#answer to the question nobody ever fucking asked

[jamespotterismydaddy]

On the Brink

joel miller x reader smut

description: you’ve been wanting him for so long but joel can’t bring himself to give you what you want, what you deserve. a near death experience makes him realize how much he needs you

WORD COUNT: 4,2 k words

WARNINGS: smut, angst, age gap, semi-public sex, it’s also fluffy and cute at the start so no complaining about the angst

Your eyes watch him from across the yard with that same look you’ve had for the past few months. He knows what it is. Of course he knows what it is- he’s not an idiot… but that doesn’t mean he can ever acknowledge it. You’re young. Not a child by any means but for god’s sake, you’re half his age. There will be no entertaining these longing glaces you throw his way.

It was innocent at first, or at least he thinks it was. You would knock on his door, ask for his advice when it came to things like shooting and whatnot. He liked being helpful, useful. He liked that it was him that you came to, not Tommy even if he was known to be a sharpshooter. He thought that you looking up to him was the part he liked; he’s starting to realize that what he really likes is your attention.

“You need some help there, Mr. Miller?” You ask sweetly as he pulls in the planks of wood. He didn’t even see you walk over.

Joel rolls his eyes. You know he doesn’t like it when you call him that. Makes him really feel his age. “Not from you, trouble.”

He was getting the supplies together because part of his front porch was rotting and he’d be damned if he fucked his knee up some more stepping through a weak plank. He could use the help, but he just doesn’t want your help.

“You getting sick of me already?” You say, giving him that ‘kicked puppy’ look that would make any man’s heart melt. He doesn’t like how it makes him feel more than sympathy.

“Course not.” He grumbles. “I did just see you this morning though.”

“What can I say… i’m clingy.” You shrug and grin at him with a smile so bright it could light up the sky.

“Go be clingy with somebody else.” He waves you off as he picks up his pencil and ruler to start marking lines on the wood. “I’m sure any man in Jackson would appreciate it.”

You stop for a moment, like you see something underlying in his words. “That seems to imply that you don’t think my attention is purely friendly.”

He rolls his eyes and scoffs but doesn’t give you any more of an answer.

“Besides, are you not a man in Jackson?” You ask teasingly, wanting to get more out of him.

He tries to keep his focus on his work so his attention doesn’t feed into your teasing. “That’s different.” He grumbles.

“Why is it different?”

He sighs, keeping his head low but letting his eyes rise up above his glasses to meet yours. “It’s different because i’m an old man in Jackson.”

You frown a little. You know what he means but you want him to explain it anyhow. “What are you saying?”

“I’m sayin’ that I can’t entertain…” He gestures with his hand. “... whatever this is that you’ve been doing for the past few weeks.”

He knows. Of course he knows; you haven’t been exactly subtle. You just never thought you would be able to make him say it out loud. “And what have I been doing?”

“Askin’ too many damn questions.” He grumbles under his breath and grabs his ruler to check his cut lines again. What is it all those carpenters say? Measure twice, cut once? That must’ve been a rule he would live by.

“What is it that i’m doing, Joel?”

He stops with his work now to look up at you properly. He seems like he’s about to speak but pauses for a moment, knowing that if he addresses this then it’s out in the open. He won’t be able to neatly pack up this conversation and put it in a safe where nobody can find it. Whatever is going on between the two of you… it’s pandora’s box.

But in the moment, he can’t find it in himself to care.

“You’re flirtin’ with me, sweetheart.”

“I am.” Is all you say in reply, looking into his eyes far too deeply.

He’s a little surprised and was half expecting you to deny it. “Well you shouldn’t.”

“How come?” Your quick little replies are irritating him now.

He rubs his forehead with his thumb, feeling frustrated. You’re not stupid and you know he’s twice your age. You know why you shouldn’t. You know it makes him feel wrong. So why act so clueless?

“It ain’t right.” He grumbles. “I’m too old for ya.”

“I don’t mind.” You say softly. “I would still like you if I was 10 years older.”

“It’s not about you liking me. It’s about what’s good for you.” He sighs. “And an old man ain’t it.”

“I hardly care about pre-outbreak morals, Joel.”

“I’m not talking about that. I’m talking about what you deserve. A man that can keep up with you, take care of you even 20 years from now. I can’t be that.” He looks almost nervous now. He feels the same way he did when he asked Tommy to take Ellie to the fireflies. It’s a different sense of care but he still doesn’t feel worthy for you in the same way that he didn’t feel worthy for her.

“It’s you that I want.”

He sighs.

“There’s plenty more age-appropriate men in Jackson who’d be chomping at the bit for a chance with you. You should go and take your pick of them.” He continues, trying his best to push you away. It’s not like he doesn’t want you. Christ, he really wants you. But he also cares about you and that means he’s gotta try to nudge you in the right direction.

“I took my pick. Currently, he’s being difficult.” You say and he scoffs as he tries not to think about how endearing he finds your quick wit.

“I said age-appropriate.”

“Well there’s no other man i’m interested in.” You understand why he’s trying to convince you that he’s not somebody you should spend your time on. Maybe there was a time when things like age were more important but it feels miniscule now in the great span of things and besides, you can tell when he’s being self destructive. “So it hardly matters how many there are to choose from.”

He furrows his brows. Joel can hardly understand why it would be him you would want. He originally thought whatever you were feeling was a passing fantasy due to proximity, but it’s starting to appear as if it’s more than that. You’re just so full of light; he doesn’t want to ruin that.

“Y’know I can probably finish up here on my own. I ‘preciate your help though.” It makes him uncomfortable to realize your attention isn’t going to be quite as fleeting as he thought. He doesn’t know how to react to it. It’s not that he wants to hurt you. He’s just never been a man of many words.

“Um… yeah okay. No problem.” You try not to show how upset you are but it hurts for him to brush you aside so easily. “Bye.”

