#I thought of so many plots just by answering that ^^

[touchandtwilight]

not so neighborly anymore ︴3.7k words!

wanda maximoff x fem!reader

it was harmless at first. a welcoming knock, a borrowed cup of sugar. now, seasons later, you’re pressed against the wall, her mouth on yours, and there’s nothing neighborly about it anymore.

warning ︴ eventual smut, next door neighbor!AU, porn w/ plot, slow burn, age difference (like 7-8 years), dom/top!wanda, sub/bottom!reader, passionate sex, fingering (r!receiving), strap in v (r!receiving), slight hurt/comfort, happy ending

Upstate New York. The leaves are changing, falling from the trees as you and a few others carry boxes into the building you’ll now call home. The move was quick with so many hands helping, and easier still since most of your furniture had been shipped ahead. New home, new start, new furniture.

It began to feel like home the moment everything was unpacked and settled. Items unwrapped, shifted, arranged—placed neatly on counters and shelves where they finally belonged. Others around the neighborhood began to express their warm welcomes. A family down the street, another across from you…. many. It truly felt like you were meant to have moved into this home, but just before you could thank the universe another knock sounded on your door. Another neighbor stopped by to offer a warm welcome—Wanda, she said her name was.

That was the first greeting of many. The memory has your cheeks heating when you replay it. The embarrassment keeping you up at night at how you acted. Nothing like words had left your mouth as you accepted her homemade gift. She thew you off balance, and it was blatantly obvious you didn't know how to handle it. She had a calm stance, spoke evenly. Not too warm, not too distant. Just… comfortable, in that way people are when they’ve already figured themselves out. You, meanwhile, had forgotten how to form a full sentence.

You nodded. Maybe smiled. You can’t quite remember. You only remember that you took the plate from her and stood awkwardly in the doorway, feeling like you were still mid-move, mid-adjustment, mid-something. She didn’t seem to mind. Just said something about how everyone on the street usually dropped something off when someone new moved in, and how she thought it was nice to keep the tradition going. You might’ve mumbled a thank-you. Or just said it too quietly. Either way, she gave a small nod and left it at that—turned and walked back down the steps, robe sleeve tugged slightly by the breeze.

The greetings got easier, though. Short conversations in passing—when you were heading out to run errands, or at the grocery store, or just bringing the trash out at the same time. You started to have little things to catch up on, like whether the bakery she recommended actually lived up to the hype, or how it was seeing your old friend again in the city. Nothing deep. Just simple check-ins that felt easy. Familiar.

Your interactions through the next month—through the slow shift from fall to early winter—were steady and quiet. A calm rhythm. You didn’t overthink them as much anymore. You stopped trying to say the right thing, and just said what you meant.

That was until now.

Now, you’re standing outside her front door, your heart racing, fist paused mid-air before knocking. Breath visible in the cold December air, palms sweating in your coat pockets, even though you told yourself this wasn’t a big deal.

But it is.

Because this isn’t a passing wave on the sidewalk. This time, you’re here on purpose.

You bring your hand up to knock softly against the burgundy wood, heart rushing as you wait for her to answer. Footsteps were heard before the door squeaks open. Before she could get a word out you blurt, "could I borrow some vanilla extract?"

She laughs softly, "of course you may. Here, come in."

She steps back, giving you room to step in past the doorway. It's a first, you've never seen her home before. It's full of warm colors, books, candles. Very autumn, almost witch like. You follow behind her to the kitchen where she steps into her pantry for a second.

She returns with the small bottle in hand, holding it out to you without hesitation.

“You baking this late?” she asks, eyebrows raised just slightly.

You thank her, taking it, "tried a new recipe. Got halfway through before realizing I was missing the one thing I actually needed.”

Wanda smiles like she’s heard that before, "happens to the best of us.”

There’s a brief pause, not uncomfortable, just quiet. Her kitchen smells faintly of cloves and something citrusy, like she’d just finished making tea or simmering something on the stove. You glance around without meaning to. Her space feels lived-in. Intentional.

You linger with the bottle in your hand, "I’ll bring it back tomorrow.”

“No rush,” she says. “Really.”

She’s still watching you, calm and easy like always. You’re not sure what else to say, and maybe you don’t need to say anything. You give a small nod, almost a thank-you, and turn toward the door.

"We," she says, pausing until she sees you stop, "the neighborhood has a Halloween party, we'd love for you to join."

"When is it?"

"This upcoming Monday."

You smile back at her, "I'll be there."

Monday comes faster than expected.

The Halloween party’s being held at a house a few streets over in someone’s backyard and living room strung with orange lights, carved pumpkins lining the walkway. There’s a folding table near the porch with snacks, a cooler half-filled with drinks, and a slow cooker of cider giving off steam. You can hear kids laughing before you even reach the gate.

No one’s in costume, not really. Just a few themed sweaters, some plastic spider rings, face paint here and there. Parents standing in loose circles, holding paper plates. It’s casual. Familiar. You almost feel out of place for how nervous you’d been walking over.

You spot Wanda near the back patio, talking with someone while holding a cup in both hands. She’s dressed the same way she always seems to be. Layered and comfortable, in deep colors that catch the porch light in soft ways. She glances up as you step into the yard, and her expression shifts instantly into something easy. Welcoming.

You give a small wave, and she excuses herself from the conversation before walking over to meet you.

“Hey,” she says, stepping beside you. “You made it.”

You nod. “Figured I should show face before everyone starts comparing notes about the new neighbor.”

She laughs softly, like she gets it. “You’re safe. They’re mostly distracted by sugar and their kids running into furniture.”

You both glance around. A kid in a skeleton hoodie is chasing someone with a glowstick. A folding chair tips over. No one seems to care.

Wanda gestures toward the table. “There’s cider. It's not terrible.”

When you don’t say no, she guides you over, pouring you a glass from the slow cooker and handing it to you. It’s warm in your hands, smells like cinnamon and something faintly burnt. Probably the bottom of the batch, but not in a bad way.

“You weren’t kidding,” you say after a sip. “Not terrible.”

Wanda smirks. “High praise. I’ll be sure to let the cider committee know.”

You huff a small laugh and lean back a little, letting the noise of the party settle around you. The backyard lights cast everything in a soft orange glow. Wanda leans beside you against the porch railing, cup still in hand.

“So,” she says, “do you always wait until the last minute to ask for ingredients, or was I just lucky that night?”

You blink, caught off guard for a second. “I—oh well, I'm usually I’m more prepared.”

She hums. “Shame. I didn’t mind the surprise.”

You glance over. She’s looking straight ahead, not at you, but there’s a quiet curve to her mouth. It’s nothing dramatic, nothing heavy-handed, but something in the way she says it makes you feel it just under the surface.

You take another sip, maybe to give yourself a second. Maybe because if you spoke now you'd give away the shake in your voice. “Well. I’ll try to be unprepared more often, then.”

Winter had ended. The snow was long gone, the streets finally dry again, and the trees were just starting to green at the tips. You had the windows open, letting the breeze cut through the stillness of the house as you cleaned. Music played low in the background, the scent of lemon cleaner clinging to your sleeves.

You were in the kitchen, on your toes trying to wipe the top of one of the cabinets. Half-balanced on a chair you definitely shouldn’t be standing on when you heard the creak of the front door.

“Hello?”

Wanda’s voice, casual, like she’d been there a hundred times.

You turned slightly, still reaching. “Door's open!"

“I noticed,” she said, stepping inside. “Didn’t expect to find you risking your life over dust.”

“Part of my spring reset,” you said, grunting as you reached further. “Death by Windex.”

She was laughing softly as she entered the kitchen, just as your hand slipped. The cloth fell from your fingers, and your foot shifted awkwardly on the edge of the chair.

You started to fall back.

But before panic could even set in, Wanda was there—hands catching your waist, solid and quick. You landed against her, her body steady behind yours, breath knocked out of you more from surprise than anything else. There was a beat of stillness. Her hands still at your waist. Yours gripping the edge of the counter in front of you.

“You really shouldn’t use spinning chairs for this,” she murmured.

You glanced down, breath shaky. Her fingers pressed slightly into your sides and it had your mind short-circuiting. You looked over your shoulder, meaning to say something light. Something to break the tension. But you caught her looking at your mouth. Just briefly. Then up, meeting your eyes. Her grip tightened. Barely, but enough that you felt it, the shift. Your pulse kicked up in your ears.

“Thanks,” you said, quietly.

Her voice was just as soft. “Yeah.”

Before anything could happen, a knock at the door broke the moment—another neighbor stopping by, pulling both of you back to the everyday. But something had shifted. After that night, Wanda grew a little more touchy, and you didn’t even realize it until someone else pointed it out at a gathering. Since then, you’ve been aware too, the brief brush of her hand when she passes you something, the quiet warmth that spreads through your chest whenever she rests a hand on your back to guide you somewhere.

You felt it. You knew. You weren’t born yesterday.

Sometimes you’d find yourself at her place way too late, leaning back against the kitchen counter, eyes locked on hers in a way that was anything but innocent. Your voices low, barely above a whisper, carrying on long into the night as you both nursed glasses of wine, caught in conversations that felt like something more.

Another night, you found yourselves sitting side by side on her porch swing, the chill of the evening wrapped in the soft glow of string lights overhead. The quiet between you stretched comfortably until she reached out, brushing a stray strand of hair behind your ear. The simple touch sent a ripple through you, and when your eyes met hers, the air thickened. Her hand lingered on your cheek, fingers tracing the curve just long enough to make your breath hitch.

You didn’t pull away. You leaned in, and she did too, your heart pounding loud in your ears. Then it just happened. Your lips met hers, eyes squeezed shut as you savored the moment. Her soft hand stayed on your cheek as her lips moved against yours, gentle and slow. When she pulled back, her breath came steady but deliberate, like a line had been crossed. Suddenly, everything felt sharper, more fragile. Whatever this was becoming, it was dangerous. You couldn’t fall for her. Not like this. And surely, she hadn’t fallen for you. It was a mess waiting to happen. Your mind spun, and without thinking, you pulled away and ran, ignoring her soft voice calling your name behind you.

Avoiding her was easier than you thought it’d be. You learned her schedule, timing your days to keep indoors when you knew she’d be outside. But late at night, under your covers, your lips still burned. Memories of that day flashed in your mind, relentless and vivid. You told yourself it was a bad idea—a really bad idea, for too many reasons. You couldn’t get involved with her.

Still, avoidance only worked for so long. In a small town like this, it’s hard to stay away forever.

The farmers’ market was bustling with summer’s full energy—bright stalls, chatter, the scent of fresh fruit and herbs thick in the air. You moved through the crowd, eyes mostly on the ground, trying to avoid running into her. Your steps were purposeful but slow, as if hoping the noise and people around you would somehow shield you.

But then you heard the familiar voice, quiet but clear beside you.

“You like peaches?”

You glanced sideways, spotting her just a few steps away, leaning casually against a crate, one brow slightly raised as if daring you to respond. You barely nodded, hoping to keep it simple, to not give her more than she was asking for.

She smiled, that slight, knowing smile that made your stomach twist. “You always this quiet? Or just when you don’t want to talk to me?”

You shrugged, picking up a peach and turning it in your hand, your fingers tracing the fuzzy skin. “Maybe I don’t feel like talking.”

Her eyes softened for a moment, then she leaned in a little, voice dropping to a near whisper, as if sharing a secret meant only for you.

“Or maybe you’re avoiding me.”

You looked away quickly, swallowing the sudden tightness in your throat. “I’m not.”

But the words felt hollow, even to you. Because deep down, you knew that was exactly what you’d been doing—dodging her calls, avoiding her eyes, pretending that distance would make the feelings fade.

“Yeah? Because it feels like you’ve been dodging every chance to actually see me.”

You bit your lip, frustration bubbling under the surface. “Maybe I just like my space.”

Her eyes held yours, steady and calm. “Or maybe you’re scared. Scared of what this could be.”

You shook your head, heart picking up pace. “Again, I’m not.”

You tried to keep your focus on the peaches, on the weight of the fruit in your hand, but the space between you and her felt charged, like a silent conversation neither of you wanted to fully voice. The noise of the market buzzed around you both, but it was distant—everything except her voice seemed to fade. A crack of thunder cut through the summer air, sharp and close. The sky darkened quickly, the clouds rolling in like a warning. People around you looked up, hurriedly gathering their things, voices rising with urgent goodbyes. Then the rain came, fat drops splattering against the pavement and the stalls, pushing the crowd to scatter in all directions. You froze for a moment, caught off guard and suddenly very exposed.

Her hand brushed your arm, light but firm. “Come on. You’re not walking home in this.”

You hesitated, swallowing the lump forming in your throat, wanting to say no, to insist you’d be fine, but before the words could form, she was already unlocking her car. You followed silently, the steady rhythm of the rain loud against the roof of the car as you slid inside. The warmth was immediate, but so was the weight of the silence settling between you. She glanced at you in the rearview mirror, eyes searching, steady. You couldn’t meet them, not yet. The road back was slow, the raindrops blurring the world outside, as if time itself had slowed just for this ride. The quiet stretched between you, thick with things unsaid.

When she pulled into your driveway, you stepped out into the cool air, soaked and shivering, the chill seeping through your clothes. She folded her arms, gaze drifting down the street like she was deciding how much more to say. Then her eyes locked onto yours, calm but serious.

“If you close that door," she said quietly, low and done, "I won’t knock again.”

Her words hung heavy in the humid night air, a challenge and a plea all at once. You swallowed hard, the weight of everything pressing down on you, but before the silence could stretch any further, you reached across the center console, caught her hand, and without thinking twice, leaned in and kissed her. It was your answer, your choice.

Your heated kisses in the car soon became a mess on your bed. Your hands fumbling with the keys as you open the front door. Her hands all over you, wet clothes discarded as you slowly make your way to your room due to the make out sessions against the wall. Your arms circling her neck, hers around your waist sliding up your cold skin.

"Need you," she'd murmur hotly against your lips between kisses. "Missed you."

"Shit, I missed you... Missed you so much. I was scared Wanda, I-Like you. i like you so much.”

You fall back onto the bed, swollen lips gasping for air as she kisses down your jaw. Her hands working your legs apart, wrapping them around her waist. A gasp escapes you as she reaches a hand down quick, sliding it through your wet folds. You scratch the back of her neck, keening as she starts to rub her hand in circles over your cunt, smearing your wetness all over.

"Shh, I know. I know”

She teases while also maintaining a fast pace. It's her first time with you, but she's acting as if your body isn't a virgin to her touch. She knows where to press, where to rub to have you falling apart under her.

