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sobbingscripter · 1 month ago

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𓈒⋆⑅˚₊୨🌼wc. 3317🌼୧₊˚⑅⋆𓈒

a/n. low-key forgot to specify the timeframe but this is like, a couple days after the sex.

“You know, I’d really fuck the shit out of Riddler.”

“Can we bring back shame?” Mark lowers his comic book, expression scrunched into a grimace as he stares at you from where he’s lounged on your bedroom floor, the edge of his T-shirt raised just enough to showcase his rippling abs and that deep, deep V.

“I’d suck the tip clean off.” You’re unbothered by his audible gag, simply focused on the crack of paper as you turn the page, your legs extended and crossed at the ankles, your toes wiggling in your socks and you let out a bashful giggle, biting lightly down on the nail of your index finger as your eyes rove over the panels. Your eyes focus on the bright colours, occasionally flitting towards Mark’s seething expression.

“I’m disturbed.” He announces, before lifting himself from the floor, muscles flexing as he stretched his arms overhead and he sets his comic down on the bedside table, before prying yours from your hands and tossing it into your desk with freaky accuracy.

Gorgeous brown eyes stare at you from beneath long lashes, gaze roving over you and the way you lounge so lazily across your bed, a double chin formed at the way your head is propped up by pillows.

“You’re gonna get a neck pain like that.” Mark huffs, before moving to stand at the edge of your bed, hands wrapping around your ankles and he tugs you roughly, your head sliding off the pillow and he moves to straddle your hips. Hands slide up your arms, fingers lace with yours and he pins your hands to the soft covers and he cracks a grin.

“How’s college?” Mark inquires. “Mom says you’re an overachiever.”

“Define ‘overachiever’.” You peer up at Mark through your lashes, your gaze locked on his, and goddamn, your brain’s melting the more you focus on how warm his hands are against yours. Fingers laced with yours, folded over one another like they belong there, his lashes fluttering with each blink and the curve of his smile as he just looks at you.

Not doing anything.

Just looking.

And you’re starting to think Pinterest was right when he brings a hand up, gently picking an eyelash from your cheek before he fists his hand, brushing it against your chin and he mimics an explosion.

And the laughter just bubbles from you, your head tipped back as giggles fall from your lips, and he shifts his body, wrapping his arms around your waist and he pulls you onto him. Your knees dimpling the sheets on either side of you, his face pressed into the curve of your neck, lips ghosting over the supple skin that has an indentation by a bra strap too tight and Mark’s teeth bite into the elastic, tugging it from your shoulder and he presses his lips against the mark left behind.

His lips are soft.

Hands cradle you like you’re something delicate, like you haven’t been his biggest bully for majority of his life, and you melt against him.

Muscular arms keeping you pressed against him, your soft thighs bracketing his hips and you press your lips against his temple.

“I didn’t think heroes had the free time to dick around like this.” You hum with a snort, your hands shifting, cupping Mark’s face as you lift yourself, pulling one of the pillows absentmindedly to prop his head up and he watches you with soft, heart eyes.

“It’s Saturday.” He answers you, hands bracketing your hips. “I’ve got all the time in the world.” He pauses. “Until night time. Then I have no time.”

“My mom said we can patrol tonight if it’s okay with your mom.” Your giggle is melodious, it’s sweet and messy all at once. His eyes rove over the curve of your lips, the dimples in your cheeks and the way your eyes crease at the corners. He likes the way your necklace dangles so carelessly, he loves the way your eyes watch the sun and he just loves.

He's known you for over a decade and he can’t think of a single thing he hasn’t fallen in love with.

“When did you get so… pretty?”

Mark’s voice is a soft, almost theatrical whisper, his thumbs brushing along the soft flesh of your hips where your shirt had ridden up. “You look like an angel…”

“It’s the sunlight.” You snort at him, a grin curling your glossy lips. That warm, summer-y smile that has his breath stuttering in his lungs, your hand shifting to cradle his cheek, your palm warm against his flesh.

“No.” He lets out a breathless laugh. “No, like… you look like a fucking painting right now.”

“Wait, like, really?” Your brows furrow.

“Yeah, like… that painting of— you look like a Monet.” He tilts his head, pressing a kiss to the softness of your palm. And there’s a warmth that burns at his belly when your head tips, a light and easy smile creeping onto your face.

“You’re really beautiful…”

The sweetest silence settles between the two of you, and Mark hums softly. He never thought loving someone could be this easy. He knows it’s not too soon. It never could be when it’s you.

“Which painting?” You hum softly, leaning forward and your lips press against his cheek.

“Bitch—” Mark huffs. “Just touch my wiener.”

⋆⑅˚₊୨🌼୧₊˚⑅⋆𓈒

“I’m not a furry but—”

“You’re gonna say the most furry thing ever.”

“The shark could get it.”

Mark lets out a heavy breath, eyes shutting and he takes a moment. Before looking at you, expression distasteful and he grimaces.

“Can we never watch ‘The Reef 2’ without you wanting to fuck an actual shark?”

Mark watches the way you shovel a handful of chips into your mouth, your gaze locked on his and he should be turned off, but the way your grin grows as you shake your head, mischief in your actions as you giggle.

“No.” You snort. “No we can not.”

“Sick freak.” He grunts under his death, reaching over, a pudgy thumb wiping away the crumbs from the corner of your mouth, absentmindedly bringing his thumb to his lips, licking away the salt before turning his attention back to the screen of your TV.

And your lips purse and you try to ignore the way your pulse flutters, instead focusing on shuffling more comfortably, your back pressing against your puffed up pillows and you swallow.

“That’s gross. I don’t know where your thumb was.”

“It’s gonna be in your ass if you don’t stop fucking with me.” Mark takes another handful of chips, his toes wiggling in those stupid fucking Hot Wheels socks.

And you swallow.

“Say ‘no homo’.”

The leer Mark gives you is something nightmares and very, very dark fantasies are made of and he takes a slow slurp of his smoothie, lips pursed around the straw. And he simply turns his attention back to the screen, biting the inside of his cheek to keep his smile hidden but the dimple in his cheek pops.

“Mark, say ‘no homo’!”

⋆⑅˚₊୨🌼୧₊˚⑅⋆𓈒

“Oh my God.” Mark grunts. “Why did I agree to this?”

His knees and palms dimple your mattress, powdery blue sheet refusing to bend to his will, edges popping off the corners of your mattress and you hum, lips curled as you keep your eyes glued to that stupidly perky ass.

“I don’t know but I’m loving the Invinci-cheeks.”

Mark glares at you over his shoulder, the tips of his ears burning a furious red as he clenched his jaw, annoyance only spiking at the way your grin widens.

“Yeah, look back at me.” You tease.

And Mark huffs. “Same way you looked back at me?”

The silence is deafening, your obnoxious slurping stilling and you swallow, sucking in your cheeks and Mark doesn’t know why the act makes him a little breathless. He’s seen you do it countless times when you’re speechless, unable to come up with an immediate retort but he swallows hard.

“That’s a pretty fucked up thing to say.” You whisper, your heart beating erratically pounding behind your rib cage because did you actually look back at him?

And Mark lets out a huff, finally managing to spread the sheet comfortably enough, and you plop down, internally gloating at the way he silently stews at the creases that form in the sheet.

“Why’re you making me make your bed?” Mark huffs, muscular arms crossing over his chest. “It’s the middle of the day.”

“Because, dear, naïve Mark, when you leave, I’m gonna take an 8 hour nap and wake up on a plane of existence higher than yours.” And you stretch your arms overhead, letting out a yawn and Mark’s eyes drop to where your shirt rides up, exposing the soft skin of your belly, and his arm reaches out, a warm hand splayed across your tummy. It’s sweet and a little weird, but you like the way the heat seems to sink into your navel, warming you up like some kind of humanoid toaster.

“That’s nice.” You sigh softly, your lashes fluttering and you rest back, your back flush against the memory phone and your head lolls, gaze falling on Mark and the way he looks at you like you’ve personally designed and hung the stars in the sky.

“You’re so—”

“Do you have a foreskin?”

Mark’s expression falls. “Can we not have a single nice moment without you ruining it?”

Your lips purse and your brows furrow like you’re deep in thought before you shake your head. “No, m’sorry. I can’t see that happening for us.”

He would be annoyed if that devious little smile on your lips didn’t make his tummy tense, and his hand reaches for the front of his jeans.

“You wanna check if I have a foreskin?” He questions and once you nod, you’re wishing you didn’t. Because seeing Mark undo his buckle with one, nimble hand, is a religion you weren’t sure you’d ever find yourself being a part of but holy fuck, you could watch him do that for hours.

Mark frees his cock. Easily, and lazily pushing the waistband of his boxers down and he shifts comfortably. You’d think it’d be less impressive because he’s soft but no. Not at all.

A pretty, flushed pink head, just a little bit darker at the base with a teensy bit of skin that overlaps just the ridges of his tip and you purse your lips.

“Is now a bad time to tell you I can’t tell the difference between cut and uncut when they’re soft?” You peer up at Mark through your lashes, shifting a bit more comfortably and he lets out a huff of a laugh.

“Here’s the scar,” He hums, moving just a bit closer and he shows you that barely imperceptible scar, right near his tip, “see?”

You don’t know what convinces you to do it. You really don’t.

But you’re tracing your thumb over the scar, peering up at him through your lashes and your eyes are so soft, so concerned.

“Who did this to you?”

“Oh my fucking God.”

The laugh bubbles from him easily, his head tipping back and you watch the curve of his throat as he laughs, shoulders shaking and lips curling. Pearly teeth showcased, and the dimples in his cheeks deepen, accompanied by a healthy little flush and he snorts, before looking back down at you.

He watches the way you watch him, teeth biting down on your bottom lip to hide your smile but he can see the way your cheeks turn rosy the longer you watch him.

And you look back down, tracing your thumb over the scar once again. Feeling the subtle change in texture.

“It’s a cool scar though.” You hum. “Kinda makes your dick look like a hammerhead.”

Mark nearly loses it when you begin to hum the Jaws theme, biting the inside of his cheek to stifle the laughter but it all comes to a grinding halt when his dick twitches, and your lips part, watching as a bead of precum slowly drips from his slit. And he swallows.

“Do you get hard when people make jokes?” You raise a brow, scooping up the bead and watching the way it rests so comfortably on the pad of your index finger, and he shakes his head.

“Only you.” He inhales sharply when you trace that divot with your finger, his brows furrowing and he tries to keep his hips from twitching, anchoring them down to the bed instead of letting them crave the contact.

Your lips purse in concentration, before you hum quietly.

“You gave me head but I never got to do it to you.” You state with a hum, nails tracing patterns on his thigh, and he can feel the ticklish sensation through the denim of his jeans and he swallows.

“You— uh-um… You don’t have to. I don’t mind if you’re not into that…—”

“I am.” You reassure, eyes lowered and watching the way his cock stiffens, blood rushing all the way to the appendage as it flushes a pretty, rosy pink and your hand wraps around his base.

Your hand’s all warm, all soft and delicate-fingered. The cool metal of your rings make his skin prickle and his hips are jutting before either of you can say anything, cum spurting across the front of your T-shirt, as well as creamy ribbons that reach all the way up to the curve of your jaw.

And you swallow.

“I— fuck, m’so sorry. I didn’t mean to—” Mark’s breath stutters when your head dips, your eyes locked on his and your tongue drags along the tip of his cock, wet muscle flicking against his slit. And his hands fist the sheet.

“Finish making my bed.” You lift yourself from where you’re resting, unbothered by the mess on your throat and you make your way towards your en suite, closing the door behind you and you let out a breath you didn’t know you were holding.

Internally panicking and you have to fight to get your nerves steady.

And your lips purse, an intrusive thought causing you to drag your digit through the messy spent on your throat, and you bring your finger to your lips. Tasting the peculiar taste. Brows knitting as you try to place the flavours. Sweet. A little bit bitter, and so, so warm.