You walk off, regretting trying to push his hand, regretting the conversation in general… and most definitely regretting that you agreed to fill in for Tommy on his patrol shift with Joel in the morning.

~~~~~

When he walks into the stables the next day, Joel’s ready to grumble to his brother about how he has no damn coffee left and slept like shit, but is stopped in his tracks when he finds you tacking up Bellard.

You don’t turn around to look at him, you already recognize the sound of his heavy footsteps and besides, who else would be in the stables at 8am?

“I promise i’m not trying to stalk you. I already agreed to cover Tommy’s shift. Ben’s still not feeling well.” You tighten the cinch on the horse, not wanting to have any more whoopsies involving your saddle half slipping off like when you were just learning to ride.

“Didn’t think you were.” He says, already able to tell how your voice is colder. You’re more closed off to him now.

You put your foot into the stirrup and swing your leg over so you’re sat on the saddle. “I don’t want to make you uncomfortable, Joel.” It’s ironic really, they way you sound so vulnerable when you speak even though you are literally sitting up on your high horse.

“You don’t make me uncomfortable, sweetheart.” He says as he gets up onto his horse as well, giving her a light nudge with his heel to get her moving. “You could never make me uncomfortable.”

His false mirror words don’t fool you, the illusion shattered like glass by his nervous mannerisms. You know your conversation with him yesterday made things weird and you’re starting to wish you’d just ignored the whole thing like a normal person. You’d just really felt the need to defend yourself, never wanting to chase a man who doesn’t want you. Even if you have a feeling that he does.

But he ignores it. For the whole patrol he ignores it. The slight crack you saw in his demeanor has melded itself back together and he is back to the gruff man he usually is.

What you don’t see is his watchful eye, ever on you, protectively. You don’t know that it’s the same way that he watches Ellie and Tommy. The only people he would risk everything for, the only people that he makes sure are safe before himself. But it isn’t quite the same, is it? There’s something more in his gaze as it’s cast upon you, a hint of the same longing you have when your eyes fall on him.

“Did you hear that?” Your question puts him on alert right away. He tries to listen and he thinks his old ears are failing him before he hears the crash. It’s coming from a cabin east of Jackson, one that’s been checked through multiple times, even by Joel himself. While patrol routes are changed often, buildings are still checked regularly for anyone that might be hiding out. Clickers are of course dangerous but thinking, intelligent humans are much worse.

“Stay here. I’ll get closer and see if it’s anything to worry about.” He says, like it’s a command.

“I’m your partner, not your sidekick. I won’t let you go in there alone just because you don’t think I make good backup.”

“Jesus, woman ya really think that’s why I want you to stay behind?” You give him a look that says that’s exactly what you think but he doesn’t have time to validate you when there’s a chance that something dangerous is in that cabin right now. “Just follow at a distance then at the very least.”

That’s enough for you so you nod and the both of you hop off your horses and tie them up, not wanting them to spook at the first sign of whatever is in that cabin.

The two of you approach slowly and you try not to flinch at the crashing sounds so you can hold your gun straight. You also don’t want Joel to sense your fear. It’s not helpful for him to be worrying about you. You won’t be a distraction. He moves around the side of the cabin to look through the window and mouths the word ‘infected’ to you, holding up three fingers. You nod to show your understanding and he starts to make his way back, likely to come up with an action plan.

Though he barely makes it two feet when one of the horses whinnies. You both freeze. It wasn’t that loud, right? How good could an infected’s hearing possibly be?

Your answer comes moments later when they burst through the front door, but they don’t hear Joel. You’re the one who is in direct line of the horses.

“Shit.” You breathe out as you aim your gun and make a shot for the one in front, missing the head but hitting it in the shoulder. A shoulder shot doesn’t stop a runner.

“Goddamn it.” Joel acts quick, putting a bullet through the one closest to him with easy precision. The infected drops to the ground.

The one closest to you is still moving fast and you know you need to make this shot because if Joel misses, the last one will be on you before you can even think. You keep your hands steady, too pumped full of adrenaline to shake like you were before, and you pull the trigger.

You hear a gunshot, but it isn’t yours as Joel takes down the other runner. Your gun never fired.

Because your gun is jammed.

You pull the trigger again, and again, frantic now.

It’s no use so you drop the useless weapon. You look down for a moment to draw your knife but it’s too late as the infected tackles you to the ground.

“Joel!” The call rips out from your throat and Joel is sure he’s never heard such terror in anyone’s voice before. Well… not so sure.

You hold the infected back as well as you can, knowing that it’s over if you’re bitten, but you don’t have to push it back for long.

Joel’s gun fires and the shot rings true as the mindless flesh creature falls off next to you. A headshot taken from just the right position so the bullet wouldn’t graze you.

“Are you hurt?” The fear in his eyes matches your own as he kneels in front of you and seems to check you for injury over anything else.

Then he pauses.

“Are you bit?”

The thought comes to you at the same time. You were so dazed during the attack that it’s something you actually have to think about.

“I um… no.” You stumble over your words for a moment before speaking more confidently. “No, it didn't bite me.”

“Good.” He nods and moves on quickly, helping you to your feet.

He starts to move around, checking the infected, checking the house. He’s not focused on you anymore, like he wants to be distracted from the thought.

“One of them probably got bit a day or two back. Didn’t tell his friends and then…” He trails off, gesturing to the bodies. “This happened. Don’t think it’s something to worry about too much though. Probably an isolated event.”

He explains, but he’s rambling. Joel Miller doesn’t ramble. The near death experience is brushed under the rug, but you won’t have that.

“Joel.” You start but he cuts you off.

“I can write up the report for it. I know that’s something you’re not a fan of.” It’s idle talk, nothing of value.

“Joel.” You say his name more firmly now and he looks up at you. “I almost died.”

He clenches his jaw, the tenseness in the conversation now unavoidable. You walk closer and it takes everything in him to not step away. He wants to leave, wants to push it down, but you almost died. He can hardly wrap his mind around it. If he had shot that runner a second later, it would have bitten you, at the very least, and his next bullet would’ve been in your head.

“I know.” He grumbles.

“Do you? Because you won’t look me in the eye.” There’s desperation in the way you look up at him and it’s like he’s staring through you instead of at you.

He lets out a breath and it kills you because you can’t tell what he’s feeling. There’s emotion in his eyes but you just don’t know which one.

“Please don’t shut down on me.” Your hand rises to touch his shoulder and he feels warmth bloom in his chest. He hasn’t felt that in a long time.

His eyes finally flicker down to yours and then to your lips for just a moment. He should think about what he’s doing, he knows that. Your age should be enough to put him off, but he almost lost you only minutes ago.

He won’t deny himself any longer.

Joel’s hand lifts to your chin and your eyebrows twitch slightly in confusion as he tilts your chin up. You part your lips to speak but don’t get the chance because his mouth is now on yours. All his hunger and need and desire finally come out as he kisses you harshly. His other hand finds your waist and he pulls you against him, never breaking the kiss. It’s like he doesn’t need air to breathe as he pushes his lips against yours and walks you back until a tree stops you. His tongue pushes into your mouth and he groans when feeling yours push back.

He pulls back and you worry that he regrets it, thinking he acted irrationally or emotionally. Those worries are quelled when he focuses his attention on your neck, leaving gentle kisses and sucking on the soft skin just the right amount so it won’t leave any marks. You let out a soft moan as his fingertips graze up your thigh before gripping it firmly and lifting it up against him.

“I need you, Joel.” You whisper so softly that he’s not even sure he heard you correctly.

“Hm, honey?” He still isn’t fully focused as he trails kisses up your jawline.

“I need it.” You whine a bit and he frowns.

“No.” He murmurs against your skin, kisses so soft and featherlight that you can’t be convinced he’s even touching you. “Not here. You deserve better than here.”

“Please. I’ve been waiting for so long.” You slip your hand under the hem of his shirt. “Been so patient.”

A hint of a smile graces his face. “Patient? Sweetheart, you’re begging me to fuck you in a forest in the middle of our patrol.”

“You’re the one who kissed me.” Your hand slides up his chest. “You gotta finish the things you start, Mr. Miller.”

His hand grabs your other thigh and he lifts you up so you’re pushed against the tree. “You know I don’t like it when you call me that.”

You bite your lip, enjoying the feeling of him lifting you up with ease, like he’s got something to prove. “I know.”

“Then you should learn to watch your mouth.”

You smirk, knowing just how easy it is to rile him up. “Why don’t you watch it for me?”

He huffs as if your bratty little comments annoy him, but you know he likes it. It’s easy to tell by the way his lips find yours once again. His moves are messy and imprecise. It’s so unlike him to be so reckless but it’s you that brings it out of him.

Hands are pulling at clothes and you’re quickly at a point where your pants are off enough for him to touch you. His fingers waste no time pushing past your underwear to tease you. The movements are slow now, just enough to leave you wanting for more.

“Joel.” You try to scold but it comes out more like a breathy moan.

“Hmm?” He’s not focused on your face anymore, no matter how pretty it might be. He’s more concerned with how many fingers he can push inside you before you start to whine.

“Joel.” You pout again as he feels your wetness pooling in his palm.

Three then. He thinks to himself, calculating how long he’ll have to wait to let you adjust to his cock before he can fuck you how he wants. But he already knows he’ll be pushing your limits.

“Shh, baby. Clearly, you’re not as patient as you claim to be.”

You can’t even reply, not with how good it feels when his fingers start to curl inside you. Joel continues the motions for a minute or so but it’s not what you want. It feels so damn good but this isn’t the way you want to finish.

You start to push him away and he stops as soon as he sees the hesitation.

“Everything alright?” He asks and your heart melts at the tenderness in his voice.

“I wanna feel something a little bigger.”

He rolls his eyes. “No damn patience.” He unbuckles his belt and starts to unbutton his jeans. “I’ll give you what you want then.”

He pulls his jeans halfway down his thighs- his very nice thighs- so he can pull himself out of his boxers. There’s no more slow, teasing actions. He wants to show you what your impertinence gets you. Lifting you back up with just one hand, he uses the other to guide his cock to your entrance.

As the head pushes in, he watches your face so he can see how you struggle to take it. You won’t speak up though, not after you whined and begged for him to fuck you. He might be a lot bigger than you’ve had before but that doesn’t mean you can’t take it.

Joel doesn’t want to miss the look on your face as he pushes in but can’t help but glance down. The sight of your desperate pussy sucking him in more and more is almost enough for him to finish there and then, but he holds off. He won’t let this be something you regret.

“Fuck.” He groans as he pushes the rest of the way into you with a sharp thrust. You whimper, hiding your face in his neck. “It’s okay, baby. You’re doing so well.”

The praise makes your cheeks heat and he starts to pull himself back out again before you hear the slick squelch of another deep thrust.

“Shit, Joel.” The stretch stings but it’s a good hurt.

“I know. I was trying to prepare you but you never fucking listen.” His words sound sympathetic, no matter how harsh they are, but the way he punishes you with his dick seems to contrast that.

His hands hold up both your thighs as he leans you against the tree for more leverage so he can pull his hips back and fuck into you deeper and deeper.

“Mmm.” You moan, unable to form thoughts, let alone words.

The way the head of his cock hits just the right spot before slipping up to kiss your cervix makes you feel pleasure in a way you couldn’t previously fathom. You’ve never been fucked like this before and it just makes it oh so better because it’s him fucking you.

Joel’s deep brown eyes feel like they’re burrowing into your soul with the way he’s watching you. He lives for it, your reactions, every little sound you make. It all makes him harder as he slams into you rougher with each thrust.

“You feel so perfect, sweetheart. Taking me so damn well, finally learning how to listen.”

“Dick.” You grumble and he chuckles.

“I’m not the one who begged for this.” His hips push against yours. You didn’t think he’d be able to get even deeper but he does. “Fucking begged, honey.”

“I’m not the one who let go of all my morals for it though, either.”

It’s a dangerous thing for you to point out, almost threatening enough for him to stop. But it’s also another thing he likes about you. You always bite back. There is even some part, some sick part, of him deep down that enjoys how wrong it is. It enjoys that you, being so beautiful and smart and full of life… and so young still want him. You could have any man between your thighs but it’s Joel whose fucking you.

“I’m close, Joel.” You say after his fingers have crept down to rub between your legs. He needs you to finish first, needs it bad.

“Cum for me. Wanna feel you squeezing around me. Wanna know how you love it.”

His pace never falters as he leads you to the edge, drawing in and out of you with a pace that you didn’t think a man his age could hold. It just feels so good; you want it to last forever, but all good things end eventually.

“F-Fuck.” You moan and he feels it as your walls tighten around his cock. It almost makes him cum instantly but he pushes through enough to lead you through your high.

You’re panting now as he pulls out, spilling himself onto the forest floor. You look up at him as he lets you down gently. You’re scared, scared that it’s over now, scared that this was a one time thing. And he just won’t fucking look at you.

“Joel?” Your voice cracks. God, you hate how you can’t control it.

His head snaps back right away and when you look into his eyes… it’s not regret that you see. “It’s okay, trouble. You did good.” There is something more in the way he comforts you. “We’re good.”

It’s not much of an explanation but it relieves you. You understand him and though he didn’t speak many words, you know what lies between the lines. This isn’t the end of what’s between you.

comment to be added to taglist

@grayandthyme @littledes1re just thought I’d tag my new moots because y’all’s writing inspired me to get back into it :)

[hoffmansbignaturals]

Who does each character in 'Saw' main in Mario Kart?

shitty image quality TW

first off the GOAT, John. John uses Wiggler. John knows that appearing helpless and silly is the key to winning. John regularly wins the Saw inc Mario Kart tournament due to memorizing every single shortcut beforehand.

Amanda. Amanda mains Pauline. She loves to see a girlboss winning. She used to play as Isabelle when AC New Horizons came out but denies this. Amanda is ok at Mario Kart. John makes sure everyone lets her win sometimes.

Hoffman mains Ludwig. Theres nothing deep to this, just look at the resemblance. Uncanny. He and Ludwig share a misguided thirst for power. Hoffman couldn't win a game of Mario Kart if his sister's life depended on it.

[p4nishers]

oh my god. it just hit me. the time they met in eden, the first time in crowley's mind, he asked aziraphale a question and instead of smiting him or ignoring him, he answered. for the first time in his demonic existence, someone answered a question for him without any thought, like he deserved to hear the answer. no wonder he immediately fell in love huh

[kai-boone]

I need to just stop going in the tumblr fic community when I’m tired istg I do not have the energy for all this clownery

[miajooz]

imagining Boss!Ellie getting a call in the middle of fucking her secretary! (you)

warnings ⟢ Dom!Ellie (she’s mean, surprise!), strap usage (r!receiving), degrading + praise, pussy slapping (r!receiving), exhibitionalism, swearing, power dynamics, ect.

wc ⟢ 1.8k

Your boss, Ellie, was a very attractive woman. She wore suits in a way that made men look unnatural, and ran the office like some sort of siren. Well, in actuality—she caught your heart like a siren. To say you were head over heels was an understatement. More so since she was your boss, wasn’t that just so utterly shameful?

No, you didn’t have any shame. Not anymore.

You left your shame on the polished wood of her desk the first time she fucked you on it, the floor of the break room, the bathroom—shame was scattered all over the damn office. But there was no shame in you. If there was, it probably would’ve been fucked out of you by now.

The hookups were sneaky, that’s what made it so addicting. The way she’d ask you to stay late for ‘extra help’ or the way she’d push you into the break room half an hour before break time and lock the door behind her.

Nobody in that office knew a thing. Ellie was such a distant, professional woman—she was the last person they’d expect to fuck her secretary. And you were such a polite, easygoing woman. You were professional in your own way, so helpful and so smart.

Today was no different, you were laid back on the ridiculously comfortable sofa in her office. It was the kind of luxury you didn’t feel you deserved to be on. Especially since you were making a mess of the thing.

Ellie was on top of you, black strap absolutely ruining you. She must’ve had a lot of frustration built up, because you could definitely feel it. You were trying to hold back moans, but it was impossible when she was pounding into you so aggressively. Deep, rough, fast strokes. She worked your poor pussy harder than you were anticipating.

“Fuck, you always take me so well.” she rasped, angling her hips in a way that nearly made you scream. She laughed softly, though it was half groan. “Yeah? Like that, baby?”

You couldn’t even respond, you were reduced to weak babbles and breathless moans as she fucked you like an animal. You just took it like always, swallowing the silicone deeper into your aching cunt. And you couldn’t get enough, not when it felt like her strap belonged inside of you. It felt so right being stretched by her, you were so easy for her—but who wouldn’t be?

When you gave no response, Ellie landed a harsh slap on your pussy. You choked out a pathetic cry, back arching off the sofa at such an unexpected, harsh feeling of impact on your puffy clit. It was throbbing, more so arousal than pain. But it wasn’t nearly as bad as the constant pulsing your sopping hole went through whenever she was around. It was fucking dripping.

“I asked you a question, so answer it. Does dick make you that stupid? I can’t have a dumb secretary, baby.” she slapped your cunt again, watching the way your eyes swelled with tears even though it was a softer slap. “I’m your boss. Be a good girl and listen, okay?”

You were crying at this point, moaning like a bitch and being fucked like a slut. Your mind was clouded, all you could think about was the silicone ruining your pussy in the best way. You nodded through your tears. “Y-yes! God, yes! F-feels so good, ma’am!” you whined, eyes fighting to not roll back. You knew how much she loved your eyes, she often told you that.

Ellie looked so hot above you. Her suit jacket on the floor and her tie joining it. Neither of you ever got completely naked, just in case somebody knocked. Your panties were on the floor, skirt hiked up to your waist so she could have a view of your pussy and your thighs.

“Such a filthy girl, letting your boss fuck you like this? Aren’t you ashamed?” she questioned, but she was just as guilty as you—if not more. She drank up your moans, they were so satisfying to hear because they were all for her. For her ears only. “Don’t be ashamed, sweetheart. Just keep coming to my office and having one button of your shirt undone to seduce me. So, so clever.”

In the middle of your cry, mid thrust—Ellie’s phone rang. You both gasped, eyes widening at the same time. She looked over at the caller ID, fuck. It had to have been someone important, because she picked up her phone and smirked at you.

“Baby, can you be quiet for me? Just gotta take this call, but I won’t neglect you.” she explained, not even waiting for your response before accepting the call and placing her phone up to her ear.

You gasped, immediately trying to choke back your moans. There’s no way, how the hell were you supposed to stay silent in these conditions? She didn’t slow down, not even for a moment. You clasped your hand over your mouth, eyes squeezing shut as she continued to fuck the daylights out of you. Your cunt was pulsing almost painfully, squeezing her so tightly you were surprised she could still keep her pace.

“Oh hey, Jesse. Did you transfer those files over to me?” she asked, her voice a bit breathless. She was grinning down at you, looking at you expectantly. She thrusted particularly harsh, making you squeal a bit and your eyes shoot open. They were blown wide, looking at her with both panic and arousal. She couldn’t hide the wet sounds of your pussy sucking in her strap, which she almost laughed at. “Ignore the sounds in the back, my secretary gave me a super wet fruit.”

A super wet fruit? God, this woman was shameless.

Ellie hummed along to the male voice on the other line, “You’re a life saver, seriously. Thanks for doing that on your day off.” she said, narrowing her eyes at you when she heard your gasps and squeals. She shooed your hand away from your mouth, placing her own over it instead and pressing down.

You were panicking, unable to hold back moans anymore. She was pounding into you at a brutal pace, you didn’t understand how she wasn’t panting and huffing on the phone. You cried out loudly into her palm, but luckily it was pretty muffled.

This was such a nerve wracking, disgusting situation. But you’d be lying if you said you didn’t get off on it. The risk, the tension—that was what you had always been addicted to.

Ellie scoffed at the sight, but fuck, it was so hot. She could feel your tears soaking her hand, your breath in her palm. “What am I doing? I’m at the office today.” she explained, looking at you with almost false sympathy as you tried to behave for her. You both got off on the power aspect. Ellie was having a power trip—which made your cunt pulse and cry.

“Yeah, just doing some extra work. It wont fill itself.” Ellie explained, pushing down harder on your lips when she heard you whine uncontrollably. “I know, right? Needy fuckin’ work. No matter how much I do it, it just keeps coming back”

Does she think she’s being sneaky? Cheeky asshole.

You shook your head feverishly, feeling a tightening in your stomach. Fuck, couldn’t your body wait? You squeezed Ellie’s bicep to try and warn her, she slowed down so she could drag this out a little longer. God, she was such a bitch. You loved it.

“Well, I got shit to do. Thanks again for doing that favor for me.” she hummed, starting to fuck you roughly again. She hung up the phone and put it to the side, removing her palm from your lips so both hands could be grabbing your thighs to yanking you closer. She laughed at you, low and raspy as she continued listening to the way you whimpered so loudly now that there was no barrier. She had an almost sadistic smile on her face, it was so humiliating but so sexy.

Your eyes were officially glued to the back of your head, perhaps searching for a coherent thought. “Boss! F-fuck!” you cried, your moans finally being set free. You could feel your stomach tighten again, you were so, so close.

Ellie looked down at your pussy, it was fucking dripping—just how she liked it. “Yeah? Did you get off on that?” she questioned, loving the way you sucked her in and begged for more. She couldn’t get enough of you, the way you took it and kept coming back made her want to satisfy that aching neediness inside you. “I guess so, you’re soaking my damn sofa.”

You nodded feverishly, weak cries leaving you. You felt a tingling all over your body, as if your body was bracing itself for the intense orgasm you were about to have. But you knew better than to leave her questions unanswered.” “Y-yes ma’am! I really loved it!”

Ellie continued fucking you, the black silicone molding you perfectly around her. “You’re such a whore. Ah, ah!—that’s what you fucking sound like.” she mocked, arms hooking under your thighs. “I can’t afford to have such a bad secretary, promise you’ll be a good girl and stay quiet next time? Wouldn’t want us to get caught.”

Next time? Was she kidding?

You nodded again, her words pushing you over the edge. You cried out, back arching impossibly as you choked out moans and promises. “I promise, Ellie! I’ll be so good!” you managed between moans and gasps. You soaked the silicone still fucking in and out of you, the type of mess she wished she could taste on her tongue.

Ellie tutted and shook her head, helping you ride it out but slapping your pussy once again. You were so overstimulated, you whined and squirmed, eyes widened and jaw slack. “Ellie? I’m your boss, sweetheart. Try again.”

You gasped and looked at her, pupils dilated. You couldn’t stay quiet, the overstimulation was too much to handle. “Ma’am! I promise..ugh! I promise to be good, m-ma’am!” you said between cries, but you felt relief when she finally stopped thrusting.

“That’s a good girl, you’re always so good for me. No wonder you get such special treatment.” Ellie praised as she pulled out. The strap was covered with slick, a delicious ring around the base. She laughed, looking down at your fucked out face. She glanced at the clock quickly, she had a meeting in an hour. She hated work for this reason, she wanted to bend you over her desk so badly.