Her voice has goosebumps lining your skin when she whispers against your neck, "can you take a finger for me? or will you be too tight, mm?"

You shake your head, "no… no promise.. please I can take one."

She hums, sliding one in and cursing under her breath at how tight you are. Only one finger and you're gripping her like a vice. She speaks into your ear again, "said you could take one, but you're clenching around it. Did you lie to me?"

You shake your head, mind fuzzy, "no, promise. I promise. Please move."

A choked moan escapes you when she begins to thrust her finger in and out. Her finger drags against your inner walls, curling upwards to tease that spot inside you. Her eyes darting between where she's fucking you and your face, watching your expressions and how you're starting to fall apart.

"Can you be a good girl and take another?"

You nod and she gently slaps your thigh with her other hand, "tell me."

"Yes! Yes, I can! Please!”

When she adds another, she presses them apart to scissor you open.

"So damn tight," she says against your neck as she moves them again. The sound of her fingers fucking you has your cheeks heating, embarrassingly enough it turns you on all the more. With her thumb circling your clit and her fingers deep inside you, you're arching your back already. Body squirming as you chase an orgasm. All the while Wanda's only doing this to stretch you out, prepare you for what's to come. Just as you're clenching erratically, thighs begging to close, gasps higher pitched, her fingers pull out.

She tuts at your whine, shushing you. Wanda leans down, hovering over your heat before letting her spit dribble onto your clit, her lips hinting to smile at your little sensitive jump. She rubs her fingers over your clit, smiling down at you as she edges you. Keeping you on the brink, but never letting you over.

"You want more, don't you?"

You shake your head yes, eyes shut. Takes you too long to realize she gets off the bed, stepping off to the side for a second to grab something. When she returns and your eyes rest upon what's now strapped between her thighs, a new heat settles between your legs and on your cheeks. You shut your eyes, looking away.

"Wanda-!"

She crawls on top of you, lips finding your neck, "mm? What is it? Are you getting shy?"

You place your hands on her shoulders, scoffing in a whiny tone, "no…?"

Wanda drags the length between your folds, brushing it against your clit and you moan. Your legs spreading to welcome the feeling. She licks up to your ear, "how'd you like it, darlin?"

You look to her eyes, eyebrows furrowed, "mm? Like what…?"

“What position?”

“Oh—” your cheeks flushed, brain sluggish from the pleasure pulsing through you. “This… this is fine. It's great. Please just like this."

As soon as you felt the head on your entrance, you shut down. "You okay?"

When you nodded, mumbling a quick okay, she began to sink each and every inch in. She was captured by the sight of you sucking her in, how it disappeared inside you. You whine against her neck, hands in her hair, whimpering her name. She shushed you, "you can take it, you're so good for me."

Once you nodded and she felt the movement against her neck, she pulls her hips back and the sound you made when she pushed back in made her want to marry you rigth then and there. You were loud, and on top of the bed squeaking and headboard banging from her thrusts, she couldn't have you attracting the whole neighborhood. She pulled your bottom lip down, and when you opened your mouth she pushed her fingers in. Muffling your sounds.

It was a sight to see. Your body under hers, jostling from her thrusts, almost limp with how she was making you feel. Add her fingers finding your clit again and you were gone, pleas and her name falling from your lips like a mantra.

"Please… Wands, oh fuck… Please! Don't stop!"

She didn't. Not after you came the first time, not after the second, not after the third. Not until all you were thinking of was her. Finishing a round just to flip Wanda on her back and beg for another.

notes ︴stayed up to 4am writing this shit. my roommate was like wtf go to sleep 😭😭

[sk8r-boi]

Going to do this to see if it'll help with the questioning process! I'll skip questions I don't want to answer or aren't applicable.

Questioning kintype

4. It feels like I can know more about myself, if that makes sense? I struggle with my sense of identity as Reki is apart of it, so it helps me get a better understanding of myself.

5. Haven't interacted with the community much. But I did meet a Langa fictionkin a few days ago when I publicly announced I was questioning on another site, and they were really nice :)

6. Nope, but I know I'm not going to get positive reception at all.

7. One person, my ex-qpp. He's been supportive and helped me learn about the term initially since he's also a fictionkin.

9. I like how a lot of people have very different experiences, it's very nice to hear from others. A lot of people are pretty open about it and very nice :D

10. A lot of my outfits are pretty baggy, streetwear-like so some of my friends have told me I look like a "skater boy." Even if they were joking, it made me REALLY happy.

11. I'm pretty sure I've had mental shifts. Sometimes I feel like I'm so "in the zone" whenever I'm doing something artistic like drawing, doing paper crafts, etc. Usually I have something on in the background but during these moments, I'm hyperfocused for several hours. Other times I just. Feel like Reki. Idk how to describe it, I feel like I get way more outgoing, loud, and kinda unapologetically myself and am more open about my interests. (Kinda backfires on me as afterwards, I feel incredibly self conscious)

12 & 13. Unsure! I'm pretty disconnected from my source. Wouldn't mind running into sourcemates. It would feel like running into someone you know who works at the same company but in a different branch /pos

14. Also unsure,,,, I'm only like 70% sure I'm a fictionkin, so it kinda feels like I would be faking when I meet one? And I don't want them to feel like, for example, Miya Chinen is talking to some wannabe Reki Kyan roleplayer.

15. I had a pfp drawn by one of my favorite artists who's works were f2u w/ credit, and I REALLY like having that for a short while. But I generally don't like feeling connected to any fanmade works not made by me or specifically for me as it feels like I'm being disrespectful by making someone else's work my identity. If that makes sense

16. Yes! Someone made me a moodboard after I requested it. And I made birthday art for myself featuring Reki.

17. Kinda? In the sense where I have no connection to the source. I'm Reki Kyan if you took away his relationships, memories, and almost the entire plot of the show.

18. Questioned if I was a therian about a year ago and came to the conclusion that I'm just otherhearted. However, I feel like I have some kind of copinglink! Haven't thought too deeply about it.

19 & 20. I think Reki is both a spiritual and psychological identity. Not in a past life but I believe that in an alternative universe currently in the same time, I am Reki. But also we have so many similarities that from the moment I saw him on screen, it felt like I was seeing myself. I see myself in him so much to the point where it feels like we're the same person.

21. I've felt this way towards Reki for 3-4 years now, since I first started watching Sk8 the Infinity. But I only learned about the fictionkin community about 6 months ago and started questioning since then.

26. Still unsure whether I am fictionhearted or a fictionkin. Pretty sure I'm the latter but there's some doubts about how involuntary it is. But then again, I'm a very big overthinker!

29. Kinda answered it already, me learning about the fictionkin community!

37. Oh, most definitely. Reki is a cis guy. I am a person with no attachment to any gender. However, I really like expressing myself in a more masculine/androgynous way.

38. Also most definitely! Reki has no confirmed sexuality but a lot of people believe he's bi (myself included) due to his interest in girls and his theorized attraction towards Langa. I'm aroace, more specifically bellusromantic, quiromantic, and apothisexual.

39. It is NOT a big deal and also stop being so apologetic?? You're literally doing nothing wrong by questioning homie, why are you feeling so irrationally bad /lh

40. I have a link in my pinned to a good handful of resources I've used including blogs, articles, and ebooks that have helped me either learn more about the community or how to figure out my identity if anyone's interested :3

This was fun!! Thank you so much for sharing these questions!

Fictionfolk Experiences Ask Game

Yeah, you. Fictionkin, fictive, fictionhearted, fictionlinker, fictionflicker--whatever else you may be in the tags. I wanna get some potentially positivity and experience sharing going because there's some Stuff that isn't great in the tags right now but ALSO I think fictionfolk as a whole (and not just identify-as fictionfolk but yes those too) deserve a nice little platform to share their experiences. So, use this ask game. Or just reblog and answer the questions. Or post the answers yourself. Be free.

1. What's your fictional identity (hearttype, kintype, etc)?

2. If you have multiple, do you have one you're closer to than the others, or is more important to your identity overall?

3. How many fictional identities do you have?

4. What's your favourite part about being fictionfolk?

5. What's a positivie interaction that's happened as a result of your fictional identity?

6. Have you told any people in your offline life about your fictional identity and gotten a positive reaction?

7. Have you told any people in your online life about your fictional identity and gotten a positive reaction?

8. Is there anyone you've met as a result of your interactions in the community who's very important to you now?

9. What's your favourite thing about the fictionfolk community?

10. Tell us about a time you've experienced species/identity euphoria as a result of one of your fictional identities.

11. Do you experience any shifts (mental, phantom, dream, etc) of your fictional identity? Share a bit about those and how they feel!

12. Do you have any canonmates (if applicable)?

13. Do you have any sourcemates (if applicable)?

14. Do you wish to seek out canonmates/sourcemates? Why/why not?

15. Do you have a favourite piece of fanart/fanfic/etc that ties into your identity? Share it (with credit)!

16. Do you have any art/fic/etc specifically made for you as a fictionfolk of your specific identity (made by yourself or someone else)? Share it!

17. Does your fictional identity differ from source in any way/is it canon divergent? Explain a bit about that!

18. Are there aspects of your fictional identity that you previously questioned, decided weren't a part of your identity, but you still look fondly upon? (Past 'types, etc).

19. Do you have any spiritual identities? Explain a bit about that!

20. Do you have any psychological identies? Explain a bit about that!

21. How old were you when you discovered/chose your first fictional identity?

22. Did you ever take a break from the community, but came back later? What made you come back?

23. Have you ever considered fictionlinking? If you already have, what made you decide to do it?

24. If you decided to 'link a fictional character, who would it be and why?

25. If you decided to 'link a fictional species, what would it be and why?

26. Have you ever questioned being fictionhearted? If you already are, what started your questioning into that connection?

27. Do you have any fictional hearthomes? What are your favourite things about them?

28. Have you ever questioned being a fictionbased archetrope? If you already are, what's your archetropal identity?

29. Have you ever questioned being fictionkin? If you already are, what started your discovery of that connection?

30. Have you ever had a fictotype turn out to be a fictionflicker or vice versa? What was that like?

31. Do you have any fictionflickers? What are they, and how do they make you feel?

32. If you're a system, do you have any collective fictional identities?

33. If you're a system, how many fictional identities do you have across all of your headmates?

34. Do you have any soulbonds from a fictional source? Share a bit about that!

35. Do you have any memories/noemata around your fictional identity? Share some if you'd like!

36. If you do have memories/noemata, what's your favourite?

37. Does your identity intersect with your gender in any way? Share a bit about that!

38. Does your identity intersect with your sexuality in any way? Share a bit about that!

39. Is there anything you'd have loved to hear back when you were first questioning your identity?

40. Is there anything you'd like to share toward fictionfolk who may just be starting to look into the community?

41. Free space! Share anything about your identity/ies that you'd like to!

[bm571158]

Burnout (MV1)

Part One

Part Two

Part Three

'Welcome To The Circus"

When Max first heard about the plans for an F1 movie he had been very clear with Christian, and in fact anyone who had mentioned it in the vicinity of him, that not only did he hate the idea there was nothing that they could do that would make him agree to take part it in.

"It's supposed to be a serious competitive sport." He'd argued, rolling his eyes at Christian again. "I'm busy trying to win another world championship, I've got way better things to be doing with my time than showing an actor who doesn't know one end of a car from another how things are supposed to work."

Max had lost count of how many times him and Christian had that particular argument. Even the argument itself was a waste of time as far as Max was concerned. Wasted breath, time they could have spent discussing strategy and making plans for the season ahead, rather than arguing about their supposed commitment to helping with this movie that Max was never going to agree to do. He really thought Christian had known him for long enough by that point that his team principal would know that he was fighting a losing battle. In fact the more Christian tried to tell him he had to do it, the more Max pushed back.

The two of them were still having the argument even as they stood in the garage in Bahrain, just minutes away from the first practice session of the 2024 season. GP had moved away, Max was fairly sure he was just pretending to look at something on the computer, in reality his engineer just didn't want to get dragged into this particular argument again.

"Look, Max." Christian sighed. "I don't know how many more ways I can say this. I knew you wouldn't want to do it, and I did say this at the time, but it's in the contracts and there's nothing we can do about it now."

"You can't make me do it." Max glared at him, pulling on his balaclava. One surefire way to get out of this argument and delay a little longer was going to be to get in the car and get on the track. It would at least put it off until later.

Christian sighed, rolling his eyes as he crossed his arms across his chest. "The team have made a commitment to help with the filming. No one's saying you have to do any acting, just answer a few questions, let them shadow you a bit."

"I'm here to win a championship, not babysit some stupid actor." Max huffed, picking up his helmet.

"Actress, actually." Christian corrected. "And she'll be here this afternoon, if you could at least try and be polite that would be great."

Max looked at him in confusion for a moment. Someone had sent him an email at some point he was fairly sure with the details of the casting and a rough outline of the plot for the movie. Max had deleted it instantly, hadn't even opened the email never mind read any of it. So it was news to him that they'd cast a female driver.

He almost opened his mouth to ask who it was, but he was afraid Christian might mistake it for genuine interest in the movie and think Max was coming around to the idea. So instead, he tugged his helmet on and climbed into the car.

This part- this was the part he loved. If he could do this without all the stupid media obligations, social media for the team, sponsor commitments and every other part of the F1 circus he'd be in his element.

After an hour of FP1, Max had emerged from the car pleased with his progress, and having almost completely forgotten about his earlier argument with Christian.

He was quick to get out of the car once it was wheeled back into the garage. The heat in Bahrain was oppressive, even in the evening, and he was keen to cool down as soon as possible.

GP was the first one to greet him as he stood at the back of the garage, stripping his suit down to his waist in the hope that it might cool him down a little. Max wondered idly for a second where Christian was, but quickly decided if it meant his team principal wasn't bugging him then he didn't really care.

"Good first session." GP nodded. "Starting strong."

Max nodded in agreement. "I'm going to go get a drink, I'll meet you in the hospitality to go through the data?"

"Sure." GP nodded.

Max took off through the paddock, Red Bull cap pulled firmly on to his head, gaze down to avoid the press and fans that were lurking in the hope of catching a moment of his time.

Once he was back in the Red Bull hospitality he relaxed a little. He grabbed himself a can of Red Bull out of the fridge and stood on the small balcony at the end of the hallway that housed his and Checo's drivers rooms. It looked out over the paddock below, but was shielded from view enough he didn't have to worry about people taking photos while he was trying to enjoy five minutes of peace in a hectic race weekend.