Mark stares at the bathroom door, his heart pounding in his chest before he grabs his phone, bated breaths slipping past his lips and he pants hard. Thumbs flying across his keyboard and his leg bounces.

Invinci-bitch: “Tell Cecil I’m not coming.”

Invinci-bitch: “Space flu or whatever.”

Rex takes a while to respond.

Rex Splooge: “Space herpes. Got it 👌”

Fuck. Mark discards his phone, tucking himself back into his boxers before continuing to make your bed, although, big brown eyes keep glancing towards the bathroom door.

He’d really prefer to not have ‘space herpes’.

But he’ll take what he gets.

Especially if what he gets, involves that plush, shit-talking mouth wrapping around his cock.

⋆⑅˚₊୨🌼୧₊˚⑅⋆𓈒

“William, she’s making my hands sweaty.”

Mark’s voice is hoarse, wiping his sweaty palms on the surface of his shorts for what could be the eighth time this hour, eyes darting towards where you’re helping clean up the kitchen, a mess after Mark’s 13th birthday party. A few neighbours kids, maybe a handful of classmates he liked and a mess of wrapping paper that you’d suggested he keep.

“Yeah.” William slurps on his milkshake, blueberry tinting the inner bits of his lips a slight blue. “Me and your dad were mocking you for it.”

And Mark huffs.

“Of course you were.” And he glances back towards you, your arms submerged in soapy hot water, lips curled into a grin as you chat so easily with Nolan, who’s rough hands remain drying the dishes. “She’s so… pretty.”

Mark’s lips curl at the memory, eyes focused on you as you continue swiping through your For You page, attention entirely captured by the sight of makeup brushes, gently brushing against some stupidly overpriced mic, accompanied by gentle taps against the stand. His arm remains tossed over your belly, cheek pressed against your shoulder and a leg wrapped around yours. His warm palm, pressed against your even warmer tummy.

And he swallows.

“I think Mark’s got a crush on you.” Nolan’s voice is quiet, hands wrapped up in a plaid kitchen cloth, the bright crimson standing out against his muscular forearms. “Look.” And you follow Nolan’s gaze towards Mark.

Surrounded by kids, opening birthday presents and giving toothy grins and sweet ‘thank you’s.

And your expression softens.

“Mr Nolan, if Mark likes me, it’s because he’s never spoken to another girl before.” You snort. “He’d have a crush on William if William was a girl.”

And you glance back towards Mark, catching his gaze and you watch the way his lips curl, perfect teeth displayed and God, your heart clenches in your chest. And you smile back, trying to play off the way those rosy apples make your face heat up.

“Your heartbeat got sooooooooooooooo fast.” Nolan whispers, almost conspiratorially. And you glare up at Nolan.

“I’ll make him dress up as Duct-Tape Man.” You threaten and Nolan’s eyes narrow at you. And you snort out a laugh.

“Why’d you get so mad about that in the first place, sir?” You question.

“He used the good tape.”

“It wasn’t because you were the only girl I spoke to.” Mark speaks up, swallowing heavy and he glances up towards your face, eyes roving over your features and ultimately, landing on the curve of your bottom lip. So plump. So inviting.

“Huh?” You question, a brow raising and you pause the video on your phone, screen displaying, ‘GRWM FOR CONFRONTING MY BF ABOUT CHEATING ON ME W/ MY BD’.

“When you told my dad I would only like you because you’re the only girl I spoke to.” He whispers softly. “That wasn’t why.” His warm grip tightens on your waist, fingers pressing into the soft, squishy flesh.

“It was because you were the only girl I wanted to talk to.”

There’s a knot in your belly, your lashes fluttering with each slow, cat-like blink you give Mark and you feel the way his heartbeat gets faster. His breathing deepening and his eyes flicker towards your lips, brows knitting in a way that could only be described as longingly before he meets your gaze again.

Puppy eyes soft and loving.

“You’re still the only girl I wanna talk to.”

Your expression softens, lashes fluttering so prettily and you swallow, the corners of your lips tugging downwards and you can feel your eyes becoming a little bit glossier.

“What about William?” Your voice is sweet, and so soft, and it would’ve sounded earnest if he didn’t understand you. And he snorts.

“William doesn’t count.” He huffs out a laugh, his hand leaving your belly to cradle the side of your face, wiping away that fat rivulets before it an even reach the curve of your cheek and his lips curve into a soft smile.

Before he teases you.

“Now say something nice about me.” He nudges you, shifting over you until your thighs are on either side of his hips, one hand bracing your hio whike the other presses against your cheek.

“You too, are the only girl I wanna talk to.” You snort and Mark rolls his eyes, biting the inside of his cheek to hide the grin that threatens to make his cheeks dimple in that adorably dorky way.

“I’m a man.” He corrects.

“You’re a boy at best.” You huff.

And he leans in, the ball of his nose brushing against yours, breath ghosting over your lips.

“Oh really?” He hums. “You wanna see how much of a man I am?”

T🌼A🌼G🌼L🌼I🌼S🌼T

@lucky-beheaded ; @queen-of-gotham ; @coldvirginbitch ; @wittyjasontodd ; @a-n-a-n-a1 ; @dearlyya ; @broicouldjustbuyyousomekombucha ; @jasontoddswhitestreak ; @daydreams-and-peace ; @misstyy12 ; @fruticake ; @httpstes ; @waterflowersblog ; @glowinthedarkjellyfish ; @vm4879bb-blog ; @monaekelis ; @radlovesfics ; @allycat4458 ; @bigbodycity ; @feral010 ; @anesthesia-4rizzle ; @princesstrunkz ; @blackfox774 ; @sh1d0uryus31 ; @your-lovely-rose26 ; @slugstarzz ; @ripcolel0l ; @strawbiemilk420 ; @verysynical ; @kikiiguess ; @missam ; @luvvfromme ; @luvvcharxo ; @alma-ru3 ; @mxvoid26 ; @urfriendlyfrog ; @the-good-kooshe ; @troublesome-nara ; @secretaccountlol ; @syubseokie; @atanukileaf ; @im-nowhere-but-also-somewhere ; @i-love-frensh-fries ; @lov3vivian ; @boyofroyo1 ; @tamaranblaze ; @supersecretxreadersideblog ; @etphonehome0623 ; @markgraysonlover ; @icanmeltanigloo ; @itzmeme ; @buckturd

#sobbingscripter #our turn🌼#invincible fanfic #invincible mark grayson #mark grayson invincible #mark grayson #mark grayson x reader #mark grayson x reader smut #invincible mark grayson x reader #mark grayson x you #invincible #invincible x reader smut #invincible x you #invincible x reader

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melzula · 1 year ago

Note

zuko confiding in sokka to be his wingman to try to get together with you?

a/n: sokka sharing his back bending skills with zuko we love to see it. also this takes place post-war

summary: Zuko isn’t sure how to tell you he likes you, so he looks to Sokka for guidance

Zuko watches longingly from across the room as you dance with Katara and enjoy the night’s festivities. Your eyes sparkle with joy and your smile is so infectious it has everyone around you beaming. Everyone seems to want your attention, and so he hadn’t been able to speak to you much since the party began, but he desperately wants to be near you.

“You know you look like a total creep when you stand in the corner and stare, right?” Sokka notes, interrupting Zuko’s sulking.

“I’m not staring!” The Fire Lord says defensively, but he knows he’s not fooling anyone.

“Come on, buddy, it’s a party! Lighten up! Go mingle!”

“I don’t want to mingle,” Zuko grumbles indignantly, “I just want to talk to y/n.”

“Then go talk to her!” Sokka encourages as if it’s the most easiest thing in the world. “It’s not like you haven’t talked to her before. She’s our friend!”

“I know that,” the boy bites irritably. Deflating, he sighs, “But it’s different this time.”

“What do you mean?” Sokka says, his demeanor morphing into that of a more serious tone.

“I… I think I have feelings for her.”

“You what?!” Sokka exclaims, earning a few puzzled stares from nearby partygoers. Zuko sends his friend a harsh look and urges him to be quiet.

“I know, I know. What am I thinking? She’s perfect, she’d never go for someone like me,” he admits in quiet defeat. “It’s stupid of me to feel this way.”

“What? No way, that’s not true,” his friend insists encouragingly. “You’re a great guy! You just need to work on your romance game.”

“My what?” Zuko retorts skeptically.

“Your romance game! Look, if you want y/n to like you then you have to work your charm.”

“I don’t have any charm to work.”

“Sure you do, it’s easy! Take it from your old buddy Sokka, the ladies love me. Just follow my advice and by the end of the night y/n will be dying for you to ask her out!”

Zuko is skeptical of his friend’s words and hesitant to take Sokka’s offer of help, but he knows he’s hopeless on his own and there aren’t many other options. With a relenting sigh, Zuko gives his friend an agreeing nod.

“What should I do first?”

“Just follow my lead,” the boy says with a wink before loudly calling you and his sister over. Zuko does his best to mask his embarrassment and puts on his best attempt of a smile as you and Katara saunter over arm-in-arm.

“Hi, guys!” You greet cheerily. “King Kue really knows how to throw a party, doesn’t he?”

“He sure does! Say, that’s a really nice dress,” Sokka compliments before harshly elbowing Zuko’s side. “Don’t you agree, Zuko?”

“Uh, yes, it is,” he stammers nervously, his face immediately turning red. “You look very beautiful.”

“Thank you,” you reply with a bashful smile. “You don’t think it’s too much?”

“Not at all,” he says earnestly. “You could never be too much.”

“You know, y/n, Zuko here was just telling me how much he wants to dance,” your friend informs you much to the Fire Lord’s dismay.

“What?! That’s not-“

“Oh, well, would you like to dance with me, Zuko?” You ask with a careful smile, delicately holding your hand out for him to take. His protests immediately die in his throat as he takes in your gentle features, the world almost seeming to come to a halt as he focuses on you before him. Your beauty almost physically pains him, and he wished he knew how to tell you this without coming off like a total creep.

Zuko hesitates before taking your hand, knowing that whatever happens next could alter your friendship forever, but the idea of physical touch is almost too tempting, and so he gently grabs hold of your hand and guides you back to the dance floor.

The musicians play a melody of traditional Earth Kingdom waltzes, and despite knowing nothing about dancing Zuko does his best to match your pace. His hands are suffocatingly warm against your skin, but you never once complain. You say nothing when he steps on your toes repeatedly or gets caught on your dress, and in spite of how awkward you both look compared to the other couples on the floor you seem to be having the most fun out of them all.

“You’re doing wonderful,” you encourage, giggling when he missteps and nearly trips over his own feet.

“I’m awful at this,” he argues exasperatedly. “I’m sorry you got stuck with such a lousy dance partner.”

“I don’t care about how good you can dance. I’m just happy you’re dancing with me,” you admit, looking away bashfully to hide your smile. “I haven’t really been able to speak to you much tonight, so I appreciate being with you now.”

Over your shoulder, Zuko spots Sokka from across the way. The water tribe boy waves his arms frantically and gestures for Zuko to make his move. The Fire Lord simply scowls before swallowing down his nerves and looking back to you.

“Y/n,” he calls faintly, gently guiding your face to look back up at him. “I’ve been wanting to talk to you all night, but it’s been hard. You’re so full of life, you draw people in with just your smile, and so I didn’t think I’d get the chance to finally be alone with you and tell you that- well, that I have feelings for you. I want to be the one that makes you smile, the one that dances with you at every party.”

“Zuko,” you murmur softly, taken aback by his confession. He takes your surprise as rejection and looks down with a dejected smile.

“I know, we’re friends. It’s strange of me to think we could be more, but I just needed to tell you.”

“No, that’s not it,” you quickly correct him, “I-I’m just surprised because I didn’t think you felt the same way I did.”

