally two weeks away from turning 21 so it didn’t matter.

But after that, you could tell that she wasn’t actually joking, she just wanted something out of you. Even when you first came in, she only shook Ems hand and ignored yours but you just shook it off.

Normally you were used to the comments, they were jokes and sometimes they bothered you but you knew people actually liked you and weren’t disrespecting you. but she was.

you finally had enough when Emily was telling a story.

“… and i was 18 at the time-”

“18? that means y/n was 13 right? woah” she cut off Em. Just as the vibe was good, the whole table filled with tension. You heard Em sigh, and could tell she was sick of it too.

You finally enough.

“Are you done?” You asked her. Her face turned to you surprised but satisfied.

“What do you mean?”

“I asked if you’re done throwing jabs at me”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about” she said innocently sipping her drink.

“Don’t even-” you scoffed. “You say im a child but you’re the only one here trying to bring drama in my face, and frankly i have had enough”

“What the f-”

“No don’t talk you’ve said enough and embarrassed yourself already” You cut her off. "You think it bothers me what you think, no it doesn't. Because the whole table knows the only child here is you. If you actually thinks it's mature of you to hate on me, Miss 20 something when you're a Miss almost 40 something then that just shows what a child actually is"

You heard gasps and a oop, but you also felt Em put her hand on your thigh. Which meant approval.

"How dare you? I'm 30"

"Well you should start trying botox hun" And with that you ended the conversation and encouraged Em to finish her story. the whole vibe was back to normal.

And at the end of the night when you both returned to your shared appartment, you kicked your heels off and felt brown eyes staring at the back of your head. You turned and saw the same question resting in Ems eyes as earlier, and this time you responded your voice. "I'm fine"

"That’s good baby" She responded and starting walking towards you, you felt her instinct to pick you up and immediately opened your legs wrapping them around her waist, her tattooed hands went lower and to your ass cheeks as she kissed you. Taking you to bed.

☆

➣ miss 21 something ( kinda part 2?)

[rin-may-1103]

The Wrong Robin Au (part five)

Previous | Next | Master Post

Danny sat back with a wince, watching as Bruce and his butler (The man introduced himself as Alfred) collected themselves. Jason's book was now sitting on a shelf, displayed for everyone to see. Bruce's desk was moved back into place, and the chairs were repositioned. There wasn't any evidence of what had just occurred.

"would you like me to get you a rag, young sir?" Alfred asked, turning to glance at Danny with a raised brow.

Danny lifted his hand and gently touched his nose, hissing when it stung and throbbed. Pulling his hand back, Danny found his fingers covered in blood.

Well, that was going to be hard to explain later...

"yeah, thanks." Danny finally agreed, moving his hand back to hopefully keep more of his blood from staining his hoodie. His ectoplasm was just begging him to heal it, but he held back, watching as Bruce turned to face him.

The man was no longer crying his little emo furry heart out or blinded with rage. Instead, he was standing still with a calculative gleam in his eyes. Danny just knew the man was going to do a background check as soon as Danny left. (Or when Danny wasn't paying attention, he was Batman after all. Who knows what he was going to do?)

It's a good thing there was nothing that connected him with Phantom. Besides the drop in grades and convenient absences, but that can be excused by the trauma of his accident and all the ghost fights. Otherwise, Danny would be screwed.

No one besides Jazz and Wes has been able to figure it out, and he'd like to keep it that way, thank you very much. He's retired now, or well, was retired. He might be getting back into the crime-fighting part again, but he was going to do everything in his power to keep from getting pulled back into ghost-fighting and dealing with the occult every day.

He could handle following Batman around at night and punching a few goons here and there, but the ghost fights? The world ending catastrophes? The annoying cult summoning? He didn't think he could handle it again. And sure, if there was no other option he would go out and protect the world. (It would be very shitty of him not to if he could do something when no one else could. He lived here too, you know.)

But that's not his job anymore. No, that's what the Justice League is for. (was for... He had forgiven them for not being there for him when it mattered. They were here now. So it was fine. No, it wasn't) They're the ones who are protecting Earth now. They're the ones who have to drop everything and help save the world. Not him. Not anymore.

Maybe he could think of this as a really shitty vacation? Then once he's sure Batman is stable and that Tim won't do something stupid, Danny could go back to Amity and figure out what he wanted to do with the rest of his life. Maybe he could even go to college?

"Why are you here?" Bruce asked, his calculated eyes still boring into Danny's head. Danny, having gotten used to ghosts popping up and speaking to him at all hours of the day, didn't flinch as he glanced back up at Bruce.

"To keep you from killing yourself, seriously dude. Did you not hear when I told you earlier?" Danny spat, pointedly wiping the blood off his chin.

Bruce barely even moved, but Danny could tell he had winced. Sensing people's emotions was going to become one of the more useful powers he had, wasn't it?

...

How long was his nose going to bleed, again? Didn't broken noses stop bleeding after a few minutes?

His core flared in annoyance, finally making him remember a very important fact.

He was half dead. As in his body doesn't heal or change without the influence of his ectoplasm. This means he's going to keep bleeding until he either doesn't have any blood to bleed or he lets his ectoplasm heal it.

