#even though its only one limb its still supposed to be him so...

[disorganizedguts]

Will you be forever with me?

song the piece was inspired by;

I couldnt stop thinking about them to this song bjdkfejhhsjakdoa

[gothgoblinbabe]

Love Game

[Logan Howlett x fem!reader]

Warnings: MDNI/18+ use of she/her, female reader, swearing, being referred to as a girl, mention of being a stress eater, mild alcohol consumption and mention of alcoholism kinda, jealous!Logan, mild violence, you’re shorter than Logan, unprotected sex (wrap it up), little bit of spitting, sub!logan x kinda dom!reader, voyeurism? Technically?, use of pet names, I believe that’s it but pls lmk if I missed any! ps. you wear a dress in this but if that don't work for you, imagine its a sick ass tux/ fancy attire you're comfy in

Also non cannon compliant because I know Logan is heavy as shit and his body weight would crush you but just for a minute you’re gonna pretend like it wouldn’t

Summary: essentially [this ask] with plot ! // Scott needs to mind his god damn business, but he might’ve done you a favor by snatching your diary and waving it in Logan's face.

Word Count: 8K

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“That fucking kid.”

You groaned, lifting your mattress and checking underneath and round your bed. You knew Scott was going to snatch your diary the moment you’d realized he overheard you tell Ororo where you kept it.  He was always busting your balls the same way he did Logans, even insisting it was a ‘two for one’ deal when he got to bother you at the same time. 

Well, he was really gonna regret messing with you this time.

“Summers! I’m going to wring your goddamn neck! Where is it?”

Your voice boomed through the open halls of the mansion as you barreled down the stairs, feet moving faster than your thoughts. Everything echoed in this place; if he was here, you know he heard you.

“Scott!”

You continued to call his name, stomping around until you locked eyes with him as you entered the kitchen. In his hands - to your abject horror - was your diary, spread open while Logan peeked over his shoulder. 

Truthfully, Scott was a little scared shitless of the consequences of what he’d done. He’d dealt with Logan back and forth, sure, but you? Terrifying. You had just about the same strength as Logan and about five times his rage. That’s why his eyes grew wide when he saw you, snapping the little book shut. 

You could feel your face burning. A diary was private within itself, but there were some things you’d written that were never supposed to be read by another soul; Scott and Logan’s included.

“Fucker,” you grumbled, reaching forward to grab the book from Scott’s hands until Logan snatched it, holding it above your head. 

“Ah, not so fast,” he teased.

You’d gotten into plenty of squabbles with Scott, but he was absolutely going to pay for this. He knew the way you felt about Logan and you swore he got some sick satisfaction out of trying to humiliate you. He only found out because he’d overheard you confiding in Jean late one night in the living room with a pint of ice cream in your hands, yapping while you shoveled Ben and Jerrys into your mouth.

Your eyes flickered between his face and Logan’s. If looks could kill, Scott would have dropped dead the second you walked into the kitchen. 

“Now what is this,” Logan asked with a lilt in his voice as his eyes scanned a page, “a whole paragraph for little ol’ me?”

Shit. 

“I’ll give it back, I promise, but I gotta read this.”

If you tried, you could maybe snatch the thing from his grip before he read too much. You considered jumping on him, piggybacking until he dropped it or handed it over. What lengths would you be willing to go through to keep it a secret anyway? Was it really even a big deal?

You had a crush. Everybody does at some point. A stupid, harmless crush and if this was how he was going to find out, so be it. 

You were still absolutely planning on tearing Scott from limb to limb, though.

“Huh,” Logan clicked his tongue, beginning to read from the pages, “No one knows how to piss me off like Logan.”

You sighed, dropping your head into your hands.

“True,” he commented, “and he spends a ridiculous amount of time in the bathroom to do his hair.”

“Also true,” Scott chimed in, becoming the subject of your seething gaze. 

“He’d save so much time if he just let me do it for him - like it would be hard to comb it into two cat ears,” he read, looking up to speak to you, “first of all, I told you they’re not cat ears.”

You simply nodded and rolled your eyes.

“Second of all, you couldn’t master ‘em anyway - I’d have to fix it myself.”

You just scoffed, leaning yourself back against the kitchen counter in an attempt to act nonchalant while you tapped one foot uncontrollably. Everything he’d read so far seemed to be the mundane stuff, nothing incriminating just yet. 

“God, how I wanna…play with his hair,” he read, eyebrow quirked in confusion.

Ah, there it is.

“That’s, uh - it’s really old, I didn’t mean, like - it’s from years ago,” you tried to blabber out an excuse.

“It’s dated - it’s from a couple months ago.”

You pursed your lips, nearly biting through the flesh at the same time from the pressure. You had to get that book out of his hands.

“He’s so stubborn,” Logan continued to read with a smug grin, holding the book high when you jumped to grab it, “I wish someone would just put him in his place.”

“Ooh,” Scott chuckled, looking to you, “are you gonna be the one to do it?”

“Fuck you, Summers - I’m so gonna get you back for this,” you snarled.

“I don’t think it would take too much for him to keep his mouth shut” Logan started to read again.

You instantly recognized the part he was reading and gasped, frantically reaching again for the book. 

“No, no, no, Logan, please - you don’t wanna read th-“

“I’d love to be the one to do it. I wanna take him and -”

He stopped reading and his eyes scanned the rest of the page, his amused smile faltering. You knew exactly what it was he’d read and you wanted to bury yourself alive. You remembered scrawling it down, snickering to yourself as you dragged the gel pen across the paper.

I wanna take him and tie him to my bedpost, probably shove my panties in his mouth and fuck him senseless.That would really shut him up.

Out of all the pages in that goddamn book, that’s the one he had to open up to?

You watched intently as his eyes flashed from yours to the page and then back again.

“What does it say?” Scott questioned, trying to lean over to get a look.

Instead of letting him read it, he snapped it shut and held it out towards you, his face expressionless. Was he mad? Grossed out?

“Don’t worry about it. We shouldn’t be readin’ her private stuff anyway.”

“Uh…,” you hesitated, fingers softly grazing his when you took it back, “thanks.”

You turned on your heel immediately and hastily made your way back to your room. You hoped to hide out there the rest of the day, praying maybe Logan would forget what he’d read or just let it be. You knew him well enough to know he wouldn’t.

You knew him so well because you were like mirrors of each other; smart mouthed and hot headed. You realized that the first couple months with the X-men, always butting heads with him until one mission where you had to grab the back of his jacket in an attempt to keep him where he was. You tugged with so much force that you nearly knocked him on his ass. Even Hank had never been bold enough to do that, not when Logan was as riled up as could be. From that point on, it was kind of an unspoken assumption that you would always be the one who calmed him down or held him back. So, you did just that; grabbing his wrist with both hands to force him to keep his claws to himself or pushing back against him when he tried to lunge at Scott for something stupid - though, after what he just pulled, you may just let Logan rip him apart next time. Though it was never acknowledged between the two of you, you were his anchor. You held him down when he began to drift away. Fortunately for you, he did the same - using minimal effort to keep you in place when you tried to go for someone’s face or going as far as to hike you over his shoulder and carry you away from the confrontation, all while you kicked and screamed to be let down. 

You avoided him the best you could for two days after the incident in the kitchen, quick comments in passing but never staying long enough for a full conversation out of fear that he’d bring up what he read. What were you supposed to say, anyway? ‘Sorry I thought about fucking you?’

You’d have to think of something because you were face to face in training a few days later. Scott stood to the side of you both, a stopwatch in his hand. 

“Alright, when I say go, whoever pins the other down for more than five seconds wins. Remember, you're each trying to beat your time from the last session.”

Scott’s voice almost sounded underwater. Your eyes were locked with Logan’s and though you wanted to rip your gaze away, you couldn’t.

“Ready? And…go!”

He backed out of the way and you tried to lunge at Logan, quickly being flipped onto your back.

“Okay, ow,” you whispered to yourself, immediately standing back up.

He tried to grab you when you stood but you caught his hand, twisting his arm behind his back to force him to the ground. You straddled his back and kept your weight on him but he was too quick, turning over and pushing you off him.

“Don’t get too excited, now,” he panted, a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips.

You were caught off by the low cadence of his voice, inadvertently letting your guard down and giving him an opportunity to pin your arms above your head and keep your legs down with the weight of his knee. Scott began to count down and you racked your brain for a way to get yourself out from underneath him. 

You were able to pull one of your legs free, sending him a little off balance and using your leg on the side of his torso to roll him over on his back again. You straddled his waist, using your hands and your forearms to hold his down. That, however, left you nose to nose while panting for air. 

“What, you thought I’d let you win?” You asked, tongue poking at the corner of your open mouth. It was usual for you to tease each other with little snide comments. Nothing any different from the usual, right?

“Nah, I just really like havin’ you on top.”

Nope, definitely different. 

You didn’t even hear Scott call time on your match at first. 

“Hey! Lovebirds! I said you can get off each other. Jesus,” he groaned. You finally remembered where you were and quickly scrambled off of Logan. 

“Aw, really? It was just gettin’ good,” he chuckled. You could feel his eyes on you as you gathered your belongings with your back turned. You tried to step out into the hallway, praying he wouldn’t catch you before you met the elevator doors - of course, you weren’t that lucky.

“Hey, hey - princess, wait up,” you heard him call after you and you stopped, turning on your heel with an irritated expression.

“About the other day, the thing you wrote - “

You sighed, rubbing your face in distress and cutting him off before he could finish.

“Listen, Logan,” you quickly looked around the corridor to make sure you were alone, “I know what you read, I don’t wanna talk about it. It - look, it was some stupid phase where I had a crush and it’s over, okay?”

He tilted his head. You hoped he would simply nod and move on, but you watched his lips curl into a smile instead.

“Aw, what happened - you changed your mind?”

You knew him well enough to understand the look on his face. He was never gonna let this go - in fact, he was probably going to nearly torture you over it. 

“Shut up,” you huffed and continued to walk away, keeping your stare straight ahead.

“Aw, pretty girl -“

You dropped your belongings to the floor with an audible thud and gathered the front of Logan’s t-shirt in your fists, tugging him down to your height so you were face to face. 

“First of all, I told you not to call me that - ‘princess’, ’pretty girl’ - like I’m one of your little girlfriends. Okay, kitty cat?” you scolded through gritted teeth. He hated being called that and you knew it.

His eyebrows were raised and his lips parted in surprise.

“And second of all,” you continued with a deep breath, “you read it, it’s done - leave it be, would you? It doesn’t mean anything.”

You still had his shirt in your tight grip.

“Alright, alright - I’m just teasing,” he admitted, trying to pry your fingers from his t-shirt, “and I’m sorry, I never should’ve been reading it in the first place.” 

You sighed and finally let him go.

“Fine, I forgive you. And you can’t ever tell anyone what you read. Promise?”

“Cross my heart and hope to die.”

“So, we’re cool again? Nothings weird?”

“Not unless you make it weird.”

“You were the one flirting with me.”

“Uh - was not. I was simply creating a distraction to throw you off guard and it worked.”

“I’ll get you back.”

“Sure, you will.”

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You and Logan were in forced proximity hours later, standing with Scott, Jean and Ororo in Charles’ office.

“Do we really have to go?” Logan groaned, hanging his head back in frustration.

You were staring at the thick paper invite atop Charles’ desk. All your names were scrawled in cursive, surrounded by small gold detailing with the event written on top. It was some kind of Gala, something for charity that you couldn’t quite make out from where you were standing.

“It would be a wonderful opportunity to represent the school, yourselves and the mutant population as a whole,” Charles answered.

“You really think wolvie and his little hothead wrangler are gonna be well behaved enough to not make a scene?” Scott gestured towards you both.

Logan stepped towards him and you instinctively grabbed the sleeve of his jacket to hold him back. He looked back at you, clearly annoyed.

“We’ll be fine,” you insisted while glaring daggers in Scott’s direction.

You didn’t notice that you were still holding the sleeve of Logan’s jacket when Charles dismissed you. You let go and cleared your throat as you followed him out of the room.

“There's no way in hell I'm wearing a suit,” he grumbled, looking down at his flannel and jeans.

“You don’t wanna play dress up?” You teased.

“And look like a stuck up prick? No.”

“I'm kind of excited to wear something nice for once,” you admitted, “I’ve got a couple nice dresses I’ve never even worn. Besides, maybe there’s gonna be a couple of hot, rich guys there.”

You were looking straight ahead as you walked side by side down the hall, smiling to yourself. If you had turned your head, you would have seen the way Logan rolled his eyes. 

“What, you’re gonna go home with some rich schmuck just ‘cause he’s got money?”

He sounded almost annoyed. You furrowed your eyebrows and shrugged. 

“I don’t know, if he’s good looking, maybe.”

That was only a little truthful. You were not the type of person who was comfortable enough to go back to a stranger's place or hook up with someone you’d never see again. But maybe you could, if it would keep your mind off Logan and convince him to forget about what he’d read a few days ago. And if the guy did have money? It certainly wouldn’t be a problem for you.

“Oh,” Ororo piped up from behind you, stretching out the vowel, “I see - you’re going shopping. Gotta try before you buy, huh?”

She playfully poked your side and you chuckled, swatting her hand away.

“Call it what you want,” you responded, “but I’m gonna have fun, at the very least.”

You would end up having fun - just in a much different way than you expected.

You decided on getting ready for the night in Ororo’s room when the time came a few weeks later. She was touching up her makeup at her vanity while you changed behind the bathroom door. 

“Does it fit?” She asked through the wood with her eyes still on her reflection.

You were attempting to zip the back of your dress with your arm stretched uncomfortably over your shoulder.

“In a way? Kind of.”

Jean entered the room just then, having already gotten ready in her and Scott’s room.

“She’s trying on a dress that’s been in her closet since last year that still had tags,” Ororo explained to her as she sat on the edge of the bed.

“Can one of you zip me up, though?” you sighed in defeat and opened the door, “I can’t get it.”

“Woah, mama!” Ororo comically wolf whistled and you rolled your eyes with a smile.

The dress was your favorite out of your collection of unworn clothing; it showed the perfect amount of skin and hugged your figure phenomenally. To top it off, the color complemented your skin in the best way possible.

“I don’t look silly? I feel a little funny getting all dolled up,” you confessed, turning around so Jean could pull your zipper up the rest of the way.

“Definitely not silly,” Jean reassured you but mumbled under her breath after, “Logan’s gonna lose it.”

You turned back around to quirk an eyebrow at her.

“Who cares what he thinks? Did I say I care what he thinks? ‘Cause I don’t. Like, at all.”

“Honey,” Ororo began, “we already know you like him, remember?”

You groaned and bent down to look into the mirror on her vanity.

“I don’t - not anymore, at least.”

“Yeah, right,” Jean giggled, “keep telling yourself that.”

Ororo looked at the time on her watch and hastily stood to slip on her shoes, “We’re gonna be late if we don’t leave soon. Logan and Scott are supposed to meet us downstairs.”

You stepped into your shoes and grabbed the little bag you’d carry for the night, following her and Jean out the door. When you finally got to the staircase, you could see Scott and Logan talking to each other at the bottom, the latter of the two standing with his back facing the stairs. 

“All right, ready!” Jean enthusiastically announced. If she hadn’t said anything, the simultaneous clicking of your shoes would’ve announced your presence for you.

Logan turned around to face you. At that moment, he wondered why he ever complained about going in the first place. His eyes were glued to you as you came down the stairs and you could feel yourself start to get warmer. 

He looked so good in a tux, Jesus Christ. You liked when he wore those tight fitting tanks and jeans, sure, but something about the formal attire really did it for you. His cologne wafting into your space when you stood next to him didn’t do much to help dispel any feelings you had, either. How badly you wanted to just forget the stupid event, tug him into your bedroom upstairs and show him that you were so not kidding about what you’d scribbled in your diary. Alas, that was certainly not going to happen.

‘Just an old crush,’ you internally tried to remind yourself, ‘just an old crush - that’s it. I’m not into him anymore.’

Except that you knew damn well it was a lie. 

“We’re gonna be late if we stand here any longer, c’mon,” Scott began walking with Jean while you, Logan and Ororo followed.

“You look nice,” Logan finally spoke as you made it to the door, “think you’ll bag any of those rich guys?”

You almost asked what he was talking about, too lost in thinking about how you actually wanted to bag him and not some stranger.

“I don’t know,” you answered truthfully, “but if I do, you’ll be the last to find out.”

“Oh, really? Why’s that?”

“Because I’ll never hear the end of it.”

“Got that right.”

You eventually found yourself in a large, decorated open room, sat in the corner with Logan while he nursed a glass of whiskey and you anxiously scarfed down appetizers. The rest of the team had walked off to mingle - like normal people do.

“Kid, you’re gonna choke if you keep eatin’ that fast,” he warned you.

“ ‘m a stress eater,” you explained with a mouthful of fancy cheese, “besides, you’re a stress drinker. Thank god there’s so many tiny foods.”

He scoffed and took a sip of his drink. 

“What are you even stressed about, anyway? Half your job tonight is to just stand there and look pretty and you’ve already got that down.”

“Thank you, I think?” your eyes nervously scanned the room, “I just hate being in a crowded place, especially one this big that’s full of complete strangers.”

“Why do you think I’m holdin’ a glass right now?” 

Your eyes flickered between his and the half full glass in his hand. You wordlessly took it from his fingers before he even had time to react and downed the contents in one gulp.

“Well, that’s one way to calm your nerves,” he commented, “but if you keep drinkin’ like that, you’re gonna be face first on the ground before the nights even started.”

You were still holding a grimace from the burn of the alcohol but shook your head and cleared your throat, “I just needed the kick in the ass - I’m good.”

“So, you’re gonna go socialize? Good luck,” he raised his eyebrows, “something tells me these people aren’t really who we want to be hanging out with.”

“Why, because they have an immense amount of cash to burn and we don’t? You can’t hate people just because they have money, Logan.”

“Then how am I doin’ it right now?”

You rolled your eyes.

“I think there’s gotta be a few genuinely good people out there who just happen to be rich.”

“Uh-huh, and I think two plus two is five - it doesn’t make me right.”

“You know what? I’m going to prove you wrong,” you said smugly, standing up from the table. 

“I think you’ll prove me right.”

“You wanna bet?”

“It’s a deal.”

“What are we betting, exactly?”

“How ‘bout this - if either of us can find someone here we actually want to go home with, you win. If we don’t, I win.”

“Fine,” you narrowed your eyes and crossed your arms, “what does the winner get?”

“I don’t know,” he shrugged, “we can figure it out later.”

With that, you both dispersed. You were still feeling uncomfortable but that wasn’t going to go away unless you did something about it. Do you just go up and talk to someone? What do you say?

“Excuse me,” a voice said from behind you and you turned around, only to be face to face with a cute guy in a tux.

“Oh, so they come up to you,” you thought immediately.