"You mean… you like me back?” Zuko asks in disbelief.

“Of course I do! What’s not to like?” You tease with a smile. “All night I was hoping you’d come up to me, and even though Katara said I should be the one to make the first move I was too scared to try. I’m glad you told me because I feel the same.”

You feel as if your heart could burst when he carefully tilts your chin up to meet your lips in a kiss. Ever since he joined your group you’d wanted nothing more than for him to see you as you saw him, and after months of what you thought was one-sided pining it seems Zuko has felt the same way about you all along. It took some time for things to come out in the open, but now that they are you couldn’t be any happier.

And unbeknownst to either of you, Katara and Sokka share high-fives behind your back in celebration of their successful plan.

| zuko tags: @ilovespideyyy @yiyibetch @eridanuswave @lammello @a-monsters-love @taeeemin @livelaughlovekuni @lovialy

| atla tags: @sirkekselord @niktwazny303

#melzula writes #request #zuko #sokka #zuko x reader #zuko imagine #prince zuko x reader #prince zuko imagine #atla #atla x reader #atla imagine #avatar the last airbender

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heyimkana · 2 months ago

Text

Husband!Jinwoo tries to guess your favorite positions in bed (with demonstrations 😏)

A deleted/alternate scene from Pillow Talk Part 3 but can be read separately.

Pairing: Sung Jinwoo X Female Reader

Genre: Marriage AU, fluff, smut

Content Warnings: dry humping, choking, hair-pulling, dirty talk

Word Count: 4K

“Do you still have more questions you want to ask me?” Jinwoo says, despite his mind already drifting somewhere else. “If you do, then this is your last chance, Angel. I’m afraid I’m starting to get a little… impatient.”

You wish he could just sever it, that last rope that binds him together. And perhaps you can, he’s handing you the knife to do it, after all. But the second you're tempted to do so, a question pops up in your mind. A question that, if he knows the answer, will bring you even more ecstasy than he’s planning to offer you.

You draw a breath. “Do you, umm… Do you know what my favorite positions are?”

“Hmm?” Your husband tilts his head slightly to the side, digesting your words with his eyes blinking in surprise. “You mean, sex positions?” His lips break into a coquettish smile when he witnesses your little bashful nod. “I thought you weren’t gonna ask anything naughty, Princess.”

Heat pools fast in your cheeks, but you ignore it. “Three guesses. If you get all of them right—”

“—You’ll let me have my way with you right now.”

He finishes your sentence for you almost in a growl, his patience hanging by a thread. You cower slightly. “Y-your way?”

“That’s right. My way.” He pushes forward on the bed, still keeping you trapped underneath him. “Any way I want”—he presses his knee firmly against your core—“Anything I want”—his hands begin to wander, one palm skating over your chest and stomach from above your nightgown, dangerously caressing your neck—“However I want.” He seizes your wrists and pins them over your head. His face hovers just above yours, his lips twisting in a titillating smirk. “And you’re just gonna have to be a good girl and take whatever I give you.”

You suddenly feel so small and frail underneath him, perfect to be cuddled and ruined. The hunger in his gaze stirs your insides with excitement. “O-okay. Just… remember that I’m pregnant.”

“Of course, baby,” he chuckles, a delightful melody in your ear. “I’ll be so gentle with you, I promise.”

There’s a hint of devilry behind his tone that convinces you otherwise. He’s going to be gentle, yes, but if there were a limit on what he could do to you, he’d make sure he’d drive you to that very edge. You swallow thickly. “And if you guess it wrong?”

“That’s impossible,” he nearly scoffs, using one hand to hold both of your wrists together as his other one travels down your body. “I’ll get them right, all three of them. But, for the sake of our conversation, I’ll humor you.” He dips his head down to pepper slow, torturous kisses down your jawline as he speaks. “Let’s see… What does my sweet wife want?” The tip of his sharp nose grazes your pulsating vein, his free hand moving back to the aching spot between your legs. “How about I’ll be your slave for a day?”

You shiver, his mouth feels hot and wet against your clavicle. “You… You’ll do anything I ask you to?”

“Mm-hmm, anything.” His tongue traces the hollow of your collarbone, his fingers lightly stroking over your bare core. “I’ll serve you, do everything you ask. You’ll have me completely at your mercy.”

Fuck, that sounds so good, so tempting. “That’s quite a huge amount of power you give me,” you titter, the sound coming out a little bit strained as he dips his fingers between your folds, rough digits covered by your slick.

“That’s the point, love,” he smirks against your skin, gently running his fingers up and down your heat, teasing your hole but never penetrating inside. “I want you to have that power over me”—his mouth explores your ear—“I want to be vulnerable”—your neck—“I want to be weak for you”—the valley of your chest—“And I want you”—he gnaws lightly against the underside of your breast—“to control me.”

You squirm beneath him as he keeps your hands tied together above your head, a shot of pleasure permeating you. “C-control you? Why?”

At your question, Jinwoo stops his ministrations, retracting his fingers from between your thighs before he kisses his way back to your lips. “Because I trust you, Angel,” he whispers. “Because I want to give up control to you, even if just for a moment.” He returns the small proximity between you, capturing your stare. “Because deep down”—he releases his grip from your wrists, his gaze softening, filled with the sincerity of the words he speaks—“I crave to be vulnerable with you, to surrender everything to you. All of me. Body, mind, heart, and soul... Everything.”

Your heart palpitates, thrumming in anticipation. The desire to be used for his pleasure still remains, but the need to take care of him, to give him the love and the attention he craves, consumes you just as strongly. Ever since your daughter arrived, you haven’t really gotten the chance to be with him properly, have you? Your undivided attention is some form of luxury he rarely attains, as you are always so occupied with taking care of your child and keeping the house spotless clean. You’re doing an excellent job as a mother, and there’s not a single fraction of his heart that wishes to complain, but… Sometimes, Jinwoo misses the days when it was only him in your mind. You can see that now.

“I’m sorry,” you quietly say, caressing his cheek. “I was so busy being a mom that I forgot how to be your wife.”

“Sweetheart, that’s not true. You’ve done so well, both as a mother and my wife,” he smiles back, leaning further into your touch. “It’s just… Sometimes I want to be spoiled, that’s all. Teased, even.”

The way he only shows this side of himself to you makes you feel proud of yourself, and beyond thankful. “Right. Cause you’re the real baby in the house,” you giggle. “Well then, baby, go ahead and make your first guess.”

The tenderness in his eyes transforms quickly into mischief. “Your first favorite position is…” Without warning, Jinwoo lifts you and flips you over to your stomach. You land face-first on the pillow before you’re yanked back to your hands and knees, your mouth separated in a startled gasp when he pushes his protruding bulge against your behind. “This,” he finishes, his body leaning forward to whisper it in your ear, his right hand pushing up your gown to expose your lower half to him. You can feel it, the outline of his hardening cock pressing firmly against your ass, separated only by the soft fabric of his sweatpants.

“You love it when I make love to you from behind.” His grip is tight on your hips, his bare torso hanging just a few inches away from your spine. “When I hug you close just like this”—He lays his chest and stomach onto your backside, embracing you with one hand while he props his weight on the bed with the other—“and my hand slides down between your legs like before”—his calloused palm glides down from your stomach to your aching core—“and I touch you here”—his two fingers find your clit—“right where you want me the most”—he rubs them teasingly against your sensitive bud—“while I fuck you deep and slow”—he grinds his hips against you, torturing you with the sensation of having him so close and yet so far. He captures your earlobe between his teeth, giving it a playful bite, his smirk beyond sinful as he whispers, “Isn’t that right, Sweetheart?”

Seeing how your body tenses up, Jinwoo can tell he’s right. He leans back to enjoy the view, detaching his hand from the bed to drag two fingers from your nape down to your back, slowly following the dip of your spine, watching the way you shiver and arch your back from the touch. He removes his other hand from between your legs, ignoring the little mewls you let out as a sign of protest, and placing both hands on your hips.

“Do you know how beautiful your body looks when I take you from behind?” He rams himself forward, his clothed cock rubbing against your folds, itching to just tear apart the piece of clothing that separates you and push inside till he’s buried deep in your warmth. “When you're on your hands and knees like this, your arms trembling each time I thrust inside?” He lets out a low groan when you start to push back, your body helplessly seeking more friction. “Seeing you from this angle turns me on so fucking much, baby.”

You can’t bite back the whimper that threatens to spill, the sheets bunched in your hands. “J-Jin—”

He suddenly presses down on the middle of your shoulder blades, driving you down the bed, your face glued to the sheets while he keeps your lower half in the air. “You know how much I love being in control, don’t you, Angel?” His breathing has grown labored, but other than that, he seems to still have his sanity intact, unlike you. Jinwoo keeps you pinned to the bed, his hand gripping your nape from behind. “Seeing you take whatever I give you, your back arching for more, so submissive and obedient for me.” He continues to grind against your behind, moving agonizingly slow on purpose. “And not just that… I could also pull on your hair”—he demonstrates his words, the hand on your nape moving up to grab a fistful of your strands—“And hear you moan louder for me when I do.”

To prove his point, he tugs on your roots, doing it so suddenly, that it robs a wanton moan out of you. His eyes are suffused with lust, his smile filthy. “That’s right, baby. Just like that.” He gives you another hard thrust, one that you know would’ve driven his cock so deeply inside if there were no barriers between you. He tosses his head back, his bottom lip bitten as he swallows his groan. “Fuck, you’re driving me crazy.”

Just like him, you can feel your body becoming more and more desperate with each passing second. Fueled by so much desire, you’re starting to whimper out his name, your lower half continuously moving on its own, rubbing yourself against him.

Jinwoo bends down, laughing softly in your ear. “Careful, love. You’re starting to sound a little needy.”

Needy— That snaps you out of whatever magic that bound you before. Irritation flares inside you, and you break away from him, tossing yourself back to the bed, throwing daggers with your eyes.

Although startled at first, another cocky smile makes its way onto his face as he looks down at you, watching you look all cute and flustered as you lie on your back with a mean scowl ornamenting your pretty face. “Are you angry?” He chuckles, his hand stroking your thigh. “I’m sorry, honey. I was just kidding.”

“You say that, but you’re just gonna end up teasing me again.”

“Well, when the opportunity arises, yes.”

You try to kick that shameless grin away from his face, but he only captures your leg easily with one hand, and press a loving kiss on your ankle. “Hey, come on now, don’t be mad.” He brings himself to you, trying to win your heart with his impish, yet romantic smile, his fingers slipping between yours as he cages your body again. Sweet, playful kisses glaze your collarbones, accompanied by the grin that he tries to repress. “Forgive me, Angel.”

“Whatever,” you snort. He’s not sorry. “You’re mean.”

“Am I?” Your reaction only amuses him further. “Are you upset because I got it right on the first guess?”

“I’m upset because you’re annoying,” you mutter through gritted teeth, but you can't stop the fire from kissing your cheeks because yes, yes indeed, he got it right, and you’re not sure if you should feel ashamed or impressed. “Don’t act so cocky, Husband. You only got one right out of three.”

He smiles at your insistence, finding your stubbornness both adorable and sexy. He runs his hand down your hip, his fingers tracing patterns over your skin. “You’ve got a point, Wife. That is only one of them, but I can tell I’m going to get the rest right as well.”

“God, I wanna wipe that damn smirk off your face.”

“Feisty,” he simpers, growing even more excited. He’s thoroughly enjoying every second of it, loving every bit of your expression. “Since my princess has grown impatient, let’s finish the game quickly, shall we?”

You roll your eyes, but you await his next move. Confidence, or perhaps arrogance, glints in his eyes as he speaks. “I know you like being in charge, Sweetheart, so for my second guess, I’ll go with…” And just as abruptly as before, he switches position. In one swift action, faster than your eyes can follow, Jinwoo rolls onto his back and sets you down above him. Straddling his lap with your legs spread, you fall forward from the sudden movement, your palms pressed flat against the bed to balance yourself, his head trapped in between. “You on top, riding me,” he finishes, still with his goddamn smirk intact.