Great.

That's not going to make Bruce suspicious at all. Nope. Definitely not.

Focusing on his nose, Danny let his ectoplasm rush to the area and start healing it, but held it back before it could do more than stop the bleeding.

Alfred entered the room not even a second later, "here you go, young sir. Just hold it there for a minute while I prepare my med kit."

Danny grabbed the rag handed to him and pressed it to his nose, ignoring the sharp pain. He watched as Alfred placed his med kit on the side table and started digging through it. After a few minutes, Alfred leaned back and pulled on some gloves.

"let me have a look," he demanded, turning to kneel in front of Danny. Danny sighed, removed the rag, and leaned forward to let Alfred get a closer look. The man clicked his tongue, but gently grabbed his face and studied the injury.

Bruce shuffled awkwardly in the background, looking like a child waiting to get scolded. Good. He was a grown-ass man for crying out loud, he should get scolded for breaking Danny's nose.

"Alright, this will hurt," Alfred said, moving his hands to gently rest next to Danny's nose. Danny, having dealt with many broken noses before, looked away from the older man and stared Bruce dead in the eyes.

With sure but quick movements, Alfred straightened his nose with a loud crunch. Bruce's eyes narrowed as Danny bit his tongue, keeping any other sign of pain to himself.

"There," Alfred sighed, "it was a clean break, so you'll only have to keep some gause on it until you go to the doctor. Master Bruce?"

Bruce grunted, before finally looking over to his butler. "I'm fine, Alfred."

"good," Alfred nodded, "then I shall put on some tea. In the meantime, I recommend you two have a civil conversation."

Danny leaned back, taking the wet rag Alfred handed to him, and cleaned his face. Now that his nose looked normal, Danny allowed his ectoplasm to start healing it. He didn't plan on seeing Bruce again anytime soon, so any bruises or swelling he should have, won't matter.

Alfred finished placing his medical supplies away and held his hand out for the rags, once Danny gave them to him, the man swiftly left the room. bruce will probably want to test his blood later now that Danny thinks about it. Well, that's definitely something Batman would do, Danny thinks.

Oh well, it's not like his blood would reveal anything. It's literally just his human blood. Now if he was bleeding as Phantom? This would be a whole other problem.

"Who are you and how do you know who I am?" Bruce grunts, stepping closer to Danny in an attempt to be intimidating. And it would have been if Danny hadn't just watched the man breakdown ugly crying not even thirty minutes ago.

Rolling his eyes, Danny leaned back in his chair and huffed, "I told you this already. My name's Danny. I'm here to keep you from killing yourself. And it's pretty obvious who you are if you just think about it." Because it was obvious. Once Tim pointed it out to him, that is.

He wasn't about to just tell Batman that though, Tim didn't deserve to have the man breathing down his neck just for being smart enough to figure it out.

Before Bruce could respond, Danny's phone rang once, twice, then stopped. Glancing at the clock, Danny found it was only six. This meant, it was either Sam texting him to figure out where he was (which wasn't likely, since he usually disappeared in the mornings) or it was Tim.

Grabbing his phone, Danny unlocked it and was met with a message from Tim.

TIM: thanks for listening to me.

Before Danny could send a response, another text came through.

TIM: when did you want to meet up and discuss a plan? DANNY: tomorrow, after you get some sleep. TIM: I did! I took a nap! DANNY: not a long one. TIM: I'm not tired though! DANNY: Then pretend to sleep or something, I don't care. Could you just make sure you sleep before I text you tomorrow? please, kid? TIM: whatever. you're not even that much older than me, you know that right? Danny: sure kid.

"Who is that?" Bruce suddenly asks, making Danny glance up at him.

Shit, uh... "The kid I'm babysitting later."

You know what? That works. And it's technically true.

Bruce just hummed, allowing Danny to turn back to his phone.

TIM: I'm thirteen! DANNY: Yeah? Well, I'm seventeen, almost eighteen. Anyone under the age of fifteen is a literal baby. which makes you? that's right. a child. and what do children need? Sleep. They need sleep, Tim. TIM: I'm not a child! and if you've forgotten; I still have all the evidence proving that you're Robin. I'm petty enough to release it. DANNY: Go ahead. If it'll make you sleep at night.

Tim left him on read after not responding for a few minutes. Bruce had wandered over to his desk to work on something, probably Danny's background check.

Sighing, Danny sent a text to Sam letting her know he'd be busy for the rest of the morning and to let Tucker know. Once that was done, he shoved his phone into his pocket and stood up. Bruce glanced at him for a moment before going back to what he was going, leaving Danny to look around the office.

Pictures were hanging on the wall, books covering the shelves, and random objects covering everything else. Basically, Bruce's office was filled with all sorts of things. Things that could give Danny an idea of who Bruce was as a person. Something he was going to need to know if he planned to stick around and help him. which he was. because he'd promised Tim that he would.

Reaching out, Danny picked up one of the photos and examined it. It was Bruce, Alfred, and some boy Danny didn't recognize, though they looked eerily like him. They could even pass as his clone if you squinted.

"Hey, Bruce," Danny started, "Who's this?"

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