Ellie’s eyes snapped back down to you, hand coming down to your cheek so you’d look at her. Those sweet eyes made her groan, they were so pretty when they weren’t rolled back or squeezed shut.

“Do you want more, baby? I know you do, you’re a needy girl. You can ride me this time—we have a little under an hour.”

tags!! <333 @valeisaslut @eriiwaiii2 @hyperbabes @usuck @haithone @yunaversalluv @smaugayra @andiemiaswife @mayfldss

[filmstarved]

i can fix him and fuck him.

18+ [logan x female!reader]

nobody can break through logan's walls with ease like you can. and he actually lets you, welcomes it even. he needs it to breathe and when he's ready to walk out of the gifted youngsters door, there you are again.

word count: 5,737

logan sulks. he’s so devoid of love and compassion that he sulks. he’s confused most days, too. unsure of who he is and what he even wants. the people who are somehow closest to him can’t even find their way past the fire breathing dragons that guard the drawbridge to his heart. (scott jokes that he doesn’t have a heart and that the adamantium replaced it and he’s fully pumping cold, hard metal).

logan is a man who answers to himself and doesn’t give people even the slightest chance to ask him a dumb fucking question because he’s not in the fucking mood. he’s never in the mood…unless you put him in one. usually a good one.

you earn a smile from logan as easy as the sun makes it seem to rise every morning and the moon to take its place at night. it leaves the team dumfounded. they believe if you weren’t here, logan would have left a long time ago. they’re right. logan used to search high and low for any excuse to leave. he never knew where he’d go, he’d just…go. but you didn’t dare let him out of your sight. not ever since the professor had brought you to what you call home a little over a year ago now.

deep down, he wanted reasons to stay. somewhere deep inside that metal frame…he wanted things to be right again. he’d find it tiring most days to carry around his grief and anger. but you gave him reasons to stay just one more day.

“so we’re working on that thing for charles together tomorrow right?” you asked on a wednesday, standing so cutely in the threshold of his door that it was almost annoying to him.

“so we’re catching that movie downtown with ororo and hank tomorrow right? it starts at 6!” you asked on a thursday.

“heeyyy, lo…do you possibly, maybe think you could sub for scott’s morning classes tomorrow? he has a dentist appointment…,” you shyly asked on a very late sunday night. (logan heard scott’s jokes about his heart so he made you ask. logan was the only one available.)

but behind his stoic stature and intimidating glare fixed on his face accompanied by knitted brows, he’d always say yes…to you. you were his reason for staying. he knew it but would never admit it. you knew it but played the oblivious part well. and the rest of the team would gossip about it when you two weren’t around. but as long as you were here, logan has nowhere else to be.

although as of late, you’ve been busy. much busier than usual. charles has you creating plans for a mission happening soon. when you’re not teaching mutant ethics 101 to freshmen, you’re hauled up in the lab or library; sometimes darting back and forth between the two multiple times a day leaving very little time to worry about logan.

tonight, you brought your work back to your dorm. as you cleaned up a rough draft of an exit strategy, rain began to tap lightly on the window. you had lit candles littered around the room as well as grouped on your table, a small desk lamp illuminated the surface further. as you reached up to stretch your aching back muscles, you were startled by the sound of a throat clearing.

your eyes shot to the sound at your door where logan stood, leaning against the frame; arms crossed and still like he had been glued to the spot. 

“hi lo,” you say. “y’scared me, heh.” you aren’t used to logan greeting you often, especially not this late. he’s over 150 years old, of course he’s grumpy and an early bird. you’re usually the one at his door with requests and invitations to social events he assumes can be nothing short of insufferable. he sighs, his stare dropping to burn holes in the ground. “logan, are you-“

“i think i’m gonna get out of here, bub.”

those words felt like an arrow hitting the bullseye in your chest and then another splitting the first one right through the center.

“wha-what do you mean?…you’re leaving?” you asked, confusion and frustration trembling in your voice.

“it’s too hard being here.”

with that, you stood up from your chair, beelining to him. “c’mere,” you say hushed, pulling on his leather clad arm, trying to unfold them and get him out of the door frame. he doesn’t budge and you pull “the look” that you know he can’t say no to. “come sit with me please, lo.”

he unfolds his arms which allows you to grab his hands to lead him to take a load off on your bed. your bare feet pat on the hardwood floor as you quickly go back to close the door.

you walked back over to him, assessing his body language. ever since he let you use your mutation to “read him” a few months ago, you told him you’d never do it again without his permission. one gaze into his eyes and a touch of his skin and you could feel everything wracking around in his head. anxiety, rage, hate but love, pain. it was hard to feel just for a moment and your heart cracked knowing he was riddled with those feelings constantly.

but right now you couldn’t help it, he was slouched on the edge of the bed, his head dropping to rest in his large hands, and apparently ready to walk right out of the door. your powers are amplified with a touch and even more when you can look into their eyes. from a distance, you could feel a sense of unease and something else… a pressure…built up in your stomach as you surveyed your friend. it didn’t feel bad though…it felt familiar. a good familiar. you stopped reading him and did your best to shrug off the aching stomach feeling and care for your disheveled logan.

he wasn’t emotional, like ever. he hid all that, only showing you what you wanted to see; what he believed you wished him to be — happy, whatever that was. but that couldn’t’ve been farther from the truth. sure, you want him to be happy but also just whatever he wanted to feel, you wouldn’t suppress it or try to change it to fit some ideal of who people on the outside want him to be. yes, he was one of the meanest motherfuckers you had ever met but he was your mean motherfucker. (whatever that means because nothing has ever really been clear between you two).

you walked closer to him, forcing yourself in his diabolical bubble. you stood between his legs, removing his hands from his face to wrap them around your waist. you scooped your hands under his scruffy chin, pulling up to get a look into his bloodshot eyes. oh, he’d been crying.

“lo…,” you muttered. “why were you crying, wolv?” you slide a thumb across his cheek where tears had stained the skin. “why do you want to leave?”

he pulled his face away, breaking his stare with you. he dropped his head forward to rest on your stomach, wrapping his arms around your legs so his hands rested on the back of your thighs. he began to slowly rub the exposed skin of them that your very short night shorts didn’t cover. he lifted the hem of your shirt slightly to press his hot face into the soft, cool skin underneath. he hummed into it, allowing you to feel the vibration.

“logan,” you softly moaned his name under your breath. his fingers press firmly, inching closer to the crease in the skin where your ass meets thigh.

“is this okay?” he asks lowly, when he looks up for confirmation to keep going, you’re already looking down at him nodding. “say it’s okay for me to touch you like this, bub.”

“yes, keep going, logan,” you said curtly. in your voice there is a hint of need. you hadn’t been touched like this since jean’s christmas party, tipsy off spiked egg nog in the garden with a guy whose mutation was a very wet, long tongue. flirting with him seemed intriguing in the moment, but five minutes later, it rendered itself utterly useless due to user error. the sexual tension between you and logan is so potent it usually clears out a room. aside from accidental brushes of hands and quick looks at each others lips mid conversation, neither one of you has acted on it.

his hums turn to growls and soft whimpers as your hands ran through and tugged his hair. your fingers found their way to his nape, splaying out to grip the hair there in your fist. he managed to place a single kiss on the skin right above the elastic of your shorts before you pulled his head back to scrutinize his face.

“you don’t have permission to read me,” he groaned. before you could ask how he even knew that’s what you were doing he said, “you get this serious, focused look in your eyes. i can feel you in my head.”

“logan, what are we doing?” you ask, releasing his hair and stepping out of his bubble. 

his hands drop from the absence of your thighs onto his lap and his sighs frustratingly. 

“what do you mean?” he asks, admiring your body in the dim light with a semi pressing on the denim of his jeans through his boxers.

“i’m…not doing this with you…if you’re just gonna disappear from my bed before the fuckin’ sun comes up. i’m not doing this,” you said, with your hands on your hips.

he pressed his hands into his knees to push himself up to tower over you. he took two big steps forward and stood in front of you. his hand raised up to brush the back of his fingers across your cheek to cup it and rub his thumb over the warm skin. 

he pressed his lips to yours, skillfully allowing his tongue access to it. you let him. “i give you permission,” he moaned in your mouth. “read me. feel how i feel about you…how i’ve always felt about you.”

he welcomed the hesitant slip of your hands past his jacket and under his shirt, shivering and chuckling “mm, cold” into your mouth. you rested your cool touch on his hips and with his mouth obsessed with yours, you read him. 

your head dizzied instantly and the hair on the back of your neck stood up. you had never felt anything as strong as this. you could almost taste the colors in logan’s head. your heart dropped to your stomach like you were on a rollercoaster, feeling sick from adrenaline in the best ways. and then, returned that good familiar feeling. this time buried even deeper in your stomach, moving it’s way lower…and lower until logan was swallowing the noises escaping you. before you literally passed out, you dropped your hands and took back ownership of your lips and tongue. breathing heavily, you moved away from him to collect yourself.

a beat of silence followed by a heavy sigh and a “well, say something” from logan passed and you opened your mouth to speak before shutting it again.

that…was the best thing you had ever felt. no drug could compare to the euphoria that a minute of kissing logan could bring. you could practically feel yourself lubricating and your upper thighs unconsciously squeezed together as you scrambled to find thoughts.

there were none. your mind already dumb and wanting more of him…more of the feeling. your fists planted firmly on both your hips as if you were grounding yourself to the floor to avoid buckling. you eyed the ground, looked back up at him and forwarded with another heated, taking-in-each-others-breath kiss. your hands found their way to the same place gripping the hair on his nape to which he praised the tug with a moan. he supported your balance as your whines got more whiney and needy and your hands held onto him like life support.

“lay down,” he said into your kiss. it wasn’t really a command, more of a warning because he tossed you on the bed like unfolded laundry.

he stood over you as you collected yourself, darting your tongue out to taste the spit he left behind. you propped yourself up on your elbows to get a look at the man casting a shadow over you. without the sounds of pleasure exclaiming in each others mouths, your ears absorbed the comforting sound of the battering rain. a tree branch smacked the window as thunder rumbled outside.

logan took a moment to admire your presence. starting at the top, he gazed upon your hair that he associates with vanilla and roses and the times he’d touch himself wondering how it’d feel being wrapped around his hand and pulled.

as he removed his leather jacket, he took his time mentally undressing you. feeling even more pressure build in your clit, you bore your hips down into the mattress, rolling them in circles to stimulate the swollen nub. he beheld your tits, flicking his tongue over his bottom lip at the sight of your hard buds under your very thin, white tank top. he threw his heavy jacket to the side, letting it thud in a ball on the ground.

“you look so beautiful, sweetheart,” he said, deeply enthralled by your scantily clad figure laid out in front of him. unable to stop staring, you could see the bulge in his pants get larger and it ridiculously turned you on. with you making eye contact with the crotch of his jeans, he effortlessly unfastened his belt buckle. the metallic buckle clanked to the floor as his jeans and boxers pooled around his ankles. 

he stroked himself while he looked upon you. it was like you could read his mind, because you began to touch yourself. the twitch of his lips and darkening of his eyes validated your teasing. letting yourself drop back on the bed, you caressed your body for him. one hand occupied by cupping your tit and pinching and twisting your nipple while the other is exploring the wet spot left on your panties. not being able to handle eye-fucking you any longer, he dropped to his knees on the edge of the bed between your legs. logan hooked his arms under your knees, pulling you close which in your intoxicatingly lustful brain you found funny, so you laughed.

logan spread your thighs open so he could fit in between them to leave wet, sloppy kisses all over your skin. he nibbled here and there, earning soft hisses and hums from your parted lips.

kiss kiss nibble hiss mmm kiss hum nibble nibble bite kiss suck

he spent about a minute just doing that, leaving warm welts in his mouths wake. “i need these off of you, princess.” once he had kissed his way up to the elastic of your shorts, he snapped it. you nodded and he did the honor of pulling them down and flinging them across the room like he was opening presents on christmas morning. 

he let out an amused scoff as he ran his trembling hand down his face, caught between ecstatic disbelief at the sight of your black lace panties with little black bows adorning the seams. you mentally thanked your past self for slacking on doing laundry and only having your “special occasion” panties left to wear.

“d’you know how pretty you are,” he said. his eyes traced over every inch of you in excitement like you were artwork he stole from the louvre and made out like a bandit with.

his hand disappeared to slickly stroke himself, his mouth watering in anticipation for your taste. his chest heaves as he takes in the sight of you, studying every curve prettily laid out before him; thinking about every position he wants to see you in and every way he wants to please you. without another groan inducing thought, he lunged forward to press a kiss to your lips, his tongue demanding attention. you drink his breath like liquor becoming completely intoxicated by him. he needed this, he needed you.

“need…to taste…you,” he breathed in between kisses. with this mouth obsessed with yours, his hands caress your tits, his thumbing circles on one of the nubs while he’s pinching and pulling on the other. your head falls back and your neck rolls at the sensation, earning profanities from your pretty, swollen lips. your tit misses the hand that he proceeds to run down and up your thigh to locate the spot in your panties you were playing with a moment before. as he parts from your kiss, he’s hooked two fingers under the elastic, pulling those off swiftly.

you yelp when he pushes your torso down. you stare up at the decorative ceiling as he savors you, kissing and massaging your thick thighs. he’s enjoying playing with you as much as possible before allowing himself any pleasure. he wants your juice to cover his face…his neck…his arm…the bed…the floor too when he gets you to pop like a water balloon.

“logan…please, please,” you beg, pawing at his hair. you lift your head to watch the man between your legs taking in the sight and smell of your pretty, wet pussy. even in the dim light, he could see how much you ached for him. he not so secretly got entertainment from watching you lightly buck your hips up to his face and he would’ve let it continue but your pheromones became overwhelming for him; engulfing his head in it’s enchanting aroma.

like fresh pie on a windowsill, he was drawn into you. logan opened wide to swipe one flat tongued lick up your slit. he had one goal — to knock all sense out of you, to fully engulf you in pleasure. he wants you dumb and begging for him to stay right where he is — at the mansion and also all over you. 

logan audibly sucked and popped your clit in and out of his mouth, teasing the most sensitive bit. he’d suck and pop and then lick up your slick, repeating the act. one of his big hands reached up to cup your tit, pinching and twisting and circling. from his hair to the tit he wasn’t playing with, you clawed at whatever would ground you. being eaten by logan felt like floating above the stratosphere.

your wet soaked his beard and it only made him more horny, his cock dripping and throbbing in his fist. tasting you, inhaling you, winning pretty sounds from you, knowing he’s the one making you buck up and fuck his nose only made his appetite for you insatiable. he let go of himself to push his pointer and middle fingers into your needing pussy. you hissed and cursed. the thrill of him devouring you began to reach its peak. his fingers pumped relentlessly into you, curling them to stimulate your g-spot. moans, curses, the gushing of your wet cunt, his sucking and popping and vibrating moans mixed with the rain and thunder grumbling outside filled the dorm like mozart’s symphony no. 25.

he wanted to kiss you, so he did. with his fingers still coaxing an orgasm out of you, he shared the sweet taste. he got back on the bed with you, sliding his free hand under your back to push you up to further to see the mess you were making on the sheets.

“look at how good you’re taking my fingers,” he groaned, inching closer to your ear so you could hear his dirty language loud and clear. “you can come for me, baby.” he peppered a few kisses to your forehead, removing his hand from behind you so he could press it into your stomach. this only heightened the overwhelming wash of pleasure coursing through you.

“lo…logan, i’m-“

“fuck my fingers, baby. use them…oh that’s it…that’s it…i feel that clenching, c’mon you can do it for me. go big baby, make me happy.” his dirty mouth and sporadic clit circling and pumping in and out of you with his tireless wrist pushed you over the edge. you cowered into his neck, pulling on his white tank top and biting the salty skin below his ear as your pussy obeyed, erupting with your juices. out of breath and fucking dumb already, you could feel the wet soak the sheets under your ass.

logan pulled his fingers out of you, landing a light smack on your pussy before licking you clean off of his digits. you fell back on the bed, your arms above your head as you heaved and saw stars.

“‘m not done with you, princess.” he slid off the bed, still delighted by your taste and engulfed in your aroma.

“fuuuck,” you groaned. the pulsing lightning feeling spread throughout both legs as an effect of your rocking orgasm. logan was wicked with his tongue, a devious magician with his fingers and you were his sole audience member wondering about his tricks for sleight of hand.

he quickly tossed his tank, that had tug marks from your attempt to ground yourself, to the side, his muscles flexing under his skin. as he let your post orgasm, cock-dumb brain fog clear, he spit in his hand to fuck his fist. his saliva mixed with the pre-cum leaking from the head, he groaned and sighed heavily at the feeling of giving his dick some sort of relief. you, needy for another hit of him, propped yourself up on your elbows to watch the most delectable creature pleasure himself.

just the sight of him illuminated by candles and flashes of lightning outside as he gets off to how fucked out and dumb you look was enough to have you open up again and play with yourself. the sensitivity from your swollen nub required a delicate touch but your pussy ached, clenching around nothing. his knitted brows relaxed, eyes darting from your pretty face, to your tits, to your fingers rubbing circles where his mouth resided moments ago back to look longingly into your eyes.

“you’re gonna stay,” you said. your hand reached your mouth, your tongue swiping a lick up your middle and ring fingers, wrapping your lips around them to coat them in your saliva. “tell me you’re going to stay for me,” you elaborated. your wet fingers found your aching center.

“there’s no where else i want to be,” he answered. he paced closer to the bed where you laid, his dick basically making eye contact with you as he stopped a few inches away. “you’re mine, you know that?” he noticed your hand slow, “keep going,” he commanded. logan reached out to cup your face, tilting his head to get a look at you obeying his every request. “your face…your mouth…,” his thumb swiped across your lips as he spoke. “your body…your cunt.” he leaned down to kiss your mouth, leaving a string of spit attached to your lower lip. “your laugh…your heart,” he said kindly, his hand massaging your scalp. moans earned from his praise escaped you. “you’re all mine. is that okay with you, baby?”

you’re so bewitched by his aura and his subtle touches make your heart race so fast that you can’t do anything but try to maintain his torrid eye contact and nod.

“use your words, honey.” his thumb returned to the softness of your parted lips.

“i’m yours, logan,” you said, taking his thumb in and closing your lips around it. “if you’ll stay with me, i’ll be yours forever,” you breathed around his thumb, speaking from a mix of eager lust and the terrifying need for him to not to be an asshole, just once.

“i’m not going anywhere…i promise,” he said matter of factly before leaning back down to hungrily devour your kiss. “i need to…fuck you…now,” he cursed in between swallowing moans. 

“do what you want…i’m yours,” you said just clearly audible over the storm rumbling outside. you two shared eye contact so intense that you noticed his dick twitch from your peripheral. you took his dick in your drooling mouth, reaching up to squeeze the base of him. it twitched from the warmth, pressure and tongue swiping rhythmically around his angry, red tip. you kept yourself enveloped around his length, bobbing your head to hit your gag reflex. the added lubrication drove him crazy, his abs twitching under the toned skin of his abdomen. you moaned around him purely from the enjoyment you got out of having him stretch the corners of your mouth, feeling the sting from it. 

logan reached down with both hands to hold your head steady while he sped up thrusting into your throat. your gags and gasps for air, his praise and the storm filled the room beautifully. 

“fuuuck, baby, keep that throat open for me please,” he begged. his hands left their position to find a new one — one supporting his thrusting hips, the other petting your head. “oh, you look so fuckin’ pretty with my cock down your throat…you’re taking me so good, sweetheart.”

he pulled his dick out of your mouth to smack it on your face, complimenting how gorgeous you look. he kissed and licked the mess off of your mouth.

“mm, baby i need to know how good you feel.” with that, he rounded the bed to lay down. “c’mere, baby.” you turned around, crawling on all fours to obey him. his cock in its usual place to be, in his fist, leaks pre-cum in anticipation for you to smother it with your warm, clenching pussy.

“lay down,” he said.

“damn, yes sir,” you say, jokingly annoyed with all of his demands. you lay down next to him, your knees instinctively parting slightly. he lays on his side, resting his hand on your stomach, rubbing his large hand in flat circles.

“d’you know how long i’ve thought about this moment with you?” he asked, leaning in to kiss and suck the skin in the crook of your neck. you lustfully sighed at the sensation of his hot breath. his hand finds its way between your legs again, tickling and tapping at your slit. “i want you to read me the whole time i’m inside…can you do that?”

“are you—“

“yes i’m sure, i feel so fucking good right now and i haven’t even felt you. i want you to feel that and more,” he explains, pulling your chin in to taste the desperation on you.

before he came just from your kiss and rutting against the sheets, he hovered above you. his lips stayed attached to your chest, kissing lower and lower to suck a tit into his mouth, flicking your nipple with his tongue then biting softly on the nub. his hand disappeared from the side of your head to grab hold of his shaft, flicking his tip against your clit. his head dropped as he watched and listened to your slick coating his cock. he quickly swiped up and down your pussy trying to savor every fold and feeling. his brows furrowed, not being able to resist your warmth, he lined himself up with your hole, using his hand to guide just the tip into it.

“oh…fuck,” he groaned in excitement. he pushed in just a little more which caused you to hiss. his head shot up and eyes scanned your face for any sign of regret or unsureness. “are you okay? d’you want to stop?”

“no, baby,” you giggled, lifting your arms rest around his neck, one hand always finding a way into his dark locks. “just been a while…keep going, i’m okay.”

with your permission, he pushed in a little more. he let out a deep groan at the feeling of you stretching to form perfectly around him. you gasped, pressing a hand into his chest, feeling a similar sting to the one you felt in the corners of your mouth earlier. against his want to start thrusting his whole length into you, his went slow, watching your demeanor for cues to keep going.

“you feel…fuck…like it was made for me,” he said which caused the butterflies in you to flutter their wings even faster. “are you okay?” his chest heaved and his breath fanned your face.

“fuck me…please logan,” you said. your hands reached his hips, pushing them down onto you. without wasting another minute, he did. 

he bent your knee more to press it into your chest as his hips repeatedly slammed down hard, his balls smacking your ass. with one hand giving him better access by positioning your leg higher, the other cupped and squeezed your bouncing tit.