Just how the fuck did he get it right again?

Seeing you turn flustered, Jinwoo can tell he’s winning the game, but there’s no mockery in his eyes when he reaches up to tuck your hair behind your ear, his gesture sweet, romantic even. “I have to say, this might be one of my favorites, too,” he tells you, his gaze turning tender. “The way you look at me when you’re above me… The way you roll your hips, your lips parting as you moan out my name… You look so fucking pretty like this, Angel.”

Your heart flutters no matter how much you try to tame the butterflies inside you. You’re excited, and you can tell by the growing bulge beneath you that he is, too, perhaps even so much more. “Jin—”

“It turns you on, too, doesn’t it, being in control?” he cuts you off with a question, his hand traveling down your side. “Which makes me think… Maybe you’re not so submissive, after all.” His palms now rest on your thighs, slowly gliding up your skin. “Do you still remember that night when we celebrated your birthday together? You were terribly drunk, and I was ready to let you sleep for the night, but you insisted on—what did you say back then—unwrapping your birthday gift.”

You nearly combust into flames, remembering that yes, I did say that, with your husband obviously being the so-called birthday gift. The memory is a little hazy, blurred by all the wine you’d consumed that night, but you can fairly remember how desperate you were back then, how nee—

“God, you were so needy that night,” he finishes the shameful thought you hate to admit. “Probably the cutest you’d ever been. You pushed me down to the bed, and climbed onto my lap, clawing against my chest to take off my shirt. No matter how much I told you to stop and take some rest, you didn’t listen. You were so… desperate for me.”

Your cheeks sizzle, shame coating your face. “T-that wasn’t me. That was the alcohol.”

“Oh, I don't doubt that, Sweetheart. But it’s not fair if you blame everything on the alcohol. After all, it didn’t put thoughts in your head, it only made you braver.” His devilish grin returns. “The truth was, you’d been wanting to do that to me for a while, hadn’t you? To dominate me in bed?”

Your heartbeat soars. You can’t deny that it’s true. Seeing him in this position, your eyes roaming over his features and his bare chest, makes you recall all those nights when you embraced the bolder side of you, bouncing on his lap without letting your shame take control. It brought you so much satisfaction seeing him like that, with his eyes turning half-lidded from the pleasure you gave him, the muscles in his abdomen contracting with every grind of your hips, his jaw dropping in a silent groan… It always leaves you wanting more.

But that night in particular… Were you even… wilder than usual? “W-what did I do to you exactly?”

The way his lips twitch into a broader smirk—you probably shouldn’t have asked that.

“Let’s rewind the memory, shall we?” Jinwoo captures your hands, detaching them from the bed. “You put your hands right here”—he places them on his naked chest, letting you remember in detail just how lean, and toned, and just absolutely breathtaking his body is—“And you moved your hips like this…” He settles his own hands on your waist, pressing you down harder against him, making sure you feel him, the contour of his cock and how it twitches under your weight, separated only by the soft layer of his sweatpants. He guides you forward, the slight friction of his fabric against your bare folds sending tremors down your thighs. He chuckles at your reaction, the sound low and breathy as he watches you intently, loving how much this affects you, the way it affects him.

“And you keep grinding on me like this”—he lifts his own hips to answer you, his grip on your hips tightening a bit as he silently commands you to pick up your pace—“Back and forth. Back and forth. Back and”—a moan escapes him when you start to move on your own, his eyes drooping, filled with lust—“forth… Mm, yeah, just like that.”

He lets you move on your own for a bit, reveling in the moment, your wetness staining his pants the same way his own cock is smearing precum from below. He releases a ragged breath, his nails raking down your thighs. “You didn’t care about me that night, about what I liked, what I wanted. You were just moving to your own desire, making sure you rub your clit against me with each roll of your hips, riding me as if my cock was made for you to use as you please. You were so fucking sexy, baby.”

Amidst the shame that burns you from the inside, you remember how… full you felt that night with his cock throbbing inside you, and now you feel so empty, your heat clenching around nothing.

Jinwoo detects your frustration, but he dismisses it with a cruel smile. He has his own game to play and he’s nowhere near finished.

“I don’t know if you remember this, but”—he takes your dominant hand in his, curling his fingers around your wrist—“in the heat of the moment, you wrap your fingers around my neck”—he swallows in excitement as he brings your hand to his neck—“and you squeeze tight”—he closes your fingers around him, pressing your palm down on his Adam’s apple—“tighter and tighter”—he guides you to do it harder, clamping your fingers firmly around his pipes until you can feel every constrict his throat makes as he chokes out his words—“Until I—ngh—started gasping out your name.” His chuckles turn strained, his cheeks turning a little flushed. “I could see how much it turned you on, and it aroused me, too. To have you do whatever you want with me…” You start adding more pressure on your own, and he almost rolls his eyes back in rapture. “God, I wanna be under your mercy again.”

“You—” Seeing how brazen he is sets you on fire. “I didn’t know you liked being dominated.”

“I don’t, but I love being with you.” Exhilaration flashes in his eyes, his pupils dilated. “I love whatever you do to me, and whatever I do to you. Seeing you act all submissive and obedient for me drives me crazy, baby, but watching how excited you looked from choking me was a treat for the eyes. And it felt good being under your control. Being used as a toy for your pleasure…” He bites the corner of his lip, his hips bucking up to meet yours. “Makes me so goddamn hard just by thinking about it.”

“You’re so—” You don’t bother to continue your words, choosing to let your hips do the talking for you. You start grinding on him faster, your hips rolling, and it feels so dirty and thrilling to do something so obscene without truly touching him.

Jinwoo adds his thumb to the game, pressing his digit against your clit, giving you the needed friction. You mewl above him, still aching for more. You feel like you’re missing a part of you, and it’s right there, but you can’t have it. This desperation on your face… You looked like this, too, that night, didn't you? And God, he fucking loved it as much as he does now. Something about you rubbing yourself against his clothed cock like an animal in heat awakens something primal inside him.

“Fuck,” he chuckles darkly, “You’re leaving stains all over my pants, Sweetheart.”

I don’t care, your mind responds, so much that your tongue sits idle in your mouth instead of forming the words out loud. His voice turns subdued in your mind, muffled by the filthy thoughts of you tugging his pants down to his thighs and driving his length inside you.

Should I just do it?

“Not yet, Angel,” he stops you just before your thoughts can turn into actions, his voice sounding just as breathless as he reads your expression. “Don’t beg for my cock just yet. I’ll make it worth the wait, I promise, but for now…” He thrusts up at the same time he pulls you down, your soft moan intermingling with his in the air at the contact. You can almost feel it, feel the way his hardness teases your ring even through the fabric and it feels so good but far from enough.

Jinwoo’s eyes shimmer with the same thrill. “Let’s drive ourselves insane and see who crumbles first.”

You want to accept the challenge, but at this point, you don’t mind if you lose. Actually, you want to lose, just to get this fucking over with.

You don’t stop, your body moving more frantically above him with each passing second. One grind of your hips hits just right, and clouds of white start to form behind your lids. You can’t believe you’re coming just from dry-humping your husband like a fucking teenager but you are and he senses it.

Jinwoo sees the way your body trembles, your movements stutter, your muscles tautening before they begin to unwind. Your fingers tighten around his neck as you drown yourself in ecstasy, and it hurts just the way he wants it. Your grip on him loosens as you slowly climb down from your high, your hand sliding back down to his chest to keep yourself steady.

Jinwoo swallows thickly. It was dangerous, so close. Had you continued to rock your hips a few more times, he would’ve reached cloud nine, too.

He watches you with a soft smile, catching his own breath as his hand gently strokes your thigh. “Felt good?”

You sit on his lap, your chest rising and falling like the tides. You’re spent. “Yeah…”

“You’ve come twice today,” he titters softly. “And I haven’t really done anything yet.”

You don’t care. He can make fun of you all you want, you don’t give a damn. You’re feeling far too good to pay attention to anything.

Jinwoo pushes his upper half off the bed, keeping you on his lap with one hand around your waist as he leans back with his other hand propped behind him. “Take off your gown for me, Sweetheart.”

Still dazed, you answer your puppeteer obediently, reaching down to grip the hem of your nightgown and pull it over your head. You’re only halfway to doing so when he stops you. “Slowly,” he says, his voice sweet but full of command, dripping with desire. “Tease me, Angel. Make me ache for you more. I know you can do it.” With your heart racing a tad faster, you steel yourself and do as he commanded you to, rising to your knees and stripping yourself bare at an agonizing pace, torturing him with every inch of skin you expose.

Watching you with a flush creeping across your cheeks, your chest still heaving up and down, your eyes staring back at him with a mix of need and love and a little bit of shyness that you once cast away, Jinwoo releases a heavy breath, carving every detail into his memory. He shortens the small distance between you, tangling his strong arms around your waist, skin rubbing against skin. “Gorgeous.”

You gaze down at him as he looks up at you, your breasts on the same level as his face. “You… You said that position was one of your favorites.” He hums in approval, placing an open-mouth kiss on your chest. You brush his hair away from his eyes, enthralled by the sight. “What’s your number one, then?”

He smiles at your curiosity, and the way your eyes remain hazy even after a moment has passed. “That’s a secret, Sweetheart. You’ll find out what it is if I get the rest of them right.”

You sigh, your impatience returning. You’ve forgotten that he still has one guess left. “Hurry up and hit me with your third guess, then.”

“Your third favorite”—Jinwoo hooks an arm around your waist, lifts you for a split second before he pushes you back to the bed, settling himself between your legs—“is when I have you lying on your back, legs wrapped tight around me. When you can feel me so deep inside you, and I can taste your lips as I fuck you hard and fast.” He can feel you shiver as he says it, your body so responsive, reacting to his words. His fringe falls over his eyes as his face hovers above yours, a smirk playing on his lips. “I was right again, wasn’t I?”

Three times. Out of all the things you’ve done with him, how did he manage to get all of your favorite positions three times in a row? “No, you got it wrong.”

He raises an eyebrow in amused surprise when you say that, seeing through your lies. “Seems like my princess wants to play dirty tonight. Are you that desperate to have me as your slave? Kinda makes me want to lose on purpose.”

Your plan to wash off the damn smirk backfires as it only persists longer on his face. “I’m not lying!”

“Your body gave you away, Angel. I saw how you reacted before. You liked it.” He grins roguishly. “And even if I guessed it wrong, once I’m done with you tonight,” he presses down on you, his sensual whisper echoing right in your ear. “I’ll make sure it gets on the list.”

You shudder, quickly succumbing to your defeat. “Fine. You win. What now?”

A Cheshire cat’s smile forms on his face as a sense of victory fills him. It’s about damn time you ask him that question.

Jinwoo tugs the strings on your body once more, rolling you to your stomach until you’re pressed flat against the bed. His hips press down against yours from behind, his hand fisting a handful of your hair and he tugs it back, earning himself a low groan. Deprived of your options as you’re being held still, your eyes land on the standing mirror before you, just the way he wants you to. It reflects you perfectly, showcasing how helpless you are beneath him, the pathetic look on your face—so eager to be touched, and the way his gaze turns dark as it meets your own.

“Now,” Jinwoo whispers in your ear, keeping your eyes locked with his in the mirror as he smirks. “I get to do with you as I please.”