“Uh, I don’t mean to be forward with you, but you look very beautiful,” he said politely, a charming smile on his face, “I saw you when you walked in and wanted to say something, I just wasn’t sure if you came with someone.”

You took a second to respond, still processing the fact that he even came up to you. 

“Oh, thanks,” you finally replied, “you’re not too bad yourself.”

You tried to use humor to dispel the awkwardness - the type of awkwardness you feel when you get asked to go to a school dance in the seventh grade - but this guy was cute. If you just got to know him a bit, the mild discomfort would probably pass.

“I didn’t come here with anyone, by the way,” you added, “Well, I mean, I did but not in that way - I’m with friends.”

“That’s good to know,” he said, grinning, “in that case, would you wanna dance with me?”

You hadn’t even asked each other your names, and you didn’t really care. 

You nodded and let him take your hand, “I have to warn you, though - I’m no dancer.”

“Well, do I look like one? ‘Cause I’m certainly not, either. But when there’s a beautiful woman in the room that you really wanna talk to, you’ve got to think of a reason to go up and talk to her.”

“I don’t know - I think you just might be a bit of a smooth talker.”

He was and it was definitely working. He clicked his tongue and waved his hand dismissively.

“Oh, c’mon, don’t make me blush.”

He was funny, too. All you had to do was find out a little more about him - for the sake of the bet, yes, but also to determine the probability of breaking his bed frame later if it all went well.

So, you let him rest his arms around your waist and you put your hands on his shoulders. It was kind of nice to have someone so close. You started to feel mildly uncomfortable, though, as if someone was staring at you. You ignored it anyway, deciding it was just the anxiety of being in a place with a lot of people.

Really, it was Logan standing across the room with his stare glued to you two. He looked like he wanted to bore a hole into the poor guy's skull. When you finally caught sight of him, he turned and seemingly disappeared.

You spent a bit of time with your new date, intending to subtilely interrogate him to find out if he fit the criteria for your bet with Logan. Even if he didn’t? You might let him take you home anyway.

You sat with him at an abandoned table, leaning your head on your hand as you half - listened to him talk about stocks. You glanced around the room and spotted Logan again almost immediately. 

He was leaning against the wall with a girl hanging from his arm. She was talking away and he looked completely disinterested. The whole point of coming was to distract yourself from anything to do with him and there you were, ignoring your date to silently seethe at a girl who was only in his vicinity.

You tried to zone back in on the conversation and really pay attention when he started to talk about his job. It was some tech company you’d heard of, a big name in the industry.

“Oh, so, what do you do there?” 

“Well, I own it.”

You squinted and sat up straight.

“You own the company.”

It was more of a statement than a question.

He nodded and you raised your eyebrows. This was going much better than you anticipated. You couldn’t help but glance over at Logan to see that girl still standing with him.  She was twirling a strand of her long hair around her finger. She was undeniably pretty, so you wondered why he wasn’t even looking at her while she hung all over him.

“Hey, would you wanna dance with me again? I know it’s a little slow paced, but I love this song.”

You returned your attention to the man in front of you and smiled as politely as possible.

“You know what? Sure, why not.”

You let him lead you into the middle of the room and rest his hands on your hips. He pulled you much closer than you’d been standing before, so much so that you were nearly stepping on his shoes. His hands slid down further and you laughed a little to yourself. This was what you wanted, wasn’t it? So you wondered why it didn’t feel like something you wanted at all.

You caught Ororo’s gaze from across the room and she smiled, flashing you a thumbs up. When you caught Logan’s gaze, he was anything but smiling. There was a reason you felt like all this was something you didn’t want - you knew you wished it was him you were standing with. Still, you weren’t sure of why he wouldn’t tear his eyes from you or why he had such a scowl on his face. 

You stopped staring back when your date planted a kiss on your forehead.

“What was that for?”

“Well, I kinda wanted to kiss you but I figured maybe goin’ right for the lips might have been too much.”

“We don’t even know each other's names.”

“Do we have to?”

You thought hard for a moment, wondering if Logan was still watching. It wasn’t fair to kiss someone just to try to make another person jealous, you knew that. He didn’t even have a reason to be jealous.

“You can kiss me.”

He was an alright kisser - nothing exciting. His lips were soft, though, and you liked the smell of his cologne. Before you could deepen the kiss any further, he was tugged backwards and off of you.

Logan had the back of the poor guy's jacket in his fists, nearly yanking him down to the floor with how much force he used.

“Alright, bub,” he grunted, “I think that's enough, she’s leavin’.”

You glared daggers at him with your lips parted in surprise.

“I can leave when I want to,” you said through gritted teeth, “what the hell is your problem?”

“Is he your boyfriend?” your date asked, nervously looking between you both.

“He’s n-” you began to answer and Logan cut you off as he grabbed your arm.

“Yeah. Get lost.” 

You furrowed your eyebrows in anger but could feel your face becoming warm. You weren’t totally sure if you were turning pink from how enraged you were with Logan or from the words that just came out of his mouth.

“Outside. Now,” you demanded, tugging your arm from his grip.

You turned to walk away and he followed as you grumbled to him, holding your dress up a bit so you wouldn’t trip as you stomped out.

‘What the fuck was that?”

He didn’t answer, simply following at your heels with his eyes on the marble floor of the corridor. You swung open the door and stepped into the cool summer evening air, waiting until the door shut behind you to speak again.

“What, you didn’t want me to win the bet?” you guessed with raised eyebrows.

“You’re really gonna let some guy you don’t know shove his tongue in your mouth?”

You stood in stunned silence for a moment.

“Are you kidding? How is that any of your business?”

He scoffed and shook his head.

“I can’t believe you’re gonna let some asshole be all over you just ‘cause he's got money.”

“What?” you furrowed your eyebrows, “why do you care?”

“Why don’t you? Seriously, you’d just go home with some guy and fuck him?”

“I don’t - I don’t know,” you stuttered, “maybe, but that was part of that stupid bet! Not that it’s any of your concern!”

You were nearly shouting at each other.

He clicked his tongue and spoke in a sour tone, “none of my concern, sure. I didn’t think you’d actually try and go home with someone -”

“Okay, you know what?” you threw your hands up in frustration, “I don’t know what the hell your problem is or why you’re acting like some jealous boyfriend, but fucking cut it out!”

You were both finally quiet for a moment. The sound of cicadas and crickets songs filled the silence. Logan’s face was pleading, his features highlighted by the soft golden yellow light seeping through the building’s windows.

“You just don’t get it, do you?” he mumbled under his breath, his arms crossed over his chest.

You raised your eyebrows, “get what?”

You sounded exasperated, sick of playing what felt like the worst game of twenty questions ever.

Logan brought a hand to his face, scratching at his facial hair - something you recognized as a nervous habit.

“That stupid fuckin’ notebook, the little one you write in,” he groaned, “I just wish I never read it.”

“So, you’re mad about that?” You asked, clearly still confused as to what he was trying to say, “listen, I’m sorry, it wasn’t -“

“No, no, that’s not what I’m saying,” he interrupted, “it’s - fuck, I don’t know. I don’t know, It's like I read that damn thing and lost my mind.”

You waited for him to elaborate, a puzzled expression still plastered on your face.

“It’s all I can think about, all the time - it's like I close my eyes and I can still see it written down in your chicken scratch. I don’t even know what to do, It’s so stupid,” he huffed.

You still didn’t understand what he was trying to tell you or whether he was talking to you or himself.

“And then - I don’t know, alright - you look so…” he groaned with his face in his hands, “I like you - is that enough? Ya’ get it? I liked you for awhile and then Scott had to go peekin’ through shit that wasn’t his and reading that shit you wrote just made it even worse for me. I’m supposed to read that you wanna ‘fuck me senseless’ and just let it go? You thought that wasn’t gonna do something to me?”

You were slack jawed, feeling like your legs were going to give out from under you.

He seemed angry, his nostrils flaring while he held a frown.

“So…you -“ 

His hands cupped your face and he leaned down close enough for you to feel his warm breath on your skin.

“So, I want you to fuck me like you said you wanted to.”

Your eyes grew so wide that you feared they might pop out of your head. 

“Would you, if I asked?” He continued in a low voice.

Your stomach erupted in butterflies and you nodded without hesitation. Conversations like this with Logan had only ever happened in your dreams.

His lips finally connecting with yours made your head spin. If he wasn’t tenderly holding your face, you might’ve just let yourself fall to the ground.

“I’ve been thinking about you for months, you know,” he admitted when he pulled away, “watchin’ when you walk away, thinking about how you say my name, wishing I could just tell ya’ - I didn’t have the nerve. Seein’ you with another guy, though - I couldn’t take it anymore. I thought I could and I just can't.”

You almost expected to hear the beeping of your alarm clock that would startle you awake in your bedroom. Still, it never came. You could feel his hot breath on your face, the breeze on your skin, the warmth of his hands; it was all too real.

“You mean it? All of it?”

You didn’t know why your voice sounded so desperate, almost pleading with him not to toy with you.

“ ‘course I do. Of course, I mean - god, look at you.”

His mouth was on yours again and you smiled against his lips, your cheeks tinted pink.

“Hey, wait,” you pulled away momentarily, “why did you agree to that bet in the first place, then?”

He gnawed on his bottom lip anxiously.

“I kinda figured you wouldn’t be able to find someone good enough, I don’t know - maybe I could convince you to come back with me instead.”

“That was your plan?” you let out a small laugh, smiling so wide that your face began to ache.

“Well, It might’ve worked if you hadn’t met what’s-his-face in there.”

“I don’t know his name,” you shrugged, “didn’t care to ask.”

He quirked an eyebrow at you.

“I let him kiss me because I wanted to make you jealous,” you admitted, “I still like you.”

“I know.”

“You know?”

His expression was as smug as could be.

“That you still like me? Yeah.”

“How? Am I that obvious?”

“It’s not your fault,” he shrugged and lowered his voice to a whisper as he put his lips to your ear, “I could smell how wet you’ve been all night.”

You swallowed hard and shivered when his hand slid up your back.

“And it worked, by the way - I’m jealous.”

“Yeah?”

He nodded and leaned his forehead against yours.

“Well,” you affectionately scratched at the hair at the back of his head, “are you gonna do something about it, then?” 

He kissed you with much more fever than before and you caught his lower lip between your teeth, making him groan into your mouth. His hands were in your hair to push you even further into him to the point he was practically hunched over your body. When you finally took a second to catch your breath, you had a realization.

“I won the bet.”

He furrowed his eyebrows.

“Please tell me you don’t mean you’re actually still gonna go home with that guy.”

“No,” you rolled your eyes and let out an amused scoff, “I meant you, Logan.”

“Me,” he repeated with a beaming smile, “you’re coming home with me.”

You nodded and giggled, absentmindedly fixing the hair hanging in front of his forehead. 

He was staring into your eyes in a way that had you feeling as though there was nothing else around you - no fancy party inside, no responsibility to socialize - just you and Logan in the cool light of the moon. He was studying your face like he’d never see it again if he turned away.

“What if I couldn’t wait till we got home?” He asked quietly. His warm breath just barely grazed your lips.

Your eyes widened and you thought for a moment, looking between him and the door beside you.

“C’mere,” you instructed simply, taking him by his hand and leading him inside to walk down the main hallway. You scanned the area and once you were sure no one would see either of you, you began trying knobs of different doors to see if one would open. When one finally gave, you slipped inside with Logan in toe and flicked on the lights. It was a small dusty office, one that probably hadn’t been used in a few months at the very least.

Neither of you wasted any time in taking advantage of your newfound isolation. Logan was kissing you like he was starving to taste you, working his way down your neck with an open mouth to leave darkening spots slick with his saliva.

“Logan,” you sighed, eyes fluttering closed momentarily from the way he was nipping and sucking at your skin.

“I love when you say my name,” he admitted, mumbling into your neck. His hands were everywhere - tangled in your hair, resting on your waist, your hips, your ass - he was desperate to keep his hands on you now that he had you. 

You disconnected your lips for a moment so you could hop back to sit up on the top of the desk behind you. You hiked the skirt of your dress above your knees to avoid ripping it and motioned for him to stand between your knees as you held the middle of the skirt down with one hand.

“I’ve got an idea for my reward for winning the bet,” you smiled mischievously, leaning up to hold his chin and force him to look you in the eye, “what do you say, pretty boy? You wanna be part of it?”

He nodded eagerly and the pace of his breathing increased significantly.

“Good,” you leaned back on one hand, using the other to tug at Logan’s suit jacket, “off.”

He obeyed without hesitation and shrugged the garment off his shoulders. He began to untuck his shirt and you stopped him with a gentle touch.

“Did I say to take that off too, sweetheart? I don’t think I did,” you spoke softly in a firm tone.

“No - no, ma’am.”

It drove you crazy to have him under your thumb in that way, his usual domineering nature and dominance melting away by the second. 

“So do as you're told, baby,” you instructed, “if you’re good for me, maybe I’ll reward you back.”

You could see him swallow hard, eyelids nearly fluttering closed when he thought of all the possibilities of what that might entail. 

“F- mhm, fuck,” he stuttered when you brought a hand to the front of his pants and barely grazed the spot below the button with your fingertips. He began to twitch more and more with every touch.

“Are you gonna say yes?” your voice was near taunting, “or do I have to try a little more convincing?”

You popped the button on the front of his pants with ease and slid your hand underneath to feel him over the soft fabric of his underwear.

“Yeah, yes, I - ah, yeah,” he moaned in response, rocking his hips towards your hand and resting his forehead on your shoulder.

“Yes what?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

You smiled and gently kissed his temple.There was something so lovably vulnerable about the way he was acting with you. You knew he’d never let another soul find out that he loved what you did to him - dreaming of you whispering affectionate nicknames and praise as he sloppily pounded into you or spending hours on his sore knees just so he could feel you cum on his face - but the intensity of his devotion bordered otherworldly. 

“Do me a favor, baby,” you started, lifting your hips for a second to drag your panties down your legs, “take out your pretty cock for me.”

He obeyed, tugging his pants down his thighs just enough for his already hard dick to spring up out of the confines of his briefs. You inadvertently licked your lips at the sight, thinking of how heavenly he’d feel in you. He was huge, but for a guy who’s six foot two, it wasn’t a surprise.

He stood expectantly between your legs with his hands on your thighs. You leaned back on both hands, cocking your head to the side as you spoke.

“Touch yourself first and maybe I’ll let you touch me.”

The ‘maybe’ was a bluff. He knew as well as you did that you’d let him touch you regardless.

“Gimme your hand,” you ordered before he could even wrap his fingers around himself. You leaned your mouth over the palm of his hand and spat.

He groaned from the gesture alone, knees nearly buckling when he finally brought his hand down to coat his cock in your saliva.

“Feels good?” You cooed, eyes flickering from his face to his leaking cock in his fist.

“Mm - mhm, yeah, ‘s good,” he panted, “really fucking good.”

You failed an attempt to hide your wide smile, hypnotized by the repeated motion of his hand. He looked so pretty like this - his jaw hung open, chest heaving while his face became more flushed with every passing second. You could feel the rush of heat in your lower stomach just from watching him.

You couldn’t help yourself from leaning forward a little and unbuttoning his shirt from the top down, all while he watched you intently, his breathing becoming heavier the closer your hand came to his.

“Think of you all the time when I do this at home,” he panted, “you’re so fuckin’ beautiful.”

The compliment made your heart swell; it was a sweet remark that so greatly contrasted the obscene speed of his hand as he stroked himself. 

“You’re such a pretty boy,” you whispered and planted a kiss on his pink cheek, “you look amazing.”

You caught the way the motion of his hand slowed and you couldn’t stop yourself from reaching forward and wrapping your fingers around his cock. He growled, dropping his head to rest on your shoulder as he squeezed his eyes shut.

“Don’t work yourself up so soon, kitty cat, or you’re gonna be finished before I even get to fuck you,” you murmured into his ear and he gasped as you started to pump him.

“Don’t - ah - don’t call me that,” he whimpered.

“Aw, you don’t like it, my pretty kitty?”

He growled again, even more animalistically , but his hips jerking into your hand told you he really didn’t hate that nickname as much as he told you he did.

“C’mon, sweetheart,” you continued to tease, “I know you like it - you love bein’ my big, pretty kitty.”

He groaned, lifting his head from your shoulder and crashing his lips into yours. 

“Sh-shut up,” he managed to grunt.

You immediately withdrew your hand and sat back again.

He whimpered from the loss of contact and looked at you with pleading eyes, silently asking why you stopped.

“I said you had to be good for me, didn’t I?” you asked.

He nodded, eyes traveling from your thighs, up your body and then back down again. 

“Good boys don’t talk back,” you said simply, raising your eyebrows.

“I’m sorry, I’ll - I’m good, I’ll behave, just please -“

His speech was cut short when you hiked your dress up even further to expose your bare, wet pussy.

“Fucking Christ,” he moaned.

You tugged the top of your dress down to expose your chest and he had to grip the desk you were sitting on so his legs wouldn’t give out from under him. 

“If you can be real quiet,” you pushed some fallen hair out of his face, “I’ll let you cum in me. You want that?”

“Please, ‘v been thinking of that for fucking weeks,” he begged, “please, please, baby.”

He tentatively cupped one of your breasts and you rested your hand atop his, encouraging him to squeeze and knead however he pleased. You spurred him on to the point that he couldn’t resist leaning down to take one of your nipples into his mouth, swirling his tongue and sucking while his fingers toyed with the other one.

You couldn’t help whining from the sensation of his mouth on you while you combed your fingers through his hair.

He finally detached himself after ravishing your chest in wet kisses and left a string of saliva connecting his tongue to your nipple. You giggled a little to yourself and crashed your lips into his again in a heated mess of tongues and teeth. You scooted your hips up on the table and used your grip on his cock to graze his tip up against you, making him shudder.

“You’re so - fuck, you’re such a fuckin’ tease,” he gasped and held your hips in an iron grip.

“What’d I say about back talk?” you moved the head of his cock further away from you.

He groaned in frustration, moving his hands to hold your face, “Honey, I’m already beggin’ -  please, I need you.”

The desperation in his voice made you even wetter.

“I guess you’ve been pretty good for me - do you think you deserve it?” 

He nodded eagerly and placed his hand over yours that was around him. You let him nudge your hand away to align himself with your entrance. His eyes bore into yours as he finally began to push himself into you, rocking his hips slowly to help you adjust to his size. You wrapped your arms around his neck and he wrapped his around your waist. When he fully sheathed himself inside of you, he let out a loud moan that echoed through the small space.

“I told you to be quiet, sweetheart,” you whispered into his ear.

“Uh-huh, ‘s a lil’ hard when I’m fuckin’ a girl I’ve been dreamin’  about for months,” he mumbled, working up a steady pace while you wrapped your legs around him and locked your ankles at the small of his back to help push him further into you.