The door behind him opened and Max let out a quiet sigh of relief as he realised it was just his teammate, Checo, and not Christian coming to lecture him some more, or even worse the social media team with another stupid idea.

"Christian says she'll be here soon." Checo told him, leaning against the railing beside Max.

"Who?" Max looked at him blankly.

"Talia Quinn- you know, the actress." Checo told him. "The one you and Christian have been at each other's throats about for months."

"Isn't she a singer?" Max asked. He was sure he'd seen something online about her releasing an album and doing a tour. He only knew about it because one of the songs had blown up and been all over TikTok. He couldn't remember any mention of her acting. All he could remember was a lot of videos of her dancing around provocatively on stage barely wearing any clothes.

Checo nodded, clearly having paid a lot more attention to whatever had previously been discussed about the filming than Max had. "She's just finished her tour, and now she's starting filming this. She's the main character- female F1 driver. She's supposed to be shadowing us- well you- for the next few races before they start filming properly to get into character."

Max rolled his eyes. "Why can't she just watch a documentary or read a book? Or she can follow you around. You seem to be a big fan."

Checo laughed quietly. "You didn't read any of the stuff they sent, did you?"

Max just looked at his teammate. "You don't even need to ask that question. Of course I didn't."

Checo looked like he was considering whether or not he should tell him for a second, then his lips quirked upwards into a smile he couldn't hold back.

"Her character is supposed to be a bit difficult apparently. Fast, winning races but a bit temperamental. Prone to outbursts. They thought you'd be good inspiration."

"Are you fucking kidding me?" Max asked in disbelief.

"You really should read your emails more often." Checo laughed quietly. "Oh look, that must be her!"

Max followed the direction that Checo was pointing in. The entrance to the paddock that was just visible from where they were stood had been reasonably quiet up until now, but a car had pulled up and a sea of people seemed to emerge.

And in the middle of it all, there she was, making her way through the turnstiles and walking in the direction of the Red Bull hospitality. Perfectly styled platinum blonde hair hanging down to her wait, cropped top and short skirt showing so much smooth, tanned skin Max almost felt like he didn't know where to look.

She was everything he'd been expecting as soon as Checo said her name.

"That's her." Checo said.

"Yeah, I figured." Max rolled his eyes.

"She's going to look good, for the cameras." Checo commented, the two of them watching on as Talia paused below them, laughing and posing for a group of photographers who had rushed across the paddock to capture her arrival.

"They could've cast someone who's actually got an interest in racing." Max scoffed. "She's what... been dancing around on stage in underwear for months and now she's going to turn up here dressed like that and expect people to take her seriously?"

"Oh she's going to have a great time with you for the next few weeks." Checo laughed. "What a lucky girl."

"She won't be because like I've told Christian about a hundred fucking times, I'm not doing it." Max shook his head, gulping down the last of his redbull. "I'm gonna go find GP and do what I'm actually here to do- think about winning."

Max had met GP in the meeting room slightly later than planned by the time he'd left Checo. His engineer was sitting there patiently, laptop open in front of him and ready to go through the data from FP1. But, before GP could even get a word in, Max found himself ranting angrily to his engineer about the actress, despite trying to convince himself that he didn't care.

"Can you believe?" Max asked, slamming his hands down on the table to emphasise his point. "They've created a character that's a tantrum prone asshole and decided that naturally I'm the best reference point for this? Are they fucking serious? They say things like that and then they expect me to give up my time to help her?"

"I haven't had that much to do with it." GP answered diplomatically. "Maybe Checo got the wrong end of the stick? I can't imagine Christian would've agreed to it if it was like that."

"He better not have done because if he did I'll-"

"Max." GP interrupted him before he could launch into another rant about how ridiculous the whole thing was. "Whatever it is.... It's just a movie. Don't take it so personally, and definitely don't let it distract you from doing what we are here to do."

Max exhaled loudly, fingertips still twitching against the table in front of him and his knee bouncing nervously. "I'm not taking it personally." He lied. "I'm just saying I think it's a really stupid idea and I never agreed to be part of it."

GP was quiet for a moment, giving Max a look that suggested he knew he was lying. "Alright... if you're done can we get on with this? We don't have that much time before FP2."

"Yeah, right... sorry." Max mumbled. "Carry on."

Meanwhile across the paddock, Talia was being ushered around by the press team for the movie, trying to ignore the way the material of the skirt they'd insisted she wear was riding up her thighs and sticking to her skin. It was stiflingly hot out, and she'd have been much more comfortable in something that was first of all long enough that she wasn't forever paranoid about flashing a camera accidentally, and loose enough to allow for a bit of air flow.

But no, they'd cast her in an attempt to bring some 'sex appeal' to the movie, and been clear that they were going to dress her how they saw fit.

So here she was, standing infront of a mob of reporters and desperately tugging at the hem of her skirt as though it might somehow make it longer. She kept her sunglasses planted firmly on her face, no amount of makeup was going to be able to hide quite how tired she felt. There had been no acknowledgment of the fact that she had only two nights earlier wrapped up an almost ten month long world tour that had followed the release of her precious album. The second she'd landed she'd just been handed another copy of her script, a packed schedule and told to she needed to get to work because they didn't have long before they started filming.

Despite how tired she was she kept up the persona she'd spent such a long time so carefully crafting. The same one that got up on stage and danced around in next to nothing, sang all those sexy songs and danced like no one was watching. That in itself had surely been enough acting practice to prepare her for this role.

She smiled for the media, talking about the tour and her music, the somewhat controversial dancing and whether or not she was setting a bad example for her younger fans with her provocative outfits and dancing. She bit back the urge to point out that none of it had really been her idea- but as the executives at the record label kept reminding her every five minutes 'sex sells' and well, they hadn't been wrong. Her album had gone to number one instantly, the tour sold out in a matter of minutes. The persona was working for her, even if it was exhausting.

It was working, but it was exhausting. No one was interested in hearing about the fact that she'd somehow pulled off that whole tour while quietly working in the background with a stunt coach to prep for the movie, or the hours and hours that she would've loved to have spent sleeping that had instead been sacrificed into learning racing jargon and having driving lessons so she'd be able to film the race scenes that they needed.

No, no one was interested in any of that.

All they wanted to know was whether she thought any of the current drivers on the grid were hot and was there going to be any sex scenes in the movie.

That was apparently all they thought she was good for.

As she was ushered back through the paddock in the direction of the Red Bull hospitality, Talia was still quietly pleading with the member of staff from the film crew who was escorting her to find her some other clothes to wear. Preferably some team kit and a pair of trainers that might allow her to blend her way into the garage like she was supposed to be there, but she'd been told no.

She was no stranger to wearing heels, hell she had been dancing around on stage in stilettos for months, but none of this seemed like a practical choice for her spending a day in the garage actually getting the information she so desperately needed for her role.

She didn't have time to argue too much, the Red Bull building rapidly approaching, her heart hammering in her chest as she nervously rehearsed greeting the team in her head. She knew a lot of them weren't thrilled about the movie, even less thrilled at the prospect of having her hanging around and shadowing them. It was an uncomfortable feeling, walking into somewhere that she knew she wasn't wanted.

There was a small crowd of Red Bull staff waiting to greet her, including the team principal and one of their drivers she recognised as Checo. But nowhere to be seen as she greeted them all and shook hands was the very man they sent her here to shadow- Max Verstappen.

She made polite conversation with Christian as he offered to walk her across to the garage and show her around ahead of FP2, answering his questions about what she wanted to see and what she needed to get out of this before they started filming. She walked along and told him as much as she could, still tugging at the hem of her skirt as it rode up with every movement, trying to ignore the noise of her heels on the floor and quite how ridiculously over dressed she felt given everyone else was in team kit and trainers.

What she hadn't expected was to walk into the back of the garage and for Christian to drag her over to the back corner and introduce her to Max, who looked incredibly annoyed by the interruption given that he'd just been about to put on his helmet and get in the car.

"I'm Talia." She offered her hand politely. "It's really nice to meet you, I'm excited to be here."

Max just stared at her blankly until she awkwardly retracted her hand. "Just don't get in the way." He told her, picking up his gloves.

"You won't even know I'm here." She offered awkwardly.

He stared at her for a long, hard moment, eyes flickering around the garage behind him. "If you're coming back tomorrow, maybe put some more clothes on. I don't need a fucked up pit stop because everyone's too busy looking at you."

And with that he turned and walked away, leaving her feeling like she just wanted to crawl into a hole and disappear.

She hadn't seen Max again after that, and she couldn't exactly say that she was sad about it. The brief interaction with him had been the most awkward thing to happen to her in a long time, and left her feeling incredibly uncomfortable at the thought of going back.

She had spent the afternoon in the back of the garage with the engineers, listening and asking questions as she tried to get her head around what was happening and how it related to her role.

Eventually she'd been told it was time to go back to her hotel, a relief given that she'd come straight from the airport on minimal sleep, and she'd been glad to get back and take that stupid bloody skirt off and get back into an oversized shirt and a pair of leggings so she was actually comfortable.

She was exhausted, and wanted nothing more than to go to bed, but instead she found herself sat on her hotel balcony staring at her script and scrawling notes in the margins of a scene that was to take place in the engineering room, based on what she had seen today.

She was well aware that no one was really taking her seriously. She'd seen the news articles questioning her acting talent and implying that she had only been cast to offer some sex appeal to the movie. She had read it all, and every word stung, but all it did was serve to motivate her to prove them all wrong.

The same way that she was going to prove to Max Verstappen that he'd underestimated her too.

[yogirl-willow]

Hii👋

I just wanted to say that I absolutly LOVE the creativity for each of the characters backstory and the plot. 🤌✨

I wanted to ask where did you get ideas for each backstory for the boys? Like y'know, were you like: 'yes this one went throught this and bcz of that he acts like that.' or did you have difficulities? If so, who did you have most difficulities creating backstory for?🤔

If you don't want to answer bcz it's still crucial for the story or you just dont want to, you don't have to.

At the end of each chapter i was always at the edge of my seat and can't stop thinking about where the story going to lead with The Old one, Huntrix, Gwi-ma and of course the boys i just eat this whole thing up. 🤭

Can't wait for the next chapter but don't feel pressured. I must and will stay patient becouse every good story formulates with time and most importantly the writers energy. 🙂‍↕️👍

Thank you so much!!

(PS: sorry if there Are gramatic mistakes, English Is not my firts language😅)

Hiii! Thank you so much for your kind words, I'm so glad you're enjoying the story!

I don't mind answering this question, to be honest, I spent quite a bit of time mapping out their characterizations and figuring out what their backstories would be like in relation to that. I started out with figuring out who they are and what they're like / what kind of yandere they would be, and then working on making fitting backstories that explain why they are the way they are.

For their backstories, I mostly drew inspiration from Animes I've watched / Anime characters, and Manhwas I've read! There are just so many MLs and characters that I probably pulled from subconsciously.

For Abby/Haneul, I knew I wanted him to be some type of warrior from the get-go given his physique. It would make sense for him to be a protector (With all those muscles). And so for his character, I drew inspiration from countless Manhwa MLs who have that warrior/general monster on the battlefield, but soft for the FL (There's just way too many examples of this. - Zachary from Marriage of Convenience, Callisto from VADTD - the monster part anyway. And I'm sure many other titles I forgot, but I know I've read. There's just too many Manhwas in my library haha) But personality-wise, I also thought of Kamina from Gurren Lagann. Not in terms of build- but more on how loud he is, hot-blooded, Protector role with deeper pain and self-sacrifice.

For Romance, I knew this mf was a cunning little shit from the start. Flirty, seductive, liar, charmer... it was just giving Slytherin vibes tbh. Initially, I had the thought of making him some type of advisor (Little Finger vibes from GOT) or a Head of an Informants guild? but then I was watching the Apothecary diaries, and it kinda made sense to me if he learned how to be like that if he grew up in a pleasure house / as the son of a courtesan. It would explain really well how manipulative he can be, seductive, romantic, etc. It also puts a darker spin on his character, his desire for control, etc. I also drew a bit of inspiration from Howl in Howl’s Moving Castle. He’s very Romance when you think about it - Vain, charismatic, emotionally evasive, etc. Also they’re both so pretty.

For Hwimori / Mystery, it was a bit tough and took a bit more time. I just went with him barking and kinda rolled with that to develop it into the soul-beast concept. He wouldn't be much of a talker either, based on what we saw in the movie I guess... so I was inspired by soul-beast manhwas I've read, and a little bit of the anime To Your Eternity! Especially the part where he changes form and has to live in a world without the reader / learn new things, etc. and witnesses her death / things he doesn't understand about being human. Also, I love Tomoe from Kamisama Kiss and I KNOW he's not like Mystery in personality, but I wanted a character that was spirit-like for variety! For Seungho / Baby, I knew I wanted him to be some fallen noble or something. Initially, I was going to make him a vengeful noble who fell from grace, but somewhere down the line it changed up to him being raised as a weapon, trained not to feel, and then learns how to love / obsess over the reader. For his characterization, I was inspired by Gabimaru from Hell's Paradise (Ugh love this anime). Given his dark past, it did fit Seungho's personality perfectly. I also drew inspiration from Eclise in Villains are Destined To Die (one of my favorite manhwas ever) - slave trained as gladiator, obsessive towards FL because she was the first to treat him kindly. It's a dangerous love Seungho has that I think echoes Eclise's character in this manhwa.

Jinu's backstory was already in the movie, but the part where he loses the reader due to poisoning of a jealous Concubine is also inspired by the Apothecary Diaries! For his characterization here, in- order to build him up a bit, I drew some inspiration from Lelouch vi Britannia from Code Geass. Since he forged the soul-bond out of love and obsession, it was giving calm strategist, obsessed ruler, obsessed with protecting one person no matter the cost (In Code Geass- that's Nunnally). Also builds a persona (Zero) and Jinu (Saja Boys) to manipulate outcomes. General themes of Manipulating fate. This was all loosely based of course- nothing too direct. Just mostly inspired by!

[hcgossips]

Doubts?

There is no doubt  Cavill’s team has been dropping the ball, messing up in different situations. But, it was just a matter of time. What to expect when you turn your celeb client into a professional escort? And, they continue messing up by making Cavill stage a fake steady relationship with Viscuso.

Viscuso is not Cavill’s responsibility, unless he was responsible for her negative exposure since she became his PR stunt. And, based on his PR team’s efforts, he is. All we have to do is observe the many different manipulative and malicious strategies being used in this PR since it started, and how fandom paid for Cavill’s team stupidities.