***

A/N: I had to write down the most basic sex positions ever 'cause I know y'all jinwoo girlies are vanilla af LMFAOOO

btw what do you think jinwoo's favorite position is 👀

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loganficsonly · 22 days ago

Note

hello!!! hope you're have a great day so far!! I was wondering if could you write something with Logan and an easily flustered! reader?? like they get bashful when he does anything sweet and super embarrassed when he's being flirty or touchy with them?? maybe they're a little insecure that he might still have feelings for Jean or think that he could do way better??

thank you for writing in! this is super cute but i think i ended up writing something so fucking debauched, i'm so sorry. this is just straight up porn lmao

i hope you don't mind me taking jean out of the equation too!

first time writing patch!logan >:)

beneath the mask

patch!logan x f!reader, 3.4k WARNINGS: 18+ MDNI please this is nothing but filthy smut!!!, flirting?, patch is a warning, reader has hair and is able-bodied, dirty talk, fingering, oral sex (f!receiving), piv, riding, unprotected sex (please be responsible), pet names, not proofread or edited AUTHOR'S NOTE: writing sexy shit is hard eh. anyway, reader is a singer who looks like she can eat a man up and picks her teeth with his bones but is actually super easily flustered. i think i lost the plot towards the end but at least reader and logan get to bang!

Cherry lips croon from behind the silver microphone. Each syllable forms like the slow drip of nectar, lush and perfect and full of promises for those in the audience who have a thirst to quench.

And indeed one could say you’re a tall glass of water, standing on the stage with your hair framing your face like a painting, delicate nails stroking the mic. But with that deep red dress that shines every time you move under the light, it would be more accurate to call you a tall glass of Madripoor’s finest wine.

Coveted. Delicious. Expensive.

The spotlights are blinding, reducing the faces staring up at you into shadowed outlines.

That’s good. Between that darkness and the buzz of a warm drink you had just before the start of your set, nervousness has no place here.

You feel a curl of a smile on your lips. Melancholy melodies from the piano resound beneath your voice. The plucks of a double bass from the back of the stage, in time with soft shuffles of a drum set. The music is slow and languid, and you feel yourself sinking into it as you sing.

There was a boy

A very strange enchanted boy

They said he wandered very far

Very far

Over land and sea…

A figure in white cuts through the bar. There’s no need for words—a drink is placed in front of him swiftly, the caramel-colored liquid refracting in the light, ice clinking against the chilled glass. He sits, facing towards the stage.

One eye trained on you.

Business held him up more than he’d like. He settles down after a burning sip of whiskey, sufficiently satisfied with how he dealt with the problems that caused him to be late for this.

He’d call it a win-win situation. They paid the price. His suit remains crisp, unsullied. You are still singing. Your last song, evidently—Nature Boy is always your closer—but at least he got to hear you and that beautiful voice.

A little shy and sad of eye

But very wise was he

From behind the rim of his glass, he drinks in your figure.

Stunning. The dress betrays your curves, hugging them like second skin. He sees the sinful slit on the side of your thigh, only visible when you move enough. Your hair is down tonight, he notices—a different impression compared to that of your usual updo. Relaxed. Free. No doubt inviting visions of what you would look like with your head on a pillow, hair splayed as you sigh a sultrier tune…

You look like you were destined to doom good men.

Lucky for him, he isn’t a good man.

And then one day

One magic day he passed my way

And we spoke of many things

Fools and kings

This he said to me

Something pulls your eye to the bar, the only illuminated spot in the crowd.

He’s here.

There’s a subtle shiver—your skin reacting to the sight of him. White suit, black bowtie. Always the same colors, always here, watching. The many stares you earn from others don’t stand a chance to the smolder of his single eye. Unlike the rest, you can’t tell what’s on his mind. Maybe that’s why his presence at poker tables is considered a curse.

You thought he wouldn’t show, seeing as he missed almost the entirety of your set. But now that he’s fifty feet away, strong hand wrapped around a glass, you find butterflies in your stomach.

Your eyes meet.

The greatest thing

You’ll ever learn

Is just to love

And be loved in return

A thunderous applause and fifteen minutes later, he finds you on the other end of the bar, surrounded by admirers. They stand a little too close for his liking, but it’s almost part of your job to smile and laugh at them.

He watches as your fingers move up to fix a gentleman’s tie, half-lidded eyes focused on your task. The man tenses in a way that looks all too familiar. You move smoothly to hug an older woman, lips puckered for an air kiss on her cheek. There’s a hand on your jaw, thumb stroking affectionately, and you lean in, basking in the attention.

A hand on your arm. Fingers brushing against yours as they hand you your drink. And eyes, god, eyes that roam over you, barely veiling the wicked thoughts behind them.

You merely give them a small smile. The kind that tells them you know, and that you like it.

If he weren’t any better, he’d be seething, but really he’s the same as they are. Hungry for a drop of you.

But he isn’t angry, or jealous. Can’t be. Not when you catch his eye and cordially murmur your thanks and ‘excuse me’s before parting the crowd, moving towards his seat at the end of the bar.

Of course, knowing who he is, they don’t pursue you.

He stands as you arrive in front of him, eye locked on yours while he brings your knuckles up to his lips. He notices your painted nails, elegant and manicured to resemble little claws that remind him of cats. He smiles.

The brush on your skin feels innocent, but the shudder you try to suppress is anything but.

“You look beautiful as always.”

Maybe it’s your proclivity for music that makes you so sensitive to his voice. It’s deep and rumbly, awakening a longing for you to place your hand on his chest to feel it.

“I didn’t think you’d make it,” you reply back softly. He places a hand on your lower back, guiding you to walk with him, likely to one of the private lounges he has access to. Your stride is in time with his as you walk side by side into the velvet-covered hallway.

You can see a slight quirk on his lips, ornamental sconces bathing dim light on his handsome face as he murmurs words only for you to hear.

“How could I ever miss your show, honey?”

It’s always like this with Patch.

A big bouquet of red roses, as if you just made your debut when you’ve in fact done this a hundred times over. They’re placed in a nice vase before he pampers you with the kind of dinner you used to have once every year for a birthday celebration. The conversation that ensues with him is quiet but easy, despite each word hanging heavily with the hidden prospect for more.

Before he leaves, he’d ask you to drink with him. A small amount of something heavy and chilled. Keeping him company. So far you’ve never denied his request—not because you’re intimidated, but because you’re interested.

Tonight is no different, except the two of you are standing, and he’s so close.

He’s as striking as a portrait, white suit cutting a clear silhouette against the dark mahogany walls of the room. Low lights and a thick door grant a sense of isolation while you’re, in fact, still in a public place. He has a hand on your cheek, thumb stroking your skin, and you know the heat that gathers under his touch is not because of the alcohol.

“You know I’m a patient man, don’t you, honey?” he rasps, hungry eyes taking in your face. God, you’re even more perfect up close.

He feels you nod, the gesture a little timid. Something in his chest blooms at the look in your eyes—when it was steady before, cool under the hot spotlights, he can feel a slight change swirling in it. It’s been there, brewing since he closes the door to this room. Blooming when he pays all of his attention to you while you eat.

Nervous. Just from being with him.

He takes a step forward, slowly cornering you into the wall. Your eyes widen slightly as you look up at him. He sees you swallow, breath hitched, a hand on his chest ready to push him away.

When you don’t, his blood sings.

“Patch—”

“It’s just us, sweet thing,” he purrs, correcting you. You exhale a little shakily.

“...Logan.”

He hums, pleased at the sound of your voice calling his name. What he’d do to make you sing it louder, like you’re begging for him—he’s had plenty of dreams where you haunt him with just your voice, cooing, coaxing him to unravel you, to take you—

“Not sure I can be so patient anymore,” he says, his body brushing against yours. A hand rests on your waist, pulling you close. The other that’s on your cheek slides down to your jaw before nestling at the back of your neck, craning your head so you’re looking directly up at him.

“What do you mean?” you whisper, staring at his chin instead. If you looked into his eyes right now, you’d wither.

Lips press against your ear. The touch is undemanding, but firm, warm breath eliciting a gasp from you. Your hand on his chest catches him tensing at the sound.

“Means I want you. Now,” he answers, voice low. His hand on your waist slides down to your hip, tugging you until your breath stops—he’s hard. Your chest heaves.

Pulling away, he looks at you. You wonder what you look like. You feel feverish.

“Will you let me have you?”

A warm, calloused hand slips onto your naked thigh through the slit of your dress, and your knees are so close to buckling. Heels knock into the wall behind you, but there’s nowhere to run.

…do you even want to?

Madripoor is filth dressed up as a gemstone. The city’s deceitfulness is something Logan is accustomed to. He has seen and studied all the ways people lie.

Except for yours. The moment he takes you to the penthouse of the hotel, kissing you senseless against the locked door before carrying you to the bedroom, he feels it. The unraveling of your own brand of trickery.

Senses it through the way you slot your lips against his, how your hands glide softly down his back. He’s been with enough women to know exactly how different you are just by having you like this, under him on his bed while his mouth devours yours.

When he pulls away, he doesn’t see the woman on stage. There’s no surety in your half-lidded eyes, already glazed with desire, and certainly not in the way they avoid his own gaze, looking away over his shoulder.

Hazel eye rakes down your body. Your dress rides up, slit revealing your leg in its entirety. The cowl neck of your outfit reveals a hint of your breasts as you heave with each labored breath.

You are a seductress, just not the kind people think you are.

While you put on your mask, you feed their imaginations with easy smiles and affectionate touches. The picture-perfect illusion of a siren, dangerously alluring.

That same person is crumbling underneath him only after a few deep kisses. Averting your gaze, eyelids fluttering. Blushing.

It drives him wild.

His mouth waters as he hovers above you, still dressed. An animal wearing human clothes. His deception. He uses his hand, directing your gaze at him, smirking at the lost look on your face.

“So fucking pretty for me.”

A palm presses against your breast, lips latching onto your neck as he gets you out of the dress. As gorgeous as you look with it on, he needs to see you bare. He is slow with it, letting the straps fall first, marking the skin of your shoulders, preening as he feels your hands on his back guiding him close.

Then Logan tugs the silky fabric down, revealing your breasts. You move your arms to cover it. He doesn’t let you, grabbing them and pinning your wrists with one hand to keep you still.

“Don’t stare,” you whisper, twisting your body away from him, but that only makes you look more delicious, tits bouncing.

“Oh, honey,” he hums. It’s cute, he thinks, the way you try to shrink.

Makes him want to ruin you even more.

“I’d do whatever you ask me to, but that’s just impossible.”

He leans down, tongue lapping up a hardened peak before he uses his free hand to grab your flesh and sucks. You cry out, writhing beneath him, looking like you’re close to tears. Pleasure floods his veins, making him impatient. Where he was restrained before, he’s all relentless lust now—teeth, tongue, and lips working together to coax more of those gorgeous sounds out of you. He moves to your other breast. God, your moans…

“Logan,” you cry out, and he just about loses it.

“Fuck, you sing amazing, but that sounds even better,” he laughs, letting go of your hands so he can provoke you with both of his. The sight of your tits under his palms, slick with the attention he’s given you, nipples hard… Logan wonders whether this is a special type of heaven.

“Give me more, baby.”

You find yourself doing as you’re told, all kinds of lewd noises escaping your lips. He makes you, playing your body like some kind of instrument he’s long mastered, despite having you for the first time. When the dress comes off you entirely, you squeeze your thighs together, vaguely aware of the sopping mess that’s coalesced in your center.

Logan’s hand parts you, growling.

“No hiding.” He yanks the side of your underwear down, slipping it down your legs before tossing it. Where it lands, he couldn’t care less.

He smells you before he sees you, and his cock twitches. His good eye focuses on the glisten at the apex of your thighs, visible even in the dim light of the bedroom.

“She’s so wet already, honey,” he smiles, zeroing in at your pussy as two fingers come up to play with your folds. You arch your back, groaning. “Just from playing with your tits?”