“You feel so good, Logan,” you moaned, kissing down his jaw and throat.

He groaned at full volume again.

“Are you gonna stay quiet? or do I have to shut you up? Hm?” you grinned and he made an even louder noise. You reached behind you to find your panties and folded them into a ball, holding his jaw with your other hand.

“Open.”

He obeyed immediately, rolling his eyes into the back of his head when you stuffed them into his open mouth.

“Good kitty.”

He let out a muffled growl and the speed of his hips increased.

“Yeah,” you panted, “I know you like that.”

The angle at which he was fucking you made it so that he was hitting the sensitive spot inside of you over and over again, making you gasp each time. Sweat was forming on his neck and down both your chests, practically sticking your skin together in the hot, stuffy room.

“You’re - you’re so pretty,” you told him truthfully, admiring the rosey tint of his face and the drool that was starting to run down from the corner of his mouth. His eyelids fluttered closed and he started to thrust into you hard enough to shake the desk you were sitting on. 

“Easy, kitty cat - you’re gonna break somethin’,” you muttered into the hot skin of his neck with a smug smile on your face.

His pace didn’t falter in the slightest, his hands gripping your ass to push you towards him every time he slammed his hips forward. The fabric of your panties muffled the guttural moan he choked on when you lightly sunk your teeth into his shoulder. He slid his hand between your bodies to bring his thumb to your clit, working tight circles around the bundle of nerves in rhythm with the thrust of his hips.

“Fuck, fuck, I-“ you were speechless, at a loss for words from the brutal combination of the pressure he applied with his fingers and the way he repeatedly hit that spot inside of you. His eyes were squeezed shut and his eyebrows furrowed in concentration, still whining and growling like an animal into the fabric of your underwear. You felt the heat in your lower stomach start to build and you buried your face in his shoulder, your mascara smudged under your eyes.

“Logan, Logan, I’m - ah - ‘m gonna come,” you warned, tugging on the back of his hair.

He groaned and yanked the fabric out of his mouth, immediately bringing his lips to yours so he could tenderly make out with you while the squelching sound of your dripping cunt filled the room. 

“C’mon,” he growled into your mouth, “c’mon, baby, please.”

Both your chins were slick with each other's saliva from the frantic way you’d smashed your lips together. Your whining and pleading became louder with every roll of his hips until the sensation sent you over the edge, euphoria blossoming from your lower stomach and spreading all throughout your body.

“Oh my god, Logan,” you nearly yelled, your hands slipping under his open shirt to scratch down his back, “s-so good. I love you.”

The three words slipped out without hesitation and your eyes widened, mild humiliation replacing the fading feeling of your orgasm.

His hips rutted against yours when you spoke and he leaned his face down so he was nose to nose with you.

“Love you so much.”

He kissed you softly with both his hands on your cheeks, so filled with affection that you could’ve cried. He slid his hands down back to your hips and kept his forehead against yours as he continued to drill into you.

“I don’t - I don’t ever wanna see ya’ with anybody else,” he panted, “I needed ya’ so bad. You - ah - ya’ drive me crazy.”

Even after having already came, his pussy-drunk rambling still spawned butterflies in the pit of your stomach.

“You’ll never see me with someone else, baby - promise. ‘s always been you. Only ever really wanted you,” you admitted with a soft voice.

His thrusts became sloppy and you could tell that spurring him on with your words would make him finish just as quickly as you did.

“I’m yours, always have been,” you whispered in his ear, “you’re the only one I’ve ever thought about fucking me like this.”

He choked out a sob into your shoulder and came with an animalistic growl, looking down to watch the mess being made all over your inner thighs.

“Love you so fucking much,” he repeated with a sigh, slowly stopping the thrust of his hips and resting his head against yours again.

“I love you, too,” you replied and planted a sweet kiss on the tip of his nose.

“Sorry I made such a mess of ya’,” he apologized, spreading your thighs as he pulled out, “I’ll clean ya’ up when we’re home, I swear.”

“I’ll hold you to it,” you chuckled, readjusting your dress and slipping your underwear back on while Logan tucked himself back into his pants and buttoned his shirt.

You caught a glimpse of the watch on his wrist as he moved and grabbed his hand so you could see the time.

“Shit! We were supposed to meet everyone back out front ten minutes ago,” you realized aloud, slipping yourself off the desk and pulling your dress down.

He mirrored your haste and let you fix his hair, doing the same for you and wiping away the mascara under your eyes.

“Okay, okay, c’mon,” you insisted, opening the door and slipping out hand in hand. You scurried down the abandoned corridor and all the way to the front exit. When Logan pushed open the door, you were met with Jean, Scott, and Ororo standing with worried expressions.

“What happened to you guys?” Scott asked before Jean nudged him in the arm, pointing towards your intertwined hands.

You looked towards where she was pointing and back up again, “Oh, uh…”

You tried to think of an excuse and looked to Logan beside you for help. 

“Nothin’,” he said in a nonchalant manner, “just got lost around the place - lot’s of rooms in there.”

Ororo raised her eyebrows suspiciously. 

“Sure, and, uh - Is that why you’re holding hands?”

You laughed a little, tugging his hand behind your back.

“Well,” you started, “remember I said I’d try to bag a guy tonight? Um-”

“I’ve been bagged,” Logan interrupted with a huge, smug grin.

“I wasn’t gonna put it like that,” you insisted, “but - yeah.”

“Finally,” Jean huffed and rolled her eyes, “I thought we’d have to have an intervention.”

“Huh?” Logan narrowed his eyes.

“Oh, c’mon,” Ororo laughed, “we all knew you liked each other, even before you did.” 

“And you never said anything?” Logan asked.

“Neither of you ever believed us!”

“True,” you agreed with a shrug and giggle. 

“I believe you now,” he stated, still holding your hand as you all made your way into the night, “She might like me. Just a little bit.”

✦•······················•✦•······················•✦

A/N: Thank you so much if you read till the end :) !! I did get stuck with some writers block in the middle of this and I'm not completely fulfilled w it but if I kept working on it it may take another week and my brain can't do it

Still working on requests rn so if you sent one in, I haven't forgotten about you!!! I'm trying to do two at a time so I can keep up (I won't burn myself out dw I usually do nothing all day till I work in the afternoon) <3

[jesuistrestriste]

sage. my flight got delayed AGAIN. i’m not getting back to school til late, i have an assignment due tomorrow i haven’t finished…may i please request some Mickey 17 stuff? smut or fluff or angst idc i miss that little guy:(

⭑.ᐟ cw (18+) : dry humping, tiny bit of fluff —

mickey’s body is a mess.

he’s just been reprinted for the twelfth time, his limbs slimy and his blood whooshing erratically through his veins as he’s sat up on the cold table. the familiar scientists poke and prod at his skin while they scribble hurried little notes in their pads of paper. his head spins badly whenever he gets propped up fresh out of the machine, but he still manages to immediately think of you.

where you’re at right now, what you’re doing, who you’re with.

he can’t do anything until the people in the lab are ready to let him go though, releasing him until the next agonizing experiment needs his lungs or his heart or his brain. sometimes it’s funny because they’re ready to kick him out the door before his legs are ready to be used, like a mother bird kicking her baby out of the nest before its ready to fledge. regardless, they’re usually pretty quick about finishing their post-printing examinations. and he can use the spare minutes while they’re working on him to think about what he’s gonna do when he finally gets to see you again.

the sting of his new cells adjusting to the atmosphere is drowned out by thoughts of pressing his lips to yours, trying out one of the stupid sex positions you and him made up on one of the tablets, running his hands over your warm flesh. he sighs.

one time—a few bodies ago—you had sucked him off when it had only been about 30 minutes since the reprinting, and you’d told him that his come tasted like plastic and sterilized metal. (which was weird because his body was supposed to be biologically the same as the last, so shouldn’t he have tasted normal? whatever. didn’t matter. you had swallowed. you had licked the rest of it into his mouth afterwards. it did taste artificial.)

the people surrounding him eventually scampered off and he assumed his freedom, got dressed, and slinked off and out. he walked through the hallways and listened to the sound of his heavy shoes hitting the flooring. climbed the stairs to the rooms, then slid open your door to find you laid on your bed. his chest sags with relief.

you smile at him. god, that smile. he can’t help but shut the door in a hasty effort and crawl up on top of you. your guys’ dark colored jumpsuits slide together. its only a tiny spark of friction, but its enough.

his body is always extra sensitive after coming out of the machine; he always feels like a virgin again, not that he’s had much sex in general. he feels your hand over his hip, and he shudders.

“mmgh,” he breathes into your neck, stiff and shaky, “i missed you.”

“missed you too. it’s only been a day and a half, but i really, really missed you,” you whisper against his jaw.

he loves how you can be just as clingy as him sometimes. you even beat him at his own game on occasion, sticking to his side like a glob of glue, but he blames the fact that you only get to see him during select parts of the day. with your duties and his expendable work.. it’s tough. you both take what you can get, and as much of it as you’re allowed. and that usually also means getting handsy as soon as you’re together.

you feel him rock down against your thigh involuntarily, reflexively, chasing a brewing feeling in his stomach. your fingers run through his brown hair, and you bite your lip when it elicits a whimper from him.

“already, mick?” you hum teasingly, the tips of your digits scratching the back of his scalp, just the way he likes it, “don’t you wanna go down and eat first?”

he chokes around a moan when he starts to hump the most perfect spot on your leg, just enough muscle there to give him something to work against. his hands find fabric of your suit, slipping under your back next as he keens. he feels a rush of warmth coat his cock, and then he feels a dribble of something start to leak from his tip.

“don’t wanna eat.. not really hungry..” he gasps, his brow pinched up now in the shadows of the crook of your body, “this.. you.. this feels so good, i don’t wanna stop..”

you tilt your head slightly and then lift your leg under him to press it further against his bulging crotch. a sharp cry spills from his lips. you pet his hair again. he’s like a puppy sometimes—a needy, possessive dog that looks up to you like you’re something to be worshipped. you can’t get enough.

“okay, well, i snuck you some food anyways, its in my—“

mickey cuts you off, crashing his lips to yours with a hunger that’s almost unlike him. he usually wants you to lead (much preferring following your directions). his tongue seeks yours desperately, flattening over your own once he gets access. you have to swallow down all the little noises he’s making as he starts to thrust his clothed appendage against your body quicker. the movement of his snapping hips is building a warmth between all of the layers.. you wouldn’t exactly be surprised if he burned a hole right through with all the rubbing he’s doing. you lovingly slide a hand over his lower back in an attempt to soothe his frantic movements, but it doesn’t quite work. he breaks from the kiss, body jolting, to look down to your face and hiccup. expression all crumpled and contorted and flushed with an orgasm that he’s almost got clutched in the palm of his hand. eyes glazed over and jaw slacked like he’s high on pure oxy from timo. just a disaster of a man. and to think—a hunk of machinery and a brick of his memories brought him back to life less than an hour ago. birthed him, really. everything about him in this moment is so primal. you can’t shake the need to mark your territory, just in case he’s forgotten somehow.

“easy, easy.. you’re all mine for the rest of the night anyways.. i don’t care what they want, they’re not taking you from me tonight..”

and that’s all it takes.

just those sweet, possessive words pouring like thick honey into his ears, and then he’s gone. easy as that.

his eyes roll back, his head drops to your shoulder, his length spasms in his new underwear, then he’s coming. it happens as quick as you can blink.

“aah! im.. im—!”

he heaves through the uncontrollable waves of pleasure that bloom and spread throughout his nervous system, rendering him a trembling heap on top of you. if it weren’t for the remaining strength in his biceps, he’d collapse and probably fall like dead weight over your chest. he gives a few more shaky rolls of his hips as he rides out the prickling aftershocks of overstimulation. “f-fuck, ohh, ngh..”

then he really does slump over you. lowering himself slowly over your frame so as to not crush you. there’s something tender about the way he moves to ensure your comfort, even when he’s so wrecked, and it makes you instinctively wrap your arms around him. he sniffles while he catches his breath.

“s-sssorry,” the word broken up lazily as he struggles to bring himself back to the reality of your touch, “mmn.. jus’ felt so good, and you smell so nice, and i just couldn’t..” he trails off, shaking his head as he feels his body begin to overheat.

a little laugh bubbles up and out at his incoherency. then your hand over his upper back snakes down to playfully squeeze his rear. he sucks in a gasp and then chuckles into your skin as he squirms.

“s’fine, i like watching you finish like that.”

he chews the inside of his cheek like gum. you can almost feel his lashes flutter against your pulse point.

“felt like i wasn’t myself for a second..”

it’s a joke, one twinged with a bit of shame and guilt, you know that, but it doesn’t feel like one. each time he gets reprinted, a part of him changes—gets stripped away and plastered over with something new. you don’t always mind, but it does make you question which mickey you’ll get next time. will he be soft and kind? blunt and impulsive?

at the end of the day, you suppose it doesn’t matter much.

“you’ll always be my mickey.”

he lets out a weighted sigh of relief for the second time in the past thirty minutes since he’s been back in your presence, and it’s almost like you can feel the very last of the tension drain from his pores. he only whispers two more words against your ear before he finds his own hands wandering your body, eager to reciprocate and prove that he’s still useful. he owes it to you for loving him through it all.

“yeah.. yours.”

[supernaturalfreakout]

— Fester (possessed!Sam x fem!reader)

Summary: No matter how hard he tries, Sam can't keep you off his mind, and a particular demon has noticed. After a stressful hunt leads to a fight with Dean, Sam finds himself trying to dissociate, leaving him open for the taking. Meg seizes her opportunity, then proceeds to make sure Sam will never forget you.

CWs: Okay, this one's pretty dark. Triggers for non-con, non-negotiated/risky/dangerous kink, degradation, repressed desires, and lots and lots of guilt. If you are not comfortable reading any of these things, please DNI. 18+ MDNI. 🔞 There's some mutual longing here too underneath all the despair, but don't expect a happy ending or any fluff here. This is basically Meg screwing with Sam and having her version of a good time. If you like disturbing shit you might like this.

Thanks to @foxwinchester83 for the request. This never would have existed without you.

If Sam hadn’t let his guard down, then maybe this wouldn’t have happened. 

If he hadn’t fallen out with Dean, slammed the motel door so violently it fell off its hinges, and ran until his breath was coming in shallow, wispy huffs—the stars above him no longer only in the sky, but sparkling bright and dizzying behind his eyes—then maybe he wouldn’t have ended up alone, pissed off, and incapacitated in the middle of this shit hole of a town. 

If he hadn’t lost his charm.

If he hadn’t stepped into that bar.

If he hadn’t drowned his sorrows in cheap whisky that turned his deoxygenated blood into honey, and his appendages into sluggish excuses for limbs.

If you hadn’t infected his memory like a stubborn contagion he couldn’t budge no matter how hard he tried. And if she hadn’t appeared: the haunting shadow that stalked his every move.

If Sam hadn’t let the bitch inside, the dumb fuck that he was.

It was nice at first, being out of control. It had felt nice for around five minutes, letting someone take over his body and just having things happen to him. He supposed that was why he’d started drinking. To dissociate. But he’d let thoughts of you fester. He’d let you affect him, and Meg had cottoned on.

After hijacking his body, Meg had also done the same to a car, and driven with haste towards the nearest highway.

What Sam was originally mad about no longer mattered. It was nothing compared to the horror he’d felt when he realized he was swerving off the road and barrelling towards your sleepy town.

Now, he was angry, drunk, incapacitated in a very different way, and most definitely not alone.

He hated himself for this. How could he ever forget you now?

Meg had seen her chance and grasped it with her filthy claws at the first opportunity, and now he was balls-deep inside the woman he’d been crushing on for the past six months, watching your pretty face contort with every deprived word that left his sinful mouth. 

It may have been his voice, but it definitely wasn’t him. And he was horrified to find that you seemed to be enjoying it. That he was.

Though he may not be in control of his hulking, sweaty body, he could still sense. He was still aware. Meg had made sure of that, slipping into his skin just loosely enough so he could still see everything. Hear everything. Smell everything. Feel and taste everything.

And you felt and tasted exquisite. Even better than he’d imagined a thousand times over. Spiced wine. Sweet, with just the right amount of tang to leave him buzzed and slightly on edge. But Sam had already drunk enough. He didn’t need another weakness.

But the sounds leaving your mouth–the moans that made his internal breath shudder–made him question his sensibilities and scold himself in the process.

He thought about the way your nipples pierced the air, and the way you’d arched your back for him—for Meg—when she’d slid his tongue down your stomach and attached his mouth over the whole of your dripping cunt.

The way your clit had tasted when Meg had plunged—without any warmup—two of his large, strong fingers into you, straight to the knuckle.

The way you’d screamed.

The way you’d writhed as your body struggled to accommodate him, and–despite the stretch–the way you’d begged for more.

Begged him to fuck you.

To tie you up.

To strike you.

To mark and bite you.

The way your mouth had felt around his cock. The way your drool trickled down his length—warm, wet, and slick. The noises you’d made when you’d gagged on him.

The way—despite his conflictions—every perverted act made his cock pulse violently.

You didn’t seem to be the kind of girl that would be into this kinda shit, but they never were, were they? 

It was all too much. Sam couldn’t take it. 

It wasn’t the sex that bothered him. The fact that you were enjoying his body delighted him immensely. It was the circumstances. Not what you were enjoying, but how you were enjoying it. The fact that it wasn’t him. Not really.

Is this what you’d expect from him if he continued seeing you after this? No. How could he even contemplate that? How could he go on after this? How could he ever look at you again without thinking of this moment? About how much you’d enjoyed him. Enjoyed her. He’d forever feel an imposter.

“Sam—” you gasped, and Sam pulled himself out of his reverie just in time to watch his hand slash across your ass in several merciless spanks. Squealing from the impact, you balled your already clenched toes and fists, muttering a string of curses Sam figured might as well have been Enochian.

Meg had flipped you over and was now taking you from behind in a rather undignified fashion. Your hands were still bound to the headboard with his belt, and he could see the leather chafing your wrists, making them red and sore. You didn’t seem to notice, or care.

Sam’s stomach dropped.

He wasn’t opposed to kink, as long as it was consensual. But he had not consented to this. Neither had you.

Meg hadn’t done it the way Sam would have; she hadn’t awkwardly asked you out, made you laugh, bought you flowers, or taken you on a nice date first. She had simply turned up at your door unannounced and proceeded to fuck your brains out.

But to Sam’s horror and delight, you seemed to be into it. Into him. And had invited him in willingly …

~

Sam felt your eyes wander over his body as he stood on your doorstep in the dead light of night. Your hair was mussed from sleep, and you were in your pajamas. Pink flowery ones. He’d woken you up.

“Sam?” You squinted up at him. “What… what are you doing here? It’s two a.m.”