“oh my…fucking god,” you moaned. you had let the walls of your mutation down, allowing yourself to be flooded by not only your pleasure…but the love logan feels for you plus the absolute sheer euphoria that he was experiencing deep inside of your pussy. it coursed through your body like a steam engine leaving the station. it had felt like you had been brought to five earth shattering orgasms before the one that was bound to shake you again soon.

“you know you feel so good, look at that fuckin’ fucked out smile. can you feel it? can you feel how good you make me feel, baby? don’t stop readin’ me, princess. it’s all for you,” he praised for you to hear every word.

“holy shit…mm fuckin’…ahh!” your hands couldn’t help but find their way above your head, subconsciously reaching for the bed post for something to ground you again.

“here, baby, hold onto me.” logan grabbed your wandering wrist with his free hand, slapping your hand on his chest which you pressed into as if you were pushing him away. before your cock drunk mind could register what happened, he had flipped the two of you so you were on top. 

logan looked so fucking pretty under you. you took a second to breathe and take in the view before bending your knees to put yourself in a squatting position on his cock. you placed your hands on his heaving chest for support as you started to bounce your ass on him. ‘oh this is so fun’, the thought making you giggle in elation as you drilled down your hips, rocking them back and forth to feel him stimulate the deepest parts of you. his thumb bored into your clit, drawing circles on it. 

as you kept bouncing your wet pussy on him just how he liked, logan lifted his knees up behind you and pushed you back onto them. he moved his hand away from your clit and picked his head up to watch his dick disappear deep inside you. then, he spit. his saliva landed on your pussy and stomach. he went back to stimulating you, fully realizing how much that turned you on from the tight clench around him and the extra juice running down his ass onto the sheets under you two.

he, still playing with your clit, summoned your face closer to his with the middle and ring fingers on the other hand. once closer, he grabbed your neck to kiss your fiercely. 

“you’re my good girl, huh?”

‘mhmm’ was all you could muster with his hand around your throat and his hips still ramming his cock into your stretched out hole.

“use those words for me, baby. are…mm, fuck…you my good girl?”

“ye…sss, baby i’m your…good…oh my fucking…girl!!”

“open your mouth.” he fucking spit in it. you moaned tasting him again and feeling it on your face. “good…fuckin’ girl,” he complimented, kissing you and then squeezing your cheeks to spit on your tongue again. 

your body started to go limp and your eyes were practically glued together. you could feel the searing hot orgasm burning up inside. you could feel logan in a way that you never thought possible. everything. 

his love, his passion, his longing, his fear, his anxiety, his lust, his heart…everything was yours in this moment. high on his feelings, you let your head fall back coming undone on top of him.

“oh you’re so pretty…that’s pretty, baby, keep…fuck…use me, it’s all for you.” his words took you further and further into ecstasy. it was a really good fucking trip that you never wanted to end. the pain of his cock fucking you out and his grip clutching your skin like he’d fall off earth without doing so made you moan so intensely that not even the thunder outside could compete.

he could tell you were a few fucks away from collapsing but so was he. 

“baby…you keep clenching around me like that…i’m gonna fuckin’ fill you,” he said. you kept bouncing on it, wanting him to even feel a fraction of how he just made you feel. he closed his eyes trying to last as long as possible in the heaven that he found in you. his thumbs bore into your hips as he used them to ground himself.

“i want it, baby…fill your good girl up.” you leaned down to speak into his ear and then carry on kissing his neck, letting him claim your moans as trophies. 

“fuuuuck…fuuuck,” he moaned as his thrusting became sloppy and you weren’t bouncing as much anymore. his abs twitched again along with his face. 

SNIKT!!

you hissed at the cool metal of his claws against your skin and the feel of him throbbing severely inside you as he let himself paint your walls. you thanked him in pleased moans before falling on his chest. still semi-hard inside, he kissed the top of your head to which you looked up and he gave you a proper kiss. he let himself twitch out a few more dribbles of cum inside you before pulling his claws back in to carefully rub your back.

a few beats of silence went by as you listened to each others hastened breaths and the rain tapping the glass. 

“…i love you, logan.”

“i think you know how much i love you, baby,” he said, smugly remembering how you looked coming on his dick, further escalated by his letting you read him.

you two snuggled naked under the covers and as you laid on his chest and listened to his light snoring, you read him again. 

ease and silence…and love.

[orcboxer]

Okay let me try this one again. The Trolley Problem sets up a scenario that sucks to be in. You either kill one guy, or you kill five guys. Nobody likes these options. We all don't want this be happening. That's kind of the point. It's a moral quandary. It's supposed to feel bad.

Now, according to a recent post floating around on tumblr, choosing either of the two options demonstrates "learned helplessness" and makes you a neolib sheep. The only correct answer, the post states, is to reject the question altogether. (Or to change the parameters of the question to include an option that saves everyone, thus eliminating the moral quandary.)

It sounds nice, doesn't it? Fuck this bad situation, we control our imaginations, so let's imagine a situation that doesn't suck. Hah! Bet you didn't think of that!

Here's the problem. Even though I think most situations generally have at least one solution that is both Feasible and Not Terrible, I have to admit that there are some situations (as in, not zero of them) where all the feasible options are unpleasant. This is a natural consequence of living in a world where A Lot Of Things Suck.

But if shitty situations do exist, even if it's super super rare, then it's not unreasonable to ask, "How should we make decisions when we find ourselves in a shitty situation?"

This is the beginning premise of the Trolley Problem. It says, "Hey what if you were in an unambiguously shitty situation? There are many shitty situations, so let's imagine one that is contrived enough to get everyone on the same page regardless of political affiliation, AND really emphasizes the key parts that I want to discuss."

Tumblr says "let me stop you right there. What if instead...we imagined a different scenario that wasn't as shitty?"

Well, okay, but then we're not talking about the same thing anymore. That doesn't actually count as an answer to the problem, you're just changing the subject to a completely different thing.

Tumblr goes on to say, "Exactly. That's the only thing you should ever do when confronted with an ethical quandary. Frankly the fact that you are willing to even consider a scenario that sucks suggests that you are fundamentally incapable of considering less shitty scenarios."

I just want to say I think that's bullshit. I don't think every problem is a trolley problem, but I do think that some problems are a trolley problem. And I think that those problems are worth discussing, even though they don't feel good. The trolley problem exists as a framework to discuss those problems.

Maybe our aversion to difficult decisions has an impact on our ethical reasoning, and maybe we should actually question how our ethical standards hold up under the weight of that aversion. So maybe moral quandaries like the trolley problem are worth discussing. And if you don't want to engage with the quandary, then don't - you don't have to concoct a whole essay about how the quandary is inherently morally bad.

It's possible that what you really want to say is that it sucks when people treat certain situations as trolley problems, when those specific situations actually do contain unambiguously feasible and unambiguously perfect solutions. I would agree with that.

But like. Let's not pretend that you can reduce all of ethics down to unchallenging black and white moralism.

[mallowsweetmiri]

Truth, Dare, or Punishment ~ Fred Weasley

summary: you bitches asked for dom!Fred and you shall receive. a game of truth or dare in the common room goes south when Mclaggen dares you to kiss him

warnings: possessive dom!Fred, smut, cursing

---------------------------------------------------------

The night had been going splendid so far. Everyone was way too excited after the arrival of Beauxbatons and Durmstrong to go to sleep, and the older Gryffindors decided to get shitfaced as the perfect solution to their restlessness. After all, there was no quidditch this year to justify throwing common room parties, so you guys had to get creative. The new year brought new witches and wizards to corrupt, and so the twins finally let their baby brother Ron and his year join the fun. It been going well, granted Hermione was drunk off her ass, but Harry had been watching over her well enough. You were also past the point of drunk, and you assumed by their faces that the rest of the group were on their way there. At this point in the night, those who were still awake were circled up playing a filthy game of truth or dare. Angelina had gone to do seven minutes in heaven with George, Neville had eaten a puking pastille, and Ron had madeout with Lavender Brown in a disturbing manner. It was time to spin the bottle again to see who would ask the next question. Hermione giggle and leaned into the circle to spin the bottle. Everyone look around with nervous smiles as it spun around and around, before landing on Cormac McLaggen. You cringed. This was possibly the worst person it could've stopped on. Your body had a visceral reaction when your name left his lips.

"Y/N," he smiled drukenly, "Truth or dare?" You rolled your eyes. Oh, great.

"Truth," you said, grabbing your drink and taking a swig. You were going to need it.

"Who did you lose your virginity to?"

You choked on your drink as the rest of the group murmured at the question, Hermione's jaw dropping before a stream of shocked laughs escaped her. You felt Fred tense up beside you. Your mind raced with the memories of this summer at the Burrow.

"Just like that, Y/N. You're doing so good," Fred praised as he thrusted into you, kissing the crook of your neck while he fucked you. He'd been teaching you how kiss, as a friend of course. He had to help out his dear friend Y/N when she confessed how embarrassed she was that she had never kissed anyone. Never done anything with anyone. From there it had escalated. First, you wanted to know learn to give a blowjob, but soon enough Fred thought it'd be best if you knew what these things felt like too. After a while, you both realized you were terribly obsessed with each other, and one night you decided to let him be the one to take your virginity. He was big, and you were nervous, but he was so sweet about it. Even at the beginning when you thought it wouldn't be able to fit, he was reassuring and gentle with you. But that was at the start, and by now he was fully fucking you on your back, your pussy starting the soften around his cock as pleasure began to ripple through your body. You both came together in a heap of sweat and kisses.

"Y/N," McLaggen sung, waiting for your response.

"I'm not answering that," you coughed, still choking on your drink. The group has set up measure to tell if someone was lying, so you couldn't fake still being a virgin. You supposed the question wasn't that out of pocket, but you couldn't answer it. Nobody knew about you and Fred besides George, and you both wanted to keep it that way. Especially from your families.

"Well then, you know the rules," McLaggen tsked teasingly, "you forfeit to dare."

"What? No, I-"

"Those are the rules Y/N," Hermione cringed, unable to stop herself. McLaggen smirked.

"I dare you to kiss me."

You felt nauseous. McLaggen was disgusting, and the last person you'd ever want to kiss. Unfortunately, you'd brought this onto yourself. You should've known he would dare someone to kiss himself. What a weirdo. The circle groaned and laughed in disgust as McLaggen puckered his lips. You cringed and shifted your weight to lean across the circle. Just as you were about to shuffle over to him, Fred grabbed your wrist and pulled you back. You looked back at him and saw anything but a smile on his usually cheerful face. He spun the bottle and landed it on himself in a hasty motion, still holding onto your wrist tightly.

"McLaggen, I dare you to stop wearing your fucking Ballycastle Bats tighty whities to every single quidditch practice," Fred sneered before yanking you up with him and pulling you towards his dorm. You heard the group go crazy with laughter behind you and hoped it would cover for the fact that Fred just pulled you away from the party. Hopefully George could cover for you two, he should be done with seven minutes by now. Fred dragged you up the stairs without so much as a look in your direction. Once you reach his dorm, he threw open the door. What was happening?

"Fred-" he smashed his lips into yours and shut the door with your body. You gasped as your back hit to wooden surface, Fred pulling your skirt up while his hand gripped your thigh. He used your lifted leg as leverage to grind down into your hips as he pressed you against the door. Your pussy pulsed when you felt him against you, his hands gripping in all the right places. Wait a minute. When did he start kissing you again?

"Fred," you said quickly, pulling away from his mouth. He tried to kiss you again. "Fred, we just left the party. You just dragged me up here when I was supposed to kiss-"

"Don't even say his name," Fred growled, his breathing heavy and hot as he kept his face inches from yours.

"I'm sorry," you whispered out, unable to speak properly. You'd never seen Fred mad before.

"I'm sorry I dragged you," he softened, ducking his head down to kiss your neck, "but I wasn't going to let somebody else kiss you." With that, he began to attack your neck. His left hand came up to grip the back of your head as his tongue and teeth lapped at your sweet spot. You let out whimpered moans as he worked, his fingers gripping you just right. Rougher than usual.

"Freddie," you moaned, grinding yourself onto his leg. You needed more. This man had hooked, and you'd never been so addicted in your life. He picked you up under your legs and carried you to the bed before placing you down on your back. He stood over you, leaving you panting on the bed as he took off his shirt and undid his belt. His eyes were locked on yours. You wanted to look away but you couldn't, his gaze wouldn't let you. When he finished, he rushed towards you again, kissing you deeply as his hand flipped your skirt up. His tongued rammed itself into your mouth, stifling your moans when his fingers grazed over your clit. You blushed as his fingers masterfully moved your panties aside and dipped into your core. Fred laughed into the kiss as he felt you.

"Already so wet for me," he breathed huskily, "are you ready to take me?" His words had you aching. You nodded up at him bashfully. You wanted him so badly. You had turned into such a slut for his cock. "Good girl." He sat up and flipped you over, pulling your panties down as he took off his own pants. He didn't bother to take off your skirt as he pulled you back onto him. You let out a guttural moan as you felt his length stretching you out.

"Fuck, Freddie," you whined as he gripped your hips and began to thrust into you. He was going to leave bruises for tomorrow, but you didn't care.

"You're taking it so good, Y/N" Fred groaned, smacking your ass, "you like getting fucked by me? Huh?" He picked up his pace, pounding into you hard. Your moans were bouncing with the rhythm of his thrusts as he waited for your reply.

"Y-yes, Freddie. I love when you fuck me," you whined, feeling you pussy begin to clench around him. His dick twitched at the feeling and groaned. In one motion, he pulled out and spun you onto your back, pulling your shirt up over your tits and pinning your wrists above your head.

"God, you look so fucking pretty. Can't see your beautiful face while I'm behind you," Fred grunted as he thrust back into you. You moaned and threw you head back. You writhed underneath Fred, his hand constraining your wrists. You desperately needed to grasps something. You were reaching the edge.

"Freddie," you cried, unable to say anything except his name. Your eyes clenched shut as you felt your stomach knot up one final time.

"That's it, baby. Come for me." You could feel his eyes on you as you released yourself around his throbbing cock. As the waves of pleasure began to slow, Fred grunted and became sloppy. He released your hands and buried his face into your neck as he came, pushing himself as deep as he could inside of you. He laid there for a moment before pushing himself off you and pulling you onto his chest. You couldn't help but giggle a little as he kissed your head and rubbed your shoulder.

"You are so jealous," you teased, looking up to see Fred. He laughed with a sleepy half smiled.

"I'm not jealous," he retorted, pinching your cheek. "I'm just protecting whats mine."

[cyanide-siren]

i'm real, sweetheart

Dean Winchester x Reader

Summary: Just a few days after Dean was killed by the Hell hounds and sent to Hell, you find out that you're pregnant. Now, four months later, he comes back.

Warnings: None, just angst with happy ending <3

☆☆

After Dean's death, you didn't eat, sleep, go to shower, leave your house for days – you were practically unable to do anything. You barely managed to get out of bed and distanced yourself even from Sam. You didn't answer phone calls and eventually turned off your phone, ignoring Bobby and Sam ringing your doorbell. You simply sealed yourself inside your house, lines of salt in front of windows and doors to keep everything else outside as well. A mere precaution.

And sitting alone at home in tears, piles of used tissues and self-pity, it truly felt like a mistake you could have avoided if you had enough self-control.

It was the worst heartbreak you had and would ever go through, at least that's how it felt like. You hadn't experienced a death of a loved one before, but of course nobody would get used to losing someone important to them, not really. It truly felt like you could never move on from this.

You had known since the beginning of getting to know Dean and how he lived his life that it would be a mistake to let yourself fall in love with a hunter.

However, something unexpected happened soon after Dean's death. Something you hadn't seen coming at all. Just a few days after his death, you had started to feel sick and would vomit over and over again until your stomach hurt like hell and throat was burning.

You were pregnant.

You had stared at the pregnancy test, those two haunting lines, for what felt like forever, sitting on the toilet seat all alone. Unintentionally you had stopped breathing, your hands were shaking and heart racing so fast you felt like a heart attack wasn't far away.

Fuck. This wasn't what you had planned. Sure, you'd like to have kids but right now? Without Dean by your side? You weren't ready to be a single mother, even though you knew for sure that Sam and Bobby would be there for you and help you. But neither of them were the father of your child.

Having a part of Dean inside you, still with you, made you burst into tears for the hundredth time.

☆☆

Four months passed. Sam had tried everything he could to bring his brother back to him, back to you, but it was useless. There was no way to bring him back. He didn't bring you to the mess of several plans he had because a voice in his head whispered that they'd all fail and you'd only get false hope when there was no real hope left anymore.

That was, until Dean one day casually showed up at his doorstep. There he suddenly was, more alive than ever, looking at Sam, Bobby awkwardly standing next to him. Sam's first reaction was obviously that this was a demon dressed as Dean or a shapeshifter but it wasn't. He was Dean, his brother.

His brother had returned from Hell among the living. How? That was a good question which didn't yet have an answer.

"Have you gone to see Y/N yet?" Sam had asked after a while of chatting and trying to figure out what was going on.

"No, i haven't," Dean mumbled, his gaze falling into his hands on his lap. He was more anxious to face you than Sam for a reason he wasn't sure about. Maybe because Sam was way more used to the life of demons and Hell than you were.

"You'll cause her a damn heart attack if you just show up at her doorstep like this," Bobby pointed out, standing next to him arms crossed against his chest.

Sam knew about your pregnancy, of course he did. Your pregnancy wasn't too far in yet to show clearly that you were expecting a child, but if you wore tight clothes such as a top, people could definitely notice your growing stomach.

"Well, how should i do that then?" Dean asked.

God, going to see you again was the first thing he would have wanted to do after crawling out of his grave. He missed you more than anything else. The thought of you was one of the only things that somewhat helped him to stay sane in Hell.

☆☆

Sam and Bobby were coming for a visit tonight to have dinner with you. Sam came over to your place quite often these days to keep you company, knowing that you barely saw anyone, having almost no social life.

When they stepped inside your house, and you saw the third, highly unexpected visitor, the entire world around you stopped for a moment. Your body froze still and for a while it felt like your organs stopped working. You weren't able to get air into your lungs, heart felt like stone and brain not able to comprehend whatever the hell was happening. It all felt like you were dreaming or hallucinating.

"Y/N," Dean said. No, it was just someone who looked like Dean. It wasn't the real Dean. The Dean you fell in love with five years ago had died, there was no doubt about it. He was dead. This man, creature, in front of you? A demon, shapeshifter – whatever kind of monster, just not a human being.

When Dean took a cautious step towards you, you suddenly got the ability to move again, instantly taking two steps back towards the kitchen counter.

"Y/N, i –"

"We already tried that," Sam said, having expected you to have even worse breakdown. "And he's not a shapeshifter either."

Before giving Dean a chance to explain himself, you quickly grabbed a jar of salt from the table, opened the lid and threw the salt on Dean's face. He closed his eyes before getting salt into his eyes, seeing this sort of reaction coming.

Nothing happened.

You stared at Dean with wide eyes, throat feeling tight and chest heavy when Dean looked at you after brushing the salt off his face and hair.

The look in his eyes was full of both sadness and relief. "Y/N, sweetheart," Dean said quietly. "It's me."

Your eyes started watering but you forced the tears to stay in. "No," you breathed out and turned away from him, starting to pace back and forth, holding your head with your hands. Panic started to grow inside you. "No, no, no. I'm going crazy. I'm hallucinating, it's not real, not real."

Sam walked towards you and laid his hands on your shoulders, making you to look him into his eyes. "Y/N, listen," Sam said calmly and spoke his words slowly, making sure you understood everything through the pounding in your head. "He's not a demon or anything else than our Dean. We don't know how, but he got back."

You only looked at Sam for a moment like he had gone crazy. Dean was dead. He wasn't just casually standing in your kitchen after the past four months of being gone.

"It's not a trick, i promise," Sam assured you, squeezing your shoulder.

You slowly turned your head towards Dean, who had kept his eyes on you the entire time. All he wanted to do right now was to grab you in his arms and squeeze your body so hard that your bodies would merge into one. When you made eye contact with him, his eyes started to tear up too.

You fully burst out crying and let the tears flow freely down your cheeks. Dean walked towards you and finally wrapped his arms around you, pulling you into the tightest hug he had ever given to you.

"I missed you so much," you cried, clinging on his leather jacket with your fists, afraid that he really was just an illusion and would vanish away from you any second now. That this was all a dream and you'd wake up to the cruel and cold reality where he didn't exist anymore.

"I missed you too, love," Dean whispered, breath hot against your hair.

"You're real," you sighed, still trying to convince yourself that it was all real, taking the familiar smell of him into your nose.

"I'm real, sweetheart," Dean confirmed.

"W-what happened?" you asked, pulling away from him to be able to look into his eyes, being completely at loss of words. "How did you... how are you here? You died, Dean."

"I don't know yet," Dean admitted. "I'm trying to figure it out."

You only looked at Dean for a moment, trying to take in the sight in front of you and push it into your head that he really was there.

You cupped his face hard into your hands, squeezing his cheeks as you pulled him into a deep kiss.

"Maybe we should come back another time," Sam quietly mumbled to Bobby, who agreed. Without another word, they left you and Dean alone, slowly closing the front door after them as they returned to their car.

The kiss was everything you had dreamed of ever since you had lost him. You had feared that in time you'd start forgetting how his lips felt like on yours, how his touch felt like when his hands were wandering around your body. Now you wouldn't have to worry about it anymore, having him back – hopefully longer than just for a moment.

As Dean pulled you closer against him by your waist, he felt something different against his stomach. He pulled his head away from yours, breaking the needy kiss and furrowed his eyebrows.

"What?" you asked.

You were wearing a t-shirt, so there was only a thin fabric covering your belly. Dean looked down your body, and it didn't take you more than a few seconds to realize that he had noticed something different about you.

You took a step back away from Dean, covering your stomach with your arms.

"Y/N...?" Dean started, but you didn't answer right away, trying to form the words into something you could physically pronounce.

"I... i'm pregnant," you mumbled, looking away from Dean.

Dean's face fell. Had he heard you correctly? You were pregnant? He kept his gaze on your stomach which you were trying to hide behind your arms. Dean gently wrapped his fingers around your arm, slowly pulling your arms to the side to be able to rest his palm against your stomach.