“A-ah…”

Your thighs clamp together, but his other hand interferes just as quickly, gripping your knee to keep you spread. Fuck, he’s still fully dressed—

“So it’s all just an act? The sensual songstress,” he breathes heavily, slipping his middle finger in, watching you writhe at the sensation. He almost laughs, not out of humor, but from the way your walls clench onto his digit like you don’t want him to ever leave. “Soaked for me—”

“No, it’s not—”

“When was the last time you had a man, then, honey?” he grits, his middle finger all the way inside of you. His cock strains underneath the tent in his pants, eager to have you.

“I d-don’t remember,” you reply, your voice thin and airy.

Ideas flood his head then and there. All the ways he can make you feel good, how loud he can make you scream for him, how he’ll change you, make you want more, make you greedy—

“You’ll remember me after we’re done,” he rumbles, sliding down until your legs bracket his shoulders, head between them.

When his tongue slides up your cunt, you part your lips in a silent scream, before whines slip past your throat. He’s almost conceited in the way he eats you out, so sure, and he’s not wrong to be. Lips tease and kiss until you’re certain your lungs are short on air, all while his finger stretches your insides, reaching a part so deep you’re sure it hasn’t been touched in a long time.

Then one finger becomes two and they pump, slick sounds of your leaking cunt echoing in the room. Your hand flies to his hair, tugging needily. He moans against you, vibrations racking your body with goosebumps.

As he closes his mouth around your clit, fingers ruining you, you sob his name, cum soaking his digits.

That’s only the first one.

Logan sinks his fingers into your pussy, two fingers scissoring you. He hovers over you, mouth against your ear saying all kinds of obscenities while he stretches you in preparation for the real thing.

“Pussy so tight, baby, relax for me,” he growls, feeling you drench his fingers. The slapping sounds of his hand against you grow louder. You moan as he curls inside of you, hitting a spot that makes your vision blur. “Wanna make sure my dick fits inside her, yeah?”

“Fuck,” you cry weakly. He grins.

“It’s just my fingers, honey. My cock’s going to fucking ruin you, I know it. Gonna make you feel so fucking good, you won’t even look at any other guy. That right?”

Your response is an unintelligible mewl. A familiar wave crests, the knot at the bottom of your gut tightening.

“Come on, pretty girl, cum for me.”

How on earth he does it, you’re not sure. Your body obeys his command as if he has some kind of control over it, spine arching high as your hips sway, greedy for his digits, and when his thumb flicks that bundle of nerves you collapse. There’s a long drawn-out moan of his name as you spasm and shake, music to his ears.

He doesn’t waste time entering you, jacket shed, pants hanging low on his thighs—far too desperate at this point. Soon, you’re leaking all over his cock. His hand gently directs your gaze to where your bodies join, holding your chin as he feeds you his inches.

“Fuck, honey, look at that. Taking me so well.”

He moves.

A common sense of decency, the songs you sang in the set earlier, the taste of the drink he poured you—all of these things are forgotten, your mind a clean slate with each thrust of his length inside you. The way he moves is designed to make you fall apart quickly, relieving the ache in your core while making you want more, and you feel that sensation build within you again. Hands grip his biceps as you pant, eyelids fluttering up at him, drinking his expression while he spews filth at you.

“Feels so good, baby, you’re so fucking hot.” His hips snap, a squelching sound between your legs. “Hear that? So wet for me. Want more?”

You mewl a ‘yes, Logan, please’ and he grins in delight, a renewed vigor in his already ruthless pace.

“God, fuck, you’re so tight. Gonna cum on my cock?”

Nodding, you bury your face in his neck, letting out little gasps every time he sinks into you. You feel so full, like he’s all the way in your stomach—

“Tell me. Use your words, baby.”

“I-I’m so close, Logan,” you cry.

“That’s right, let go, sweet thing, let me take care of you.”

The third time your orgasm hits, you’re hit by the reality of everything, your senses honing in to register only him. The way his length drags your walls—fuck, he hasn’t stopped—, his breath on your temple, the rumble of his voice as he praises you—“good girl, doing so good,”—the world stops.

It’s just you, him, and how good it feels.

As the last waves of release begin to simmer down your limbs, electrifying your legs and fingertips, you pant, catching your breath. A gentle hand cups the fat of your cheek. You open your eyes.

Logan looks down at you, studying your utterly ruined countenance. Lips parted, cheeks burning, hair messily splayed on his pillow—the same way he imagined it would when he saw you sing just an hour ago.

That expensive lipstick hasn’t budged, though. He already knows one way he wants to ruin it.

The world spins and you let out a surprised noise as Logan flips the two of you, him on the bed and you sitting on his abs. You whine, feeling the slick smearing his shirt. He all but rips the fabric down the center, yanking it off his skin like it offended him, revealing his bare and hairy chest to you.

Hands are on your hips now, positioning you on top of his length. Your eyes widen. He’s still hard.

Once again, his cock sinks into your heat, and you melt on top of him, hands bracing on his chest, head tilted back.

“Oh my god—”

“Didn’t think I was done with you, huh, honey?” he groans, bottoming out, hand pressing on your stomach. Then his eye snaps up at you, pleased at the hazy look on your face.

“Come on, ride. Gonna fuck the shyness outta you.”

#logan x reader #wolverine x reader #logan howlett x reader #wolverine #x men #logan howlett #wolverine x you #logan howlett fanfiction #wolverine smut #logan howlett smut

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firefly-ace · 6 months ago

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-𝙇𝙤𝙨𝙚𝙧 𝙀𝙡𝙡𝙞𝙚 𝙃𝘾𝙨-

⋆⭒˚｡⋆ loser!ellie who definitely gives off older brother core

⋆⭒˚｡⋆ loser!ellie who def has a youtube channel with like a good 3K subs with gaming content of like Minecraft, PubG, probably RDR2

⋆⭒˚｡⋆ loser!ellie who most definitely owns the most dorkiest themed boxers and socks, eg: space,dinosaurs, etc.

(you bought her Savage Starlight themed boxers one time for her birthday, she was overjoyed and it’s her favorite pair.)

⋆⭒˚｡⋆ loser!ellie has a somewhat diverse music taste, ranging from dad rock: pearl jam, AC/DC, Fleetwood Mac (def bc of Joel), Midwest-Emo: mom jeans, The Front Bottoms, Mcafferty, and punk: The Sick Habit, The Clash, Blink-182. but she does occasionally dabbles in Duster

⋆⭒˚｡⋆ loser!ellie who whenever you go out, draws on the napkins they give you, sometimes if they’re really good she’ll put them up on the fridge

(Often times she just sketches you tho)

⋆⭒˚｡⋆ loser!ellie LOVES complimenting you and is js always awestruck at what she pulled

you’ll just be chilling on the couch and look up to be met with her eyes, her expression turning shy and bashful once she realizes you noticed.

“What?” , you’ll playfully smile at her.

“Nothing.” she’ll smile back at you. “You’re just…. really pretty.”

⋆⭒˚｡⋆ loser!ellie who is either an aerospace engineering major or illustration

⋆⭒˚｡⋆ loser!ellie who absolutely LOVES it when you sit in her lap when she plays video games; dropping all the lore of the game like she’s matpat

⋆⭒˚｡⋆ loser!ellie who isn’t the huge stoner that everyone depicts her as, more so a gummy or three on a friday evening

⋆⭒˚｡⋆ loser!ellie posts only faceless guitar covers and the occasional original melody on tt but she would absolutely rather DIE than sing in them

⋆⭒˚｡⋆ loser!ellie who sends you cute couple or cartoon or animal videos with the little “us!!”

⋆⭒˚｡⋆ loser!ellie who sends you the dumbest fucking ass memes. like they’re not even funny but you’ll hear her CACKLING from a different room

⋆⭒˚｡⋆ loser!ellie who has a cute little messenger bag with pins on it where she carries around her sketchbook

a/n: that’s it, sorry it was so short😓 first official writing post ayeee they were gonna turn freaky but i didn’t have enough freaky ones so it doesn’t look out of pocket

#lesbian #ellie williams #ellie tlou #ellie x fem reader #ellie x reader #ellie williams fluff #ellie willams x reader #ellie x you #ellie williams headcanons #headcanon #fireflyace

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rockingbytheseaside · 7 months ago

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✦ How they comfort you when you wake up from a nightmare

(F!Harbingers edition) Columbina, Arlecchino, Sandrone, Signora

(Due to the popular demands of many anon lovelies – I made an iteration of this fic under the same name, but female Harbingers edition! Hope I didn't disappoint, sorry if I couldn’t tag those old requests!)

It was a mere fleeting image, an illusion conjured by your weary mind as you plunged deeper into sleep. Yet as your unconscious brain fought off the shackles of nightmares, your body jolted awake with a gasp. In the deafening silence of the bedroom, only the sound of your breathing is uttered. It is then, when you sit up, that you start feeling the deft, gentle hands of your beloved shuffle from behind you.

✧ You were trying to regain your breath when you noticed something shift beside you in bed. Columbina’s hands silently found themselves around your shoulder, her chest pressing onto your back.

“Hm, a restless night, my angel?”

You blinked your groggy fatigue away. With a wistful nod, you confirmed Columbina’s suspicion. She sensed your bashfulness to talk about the dream, not wishing to make her worry any more than she already does when doting on you.

“Shh… Shh, just breathe. There is no need to feel flustered over something as natural as dreams,” – The Harbinger whispered through a mystic smile. She settled the pillows behind you, pulling you gently to her bosom while she embraced you. “Dreams, like nightmares, are all part of every living being. Some dreams are sweet, while others are engulfing.”

You listened to her voice, trying to ease your mind. You looked up at her; as always, her eyes were covered with white lace, yet her smile remained. Even if she spoke about macabre nightmares.

“Rest your weary head, now, angel. Want me to sing you a melody?”

You nodded, as expected. The Dove’s voice hummed a gentle melody in the darkness of your bedroom. Her voice carries a slow lullaby, melancholic almost, as she serenades you into rest. Like a lonesome bird, singing for her one only, telling the other: ‘I am here, with you in the dark’. She embraced you with her voice all while caressing your head and pulling you back into dreamless slumber.

✧ When you awoke, the first thing you spotted was Arlecchino's charred hands placing a teacup on the nightstand beside you. You are unsure if you escaped your nightmare by gasping for air, or because you heard her stirring the warm liquid of the cup nearby.

“You were having a nightmare,” – Arlecchino did not ask, but stated. She sat at the edge of the bed, her coat left hanging by a nearby chair. “What troubles you so?”

You tried to sit up, but she silently ushered you to remain in bed. Sensing your already dazed expression being haunted with fatigue, Arlecchino shifted to sit closer. Her hand clasped yours in a tender gesture, even though her eyes remained stern.

You hesitated but relented. As you lay there in bed, looking up at her x-shaped pupils, you confessed about the lingering horrors of a crimson moon in your nightmares, how your breath runs short as if something is clawing at your neck. The Knave remained silent, her eyes cautiously narrowing as she observed you.

“Perhaps the mind plays tricks on us when one is exhausted. Perhaps it's premonitions. Either way,” – her fingers gently came to caress your skin, brushing your hair back. “You mustn't let your exhaustion overwhelm you. Rest, now, and drink something warm.”

Her words were hushed, and her fingers kept brushing through your hair. A smile graced your lips when she ushered for the teacup by the nightstand, but you didn't feel like getting up. Instead, you were content staring at the depth of her black eyes, the red hue no longer threatening but soothing, even if it was the only color in the dark.

Arlecchino respected your need for silence. Her sharp nails kept gently gliding over your skin, but she never fully let go. Despite her composed attitude and gentle grasp, her mind ran miles as she thought of ways to decimate all troubles for the one most beloved to her.

✧ By the time you sat in bed, you heard familiar taps of small, rushed footsteps beside you. Sandrone, as if in a mechanical emergency, stood diligently beside you, her eyes inquisitive on your sudden gasps – “Is something the matter…? Your breathing is hurried.”

You blinked, placing your hand on your forehead as realization dawned on you. Shaking your head softly, you reassured that it was a brief nightmare while you napped. But this did not diminish the wide peering eyes of the Harbinger.