Sam’s body shrugged and he heard his voice come out, rough from the alcohol. “Couldn’t sleep,” he said. Like that was an adequate explanation for his spontaneous appearance in the middle of the night.

You eyed him curiously for a moment, then seemed to accept it and welcomed him in. As Meg made his body step inside, Sam cursed your naïveté at letting a man inside your house at such an ungodly hour. You were too trusting. You should know better than this. As a daughter of a hunter, you were well versed in the creatures of the night, but had seemingly forgotten all your training when met with a familiar face. He’d need to have words with you after this.

After this? After what? What was happening here exactly?

Panic set in as Sam trailed you through your hallway to the lounge, through piles of open texts and manuscripts. Though you were in ‘the life,’ you’d managed to live adjacent to it, dedicating your time to research rather than being physically involved in hunts. It suited you better. You’d always been more a thinker than a fighter; you’d even gone to college to study occultism to help with the cause.

Sam was attracted to you from the beginning. You were incredibly studious, and your discoveries had saved Sam and Dean from several sticky situations over the past few months. He owed you a lot. More than whatever was going to happen here tonight.

“Bad hunt?” you asked, and continued to ogle Sam as he studied your lounge like it was the first time he’d seen it.

Something like that, Sam thought, but Meg didn’t answer. He could feel her impatience rattle inside him. She wasn’t a fan of small talk.

“Do you… do you want to talk about it?” And when Sam still didn’t reply, you rubbed your arms awkwardly, like you were warming yourself from the cold.

Sam wanted to offer you his jacket. Apologise profusely for barging in like this. Instead, he felt his lips curl involuntarily.

“Truth is,” he said, and he turned to face you, your figure tempting in the lamplight. Nipples peaking through the satin of your pajama top. Fuel to the fire of his already vivid imagination. He stepped closer, and your breath caught as he backed you slowly against the wall. “I couldn’t sleep because I was thinking about you. In fact, baby, I can’t get you out of my fucking head.”

Meg wasn’t lying. He hadn’t been able to stop thinking about you. That was the whole reason he’d been so distracted and screwed up on the hunt. The reason Dean had gotten so mad at him for his negligence. It wasn't like Sam to fuck up like that. Not like him at all.

Sam watched you closely. Watched you squint at him like he was a puzzle to solve. One of your cryptic passages.

Solve me, Sam thought, his mind pleading. Realize this isn’t me.

He hadn’t missed how your eyes had snapped up to his when he’d called you baby. He’d never called you that before, and he started to sweat. He would never be this forward.

He half expected you to laugh it off, to take it as a joke, or tell him he was an idiot and try to send him away. What he didn’t expect was for you to move closer. Much closer. So close he could see down your top. To your cleavage. To the perfect curve of your breasts and the way your nipples stood, now undoubtedly erect beneath that flowery satin. He didn’t have to imagine anymore. It felt like a personal attack.

If he was more himself, Sam would clear his throat and force himself to look away. Store the image for a lonely day and let it wreck him in a stolen moment of satisfaction that would promise relief, but ultimately leave him with a deep-seated shame.

But he wasn’t. And he didn’t. His body refused to obey him.

He could sense Meg’s tendrils in his motor cortex, prodding around and manipulating his voluntary muscles. His eyes. His voice. His limbs… She’d pretty much left his sensory and autonomic tracts unmanned. How generous.

A low, insidious hunger stirred below his gut, something darker than just want. Something he should fight. And he found himself staring like a dog in heat. A predator that had finally trapped its prey.

Low and behold the thing he’d feared appeared. Nature took its course, and it was fucking obvious. He couldn’t even move his arms to tuck it beneath his waistband.

A knowing smile formed on your face as you looked him up and down. You’d caught him out. Sam’s heart stuttered, and for a second he thought you weren’t just letting him look. You were daring him to.

You drew in a breath. “Fucking finally,” you said. “I was wondering how long you’d make me wait.”

And before Sam could register what he was hearing, you did something he had been imagining for months: you rose to your tip-toes and kissed him. And as your soft, warm lips collided with his stern, cold ones, Sam felt his internal knees weaken.

He wanted to tell you how much he’d longed for this. Longed for you. Wanted to soften the kiss and tell you how beautiful you were. How intelligent. How every time he was around you, he’d forced himself to look away, because he’d never be good enough for you. How you deserved better than him. Better than a college drop-out and a pathetic excuse for a hunter.

Instead, he was insulting you. Degrading you. Using you. Worse, he was letting Meg use you in whatever fucked-up game she was playing. He’d been negligent–again. This was all his fault. He should’ve listened to Dean and gotten that damn fugly tattoo.

The kiss was heady and demanding. All sharp lines and rough edges. A clash of tongue and teeth. With every movement your breaths were coming heavier, hotter, and you were pulling him closer, clawing at him.

Sam found his hands grappling for your clothes. Your flowery pajama pants. Hiking them down. And then his hand was between your legs, just a thin strip of cotton between his fingers and your liquid heat.

“Sam—” you gasped, as Sam cupped your mound possessively. His touch wasn’t shy, wasn’t gentle, and Sam shuddered at the thought that this was how he’d touch you for the first time. So selfish. The guilt that was his constant companion wound around his throat, constricting his internal voice, choking him harder with every effort he made to break free.

Sam wanted to take his time with you, to map your body with his mind and to notice every detail; how you liked to be touched and where, to gauge your reactions with every pass of his fingertips. But he wasn’t given that choice. This was an excavation, not an exploration.

 “Come upstairs,” you pleaded against his cheek, and bit your lip to stifle a moan as Sam started prodding you through your panties. “Please, Sammy ... want you in my bed.”

Sam heard Meg laugh, then speak to him for the first time.

She’s a brash little thing, isn’t she? I can see why you like her. A natural submissive, with a hint of defiance. This will be fun. Oh, how I love to watch them break. Better appease her first, though …

“Sure, baby,” Sam heard himself say, then let himself be pulled up the stairs.

~

This wasn’t fair. You deserved more than this. A conversation, at least. A safe word.

But Meg wasn’t big on safe words; she was only big on pain.

But this was never about harming you, Sam realized. It was about torturing him. It was always about torturing him ...

So, you’ve cottoned on, puppet?

Meg’s voice in Sam’s head rang clear as the highway had been when they’d driven here. Her voice was gloating.

You’ve always been my favorite toy, Sam. You’re so fun to play with. Big... Commanding... Full of self-loathing... You make it so easy.

Sam felt the threads around his internal voice loosen. She was allowing him to speak.

Get out of me, he growled. Leave her alone. Fuck off back to Hell.

Lighten up, Bullwinkle. She’s game. She wants this, clearly. She’s not as innocent as you think. Or are you really that dumb? Look at her.

And Sam did; he had no choice.

Meg flipped you over again so he was forced to look at your face, and he watched as your eyes rolled back in your head with every punishing thrust of his hips.

You looked like a broken doll.

Incapacitated, vulnerable, and…

Hot.

Incredibly fucking hot with your eyes glazed, tits bouncing, hair mussed, wrists bound, and legs spread wide for him.

Fuck. The fact that he was even deriving a single ounce of pleasure from this was unspeakable. Abhorrent. This wasn’t him. He wasn’t thinking straight.

Maybe it was the alcohol. Yeah, must be the alcohol …

With Sam’s lips, Meg smiled a sadistic grin and re-tightened her threads. Sam felt his larynx constrict, choking him quiet as Meg grasped you by the heels and sucked several of your pretty little toes into the pink flesh of his mouth.

Even they tasted sweet.

What the hell was wrong with him?

“God—” you choked out, squirming. In delight or disgust, Sam couldn’t tell any more. Maybe it was both.

Not everyone plays by the rules, puppet, Meg continued. You should know that more than anyone ... I wonder how many other men she’s fucked like this. Must be quite a few. She clearly knows what she wants.

Sam felt a rage that incapacitated him further. But he was completely at her mercy, unable to do anything to prevent this.

He pulled your foot from his mouth, your toes now shiny with his spit, and grazed his teeth along the inside of your calf, leaving several bruising bites.

A dog gnawing on a bone.

A rabid animal.

And stop lying to yourself. Your mind may be capable of deceit, but your meat-suit isn’t. The body doesn’t lie. That was all you…

That was, also, frustratingly true. Despite his intoxication, Sam hadn’t had any trouble getting it up. Of course he hadn’t—it was you. He’d imagined this moment too many times: you, naked, below him, screaming his name. He’d pleasured himself to that thought no less than ten times in the past week alone. It had gotten a little out of hand.

You want this too, puppet. Repression’s an insidious thing. Has no one ever told you that? I’ve seen how you’ve thought about her. The things you’ve imagined... You’re as sick as I am. I’m not doing anything you haven’t already thought about. I’m doing you a favour. Give her what she wants. Give in to the darkness that’s already inside you.

No, Sam thought defiantly, his vision swimming, stars falling like specks of dust. Not like this…

She wants this, puppet. If you won’t give her what she wants, then I will. You have no choice. She’s a pretty little thing. Even when she screams. I wonder what she looks like when the light’s leaving her eyes.

NO, Sam thought, but his hands were already grappling for your neck, his long, skilful fingers hovering over your carotid arteries.

“You want this, baby?” Sam heard himself ask. “You want me to fuck you up?” His voice was still thick from the whisky, and he was horrified to see you nod, dazed though you were.

Sam could hear Meg laughing in his head. This wasn’t funny. It was exactly the opposite. She was screwing with him well, making out that any aspect of this was consensual. She’d learnt that the hard way with Jo. If she was too obvious, you’d know this wasn’t him, surely? Surely you would?

“Just to be clear, you want this, right? ‘Cause I wouldn’t want to hurt you, baby.” Then Meg ran a hand down the rippling muscles in his arm and flexed, making him look like a total jackass. “I’m a big guy, if you hadn’t noticed.” Again, total jackass move.

“Yes, Sammy,” you rasped, watching him beneath heavy lids, mouth parted in awe. “Of course I’ve noticed ... I’ve been waiting so long for this ... For you.”

Sam felt his stomach drop again and fall through the earth. How could you believe this was really him?

You see, Meg taunted. She’s game, baby.

The admission did nothing to reassure Sam. In fact it only made the guilt worse. Hearing that you’d wanted him too, for some time, and were willing to overlook this problematic behavior, hit him like a punch to the gut. It shouldn’t have gone like this. You deserved more. So much more. You deserved to be made to feel loved, not lusted over and debased like a cheap whore.

Meg placed his hand around your neck and squeezed, and the moan you gave in response sent shivers up his spine. With every following word that left his mouth, he felt his grip tighten, your blood pulsing beneath his fingers. “You’re a depraved little slut, huh? Who’d have thought? It’s always the quiet ones. Lose all sense of dignity when they’re being fucked.”

At that, Sam’s hands withdrew and you gasped, your breath shallow and whiny, and your eyes reflected something other than pleasure for the first time tonight. They flashed black, and Sam could see himself in them. It looked a little like fear.

Meg laughed. At you. At Sam’s clear perturbance. And then with a force he never would dare use, drew back his hand and slapped you across the face. You were so small compared to him, so delicate, it wouldn’t take much to break you.

Don’t worry, Meg said. You’re not going to kill her. I can’t deal with reapers right now. They ruin all the fun.

Sam watched your supple skin bloom from the impact of his hand, and your head loll to the side. A single tear rolled down your cheek and pooled in the crevice between your collarbones. You looked undoubtedly out of it, whimpering incomprehensibly, but apparently that wasn’t good enough for Meg. If she couldn’t have you dead, she’d have the next best thing.

Please, Sam begged, as his hand returned to collar your throat. No more. Do what you want with me, but leave her out of this…

As his fingers constricted even further around your neck, Sam couldn’t deny how pretty it looked–his hand around your throat like a gorget. It fit perfectly, like it was meant to be there.

Trouble was, a gorget was meant to protect you, and he was doing the exact opposite…

Maybe you’re not a lost cause after all, Meg chuckled. Damn this is fun.

Fuck, Sam thought, as he struggled in vain to put an end to this violent act, his vile thoughts. But it was too late; the light was already leaving your eyes, your face was turning redder by the second, and...

And…

Your pussy was clenching around him.

This was getting you off.

Told you, Meg said. She’s a freak. We’re not that different.

And as the rest of your climax seized you, Sam felt his own take hold.

He pulled out and began pumping his throbbing cock with the hand he’d just used to strangle you.

A dizzying pleasure overcame him.

Whisky in his veins.

Stars again behind his eyes.

And it didn’t take long before he was groaning in ecstasy, shooting his silky seed across your chest and face.

Through Sam’s now hazel eyes, Meg forced him to look down at you. At what he’d done. At your unconscious shell of a body he’d defiled with his pathetic lack of self-control.

A pornographic painting.

A disturbing display of his descent into depravity.

And then Meg did the cruellest thing she could have possibly done in that moment.

She left.

Left him all alone to deal with the aftermath of this mess. The emotional and physical.

Guilt swallowed Sam whole. Not only for what he’d done, but for how good it had felt to lose control, to sate the desires that that taken root deep inside his rotten, corrupted soul.

The last thing Sam heard before she abandoned his aching body–as he closed his internal eyes and admitted defeat–was Meg’s voice, crisp, clear and gloating.

I’ve ruined her for you now, haven’t I, puppet?

And as much as Sam didn’t want to admit it, maybe she had. Because he now couldn’t imagine having you any other way. 

[tinytalkingtina]

Tales of Eddierotica Chapter 1: Argh me matey

Eddie writes the world's worst erotica about characters who are just poorly disguised versions of himself and Steve. One day, Steve finds out exactly what's been going on inside the mind of his roommate all these years.

Rated E | 4.3k words | Ao3 link [Chapter 1] | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4 Overall tags: crack treated seriously/porn with a plot, modern/no-UD AU, friends to lovers, bisexual Eddie AND Steve, steddie as roommates, switch Eddie/Steve, vers Steve/Eddie, Eddie has a crush on Steve (and is horny about it), writer Eddie, the prose is so purple it has passed out from a lack of oxygen, friend fiction/erotica, so many bad puns and word play Chapter-specific tags: pirate AU, pirate Eddie, sailor Steve, pegging, rope bondage, non-con bondage, sexual frustration, orgasm denial, edging, and penis sword fighting (mind the tags but the erotica is at all times silly)

Written for the @switcheddieweek event, fulfilling the "art" prompt!

Find the full chapter on Ao3 to read it in all of its comic sans glory, but enjoy a snippet below the cut (as well as tags). Pink is Eddie's writing below.

“Theodore!” Stevenson growled manfully, as a man might. “You’ve gone too far this tiiiiiiimmmoohhhhh, too far this time! I demand you release me at once. Let us settle our differences as men of honor might.” The raven-haired roguish rascal grinned. “Why Commander, are you asking little old me for a duel? Your weapon is certainly impressive, but I promise, my own morning wood is far more dexterous in the afternoon!” Stevenson craned his neck. From where he was bound, he could just make out the captain’s trouser sword, the red tip shining merrily in the half past two o’clock sun. True to the captain’s word, it bobbed and waved in the breeze with quite agile ease. Still, what choice did Stevenson have? This unceasing torment would surely be his undoing. Even if he managed to reach his peak, la petite mort would be far too great for his tired body and overcum soul. “Yes, I do challenge you to a duel, you dastardly fieeeeend!” Anything to ease the ache in his pale twinned coconuts. The more Steve read, the less convinced he was that this was revenge. It was way too silly. Definitely weird and fucked up. But ‘pale twinned coconuts’ was something guys would say in like, a comedy porno. And now that he thought about it, Eddie had left the notebook where Steve could find it by accident. Maybe this was why the two of them got along so well, his roommate would turn his annoyance at whatever Steve had done into stupid porn to laugh at. Which was in fact very Midwestern of him after all. Mercifully the pirate captain holding him captive decided he’d had his fill of watching the commander writhe and groan. His loyal crew mates pulled Stevenson back onto the deck, giving him a much needed reprieve from the peg he’d been impaled upon. Though blood flowed back into Stevenson’s limbs, his body still spared some to hold his mighty spear aloft. For Stevenson’s johnson was truly a weapon to behold and envy. Even under clothes, its size and girth served as a source of distraction for those who shared the room with it. Steve glanced down at his pants and the super obvious outline of his dick. Okay so maybe these sweats were a little too tight to wear in public, but in his defense, Eddie had walked into a wall or tripped over his own feet every day since the two of them had met. How was he supposed to know some of those accidents were dick-related? Once the commander recovered his strength, he stood to his full height. Standing but one inch over his opponent only due to his stupidly attractive voluminous hairTowering over his opponent, he grasped his Not So Lil’ Stevie[son] and prepared to fight.

Read the rest on Ao3!

Tagging folks who have been scarred by wip weekend snippets:

@hbyrde36 @pearynice @eriquin @queenie-ofthe-void @yesdangerpls

@fkinkindagauche @helpimstuckposting @augustjustice @apomaro-mellow

@onirislanding @sidekick-hero @shares-a-vest @dreamwatch @stellarspecter

@zombiethingy @wynnyfryd @griefabyss69 @stevesjockstrap @runninriot

@sourw0lfs @dame-zoom-a-latte @pentapoctopus @soaringornithopter

[jayaury]

Warm Comforts

Mistakes had been made.

Possibly even by Evan, though it was too soon to be sure.

After all, his plan had been perfect. The Longdale Pass wasn’t supposed to snow up for weeks when he’d set out. And yes, maybe he’d lingered a little too long in Lucena bartering for those diamonds, but he’d made so much money. And there’d still been time.

So, naturally, it wasn’t really his fault that he was currently trudging through the Mountains of Despair while one of its infamous blizzards howled around him. Whose fault this was remained a bit of an open question, but he was sure he’d have an answer for it.

Provided he didn’t freeze to death first.

Fortunately, he had always been a practical man, and had dressed in the anticipation of being on the road when the first snows hit. And he was… he was utterly confident he was on the right path, despite the whiteout. He just needed to get somewhere warm. Get out of the cold for a bit and recover his bearings.

But that was looking to be a problem.

He squinted through the white of the blizzard. By his calculations, he shouldn’t be far from the town of Gibran. Once there, he’d be able to hunker down for the winter, and when spring rolled in, he’d be able to pop through the pass without issue, hit the main road, and be in the capital before the harvest.

And he was sure he was going in the right direction.

Though, it was starting to feel like an awfully long walk…

But… wait.

Was that a light?

Hope bloomed in Evan’s breast and he forced his legs into motion again, wading through the rising snow with the urgency of the damned. For a moment the cold receded in his limbs as he struggled through the drifting white banks, his scarf sucking against his mouth with every laboured breath.

It was a light! And more. Buildings formed out of the darkness. Near buried, their eaves covered in snow, yet from frosted windows light spilled out, promising heat and warmth and comfort. One in particular loomed ahead. More a lodge than a home, it spread itself forth in a dark mass, the windows glowing gold with heat. With life-giving warmth.