I’ve never seen such a sloppy job. From the choice of the PR stunt to the last promotion move. Every single damage control strategy ended up screwing him. What to expect when you, as a celeb, accept putting Fame before Dignity? What to expect whe you, as a celeb, accept to be manipulated by your manager?

You are probably asking yourself if I believe @exposing _henrycavill was reliable. My initial answer would be “no”. Because, Cavill always seemed the guy who is afraid of facing consequences, afraid of having to be involved in polemic and wrongdoing. And, at the time, I found the idea really similar to Hammer’s scandal: A mysterious lover, all of a sudden, coming out online to spread the tea about intimacy with a celeb. Cliché.

But, the damage control strategies his team adopted, clearly trying to manipulate social media and people’s perception (because of the page or of Viscuso’s bl*w j*b photo), by using malicious diversions, called my attention and made the page more relevant. His team screwed big time. They messed up with this PR in ways no PR professional can imagine. Why so many sloppy strategies?

Of course, Viscuso’s promiscuous photo helped. But, that could have been avoided. My observations are not related to the content of the page @exposoing_henrycavill, but to what his PR team made of it and how they managed it, how Cavill and team reacted to it and to Viscuso’s public promiscuity.

Cavill’s single status allows a lot of gossip about his intimate life, motivated by his team, most of the time, when not planted by them in the media to promote him as this stallion, this guy who bangs a lot of women and has his specific preferences: young (What I doubt). Cavill probably prefers older maternal women.

Being single was never the problem. The problem was trying to mask his single life with fake plots. He's a sole man, far from being the marrying type, who prefers smoozing and boozing with his friends and enjoying his solitude gaming for hours in front of a computer, rather than being with a woman. He will only get married to a woman who can understand and respect his childish needs. I might be wrong, but he probably doesn’t miss them that much and is very comfortable being single and free. At least, he was.

This stupid PR with a tramp could have been avoided. If not, could have been insignificant, but his PR team’s incompetence made him vulnerable, exposing his true Character. And, what he considers vulnerabilities and always wanted to hide (and what many consider charming and attractive) were wrongly put in evidence.

His team stupidly, thought they had to respond to the massive comments that pointed them out:

a)      By making him go through humiliating situations

b)      By using immoral, malicious and narc damage control strategies,

c)      By changing his persona into another far from who he is.

It was a mistake after mistake. And, making him stage a steady fake relationship with the tramp, won’t help. On the contrary. It is an admission of guilt. These last five years were an intensive PR course on how to avoid screwing your client’s image and reputation.

Now, seriously! Whoever planned this, whoever selected Viscuso and hatched all those narc strategies as damage control should be fired and publicly exposed, because it is the worst PR manager I’ve ever seen and heard about.

[skrunksthatwunk]

miraculous world: new york asks the bold question: what if batman and superman were lesbian married with children

[sleepis4theweak]

WAITTTT YOU WATCH(ED) NINJAGO?? HAVE YOU WATCHED DRAGONS RISING YET?

HECK YEAH IVE WATCHED NINJAGO

I WAS THERE FROM THE VERY BEGINNING

I WATCHED IT WHEN IT FIRST CAME OUT WITH MY BROTHER

AND THE WEEKEND WHIP WAS BANNED FROM OUR CAR BECAUSE WE ASKED TO PLAY IT SO OFTEN

AND IM PRETTY SURE MY BROTHER HAS GOTTEN INJURED AT LEAST ONCE TRYING TO DO SPINJITSU

I unfortunately have not watched Dragons Rising... YET! I REALLY WANNA WATCH IT SOON THO!!!!!!

[thats-a-lot-of-cortisol]

Aspect of Order: Primordial & Present-Day

One of the first deities, part of what is known as the Primordial Triad. It created the planes alongside the Aspects of Chaos and the In-Between and held dominion over the Material Plane. It embodied order in the way nature has order: the life cycle, gravity, the tides, the surety that the seasons will change, the patterns that appear in flora and fauna alike, the symmetry of pinecones and butterflies. It was associated with the night as a time of quiet preparation where the world rests, and when one can see the remains of creation in the darkened sky. It is said that the two moons of the Material Plane are its eyes, watching over its creations.

All three members of the Primordial Triad are referred to with "it", so ancient and unfathomable that applying a mortal, transient concept of gender to them seemed almost blasphemous.

Almost.

The modern-day conception of Order is quite different. Though she still reigns over the night and natural laws, her followers have placed her at the forefront of the creation process, reducing the In-Between's role and rejecting Chaos altogether. Though most present-day cultures think of her in this way, many of them do not emphasize her: she is an invisible Over-God, keeping the other deities and forces in line and maintaining cosmic balance from behind the scenes. In places where she is worshipped heavily, however, she is placed at the forefront of the pantheon. In those cases, worship of deities with overlapping domains is either illegal (ex local gods of justice) or considered secondary to her (ex the god of the Wilds). The worship of smaller, local deities is usually discouraged or suppressed over-all in these areas in order to encourage a more structured, uniform religious practice. While both aspects of Order championed paladins, Primordial Order also championed druids and rangers while Modern Order champions clerics.

Ancient theologians debated whether or not Order and Chaos were two aspects of the same being (ironically, there was no question that the In-Between was its own separate force). However, following the iconoclasm that effectively forced Chaos out of the pantheon and created the modern conception of Order, such lines of thought were considered heretical, and then blasphemous.

The iconoclasm did have an unintended consequence, however. Crying motifs appeared in some art of Primordial Order around that time, particularly in the areas that resisted the iconoclasts more intensely. Some scholars believe that it may have been a direct reaction to the event: Order mourning the loss of its counterpart. Others have argued, however, that the lack of such motifs (or equivalents) in depictions of the In-Between prove this wrong. After all, why would it not also be grieving?

[whoredmode]

i think for the modern story it’d be fun to brainstorm what are essentially side quests for xóchitl to take up. not necessarily activities/diversions, something more along the lines of a traditional game side quest (think yakuza or fallout) where it doesn’t really impact the main story but provides good rewards and more worldbuilding. i bring this up bc i think it’d be a good way to implement the phone without using the awful srtt/sriv/srr system of “press a button, answer call, start linear main story mission.” bc i hate that they stuck w structuring the main story that way instead of going to XYZ location/person and initiating a cutscene. but i do think there is a place for using the phone as a means to start something.

so my thinking is using more or less a text system (rather than a call) for side quests. most of them likely come from anteros, but it’d be cool to see the occasional homie- or activity character-specific side quest. plus w it being texts rather than a call, you can at least read a bit of what the quest could be rather than going in blind w a phone call.

also bc truthfully i have a very vivid image in my head of xóchitl being woken up by anteros sending her a stupid fucking bitmoji text asking if she can do something for him. startled awake by her phone going off w this staring back at her on full brightness

[opalthea]

also, hello padisarah nonnie !! it's good to see you again :>

i decided to not answer your ask regarding the wholeeee stuff.. because i don't really care what they want to do anymore. i've done my part of speaking up about their behaviours and calling them out - which made a lot of people open their eyes for once instead of ignoring the warnings they got from me or other people. and i think that's all i want to do.

THIS WILL FORMALLY BE THE LAST POST ABOUT THEM. I will not answer any asks regarding it anymore, so if you want to make your own posts regarding those users, please use your own platforms, thank you.

as much as i encourage speaking up, i also don't want to give a flying duck about them anymore. y'know, like, i spoke up because i couldn't tolerate them and their behaviours anymore - couldn't just keep quiet when my mutuals are knowingly or unknowingly talking to shitty people like that. if they started a new blog, just let them. i don't really care anymore 😭 all i hope is that my mutuals and those that see this are more aware of internet safety and who you surround yourself with. it was already exhausting trying to warn others about them and not being listened to until i made this shit public — i'm not going to start becoming a blog that runs on discourse just so some can finally realise that this person was shitty and that person was the devil.

thanks for also caring abt me and informing me of their new url, i appreciate that a lot! it's on my blocklist now + the mutuals they've tagged on that post too 💀 if, however, i blocked you without a good reason why, or if i blocked you before you knew of this and had already cut ties with them, feel free to send me a message or ask on a different blog! i took precautionary blocks when it comes to having those kind of people as mutuals so .. yeah.

[vilelittlecritter]

About half the reblogs are about 73 yards and I'm sorry to break it to you but I don't really like 73 yards that much..

No hate to the episode I thought it was cool as an idea but wasn't really well done in my opinion

Firm believer that doctor who should get fucked up and unnerving on the regular

[pyrrhiccomedy]

I feel like we need a refresher on Watsonian vs Doylist perspectives in media analysis. When you have a question about a piece of media - about a potential plot hole or error, about a dubious costuming decision, about a character suddenly acting out of character -

A Watsonian answer is one that positions itself within the fictional world.

A Doylist answer is one that positions itself within the real world.

Meaning: if Watson says something that isn't true, one explanation is that Watson made a mistake. Another explanation is that Sir Arthur Conan Doyle made a mistake.

Watsonian explanations are implicitly charitable. You are implicitly buying into the notion that there is a good in-world reason for what you're seeing on screen or on the page. ("The bunny girls in Final Fantasy wear lingerie all the time because they're from a desert culture!")

Doylist explanations are pragmatic. You are acknowledging that the fiction is shaped by real-world forces, like the creators' personal taste, their biases, the pressures they might be under from managers or editors, or the limits of their expertise. ("The bunny girls in Final Fantasy wear lingerie because somebody thought they'd sell more units that way.")

Watsonian explanations tend to be imaginative but naive. Seeking a Watsonian explanation for a problem within a narrative is inherently pleasure-seeking: you don't want your suspension of disbelief to be broken, and you're willing to put in the leg work to prevent it. Looking for a Watsonian answer can make for a fun game! But it can quickly stray into making excuses for lazy or biased storytelling, or cynical and greedy executives.

Doylist explanations are very often accurate, but they're not much fun. They should supersede efforts to provide a Watsonian explanation where actual harm is being done: "This character is being depicted in a racist way because the creators have a racist bias.'" Or: "The lore changed because management fired all of the writers from last season because they didn't want to pay then residuals."

Doylism also runs the risk of becoming trite, when applied to lower stakes discrepancies. Yes, it's possible that this character acted strangely in this episode because this episode had a different writer, but that isn't interesting, and it terminates conversation.

I think a lot of conversations about media would go a lot more smoothly, and everyone would have a lot more fun, if people were just clearer about whether they are looking to engage in Watsonian or Doylist analysis. How many arguments could be prevented by just saying, "No, Doylist you're probably right, but it's more fun to imagine there's a Watsonian reason for this, so that's what I'm doing." Or, "From a Watsonian POV that explanation makes sense, but I'm going with the Doylist view here because the creator's intentions leave a bad taste in my mouth that I can't ignore."

Idk, just keep those terms in your pocket? And if you start to get mad at somebody for their analysis, take a second to see if what they're saying makes more sense from the other side of the Watsonian/Doylist divide.

[aeyumicore]

please & thank you

━ .ᐟ✧ PAIRING: sylus x female reader (afab)

━ ✧.˖ GENRE: smut, porn with very little/no plot, porn with feelings

━ .ᐟ✧ WORD COUNT: 7.5k

━ ✧.˖ WARNINGS: mdni, explicit sexual content, SLIGHT spoilers to the lore (with some of my own interpretations and theories), oral m!receiving, fingering f!receiving, face/throat fucking, finger sucking, kinda rough, size difference, cuffing/tied up (m!receiving), sylus kindaaaa/degrading mean but in a tasteful way, he’s also very soft for reader, sylus has a FILTHY mouth, orgasm denial (f! and m!receiving), mirror sex, improper use of Evol, use of Y/N, cute petnames hehe (little dove, little bird, sweetheart, doll, etc), slight predator and prey, choking (kinda breath play??? not really), some references to lore (main storyline + midnight stealth), kinda sub!reader, dom!sylus, THIS IS FILTHY YALL IDK WHAT ELSE TO SAY

━ .ᐟ✧ LINKS: ao3

━ ✧.˖ A/N: hi guyssss she is here <3 MY FIRST ever sylus fic, first of many me thinks bc i am so utterly infatuated w him im sorry zayne LOL

i did NOT end up making this connected to ‘midnight stealth’ OR ‘no defense zone’ (although some midnight stealth plot is referenced a tiny bit in the beginning). any resemblances to these two memories are purely coincidental, mostly similar because there’s use of cuffs/restraints in all three. this is purely a standalone filthy fic

this has veryyyy little plot, i decided to keep it that way so im sorry to those who wanted to see plot in this ;_; i didn’t want to burn out, which i likely would’ve because pivoting from what i had (5.6k words) to a more plot based fic would have taken me a few more days and probably double the words and i just couldn’t do that to myself. 

i appreciate you guys for supporting me and i really respect each and every opinion so i hope i didn’t let anyone down by not doing the plot version. there will be plenty of opportunities for that i promise <3

pls enjoy :) any comments or reblogs r greatly appreciated (and loved) by me <3 they help me keep motivated to keep writing and truly make my whole week.

THIS IS MY ONLY ACCOUNT. I WILL NEVER POST MY FICS ON OTHER TUMBLR BLOGS. I WILL ONLY POST ON THIS ACCOUNT AND ON AO3.

✦ . ˖ ✧ .ᐟ ˖ nsfw | minors dni | 18+ only | minors dni | nsfw ✦ . ˖ ✧ .ᐟ ˖ .

You were playing with fire.

Actually, what you were doing was definitely more dangerous and infinitely more idiotic than playing with fire. 

It was downright deranged. 

It appeared the silver haired man beneath you agreed, his jaw ticking dangerously as his deep crimson eyes crinkled in warning, “Are you sure this is a game you want to play?” 

You knew the answer was definitely no. But the mere glimpse of the Onychinus leader beneath you, at your mercy, was enough to make you push through the thrilling fear coursing through your veins.

With Sylus’s chiseled body unwillingly sprawled out before you, you situated yourself in between his thighs. Though his words and expression were laced with a cautionary edge, his legs spread open for you. 

His wrists were bound with the two silver cuffs you’d purchased at a novelty store on girls day out with Tara, each hand simultaneously locked to the steel beams of your bed’s headboard. With his arms bound above his head, his button up shirt rode up to expose his pale and scarred skin and the defined outlines of the chiseled pelvic muscles that lead to his manhood.