"There's... a baby in here?" Dean asked, his voice barely a whisper.

"Mhm," you mumbled, feeling anxious.

"When did you find out about it?"

"Just a little after you... you know," you said and shrugged, not able to get the words of ending up in Hell out of your mouth.

"Oh," Dean sighed. He couldn't even imagine what you must have been feeling and going through, having to deal with that alone. To deal with that before having recovered from the loss of him. He, himself, had ended up in literal Hell, but he cared much more about your feelings, your sadness, than his own sufferings. You were his priority and would always stay as one.

Dean tried to process the entire thing in his head for a moment. This wasn't something he had at all expected to hear during this surprise visit of his. You weren't sure what to say either.

"Yes," you confirmed. Your cheeks were wet from tears and more was still coming, but now you managed to let out a laugh, which made Dean smile. The sad tears were slowly turning into happy tears.

"So, i... i'll be a dad?" Dean asked, not believing the words to be true.

Him? ...a dad?

He had been through misery and torture in their all forms for several decades, which for you was only four months. After all that suffering, he could simply come back home to you and find out that you were expecting a baby? His child? That was too good to be true. Dean felt like he didn't deserve such thing, especially after everything he had done to those poor souls in Hell.

Dean was able to come back to a woman who he loved and who loved him with all her heart. A woman who he could build a family with during these dark times.

"I love you," Dean said, holding your tear stained face in his warm hands.

All he wanted to do tonight was to hold you. The dinner on the table was starting to turn cold but you sensed that Sam and Bobby hadn't actually come here for a dinner, not as their main intention at least.

"I love you too," you said, the tip of your nose touching his. "But don't you dare to ever sell your soul to a devil anymore. Got it?"

"Yes, ma'am," Dean smiled and planted a kiss on your forehead, pressing your head against the crook of his neck and brushed his fingers softly through your hair.

Dean was terrified, of course he was. Even though you and the pregnancy made him the happiest man alive, he was scared. Scared of a demon or other monster coming for you and ripping the happiness away from him. He didn't trust to keep good things in his life.

You were the light in his darkness, and he was going to do everything he could to keep you safe. To keep all three of you safe so Dean could provide you a life you deserved.

☆☆

[thekinslayed]

Nobody Tell Daemon!

summary | When the family heirloom is nowhere to be found, you found yourself in the middle of the chaos in the Hightower-Targaryen siblings' apartment.

pairing | modern!aemond x gf!reader x platonic!targtower siblings (aegon, helaena, daeron)

tags | crack fic, mentions of sex, aegon is a sweaty liar, new girl-inspired, slightly succession-inspired, the targs hate each other but live in the same building

wordcount | 4.9k

note | my first attempt at a crack fic 😭 this was inspired by new girl s4ep6 'background check', which is my fav ep in my fav show! thought i’d write something fun this time bc i'm going to miss my chaotic little greenies <3

likes, comments, reblogs are much appreciated! (divider)

The warm tingle of the morning sun on your bare back made you purr like a cat, limbs stretching over the length on the queen-sized bed. Beside you, the light sprinkle of Aemond’s silver chest hair twinkled under the sunlight, ripples of defined muscle accentuated by the shadows cast. Underneath, his pale flesh had taken a pink hue after some of the strenuous activities you had partaken in when you awakened. On most days, your boyfriend would’ve sprung out of bed the moment the clock struck six thirty, but not today. After all, it was his day off. 

And on his day off, Aemond took his time… in between your thighs.

Laying on your stomach, you settled your chin on your crossed arms to look at your lover. The giggle that bubbled from your lips as you stared into his peaceful face couldn’t be helped, prompting him to crack open his good eye to look at you in question, brow raised.

“That was some good stuff, wouldn’t you say?” you said, wiggling your eyebrows suggestively. He merely huffed a chuckle, slim cheeks dimpling.

“Fuckin’ amazing, babe,” Aemond replied with a satisfied smile, turning on his side to grab your waist. You squealed in delight as he maneuvered you onto your back. Attacked by kisses, and tickled by the growing stubble on his chin, it had been a while since mornings were this peaceful.

“Why can’t we ever have mornings like this?” you asked rhetorically, ending with a dreamy sigh as his wandering lips found their home in yours. He grunted in agreement, hips canting towards yours to make known the growing zeal in between his legs, ever eager to make the most of your morning.

The answer came in the sight that greeted you the moment you left his room.

Tangled in a crumpled heap of silver hair on the floor, Aemond’s brothers, Aegon and Daeron, were wrestling for the remote.

“Oh, come on, Aeg! I need to catch up on my show!”

“Fuck off, Cocomelon, MILF Manor’s on!”

With a heavy sigh felt in the Seven Heavens, Aemond turned to you with a deadpan face. “This is why.”

The other side of the apartment was in no better shape. A stuffy cloud of greyish smoke enveloped the open kitchen. In the middle of it, Helaena was making breakfast. Flipping a more than well-done pancake, and scrambling a bowl of eggshell-dotted eggs, their sister was unbothered by the ruckus, merely humming to herself. You exchanged a look with Aemond, who nodded at you with a wordless instruction to take over. 

“Morning, sweetie,” you greeted your dear friend, accepting the side hug she happily gave you. Peeking down at the ceramic pan, Aemond hid his grimace at the shape of the blobs of batter she was cooking up.

“Lookin’ good in here, Hel. Why don’t we lend you a hand?” he offered innocently, to which Helaena beamed up with glee. 

“Would you mind flipping that when it’s ready, Aem? I need to go feed the babies for a sec!” 

The moment Helaena turned to scurry off to tend to the numerous critters littered about in jars in her room, Aemond immediately tossed the blackened hotcake into the trash. It was somewhat impressive how his sister somehow managed to make it cling to a nonstick pan, but he dared not say anything. Meanwhile, you cracked some windows open to let some fresh air in, before rolling up the sleeves of Aemond’s old college hoodie to help out by cutting up some fruit. 

Soon enough, all of you managed to find your respective places on the island and finally start eating. It was nice, save for the boys’ banter that managed to have its own seat at the table.

“They’re hooking up with guys my age and their dads?!” Daeron exclaimed, a mixture of awe and slight confusion on his young face at his eldest brother’s choice of morning entertainment. 

“Yeah, bro, and you know what that’s called? Good. Fuckin’. TV. Not that lame superhero shit you’re always into,” Aegon retorted with a full mouth of food, specks of egg flying out of his mouth with every word. Even the ginormous mug engraved with the words ‘I <3 U WITH ALL MY B(.)(.)BS’ couldn’t hide the scowl of disgust on your boyfriend’s face as he sipped his coffee, the gaze on his good eye sharp on the two knobheads before him. 

You tuned out Aemond’s scolding as you were deep into your own conversation with Helaena, who had a chirping cricket balanced on her shoulder. You made sure to keep your steaming cup of matcha away in case the critter had any plans of jumping off. You loved Hel, but gods, did those things make your skin crawl.

The sudden ding! from Aemond’s pocket cut through the chatter of the table. With his attention shifted to his phone, you stole some of his bacon, watching on in curiosity as his brows furrowed in confusion. “Daemon’s having the whole building inspected?” he announced, making everyone turn to him in attention.

“Did he fuck someone in the building who gave him crabs?” Aegon quipped in a matter all too nonchalant that everyone had turned to him with an incredulous look.

“No. Mum said Dad’s dagger he left for Daemon in the will isn’t in the penthouse anymore. Asshole’s bringing in KLPD’s ‘best’ or whatever the fuck, some guy called Jason Lannister’s going to be up here doing the search. The Lion,” Aemond read off the text on his phone, before shutting it off with a scoff of disbelief. He muttered a few curses for his uncle under his breath before a flicker of realization struck his face, turning to Aegon. “Did someone in this building give you crabs?”

“N-no? Just heard it from uh, uh… the doorman!”

“Aeg, you know you’re a terrible liar, right?” you mused, eyeing the way his pale cheeks had almost immediately turned red at the sudden inquisition. Aegon was a sweaty, anxious liar who spent his teenage years nearly wetting his pants before he could pull out his fake ID at a liquor store. Any more prodding and his gray t-shirt would have been marked with sweat stains.

“Ha, you guys think they call him The Lion because he’s ferocious, and feeds on crime and bad guys as grub? Man, that’s cool,” Daeron remarked, shaking his head with an innocent satisfaction for making such an observation. You turned to Helaena to giggle in amusement, but she was staring off to the side, biting her lip while deep in thought. 

“The Lannisters are lions, Daeron. It’s their family sigil. You would know this if you didn’t spend all your time in middle school messing with your iPad with your snotty hands, you oaf,” Aemond retorted, making the youngest pout at the realization. You turned back to finishing your meal, paying Helaena no mind. It wasn’t uncommon to have her like this, often lost in her head that all of you knew to leave her alone until she was back to herself. 

Rising from his stool, Aegon made his way around the island to grab butter for his toast. “Slept with a Lannister once. Let me tell ya, boys, they are feisty!” the eldest bragged, punctuating with a feline growl that made Aemond roll his eye for the tenth time before noon. Butter dish in hand, Aegon padded over to the utensil drawer for a knife. “Why does the prick think we have it anyway? It’s not like we need anything from the rotten old ha— Oh, shit.” 

And there it was, between cheap IKEA spoons, packets of wooden chopsticks from takeout, and water-stained cutlery, sat the Targaryen family heirloom— the Valyrian steel catspaw dagger. It stood out from the wooden drawer like a sore thumb. Shiny, heavily embellished with a real stone of ruby that could pay off your student loans, and inscribed by what you were told were Valyrian glyphs; it was outright gaudy in your opinion. 

When Viserys Targaryen, a multi-media conglomerate and filthy-rich billionaire, passed from his long battle with cancer, he had stated in his will that each of his children was to inherit a portion of his riches. Their eldest half-sister, Rhaenyra, had been given almost half of their father’s wealth in money and property, as well as being the immediate successor to the family company, Dragonstone Corporation. For the rest of the siblings, the other half was split among the four of them, which was, frankly, chump change compared to what their sister got. The only consolation was that they were granted to keep any furniture in their dad’s penthouse. Not the flat itself though, that was for Daemon, as well as the family heirloom that no one else coveted but their uncle.

Now, did the Targaryens have enough money to settle themselves into a manor large enough that each of them could have rooms larger than their current living spaces? Abso-fucking-lutely. But Viserys had been sick for a long time, tethering at a hair’s breadth from death for years. At that time, he had expressed his dying wish of having his family close to him, despite their many, many differences and ill feelings. These hotheaded silver heads could hardly stand to be under the same roof with each other; as if Aemond’s missing eye wasn’t proof enough, but their father was more persistent to have his way. Hence, they had all been given keys to their own flats in one of Dragonstone Co.’s premier luxury buildings, the Red Keep. 

Rhaenyra and Harwin were on the second floor, with Jace and Luke in a bachelor’s pad two doors down. Alicent was on the fourth, taking a smaller place of her own after her husband’s passing with her trusted bodyguard and oddly close companion, Criston Cole, staying in the unit adjacent to hers. Aemond and the siblings were situated in a spacious 4-bedroom on the thirteenth floor, the farthest away from anyone.

Technically, they were all still under the same roof, but it helped when the only time one could encounter their estranged kin was when they had the misfortune of being down at the mailboxes together, which was rarely ever. They always had the freedom to move out, but the Red Keep was a highly sought-after property, centrally located in the heart of King’s Landing. It afforded them luxuries not found in other places, a more than perfect location if only it weren’t for the fact that it ran the risk of bumping into their estranged, unmistakably hungover uncle walking his dog Caraxes at the private dog park. 

Their grief on their loss was brief, rather relieved with being free of the ghost of a father’s hold on their lives, but Viserys’ blatant favoritism had the siblings muttering ill wishes in his afterlife. You were there with Aemond on the day the children were called up to take their pick of the furniture in the penthouse, wide-eyed at the millions worth of designer, custom furnishings adorning the space. They were all given their respective colored stickers that they tabbed on their picks, yet none of them seemed to be enthusiastic about the whole ordeal.  No talk of some family heirloom was discussed as far as you were aware, rather busied with tugging on Aemond’s sleeve to urge him to place his claim on the toile de Jouy fine china that would go exceptionally well with the countryside cottage you were saving up for when you got married.

“Aegon, how many times do I have to say you can’t sell Dad’s stuff on eBay? Not the important ones at least!”

“Hey, it’s not me! You’re the one who’s got a crush on Daemon, you sure you didn’t take it to piss him off?”

The sound of the instant finger-pointing and bickering within the boys was deafening. No one seemed to have any recollection of taking the dagger back to their place, nor did they express any want for it. It seemed that Viserys left one last act of messing with his kids’ lives, a ghostly imbecilic stunt, especially when Daemon was threatening to sue for inheritance theft. 

Beside you, an anxious Helaena was biting her lip as you both watched the three sons butt heads in finding the culprit. The urge to spit out the truth was palpable, emanating from her slouched, mohair-sweater-adorned body as your eyes widened in realization. One worried look from her and you understood. After all, she was your best friend, you knew her like the back of your hand. 

“Okay! It was me!”

The arguments ceased at her exclaim, three and a half pairs of eyes turning to stare at her instantaneously. No one opened their mouth to voice their frustration, not when it came to Helaena. Alicent’s only girl rubbed a hand over her face in angst, fidgeting on the island’s bar stool as they all awaited her explanation. “I found it in Dad’s study when I was looking for the taxidermy beetles he used to have. It was on the shelf… and nobody put a sticker on it so I didn’t know!”

“That’s because Daemon’s made it pretty clear it was his since the dawn of time, big sis,” Daeron replied, scratching the back of his neck as they all pondered on what to do. 

“Why’d you even want this old thing, Hel? It’s ugly as shit,” Aegon commented, flipping the dagger on the counter with a frown on his face. 

Another frustrated groan left her lips, face planting on her arms while you tried to soothe her, shooting a warning look at the three boys still standing around the table. “I thought it was kinda nice to have! Like, you know… for charcuterie and stuff!”

“Well, why can’t you guys just talk to Daemon about it? It was an honest mistake! He won’t send his own family to jail… right?” you suggested, flashing a lighthearted smile that went unreciprocated by the four silverheads around you. Frankly, your words failed to convince yourself too, because if there was one thing you learned in the years you’ve spent with the Targaryens, it was that nothing ever got fixed with a simple conversation. They were all quick to anger, jumping at the first chance to butt heads when it presented itself. This was going to be tricky.

A resounding buzz from the unit’s intercom cut through the worried tension within the group, your stress multiplying when the snobby voice of Jason Lannister reverberated from the tiny box.

“Good morning, this is Jason Lannister, a detective with the KLPD. I am here on request by Mr. Daemon Targaryen for an item he claims to have been stolen from your father’s penthouse. Your unit will be the first to be searched, I appreciate your cooperation.”

Seven Hells, of course, they were first. The Hightower side of the family definitely wasn’t Daemon’s favorite bunch, and there was no doubt that there was a huge possibility he could sniff them out in no time. Chaos ensued almost immediately, a mirrored panic prompting everyone in the house to look for ways to dispose of the damned knife. 

“Throw it in the trash!” Daeron suggested, opening the lid to the bin. Aegon, already perspiring down his forehead, shook his head vehemently.

“No, wait! Don’t let me see where you’ll hide it! The moment he comes in here, I’ll just yell trash!” he rambled, promptly covering his eyes with a hand and turning his back away. Gods, the pit stains on his shirt were already growing darker with sweat. Gross.

“Why don’t we just throw it out the window?” you pointed out, jabbing a thumb to the open window behind you. Helaena and Daeron both nod in agreement, voicing their thoughts on the idea.

“And stab someone in the brain on its way down? Not necessarily making it better for us,” Aemond grumbled, clearly the most stressed among the group. His good eye waved across the space frantically, thinking of ways of an alibi. There was no doubt the search would be thorough, and he wouldn’t put it past Daemon to order for their whole place to be turned upside down in the process. There was no way they could hide in their apartment, unless… 

The idea hit him like a brand-new light bulb, his features brightening as he contemplated. “What if,” he started, rubbing his chin in thought at such a bold plan. “What if we hide it at mum’s place?”

“Are you insane?! You’re seriously going to pin this on our own mother?” Daeron questioned, his eyes wide with bewilderment at his brother’s plan. It was a shitty plan, but they were running out of options.

“She’s at the lake house until Sunday, and they can’t search without a warrant if they don’t have her consent. We’ll just use the keys she gave us, keep it there, and when the whole thing blows over, we’ll secretly put it back in the penthouse,” Aemond explained, waving his hands around wildly. It was clear he didn’t agree with this plan either, but it was better than throwing the knife out and landing it on someone’s skull on accident. “If they find it there, we’ll ask Nyra for help. We’ll just have to trust whatever gross girl crush feelings she has left for Mum. She can deal with Daemon, can’t she?”

You all looked at each other, contemplating. Daemon hasn’t had a judge issue a warrant yet, so her unit won’t be searched while she’s still out of town with Criston and her brother, Gwayne. It was tricky… but it was plausible. Another buzz from the lobby urged you to decide faster, but as no one seemed to think of a better option it was determined. 

With a silent agreement from everyone, Aemond nodded, before taking the catspaw dagger and placing it in an old shoebox. He fished the keys his mother gave him, before disappearing out the front door. In the meantime, Daeron buzzed the detective into the building, while you and Helaena fixed up the damp, clammy mess that was Aegon. 

“I can’t handle this,” he whined, chest heaving. You were coaching him on what to say in case The Lion asked him anything, but his tongue was all in a twist from how anxious he was. Turning him around by the shoulders, a prominent sweat stain the size of Dorne covered the entire backside of his sleep shirt. Why the hell was his eye twitching so much?

“Oh my gods, you’re a mess! Here,” his sister urged, handing him the oversized, clunky sweater she had knit him for his birthday earlier this year. It was a bright yellow, with a forest green cartoon dragon embroidered on its chest, and fell just around mid-thigh. Helaena turned to you, exchanging a twin look of concern at the sight of him. Skin flushed, greasy, silver locks stuck to his forehead, clad in a bright sweater in the middle of summer. He kind of looked like the Michelin man in boxers.

“Relax, you’re going to be fine! We’re all going to be fine, right?” you reassured the room with a light tone of confidence, though the squeak in your voice all told them otherwise.

The longer Aemond took to return, things were starting to feel less fine. 

Sat on the couch tightly together, you all were stiff as cardboard as The Lion explained the customary steps of a search. Your eyes shifted to the door every minute, anxiously waiting for your boyfriend to return. None of you were suited to face a man like Jason Lannister, whose eyes studied all of you like a predator waiting to prowl. “This isn’t a formal search, since, of course, your uncle has been issued a warrant by a judge yet. But since all tenants of the home are here, consent can be authori—”

“Brogues!” Aegon suddenly shouted, prompting all eyes to turn to him. Jason tilted his head in confusion, and all three of you resisted the urge to bury your heads into your hands. “Uh, y-you’re wearing brogues,” he said, clearing his throat. A shaky finger pointed at the decorated, brown leather shoes adorning The Lion’s feet, followed by an attempt at a nonchalant smile that looked more like a grimace. You subtly pinched his thigh, silently urging him to get it together. 

“Hm? Oh, yes! Thank you for noticing them, Mr. Targaryen,” Lannister replied, a tinge of bafflement still decorating his tone. “Anyway, as I was saying…” He continued to explicate the procedure, pulling out a small notepad and a pen from his pocket before beginning his search. 

Before he could start, the front door opened to reveal Aemond, who was unaware of the presence of an officer of the law standing in the middle of the living room. His hand ran through the messed up strands of his hair, while his mouth also ran a mile a minute blindly. “Okay, I know that took so long but the twins were on the elevator and I had to take the sta–” Springing up from your seat, you cut your boyfriend’s words off by slamming your lips onto his to shut him up. You might have exaggerated the kiss to keep it believable, but it took Aemond a second to piece two and two together when you pulled away.

“Detective Lannister, this is my boyfriend, Aemond, who just came from, uh, the gym.” The Lion’s brows furrowed at your words, blue orbs flickering to the Adidas slides the silver-haired man was clearly not wearing to lift weights at the gym. Aemond cleared his throat, composing himself, before straightening his back to stand taller.

“Yes, I like to run… barefoot. Better for your feet!” he lied, throwing you a look that made you smile at him sheepishly for such a terrible excuse. Things were going south at a breakneck speed, and would only continue to go downhill when The Lion announced he would begin his search.

The detective soon pulled on a pair of latex gloves, taking nearly an hour to examine each nook and cranny of your home. Drawers were pulled open, rooms examined and closets bared, the dagger was nowhere to be found. Relief started to waft through the four-bedroom apartment, but your success was shortlived when the blonde Lannister soon announced that after his search he would all question you individually, starting with Aegon.

Shit.

The sound of the bedroom door closing almost had the eldest collapsing, body seriously overheating in a mix of dread and fear as Lannister stood before him.

“Now, Aegon. I know you have seen this dagger in your dad’s home before he passed. I want you to tell me everything you know that could help with finding it,” he said. Aegon racked his brain to think of a lie, any lie, but his tongue refused to utter any word that held no ounce of the truth of the heirloom’s actual whereabouts. He recalled the stuff you had taught him to say.

I haven’t seen it since I was a kid, detective.

I’m pretty sure Daemon already has the dagger.

I don’t know.

“I wear latex gloves on my feet once a week to moisturize them.”

The words left his mouth before he could stop them, but his brain refused to stop wiring out actual truths about himself in an attempt to sway the detective’s attention away from the topic at hand. “I had my first kiss at a movie theater when I was 15. We were watching Forrest Gump, and I was snoggin’ all three hours of that film. It was awesome,” he continued, letting out a small chuckle at the memory. The Lion’s brows must be stuck in its furrowed state now, with the absolute nonsense that greeted him the moment he stepped foot into their door.

“What are you talking about?’ the detective asked in absolute bewilderment.

“I’ve had a lot of sex. A lot. I’ve probably gotten a lot of girls pregnant, for all I know. Oh! You wanna see my son Jaehaerys? He just turned five!” Aegon had reached into his pocket to grab his phone, but Lannister had thrown up his hands in exasperation with a sigh. 

“Okay! I think I’m all done here. I will have to take a look at your mother’s place after this.”

“Y-you can’t do that, she isn’t home!” Aegon stammered, panicking at the prospect that their strategy was going to fail and their mother would be locked behind bars for their mistake. 

 “Oh no, I was informed just this morning that she was on her way back.”

With his words, Aegon just about fainted the moment The Lion swung the door open to leave his room.

You couldn’t have imagined things taking a turn for the worse, but it most certainly did tenfold. Alicent had barely set her Louis Vuitton weekender bag down before The Lion was already prowling through her home, with a displeased Daemon Targaryen arriving to keep a close watch. If Viserys’ brother was suspicious of his nephews and niece stealing his heirloom, he was especially convinced that their mother would have it. You all stood in her kitchen holding your breaths; an anxious, huddled mess silently praying to whatever being in the sky that nothing would be found. Even Nyra had made her way to her estranged friend’s unit, voicing her belief that Alicent would not have taken the catspaw dagger. 