Evan staggered into the smaller drifts around the building. He trudged about to the front, finding himself before a large door. Elaborate carvings covered it, and twin totems that he couldn’t make out due to the snow flanked it. But he paid them little attention as he searched for a handle. He almost sobbed when he found it, turned it, and fell inside.

The cozy heat from within hit him like a golden wave.

Warm.

Blessed, life giving warmth.

He groaned as he went to his knees, panting, head swimming as he swung the door shut behind him, silencing the howling storm. For a moment he could only kneel there, breathing heavily in relief and exhaustion.

“Well wel! What have we here?”

Wearily, Evan raised his eyes towards the voice.

And stiffened anew.

A woman stood before him, and what a woman she was. All curves, she was soft and tall, and not just because she sported a pair of bovine horns. Huge breasts stretched a downy gown while a fur-trimmed cloak draped her shoulders. Amulets and charms hung off her, while pigtails of golden blonde spilled down her shoulders and the curve of her chest. She smiled with a warm delight that made Evan’s cock throb in his pants.

But a chill went down his spine at the sight of her nonetheless, for he knew a holstaur when he saw one, and he’d heard the rumours of the mountainous cowgirl breed, as had anyone else.

Naturally, he didn’t put too much stock in them. He was a man of the world, after all, but enough stories floated around about the gorgeous cow women who populated villages along the high passes that it warranted some caution. Stories like how their milk was corruptive to those who drank it. That holstaurs were always seeking males to entrance with their breasts and cream, turning poor fools who stumbled upon their homes into happy, obedient slaves who never thought of anything but how to better serve the buxom beauties and pump their heavy, sloshing breasts.

Rumours as far as he knew.

Still…

Evan grunted and heaved himself back to his feet. “Sorry,” he gasped. “Just… needed to get out of the cold.”

“I imagine so,” the holstaur said, her voice thick with a mountain accent. “You look half frozen! Please. Come in. Come in! Let’s get you over to the fire.”

“I-I can stay here,” he quickly said.

“Not at all. You’re still shivering! And never let it be said the Bovam tribe left a poor soul to the winter’s bite. We must get you all warmed up.”

Evan hadn’t the will to argue. Not as the stinging ache of the cold buzzed in his extremities. And the warmth deeper in the lodge drew him in like a moth to flames.

He found himself being ushered out of the receiving room and into a large hall. The high ceiling was held aloft by arching wooden beams and the walls were inlaid with elaborate carvings of bovine figures and geometric designs. A huge fire roared in the middle of the room, the smoke sucked up through a chimney and into the freezing night. Benches were arrayed around tables layered with food.

And everywhere were the holstaurs.

There had to be more than a dozen of the bovine beauties about the room, all dressed in the loose, heavy robes that draped their tall frames, curving over their plump chests. Many wore bracers or ringlets made of gold and silver around their horns. More than a few held steins of foaming ale and were deep in merry conversation.

And all looked his way as he entered the room.

He stopped, eyes panning the interior, freezing under the very interested gaze of the assembled cow women.

Then he jumped as his guide’s heavy hand landed on his shoulder. “Ladies,” the cowgirl beside him declared. “This poor fellow just came in from the cold. Please, I invite you all make him welcome.”

Smiles fluttered to soft lips all around the room, and a chorus of greetings met him. Evan felt his face warm under the attention of so many beautiful women and he cleared his throat.

“Ah, hello. My name is Evan. I’m a… ah, a merchant. Just happened to have been passing by and needed to warm up a bit.”

“And we’re all so pleased you decided to join us tonight,” the blonde cowgirl with him said, smiling down at him. “Bellia? Some ale for our guest.”

“Right away, Clara,” a tanned holstaur giggled, brushing back her fiery red hair as she made her way to some tankards on a nearby table.

“You’re quite fortunate to have stopped by tonight as well,” Clara said as she walked Evan towards the hearth.

“I am? Why?” he asked, his eyes darting about warily.

“Because it’s our festival of the Hollydays. A celebration of our company, and a prayer to the goddess to see the winter is not so bitter, and spring will be long and soon. But really,” she said with another reassuring squeeze of his shoulder. “It’s an excuse for the village to get together in these frigid months and get pleasantly drunk. Why, one could go mad all alone in their huts during this weather.”

“Right,” Evan said as he was sat down on a bench near the flames. Wonderful flames. No sooner had he done so than Bellia had plopped down on his other side, pushing a stein of ale into his hands.

“Here you are! Nice and warm.”

“Thanks,” Evan said, looking at the foaming drink. He gave it a sniff, but it didn’t seem to have anything wrong with it. Maybe he was just being paranoid.

“So, do you intend to stay long?” Bellia asked, squeezing in closer.

“Long? Oh, no. Just… need to warm up. Then I’ll be heading out. Thinking about trying to reach Grevin. Shouldn’t be too far. Another day or so of walking.”

“Maybe. But in this blustering wind?” Clara said, settling on his other side and scooting in towards him. “Trudging through that deep, deep snow? All the while the freezing air whips at you? The cold sucks at you? Numbs you?”

Evan shivered at the reminder and took a quick sip of the ale. It was quite good, though different from any he’d tried before. Thick and warm, yet smooth. Almost… creamy.

“What an awful thing,” Bellia cooed.

He shrugged. “It’s not so bad. Not the life for many, true. But I do love to travel. Just… made a small timing error.”

“How terrible,” Bellia said, stroking his shoulder before her arm slid around him, pulling him against her curves. “It must have been just awful out there. Why, you’re still shivering! It must be those clothes you’re wearing. Still so cold. Why not take them off?”

Evan almost choked on his ale. “M-my clothes?”

“Bellia, really now,” Clara sighed. “He doesn’t need to get naked here. At least, not until he’s in his bed.”

“Bed?” Evan looked between them uncertainly. “Oh, no. I couldn’t. I’ll just warm up and then head out.”

“Oh, but you’re still so terribly cold,” Clara put in gently. “Why, I imagine you’re already feeling the weakness of your journey.”

Evan shifted. She wasn’t wrong. His muscles throbbed with exhaustion and the cold, to say nothing of the sting of returning feeling in his hands and feet. “I really can’t afford…”

“It would be free, of course,” Clara noted.

His ears perked up. “Free?”

He saw Clara exchange a glance with Bellia. The pale holstaur’s lips curved up further. “Of course,” Clara said, wriggling in closer, squeezing him against Bellia. Against her breasts. Such big breasts. Gods. They were bigger than his head. Evan tried to ignore them, but they were so close. Close and soft.

Close and warm.

He hastily took another drink of his ale, the smooth taste tingling on his tongue and buzzing through his body. “Well…” he said, sneaking another glance at Bellia and Clara.

“We wouldn’t dream of charging you to stay in our little village,” Clara continued. “The laws of hospitality would never permit it. We don’t have much, but what we have we gladly share. Especially with such a worldly young man. We so rarely get news from the outside here. Especially during winter.”

“I imagine,” he said.

“Of course. And we’d not dare send you out there again. Not with the brutal weather. Although…”

Evan frowned. Of course there would be a catch. “What?” he asked as he took another sip of his ale.

“Well,” Clara said gently. “Unfortunately, we don’t have enough beds for a newcomer, so I’m afraid you may have to… stay with some of us while you’re here.”

His eyes widened. Snapped between the two holstaurs. “Stay? But, I…”

“Oh, we don’t mind,” Bellia giggled.

“Exactly. In fact, we’d consider it our duty. Especially tonight. You need to do whatever you can to warm up, lest the shock kill you dead! I’ve seen it happen so often.”

“Just tragic,” Bellia sniffed, wiping her eye.

Evan hesitated. But she… did have a point. It would be pretty stupid to charge out there after just warming up. Especially for a trip that may take more than a day. And he had heard of the cold doing what she described. Men who warmed up too fast, then went back out into the freezing cold quickly grew disoriented, the shock of the change in temperature causing limbs to seize up, and the cold burying them quickly.

He took another drink of his ale, feeling the warmth of it ooze through him and settle in his arms and legs. Gods that was good stuff. He had been walking an awful long time, he really needed that drink. And a rest wouldn’t be so bad. It wouldn’t be a terrible idea to maybe… take a rest. Get warm and ready for the next stage of his journey.

His eyes again crept to the holstaurs.

Lingered on their straining busts…

“I… suppose I could,” he admitted.

“Wonderful,” Clara said, rubbing his shoulder comfortingly. “Simply wonderful. Oh, and I see you’re still shivering. How terrible. I imagine you can already feel all those aching pins and needles. We really must help you get the blood flowing. Bellia? Could you help our guest?”

“Gladly, chief,” Bellia giggled, rising and taking his hand.

Evan found himself being drawn to his feet. “Er…”

“Now now! No argument,” Clara said warmly as Evan found himself tucked against Bellia’s side. “Not unless you’d like to lose those fingers and toes to frostbite.”

“I… guess not,” he admitted.

“Exactly,” Bellia said with a lazy smile. “Don’t worry. I’ll make sure you keep nice… and warm…”

Evan smiled back, albeit a little uncertainly. He soon found himself brought down a dim hall and to a door. Bellia pushed it open, admitting him into a dark room. The curtains were drawn on its single window, but just the sound of the storm battering against the shutters and glass made him shiver anew. Bellia left him and lit a lonely lamp, the single flame revealing in its orange glow thick rugs hanging off the walls, many sewn with pastoral scenes. Scents lingered in the air, and he spotted a number of incense burners before a carved altar, wafting their scents into the air on thin trails of smoke.

He realized he was still holding the stein and finished it off in one go, the warm ale seeping down into him in a tingling rush.

“Now,” Bellia cooed, patting the heavy blankets of a large, strongly built bed, “Time to get those clothes off.”

“E-excuse me?” Evan stammered, blinking.

“I need to massage the feeling back into you, silly,” Bellia said, smiling. “Don’t worry. I’m well trained in it. All the village girls are. It’s our way of strengthening our bonds. A deeply personal ritual.”

Evan considered refusing, but it wasn’t unreasonable. Again, he found his eyes wandering to her plump, bronzed breasts before he forced his eyes away.

“Sure. Alright,” he said, and began to strip off his clothes, which proved somewhat difficult with his numb fingers.

“Let me help,” Bellia said, moving in.

Evan sighed and decided he may as well. He shivered as her gentle fingers helped undo his jacket and stripped it away. Soon more of his clothes came off, revealing his shirt and pants, though even those soon went, leaving him in nothing but his underclothes.

Which failed utterly to hide how aware he was of her body.

“Oh,” Bellia said, a smoky look in her eyes as she looked at the tent he’d pitched. “Oh…”

“Uh,” Evan coughed. “So, massage?”

“Hm? Oh! Right. Of course. Please, sit down on the bed.”

Evan did so, Bellia kneeling before him. Her eyes were low and lidded as she took his foot and began to gently knead the sole with her fingers.

Evan tried not to react, but it was terribly hard not to. It was like she was rolling all the aches from them, leaving only a warm looseness. A groan escaped him as her fingers rubbed his feet, another throb of heat moving through him.

“Feels good, doesn’t it?” she asked sweetly.

“Yeah. Yeah, it does.”

“Good. Then just relax. Let me help you get what you need…”

Evan sighed, laying back as Bellia’s wonderful fingers worked their magic on him. And it did almost feel like magic. The way her touch seemed to still the painful tingling and replace it with warm heaviness. He sighed, head lolling as more of the wonderful, heady pleasure went through him. And when it hit his stomach, it seemed to mingle with the ale that heated his blood.

“Mmmm,” Evan sighed.

“Enjoying that?” Bellia cooed.

“Verrrry,” he sighed.

“Thank you. But we should also get your blood pumping a bit harder, shouldn’t we?”

“Blood? Sure. Sounds… sounds good.”

“That it does,” she breathed.

Evan gasped as he felt fingers hook in his boxers and ease them down. He groggily raised his head, discovering Bellia eye-level with his cock, which jutted up shamelessly from his lap. The cowgirl’s eyes burned hot, her tongue teasing along her lips.

Evan’s mouth opened, but the words died as Bellia grasped the front of her gown and unlaced the threads. His eyes widened as the fabric fell open, her immense breasts spilling forth. Tanned to a chocolate brown, her nipples plump and seeming to quiver as she hefted them, leaned forward.

And wrapped her massive breasts around his cock.

“Oh f-fuuuuuuck,” Evan groaned, head falling back as sweet, aching pleasure surged up through him, throbbing in his balls.

“The best way to get a man’s blood pumping,” Bellia cooed as she squeezed her breasts around his manhood, massaging him with her plump, warm orbs, “is with his big… hard… cock… Don’t you agree?”

“Y-yeaaaah,” Evan gasped, hands clutching the sheets as he arched beneath her, muscles tightening in sweet pleasure.

“That’s so good to hear,” Bellia crooned, and Evan swore he could hear her breasts sloshing as she bounced them around his shaft. “Getting that blood pumping… That cum frothing… That tension tightening. Get you nice and warm. Nice and relaxed. Oh Evan… it’s going to feel so goooood.”

“Ohhhhh,” Evan moaned, panting, breathing hot and fast, biting his lip as she continued to bounce and massage her breasts.

“Feels so gooood,” Bellia breathed.

There was no denying that. Evan tried hard to resist the allure of the pleasure as it surged through him. He bit his lip, tensing in pleasure. But he couldn’t last long. Not after the trek. Not with the heat rushing through his veins. Not with those perfect, massive breasts squeezing his throbbing cokc.

“Oh… Oh! Oh f-fuuuuck!” Evan cried out as he felt his balls tighten, his cock throb, and spurts of hot, heavy cum pulse from his balls.

White spurted from between Bellia’s breasts, splashing across the surface of those chocolatey orbs. Bellia cooed, lifting the plump heaviness from his cock. Meeting his eyes, she hefted her breasts and lovingly licked the creamy whiteness off her tits.

Evan watched, mouth open, breath hot and warm as she finished. Smirking wider, she rose and moved into the bed beside him.

“Here we are,” she said, pulling him close, pressing him against her breasts and cuddling him like he was a giant teddy. “Let’s get you nice and warm… all night…”

Evan sighed, his eyes sliding shut, exhaustion seeping through him as he slumped against the gorgeous cowgirl. Yes. A quick… quick nap sounded pretty good.

Sounded very good…

#

Gods, what a strange dream.

Because, most assuredly, what had happened yesterday had to be a dream. It certainly felt like it.

Then, Evan peeled his eyes open, and found himself confronted by a pair of impossibly large, tanned breasts nearly enveloping his face.

He blinked dully, then glanced up at the face above those teats. He recognized Bellia in an instant, the holstaur looking so soft in her sleep, her lips parted, her cheeks rosy as she snuggled into the blankets with him.

Evan swallowed thickly, tasting again the heavy creaminess of the ale. A part of him desired to bury himself once more between those breasts, close his eyes, and slip back into a long, deep slumber. But he knew he had to get moving. It had been a long night, but one thing was for sure, he was very warmed up.

With exceptional care he slipped out of bed, Bellia murmuring but failing to wake up. He managed to find his pants and shirt and pulled them on, then eased open the door and peeked out.

The wooden hall of the lodge was empty, and once he was sure there was no one else about he slipped out the door. His winter clothes couldn’t be far. Once he had them on, he could just slip out and get back on the road.

He found his way to the main hall of the lodge. The hearth was extinguished and a coolness pervaded the room.  

He exhaled in relief at finding no one. Good. He could leave easily now. He did feel a bit bad about not saying goodbye. Especially after the delights of last night and what the holstaurs had done for him. But at the same time, there was just something… off about the whole situation. He wasn’t sure what. It was just a nagging feeling of unease about the lodge and its residents.

Either way, best to be gone soon. Hefting his gear, he made his way towards the exit and reached for the handle.

Only for the door to fly open, knocking him off his feet.

“Oh my! Evan, I’m so sorry!”

Evan shook off the shock of his fall and looked up. Clara stood before him, her curvy form bundled in heavy winter clothes. She leaned forward and over him, her eyes warm with concern, her breasts bouncing with the motion and straining the woolly fabric.

Her breasts.

Her big… soft breasts…

“Goodness me, I didn’t see you there! I’m so sorry. Here, let me help you up.”

Evan shook himself back to the present. “Thanks,” he said, accepting her hand. She pulled him to his feet with surprising strength, and Evan jolted as he found himself pressed against her breasts.

Her big… soft… warm breasts.

“Are you alright, Evan?” Clara cooed.

Evan jumped, realizing he’d been leaning into her chest. “I-I’m fine. Absolutely,” he said, taking a quick step back.

“I see. But whatever are you up to?” she asked, looking him over.

“Just… heading out onto the road,” he said.

Clara’s face dipped into a disappointed frown. “Already?”

“I do need to get on my way.”

“Really?” Clara asked, crossing her arms beneath her breasts, a pout on her lips. “With the storm still raging? I was just out checking on the rest of the village, and the weather is even worse than yesterday. Do you really think that’s a good idea?”

Evan found his eyes drifting back down to her breasts. The memory of how they’d felt as he pressed against them rose in his mind and he hastily shook it off. Though… was that a sparkle in Clara’s eye?

“What’s going on?”

Evan turned quickly to see a number of other holstaurs filling up the hall. Most were dressed in simple sleeping robes, blinking sleepily and looking his way with docile interest. Again Evan found himself looking at their chests. At the way the filmy fabric hugged those curves. Gods, they were almost transparent…

“Evan was thinking of leaving,” Clara said, gently resting a hand on his shoulder.

A chorus of disappointed sounds came from the holstaurs as they crowded in closer.

“Are you sure?” one asked.

“In this cold?”

“Oh, it’d be so very chilly out there.”

“Poor boy.”

Evan swallowed hard. His nose twitched as he inhaled the sweet, creamy scent of the gorgeously busty women. He shifted where he stood. “Well, I…”

“I was just telling Evan all about the storm,” Clara put in. “But if he wants to go, we can’t stop him. Although…”

Evan’s ear twitched and he looked at the chief of the clan. “Although?”

“Well,” Clara said with a gentle smile. “You did promise to tell some stories of your travels. And I’m sure the girls would just love to hear them. Wouldn’t you?”

Gasps and trills of eagerness came from the holstaurs. Evan bit his lip at their pleading eyes. Again he looked out a window as the howling wind battered at the shutters.

“I… suppose it wouldn’t be the worst thing to… to wait out the storm,” he finally mumbled.

A great cheer went up and Clara squeezed his shoulder, leaning in with a smile. “A wonderful idea,” she said, her breasts swaying softly with her breathing. “The weather will clear up in a few days too. The storm will go. It’ll be sunny and warm. Doesn’t that sound good?”

It… it did sound good, he had to admit. The thought of trudging back into that storm was very unappealing. Especially with Clara’s soft curves so close. So warm.

“I… I guess you have a point,” he said.