“Hm. I see. An unpleasant mental image processed by your subconscious. Then you must be feeling distraught,” - she pondered for a while, before nodding with determination. “Stay here. I must issue you a warm beverage at once!”

Before you could protest, the wind-up key on Sandrone’s back was already spinning, her body moving in elegant clockwork, ardently rushing to make you something warm to drink. Even her giant servant, the modified Ruin Guard, arrived at her command with warm blankets and a comforter.

You, obviously, had no say when that robot lifted you while Sandrone organized the bed more comfortably with pillows and blankets.

Any words of assurance that you tried to mutter went completely unheard by Sandrone. She motioned for her robotic servant to place you back, ensuring you were comfortable first before she gently climbed beside you.

“No, it cannot be a simple dream. Why would your heartbeat be alleviated, and your breathing labored?” - her voice was soft yet insistent as she scooted closer in worry. “Maybe yet, it's not about a nightmare, but something subconsciously worrying you…?”

Oh no, you recognized her shift from innocent worry to threatening fixation.

“... Maybe someone is the reason for these psychological disturbances? A pest hindering you?”

You placed both of your hands on her shoulders in hopes of calming her down. If something catches her attention, or Archons forbid, her suspicion - the 7th of Fatui Harbingers would never settle down with mercy, despite her innocent appearance. Under your permission, she scooted closer, her smaller frame pressed to your side. Your warmth against her doll-like features assured her that you were here, safe beside her.

“I won't let anything harm what is mine. Even if it's something nonphysical,” - her head leaned on your shoulder, whispering hushed vows of promised tempest. “My most precious is for no one to tamper with.”

✧ As you stirred and struggled in your sleep, you felt a warm hand rest upon your forehead. La Signora sensed your unrest before you could even open your eyes, yet her simple motion grounded you back to reality as you called her name - Rosalyne.

“Honestly, must I wake you like a mother whenever your dreams are restless?” – she leaned beside you in bed, watching over you with an amused smile, long locks of blonde hair cascaded over her shoulders. “Another nightmare, darling?”

You slowly opened your eyes and nodded.

“Hm. Come here, closer.” – she hummed as she sat up in bed, gently guiding you to rest your head on her lap. Even when her skin looked pristine and cold, you felt warm trails leave her fingertips as she caressed your forehead. You let out a deep breath, feeling your bedroom hair brushed away from your face, while Signora continued:

“You know, when I have nightmares, I quickly remind myself that these are nothing but memories. And being held hostage in the past is a weakness,” – her voice shifted lowly. “Do not allow some fleeting memories to take hold of you.”

You listen to her words; the question of whether she still sees nightmares in her sleep escapes you without a warning. But Signora just smiled faintly. When she saw you nuzzle to her, your gaze apologetic and timid in the dimness of the night, she did not scold you; she instead leaned carefully to plant a warm kiss on your forehead, like a Pyro Crystalfly landing in your head.

“It doesn't matter anymore. What matters is that you are here, beside me.”

(the bad thing about writing f!Harbingers for me is that I feel like I'm making random headcanons about their personalities, especially Columbina and Sandrone. We haven't seen them in-game yet and only got Arle as playable. I am biased because I wish we got more Harbingers in each region and not make them background villains. Anyway, thx for reading)

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fandomonetwo · 7 months ago

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ain't no sunshine — steve harrington

▸summary: steve just wants cuddles. and he'll play the song on repeat until he gets them.

▸characters: steve harrington x gn!reader

▸tw: tooth. rotting. FLUFF

▸a/n: i did not die. have some happy words.

HE MUST'VE HAD the song downloaded four-hundred times on his cassette tape, because you were just about ready to bash your head in when the beginning notes played from Steve's bedroom.

Ain't no sunshine when she's gone, it's not warm when she's away.

You were in the living room, finishing up some writings that you had due for your classes when you gazed unamused at the ceiling. He'd been playing the song on repeat, singing along badly in order to coax you into giving him some love and affection as you always did on a Tuesday afternoon. Unfortunately, this deadline was currently taking priority, and Steve was being a drama queen about it.

You still had about four pages to write, as well as some questions to answer before anything else took over your mind, so you had to suffer.

Ain't no sunshine when she's gone, and she's always gone too long, anytime she goes away.

You'd practically memorised the words and melody to this song, mouthing them with good ol' Bill Withers as he provided sustenance to feed Steve's dramatics. You could hear Steve's faux grieving voice as he sang along, making the song a whole heap more dramatic than the original recording.

Wonder this time where she's gone, wonder if she's gonna stay.

Trying to persevere through the loud stereo blasting muffled music above your head is a lot more difficult than you might imagine. Ever since you had gone to his place in a tizzy that you had things to do before a deadline and couldn't afford any distractions, you had banished him to his room, and for about an hour, had some quiet.

That changed when the second hour became the third, and the music started when the sun began to go down, reeling on loop as though it was a broken record.

Ain't no sunshine when she's gone, and this house just ain't no home, any time she goes away.

You smiled slightly, though. For all of Steve's dramatics and ridiculous behaviours, he loved you, and you loved him. All of his quirks made him special to you, and you loved to be with him no matter what was happening around the world, especially when the whole Upside Down thing began catching up to him, mentally and physically. Now, he was a cuddly baby that loved hugging you. He always said that he felt safer to sleep in your arms.

And I know, I know, I know, I know...

He must've given up on singing, because Steve's voice could no longer be heard. Probably ran out of oxygen. Good. He needed to rest after the whole Russian situation. You only had one page left to write and a few more questions to do before you could give your Steve what he needed so desperately.

A hug. And a fat nap.

You sighed as the tape continued playing the bridge, scrawling your pencil over the paper. You had started with gorgeous cursive, and had evolved into writing chicken scratch to speed up the time. Two questions down, half a page to go...

Hey, I ought to leave the young thing alone, but ain't no sunshine when she's gone.

Three lines, two sentences, aaaaand...

Done.

Throwing the pencil down and thudding the book shut, you pushed yourself to a standing position, practically bounding up the stairs, dragging yourself up by the handrails.

Ain't no sunshine when she's gone, only darkness everyday.

You came to the first floor landing, stepping onto the carpeted floor with your socked feet and beelined for Steve's room. The door was shut, but Bill's soothing voice carried through the wood, almost getting impossibly loud as you inched closer.

Ain't no sunshine when she's gone, and this house just ain't no home, any time she goes away.

Stepping into the room as you swing open the door, the final outro of the song is echoing through, fading away. You smile to find Steve on his back, staring at the ceiling as he waits for the next loop to begin.

You are silent as you halt the tape, crawling onto the bed and giving him a big ol' smooch. He looks at you with innocent and wide eyes, a big fat smile settling on his face.

"All done?" he asks.

You nod, confirming. "All done."

You yelp as he flings himself at you, wrapping his arms around your waist and tumbling over the other side of the bed. He's quick to bring the covers over you both, leaving the bed side light on. A new habit, but it didn't bother you.

You tussled for a little, finding a comfortable position that agreed with all parties and bones. You settled on bear hugging him as he tangled your legs together and kept his nose near your hair.

You giggled, running your nails down his back. "You big baby."

He grumbled. "Ain't no sunshine when you're not here."

#stranger things #stranger things fluff #stranger things x reader #stranger things x reader fluff #x reader #x gn! reader #x reader fluff #steve harrington #steve harrington fluff #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington x reader fluff #steve harrington x gn!reader #steve harrington x gn!reader fluff #fluff

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humaling · 16 days ago

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summer heat — finnick odair

summary ۶ৎ It’s too hot, your boyfriend can’t play guitar to save his life—but he’s blushing, smiling, and unbearably pretty. wc: 1.5k

The summer air clung to your skin like syrup—hot, thick, and relentless. You’d lived through sweltering Julys before, but this year felt cruel, almost punishing. Climate change, you thought bitterly. That had to be it. No other reason you should be sitting motionless on the porch of your childhood beach house, drenched in sweat as if you’d just run a marathon instead of doing absolutely nothing.

The sun had reached its peak, bearing down without mercy. Even the breeze, which usually offered a sliver of relief, was no better than a gust from a furnace. It moved through the air like a threat, dry and blistering. You could practically feel your skin crackling under it, the heat sinking into your bones. Beads of sweat trailed down from your temple to the hollow of your throat, your skin already darker, redder, more flushed than it had been when you first dragged yourself out of bed.

The cheap handheld fan you’d clung to all morning had long since failed you. You clicked it off with a frustrated flick of your thumb and tossed it somewhere behind you with a muttered curse. Slumping back against the wooden railing, you sprawled like a starfish baking on the dock—arms and legs splayed out, surrendering to the inferno.

You hated this summer. Hated it with a bone-deep loathing.

Finnick, of course, did not.

The bronze-haired dreamy man was lounging in the hammock like he was posing for a painting, completely untouched by the heat. One leg dangled lazily over the edge, the rest of his body swaying in a slow, easy rhythm. A weather-worn acoustic guitar rested on his chest, his fingers plucking aimless chords in search of a melody. His skin glowed golden in the light, and he looked far too pleased with himself for someone torturing you with dissonant strings.

You flinched at the next sound he made—it was sharp, screechy, painfully out of tune. Did he even bother to tune that damn thing?

Annoyance simmered beneath your skin, slow and steady like water coming to a boil. It pulsed through your limbs and settled in your chest, sour and stubborn. But when you turned your head to glare at Finnick, the heat of your irritation began to cool. Because then you saw him—really saw him.

His bronze hair was tousled, windswept from the ocean breeze or maybe from dozing off earlier, strands sticking up like he’d just rolled out of a sun-drenched dream. His sea-glass eyes were fixed on the guitar, focused and distant all at once, the kind of concentration that made everything else fade into the background. Sunlight caught the edges of his gaze, and for a moment, it wasn’t fair—how the green in them deepened and danced like waves crashing under perfect skies.

His bottom lip was caught between his teeth in quiet thought, giving him a boyish, almost bashful look that tugged at something tender inside you. And his upper body—bare, golden, glistening—was shamelessly on display. Broad shoulders, a defined chest dusted with salt and sweat, and arms that flexed gently as he shifted his grip on the guitar. Even when he hit the wrong chords, he made it look effortless.

Years of swimming and hauling nets back in District Four had carved out a body that seemed like it belonged in a legend more than in real life—tall, strong, and sculpted like it was shaped from sun-warmed marble. You knew that body better than anyone. Every scar, every ridge, every inch. You’d kissed your way across that map countless times, traced it with reverent fingertips in the dark, pressed your lips to each imperfection like a promise.

You knew how his skin flushed under your hands. How he shivered when you whispered against his throat. How the fine hairs on his arms stood on end whenever you leaned in close, mischief flickering in your eyes. You’d worshipped him in ways only he could understand—only you two would ever need to.

And even now, as he played something borderline unlistenable, he was beautiful.

Unbearably so.

You didn’t notice when the music stopped. Your gaze had been fixed on him too long, too openly, and now his fingers had stilled on the strings—his attention redirected.

“Has anyone ever told you that staring is rude?”

The smooth, teasing edge in Finnick’s voice cut through your haze, low and honey-warm. You blinked, snapping out of it, your eyes dragging slowly up to meet his. He was smirking, just a little—one corner of his mouth tipped up in quiet amusement.

He shifted in the hammock, twisting to face you fully now, his posture loose but eyes locked onto yours. The grin widened, full of mischief.

“I mean,” he said, tossing his hair slightly like he was some Capitol heartthrob—and unfortunately, he kind of was. “I’d probably stare too if my boyfriend had a build this fine.”

You rolled your eyes, a puff of breath escaping you, pretending to be unimpressed even as your lips curled in betrayal.

“Don’t get too cocky,” you replied, raising a knee to your chest and lacing your fingers around it. “You can barely form a sentence when I so much as touch you.”