Your prayers went unanswered when The Lion emerged from Alicent’s walk-in closet, carrying an old Ferragamo shoebox that contained the hefty, Valyrian steel weapon. Daemon’s chuckle was as wicked as a witch’s, clearly triumphant with finding something to penalize his brother’s widow.

“This is absurd! I did not take that thing from the penthouse, or anything at all!” was Alicent’s defense, but Daemon was having none of it.

“Oh save it, Alicent. You couldn’t wait to get your hands on my brother’s possessions after he’s left you so little, could you, red?” he sneered, pointing an accusing hand into the woman’s face. Criston Cole pushed Alicent behind his back in defense, puffing his chest menacingly to dare Daemon to try anything. Yells and insults echo throughout the apartment, with threats of jail time thrown about to make things worse.

“This is bad, this is bad,” Daeron muttered, biting his fingernails down to stubs as he watched on. You turned to Aemond, whose good eye was widened to the size of a dinner plate as he watched his plan turn to shit.

“Do something,” you urged him, pulling on his wrist. He was stuck in place, mouth gaping like a fish.

“I…” he stuttered.

“I can’t take it anymore, I’ll just come clean,” Helaena spoke up, stepping away to admit her fault. Before she could voice her guilt, the sound of a steel handcuffs being unhinged was a shrill noise, and with it, a sweaty Aegon broke out into a sob.

“No, Mummy!” 

In a blink, he crossed the room to cling to his mother, shielding him away before the detective could put her in cuffs. Alicent’s face broke out into a look of surprise, then to disgust at the damp hold her son had her in. 

“Mister Targaryen, I’m going to have to ask you to step aside,” Jason ordered. Aegon looked at his siblings, a shocked Aemond, an anxious Daeron, then to a guilty Helaena. With a sigh, the eldest stood straight, swallowing down his pride and mustering his courage. 

“It was me,” he lied, taking everyone in the room in shock at his admittance. “I took it because… I wanted something of Dad’s to remember him by. I mean, Nyra, you got everything else, I thought it didn’t matter if I took something smaller like this. I was just keeping it safe in Mum’s closet.”

You exchanged a look of surprise with the siblings, somehow feeling impressed at his display. The execution was flawless, and it even had their half-sister wearing a look of guilt at his words. Aegon dropped to the floor, stomach down onto the carpet with his hands behind his back, despite the look of perplexion around the room.

“Alright, officer. Take me downtown to the pound. I only hope my end will be kind.”

“I can’t believe Aeg’s sweaty ass got us out of trouble, even guilt-tripped Nyra to hell,” Daeron snickered, before taking a swig of his beer. The sun was only beginning to set, the remnants of the midsummer breeze carrying a tinge of humidity in the night air. You all lounged about the rooftop, passing around ice-cold beers while Aemond was manning the barbeque. 

After the whole ordeal, Rhaenyra managed to talk their uncle out of wanting to sue Aegon. With hushed whispers and an oddly intimate caress on Daemon’s cheek, their brother was free to go. His little speech made her feel bad for him, and frankly, everyone else was more than over dealing with his anxious, sweaty mess. The Lion soon left their mother’s apartment, Daemon had his dagger back, and Alicent showed her thanks over a bottle of wine with Rhaenyra along with some other activities their kids didn’t want to start imagining.

“For what it’s worth, I’m proud of myself for doing the impossible today. I think I make a pretty convincing liar,” Aegon said, wearing a proud look on his face. The second son scoffed at his words, approaching the table with a plate of grilled meats. He took his seat at the edge of the lounge bed you were lying on, stealing a swig of your beer.

“Congratulations. You have as much willpower as the two-year-old daughter you’ve forgotten about,” your boyfriend snorted, before being tackled off his ass and onto the ground by the eldest. You watched on in amusement, shaking your head at their antics.

You’ve learned many things in your time with the Targaryens, but one thing was always for sure, there was never a dull moment with any of them.

[charliemwrites]

хозяин

Nobody. You wish it weren’t so apt. But he’s not a person, not anything of Earth.

Content: Dub-Con, Biting, Scratching, Exhibitionism, Possessive Behavior, Toxic Behavior

You must have pissed something off in a past life. Or they’re planning on giving you something really good in the next one. Because this… this is too much. He’s too much.

We are exactly right for you, khozyain.

It’s not just the taste of leather and oil on the back of your tongue each morning. Or the crimson smears on your sheets before bed. You could live with the shit sleep, the centuries of foreign memories, and the occasional hankering for raw meat that thins your appetite to nothing.

“You’re KorTac’s best operative?”

It’s a question you’ve heard a dozen times before – and will likely hear a dozen times more. The criticism is valid. You’re not an imposing figure; nothing impressive about you. Look more like a child in a Halloween costume than anything resembling a soldier. The question never bothers you because the unofficial title is as ill-fitting as the gun strapped to your thigh.

It’s not you they need to worry about bothering.

“We are. Problem, soldat?”

“There’s no problem, Nikto,” you answer in Sebastian Krueger’s place.

No, Krueger is too busy wondering where the big, dark figure behind your shoulder just came from. He could have sworn you stepped out of the transport alone. In broad daylight, no less. (That doesn’t mean there aren’t shadows.)

Nikto grunts, nearly tripping you with how closely he walks, toes of his boots nipping at the heels of yours. A stride twice the length of your own but doggedly following, not leading.

“Thought there was only one ‘a ya,” Declan O’Conor muses.

“Paperwork issue,” you lie, smiling.

Nikto grunts, pressing into your back as you stop in front of your temporary captain. You have to brace against his oppressive weight, feel yourself flush a bit when you don’t quite manage.

“Who’re you, then?” Declan asks, eyes on your shadow.

“Nikto,” comes the gruff reply.

Nobody.

You wish it weren’t so apt.

But he’s not a person, not anything of Earth. You don’t know if he ever was; he never gives you a straight answer when you pluck up the courage (or frustration) to ask. Last time, he told you that if he ever wanted to feel human, he’d just be inside you. (You’d flushed, didn’t know if he meant in your mind, where he often takes up unwanted residence, or… elsewhere. Couldn’t make yourself ask him to clarify, afraid of the answer. Jumped whenever he touched you for a week.)

You don’t know the exact bounds of this pact either. He listens to you only sometimes. When it suits him – or when it least suits you. And you’re not immune to his cruelty either, as the bruises and bitemarks and scratches can attest. Nothing like the romanticized crossroads deals you see in tv shows and movies.

Truthfully, you’re not even sure if he’s a punishment for you or if you’re a reward for him. What’s that line you read online once? Dog heaven is squirrel hell. Did he make a deal with you, or did he make a deal with something else, and you’re just collateral?

You never bother to ask. He’ll just click his forked tongue and tell you that it won’t get rid of him either way. The worst part is that he’ll be right. You’re pretty sure the Christian God as you know Him has nothing to do with any of this.

The mission doesn’t matter, not really. You only listen for objectives. Whoever needs killing, whatever information needs gathering, wherever the hostages are. The rest is all useless extra, so much noise to Nikto, not even listening. He’s too busy bullying his way between your thighs, sinking his teeth into the meat through your cargos.

You’re never sure if he’s visible or the other operatives just avoid looking at him in these moments. Regardless, you flush and kick at him when his jaw locks too hard. It’ll bruise livid and ugly, and he’ll fuck the head of his cock into the aching ring of teeth prints left behind.

He’s insistent when the briefing is over, riled up by the promise of bloodshed. Pushy and growling, nearly snapping through his “mask” as he herds you like a rabid shepherd to your temporary quarters.

He fucks you in the doorway though, using one thick arm to bounce you like a personal fleshlight. The other keeps your jaw forced open so he can spit and lick into your mouth, obscene and filthy.

You push and squirm, but he just laughs that awful, maniacal rattle and grinds your clit into his pelvis. Until you start to mean it when you whimper “no” and “stop.” It always makes him cum so hard that you taste ichor in the back of your throat.

It’s too much to hope that you’ll eat in the mess hall uninterrupted. Nikto’s presence attracts the worst, and Krueger is compelled to pick at the weakness you exude. It’s no question that he’s a bigger, stronger, meaner beast than you. But like a dying soldier left to scream in the field, there’s a muzzle hidden out of sight, awaiting whatever is lured in – for mercy or to feast.

Krueger takes the seat across from you, one of his boots landing heavy and threatening on top of yours. You eat quietly, picking at your mashed potatoes and rubbery chicken. Listen to him jab and jeer.

Nikto is there but he’s not. He’s laughing in your ear at all the true but derisive things Krueger is taunting you with. All the sins he boasts of and the reactions he takes as proof of your inadequacy for the assignment you’ve been brought for. It would hurt more of you didn’t know it was true – and if your nerves weren’t rattling.

There’s a line, always a line. Some fault hidden beneath the surface that you don’t see until the ground splits and swallows up the unfortunate soul above.

This time, it’s a comment about how much more useful you’d be as a cockwarmer.

The plastic fork is an inch from his eye by the time you finish blinking.

“Nikto, stop!”

It snaps in his tight fist – but stops. Krueger hasn’t even processed how close he was to losing half his sight before you’re yanking Nikto back by the straps. He’s growling, snarling, half-crazed over a comment he’s made himself. You abandon your mostly full tray and the table altogether, putting all your weight and strength into dragging him from the cafeteria.

“Calm down, that’s enough!” you shout over the animalistic sounds ripping from his throat.

He turns on you instead. Pins you to the wall just outside, in full view of anyone passing on their way to dinner.

“Mine, mine, mine,” he’s chanting. Ripping through your pants (that’s the second pair this week) and thrusting against the seam of your ass. Already leaking precum from an obsidian tip at the small of your back, the corpse-pale base nestled between your cheeks. If he had the coordination through the frenzy, he’d stuff it into you dry and tight. As it is, it’s all he can do to buck against you, fingers digging divots into the cement wall, dust raining down on your face.

Mine, mine, mine, he chants inside your skull in languages known and unknown. You’re leaking through your underwear, too overwhelmed and bewildered to be anything but turned on. Fear is synonymous with attraction, those two wires soldered together and circuited to your pussy.

Copper fills your nose, warmth drips down your lips. Nikto scents it like a hound, yanks your head back to lap at the blood, groaning into your mouth.

Yours, yours, yours as his cock splutters against your spine, too hot. Tingly, almost caustic. You can barely breathe and he’s hauling you over one big shoulder, scooping your slick to prod at the hole he was just grinding against.

Us as you’re pinned with nowhere to go and no voice to praise or protest. In a room darker than a void. Suspended on an endless continuum of pleasure and pain, phantom claws raking your skin and phantom mouths filling whatever holes his cock isn’t occupying.

Sometimes you wonder if the plural “we” and “us” he tends to use is in reference to you and him, or…

The mission is going to be a success, it always is. You separate from the rest of the KorTac squad, shooing Nikto’s hands out from under your shirt. The claw marks still sting; the sooner you can get out of tac gear, the better.

He cracks his neck as the two of you approach the infil point. It sounds like snapping bone. A crescent moon carves into the night sky, sharp enough to cut yourself on.

“Is it time, khozyain?”

Those cajoling whispers caress your ears again. To let him run rampant, to let him fill your bath with blood. He’d be a scourge on the earth if you let him, a one-man apocalypse. The death of the world for a slip of the tongue.

Your hold on his leash is so tight that it’s imprinted past the skin, down into muscle. But on nights like tonight, for things like this… you let out the lead.

“Stay clear of Point B,” you remind into your com.

“Roger,” all others agree.

If they know what’s good for them, they’ll abide by the plan like holy writ. Not even you can promise their lives if they stray.

Shadow looms behind you, grows with each beat of your heart, spills over your shoulders, threads down your arms. You don’t dare glance at the inhuman head hovering right by yours, the maw parting for vicious, pearlescent teeth and pooling saliva. Hungry. Starving.

“Nikto.”

A rolling, ravenous churr vibrates through your skull. The lowest windows of your target begin to crack.

“Hunt.”

[storieswithvenus]

Feeling Forgotten - Tyler Owens x Fem!Storm Chaser Reader

°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･ 𝘷𝘦𝘯𝘶𝘴 𝘴𝘱𝘦𝘢𝘬𝘴

hey! this is the longest ever fic i have ever wrote so i hope it’s good lmao. if you have any suggestions on how to make it better please do comment or send me a message. this one will contain some nsfw content so

TWs: allusions to cheating, flashbacks to sex, use of Y/N, somewhat of an insecure reader but not massively i think, angst, cocky reader at some points

please comment if i have missed any warnings, anyways enjoy!! ᡣ𐭩ྀིྀི

word count; 1843

.*･｡ﾟ☆ﾟ.*･｡ﾟ

You watch as your boyfriend Tyler, walks over towards the young blonde woman who had suddenly turned up with Javi, another storm chaser from another group. You couldn’t help but glare over at the sight of your boyfriend smiling down at her, your fists clenching as you watched her smile up at him.

“You’re gonna break your knuckles if you keep clenching them that tight, love”, a voice from beside you speaks, looking to your left to see your best friend Lilly smiling at you sympathetically. “I just don’t understand why he was so drawn to her when we first pulled in, Lills, I really don’t get it,” your tone soft, a frown forming on your face as your shoulders slump down with a mix of confusion and insecurity.

“Do not be getting soft on me now girl, you are THE tornado wrangler's girlfriend, and from what he has told us all, his future wife! So why are you doubting that? Has he given you something to ever question his love for you?” Her voice was sharp, full of questions as she tried to pry the answers out of you, not because she was mad at you, but because she knew how much you truly love him and how much you want a life with him. Lilly had been the one to begrudgingly listen to all the plans you have for yourself and Tyler in the next 5 years.

Firstly; get engaged, then have a small ceremony in your shared hometown, buy a house then have kids.

You feel yourself smile slightly at her constant questions, turning your head back to look at the sight of your boyfriend patting this woman’s shoulder as he made his way over to you. “Can I share a room with you tonight, Lills?”, you ask her with puppy dog eyes. “Y/n, of course you ca-“, she didn’t have time to finish the rest of her sentence before you walked away from her and your boyfriend who was quickly closing in on you two with a bright smile on his face. Tyler catches up to the spot you just stood on, watching as your silhouette walks away to the back of the jeep.

“Is she okay? She hasn’t come to speak to me since we got here.” Tyler looks over towards Lilly, a slight frown on his face, before quickly watching as you grab your duffle bag out of the trunk of the car and set it on the floor. Lilly (again) didn’t have time to finish her sentence before your boyfriend was quickly over beside you, reaching down to grab your bag as he slings it over his shoulder.

You roll your eyes slightly as you roughly close the trunk of the red jeep before turning to him and grabbing the bag off his shoulder. Tyler is quick to stop you by grabbing onto the bag and pulling it back onto his shoulder once more, “Baby, what’s going on? You always let me carry your bags to the motel room? Have I done something?” His voice is slightly shaken and soft, trying to keep the volume as low as possible so that nobody can hear your conversation. You roughly grab the bag off his shoulder and hoist it onto your shoulder, “Why don’t you go see what that new girl wants, huh? Might need a strong man to bring her bag to her room.” Shoving past him, and walking toward Lilly who was waiting for you with her key, leaving your boyfriend behind you, confused as ever.

*ੈ✩‧₊˚༺☆༻*ੈ✩‧₊˚

“You are taking the fucking piss right, Boone?” your blood boiling as you find out that your boyfriend had driven hours away to see this new girl Kate who had apparently left in a hurry after an argument with Javi. Standing up from the edge of your bed you run your hands through your hair. “Y/n, listen he wanted me to tell you-“ he began. “Tell me what? He ran off to see this fucking girl he’s know, what? 3 days? Oh yeah, thanks for the heads up, really appreciate it.” Your eyes glared into him, letting out a groan as he sat there silently looking around at your other friends in the room. You walk into the bathroom and slam the door behind you, due to it being an older motel you were staying at - the slam of the door nearly took it off the hinges.

Turning on the cold tap and splashing your face with the water as you try and calm yourself. Splashing your face a few times before looking up to see yourself in the mirror. Quite frankly, you didn’t look your best. You had been so tired the last few nights due to the early starts with tornados touching down at 5am. Your eyes had black bags under them, your lips were severely chapped, and your hair had at least 3 days of grease still in it. Taking a deep sigh, you reach to the bottom of your shirt, taking it off, and throwing it on the floor. Unclasping your bra, undoing the zip on your jeans pulling down your underwear, and throwing it all onto your shirt, leaving a pile on the corner of the bathroom. Turning around to the shower, reaching over the side of the tub, and turning it on. Grabbing all the essentials you need from your wash bag you had left in the bathroom next to Lillys’.

The water was a nice heat when you got inside the tub, pulling the heist curtain to cover yourself in case someone was to walk in and see you. Putting your head under the shower head and letting the water drench your hair, moving it around slightly to make sure every area was covered. You reach for your shampoo as your mind runs wild at what your boyfriend could be doing with her right now.

Could he be touching her like how he touches you? Could he have his head between her legs and please her how he pleases you? Have his cock in her and watch her face as she enjoys it? You don’t even realize how aggressively you are rubbing the shampoo into your hair, nearly scratching your scalp. Rinsing the shampoo out of your hair as you sigh, trying to fight away the images in your head of him and her, could he really do that to you after 3 years of dating?

Reaching over for your conditioner as you open the bottle, squeezing some out into your hand and rubbing it onto the end of your hair. Leaving it to set in your hair, you reach over to your loofah and squeeze your vanilla-scented body wash all over it, as you start to rub the loofah all over your body - the image of your boyfriend and you in the shower together engulfs your head.

His head lay in the crook of your shoulder, one of his hands holding your waist and the other playing with your nipple between his index and middle fingers, sometimes squeezing it slightly. Your head flew back as you let out a soft moan into his ear, your hand reaching and grabbing onto his forearm as you tried to balance yourself. His low chuckle surrounds the room, letting go of your nipple and trailing down towards the spot you wanted him the most, and just as he was about to reach there-

3 loud bangs are heard on the bathroom door pulling you out of your state of imagination, “Y/n/n, are you okay? I’m sorry for not telling you where he was going, I really am. You’ve been in there for like half an hour, please come out” Boone shouts through the door, his hand continuously banging in the door. “YEAH! I'm okay, I’ll be out now”, you shout back as you rinse the condition out of your hair and the body washes off your body, ignoring the pulsing feeling between your legs.

Pulling the shower curtain out of the road and reaching for your towel, wrapping it around your body you walk towards the door and open it, Boone is standing waiting for you with a sorry look on his face. “Please don’t be mad at me”, he looks into your eyes, which are full of regret and pain. You smile at him slightly, “I’m not mad at you dude, I’m just upset that’s all.” You reason with him, holding onto his shoulder, “he will just have to answer a fuck ton of questions when he gets back.”

*ੈ✩‧₊˚༺☆༻*ੈ✩‧₊˚

You had been sitting in your room all day trying to map out the best mother storms for you and the team to follow when Tyler gets back when there is a soft knock on your door. Getting up and opening the door, “Dexter, really, I am not hungry, I don’t want any lunch.” you look up expecting to see your loveable older friend standing there however, standing there was your boyfriend with a bunch of tulips in his hand and a box of chocolates.

“I’m sorry for leaving, pretty girl,” his voice was full of love, “It was a really stupid thing to do and I should’ve consulted you on the matter before I ran off after her”. Moving to the side to let him into the room, you shut the door behind him.

“Yeah you really should have consulted me about it”, your voice sharp and full of anger, not daring to walk over towards him. He sighs, placing your flowers and chocolates on the messy bed you were just sitting in, walking towards you slowly. “I already know how you’re feeling my love, Lilly got a lot of shouting in when I first got back, I’m sorry I made you feel that way”, his hands placed on your waist as he looks down at you, “I didn’t bring her back if that’s what you are wondering, I told her I had to get back to see my lady.” You lean into him and wrap your arms around his neck and you lay your head on his shoulder, he pulls you closer and runs his finger up and down your spine.

“I love you,” his voice whispered, “I know you’re mad at me, and you have the right to be, but it’s always gonna be you baby, forever and always you”. You pull back away from him to look into his light green eyes, a cocky tone in your voice, “You know, saying sorry won’t make me forgive you that easily, along with flowers and chocolates.” His eyebrow raises at your words, quickly replaced with a smirk and he quickly lifts you up bridal style walking towards Lilly’s bed. “You don’t think she will mind if we use her bed, right?” He asks you in a playful tone before laying you down on the bed.

“I guess we will have to see, won't we?” You reply back as you pull him on top of him attaching your lips to his.

[hauntedjellyfishwitch-blog]

Too Far.

Summary: He's like a wounded animal when he's angry, lashing out when he feels cornered. He's gone too far this time, snapped and said something he definitely didn't mean, so now he has to fix it.

Pairing: Daryl Dixon x Reader (No use of Y/N)

TW: Fighting. Daryl is a dick, but not really, but also he is. Apologetic!Daryl. Alexandria Era. Sex.

A/N: Inspired by an excellent post by @love-norman which I'll link in the comments. I wasn't sure if you were okay with smut, so there's a fairly brief mention of sex but nothing overly explicit.

-

He’s a surprisingly effective communicator, once she can convince him to talk more and with enough time to work out exactly what ticks and grunts mean what. Daryl Dixon’s entire bag is self-sacrifice, so if he can assume that she needs him to tell her what’s going on in the always too busy head of his, he can do that for her without much care for how it impacts him. It’s not his most healthy coping mechanism but it certainly isn’t his worst and the reward? Oh, the reward is sweet. The reward is comfort and kindness and being held; being loved. What’s a moment of discomfort for a lifetime of her?

He's had to practice letting his walls down, slowly but surely since he met her, all the while failing to realise she was just digging her way underneath them. She didn’t ever pry, not really, not in any way that felt invasive, but she’d patiently wait him out; ask the question quietly, softly, and let him linger in the comfortable silence until he chose to answer back. Sometimes she’d work out the information without his need to speak at all; it happened the moment he realised he was fucked, that he was absolutely, irrefutably hers. She’d worked out exactly who he was as a person and he’d barely sad a word.

He’s attentive, and whilst that shocks him it comes as no surprise to anyone around him. He has spent his life fearing that he is exactly who he feared, but those who are lucky enough to consider themselves, correctly or not, close to Daryl never fear for much but his wellbeing. That he is a careful, thoughtful and tender partner surprises nobody but him. That’s not to say they don’t argue, the end of the world comes with its own set of tensions even without the usual relationship concerns, but he’s learnt not to bite first.

-

He shouldn’t have drunk anything, in hindsight, they’re both in bad shape, overwrought and under-fed and they shouldn’t have been at a fucking party, of all places. He definitely shouldn’t have had the four glasses of scotch Reg offered him on a mostly empty stomach. He can’t get used to the Alexandria walls, the houses he never could have afforded to breathe near let alone buy, the soft comforts he’d never had even before the end of the world. He’s never been to a party that hasn’t had a piss-stained couch or an overly full ashtray.