“Exactly,” Clara crooned, guiding him back into the lodge. “What’s a few days rest? And really, you’d be doing us a favour! All us girls are so desperate for conversation. And I imagine you have the most fascinating stories to tell around the fire. Stories us poor provincial girls would never hear all alone up here. Would you like to hear them, girls?”

There was a chorus of agreements from the crowd of cowgirls, and facing that busty, eager audience, Evan found his protests fading away.

“I… guess I could. For a little while,” he admitted.

“Of course,” Clara said, gently pushing him down onto a bench, the gorgeous holstaur taking a seat beside him. “We’d love to hear them. And here. To help keep your throat… moist…”

Evan found a stein of ale being pushed into his hands, and the moment he saw the foaming waters he felt the dryness of his throat. Eagerly, he took a long draw from the warm, creamy brew (creamier than last night, he seemed to notice).

Setting the mug aside, Evan smiled, the familiar lazy warmth filling him as he settled before the fire, surrounded by gorgeous, rapt women. “Well,” he began huskily, “my last journey took me near Metrolin. A huge city near the coast. There…”

Never had he had a more eager audience. The cowgirls hung off his every word, and Evan actually began to enjoy himself. He’d never thought of himself as much of a storyteller, but the words seemed to flow out of him so easily. And the ale kept him going. Whenever his mug went empty, it would almost instantly be replaced with a full one.

He could feel the ale and warmth of the room work its magic on him, and soon he’d even shed his coats and boots. Much too hot, and the room was so very warm. As he finished another story involving a nearsighted wizard, he felt a gentle hand on his shoulder.

“Evan, dear. Are you starting to feel a bit tired?”

He blinked up at Clara. Or, more specifically, her chest. “Mmm? Tired? Oh, well, maybe a bit.”

He heard a smile in her voice. “Oh yes. It is quite late.”

“Late?”

He looked towards a window, staring blankly at the darkness beyond. Night? Already.

“Oh,” he said groggily. “That’s…”

“Sorry, ladies,” Clara called, rising, her hand easing Evan to his feet as well. “Looks like we’ll have to call it a night. You’ve all been splendid audience, but our dear guest needs to get some rest now.”

“Awww,” came the reply.

“But not to worry,” Clara added, easing Evan against her curves. Something that seemed so natural to him he didn’t question, nor try to pull away. “Evan will have plenty more stories tomorrow, won’t you?”

“Mmm. Yeah,” Evan sighed happily, beaming.

“Goodnight, Evan,” chorused the lovely women all around the room.

“Myeah. Night,” Evan said, waving his empty stein in farewell as Clara guided him away from the hearth and bench.

He walked heavily. Gods, he was feeling tired. Was he still recovering from the cold? Made sense. It had been a hell of a journey to even get this far. Imagine if he’d tried to make the trek through the snow in his condition, he’d surely have collapsed and died in the snow. He smiled, realizing how lucky he was to have found the holstaur town. How caring they were. How tender and loving.

And warm.

So very warm.

He sighed, leaning into Clara’s body. Her softness like a full-bodied pillow. And the sound of the heavy sloshing of her breasts filling him with another warmth. One that stirred in his pants and thickened his cock. He licked his lips again. Maybe… maybe Clara and the others were right. He’d best not try the trek until he really felt himself. Felt fully recovered. Felt ready to undertake such a journey.

It only made sense…

“Here we are.”

He shook his head, coming somewhat back to himself as he found himself in a large room with an extensive, heavily blanketed bed. What looked like totems rose in the corners. Pillars of carved wood designed like great, bovine figures rearing up. A hearth burned warm in the corner, its glow sending strange, incredible shadows moving among the carvings. Bringing to life scenes that he couldn’t quite make out in his tired state, but that made his cheeks grow warm and cock even harder.

“Here we are,” Clara repeated softly, tenderly, leading him inside. “Take off your clothes, Evan. You look just exhausted.”

“Sure…” he said, tugging his shirt and pants off. It took him a bit to to do so. His fingers felt so thick. His mind so sluggish.

“Here. Let me help.”

“Thanks,” Evan said as Clara’s hands wound their way around his front and helped him undress. When he finally was he turned around and gave a start.

Clara loomed before him, already naked. Her pale curves seemed to glow in the light of the flames, illuminating the fullness of her figure like some primeval fertility goddess made flesh. Her huge breasts nearly dwarfed his head, and her hips swelled out in tantalizing curves. Her smile was warm, indulgent, but something in her eyes made a shiver race up Evan’s back, and blood rush to his cock.

“Oh my,” Clara said, glancing down at his blatantly hard manhood. “Evan, you’ll never be able to get a proper rest like that. Here. Let me… take care of it.”

“Uh… o-okay”

Evan blinked, his mind struggling to come to grips with what was happening. A hesitation that Clara didn’t share as she sank to her knees before him and gently pushed him down until he was sitting on the edge of the bed. He watched, jaw hanging open as the gorgeous cow woman shuffled between his legs, her eyes meeting his from beneath her long lashes as she licked her lips and leaned forward, her fingers grasping his cock, angling it towards her mouth.

“O-oh!” Evan gasped as her soft lips kissed his tip. “Ohhhhhh,” he groaned, head falling back as her lips sank around his length, the gorgeously busty woman beginning to gently bob, sucking him off with a tender passion.

“Oh f-fuuuuck,” Evan gasped as he fell back, laid out on the bed, his hands gripping the sheets as Clara sucked him off. The pleasure of it throbbed down into his balls, aching through him with unimaginable ecstasy.

“Mmmm,” Clara hummed, the vibrations thrumming up his shaft as she began to bob faster. She leaned in, and Evan grunted as he felt her delicate fingers cup his balls and begin to gently massage them.

“Ho… holy f-fuck,” he gasped.

He could actually feel Clara’s smile around his cock as she suddenly began to bob faster. He cried out, grabbing her horns, gripping them tight as she took him deep into her warm mouth and throat, the sensations wonderful. Glorious!

“F-fuck!” he gasped, panting hard and fast. “Oh. Oh f-fuck. Clara. Clara I… I don’t think I… I can… oh. Oh! Ohhhhh!”

He cried out, pushed past the brink, his mind going white as he came. Clara moaned, slowing as his warm seed pumped into her mouth, her throat working as she expertly swallowed, her eyes lidding with sensuous enjoyment as she milked him of every spurt.

The sensation seemed to suck every ounce of energy he had left. Evan’s fingers slipped off Clara’s horns and he fell back among the blankets, breathing hard and fast, as if he’d just run a marathon.

He heard a gentle laugh, and then Clara was climbing into bed beside him, snuggling up against him as she lifted the blankets over the both of them. “There we are. Now, don’t you feel ready for a nice, long, relaxing nap?”

“Mmm,” Evan sighed contentedly, his eyelids feeling so terribly heavy. “Yeah. Does feel… feel good…”

“Wonderful,” Clara cooed, stroking his hair. “But I have something that will make it feel even better, Evan.”

“O-oh?”

He looked up at he as she lazily smiled and arched over him. His eyes widened as her breasts came level with his head, her nipples plump and needy. His jaw dropped, and… and dear gods, there was a bead of cream on that nipple.

“It’ll make you feel so very warm,” Clara murmured, stroking his hair, easing him towards her nipple. “So happy and relaxed. Would you like a taste, Evan?”

He licked his lips. Gods. Gods above, he did. He really, really did. But… but a part of him shivered. Some sort of uneasiness about it. What was it? Rumours he’d heard. What were they again…

“Only if you want to, sweet Evan,” she breathed. “Only if you really… really… want to…”

Evan swallowed. Because he did. He wanted it so bad. And it wasn’t like she was forcing him. It was utterly up to him. Up to him whether he wanted to suckle those big, soft breasts. Drink that sweet… sweet, heavenly cream. His mouth was so dry. His body hot. His cock hard again.

Why… why not?

Yes.

Why not?

Evan leaned up, his head cradled by Clara and to her breast. His lips latched on to a plump nipple.

And gave a gentle suck.

He moaned as rich, thick cream burst into his mouth and onto his tongue. He moaned as he suckled, drinking it down, his toes curling with pleasure. Oh gods. It was like the ale. Even better than the ale. So good. So… so good…

“Mmm,” Clara hummed above him, pulling him closer to her body, fairly enveloping him in her curves as she snuggled with him under the blanket, pressing him against her spurting breast as he greedily suckled and massaged her full, plump teats. “There… ah… there we go. Good boy. Oh Evan, that’s it. That’s so… so goooood. Mmm. And I was thinking, Evan, it’s wrong for just… just me and Bellia to monopolize you. Would you like to stay with the other girls too each night? I just know they’d appreciate it.”

“Mmm. Stay? Sure,” Evan murmured, snuggling deeper into the pillows of her breasts, barely able to spare a moment from that gushing nipple. “Probably won’t… won’t be long. Leaving soon…”

“Of course, sweet thing,” Clara cooed as she stroked his hair. “I know. But until then, the other girls would just love to have you by.”

“Sure,” Evan yawned, his eyes sliding shut. “Sure. No… no problem…”

“Good boy,” Clara crooned, her voice whispering in his ear as he drifted off, still drinking that sweet ambrosia from her teat. “Such a good boy…”

#

It was morning again.

Which morning? That was a good question.

Evan blinked groggily as he stared at the ceiling. How many days had it been now? He wasn’t sure. They all started to run together. The only way he could even begin to make sense of the passage of time was when he found himself in the bed of a new holstaur.

He yawned, stretching and lazily rolling out of bed. He heard a soft murmur and glanced back to see Clara roll over into the warm spot he’d vacated, the busty holstaur stretching out and nuzzling his pillow. Just a glimpse of her plump, heavy breasts made Evan shudder in desire to crawl back into bed with her, snuggle up against her, and bury his head between those plump, pale pillows. So, it had been Clara’s turn again last night? Good to know.

He smiled, then turned his head towards the window.

And stared.

He slammed his hands against the glass and pressed his nose to it.

Outside.

Things were… were green.

True, there were still a few banks of snow, but he could see grass sprouting on the field outside and even the beginning buds of flowers. Several trees were no longer skeletons, but growing the beginnings of leaves.

Spring?

It was spring?

But… but how? Surely he hadn’t been in the village that long. He hadn’t spent all winter among the busty holstaurs.

Had he?

He felt a shiver of horror. Of amazement. He stumbled back a step.

And his head landed between a pair of plump, perfect breasts.

“What’s wrong?” Clara asked, her arms winding around him, tugging him back against the warm softness of her body. “You’re up so early, Evan.”

“I-it’s spring!” he gasped.

He saw Clara look up and through the window without interest. “Hmm. So it is. And?”

“And? And! I… I was supposed to be on the road. In… in Gibran by now!”

“I think you mentioned that, yes,” she mused, her hands beginning to move over his naked chest, stroking him and making him shudder in dazed pleasure. His body warm and thoughts growing sluggish. “But does that really matter? Isn’t this good? I mean, walking all the way to another town in the depth of winter? Much too hard for such a lovely boy to do. Such a good, snuggly boy…”

Evan shuddered, then gasped as he felt Clara ease back down to sit on the side of the bed, taking him with her so her breasts bounced around his head, the sloshing of her cream making his legs feel wobbly.

“N-no. I need to… need to go, though…”

“Right?” Clara hummed, still stroking his chest, her hands wandering lower. “But you just got up. You still need to get yourself organized. Spend a few days getting supplies. Properly rested. Prepared…”

Evan groaned as her hand found his lap, her fingers wrapping around his cock and giving a slow pump. He was already hard. Already sensitive. The feel of her gentle touch running up and down his manhood ached through his balls and made his mind swim and swirl.

“I… I need to…”

“No one’s stopping you,” Clara murmured, her voice sliding into his thoughts, diluting them like cream in water as she continued to stroke him, easing him down onto the bed. “You can go whenever you want. Whenever you need to. I just want to make sure… you feel ready…”

“I… I am ready,” Evan said, finding himself lying down on the bed, looking up at Clara as she loomed above him, straddling him, her smile warm, one hand supporting herself, the other continuing to stroke him.

“Of course you are, Evan,” she said, her voice soft. Gentle. Sensuous as her hand pumping his cock. His heavy, heavy balls throbbing. “Of course you are. But you didn’t get much sleep last night. You must still be so tired. So horny. Surely you aren’t thinking of heading off before breakfast? Before you have a nice… long… suck…”

Evan’s mouth fell open, but no words came out as she arched above him, her breasts dangling above his face. Her nipples plump and needy. Beading with cream.

An ache like a physical need throbbed through him. “I… I really do need to…”

“Later,” she breathed, leaning in closer, her breast hovering above his head. Her scent wafting to him. Heavy. Wonderful. Thick cream and sex and sweat.

Evan licked his lips. “I… w-well… maybe a… a little later…”

“Just a little,” Clara crooned, easing down.

Burying his face beneath the heaviness of her breast.

His lips automatically latching on to a nipple.

And he gave a great, hungry suck.

“Ohhh,” Clara moaned, shuddering above him as sweet, heavy cream burst into his mouth. Flooding him as he moaned, eyes sliding shut as glorious pleasure consumed him in a rush.

“Good boy,” Clara murmured above him, her voice smooth as warm molasses. “That’s it. So thirsty. So tired. Just relax, Evan. I’ll take care of it. Take care of you. You’re so tired. Can’t get up now. So heavy. So relaxed…”

He was.

He really was.

Evan groaned in happiness as he felt her hand slide off his cock. Her thighs straddle his hips and the velvety smoothness of her pink pussy rub against his length. He shuddered as sweet, languid heat oozed through him, concentrating in his balls as the tip of his manhood rubbed against her folds. As her hips slid up, burying him beneath the soft warmth of her breast as his cock found the tender sweetness of her womanhood.

Then she slid back, burying him deep within that warm, wonderful tightness.

And Evan knew he wouldn’t be getting out of bed today.

Not when he could moan and squeeze the full, wonderful, sloshing breasts above him, flooding his mouth with gloriously good cream.

Not when he could listen to Clara moo and moan, telling him he was such a good boy as she rode his cock, burying him under her warm curves with every twitch of her hips.

Not when he could moan around her breast about how much he loved her.

Adored her.

Enjoyed every minute under her as she rode his cock and let him milk her breast. The two of them panting and gasping, their warm bodies moving together under the cozy blankets and he grew closer to climax.

Closer.

Closer.

Closer to that wonderful peak.

Closer until Clara cried out atop him, mooing with pleasure as she came. “Yes! Yes! More! Mooooooore!” the beautiful cowgirl cried, her silken depths tightening deliciously around his cock.

And he came.

Moaning.

Shuddering as his cock surrendered, his balls tightening, pumping what felt like gallons of his seed into the gorgeous holstaur. Every pulse of his manhood sinking him deeper, deeper, deeper into the misty ecstasy of that pleasured moment. The strength fleeing his limbs. The will evaporating from his body.

“Mmm,” Clara hummed, easing herself back down atop him, snuggling against him lovingly. “There we are. Isn’t that much better, Evan?”

“Mmyesss,” Evan moaned blissfully, all but buried beneath her teats.

Clara cooed, snuggling him against her soft breasts. “See? A nice, warm drink. But now, I wonder if you’re feeling too heavy to start off? Maybe you should go… tomorrow…”

“T-tomorrow? Tomorrow sounds… sounds good,” Evan breathed groggily as he stroked her pillowy breasts.

Clara laughed softly. “I knew you’d come around. I mean, spring is such a terrible season to travel in. All muddy and much too warm. It’d be much easier to travel later. Maybe even later in the year. And don’t worry, you can stay here until you’re ready. Until you feel up for it. I just hope you don’t mind helping keep all the girls in the village nice and snuggly.”

Evan blinked. “A-all?” he breathed.

He heard soft laughter and looked towards the door, where a number of gorgeous holstaurs were squeezed, eying him and Clara with obvious amusement and undisguised desire.

“Of course,” Clara breathed in his ear, pulling him deeper into the soft globes of her breasts. “You don’t mind, do you?”

Evan shuddered in delight, his eyes glued to the soft curves of breasts, all straining the fabric of warm, woolly fabric.

“N-no. Don’t… don’t mind at all.”

“Good boy,” Clara cooed, kissing his hair as she squeezed him lovingly, guiding his head back to her nipple. “You’ll know when it’s time to leave. But until then…”

Evan nodded, sinking back into her breast, moaning as he resumed sucking her nipple, his cock throbbing back to full length and beginning to thrust into the warm heat of her pussy.

Yes.

Yes, he could leave… leave any time he wanted now. He just… just needed to wait for the right time.

The perfect time.

And that could take a very… very… long time…

[the-halloween-jack]

Late-Night Escapades ✢ Dick Grayson

Synopsis: Blüdhaven, well past dusk, is irrefutably no place to wander. Though, Y/N ventures out regardless, in need of a few essentials. She knows it is irresponsible, she knows what Dick would say, but the store is just a few blocks away...

Dick Grayson x Reader, female pronouns.

Warnings: Angst (if you squint). Protective Grayson (I'm swooning).

Masterlist

Notes: This is my first piece for him, it was only supposed to be a drabble, but I'm incapable of reining myself in. So now it's a short one-shot.Words: 1,306k

Blüdhaven was a city steeped with shadow, each alleyway shrouded by the kind of darkness that seemed to linger with the ascent of dawn, draped in a silence thick enough to feel unnatural. The streetlights flickered intermittently, casting fractured beams across the pavement that glistened with rain newly passed by. The lanes stood like deep chasms, swallowing anything that dared venture too close. The city cast a gloom that made shadows feel like sentient beings, as though it were watching, waiting.

Y/N had no business being out here. She was well aware. Dick had made it inimitably clear on more than one occasion how much he hated her wandering the streets alone, he had just about forbidden it. She could hear his voice in her head, edged with frustration, laced with a quiet fear he never dared voice aloud. He viewed the notion of her travelling alone with abhorrence, never to mention her travelling alone past dusk. The city was his hunting ground, his burden to bear, and she was meant to be kept safely beyond its reach.

But it was just a quick stop at the corner store. A few things she needed for work the next day. Three blocks, in and out. Nothing more. Nothing dangerous. 

And yet.

A stir sat leaden in her chest, coiling there like an instinctual warning. It arose as a quiet unease, an itch beneath her skin; it deepened with every step. The air shifted behind her, subtle, nearly imperceptible. A presence. A weight.

Footsteps. Measured. Too measured.

She forced herself to breathe evenly, to keep her stride steady, but her heartbeat betrayed her. It was faster now. Louder.

The steps behind her matched her own.

She turned sharply, body instinctively dropping into a defensive stance, fists raised, ready. Her pulse roared in her ears, adrenaline surging.

And then... A laugh. Low, familiar. Yet tense, and bitter.

'Relax. It’s me.'

Her breath left her in a sharp exhale, the tension in her limbs unravelling all at once.