It wasn’t a stretch to say you’d planned this, after all you did buy the cuffs with Sylus in mind. And you’d never forget what Luke and Kieran had told you, in what felt like a lifetime ago. 

“Boss is most vulnerable when he’s sleeping.” 

Except now you weren’t binding him for the purpose of incapacitating him to find that damned brooch he’d taunted you with. Now, when he’d dozed off after you’d forced him to marathon the Harry Potter series with you, you tied him up with only one goal in mind.

Well maybe two. To tease and to punish.

Snapping out of your thoughts, you watch the way Sylus’s naval rises and falls irregularly, a subtle sign of his boiling anticipation. His exposed pelvis is dusted in a faint path of hair, trailing to where his pants hang dangerously low on his hips, after you’d taken his belt off. 

Sylus watches you with a careful eye as your hands find his waistband, tugging his bottoms and his boxers down in one motion. He tuts disapprovingly, even as his body lifts every so slightly to assist you in undressing him, “I’ve already warned you once. I won’t warn you again.” 

And yet, there’s an undeniable amusement in his voice that lets you know it’s safe to keep going. Your eye contact never breaks as you tug his clothing all the way down, until they rest at his ankles. His hardening cock springs free as you do so, the thick mushroom head already leaking a shiny streak of precum. As it slaps against his abdomen, Sylus’s carmine irises darken, but he refuses to make any sounds. The screech of steel rattling against steel is loud in the tense air, the formidable man’s fists clenched so tightly his nails threaten to break his skin. 

You bend down slowly, torturously languid, until his masculine scent invades your senses. You shiver in pleasure, positively addicted to every part of him. Sylus’s stomach heaves as he curses you inwardly; you were the only devilish minx that could even fathom rendering him into this vulnerable state. The only person he’d ever allow to see him like this. 

“You’ve become quite bold, little bird. Perhaps I’ve been too lenient with you.”

His cocky attitude makes you want to shiver, but you find the strength to retort back, “Perhaps you have.”

Not wanting to give him a chance to respond, and a chance for you to lose your courage, you let your tongue run over the thick tip of his erection, collecting his arousal on your tongue. You make a show of savoring his taste, letting your eyes bat at him while you lick him clean. 

Sylus is hypnotized, crunching up to watch you. His wrists pull against the metal restraints, growing irritated with being held back. Of course, if he’d wanted to, he could snap the cuffs with a mere tick of his fingers, but he found it amusing to watch his mischievous little bird believe she had control. 

When you take his head fully into your lips, Sylus’s hips involuntarily buck up into the heaven that is your mouth. Though surprised, you do your best to accommodate the extra inches, tongue twirling around his leaking slit as your jaw unhinges to take in his fat girth. 

“Fuck.” 

Sylus’s dark eyebrows are scrunched as he fights the urge to destroy the cuffs to get to you, wanting nothing more than to sink his fingers into your hair and push you down until you couldn’t breathe. But he prided himself as a man of patience, even if he despised being tested. 

And you were absolutely testing him. Your puffy lips caressed his sensitive veins, tongue assaulting every flaming nerve of his massive length, delicate and soft fingers leaving no inch of him untouched. Yet you moved so languidly. Deliberately testing how far you could push him, testing his resolve. Not that he would ever beg, but he desperately wished you’d move faster, take him deeper. 

“My love,” he purrs, deceptively calm even as your filthy tongue lathered his most sensitive parts, “I implore you to release me. While I’m still feeling generous.” 

Doing your best to shut him up, you take him into the back of your throat, fingers shifting from the base of his manhood to his heavyset balls. You’re only half successful in your antics, as you do cut off Sylus’s demands, only to be replaced by an inexplicable string of curses. The daunting leader of the Onychinus, whose name evoked fear itself to most, unraveled at your whims. A man who had no weaknesses, save for one.

You.

With his head thrown back, hair tousled and matted with a thin layer of sweat, he began to pant heavily. His neck bobbed deeply to the rhythm of his gasps, hands pulling against the restraints you’d locked him into. The sound of metal clashing against metal is almost deafening, your head snapping up to his arms bound above his head. 

For a second you’d feared he’d snapped the steel cuffs, his biceps rippling and forearm veins bulging with the sheer strength of his arms. But fortunately for you, his wrists were still firmly bound, a red angry circle forming where the metal met the pale skin of his hands. 

“Do you really think – hah – this will end well for you, dove?” Sylus considers this your very last warning, crunching up once again to watch you, your mouth full of his cock, saliva dribbling down your chin as you try to accommodate his thickness. He swears under his breath at the sight of you, his woman, the only person he’d ever even consider letting his guard down around, pleasuring him so sweetly and enthusiastically. Even if you were so foolish that you thought you could get away with typing him up. 

You look up innocently at him, fluttering your eyelashes as you fuck him with your mouth. Though you let him hit the back of your throat every time, your rhythm is intentionally and torturously slow, edging him without making it obvious enough for punishment. And although each intentional motion elicits the most mind numbing grip from your gag reflex on his throbbing erection, he’s losing his mind from how much more he wants. How much more he needs. 

“Faster.”

You nearly choke as you giggle at his demands, releasing his cock with a resounding pop. Of course, even tied up, Sylus didn't use the word ‘please.’ The man of unthinkable power was absolutely used to getting what he wanted without even batting an eye. It was a habit that he rarely relented on, and when he did it was only for you. 

“What’s the magic word?”

Sylus glowered at you, jaw twitching dangerously as he did his best to hold himself back, “Watch it.” 

It was truly taking every ounce of willpower he had to not rip the cuffs off the steel beams of your bed, taking your headboard apart with it. All so he could have more.

“Sylus,” you pout, still using your hands to gingerly stroke him with a featherlike touch. Nothing intense enough to get him off. “Didn’t anyone ever teach you to say ‘please’ when asking for something?” You give him a pointed squeeze, thumb stroking the underside of his swollen head. 

He curses, pelvis thrusting up into your fist to try and chase the pleasure you’re withholding from him, “Fuck, if you’re going to act like a brat, I’m going to treat you like one.”

“I just want to hear the words ‘please’ and ‘thank you.’ Please. See how easy that is?”

“Y/N, my heart,” Sylus purrs lowly, eyes glinting dangerously, “I won’t tolerate any more disobedience.”

“Well then you don’t get what you want.” As soon as the words left your mouth you knew you’d regret them. 

Before you can even blink, you find yourself pressed firmly into the mattress, your head hanging off the side, hair dangling freely. The air feels strangely brisk, and you can vaguely feel your nipples hardening. It’s then you realize you’re naked. But you hadn’t felt Sylus lay a single finger on you.

His Evol.

You’d become so accustomed to Sylus’s Evol that you no longer felt its slightly suffocating  invisible web when it touched you, unlike when you’d first met him in the N109 zone. The countless times he’d use his Evol to guide your lips to his, your hand into his larger ones, or to undress you, had actually made you quite fond of the touch of his Evol. 

Little did you know that Sylus had actually been practicing lightening up the intensity of it, for you. He’d always detested seeing the uncomfortable scrunch of your eyebrows, the hostile goosebumps that would raise where his Evol touched you. So he’d absolved himself to train the claws of his Evol to soften, instead becoming that of a gentle caress. Only for you, of course. For everyone else, they got the skin-shredding talons that parents warned about in cautionary tales to their children. 

Hanging upside down, the glint of the ceiling light against the silver cuffs hanging off your headboard catches your eye, snapping you from your thoughts. The metal loops were still completely intact, but unlocked. Of course you knew he’d use his Evol to escape eventually, but it still surprised you how he managed to do it so effortlessly. Graceful in everything he did. 

You try to sit up, but Sylus’s hand wraps itself softly around your throat and holds you back down. He tsks scornfully, a playful warning in the swirling glowing cerise of his eyes. His grip is gentle enough where you can still speak normally. Rough enough where you want more.

So you pout childishly, “It’s just like you to use your Evol for such cheap tricks.” 

From beneath his towering frame, you can just barely see him raise his perfectly arched eyebrow. Most of him is obstructed by his massive erection pressed at your nose, menacingly imposing before you. “Cheap? Doll, there’s nothing cheap about me. And nothing cheap about the things I’m going to do to you.”

You shiver involuntarily at his threats, your thighs clenching together in anticipation. Sylus’s words were always harsh, but when it came to you there was always such a profound sincerity and gentleness behind his actions, even when he was brutally devouring your body. So the danger edged into his words only served to excite you, fueling the dampness that had formed between your legs. 

And of course, his perfect cock dangling in front of your lips, still glistening with a sheen of his arousal and your saliva. Hanging so closely to your waiting tongue, but never touching. That definitely did not help the throbbing ache in between your thighs. 

“I think you’ve had enough fun, don’t you agree?”

Feeling daringly bold, you playfully curse him, “Screw y–” But before you can finish getting the words out, Sylus grips your jaw, shoving himself into your waiting mouth. The force he uses is enough to make your eyes roll back, the feeling of being full of him making you forget what you’d wanted to say to begin with. You’re careful to pull back your teeth as he finds his way to one of his favorite places, the back of your throat. 

“Let’s give that mouth something to do, other than run itself, hmm?”

You groan in response, letting the vibrations of your throat speak for you. Sylus grunts, removing his hand from your throat and weaving it into your hair like he’d wanted to earlier. His grip is strong, just hard enough that you feel an immense pleasure from the stinging pull. With a firm hand on your scalp, he fucks into your face, his meticulously groomed hair brushing against your nose at every thrust. 

His speed and vigor is relentless, not that you’d complain even if you could. The feeling of Sylus driving in and out of your throat, like you were a fleshlight, had your body vibrating with need, clit throbbing in ecstasy. How you could feel this good just sucking his cock was beyond you. Your unrestrained moans were an absolute orchestra to his ears, the vibrations running through every nerve ending in his erection, causing him to release a string of his own sounds 

“You’re so – hah – exquisite like this, dove. Choking on my cock instead of your words.”

You whine at him, so unbelievably turned on by the filthy way he speaks to you. His skin slaps against your wet mouth, and an obscene amount of drool mixed with precum drips off your cheeks and onto the carpeted floor beneath you. You loll your tongue out to try and catch his copious dribbles of precum, not wanting to waste any part of him. 

“I can see my cock in your throat, sweetheart,” he cooed, using a hand to brush against your throat, where his erection bulges against your neck each time he fucks into you. 

Tears streamed from your eyes as Sylus’s pace increased, gripping onto your hair for even more leverage against your beautiful face. 

“Crying already? Not feeling so bold anymore, my love?” 

You ignore his patronizing words, trying to focus instead on your own pleasure. With one hand still gripping the hard muscles of his bubbly rear, your other hand wanders to the quivering area between your thighs, fiddling with the bundle of nerves that was slick with your arousal. You desperately seek to relieve some of the tension building up in your gut, all from just Sylus’s cock in your mouth.

But before you can give yourself any inkling of pleasure, you feel a familiar force of energy pulling your hand away. 

“I don’t recall giving you permission to touch yourself.”

You nearly sob at his words. You want to speak, plead with him to touch you, or at least let you touch yourself, pride be damned. But his unbelievable girth makes it impossible to do anything but devour him repeatedly.

The white haired man above you watches you carefully, swearing at how your tear soaked face makes his resolve to punish you crumble ever so slightly. Taking pity on you, he brings your hand to his, weaving his long fingers into yours. You hold his hand tightly, enjoying the way his much larger hand clasps into yours, fingers digging into your sensitive flesh.

“Good girl,” he coos in praise, voice tinged with a condescension that makes your skin crawl in excitement, “You don’t touch what’s mine, unless I say, hm?”

You look up at him with wide wet eyes, nodding obediently as he continues to ravage your face. He pressed your hand deeper into the mattress, his thrusts becoming so intense that you knew you’d have a hard time speaking tomorrow, your throat battered and bruised. 

From your position, you don’t see the glowing light that emanates from your joined fingers. But Sylus does, and he watches in a concealed wonder at the way you can so easily resonate with him now. You didn’t even need to try, a single touch was all it took. It was a testament to how much you’d grown to trust him. 

No, it was a testament to the deep love and respect you’d both come to hold for each other. You’d both definitely come a long way from when he’d captured, or when you let him capture, you at the N109 zone all that time ago. The thought of that threatens to make Sylus shiver as he continues to ram himself deep into your warm wet throat. He watched the way you took him so eagerly, hand gripping his for dear life, your other hand coming up to stroke his heavyset balls as they slapped against your face. The way your poor little throat bulged every time he thrusted into it, the bump so visible to his hungry crimson eyes.

Oh, how you ruined him. He’d fucking marry you.

Your jaw ached, having been open as widely as possible for far too long now, but you did your best to continue to take him. The feeling of him using your mouth was more than enough to keep you growing wetter, needing more. Your thighs squeezed together, as you rocked into nothing, wanting nothing more than to feel any friction between your legs.

Sylus watched as you pathetically tried to find pleasure in the empty air, nearly growling at how arousing the sight was. He was fueled with such an intense desire and love for you, nothing like he’d ever felt before. And that love and desire was enough for him to concede, if even just a little bit, for you.

“You’re lucky I’m feeling…charitable today, my dove,” he murmurs, releasing your hair and bending over your body. His erection never leaves your mouth, but he hovers so that your sight is filled with the view of his solid abdominal muscles. You cry out against his member when the familiar feel of his fingers finds your clit. You gasp out, choking on him, your hips jolting up eagerly to meet his torrid touch.

Sylus chuckles, a satisfied smirk making its way onto his unfairly gorgeous face, “Look at how eager you are…all this just from the taste of cock?”

Not able to respond, you hump up into his hand, squeezing your eyes shut in embarrassment of how desperate you were for him. Sylus only gives you a pointed thrust into your throat, making you gag deliciously around him again.

“Such an insatiable little bird,” he murmured, fingers expertly toying with you.

“You’re so beautiful, sweetheart,” his skilled ministrations never stopping, “I wish you could see how lovely you look with your mouth full.” 

Your eyes rolled back when he entered you, one finger at a time. He cursed at how tightly you gripped just one of his fingers. He had half a mind to just bury himself into your perfect cunt right then and there. And that’s just what he’d do. He was never used to not indulging in what he wanted, why stop now?

You felt the familiar shift in energy, a gentle hold on your body, until you found yourself laying on the middle of your bed, Sylus situated between your knees, fingers still toying with you. Your neck screaming in relief at the plush surface, mind reeling from the sudden shift. 

The white haired man bends to hover over you, free hand caressing your jaw, his frighteningly beautiful face before yours, “Hello, my love.”