“You know that’s bullshit, Daryl, you’re being ridiculous!” She yells, firmly back in their own living room after he’d practically stormed out of Deanna’s. One minute they’re in full swing, standing talking about vacations from the old days with some new faces, the next his hand is dropping from around her waist and thudding from the front door like she’d said, ‘fuck off’ rather than the word ‘Canada’. He’d slammed the door behind them and snarled about how he would have embarrassed her and her fancy fucking vacations in ‘the real world’.

“Lil’ miss travel abroad and see th’ world cause she’s better than Daryl fuckin’ Dixon”

“What? That’s not-“

“I’m jus’ an idiot redneck with nothin’ an’ you’re this smart chick who saw the world, I get it, I ain’t dumb, th’ fuck would ya have wanted wit’ me?”

Her heart would shatter for him if she wasn’t seething quite so much, the sheer desperation in his words at odds with the tension in his body, clenched hands dragging through his finally clean hair. His eyes are stinging and he absolutely refuses to cry, has never gotten over thinking it makes him weak even when he feels weak.

“Daryl, what the fuck? Why are you being such an asshole?“

“Shut up, always yappin’ about stupid shit, fuckin’ hate ya sometimes!”

He turns quickly, wants to throw something, wants to scream, broad shoulders and harsh angles and all the wind leaves his body when he sees her flinch away from him. She’s cowers backwards, he feels like he’s going to be sick, body collapsing in on itself as he feels the anger leave his bones, replaced with ice laced panic. For a second, a horrifying second that feels ten times as long, he’s his old man. Shitfaced and angry with a glass in hand and if he had a mirror, he knows exactly whose face he’d see staring back at him.

“I would never hurt ya” he whispers, voice low and so broken, full of conviction as his breath hitches in the middle and crumbles at the end and she’d hug him if she wasn’t so shell shocked. Neither of them move for a beat, standing stock still as he trails his eyes over her, clocks the way her gaze refuses to lift to meet his. He can’t breathe. The room is too small for everything he’s feeling, like the walls are inching close and closer and the air is getting less. He tries to move like lightning but his whole body feels sluggish and slow as he inches past her and out the front door, flinching as it closes behind him and he wanders out into the street. He stares back at the house for a moment before deciding he needs a walk to clear his head.

When he comes back she’s sitting on the couch waiting for him, thumbs twiddling, head still down and worry eating her alive. He eases the door shut behind him, loud enough to tell her he’s home but soft enough to show he’s not mad. He wishes a door could convey remorse but it’s taken him long enough to be able to do it with words he doubts a block of wood would be able to in the timeframe he needs. He shucks off his boots, realising he shouldn’t have been wearing them in the house in the first place.

The fresh air has cooled his body enough that he feels less of the alcohol circulating around his system. He tries not to squeeze the flowers he’d plucked from the bush outside Aaron’s place as he stands with his back against the wood.

“’M sorry” he whispers before clearing his throat and repeating it at a higher volume. She turns her face towards him, looking at him over her shoulder. The anger is gone from her face, replaced with a dwelling worry that spikes at him, makes him replay his words over and over.

“What did I do?”

“Nothin’” he insists quickly, pauses before he realises he should say more, that she sometimes needs him to say more, they’ve talked about this “Ya didn’t, I promise”

“I’m sorry”

That does it, rips him from his safe haven by the door because he can’t stand the thought that she deserved anything he said to her, that she���d said anything wrong when he knows she hadn’t. Talking at a party, about stupid old-world stuff whilst her spare, wine glass free hand kept his back warm. She hadn’t said a damn thing wrong, and he’d scared her.

He strides over to the couch, coming round to kneel in front of her. He places the somewhat squashed flowers on the couch cushion next to her. He hovers a hand above her knee, placing it gently on the fabric of her dress when she doesn’t flinch away at the sight. He doesn’t want her to flinch ever again.

“Dun’ apologise to me when ya ain’t done nothin’ wrong”

“I’m so-“

“Dun’ ever apologise to me when i’s my fault. ‘S my shit an’ I shouldn’t take it out on ya”

She knows he loves her, has proven it time and time again, has put his body in front of hers in the face of almost certain death, would protect her with his last breath, would love her with it. But she knows she’ll never be able to unhear it, that some things you can’t take back, that she’ll always wonder, just a little bit if its true. Logic and love are very rarely intertwined.

“Okay”

He can still hear his fathers words ringing in his head, he knows, more than most, the power that words hold over people. He tries not to say anything he doesn’t mean, and he’ll admit he’s acerbic, pointed sure but never cruel, never unnecessarily unkind. He doesn’t know why tonight was different, but he takes her hands in his, locking his eyes on her so she understands.

“I dun’ get t’ speak t’ ya like that”

“No, you don’t” she agrees, voice firmer, back to her usual tone, the one he’s always loved going hand in hand with the certainty she can hold her own. She pauses, bringing his hands up to press a kiss to his knuckles, soothing because she’s terrified that after all this time, he’s still going to break them by thinking he’s not allowed to claim his hurt “You alright?”

He doesn’t answer, instead sitting back on his feet, raising a small hopeful smile at her.

“Tell me about th’ vacation”

“I don’t-“

“Please. Ya said ya still think ‘bout Canada all th’ time”

He really does want to know, he hadn’t been outside of Georgia before everything went down, and she’s mentioned travel but Canada hadn’t come up; he’s not sure if it was that, that set him off or that he felt inadequate in a room full of people with experiences he never got to have.

“I think it was my favourite trip. Packed a bag and went alone on a whim, found a lake in the forest with a little cabin. Just mountains and trees and lakes. It’s the most peaceful I’ve ever felt. I never wanted to mention it, I know you missed out on so much, but then everyone was talking and I-“

“Nah, go on, ‘S’alright”

“When Reg asked…I was going to say that’s what I picture, when I think of life outside of all of this, me and you in Canada”

“Ya think of that with me?” his voice is low, incredulous awe pulled tight at the edges, he was so busy feeling less than everyone else that he’d missed out on the fact she was thinking of him. She nods, smiling at him, working it out without him needing to say it, figuring out what drove him to snap without asking, under his walls and right in the centre of the internal world he’s built.

“We’d have a house, out near a lake with a wooden porch, and a dog, big scruffy one who likes to catch fish. We’d have coffee together overlooking the water in the morning. You’d work at the local garage, ‘cause you’re good with your hands and tools, wouldn’t have to deal with people all day, fix up all the bikes you’d secretly want...”

He’s staring her at in silence, watching her wistful face glow in the lamplight, he can barely breathe let alone find words knowing that she’s not just dreamt about a life with him, she’s thought it out in detail. He wants it, wants that life with her so badly it aches, thinks it’s the first time he’s wanted anything from life except to get through it.

“I’d work at the bar, play guitar at crappy open mic nights and you’d come for a beer after my shift to walk me home”

He hums, all the response he can manage, guilt chewing at him from the inside, clawing at his mind knowing that he’s taken his own problems out on her, told her he hates her all the while she’s dreaming of something so utterly fucking perfect.

“We’d make dinner together and dance in the living room, go camping at the weekends and make love all night long”

“In another life?” he chuckles, warm and full, knowing he’ll dream about this for the rest of his life.

“In every life…If you’d find me”

“I’d find ya”

-

He runs her a bubble bath, still amazed and confused that he can, that they’ve spent months on the road starving and struggling and here there’s a pantry that has bubble bath. The flowers from Aarons front garden are perched in a glass of water by the bed, the lamps turned off and the doors are locked up as tight as they can be. He’s insistent that he shows his apology, but he’s never had a way to do it outside these walls, nothing beyond words and affection and his experience with what women might like is limited at best.

He stands in the doorway, watching as she wraps herself in a dressing gown. He wonders idly if the amount of love he feels for her could kill him; he feels it so deeply in his bones that he physically isn’t sure it should be able to fit inside of one person. He feels it explode warmth around his body when she shuffles forward to rest her head on his chest.

“You know you don’t have to do all of this? I’m not mad”

Later, when he’s apologised again, reassured her and comforted her and she’s convinced him he’s worth loving in return, he takes them both to bed. Touches her with soft, repentant hands that have always been gentle, hands that are gentle exactly because he knows how dangerous they can be. Atonement seeping from every inch of him as he inches home inside of her, cherishes the contended sigh she lets out at the feel of him. He could never hate her, not even if he tried.

He stills when he bottoms out, rests his forehead against hers as her hips press against his firmly, dragging him as deep as he can go.

“Wha’ ya see in me, anyway?” he whispers against her lips, full of self-doubt.

She looks into him with an intensity that almost hurts, brings her hands to the sides of his face, makes sure he believes her as sincerely as she believes his apology.

“Everything”

[i2sunric]

gynecologist sunghoon who checks up on you and makes you think that the way he touches you is part of his job and that he needs to what the problem is with you down there with touching you like that. reader is naive and nonstop apologizes for moaning and for it making her feel good. eventually she realizes because she can’t be that dumb lmao and they both just enjoy in the end

𝐈𝐍𝐓𝐎 𝐈𝐓 (p.sh)

a/n: let me just make this a drabble cause i don’t have the inspiration to make it long. hope you like it tho <3

“Just relax.” Sunghoon’s voice soothed when you confessed that it was your first time at the gynaecologist “It won’t hurt, I promise.”

You slowly nodded, feeling ever so small and exposed, sitting on the chair “Okay, doc.”

He gave you a sheepish smile and tugged the waistband of your panties “Let me take this off for you, mh?”

You helped him by raising your hips as he slid them off your legs and gently folded onto the table beside you “Now, put your legs here.” He told you as he pointed at the small stands on the chair.

You complied “Good girl.” He murmured and with a knob, he parted your legs until he could rest comfortably between them “Is it okay?”

You took a deep breath and nodded , “Tell me.” Sunghoon’s deep voice made you shiver “It’s okay. You can continue.”

Sunghoon nodded and started the visit, his gaze fell on your pussy and fuck— if it wasn’t the prettiest pussy he’s ever seen.

Seriously, you were so perfect, from the way you squirmed as the cold air of the room hit your sensitive skin to how you seemed so oblivious of it clenching whenever his fingers brushed against it.

“You’re healthy.” He reassured you, watching as your shoulders finally ease, tension slipping out of your body.

“Thank you—“ You were about to say but he cut you in “I need to make some more investigations, is it okay for you?”

You nodded and as you met his dark gaze, you remember you had to tell him “It’s okay.”

“Great.” Sunghoon murmured and slowly brushed his finger against your clit, making your hips jerk at the contact.

“Sorry!” You exclaimed, taken aback by the foreign feeling your body reacted “S’okay.” Sunghoon smirked.

His finger kept brushing against it and he watched as your eyes grew half lidded at the feeling. He slowly gathered your juices “I need to check if it gets wet alright.” He said a shitty excuse and brushed his finger against your sensitive bud once more.

You let out a soft hum, though you weren’t sure if it was for the strange feeling or as a reply.

“Does it feel good?” He questioned, quickening his pace just a little “I need to know.”

He also knew that if someone ever found out what he was doing, he would be fired and maybe sent to court, but how could he resist when you were literally so innocent and oblivious to his nasty acts?

You nodded, your grip on the armchair growing ever so strong when you for the itch to reach for his hair and pull his head close to your pussy “Good.”

“Bet it does.” He tsked and looked up at your beautiful face, the way your eyes struggled to keep open and your mouth fell agape. Cheeks already flushed.

“And this?” Sunghoon asked and slipped one finger inside you, cursing under his breath at how tight you were.

You let out a moan and widened your eyes. You weren’t sure why but you didn’t think that was an appropriate act from Sunghoon.

“D-doc?” You said and moaned out loud when his single digit brushed against a certain spot that had you seeing stars. “Found it.” Sunghoon murmured.

“Doc!” You exclaimed, frustrated with yourself for feeling such strong pleasure “I— I don’t think you should be doing this.”

Of course, you were naive but not stupid.

“No, I shouldn’t.” His finger brushed against your g-spot again “Do you want me to stop.”

You let out a shaky breath, debating your answers. His skilled finger moved inside of you in such a perfect way that you couldn’t even think straight, your mind clouding blissfully.

Nobody had ever touched you that way, and you had only faintly heard about how good sex was. But that was your prepping and if it felt like heaven already, you could only imagine what the afterwards felt like.

“No.” You answered, arching your back in the chair “Don’t stop.”

“Fuck.” Sunghoon cursed at the eagerness in your voice and added a second digit, struggling to even make it fit.

“You’re so tight.” He commented, having to spit on your pussy to make it wetter, so that it wouldn’t hurt to thrust his digits inside of you.

You moaned, head falling back. You felt so full, so good.

“D-doc.” You murmured “Call me Sunghoon.” He demanded and you complied “Sunghoon!”

He felt you clenching around him “Fuck, you’re almost pushing me out at how tight you are.” He bit his bottom lip, feeling his pants growing restrained by the minutes ticking.

“Mh.” You hummed in pleasure, your back arching from the chair “Sunghoon..”

“Yes, Y/N?” He asked and the way his name rolled out of his tongue, so sinful, it made you squeeze your eyes shut.

“Feels funny.” You frowned and Sunghoon chuckled, knowing very well what you meant “Does it, now?”

His fingers rubbed against your spongy walls and thrusted in and out, trying to bring you closer to the edge.

You cried out as you felt a knot tighten in your stomach “Don’t stop.” You panted as pleasure started overtaking your senses.

“I won’t stop.” He reassured “Just let it go, baby.” Your eyes rolled back at his pace quickening, the squelching sounds of your wet pussy filling the whole room.

Fortunately, you were the last patient of the day and no one was most likely to be in the waiting room.

“Cum for me.” At his words your whole body squirmed in the sit, moaning out. Your orgasm washed you in a such a delicious way, little trembles rocked through you.

Sunghoon rode you out of your orgasm, his fingers still slowly moving inside of you until you calmed down and he slipped them out, making you moan at the loss.

He looked at his cum-coated digits and almost came on spot himself. He put them in his mouth and sucked them clean, humming at your sweet feeling.

“You even taste so good, don’t you?” He chuckled and got up, handing you back your panties.

“I told you it wouldn’t hurt.” You nodded, a little sweaty from the act.

Thank you, doc.” You blushed “For everything.”

Sunghoon just smirked at you “I’m looking forward our next meeting, Y/N.”

[thinkinonsense]

i just listened to sabrina's new album and oh my god the song slim pickins is such a song that was written from daydreaming about lumberjack!logan, oh and the recent fic that you reblogged was just so yummy and perfect for that song especially the lyrics "a boy who's jacked and nice" like god having to settle down for less because nobody can be him 😭😭😭 need him expeditiously im afraid

it's slim pickins

lumberjack!logan howlett x fem!reader

cw: yearning!! fluff, tiny nsfw conversation (nothing graphic)

a/n: this request couldn't have come in at a better time because i'm seeing sabrina on opening night of her tour tomorrow night!! <3

masterlist

"am i just destined to be alone forever?"

another friday night in the hole in the wall bar outside of town. another date gone horribly wrong. your question hangs heavy in the air as you gossip to your best friend who's bartending tonight.

"you keep picking douche bags." she answers without missing a beat.

"well, that's fuckin' rude." you slur slightly, sipping on your third fruity drink tonight.

"well, it's fuckin' true." she smiles, looking over your shoulder at a group of men that walked in. "why don't you go talk to one of them? they look hot."

you spin around in your stool to see a group of lumberjack workers. these were the men that you worked with, you can't flirt with them.

"i work with those guys!" you hiss.

"sooo...?" she smirks.

both of you quickly end the conversation with the five guys approach the bar. the last thing you needed was for these guys to see the desperate and pathetic look on your face. quickly, you rummage through your purse for some cash to put down.

"what are you doing here, doll face?" a familiar voice asks.

you look up and see the most handsome of the men, in front of you; logan. twice your size, buff, toned, tan... god, you had such a crush on him. never in a million years would you go after him though, he's too good to want a girl like you. you were just a friend. he make small talk with you, laughed at your jokes, calls you little nicknames, and refills the coffee pot for you but thats what friends do, right?

"oh... um, i'm just-"

"she's been sitting here moaning and bitching to me all night about her horrible date." your best friend smiles then introduces herself to logan with a handshake.

"thanks asshole." you mumble under your breath at her, making logan chuckle.

"tough night?" he asks, looking down at you in a way that makes heat rises up your face.

"kinda, but i'll save you all the gory details." you admit, sliding off the tall stool a little ungracefully. "have a good night, logan."

"wait, doll face." he says, grabbing your arm to balance you. "wanna talk about it? i'm sure your friend here is busy."

the alcohol let him take you to one of the booths. all the other men noticed logan and you sitting together, definitely making mental notes to tease you both on monday.

"so, what's on your mind?" logan asks, taking a swig of his beer.

"it's nothing really..." your mouth says one thing but your phone says another; practically buzzing off the table.

"you sure?" he raises a brow.

"uh... yeah?" you sound confused as you peak at the notification. an annoyed groan falls from your lips as you slam the phone back down and sink into the booth. "why? why? why?"

"why what?" he squints.

"be honest, do i have dumbass written on my forehead?" you sigh, hazily looking over at logan. the question threw him off guard; unsure if you're joking or not.

"no." he answers.

" well, i sure feel like one. every guy i've gone out with is either the most obnoxious asshole i've ever met who's still hung up on his ex or he's absolutely perfect but he's just not ready for a commitment right now? what the fuck does that even mean?"

all of your drunk rambling surprised logan. at work, he's only seen your shy personality as you scribble down numbers and log them into spreadsheets. this was a completely different side of you.

"i know what you're thinking, 'why not just try dating a woman?'. well, i fucking would if this town wasn't stuck in the 50's, except the men aren't going to war in order to get away from you, instead they just run back in between their ex's thighs and pull that 'it's not you, it's me' bullshit."

it was getting harder for logan not to crack at your silly yet, adorable expressions as you rant.

"and the worst part is that they can't even get a woman to orgasm." you say a little quieter. logan stores that quote in his pocket for another time. "a few weeks ago, i literally had a man in my bed who didn't know the difference between their, there, and they're! i don't know who's stupider, him for not knowing or me for letting him give me the worst head in my life."

if you were even a little sober, this would be mortifying. sitting in front of your work crush and spilling pathetic details of your love life to him. if you were even a little sober, you would have notice his eyes turn dark and lustful under the dim bar lighting. logan couldn’t fathom that you were having trouble in your love life.

"sounds like it's slim pickins out there."

"you have no idea." you sigh.

"if it makes you feel any better, i don't think that you're stupid."

"you're just saying that to be polite. trust me, everyone thinks i'm an idiot for taking these guys back every time. im just like my mom, my sisters, my friends, and every other girl i know. we make up excuses for their shitty behavior because we are afraid to be alone."

logan could see tears forming in your waterline, about to roll down your cheek. it hurt him to see you so heartbroken over these losers. everyday at work, you came in like a ray of fucking sunshine. you didn't deserve to be treated like this.

"it's not your fault that those asshole don't know how to treat a woman." he sighs, leaning forward in an attempt to comfort you.

"i know, i know..." your voice was cracking and you didn't want logan to see you so vulnerable. suddenly, you rise from the booth. "thanks for listening, logan."

"where do you think you're going, doll face?" he asks, following you out the door.

"should head home." you mumble, pulling up the number of a car service about twenty minutes out.

"let me give you a ride home." he offers. "you've been drinking too much."

it's late, you're exhausted and heartbroken so, you let him help you into his truck. it's kinda old but full of character, like logan.

"what's going on in that pretty head of yours?" logan asks, breaking the silence in the car. "still sad?"

you shrug. "think i'm just going to become a nun."

he tried, he really did, but he had to laugh.

"sweetheart, there's no need to become a nun."

"well, i'm never going to find the man i'm looking for so, might as well join the sisterhood."

"what are you looking for in this dream man?"

logan's question has your eyes wondering over to where his left hand sets on the wheel and his right on thigh. the images of what his hands could do flood your fuzzy mind.

"j-just a good guy who's um, who's kind, jacked... respectful, good with his hands...."

it was shameless, your staring that is. logan worried you might get drool on the car seat, not that he would mind.

"hm... those seem like simple requirements there."

"apparently not." you giggle. "it's fine, though. i'm sure the nuns will be friendly."

"still thinking about joining the 'sisterhood'?" he asks, pulling up to your drive way.

"maybe... i'll give it twenty-four hours and if he doesn't come knocking on my door, i'll just buy a chasity belt and go off the grid with the nuns." your smile warmed his cold bitter heart. "thanks for the ride, lo. i'll see you monday."

as logan watches you fumble with your keys and make your way inside, he fights an internal battle over his feelings. he has had a crush on you since the day the two of you first met. by the end of the week, you had baked him some cupcakes, babbling about how you do this for all the new employees, which was far from the truth he later learned.

you captured his heart. even when he tried to burry his feelings for you, when logan looked at you, his world stood still for a moment. he looked forward to all your silly jokes in the break room or the ridiculous gossip you would tell him when he lingered outside of your office door. he couldn't let you slip away into the arms of another asshole who didn't deserve you.

before logan could comprehend what he was doing, his feet lead him up to your door, knocking twice. the wooden door opened and he knew he made the right decision.

there you were in your light blue and grey plaid pajamas with a cupcake in your hand and vanilla frosting on your bottom lip. logan had never seen you look prettier.

"hey? did i leave something in the–"

in the blink of an eye, logan’s hands reach up to caress your jaw, leaning in until his mouth engulfs yours. the taste of vanilla and alcohol surrounded both of you. forgetting the cupcake in your hand, dropping it to reach up and pull logan closer. kissing him was like drinking a glass of wine after a long day. no more stress or anxiety over anyone else’s bullshit. the two of you gasp against each others lips, catching your breath.

“i could be the good guy, you know?” logan pants, now forever addicted to your taste. “i could be the good guy for you.”

your heart fluttered as you stared up at his pretty hazel eyes, twirling a piece of his hair around your finger. this had to be a very realistic dream, thats the only answer to this.

“you would do that for me, logan?” your delicate voice could bring him to his knees, worshiping the ground you walk on.

“i would do anything for you, honey.” he whispers, leaning back in to kiss you again. maybe your dream guy wasn't as far away as you thought?

[pinkmirth]

KEEPER!

SYNOPSIS! ⸻ you’ve fallen for your darling bodyguard, and you’re over the moon to discover that he feels the same. but this feels borderline forbidden . . . for just how long can you keep what you have with reiner under wraps?

CONTAINS⸻ ( 5k+ words of . . . ) bodyguard!reiner x fem!reader (black coded), fluff, nsfw, modern au, scion!reader (descending from a rich family/influential bloodline), hyperfeminine ‘girly-girl’ reader, reiner’s german, mutual pining, secret relationship / sneaky link, public display of affection (pda), food play, car sex (unprotected), slight dacryphilia, creampie, use of pet names ( e.g. mama, baby, honey, princess), reader calls reiner ‘ papa, ’ explicit language, lowercase intended, minors shoo!

MY LOVE LETTER! ⸻ this post is an answer to an anonymous ask: ‘ what about secret dates (turned sneaky links) with body guard! reiner??? ’ oh. my. goodness! nonnie, you’re a sexy genius and you should know it. tagging the amazing @ramonathinks! she’s the one who even introduced this bodyguard!rei-rei concept to me, and for that i’m so grateful :) ramona my love, thank you again for all the delicious reiner thoughts you always send my way! now enjoy, xoxo ♡︎