'Dick,' she muttered, willing her hands to lower.

'Oh, good, it’s just you,' he drawled, tone edged with something unreadable. ‘That’s what you were thinking just then, wasn’t it?’ He stepped closer, the neon glow of a distant sign catching on the sharp angles of his face, the tension in his jaw.

She tilted her head, eager to brush off the mistake, to drown the moment in indifference, she opened her mouth to speak but his voice halted her. He held his finger up,

‘I’m not done. Let’s visit the fact that instead of running, you were about to fight me.'

She stilled.

Her stomach dipped, shame threading its way through the dying remnants of fear still left clinging to her ribs. He was not wrong. She should have run. But instinct had ruled, and her instinct told her to stand her ground.

'I was not... ' The words felt hollow, and he did not wait for her to find something better.

'Do you not get it?' His voice was quieter now, but no less sharp. ‘It's reckless, Y/N. Choosing defence over evasion? What the hell were you thinking? And I’m not even touching on the fact that you were out here in the first place. Alone.’ 

He did not speak with anger. Not really. It was something deeper, something more ingrained. The undercurrent of frustration was just a thin veil over what he really felt. Fear. The kind of dread that could only be harboured from past trauma, from ceaseless, restless nights.

'I can take care of myself,' she said, but the words felt weak as she conveyed them. She knew she was in the wrong.

He exhaled sharply, shaking his head. ‘That's not the point. Not alone. Not without me.’ His voice turned gentle, pleading.

The finality of his tone settled heavily between them.

Guilt gnawed at her chest, its grasp unrelenting. Y/N had not meant to make him worry, had not intended to be yet another weight on his already overburdened shoulders.

'I didn’t mean to scare you,' she murmured.

His jaw clenched, his hands finding his hips in a familiar stance, a telltale sign of his fraying patience.

'You didn’t mean to scare me,' he repeated, voice quieter now, but not diminishing in intensity. His eyes locked onto hers, searching, holding.

'You think it’s nothing, but it’s not. It’s everything.' He let out a breath, something breaking in his tone.

'I can’t... ' The words faltered before they could fully form. He inhaled sharply, grounding himself, pulling himself back from something he would rather keep unspoken.

He straightened. ‘I'm taking you home.'

She wanted to protest. She wanted to tell him she did not need to be coddled. But she saw it in his eyes, this was not control. This was not about power. It was about his fear. About the onus he already sustained, the burdens he was far from willing to add to.

So she walked. And he silently moved beside her.

The city pressed in just as it had before, dark and perpetual, but with him by her side, the weight of it felt different. Lighter, somehow. He was right, of course he was; she should not have been out here.

They reached her doorstep too soon, the moment suspending between them, heavy with everything they had left unspoken. He lingered, his presence filling the space, his gaze softer now, something unguarded settling in the depths of his eyes.

‘You're safe now,' Dick said, his voice a hushed murmur, full of something she could not quite name. For the first time that night, his mouth turned up into a half smile.

And then, before she could think, before she could breathe, his lips were upon hers. Brief. Certain. A silent gesture, conveying everything he had left unsaid.

She melted into it for just a second, just long enough for her heart to falter, for the world to still.

He pulled away slightly, forehead lingering against her own, as his fingers circled her cheek. And then he stepped back, taking his warmth with him. She mourned its loss, his touch too fleeting.

‘I'll be back soon,' he murmured, voice rough, but brighter now. Then, he pointed an accusatory finger toward her, a brief flash of his hallmark charisma surfacing.

‘No more late-night escapades, alright?’ 

And then he was gone; as if he had never stood before her, suddenly taken by the murk of the city.

Y/N stood there, for a brief moment, the vestige of his presence lingering within the ether as she peered out into the vacant night.

The following morning, sunlight crept in through the sheer curtains, golden and soft. She blinked against it, stretching. Y/N became aware that her desk beside the window, now bore an unfamiliar shape, a paper bag. She was certain it was filled with everything she had set out for the night prior, the logo it exhibited being that of their corner store. It sat neatly at the edge and beside it, she discerned her shopping list, the creases in the paper smoothed as though someone had taken the liberty to flatten them. 

She exhaled a quiet laugh, shaking her head. Y/N wondered dubiously how he had managed to sneak it from her bag the previous night. She rolled over, gaze coming to rest on the man beside her, she had not heard him come home. Dick slept soundly, the usual, lingering tension in his face now softened, his breath steady, unhurried. Without thinking, she curled into him, laying content within the warmth of his body. He stirred only marginally before instinct prevailed, in his slumber, his arms wreathed around her frame. He pulled her flush against him, lips finding their place against her temple, his breath dispersing warm against the skin of her cheek.

Every comment and piece of advice is welcomed and appreciated <3

[falling-star-cygnus]

Dead Boy Detectives AU where Edwin just cuts his whole fucking hand off to escape Port Townsend instead of sticking around -> you cannot tell me that the boy that spent 70 years getting ripped apart would have qualms about severing his limbs to do it again

i wrote this on a whim tbh, because I couldn't pick another fic idea and spitballed into the void and VOILA✨ -> ao3 fic: here please leave a comment or reblog if you enjoyed!!!

SUMMARY: Edwin spent over 7 decades in Hell. There is no way one silly bracelet is going to keep him stuck in another. He just has to make sure Charles doesn't try and stop him...

alternatively: Edwin cuts his hand off, Charles is put in time-out, and Crystal freaks out- not necessarily in that order

"Charles, stand here a moment."

His partner makes a little 'oh-!' noise as Edwin drags him by the elbow to a brightly lit corner of Crystal's room. It was quite lucky that the shadows didn't seem to stretch here- even at night.

He wouldn't want to frighten him, after all. Just occupy.

"Annnd why am I being put in time-out?" Charles asks, though already resigned to his fate.

Curious, but not uncomfortable.

Good.

"Because, Charles, you possessed a witch."

Honestly.

"Oi- you bound a cat, mate!"

"Then if it appeases you, I will stand in the corner next," Edwin huffs, only half sarcastic, "Now think about your actions."

The Edwardian ignores it when Charles rolls his eyes. He has done far less for his partner's benefit before, after all. Something tells him that he will have a lot more to think about once it's his turn in the corner anyway.

At least- if Charles has anything to say about it.

When Edwin grips the handle of their iron dagger, he thinks that- yes. Yes, he will have something to say about it.

But he is not staying in this drowsy town on the whim of some irrelevant feline. So he can say whatever he likes back home.

"You two... are so weird."

Ah.

He had forgotten about her.

Well.

"Crystal, are you squeamish?" he had been, after all, before Hell [quite literally] beat it out of him, "Charles, face the wall."

His partner stops glancing over his shoulder with a huff.

"I was eating raw fish out of a dumpster literally last week," the psychic shudders out, her nose wrinkling at the mere memory, "I think my stomach will be fine."

"Good."

Beating the squeamishness out of her could be avoided then. Not that he would actually go through with that. It would make Charles sad. And, begrudgingly, Edwin supposed... well.

They were friends.

Edwin brings the blade to the gaudy bracelet, just to give it a customary attempt. Predictably, neither sawing at it nor trying to lever the blasted thing off works.

On to his original plan then.

"Mate, what're you doing?" his partner asks, rocking from heel to toe as his charming inability to keep still rears its head.

"You'll see in just a moment." the Edwardian sheds his jacket and glove. Rolls up his sleeve.

"What-?"

Before Charles can turn around, and before Crystal can catch on, Edwin brings the iron dagger straight through his wrist.

clink, thump.

The severed limb hits the floor.

"OH MY GOD!?" Crystal screeches, scrambling away from it like it was some unruly bug. Rude.

It was just a hand.

"Edwin!" His partner sweeps into his space, his tone worried and angry but not surprised. He wouldn't be, after all.

He's seen Edwin do worse for less.

And that was precisely why he was sentenced to the corner.

Charles gently squeezes the stump now, trying in vain to stem the weeping blue ectoplasm and dust seeping onto the floor. What a mess...

"Shit- shit, Edwin, why would you- It's okay, you'll be okay.. just-"

..right.

At that moment, Edwin seems to snap back into himself. Into the present and out of the clinical detachment that comes with seeing and feeling a piece of him ripped away.

Charles was not detached from these things.

Oh dear.

Edwin presses his remaining hand first to his partner's shoulder and then pats his way up to his neck then cheek.

"Charles- Charles, look at me," he coaxes, pressing their foreheads together insistently, "Charles."

The Edwardian waits until those puppy like eyes meet his own, watery and terrified and worried. They keep glancing down at what's left of his arm.

His hands shake around the stump.

Edwin presses forward until his eyes are all Charles can see, and exaggerates an unneeded deep breath. He waits.

And waits.

And then-

"I'm okay," he breathes into the scant space between them, once Charles has calmed somewhat, "Alright? I'm okay."

"It doesn't hurt?"

"Not at all."

It really didn't. Hurt wasn't really a word that could be applied to Edwin's injuries anymore, after all. It.. stung, maybe. Barely. But it wouldn't hinder him in anyway.

..mentally at least.

It'd be harder to read like this, actually, the Edwardian thinks mournfully.

"You're thinking about your books, aren't you," Charles lightly accuses, his voice still far too shaky and fragile for Edwin's liking.

His partner should never sound like that again.

"Am I that transparent?"

And that gets a watery chuckle out of the bright boy, just as it should. Charles often liked it when Edwin parroted things they'd seen or read together back at him.

That particular line had come from a motion picture. One that his partner had wanted to watch with him in the theatres.

If those sticky rooms could even be called theatres..

Edwin leaves out most of the sarcasm that had originally coated it.

"S'alright," Charles chuckles at him, bringing up one hand to cup the gloved one on his face, "I'll just read to you then while it heals. Make it fair, yeah?"

Edwin's chest warms, an almost impossible surge of fondness pulling a laugh from him.

"I look forward to it, then."

"This is really cute and all," Crystal cuts in, leaning into the Edwardian's line of sight from behind Charles.

She looks vaguely sick.

"BUT YOUR HAND IS STILL ON MY FLOOR!"

...so much for not being squeamish.

[solxamber]

Homecoming - Rollo Flamme x reader

You return home after a long work trip. Rollo is happy to have you back

Rollo Week Day 3!

You sigh as you step off the carriage, the wheels creaking one last time as it rolls away into the quiet, flower-lined streets of the City of Flowers. The familiar aroma of roses and freshly baked pastries fills the air, and despite the heaviness in your limbs from the long journey, you can’t help but feel a little lighter. Home. After weeks of business trips, endless meetings, and poorly made hotel tea (honestly, was it that hard to steep for three minutes?), you’ve finally returned to the place you belong.

Your bag feels like it weighs a ton as you drag it up the front steps of your home. The door swings open easily, and you’re immediately enveloped by warmth and the soft glow of candles, their flickering light casting familiar shadows on the walls. You drop your luggage right by the door with a thud. Unpacking? That’s a problem for future you.

Right now, there’s only one thing on your mind.

Or rather, one person.

Before you can even kick off your shoes, there’s a soft cough behind you. You don’t have to turn around to know who it is.

“You’re late.”

You turn slowly, biting back a smile. Standing there in the doorway to the living room is Rollo Flamme, arms crossed, his ever-present frown etched firmly into place. He’s the same as always—his uniform perfectly crisp, his red armband exactly where it should be, his hair styled just so. But his eyes? Those usually cold, calculating eyes are just a bit softer now, filled with something you can’t quite name. Not yet, anyway.

“I’m late because I’ve been working,” you say, raising an eyebrow at him as you try to sound exasperated. “You know, work? That thing I have to do to help fund our lavish lifestyle?”

Rollo’s frown deepens, as if the mere mention of work is an affront to his dignity. “That does not excuse tardiness. You said you would be back by midday, not at this absurd hour.”

“And you’ve been keeping track of the exact time I was supposed to return because...?” You take a step closer, enjoying the way his posture stiffens. “Maybe because you’ve been waiting for me?”

Rollo’s mouth twitches, his lips pressing together in a thin line. “I simply—” He clears his throat, looking away for a brief moment as if gathering his composure. “I dislike unpredictability. It disrupts order.”

“Uh-huh, sure,” you say, smirking. “And here I thought you might’ve missed me.”

His eyes snap back to yours, and for a moment, you see it—a flicker of something unguarded, a hint of softness breaking through the usual mask of stern disapproval.

“You presume too much,” he says, but his voice lacks its usual bite.

Without thinking, you close the distance between you and pull him into a hug, wrapping your arms around him. You feel him freeze, like he’s not entirely sure what just happened to him. For a second, you wonder if he’s going to push you away, or make some remark about “appropriate displays of affection.”

But instead, there’s a beat of silence before you feel his hands—tentative at first—gently come to rest on your back. His embrace is awkward, as if he’s still getting used to the idea of this, but it’s Rollo’s version of vulnerable. And that? That’s more than enough.

"I missed you," you murmur, leaning into the hug and resting your head against his shoulder. You can feel his heartbeat, slightly faster than usual, and the warmth of his body seeping into yours.

There's a soft sigh from him—barely audible, but enough for you to notice. "I... suppose it has been quieter in your absence." His words are carefully chosen, as always, but you can hear the subtle admission behind them.

"You mean 'lonely'?" you tease, though your voice is softer than before.

"Do not be absurd," he huffs, his arms tightening around you just the slightest bit. “The quiet has been... productive.”

“Sure, sure,” you say, grinning against his shoulder. "Productive. No late-night pacing around, checking the clock, wondering where I am?"

Rollo makes a sound that is somewhere between a scoff and a snort. "I am not some... emotionally unstable fool."

"And yet, here you are," you say, leaning back just enough to look at him. His face is still calm, still composed, but there’s a softness in his eyes that he can't quite hide. You know him too well by now. He was absolutely waiting for you. Probably fretting over the tiniest delay.

"You overestimate your importance," he says, but the slight flush on his cheeks betrays him.

"I completely believe that," you say, grinning. “You’re clearly doing fine without me.”

His eyes narrow slightly. "If you insist on being smug, I may reconsider the tea I prepared for your return."

You blink, surprised. "Wait, tea? You made tea for me?"

Rollo straightens, clearing his throat as he composes himself. “It is standard hospitality for someone returning from a journey. Nothing more.”

Your heart melts just a little. Rollo, with all his pomp and stiff formality, had made you tea. It’s a small gesture, but from him? It feels huge.

“You’re too sweet for your own good, you know that?” you say, teasing but fond. You lean in, pressing a quick kiss to his cheek before he can protest.

His face goes crimson in an instant. "T-this is entirely unnecessary!" he sputters, backing away as if you’ve just unleashed some forbidden magic. “There is no need for... such displays.”

"Uh-huh," you say, amused. “And yet, you didn’t pull away.”

Rollo glares at you, though the pink in his cheeks betrays any attempt at real anger. “That is entirely beside the point.”

“Sure, sure,” you say, waving your hand dismissively. “Now, about that tea?”

He sighs, clearly exasperated, but turns to head toward the kitchen. "Follow me," he mutters, and you can hear the resigned affection in his voice.

You trail behind him, admiring the familiar sight of your home, now warm and welcoming after your long trip. The thought that Rollo had been waiting for you, fussing over tea and your late return, fills your heart with warmth.

In the kitchen, a small tea set is already laid out on the table, the delicate steam curling from the cups. The scene is so domestic, so un-Rollo, and yet, it’s perfect.

As he pours the tea, he glances at you, his expression softer now, the frown mostly gone. "Welcome home," he says quietly, his voice barely above a whisper.

You smile, feeling a wave of affection wash over you. "It's good to be home."

The two of you sit together, sipping tea in comfortable silence, the only sounds the soft clink of porcelain and the gentle hum of the evening outside. It’s peaceful, perfect, and for the first time in weeks, you feel truly at ease.

And as Rollo glances at you from the corner of his eye, trying (and failing) to hide the smallest of smiles, you realize something. This—sitting here with him, drinking tea after a long journey—is what home really feels like.

Masterlist

[wheredidhiseyebrowsgo]

Hii!!! Your blog is literally so perfect. Love it.

Could you recommend some more angsty fics where either Derek or Stiles is really insecure and has low self esteem? Happy ending only, if that’s alright. I really appreciate it!

Aw thanks anon! There's already an insecure!stiles tag so I focused on insecure!derek.

The (Tell-Tale) Heart Doesn’t Lie by novemberhush

(1/1 I 100 I General I Sterek)

After a little gentle teasing unexpectedly hits a nerve with Derek Stiles is quick to reassure him that he knows there’s more to the handsome werewolf than just being really, really, really ridiculously good-looking.

I Know the Pieces Fit by shealynn88

(1/1 I 2,700 I Teen)

“Stiles?”

It’s Derek’s voice, quiet in the dark with the low hum of the pack behind him.

Derek's the hardest one for Stiles to understand. Sometimes he thinks…but then it becomes clear, it’s not like that. Derek tolerates him. Appreciates his loyalty, at least. The way Stiles appreciates the brave hiss of a kitten. Cute. Admirable. But not equal.

And Dwell Beneath My Shadow by lielabell

(1/1 I 8,695 I Mature)

Derek is not stupid. He gets why Stiles puts up with him. It's clear every time Stiles looks at him, the spicy scent of lust and arousal Stiles's body can't help but put off. It doesn’t surprise him. Not at all. Derek knows what he looks like, knows that his face and his body are more than enough to compensate for his shitty personality. Stiles wants him more than he is annoyed by him. Nothing more, nothing less. It's not anything to be amazed over, nothing to write home about. Stiles isn't the first-- and most likely won't be the last-- hormone soaked teen who has panted over Derek.

Cliche by adult_disneyprincess (orphan_account)

(2/2 I 9,305 I Teen)

It’s cliché as shit, Stiles thinks. The nerd in love with the punk. He figures he wouldn’t want Derek Hale so much if he didn’t have those fucking tattoos everywhere, didn’t give a shit what people thought about him, and didn’t wear those stupid leather jackets. They’re not the same jacket either, Stiles has counted at least four different ones that the resident punk owns

Cross a Canyon (with a broken limb) by theroguesgambit 

(1/1 I 18,010 I Teen)

“You never graduated,” Stiles says, just to say it. To test it out in the open air. That's... huh.

--

Stiles spends his senior year battling troll-gremlins, taking on an unexpected tutoring job, and definitely not falling for a certain sourwolf (even though everyone else seems to think he is).

Defying Convention by rororowyourboat

(13/13 I 24,331 I Teen)

Stiles is a newly certified fully-trained Spark, and he's on the market to chose a werewolf pack to act as Emissary for. The biggest problem? Almost every pack in North America wants him, and he's supposed to choose a pack at the 3-day conference. But how's he supposed to get to know any of the likely candidates when they're just being so damn polite and respectful?

Derek and his sisters are at the conference with bleak hopes: their pack was decimated by hunters years ago and their caustic attitudes have turned away most potential applicants.