That did the trick. His ears went red—fast. You watched with quiet amusement as he glanced away, suddenly fidgeting, his shoulders turning in just slightly like he wanted to fold himself up and disappear. Your smile softened. Not the smug kind, but the one that belonged only to him.

There it was again—that boyish shyness. That boy you fell in love with. Not the Capitol's idea of Finnick Odair—the charming, flirtatious golden boy they plastered on every screen—but the real one. The one with flushed cheeks and bashful eyes who always looked like he didn’t quite know what to do with all the love you gave him. The one who still sometimes hesitated to reach for your hand, who took nearly a year to touch you without asking first—whose touch, when it finally came, felt like reverence.

You remembered how his whole face used to light up just from a brush of fingers. How holding your hand could send him into a grinning, red-faced mess, like he couldn’t believe someone was letting him love this freely. Like it was still something he was learning to accept.

Which, of course, explained why he was trying to learn guitar now. Why his fingers were sore and the chords were wrong and the tune was off.

Because he’s trying to learn your favorite song—for you. Because he’s unconditionally and irrevocably in love with you.

“Not fair,” he huffs, lips pushing into a pout. You catch the soft gleam of saliva on his bottom lip, and something about it pulls at you—makes you want to lean in and kiss him right there.

“Mhm,” you hum vaguely, standing up like it’s nothing. Like you’re not already planning your next move.

Finnick watches you closely, a flicker of curiosity lighting in his sea-green eyes. His fingers twitch against the strings of the guitar, but he doesn’t play—just tracks your movements as you approach. You gently pull the guitar from his lap, setting it down against the weathered wall of the porch before crawling onto the hammock with him.

“I thought you didn’t want to cuddle,” he teases, quoting you with a sly raise of his brows. “Something about it being too hot?”

You settle yourself on top of him, arms draped lazily over his broad shoulders. His hands instinctively find your waist, rough and warm as they squeeze gently, anchoring you to him. The heat between your bodies is overwhelming, thick and humid, sweat clinging to your skin—but for once, you don’t mind it.

“Yeah, well,” you murmur, gaze locking with his, “I can make an exception.”

His eyes hold yours, and they’re not just green—they’re the kind of green that makes you think of safe places. Gentle shores. A harbor to return to.

Finnick chuckles, the sound low and fond, and lifts a hand to play with your hair. He twirls a loose strand around his fingers like he’s memorizing the texture. He doesn’t look at you just yet—too bashful, too aware of the way your body feels draped over his. You can practically feel the warmth rising off his skin, the way his heartbeat picks up beneath you.

It’s always been like this with him—he’s confident, sure, but with you? He turns soft. Open. Breakable in the best ways.

“Have I ever told you how pretty you are?” you whisper, leaning in slowly, letting your breath ghost over his lips.

He squirms beneath you, cheeks flushing bright red, and the hand on your waist tenses ever so slightly. You smile, watching him unravel under nothing but your voice.

“All the time,” he says, his tone softened into something only you get to hear. “But I never feel prettier than when I’m with you.”

Then he closes the gap.

His lips are warm, a little sticky from the heat, but none of that matters. You smile against his mouth, caught between amusement and affection, before deepening the kiss. Your fingers trail behind his neck, pulling yourself closer as you tilt your head and sink into the moment.

It’s messy, it’s hot, and it’s everything.

Because it’s him. Because it’s you.

And because right now, this is all that mattered.

#finnick odair x reader #finnick odair x you #the hunger games x reader #finnick odair #hunger games finnick #the hunger games #finnick x reader

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urinarythreatinfection · 4 months ago

Text

Romantic(?)

Mihawk x reader. Male reader in mind but can be read as any/gender neutral. 511 words. Suggestive.

Desc: You're a romantic pervert.

Leaning back against your chair you scan over your boyfriend. His jet black hair, his harsh but beautiful hawk eyes, his muscular plump chest.

“Refrain from staring so much, it’s disturbing me.” Mihawk says and you jolt out of your trance.

“Haha, was I that obvious?” You say, a bit bashful.

“Practically drooling, you had a foolish look on your face. It’s embarrassing.” The swordsman temporarily closes the book he was reading as you get up.

“Embarrassing for me or for you?” With a kiss to his cheek, you crouch down next to his sitting form.

“Use your brain.” Mihawk states with a displeased huff.

“Can’t, you’re too handsome. It’s distracting me~” You press a kiss to his chest. “So pretty too, you’re heaven on earth to me.”

Mihawk scoffs and looks away, then buttons up his shirt quickly. You whine and kiss his clothed chest. “Nooo.. free them…”

“Stop, you’re being ridiculous.” He puts a hand on your face to stop you from getting closer despite your protests. You sigh and rest your head on his thigh.

“You’re so mean to me, my love.” You say sadly with a sigh. “Treating me like I’m a pervert…”

“And are you not?” Mihawk asks and reaches for his book once more.

“Perhaps, but it’s only for you. I try to control myself as much as I can but it’s hard when I see you looking so elegant reading…” You say, somewhat romantically; though it’s negated when you continue to speak. “and your shirt unbuttoned a bit just so I can see your chest, rising and falling as your breath. Especially when I can see a mark I left on you it just makes me want to make as many as I can on your skin.” He puts his hand back on your face, irritated.

“Enough.” He says firmly, though when you look through his fingers you can see a faint dusting of pink on his cheeks. Ever so slightly, but it’s enough to make you happy… and want to say more. You reach up and unbutton his shirt, sitting up on your knees to rest your head on his chest. His hand is still on your face, yet he doesn’t stop you, settling it on the back of your head once your cheek is to the middle of his chest.

“I get to hear my second favorite sound like this, such a beautiful melody.” You say as you close your eyes to hear his heartbeat.

“...” He stays silent for a moment before speaking. “Second?” You smile.

“You wanna know my favorite?” You ask, and he doesn’t answer; just looking down at you. “It’s the sound of it when it speeds up, thumping loudly when I touch you and love you. The marks are an excuse to have my mouth on your chest, and to hear the thump of my lover’s heart.” As you say that you hear his heartbeat speed up slightly.

“...Corny.” Mihawk mumbles, but affectionately runs his fingers through your hair as you relish in the drums of his heart.

I actually wrote this way long ago, before i started to write on this account. Before Shanks I was obsessed with mihawk so i have a few wips of him of just my random thoughts i had to write down, thought i'd make sense of this one and post it since its one of the ones that was actually readable story-wise.

#one piece #fanfiction #one piece x reader #fluff #Mihawk #dracule mihawk #mihawk x reader #gender neutral reader #male reader #one piece x male reader #drabble

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trulyy-yourzz · 6 months ago

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HEYYYYY so I'm also fan of daniel ceasar and he has a song and the lyrics go like

"The piano that I fuck you on.Same one that on which I write these songs for you.They're one in the same.That goes for us, too, I give you my name.The bed on which I lay to sleep.And lay with you and lay in deep.There ain't no difference, this case there isn't.That goes for us, too."

please write a fic of billie inspired by these lyrics. thank youuuuu in advance

♡Smut - B.E x Fem!reader

Billie fucking you on the piano? Genius. I decided to give this a little twist and make it a little christmasy, enjoy baby 💕

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

It was cold outside. Freezing, really. And there's nothing better than a cup of hot chocolate and quality time with your girlfriend while she played your favorite songs on piano during the night of christmas Eve.

Your head laid on top of the piano, watching Billies fingers skillfully glide across the piano, pressing each note with intent as she played a beautiful melody. The song was one you remembered from her playing it many times, so you hummed along.

Billie looked up, locking eyes with you as a warm smile plastered across both of your faces. She stopped playing, and tilted her head. Her eyes lingering on yours as she sighed and laughed. "What's funny" You said, giggling.

"How i manged to end up with such a gorgeous woman like you." Your heart skipped a beat, butterflies filling your stomach. It's not like it was the first time you've heard her compliment you. But coming from her, it was always special. "Thank you baby."

Her tongue stuck out between her lips, adding a glossy coat to them as she smiled at you once again. "I really want to kiss you right now." You lifted your head from the piano and walked towards her. As you got closer, she reached for your waist, wrapping her arm around you and pulling your body down onto her lap. "Then kiss me Billie." And without a second to waste, she did exactly that. Connecting her soft lips with yours, kissing you tenderly.

You cupped her cheek with your hand, deepening the kiss as you hummed softly, sending vibrations through Billies body. Doing so, she groaned, shifting your position and fully pulling you onto her lap, causing you to straddle her.

You wrapped your arms around her, tracing circles on the back of her neck as you pulled away, gasping for air. "You're amazing" She whispered, clearly in an completely different headspace. She was lost in your touch, and hopefully soon enough.. your taste.

Billie slid her hands underneath your thighs, lifting you off of her and placing you onto the piano, your hands accidentally bashing all types of keys on the piano in the process, creating a messy and scrambled tune that rang throughout the house. Hungrily, she connected her lips back with yours in need of any type of physical touch she could get.

Billie swiftly parted your legs, cupping your pussy through the thick fabric, causing you to moan and pull back, gasping for air. "Billie.." She just shushed you and grabbed onto the bottom of your pretty white skirt, lifting it above your waist, only for her to discover that you weren't wearing any underwear. She bit down onto her lip, smiling. "Good girl."

She leaned back, getting a good look of you already a mess. Your silky hair disheveled and legs parted, waiting impatiently for her to just touch you. And this was only the beginning. "Fuck."

"Come on billie.. touch me. Please?" You whined, the desperation clear in your voice, sending a shiver down her spine as she exhaled, her voice trembling once she spoke. "Oh, I will baby. Trust me." You nodded your head as she grabbed your leg, pulling you closer. You leaned back, watching as she coated her middle and ring finger in her own spit. She smirked, watching your body squirm.

Slowly, she slid the two digits inside your folds, groaning at the feeling of your walls tightening around her fingers. "Relax mama." You nodded your head, taking a shaky deep breath. Abruptly, she pushed her fingers deeper, hitting at just the right angle, causing your back to arch off the piano. "Oh my- Fuck, right there!", "yeah? You like that hm?" You nodded your head rapidly, pushing your hips up, greedily needing her fingers deeper. Needing to cum.

Her other hand snaked her way up your chest, wrapping her hands around your neck and applying just enough pressure for you to know who's in charge. Billie curled her fingers into your spongey walls, attempting to coax those sweet moans out of you. Your body began to tremble, your breaths sharp. Quickening. Your breasts rise and fall quickly, shuddering as they join your body's excitement. "Billie i.. I need to cum–", "Hold it for me, baby. I know you can."

You cried out, head tilted back and giving into the sensation, legs shuddering as you tried your best to hold it in. Billie watched as your eyes fluttered closed, taking the chance to sit back down and grab onto yoir thighs, spreading your legs farther apart. Attaching her lips to your clit. Sucking. Licking. Soaking in the taste of you.

You gasped, choaking on your moans as your hands frantically grabbed onto a fist full of Billies hair. Reaching for something. Anything.

You squeal, a spasm of delight as your eyes roll back. She hummed, the vibrations making your body jolt as your legs instinctively closed around her head, grinding onto her face. Wanting.. needing to cum. "I can't..! Billie!!"

"Cum."

Your body arched off the piano. Your sharp crys and moans now being the only kind of melody that filled the room. The music of a woman's pleasure. No piano. Just you. You panted, breasts quivering with each rise and fall of your chest. But she doesn't stop. Too consumed in the taste of you. Addicted. You looked so pretty when you were like this. You were the most beautiful woman in the universe. Moments like these were sacred to her. And she wouldn't trade anything for it, not even the world. You belonged to her. And she belonged to you.

Notes: The original was 100 times better than this trash, but Tumblr decided to be an ass today and delete it. I told myself I would post today so heres this for now 🥲 I'll make something better soon 💕 ily!

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