Your voice is hoarse, sounding unfamiliar, “Hi.” It’s nothing more than a pitiful squeak.

Sylus chuckles, his chest rumbling warmly at your adorably vulnerable state, “How’s your throat?”

You glare at him, trying to steady your raspy voice, “Don’t patronize me.”

He smirks, not the least bit apologetic, but says, “Forgive me, love.” He doesn’t give you a chance to sass him further, instead bringing your chin up to his. His lips slot onto yours, deceptively slow at first and quickly progressing to a vigor that matched the way he’d rammed himself into your throat. 

The bruising intensity of the kiss made your mind muddle, your hands coming up to grasp his neck to ground you. You gasped at the feeling of his heartbeat pounding so forcefully in his neck. The familiar feeling of an earth shattering orgasm edges into your numbed mind, every heightened sense filled with Sylus and only Sylus.

You finally break away, propping yourself up on your elbows to watch him scissoring in and out of you, enough to have you on the brink of climaxing, “Sy-Sylus, I’m–”

Sylus reads you like the back of his hand, withdrawing his fingers and roughly grabbing your face to look up at him. You sob at the loss of friction, looking up at him with teary questioning eyes. 

The ceiling lights illuminate behind Sylus, forming a halo like ring atop his head. He was so hauntingly and terrifyingly beautiful. Not unlike that of a fallen angel, whose sole purpose was to ruin you. 

And just as you’re admiring him, Sylus looks down at you. Unbeknownst to you, he also considers you to be his very own angel sent from the heavens. Bringing light and salvation to the shadowed crevices of his soul.

But even then, he can’t help but tease you, the urge to see you ruined at his hand. An angel with tattered wings, so utterly spent with lust. “You don’t cum until I say, hm?” As if to punctuate his point, he puts his fingers, wet with your slick, in between your parted lips. The taste of you is strong on him, enough to distract you from Sylus, who’s lining up his more massive than ever erection with your weeping slit. 

“Come on, sweetheart. Suck. I know you can do better than that.”  

He presses his fingers harder onto your tongue, relishing in how warm you feel around him. At your adorable pouty glare, he pushes his leaking tip into you.

You yelp in surprise, biting down on his fingers in your mouth. Sylus hisses, but the pain only further arouses him, making him shove into you suddenly. Your hands come up to grasp his forearm, the veins bulging under your touch. 

The feeling of him entering you is so overwhelming, the only thing grounding you to the present was the way his fingers felt and tasted against your tongue. And so you devoured him in earnest, much to his satisfaction. 

It’s not long before he bottoms out, his head kisses your cervix, just enough to have your eyes rolling back, sparks of hot white pleasure clouding your vision. 

Sylus removes his fingers from your mouth, bringing his thumb to his own lips and brushing it across his parted mouth, his other fingers outstretched as he licks across his thick thumb. You whimper at the sight, so unbelievably seductive he has to be doing it on purpose. 

“You always taste divine.” His movements have all but halted completely, his thick girth just sitting inside of you, brushing against your womb. And even though the stretch is enough to practically compress your lungs, you want more. 

“D-Don’t tease Sylus,” you whine pathetically, “Fuck me.” 

The smile on his face is as cocky as ever, the corner of his lips curving up, as sharp as his edged jaw. 

“So bold. Do you really think you’re in any position to make demands?”

He gives you just one pointed thrust, cockhead nestling so deliciously into your sweetest spots, but stopping just at that. You cry out, fingers gripping the comforter so tightly your knuckles turn white. 

“If I recall correctly…someone once told me something about saying…what was it? ‘Please’ and ‘thank you’?”

He grins down at you, bending forward so that he hovers right over your face. He would never let you know but the pouty grimace on your lust glowing face was nearly enough to have him caving into your every whim, punishment forgotten in the wind. 

“Hm? So what do we say, sweetheart?”

With his cock situated so perfectly in you, it’s impossible for you to do anything but follow his every command, no matter how much it bruises your ego.

“P-Please?”

His smirk deepens, fingers cupping your chin up to face him, “You can do better than that, Y/N.”

You groan as he shifts, giving you just the tiniest bit of friction where it mattered. You do your best to find the confidence, “Please Sylus.”

There’s the faintest flicker of darkness in his eyes, a twitch of unraveling at the way you effortlessly purr his name. If you had any idea the things you did to him, the mighty and fearless leader of the Onychinus, it would be his absolute undoing. 

“Please what, my dove? Come on, use that beautiful voice of yours.”

Before you can let out your snarky response, his fingers travel to your neck, stroking your sensitive pulse gently before pressing down to compress your airway. 

“Or is this throat only good for taking my cock?”

You whine at his words, patience absolutely gone. You wrap your legs around his waist and force him closer. A pathetic attempt to get him to thrust into you. Your hands come up to the back of his neck, and your tear glistening eyes search his pleadingly. He’s taken aback by the sudden shift, a small gasp escaping his parted lips. In his surprise, he lets himself be guided to you, his forehead falling to lay atop yours, his breath fanning against your own. 

“Please Sylus, please fuck me. I’m sorry, I’ll be a good girl. Please.”

The curse that leaves Sylus’s voice is barely perceptible as he drinks you in. Your cheeks were still streaked with tears, your eyes wide and glassy. Your lips were puffy from his bruising kisses, and cheeks heated with desire. There was absolutely nothing in the universe that could match how utterly gorgeous you were. His gorgeous woman. His to ruin. 

His voice low with longing and hunger, “Fuck, okay love. I’ll give you what you want.”

He manipulates the energy around you, raising your arm above your hand. His slender fingers dance up your exposed skin, until they find your fingers. His nails graze your inflamed skin, fingers toying with yours. For a brief moment, he enjoys how much smaller your hand feels in his. His delicate little bird.

“Hold on tight.”

Your fingers grip his, your nails digging in when he finally pulls his cock out, leaving only his head still snuggly inside. Without giving you a second to breathe, he’s plummeting himself back into your sopping cunt. Your combined slick ensures there’s zero resistance, only the sounds of wet slaps filling the space between you. 

Sylus’s forehead still rests against yours, his free arm bent above your head, helping support him as he fucks you with a painfully delicious intensity. Your cunt milks him perfectly, the warmth far too inviting and the tightness much too constricting. His fingers grip yours forcefully, trying to offset the way your pussy tries to suck the living soul out of him. 

“Sy-Sylus,” you cry out, nails digging crescents into his skin, your other hand coming up to rake red scratches into his back, “Slow – ngh – slow down!” Your brain is a jumbled mess, confused at the words your tongue lets out when your body only wants more.

Sylus’s chuckle is low and almost sinister, his pace never relenting, “That’s funny. I recall you saying you’d be a good girl.” He shifts his weight to his knees, moving his palm to your naval, pressing down. You squeal at the feeling of his palm pressing into your stomach, your sensitive walls being compressed into his cock spearing in and out of you. 

“And good girls take what they’re given, hm?”  

Moans and whimpers are the only thing you’re capable of producing, his pace brutal, like he was trying to find his way into your throat from your cunt. You don’t notice his hand traveling further south until his thumb presses into your swollen clit, flicking hard. You screech, your back arching off the bed, giving him further access to your dripping cunt. 

“Answer me when I speak to you, sweetheart.” 

“Yes! Yes, I’m a good girl, I can take it!” you all but screamed, spine so arched you felt like you were levitating.

The erotic cries that leave your lips make it difficult for Sylus to think straight, so he doesn’t. He fucks you with a ferocity that was nothing short of animalistic, the only thing he can think of is how many different ways he can and will make you cum. 

He presses your joined palms deeper into the mattress, eyes searching yours desperately. For what, you were unsure. But as his scarlet irises bore into yours, you felt an overwhelming sense of emotion catch in your throat.

Propping yourself slightly on your elbows, you pressed your forehead to Sylus’s, his sweat dampened bangs fluttering against your eyelashes.You reach up to cup the back of his head, pulling him towards you. His right hand never leaves your clit, his left staying tightly clasped with yours.

He takes the opportunity to press his lips to yours, forcing his tongue into your mouth. You moan into him as he claims you fully, thrusts moving in tandem with his tongue. It’s a torrid clash of tongue and teeth, enough passion to have the Aether core in your heart throbbing dangerously erratically. 

“Syluuus,” you slur as you pull away to breathe, “I-I’m..I’m gon–” You can’t get the words out, the tip of his cock against your cervix and fingers on your clit bringing you into another dimension, one filled with him. The scent, the sound, the feel, the sight of him. 

“I know. Getting so goddamn tight,” he grits out, jaw locking as he tries to steady himself against your vice grip. Sylus was a man of boundless stamina and restraint, but when it came to you… When it came to the absolute heaven that was your body, he could hold nothing back. 

Just as you neared your orgasm, Sylus stops again. You find your body being moved again, but this time Sylus’s hands are lifting you, and not his Evol. His strong arms lift you so that you’re sitting on his lap, your back pressed against his muscled chest, and his back leaned up against the bed.

He does however use his Evol to drag over the gold arched full-length mirror you had propped up against the corner of your bedroom, so that it sits right in front of the bed. Your vision is filled with the gleaming reflection of you, naked on Sylus’s lap, his arrogant smirk right by the top of your head. His muscular arms are draped over your thighs, spreading open your glistening folds, fully exposing you before the mirror. 

“Sylus s-stop. It’s embarrassing,” you whine, averting your gaze at the lewd sight, and the even filthier sounds of his fingers against your copious slick. But he grips your jaw firmly, turning you back to the mirror. 

“Look how beautiful you are,” he murmurs, lips pressed against your ear, “Look.” 

You puff your cheeks, fighting against his fingers.

“Look, love. Or you don’t get to cum,” he purrs in your ear.

You mutter sulkily, knowing full well his threats are anything but empty, “You’re evil.” 

But you obey diligently, letting his fingers guide your face forward. The sight before you is so unbelievably filthy, Sylus’s long fingers digging into your thighs to keep them spread open, his other fingers playing with your swollen lips. Even on his lap, he was a head taller than you, His soft white hair is matted with sweat, his cheeks dusted a peachy red with how vigorously he’d just been fucking you.

As your eyes meet in the mirror, Sylus lifts you from underneath your thighs, and spears you onto his cock. You cry out at the feeling of being stretched open again, Sylus’s own ecstasy fueled grunts in your ear.

With you atop him, his cock reaches so unbelievably deep inside you that you feel the tears returning. Your eyes screw shut as his tip repeatedly brushes against your cervix, the familiar pain quickly dulling into an intense pleasure. 

Suddenly you feel Sylus’s teeth at the crook of your neck, and arm coming across your chest to enclose over your entire throat. His sharp canines dig into the area where your neck meets your shoulder, biting just hard enough to make your eyes fly open to face his in the mirror. His eyebrows are quirked at you, amusement evident in his sharp ruby eyes.

He doesn’t speak, instead keeping his mouth attached to your pulse point. But the dark sultry heat swirling in his eyes that you can see reflected in the mirror is a clear and wordless command. 

Watch.

And who were you to disobey him, when his body brought this much pleasure to your own. 

So with your eyes locked on his in the mirror, Sylus begins to bounce you in earnest on his lap. And while you moan and whimper as he springs you so effortlessly on his cock, like you weighed nothing more than a mere toy, his own noises are muffled by his teeth that are sunk into your fluttering neck. 

His eyes never leave yours in the mirror, darkened underneath his eyebrows, glowing with red hot lust. The way he watches you is so intimately primal, like a predator toying with its prey before the kill. 

With his hungry gaze locking yours in place and the lewd wet sounds of slick skin pounding against one another, you feel the alarmingly rapid tightening of your abdomen that signals your orgasm. Sylus feels it too, your walls tightening so intensely that the outline of his veins might imprint into you. Your grip coaxes his own cock toward release, his jaw tightening as to keep himself in check. 

He releases your bruised skin, admiring how breathtaking you look with his marks on you. His hand leaves your clit to rest on your tummy, stroking the skin there. You can feel him use his Evol to keep you in place, only the raw strength of his thighs and abs keeping you in steady motion on his length. 

“Look,” he croons in your ear, teeth grazing against your sensitive earlobes, “Can you see where I am, dove? I’m allll the way here ” His husky voice drawls, hand on your abdomen pressing down. You can definitely see the distinct outline of something large thrusting in and out of you. Your eyes widen at the mirror, mesmerized at how your bodies connect, almost resonating on their own. Sylus’s eyes are also glued to the way the base of his cock, shiny with a ring of arousal, forces your tiny fluttering cunt to take him in all his glory.  

“Tell me how it feels, hm? Tell me how I make you feel.” When you don’t respond, too lost in the sight in the mirror, his fingers come back down to squeeze your clit,

“Sylus! – ngh – feels ssoo so good,” you simper, panting through the hold he still has on your throat, the pressure quickly becoming far too addicting, “I-I…”

“Hah,” he groans into your ear, “You what baby? Tell me.”

“M’gunna cuuum,” you wail as his angle shifts just slightly, cock driving into your g spot. Sylus knows just how to play with you, his fingers sending you to heaven and back repeatedly. He was so thick that you felt like he'd split you in two, your cunt and thighs being stretched to their limits against the sloppy friction.

“Hmmm, is my beautiful girl going to make a mess on me? Does she deserve to?”

The mere thought that he might deny your climax again has you sobbing, tears of anguished ecstasy rolling down your face as his pace picks up even further.

“P-Pleaaase – unghh – please let me. I’m a g-good girl, I’ll be so – hnngh – good, I promise.”

Sylus had no intention of denying you again, but now he physically couldn’t. Because now, watching the fat tears roll down your cheek and hearing your beautiful pleas, he too could feel himself pulse with the ache to fill you up. As he watched your breathtaking form in the mirror, he cursed the Gods for sending the only thing that could ruin him. 

You.

And yet, being ruined by you felt so damn good.

“Good for who, my love?”

Your vision has become clouded by your tears and the black spots that blot your eyesight. But the possessive purr in Sylus’s voice reaches you, through all the blinding pleasure, and makes butterflies flutter in your chest.

Your hands come up behind you to grasp behind his neck, and you strain yourself so that you turn just slightly to face him. For a second Sylus looks taken aback, but he quickly composes himself, the confident smile returning to his lips. 

“Nggghh – for you, Sylus.” The sincerity of your shaking voice wipes the cocky smirk off his face, his thrusts faltering ever so slightly. For a brief second, Sylus can’t feel anything. He can’t feel the way your cunt, on the precipice of release, squeezes so forcefully that it threatens to break him in half, the way your soaking thighs ripple against his lap as he pounds into you, the way your fingers play with the hair at the back of his head.