reiner’s your bulking shadow, never trailing too far behind.

he’s been hired by your parents to ensure your safety. nothing more, nothing less. he’ll follow your every step and drive you wherever you please; after all, it’s what he’s paid to do.

things started off the way they should— professional. from the very beginning, reiner knew to keep his distance, and that he did. but he soon realized just how hard that would become . . . you’re effortlessly gorgeous, sharp with your words and caring to a fault. his growing affection was only a matter of time.

nowhere on the criteria for the job does it say that he should be developing feelings. observing your habits, committing them to memory and predicting your behavior is the only thing he’s got any business doing. yet, he loves to feel the softness of your palm in his hand when he helps you into the backseat of your car, even if the contact is just for a split second at most. he finds himself peeking glances at you from the rearview mirror, soaking in how pretty you look when you’re unaware of his gaze. in truth, reiner wishes you didn’t have such an effect on him; that would make work-life much easier on his poor soul. well, love isn’t known for being simple, now is it?

it takes about four weeks on the job for him to grow a soft spot for you. reiner’s always been a hopeless romantic, oh-so quick to fall. he’d willingly lay down his life for the sake of your own, and not just because he’s getting a paycheck for it. thanks to the job description, his devoutness isn’t questioned.

before long, reiner can tell you’re becoming attached to him as well. on a fateful night, he even overhears the phone call between you and your friend, something about ‘ mister braun being so sexy that it hurts . . . ’ your bodyguard is nothing if not a man of dignity. he never meant to eavesdrop! it’s just that he's stationed outside your room for night patrol. he’s now especially glad about being up at five in the morning; he wouldn’t have been able to hear this otherwise. your confessions pry a subtle grin from his lips. there he stands, smiling to himself in the dimly lit hallway where nobody can see him blush like a schoolboy.

‘ nuh-uh, i can’t! that man works for my parents . . . he’s completely off-limits. it's a damn shame, isn’t it? ’ you release a sigh, one so exasperated that he can hear it through the other end of the door. call reiner crazy, but it sounds to him like you’re yearning to have him all to yourself. in a sudden moment, you're emerging from the room, donned in a tiny pink nightgown. cute, but thin as fuck. leaves nothing to the imagination, even. it’s the flimsiest thing he's ever seen you wear.

reiner’s cheeks burn so red that is downright embarrassing, thankfully you're unable to see him. he’s quick to lift his head and look towards the ceiling instead— much more suitable than ogling the tits of his very own client. you wouldn’t be able to catch him staring regardless, considering how the entire corridor’s tainted with darkness, but he wouldn’t dare try to steal a peek anyway.

what he can see, though, is your leisurely smile as you tell him you’re headed to the kitchen to grab a cool glass of water.

“would you like to escort me there too, mister braun? or can i go do something by myself for once?”

you’re playing with him, he realizes. just mere teasing meant to be absolutely harmless. your voice sounds much sweeter at this hour; soft and casual, coated lightly with fatigue from a busy day’s schedule.

“as long as we’re indoors, you can go anywhere you like, madam.” says reiner, “i’ll be here if you need me.”

you make your way to the refrigerator, prancing down the mansion’s luxe spiral staircase, and reiner’s rampant heart finally begins to calm. he wonders if you’d meant for him to hear you on that call. (by now, he knows just how cheeky you can be; it was definitely purposeful.) nevertheless, he's got a job to keep. neither your mother or father would respond kindly if they were to find out that he's become attached to you, or vice versa. he can hardly imagine playing the boyfriend when in reality, he’s supposed to be making sure nothing suspicious comes anywhere near a mile-long radius of you . . . it’s laughable! he’s sure your parents have more than enough money to make him disappear in the blink of an eye— that chilling fact alone puts him on his best behavior.

reiner decides to conceal it; the way he feels for you. keeps his back straight and arms folded to portray the unapproachable persona that got him hired in the first place. you eventually decide to question him over why he so-often wears that solid expression, ‘ like he doesn’t know how to smile, ’ is how you put it. it’s the very first time that you ever hear him laugh, and you turn out to like the sound. rumbly and full of bass. he couldn’t bring himself to admit that in every waking moment, it takes everything to suppress his smile whenever he sees you.

eight months of being in his company brings you to notice that reiner’s a decent listener. he makes for a great conversation, too. sure, he’s just your bodyguard, but he’s got a good ear and a smooth voice. your talks with him are always so lovely; he gives you the comfort to open up about things you’d never be able to tell your parents. pride washes over him when you admit that he’s the only one you genuinely trust. and in these moments, reiner allows himself to get vulnerable too. he tells you of his love for football as a youth, how he takes combat classes five times a week, and that he’s got tons of sisters, brothers and cousins back home in the countryside. the pair of you are so different that the contrast could almost be considered terrible. though, the longer you stay in each other’s presence, the less you can bring yourselves to care.

you and your bodyguard have grown . . . close, to say the least. the way you’re always latching onto his brawny form seems much more than friendly, especially to your parents. ‘ i feel secure with him! ’ is your claim. they’d beg to differ, but your wellbeing is enough to keep them satisfied. reiner excels at his job, and more importantly, the big blonde lug makes you happy. nobody they’ve hired in the past was ever able to get in your good graces; you utterly hated all your former bodyguards. they were much too controlling, lingered too close.

but mister braun was able to differentiate himself. he listens to your dreams and fears alike, treats you like a capable woman instead of some spoiled brat. it also doesn’t hurt that he’s incredibly easy on the eyes . . .

reiner can no longer take it. the woman of his dreams is right in front of him, and there’s not a damn thing he can do about it. the smoothest advance he can make is standing at your right side and slinking an arm around your waist, with claims of it being for your ‘protection.’ but the both of you know it’s only the proximity he’s chasing after. the way he looms beside you was always more self-indulgent than it was for safety. he just liked the closeness of it all.

he feels so much for you, and he’s virtually dying to tell you. but there’s countless reasons why he shouldn’t— particularly the risk of losing his job. every now and again, reiner chooses to be a little bit stupid, all consequences be damned. he works up the nerve to release his confession with slow and careful words. you quickly reciprocate, arms thrown around the back of his neck and tugging him into a cozy hug. he takes you by the waist and pulls you closer in— god, he’s been wanting to do this for so long. reiner hums when your manicured fingers ghost his nape, nails grazing the ends of his hair, with your tits pressed to his own chest. the pair of you fit better than he ever could’ve imagined.

you don’t know whether to call yours and reiner’s relationship ‘ official ’ — can it really be deemed as such when you’re the only ones who know? you dare not mention this to your parents, ‘cause he’s got a job to keep and you couldn’t possibly bear him not being around.

so, you’ve both decided that it’ll be a secret. shared only between you and him, so nobody’s able to intervene. dating your bodyguard is fun— brief kisses being shared when you’re the only ones in the room. the way he snugly hooks his arm around your body when escorting you feels tighter, a little more intimate. in a way, keeping things under wraps feels exhilarating.

your particular relation with mister braun isn’t verified to the outside world, but people are catching on. whenever you go out, reiner’s sure to follow. paparazzi-taken photos of you are occasionally uploaded to the internet, and it’s always a given that he’ll be included. after several months of being seen together time after time, it’s typical of people to assume that this so-called ‘ bodyguard ’ of yours is more of a boyfriend. they aren’t too far off, but you clearly won’t go out of your way to confirm their suspicions. you’re always captured in a picture of you clinging onto his burly arm with a glossy smile. your sweet expressions contrast nicely with his forever-furrowed brows. he’s handsome in this intimidating way, the tabloids say.

it’s a slow-moving thursday when reiner decides to take you on your first date with him. he waits a good hour and forty-five minutes for you to get ready. he’s used to this, of course. by now, he’s got nearly a year’s experience of waiting on you hand and foot. but tonight, his nerves get the best of him. you finish up when he least expects you to— for fuck’s sake, you even catch him pacing in the goddamn kitchen. the sight of you melts his concerns, just a little. you’re done up glamorously from head to toe, and reiner can’t contain his smile, nor hold back his stare. your light lashes are curled and wispy, with blush scattered along your cheekbones. your plush lips are pink with tint, and you’ve got on this figure-hugging outfit that he’d love to tear off of you.

you scan your surroundings, peering at every angle of your spacious home in search of your parents. after ensuring the coast is clear, you engulf him in your arms, wishing you could kiss him but you’re all dolled up and your lips are lined and glossed. reiner nuzzles his nose into the crook in your neck, inhaling faint traces of your most beloved vanilla parfum.

“god, you look so fuckin’ beautiful,” his whisper is soft against your warm flesh. you rub your hands along his broad shoulders, then slide them down his firm biceps. “and you look sexy in black,” you perk up at him, eyes round and gleaming. he loves you, he’s come to realize. and the last thing he wants is to screw this up . . .

he’s thinking too damn much. you can easily tell. it’s obvious in the way his thin blonde brows wire downwards like something’s wrong.

“reiner . . . stop it.” you order, voice serious. you only ever speak that way when you want his utmost attention. to that, he fixes his posture and stands tall as if he’s on patrol.

“stop what?” is his vague response, hands loosely positioned at either one of your hips. you lift your palms to cup his face, feeling the definition of his high cheekbones and firm jawline beneath your fingertips. he’s gorgeous, you think.

“for one, you’re clenching your teeth,” you mention, caressing his rigid jaw line until the tightness lessens. his stubble’s rough and scratchy, but it fits him so damn well. “and you’re frowing, baby.” next, your thumbs trail up to his brows, gently kneading at the creased arch. “relax.”

“m’sorry,” reiner lets out, tone low and pleading. his hands rub at your sides in an anxious pattern. “it’s jus’ that you’re so important to me . . . i wanna do this right, y’know?”

“i bet you will, rei. no need to worry, hm?” you shoot him a soft smile, and he returns it; one of the rare times you catch a glimpse of his nice and shiny teeth. “now show me a good time, papa.”

right before taking your leave , your parents have questions for you— almost too many. you don’t have any business meetings or mall trips on your schedule, so where on earth is he taking you to? rei-rei claims that he’s bringing you to a new restaurant that you’ve been meaning to try. he’ll drive you there and stay on patrol; or so he says. they decide not to question the unusually neat way his blonde hair is slicked back, or how his black dress-shirt and slacks look sharper than usual. hell, he smells amazing too. it can’t be denied that mister braun cleans up nicely.

see, reiner told a partial truth to your family. you’re on your way to a new german restaurant that’s about twelve minutes out, it’s just that you wanted to try it out with him in particular. on the drive there, you just can’t seem to restrain yourself from gazing at the man. reiner looks so put together like this, in a strapping black outfit that‘s snug against his arms, chest and thighs. his side profile’s flawless— he’s got a perfectly defined nose that slopes down to his lips, and you yearn to lick on his protruding adam’s apple. he’s got one hand on the wheel, merging into lanes and making u-turns, while the other that’s unoccupied intertwines with your softer, smaller one.

upon reaching a red light, he takes the opportunity to lift your hand up to his face, trailing his lips along the back of it. “lieblich . . .” he murmurs something in his native tongue that you can’t seem to understand, though you know its meaning is a sweet one. your grin makes him forget all about the risk he’s taking.

upon reaching your destination, reiner’s back in bodyguard-mode. that’s how he gets whenever you’re in public. yes, you’re on a date, but your safety will forever be his number one priority. he escorts you in with a large hand fit snugly into the small dip of your back as he confirms the reservation. his touch never leaves you, not even for a second. he does that thing; where he takes a brief one-over of the area, scrutinizing his environment before making the next move. you go one, two, three stories up, to the VIP floor where your dinner seats reside.

it’s a lot, he knows— the velvet floors, fancy cream-white seats and glass-like walls that showcase an aweing view of the city. you’re more than used to the finer things in life, so the only thing he wants to give you is what you deserve.

you’re raving on about how nice everything looks, leaning back into your seat as you sip on a flute of sheer-pink rosé. he’s relieved to know that he was able to make you smile tonight. a waiter presents themselves, and reiner effortlessly engages with them in german conversation. his words are smooth and fluid as he translates all the entrée and sides you asked for. even when placing a simple order, he’s still the sexiest man on earth. would now be a bad time to kiss the hell out of him?

the next three hours go by quick. you’re chatting and laughing and trying bits of each other’s platters ( though, it's mostly you eating a over half of the food from his plate . . . ) you got yourself salted-caramel ice cream for dessert, and reiner’s mischievous enough to lean close and lick the dripping residue off the corner of your lips. you gasp at him and deliver a playful kick to his foot from under the table.

“what? you had somethin’ there.” is the given excuse for his rascal behavior. naughtiness twinkles in his golden-brown eyes. there aren’t many people up here on the expensive floor, apart from two other occupied tables located on the other end of the room, and a handful of waiters that leave the kitchen every now and again. he’s lucky there isn’t anyone to catch you both.

“you’re crazy,” your laugh is infectious, “don’t make me return the favor.”

in a quick motion, reiner swipes a finger into the ice cream, his touch meeting a subtle cold. before the caramel gets the chance to melt all the way down the length of his digit, he smears some across his bottom lip. his tongue juts out to lick up the rest of the treat from his index finger.

“oh, please do.”

being away from probing eyes has made reiner bold as ever. you take him up on his request, tilting forward so that your tongue can eagerly swipe over his lips and wipe them clean. mostly sweet, just the tiniest bit salty. you want more of him already.

there’s isn’t a soul watching, so reiner escalates it. in an instant he’s got your lips merging, his hand squeezing your thigh from under the table, hot puffs of air escaping you both. “oh my god— you’re g’na get me in trouble, rei!”

“so be it,” reiner mumbles in reply, his words ticklish against your lips. from underneath his fingertips, reiner senses how tightly you press your thighs together, hungry for friction. he’s even beginning to feel worked up himself. but, the pair of you haven’t gone that far yet. the most you’ve done are hour-long makeout sessions on your king-sized bed in the earliest points of the day, when you have enough privacy to get away with it. but you wouldn’t mind feeling him in a new way tonight . . .

“you wanna get out of here, don’t you, mama?” reiner coos, cheeks rosier with his eyes slightly lidded. “mhm,” you’re quick to agree. so he puts the payment for the meal on his tab, takes your hand in his and leads you back down to floor one until you’re out of the building and back inside your window-tinted g-wagon.

mister braun is big. you’ve always known it from his appearance alone, but fuck, it holds a much greater meaning when he’s got you tucked into the backseat of your mercedes with his slacks pulled down to his ankles and your dress strewn sideways, making a slow attempt to press himself into you.

“fuck. let me in, princess,” reiner’s grunt is low, throaty enough to make you clench. your flesh feels hot and your pussy’s leaking all over the coffee-brown suede seats. he knows well enough to play around with your clit, reveling in the noises you make when his pressure increases. simultaneously, his lips suction at the smooth flesh of your neck. it feels like you’re burning up, and he’s the only one who can quench your fire.

experimentally, his hips tilt forward, and another two inches make its way in. he’s only got his fat tip and then some past that dripping hole of yours, but it’ll take much more to stretch you wide open for him. he’s groaning and muttering all sorts of profanities— about how tight you are, how good you feel, how fucking nasty this is of you.

“c’mon, woman,” reiner sucks a sharp breath into his lungs, goading you on, “lemme fuck this tight pussy.” he’s got you dangerously aroused, done by the effort of a few dirty words. wetness dribbles down from your slit to the place you and reiner carnally join, slicking up his girthy shaft as he continues to break himself past your tight rings of muscle. you claw at his solid arms, basking in the stretch. his size is imposing, forcing you open to accommodate all of him. it burns in the best way possible.

“m—more, papa,” you make out a pretty whine, knowing just how he loves your begging. you’ve got your lips agape, kissed raw from reiner’s earlier advances. you grow restless and begin to rock your hips, aching to take the entirety of him.

“mm, don’t worry, baby. i’ll give it to you so good,” it takes a little more of reiner bucking his pelvis, movements careful and shallow, for him to finally make it in. he’s bottomed out, and you can feel the throbbing from his underside. having you wrapped around him feels so incredibly right. you clench rapidly, enveloping him in an incomparable warmth.

by the time he’s made everything fit, you’re a darling little mess. your hair’s gotten frizzy and your eyes are all big ‘n glassy, with your lower lip tucked underneath your teeth. one moan after another escapes you, streaming into his ears like liquid gold. reiner throbs at the sound of every little mewl. he licks away your tears which you hadn’t even known began to fall, catching them before they can roll down the apples of your cheeks. you love the feeling, it’s just that there’s so much of him to handle at once— his fat cock, searing-hot tongue, large roaming hands . . . he's this close to consuming you whole, and you want him to.

reiner’s attentive with the way he fucks you. out, in, the pattern goes, hips drawing back before he slams back into your shaking frame all over again. he hits so unbelievably deep every time, like the width of him can’t help but prod against every spot you have. he manages to stimulate every inch of your walls, bumping every crook and ridge possible. not a part of you goes unattended to. reiner dips his head low to catch your beaded nipple between his lips, while his cock drives further inside and impels you to make more room, just for him.

as gentle as he may try to be, reiner’s undeniably a hefty man. taking it slow won’t make any difference; every deep plunge he makes into your cunt has the car creaking on its very own wheels.

“i fuckin’ love you,” he drops the heated words, punctuated with drilling thrusts; but the dick’s got you goin’ all dumb on him. it’s cute, he can’t deny, but reiner needs you to know exactly what you mean to him. so he grips at your chin from either side and lightly squeezes your cheeks together, tender with care but steady enough to make your eyes uncross and focus on him alone.

“you hear me? i— goddamnit, love you more than anything. love you so much,” the deeper he pushes in, the less you can manage to breathe. you feel the pulsing of his cock in your tummy, and it’s like the tip snags so deep that it nearly lingers in your throat. you feel yourself bounce against the seat, tits jiggling whenever he sinks inside, draws out, and snaps right back into you. your gut feels tightly wound up, and your pussy’s become impossibly more sensitive.

you’re close, he can feel it. your walls flutter with more ardor than before, squishing against the base of him with a tightness gratifying enough to spur moans from deep within his chest. you even bring your hands down to claw at his asscheeks, firm and round to the touch; the perfect source of leverage.

“r— reiner!” you cry out to him, and he’s sure his name hasn’t sounded so good up until now. he wonders if you can actually hear yourself and just how slutty you sound. “you’re close, aren’t you, baby?” to that you nod, head bobbing desperately. you don’t have to tell him, he knows. reiner’s knowledge is keen on the topic of you. what you like, what you don’t, and when you’ve had enough. now he’s truly taking his sweet time getting to know you from the inside out.

he presses a consoling peck to your forehead, maintaining that undoing pace of his. the repetitive ‘plat’ of his heavy balls smacking into your sticky cunt is dull compared to the huffing, panting and whining, but it’s there in all its vulgarity.

“ooh, i know exactly what y’need, princess. papa’s g’na take care of you . . . ” reiner doesn’t even say it above a whisper, just declares his devotion in the softest way he can. he slips a hand down the middle of your sweat-streaked bodies to bring some attention back to your precious clit, lewdly slick and much puffier than earlier. he gives swift strokes using the pads of his fingers, combined with the fluid roll of his hips, until you're arching into his broad chest and snapping your quivering thighs closed, trapping his wrist in between them.

reiner can unravel you with such ease, like he lives for the sole purpose of your pleasure and nothing else. you convulse against him, so he slows. but reiner hardly lets up. not completely, that way he’s able to ride you through it. he continues on, feeding you shallow thrusts to near his own high. his movements turn borderline erratic; thighs trembling, cock throbbing. he’s so close, “gonna cum,” his warning comes off as a groan, straight from the depths of his gut, erotic and primal. he’s clenching his teeth again— this time, for good reason. “where do y’want me?”

not a second is wasted before you plead, ‘ inside! ’ and with that, you’ve officially fucking broken him. never did he think his wildest dream would’ve come true by the very first date. lucky mister braun, getting to fill you up— especially when it’s what he’s been stroking himself to the thought of every other night. now, you’re practically crying for him to give it all to you. undoubtedly, he will.

he comes through one final, sloppy jerk of his hips. with a breathy grunt released into the car’s stuffy atmosphere , his warm seed spurts into you, tainting your womb. once reiner slips out, his thick cum pours down to present the most obscene view. it’s all so slippery, seeping down until there’s a wet puddle of your and his making beneath your ass. reiner’s body goes lax, thoughtfully balancing himself over you with his face propped onto your boobs. it’s only now that he realizes, legs cramped up, that he’s a bit too large for the backseat.

“ . . . i meant what i said earlier.” reiner’s voice comes off muffled, with his face stuffed between your tits and all. he looks adorable this way, gazing up at you with his lips curled into a slight pout. his arms loop your waist, snug and secure.

“mm, you said a lot of things earlier,” is your soft laugh, recalling his crude mouth and how worked up it made you. he allows you to rake your nails through his short blonde fringes.

“applying for this gig is the best thing that’s ever fuckin’ happened to me,” reiner makes an attempt to sit upright and show his conviction, but he ends up with his back hunched over in the restrictive space. he disregards his comfort and reaches for your hands, clasping them in his own. “i said that i love you . . . and i mean it.” his words are airy. he’s still winded from the sex.

“and i love you,” you mean it, too. with all your being. you love him in a way you've never loved anybody else. mister braun keeps you safe, sprinkles you with compliments, slips on your heels for you, puts you first. he makes you feel like this pairing has a chance, like you don’t have to hide it. besides, he deserves your all. you should be proud to call him yours, and that you are.

reiner always wants your kisses. in the morning when you wake, right before dinner, and as you’ve recently discovered, after sex too. you’re always eager to receive his lips pressed to yours. “i love you,” reiner adds in between pecks. he now says it like it’s second nature— he loves you. it makes your heart leap from beneath your chest. he kneads your bare thighs in his palms, slowly gliding his tongue into your mouth. without shame, you moan against his lips. slivers of spit tether you both even after you part.

“i want everyone to know that we belong to each other, reiner . . . my family, too.” you admit, peering up at his handsome face through your curled lashes. you’ve got your hands planted at his chest, feeling at the solidity of his pecs.

“tonight?” he asks, tone unsure.

“yes, tonight, rei!”

he adores your sudden zeal for honesty. he truly does, but—

“maybe another day would work better, princess,” reiner muses, “when your parents wouldn’t kill me for all those hickeys on your neck.”

©PINKMIRTH! . . . all rights reserved! do not steal, plagiarize or repost any of my works. please and thank you! ୨୧