Fate had played a cruel trick on the two of you. Two tragically entwined Aether cores. Two birds of a feather, trapped in the cage destiny had built. 

But now, there is only you and him. Fate and destiny be damned. 

“I’m yours Sylus. Always yours.”

Your words, delicate and simpering, pull him back to reality. All the sensations he’d briefly been numbed to came crashing back. The torturously delicious way you felt around him, atop him, and against him swarmed back all at once. And to top it all off, the sight of your fluttery wide wet eyes, hazed over with a fog of lust, staring at him with such wonder and adoration. Your eyes alone were practically making love to him.

It made him absolutely feral.

You squeal, thighs doing their best to grip against Sylus’s lap as he bounces you with an unprecedented vigor, his hand holding your throat to keep you somewhat steady. You watch his muscles bulge, his much larger frame very much on display behind you. Powerful and imposing – a true god-like glory. 

“That’s fucking right, you’re mine,” he hisses in your ear, jaws clenched to hold back the moans your pussy threaten to pull from his body. 

“Gonna cum in you, yeah? Would my slutty girl like that?"

“Y-Yes!” you squeal, so close to coming undone, “Pleeease Sylus!  I-I’m s’close, I’ll do anything please!” You were quickly losing your voice amidst all the screaming and vigorous activities.

You can see Sylus devilish smile, releasing your throat to tilt your chin towards him.

“Anything? You’re making a deal with the devil, little dove.”

With your face so dangerously close to his, he can’t resist. He doesn’t give you a chance to respond, his lips crashing onto yours, locked in the sweltering passion of your bodies. The feel of his tongue claiming every inch of your mouth is just enough to send you headfirst into the orgasm you’d been on the brink of for so long.

And because of that, your body couldn’t hold back the gush of excitement that squirted from where Sylus was connected to you. It’s so messy you can’t help the way your cheeks burn in embarrassment, even amidst the short circuiting of your pleasure-numbed brain. 

“Jesus fucking christ,” Sylus bites out, the tautening of your orgasm stricken cunt nearly squeezing him into unconsciousness. He fucks you through your blissed out state, and it isn’t long before he follows your lead. 

Like everything Sylus does, the way he cums is frighteningly powerful. Your body involuntarily shivers at how hot he is, but more so just how much there is. You can both clearly see the thick milky white seed seeping down Sylus’s cock, even as he continues to fuck into you. His thrusts are slower now, but more intentional. Conveying every ounce of passion into the way he rocks into you. Overstimulation quickly grips you, and you weakly tap at his thighs.

“Sylus, no-no more. S’too much.”

“M’not done,” he groans into your ear as he continues to thrust into you, and it’s then you feel his cock still shooting ropes of his hot spend inside you. He does, however, release your clit, shoving his fingers in your mouth, knowing it'll give you something to ground yourself amidst the sensitivity while he rides out the waves of his climax. 

You gladly accept his fingers, grasping his forearm and sucking like his arm was a dessert. The taste of your mixed slick helps distract you from the intense aftershocks that wrack your body. It’s all enough to have Sylus spurting out everything he has, drained completely empty, milked utterly dry. 

When you feel him finally still, you crack your eyes open, almost scared to see the aftermath. 

The waning sun bounced beams of golden sunlight off your sweat, tears, and cum slicked bodies. Your own body was also littered in pretty little bruises, in the shape of Sylus’s teeth and fingers. Bruises in places you hadn’t even felt Sylus sink his teeth into. They quite literally looked like swirls of paint against a blank canvas. 

Your hair was a mess, and your tear stained face was no better. The area between your thighs was red and puffy, leaking an obscene amount of white cream, all the while still stuffed to the brim with Sylus’s softening member. Even half hard, he stretched you absolutely full. 

On the other hand, the man in question looked absolutely ethereal as he loomed above you in the mirror. His hair sat lusciously soft, gently blowing with the breeze entering through the cracked window. His muscles still flexed gently as they recovered from the vigorous activities, strong chest rising and falling rhythmically with his steadying heartbeat. 

And finally his eyes that watch you back so carefully, the carmine orbs half lidded with satisfied bliss. His lips stretch into that signature Sylus smirk when he catches you staring, nothing short of heart stoppingly arrogant.

He’s so unbelievably handsome, your cunt quivering again just at the sight of him. Wincing at the feeling of his cock inside you stirring back to life at your involuntary throbbing, you panic and tap furiously on his thigh. 

“Sylus, put me down.” 

Sylus chuckles, mischief coloring his scarlet eyes, “What, no ‘please’?”

You whine, not able to withstand the feeling of him stirring back to life in your absolutely spent core. Yet you can feel yourself fluttering in anticipation. And you know he can feel it too. 

You silently curse your traitorous body.

“Please.”

He laughs warmly and obliges. His strong hands grip the underside of your thighs, lifting you off of him. You cry out at the feeling, your cunt clenching at nothing, seeking him once more. Sylus inhales sharply, craving your tight warmth again. But he holds you gently against his chest, shifting so that his erection rests between his abdomen and your thigh, with you sitting sideways on his lap. 

You nuzzle your head into his chest, and Sylus’s lips come down to the top of your head, breathing in your scent and ghosting kisses into your hair. Your hands reach up to weave into his silver tresses, playing with his soft locks and delicately massaging his scalp. 

“Thank you,” you murmur, voice muffled against his skin.

When Sylus doesn’t respond, you pull away from him and look up at him expectantly. He appears to be lost in the feeling of your fingers. 

“You never said please, you could at least say thank you,” you tease, poking his soft cheek with your finger. 

Sylus looks down at you, amused danger flickering in the deep orbs of crimson. His hand leaves your thigh, slowly and tortuously crawling up your skin until he cups your face. You shiver, suddenly feel like you’re staring into the face of danger. 

“Hmm, isn’t it customary to say thank you after eating?” 

You crinkle your brows in confusion at his cryptic words, waiting for him to elaborate further. Sylus’s smug grin widens, his thumb brushing over your bottom lip, basking in the excited fear brimming in your bleary eyes. 

“I’ve yet to finish my meal, little dove.” 

© aeyumicore 2024.

.ᐟ✧ THIS IS MY ONLY ACCOUNT. I WILL ONLY POST ON THIS ACCOUNT AND AO3. i am not @/aeyumicores or @/aeyumiicore or any variations of my blog name.

✧.˖ i do not permit translations or reposts of my work on tumblr, ao3, or others. please do not reuse my blogpost headers, dividers, or layouts. these are original designs of my own.

[boyapologist]

I hate this kind of plotline. it's so hard to keep track of

[a-shadowedvales]

@havvkinsqueen : is it everything you hoped for?

the weeping creatures that had long reigned in janessa's young body were finally beginning to dissolve. the blood on her hands, the thrumming ache in her heart mattered not— not when she was integrated into an environment like this. where individuality was celebrated and respected, where loneliness felt far less burdensome. apart from a few connections created in archery club, ( a sport jane had become incredibly fond of, as it was a way to develop her concentration and attention skills, ) there had been one student amongst the herd she'd already developed a nice connection with. she felt very lucky to know the ghostly girl, in fact. while she hadn't yet sought friends out, too occupied in finding herself opposed to forming true bonds, it didn't mean she wouldn't welcome them when or if they came along. ❝ it is... strange. but good. ❞ hesitation threatened her expression of glee, worried if she proclaimed just the extent of her happiness, it may be stripped from her in a moment's breath.

hope was certainly an interesting choice of words, given she'd known nothing of aspirations nor possibilities outside bleak walls and unbearable tests for eight straight years. nevermore academy was a masterful change: the child would never take it for granted. she cleared her throat, daring to elaborate. ❝ there is a lot to learn. i think i can do it. ❞ confidence slowly began brewing in the crux of her core as each new day approached, understanding the array of subjects, requesting assistance when she needed a guiding hand, raising her own when believing she had a correct response in class. although, chrissy was a different case completely, and one which jane didn't understand in the slightest, no matter how she tried. how could you be alive and dead at the same time? one of the many complexities still nagging for an answer! ❝ is it normal that it is… hard? ❞ she scarcely thought she’d breeze through the workload or social norms, but there was part of her feeling somewhat behind. chrissy had been here far longer, which is why these concealed questions were directed to her, someone with more experience. ❝ do you find it hard? ❞

[sceletaflores]

I COULD PLAY THE DOCTOR (I CAN CURE YOUR DISEASE)

pair: logan howlett x fem!reader

wc: 4.1k

contains: 18+ SMUT MDNI, swearing, established relationship, logan's pov, written with origins!logan in mind, nat veering dangerously closer to a/b/o territory with every passing day, rut cycles, oral sex (fem!receiving), fingering (fem!receiving), multiple orgasms, gratuitous amounts of dirty talk, p in v, rough sex, biting, hair pulling, size kink, belly bulging, pussy pronouns, one (1) single use of the word daddy, scent kink, pain kink, breeding kink ofc, knotting (don’t look at me…), squirting, porn w/ plot, no use of y/n.

nat’s note: don’t look at me…i don’t know how many times i swore up and down i’d never write something like this but i’m a confirmed liar apparently so…here. i mean i just figured i'm in a rut artistically so therefore the only answer is writing logan in a rut physically...i can do what i want and i don't need to explain myself or my horny thoughts. also, i debated posting this in the wake of everything that's gone down over the past two days that is still escalating and will continue to escalate in the coming weeks, but i think everyone could use a little escape from how scary things may seem right now. take a break from all the terrifying news sites and read about logan wanting to breed you :) kisses!

divider by angel @saradika-graphics!

it's been another six months, and logan needs your help...

The burn starts on the walk home from work, a pulse of heat deep in Logan's gut that grows with every step.

It spreads slowly, sinking into his muscles and seeping up his spine as he rounds the last corner, your place less than a block away now.

It caught him off guard this time, an itch burying itself under his skin earlier in the day only to get worse and worse as he worked.

He usually knew the signs well enough to feel them start creeping in, and he was dead sure it wasn't for another few weeks.

Apparently, he was wrong.

Logan’s jaw clenches as he picks up his pace, every nerve ending in his body straining to break into a full blown sprint at the thought of you, all alone and waiting for him.

His fingers curl into tight fists, nails pressing into his palms to ground himself, though it’s hardly enough. The faint scent of you drifts up from his shirt, not even a long day at the lumberyard enough to drown it out.

By the time he reaches your door, his heartbeat is a heavy thud in his ears, syncing with the building ache of desire wracking through his body like the earth rattling boom of a raging thunder storm.

He fumbles through getting his key into the lock, hands unsteady as he tugs the door open with a little more force than necessary and finally steps inside.

The second he closes the door behind him, the heat surges, thrumming through his veins and flooding his chest. Your scent fills the air completely, stronger now, wrapping around him so thick and sweet.

"Darlin'?" His voice comes out rougher than he intends, but he's beyond caring.

Your voice floats from the other room, casual, warm enough to send a jolt through him. Logan drops his axe from his shoulder, leaning it against the door as he starts down the familiar path to your bedroom.

You're spread out on his side of the bed—oblivious, curled up with a book, wrapped in one of the flannels he must have left the last time he stayed over.

Just the sight of you does something to him, like a match dragged against a strike pad, damned on setting everything ablaze.

You glance up, and the soft smile on your lips falters as you catch sight of him.

Logan knows what he must look like, his eyes all dark and predatory, chest heaving as he rakes his hungry gaze over you like a wolf watches a lamb grazing too close to its den.

He doesn’t say anything at first, just stalks toward you with a purpose that’s as undeniable as the heat pouring off him in waves.

The book slips from your fingers, forgotten, as you lean back, the small sound of your breath hitching under the weight of his gaze is music to his ears.

Logan pauses at the edge of the bed, towering over you, letting himself drink in the way you look. So soft and serene, like some kind of invitation that begs him closer. His flannel draped loosely over your shoulders–shrouding you in his scent. 

The urge to pounce on you fights against his normal instinct to savor every second, to draw it out until the heat pooling in his gut becomes downright unbearable.

“Been thinkin’ about you all damn day,” he mutters, voice thick and dark as molasses, rough from restraint he’s quickly losing. His knuckles brush against your thigh, then tighten, holding you in place as he leans down, his breath hot against your neck. “Thinkin’ about what I was gonna when I finally got my hands on you.”

Your skin blooms with warmth beneath his touch, and he grins against your neck, the edge of his teeth grazing you just enough to make you squirm. He growls low in his throat, that itch he’s been fighting nearly all day clawing its way up to the surface with a vengeance.

The primal urge inside of him screaming to claim claim claim take take take mate mate mate breed breed breed.

You tilt your head to the side with a soft sigh, freeing up more space for him to nose along your skin. “Is it time?”

Logan's breath catches as your question hangs in the air, thick with anticipation. The soft simplicity of it ignites the wildfire burning in his gut, every ounce of restraint slipping away like sand through his fingers.

“Yeah, baby,” he growls, slipping his fingers under the worn cotton of your shorts, feeling the bare skin beneath. “It’s time.”

You shift, hands going to the buttons of his flannel like you’re going to take it off. Logan stops you, taking your wrists in his free hand.

“Don’t,” he breathes, shaking his head hard enough that his hair flows with it. “Leave it on.”

The thought of you covered in his scent, of his scent mixing with yours to claim you on a level only he can discern sends his mind buzzing.

You look up at him with those wide, trusting eyes, and something in him cracks wide open. The tenderness of your gaze pulls at him, like a tether pulling him back from the edge, but that heat still smolders in his blood, fierce and unyielding.

Logan runs his thumb along the racing pulse of your wrist before he drops them. His hands venture lower, fingers pressing against the inside of your thigh, tracing a deliberate path that makes your body tremble under his touch.

You let out a shuddering breath, the scent of your arousal swirling through the air is enough to make him crave more.

In one rough tug, Logan yanks you towards the edge of the bed as he falls to his knees. Your hips held tight in his hands as he lurches forward, burying his nose in the soft junction where your leg and inner thigh meet.

He inhales deep, greedy lungfuls of your scent. A guttural growl rumbles through his chest, his eyes screwing shut at the sheer amount of too much that courses through him. He feels dizzy with it, high on the pheromones pumping from you in waves.

You’re soaked already, the wet fabric of your shorts melded to the shape of your cunt. He can’t help but run his nose along the slick seam of you, reveling in the way your legs twitch on either side of his head, in the short gasp you let out.

“Logan.” Your voice is nothing but a mewl, pleading and desperate.

“Missed you,” he rasps, his voice rough, almost unrecognizable. The edge of need in him makes his hands shake, sliding up your thighs, urging them even further apart as he settles between them.

Logan’s fingers dig into your skin, he lets his thumbs brush up, hooking them into the waistband of your shorts to tug them down your legs in one sharp yank. He groans at the sight of you completely bare, no underwear.

“Fuck, look at you,” he grates, his thumb coming down to slip through your dripping cunt. Your hole flutters desperately around him, needy little clenches like it’s trying to suck him in. “She’s all ready for me, huh? Been waiting for me to come home and give her some attention?”

“Please,” you whimper, your voice thick with longing, the sound going straight to his head, clouding his thoughts. 

Logan’s pulse races as he watches your body arch instinctively toward his touch, the desperate need in your eyes igniting the raw urges coursing through him.

He can’t deny you; he never could. You’re a feast laid out before him, and he’s starving.

Logan leans closer, letting his tongue flick out to taste you like he’s wanted to since he left for work this morning. 

“Fuck,” he breathes, closing his eyes and losing himself in the moment. He licks a broad stripe from your entrance to your clit, savoring the way your body responds, the way your legs tremble and your hips twitch against his mouth, seeking more. “Tastes like fuckin’ heaven, sweetheart.”

The taste of you is intoxicating—sweet and tangy, flooding his senses with every drag and swirl of his tongue.

Logan can’t help but moan against you, the sound vibrating through your body as he dives deeper, his nose nudging against your slick entrance as he shakes his head back and forth like an animal—rubbing the plush skin of your inner thighs red and raw with each rough drag of his coarse beard.

Every flick of his tongue sends a shockwave through you, and he revels in the sounds you make—each whimper, each moan, a siren’s call urging him deeper. He laves his tongue around your clit, sucking it gently, pulling at it with his lips as you writhe beneath him, begging for more. 

He keeps your thighs spread wide, two strong hands pinning them to the mattress so he can devour you just the way you deserve, the sharp dig of your heels into his shoulders only spurs him on.

Your hands bury themselves in his hair, tugging him closer, and he groans into you, letting his tongue delve deeper, seeking out every bit of sweetness he can coax from you. 

It’s pure sin, each sound you make, each shiver that runs through you as he takes his time, drinking you down like a man starved. 

The ache in him intensifies, his own need growing, pulsing. He’s hard, has been hard since he walked through the front door.

His cock strains against the zipper of his jeans, need pulsing in time with each pump of his blood through his shaft, circling around the base, threatening to expand even without the tight grip of your pussy surrounding him. His hips jerk up on their own volition, desperate for any friction.

“Just like that, Logan,” you gasp, voice breathy and trembling with pleasure. 

The way you say his name—raw, desperate—makes his blood run hotter. He grips your thighs tighter, anchoring you to the bed as he drinks you in, wanting to lose himself in you completely.

Logan pulls away just long enough to catch his breath, looking up at you with lust-drunk eyes, drinking in the sight of your sweaty cheeks, your heavy-lidded gaze, the way your chest rises and falls with each shuddering breath.

The pulse of his cock intensifies, urging him to speed things along. The base desire of his own instincts is getting harder and harder to ignore under your adoring stare.

He feeds his fingers into your clenching hole with no warning, a satisfied smirk tugging his lips up at your sharp gasp. He runs his tongue along his bottom lip, the entire lower half of his face still shining with your essence.

Your cunt swallows him, two thick fingers sinking into the velvety heat like it’s nothing.

Logan groans as he feels you clench around him, your walls fluttering and drawing him in deeper. “That’s it, baby,” he mutters, his voice hoarse with need. “So fuckin’ ready for me, so ready for daddy’s fingers in your pussy.”

Your mouth drops open in another devastatingly desperate noise, your hands twist his hair roughly, soft breasts rising and falling each time you gasp for air. The dim light of the sunset filters in through the blinds, highlighting the curves of your body, slick and shining with a thin sheen of sweat.

Every clench of your walls around his fingers shoots a thrill straight to his cock, making him ache with the urge to bury himself inside you. The overwhelming need to take you completely, to mark you and fill you, pulses through his veins until he feels like he might explode.

But he’s not done tasting you yet. Not until you’re practically dripping onto the sheets.

He lowers his mouth back to your core, sucking your clit into his mouth as his fingers pump faster. The sudden intensity makes your thighs shake around his head, and he grins against you. He wants to see you fall apart—wants to feel it.

“Logan—please, I…” You can barely get the words out, voice breaking as your whole body strains against him, desperate and needy.

The wet slap of his palm against your spit soaked cunt is loud in the quiet of your bedroom, blending with the loud keens that fall from your parted lips. He crooks his fingers, rubbing at that soft, spongy spot inside of you.

“Come on,” he mutters, slick lips brushing against your clit as he speaks. “Give it to me, baby. Show me you're ready for my cock."

He drags the sharp edge of his canine against your pulsing clit with barely any pressure, and you're coming.

Your whole body tenses, back bowing off the mattress as you let out a broken cry of his name. The bite of your nails digging into his scalp feels harsh enough to draw blood, a feeble attempt at grounding yourself against the onslaught of pleasure. 

Your trembling thighs tighten around his shoulders, gripping him like a vice as your shaking cunt gushes around his fingers. Logan groans at the feeling, eyes slipping shut as you drench his wrist and chin in your juices.

Even then, he doesn’t let up, fingers pumping relentlessly as he draws out every pulse, every aftershock of your climax, every tiny spray of your release splashing against his wrist. 

He’s lost in the feel of you—slick and trembling under his hands, the scent of your release filling his lungs, thick and intoxicating.

You slump back against the bed, body limp and spent. His own need is a driving, aching force now, clawing at his insides, demanding more.

He slips his fingers free from your dripping heat, dragging them through the wetness coating his chin as he licks them clean with a growl, savoring every taste.

“Good girl,” he purrs, voice thick with pride and satisfaction as he pulls back, leaving your thighs twitching in the wake of his touch. But he still isn’t finished. Not even close.

You barely have time to catch your breath before Logan crawls up the bed, his eyes locked on you, pupils blown with need. He looms over you, hands planting on either side of your head. His cock grinds against you through the rough denim, and you can feel just how thick and hard he is, throbbing through the fabric, demanding to be freed.

With a low groan, he shifts his hips, dragging his bulge along your soaked cunt, sending another jolt of pleasure racing through you. His hands are all over you, gripping your waist, hot and possessive.

“Feel that?” he asks, pressing his lips the wild flutter of your pulse, the need to sink his teeth in the soft skin of your neck raises the hair on the back of his neck. “That’s what you do to me baby. Got me hard as a fuckin’ rock, just aching to be inside you.”

Your arms circle his shoulders, clawing at the fabric off his shirt. “Need you inside me, Logan. Please, want it so bad.”

The pure need lacing your words, your scent calling out to him, the way he can feel the front of his jeans getting soaked through with the slick pouring from your cunt all pull him deeper into the recesses of his hind-brain. 

The mounting desperation to stuff you full of his cock finally reaches a fever pitch.

With a deep growl, Logan rears back as far as he can bear, just enough to tear his shirt over his head before he fumbles with the heavy buckle of his belt to free his aching cock.

He shoves his jeans down, boxers quickly following until there’s nothing separating him from the cool air of your bedroom. His cock springs free, hot and flushed an angry red color, drooling from the tip enough that it drips down to stain the pretty floral sheets of your bed.

Your eyes zero in on him, mouth dropping open at the sight. His cock so heavy it doesn’t curve upward to slap against his stomach, instead it hangs down to sway between his thighs as he moves closer. 

Your legs spread as he nears, slick covered thighs parting to make room for him to slot between them. So obedient, so good, so well trained.

Logan takes himself in his hand, nearly wincing at the blazing temperature of his skin. He secures his hand around the base, squeezing where his knot threatens to pop before he’s even got in you.

He slips the angry head through the folds of your cunt, slapping it against your clit with a wet ‘thwack’ sound. He can feel the way it twitches and shakes, just as desperate as him.

“Look at that,” he mutters darkly, eyes glued to where he’s laid his cock flat against your stomach, leaking pre-come all over your soft skin. “How’s it gonna fit, baby?” He shifts his hips, sawing his length back and forth to see just how deep in you he’ll be.

Your glassy eyes drop, a broken moan passing through your slack lips when you take in the sight. Your hips rise off the bed, grinding your cunt along the seam of his heavy balls, along the prominent vein trailing up the underside.

“Don’t worry, baby,” Logan grits out, eyes hooded and dark as he watches you grind against him. “You’re gonna take it all. Gonna make you feel every last fuckin’ bit of me.”

He groans, gritting his teeth as he presses in further, each inch a battle against the tight, molten heat that grips him like a vice. Your body shudders as he fills you, your slick warmth pulling him deeper and deeper, and he sinks down until he’s fully seated, his hips flush with yours. 

The pressure is mind-numbing, your walls clenching around him in rhythmic pulses that make his vision blur. He stills for just a second, savoring the way your body stretches around him, hugging him in a way that feels like it was made for him alone.

Logan watches your face as you adjust to the stretch, your brows pinched together, each breath coming fast and shallow, your eyes glazed with pleasure.

Then, your hands come to his shoulders, nails digging little crescent moons into his skin as you nod your head, ready.

It’s all the confirmation he needs. His hips pull back before he slams in again, the force of it jolting your whole body. He presses his forehead to your shoulder, teeth bared as he muffles a snarl against your skin.

Logan thrusts again, and again, and again, hips setting a merciless pace as he watches the way your breasts bounce with each thrust, each little shudder.

His mouth waters with the need to taste, to sink his teeth into your supple skin hard enough to pierce clean through, hard enough to scar.

Sweat drips down the length of his spine, across his brow. It mats down the hair scattered over his chest, his dog tags slick with it when they bounce off his skin with each thrust. The grip of his hands tightens on your hips, it’s taking everything in him to hold back and yet he knows you’ll still bruise tomorrow. 

Pretty hues of dark purples and yellows in the shape of his fingers, ones he’ll catch you admiring in the bathroom mirror, pressing your own fingertips into them to feel the dull ache—to remember this moment.

“Made for this, aren’t you?” he rasps, his voice dark and possessive. “Made to take me, to be mine.”

The words barely leave his mouth before he’s bending down to capture your lips in a searing kiss, swallowing your cries as he drives into you, pushing you both closer to that sweet edge.

“Fuck, Logan,” you gasp, breaking the kiss as your body trembles under him. “Can–ah!–can feel you in my stomach…”

Your hand drops from his shoulder, slipping between your bodies to rest over the sweaty expanse of your belly. Logan’s eyes follow your path, a feral growl bursting from his chest before he can stop it.

He’s transfixed by it, sure that if he pressed his hand to the soft skin of your lower stomach right over your own, that he’d feel it. Feel the way his cock punches up against your insides, so deep it's like he’s rearranging your guts to make room.

“Fuck.” His voice is nothing but a gravelly rumble, hoarse and dark as midnight. His hips speed up impossibly faster, chasing the feeling of your clenching walls choking the length of his cock so tight he thinks it might snap off at the base.

The flimsy headboard of your bed slams against the wall, creaky mattress springs screaming under his ministrations.

You feel like salvation, like the first rays of light after too many years spent in the dark.

He feels it with each kiss of his cock against your cervix, in the way your lips fit in the junction of his neck, in the red welts your nails leave on the skin of his back. He feels alive, truly alive, for the first time in decades.

“Say my name,” he grates, his hand cupping the back of your neck, coaxing you to look up at him, lips close enough to taste the heat radiating from his skin. “Tell me who you belong to.”

"Logan," you gasp, your voice breathy, edged with desperation as he pushes you closer to the brink. "Yours. Only yours."

A broken, shaky noise falls from his lips as he buries his face in your neck. He mouths at your skin desperately, presses his nose to where your scent is the strongest. 

Flashes of his release spraying your insides play behind his closed eyes, thoughts of drenching you so thoroughly that it has to take only forcing his hips to slam against the rippling muscle of your ass like you have your own magnetic pull. He feels it building, the slow swell of his knot presses against your folds, ready to burst.

“Come on, honey,” he begs, thumb coming down to rub slow circles over your slick clit. “Come with me, soak my cock. Show me how much you love it, how much you love me.”

Pathetic little uh uh uh’s fall from you with every thrust, broken up only by the breathy whines of his name as he pounds into you hard enough to push your body higher up the mattress. Finally, with a loud roar, he stuffs his growing knot inside of your cunt. 

Logan’s teeth sink into your neck before he can even think twice about it, the thick spray of his come filling you as his hands pull your hips down even further over his cock. He needs to be as deep in you as possible, to press forward until he can’t anymore, until his aching balls are flush with your gushing cunt.

He watches with rapt attention as you come with a loud wail, just from the feeling of his knot slotting into place. The clamp of your thighs over his hips is nearly as tight as the way your cunt seizes around him like it’s scared he’ll leave.

He groans at the over stimulation of your cunt milking his cock. Your slick leaks around the base of him, your shaking hole plugged so full it can only slip along the creamy ring to splash weakly against his thighs and hips.

Logan licks along the spot where his teeth pierced your skin, planting one last kiss before he’s taking you in his arms and rolling onto his back atop the mattress. The plush comforter sticks to his skin, your own sweaty body slipping against his as he tries his best to not jostle you too much while keeping you stuffed full of his cock.

He holds you to his chest until your breathing evens out, until your body stops trembling on top of his, until you’re nosing along the column of his neck.

“Logan?” Your voice is tiny, hoarse and scratchy. He feels your hand drawing absent minded shapes along the skin of his stomach. A circle, a star, a figure eight, a heart.

“Yeah baby?” he says, pressing his lips to the crown of your head, eyes slipping shut at the content feeling that spreads through him.

“Love you,” you murmur, voice soft but sure, the words slipping out without hesitation.

It’s the first time you’ve said it today, and hearing those three words from you sends warmth flooding through him.

Logan shifts slightly, pulling you even closer, his hand moving to the back of your head, cradling you with a kind of tenderness he used to think he’d never be capable of. “I love you too, darlin’. More than you know.”

Your body relaxes against him, the lingering effects of your shared intimacy still buzzing through your limbs, but now there’s a sense of peace, of safety, and a deeper connection.

He can feel the way your fingers curl lightly against his skin, the quiet smile that must be tugging at your lips as you press a kiss to the side of his neck.

And in that moment, with everything settled around him, Logan knows that this, right here, is everything.

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