Rarity by peanutbutter4lyfe

(8/8 I 29,837 I Explicit)

Derek let's the guys throw a party for Stiles' 18th at his loft and instantly regrets it. During the party Derek starts acting strangely, his senses going wild. He reads the signs and thinks Scott is his mate. It drives him crazy when Scott doesn't feel the same, until he figures it out... with a little help from Peter.

Thanks for Thumper, But I Prefer Cheeseburgers by isthatbloodonhisshirt (wasterella)

(1/1 I 58,399 I Teen)

The wolf’s head whipped around so fast, Stiles felt like he was watching The Exorcist.

Stiles wondered if he could just stand still enough to make the wolf think he was a tree. A very bright red and jean-clad tree. He doubted it, but one could hope.

He knew it was a lost cause when the wolf turned fully, lips pulled back from its sharp teeth—so very sharp, good fucking Lord!—and began walking towards Stiles.

“I didn’t see anything!” Stiles shouted, both hands out in front of himself and sweat instantly breaking out across his skin. “I swear to you! I didn’t see anything! I didn’t see anything! I won’t tell anyone! I won’t! I’ll keep this to myself, until the day I die! I promise! I promise!”

You're stronger than you know by Littleredridinghunter

(15/15 I 234,195 I Not Rated)

Stiles survives his encounter with Gerard and his goons, but it isn't easy.

The pack are letting him down again, his dad is not speaking to him, his life is just generally falling apart.

Until he has to get a bronze dagger to kill a siren and his whole world gets flipped on it's head!

My summaries are rubbish but I hope you'll still give it a chance!

[tradgedyinwaves]

Touch - Ch. 7

Most of this chapter is the reader's first time with one of the boys. It’s skippable if it makes you uncomfortable and there will be a warning where it starts.

tw: smut, choking, hint of auralism/voyeurism

The old dilapidated flat buried in the poorest part of Manchester was filled with whirring, flipping papers and voices. Voices that spoke low and quick, pointing out places on a map with dirty, grubby fingers. Plans being laid that threatened life and limb. And every string on their board leads to one picture of a young woman. 

You.

Stepping out of the bathroom, you took a deep breath and did your best to walk confidently back into the room. Four heads raised the moment you entered making you want to shrink back into the shadows. Each face that looked back at you held apprehension and hope, but more than that, you could see the adoration they all had for you, even Simon. 

You walked over to Simon, who’s dark eyes widened the closer you got, and cupped his cheek, running your thumb over one of his many scars. “I don’t know how to do this,” you started, speaking to everyone in the room though your eyes remained locked on Simon’s. “But I trust you and I trust this can work out. What’s one more person, right?” You smiled down at Simon softly, feeling the room depressurize at your words. 

The other three men sighed collectively though they still watched as you bent over Simon’s form, your lips ghosting over his ear. “Looks like you’ve got some catching up to do, Si,” you whispered against the shell of his ear, making a chill run down his spine. “I could catch up right now if you’d like me to,” Simon offered, hand snaking its way up the outside of your plush thigh, sliding around to grip your ass in his massive paw. “I still remember how you taste, luv,” he whispered back, digging his digits into your flesh. 

You didn’t think that words could have such an impact on you, but the telltale rush of adrenaline and arousal proved you wrong. “Christ, Si, manhandling her already?” Price chuckled, watching as both you and Simon looked over your shoulder. Simon’s eyes narrowed while yours widened and a blush colored the apples of your cheeks. 

You straightened, cupping Simon’s chin with your hand as your eyes met his once more. “Wanna go to lunch with me?” You asked, the corners of your mouth curling up in a soft smile. “I’m supposed to be the one asking,” Simon countered even though his lips curled into a grin. “Too bad I got to it first,” you flirted back, stepping away so Simon could stand. You’d forgotten how massive he was, bigger than Price even and that night flashed through your mind. 

Knees a little weak, you took his hand when he offered it while he smirked at the boys over your head. “Alright, you big lug, let’s go,” you urged, heading towards the door as you dragged him behind you. He pulled a plain black gaiter out of his pocket and tugged it on before heading out the door. 

Simon led you to a taco truck and you think you saw him smile with the way his eyes crinkle when you laughed at his corny taco joke, asking which way you tilted your head when you ate tacos. He assured you that what happened that night hadn’t been his intention. He’d only wanted to comfort you. You told him it had been a comfort, despite the way he left. 

⛔SMUT WARNING!⛔

When the two of you arrived back at the flat, bellies full and hearts soaring, there was a faint sound coming from one of the bedrooms. You raised your brow and looked up at Simon, wondering if he knew what the sound was. “That’ll be Cap and Johnny, probably Kyle too, based on the sounds I’m hearing. Always makes Price a little randy seeing someone get felt up around him,” Simon explained like he was reading off his grocery list. 

Your cheeks turned pink and you blinked up at him. “That’s just from you groping me?” You questioned, the sounds creating a reaction between your thighs and you pressed them together to relieve some of the tension. Simon eyed you for a moment, watching the way your chest rose and fell with your quickening breaths, noticing the clench of your thighs. Simon stepped behind you, hands resting on your hips as his lips came close to your ear. “Does that turn you on, luv? Knowing just my hand on your arse has Cap so riled up he had to take poor Johnny to relieve himself?” he whispered against your ear, his hot breath ghosting the shell and sending a shiver down your spine.

Your thighs clenched again and you couldn’t help the tiny whimper that escaped your throat. “Aw, pet, do you want to see? Or would you rather I satisfy your pretty cunt myself?” he entreated, his hands sliding around as one came up to settle against the base of your throat while the other wrapped around your middle to pull you flush against him. 

You shuddered in his grip, head coming back to rest against his chest as your eyes flicked up to his. He was pleasantly surprised to find your pupils blown and your breathing catching in your throat. His fingers slid up to wrap around your throat and squeeze ever so slightly. Kit never touched you like this, always shied away from your kinkier requests saying you didn’t need all that if you really loved him.

But Simon could see the desire in your eyes as he stared down at you. Keeping his grip on your throat, he released your middle and brought that hand up to rip down the gaiter so he could crash his lips to yours. You gasped against his lips, turning towards him as he tightened his grip around your throat. The slight feeling of blood loss to your head made the pleasure of his kiss higher, fingers itching to touch his skin. 

Simon backed you up to the wall, the faint sounds of the other three spurning you two on as you gripped his hoodie in your hands. When he finally pulled back and allowed you to breathe, his free hand slid down your body, watching your eyes for any sign to stop. But you didn’t stop him, or couldn’t, you weren’t really sure. His thick digits found the gusset of your leggings, sliding between your thighs with expert hands. “Barely touched you and you’re soaked, luv,” he practically growled before slamming his lips back to yours again.

You let out a whimper against his lips, hips rocking forward in search of his fingers when he removed them. Suddenly, your throat was released and he was taking your hand, dragging you to his room where he threw you on the bed, your size not even a question when he lifted weights heavier than you. His hulking form hovered over you, a menacing vision if you didn’t know he wanted to ravage you. 

“S-Simon,” you breathed out his name like a prayer and he swore he heard angels singing. He watched you carefully as he began removing your clothes, swearing under his breath with every inch he uncovered. By the time he had you undressed down to your panties, he was panting and his erection pressed against the zipper of his trousers painfully. 

You fought the urge to cover yourself, watching him with wide eyes. “So bloody gorgeous, luv. Fucking hell, so pretty laying there all for me,” he murmured, quickly working off his own shirt before laying over you and kissing you deeply. Tongues and teeth clashed as your hands came up to hold his shoulders, fingers pressing into his flesh. 

Pulling away, he stared down at you before he was bringing his lips to your neck, your shoulders, your collarbones. When your hands left him to cover your soft stomach, he growled and yanked them away, gathering your wrists in one hand while he muttered about not hiding from him. 

Simon swallowed, feeling an overwhelming honor at being able to see you like this. Bare except your panties, lips swollen and your chest heaving with your breaths. He determined he’d never seen a more beautiful sight. He brought his mouth to one of your pebbled nipples, using his tongue to lick over the nub before wrapping his lips around it. His tongue flicked while he sucked, the sensation making you moan out his name as your hand found the back of his head

His mouth continued its hot trail down your body until he got to your hips, the fabric of your panties cutting into your plush flesh. His eyes flicked up to meet yours, looking for any sign that you were uncomfortable while his fingers hooked into the waistband and tugged them down over your legs. He tossed them off with the rest of your clothes, eyes settling on the glistening slick that covered your puffy core.

Simon gripped himself over his pants and adjusted himself, licking his lips before his eyes flicked up to yours. You were hot, skin heated and flushed under his gaze. When he lowered himself between your thighs, you hiccupped and scooted away. His eyes narrowed and he wrapped his massive arms around your hips and tugged you to him, keeping eye contact as he pressed a light kiss to your clit. 

The sight made you keen, gasping when he drug his wide tongue along the length of your slit. His touches were tentative, ready to stop if you said the word, but your fingers sliding into his hair and the rock of your hips told him you had no intention of stopping him. He lapped at your folds, groaning at your taste before he slid two fingers into your tight heat. “So fucking tight, pet, been too long, yeah?” he muttered against your pussy, not sure if he was talking to your or your cunt. 

It felt like hours that he devoured you, bringing you to orgasm twice before ever raising his head. When he finally lifted from your quim, his chin and lips were shiny with your wetness and he licked his lips. A soft blush formed on your cheeks as you looked at him through hooded eyes. He grinned, the smile almost mean as he shucked off his pants and your eyes widened slightly. So that was why he’d insisted on using three fingers to bring you over the edge the last time. 

Giving himself a few slow, long strokes, he looked where you were and chuckled. “Gonna take it nice and slow, hm?” He nodded his head like he was expecting your answer and you met his eyes with a small nod and your bottom pout caught between your teeth. Shuffling onto the bed, he pressed his hips against yours, laying the length of his cock against your belly and grinning to himself. Gripping himself, he ran the tip through your folds, spreading your slick before notching himself at your entrance. 

A soft gasp filled the room as you felt just the head stretching you already, a sting following as he started to push inch after inch into you. When he was halfway inside, he leaned over and whispered praises into your ear. “So good, taking me so well, aren’t ya, luv? So fuckin’ tight around me, such a good girl”

His praises only fueled you, whimpering at the feeling of his thickness stretching you. If they were all hung like this, you were in trouble and it excited you further. Your walls clenched around him and he gasped, the feeling making him press the last few inches into you in one quick thrust. “Simon!” You cried, back arching as he split you open on his cock.

Minutes later, he had you screaming his name as the headboard hit the wall with the strength of his thrusts, having bent you over so he could grip the fat of your ass in his giant paws, watching the way your flesh gave into his tight grasp. By the time he was close to filling you, he’d brought you over the edge two more times, ensuring you knew that your pleasure was his number one priority. But when you started begging for him to fill you, he was a goner. 

Hunched over your back, his hips slammed against your ass while he grunted in your ear, knowing the other three would be standing on the other side of the door. One hand planted firmly on your hip, gripping tight enough to leave bruises while the other slid up your body to wrap around your throat, gripping it tightly. The others had their ears to the door and their cocks in their fists as they listened to Simon rearrange your insides. 

 “Cum for us, pet. Come on my cock and scream for them. I know they want to hear your pretty sounds,” he urged while his hips began to stutter. That was all it took for you to start wailing and cumming around his cock, clenching him in a grip he couldn’t ignore anymore. His hips stilled against you as he came with a roar, filling you with everything he had as he released your throat mid-orgasm. The rush of blood made you feel light headed, arms finally giving out under you as his hands found your hips again with a bruising grip and holding you against him until he was sure that he was done. 

Panting, he pulled from you, sitting back on his haunches to watch his seed drip from your used hole before scooping it up and shoving it back inside. With a grin, he gave your ass a light smack and climbed off the bed to grab a cloth, cleaning you delicately before wrapping you in his arms and pulling the blanket over you. 

“Rest, luv. I’ll be right here when you wake,” Simon whispered, kissing the top of your head. You nodded, nuzzling against his chest and quickly falling asleep, exhausted emotionally and physically from the day you’d had. 

There was a soft knock on the door and Simon called out softly for them to open it, his gaze never leaving your sleeping form. Price filed in and sat at the end of the bed, hand coming to lay over your feet under the blanket. “Think it was a good idea to break her in so quickly?” Price asked quietly, eyes settled on you. Simon’s eyes narrowed slightly at Price’s words, his regard moving to look at the other man.

“I wouldn’t have had to if you all hadn’t been so loud. Should have seen her, Cap. It was almost instant. Heard you guys and then she was putty in my hands. Don’t worry, I gave her every opportunity to stop me,” he reassured his captain and partner, eyes sliding back to you. “We have to protect her, John. I don’t know what I’d do if I lost her again,” Simon confessed, eyes wide as he tried to convey the strength of his feelings. “We will, boy. She’ll be the safest woman in the world.” 

The smut got a little away from me. If I don't include it with the other boys in the actual story, I'll be doing one shots once the story is done.

Thank you to everyone who has been supporting this story! I greatly appreciate it.

[luxlightly]

Fragile

A fanfic of @personostient's OC Dr.Arachne in their recent comic

I said I desperately wanted to read more about him and they said "then write it yourself, scrub" (more or less) so here's this. I have now a multiple chapter story in my head for this but at least here's a very small (as of yet unnamed) Arachne trying to understand complex ideas like sympathy and compassion when he's only big enough to fit 2 brain cells in him and one is fully occupied with having OCD.

---

In retrospect, gnawing on the already weak supports of a load bearing cross beam was a bad idea vis-a-vis the structural integrity of the floor above but, in its defense, its grasp of architecture was somewhat lacking. 

Also, it had only done so to get at the termites within, who'd already done some pretty extensive damage to the whole area. 

Really, it had been inevitable.

Only a matter of time before someone or something fell straight through to the dark and dusty basement. 

Into the spider’s web. 

Well, straight through its web, tearing up hours of work and crushing a very delicious looking moth that the spider had been saving for later and sending the spider frantically scrambling away, dodging bits of debris.

It wasn't exactly a spider, but it wasn't exactly not a spider, either. Something closer to “the elements of spiders that instill fear”. All fangs, legs, eyes, and jittery movement. 

Not that it was instilling much fear at this size, though the exact nature of the size was nebulous at best. Somewhere between a rat, a golf ball, and a human heart, the shifting mass of jet black limbs and glowing red eyes would lose in a fight with the average house cat or particularly determined mouse. 

So a dead, fully grown human, delivered to its metaphorical doorstep, was a fortuitous turn of events, indeed. 

It could put so much of that mass to use, finally having enough to form some more complex systems, maybe even to venture out beyond the basement! 

The spider scurried out from its hiding place in the dark, excited but still cautious, and onto the chest of the human. The smell of blood was thick in the air. 

The spider had been trying to determine the best way of beginning to consume such a feast when some of its eyes made unexpected contact with another pair. 

The human blinked and the spider froze. 

Oh fuck. That rising and falling of the chest was breathing! That thing vertebrates did when they were alive! 

Stupid, stupid, stupid!

For a long moment, the two just stared at each other.

Then, the human raised a hand, reaching towards it, and the spider braced to be crushed. It squeezed all its eyes closed, but the pain didn't come. 

The hand instead ran two fingers softly over its body in a gentle, repetitive motion. 

“Hey…little buddy…” the human wheezed. “It's okay…I'm not--” the human paused to cough, specks of blood dotting his lips. “--not gonna hurt you. ‘M a doctor…Do…’do no harm’...”

The human’s eyes were glassy and its breathing seemed labored. 

The spider didn't know a whole lot about human anatomy, but it was pretty sure they needed their blood to stay almost entirely inside of them or it was detrimental to their health. The amount that surrounded the human and was currently leaking from a gash across his side was probably more than was supposed to be outside of him at any given time. 

The various pieces of wood and glass embedded in his flesh were probably also probably bad.

The spider stayed frozen in terror, tiny body trembling as the hand that was nearly as big as it was continued to run along its carapace.

“Shhh…” the human hushed, though the spider had made no sound. “ ‘s okay. Okay to be scared. I'm…heh…I'm a little scared myself…”

The spider’s venom was laughably weak at this size, barely enough to put a human under for a few minutes, but that would likely be all it took for his injuries to finish him off. 

It would be easy enough to strike out and bite him as he continued his odd pattern of stroking his hand across its body but, strangely…the spider found it didn't really want the motions to stop. 

It felt…nice.

Centimeter by centimeter, the spider's body relaxed, leaning into the touch, eventually pressing back into the human’s fingers.

The human let out a wet sounding chuckle.

“You’re a weird little thing, huh? I think…I think I may have lost a bit too much blood…”

His hand went still, settling against his chest and his eyes closed. His breathing continued, but it was growing weaker by the moment.

Well, that problem solved itself, it seemed. Now the only problem the spider faced was again trying to find a way to best consume a creature so much larger than itself.

Perhaps…perhaps it should wait until he was dead before trying to eat him. After all, he had not killed it, though it was easily within his power. Perhaps it was only fair that it not kill him, in return.

Though, technically it was sort of its fault for gnawing through the support beams, which would mean it had killed him. No more so than the termites had, though, certainly!

Fine. It would eat him then finish eating the termites as recompense and all would be good and balanced and correct.

The spider let out a frustrated chittering noise, pacing tiny circles around the human’s chest.

It was not all good and balanced and correct! It was bad and wobbly and wrong like rotten, termite eaten wood and it felt Bad! But why?

The human was full of holes now, too. The spider had gnawed holes in the wood. Maybe it could close these holes in the human and it would not be Bad anymore. Yes, then it would be balanced. Then this feeling of Wrong would settle.

And…maybe the human would continue his gentle repetitive touches again.

The spider crawled up to the human's face, where a small gash weeped blood. Trying to get the blood to go back inside seemed like it was likely a lost cause. Liquids hated going where they were supposed to and the spider hated it about them. The human would just have to find new blood on his own, once his stopped leaking.

Long appendages tipped with spinnerets extended up from the spider's mass, stretching fine silken stands between them.

Pressing against the human's skin, it tethered a strand above and below the very end of cut, then crossed the limbs, pulling the stands taut before anchoring the strands to the skin again, a fraction of a centimeter down the length of the cut, forming a tiny ‘x’.

It repeated the motion. The silk’s adhesive held strong. It repeated the motion. Then repeated it again.

And again and again and again.

Bit by bit, the skin pulled together over the wound in a surprisingly satisfying way and the spider’s limbs became a blur of movement, crossing over each other a dozen times a second.

The repetitive nature of the movement scratched some itch in it's mind oh so nicely. All balanced and mirrored and equal and Good.

It was almost disappointed when the wound was fully closed, the seam of tiny, gossamer stitches nearly invisible, as if the wound had never been.

Luckily, there were many more holes left to close.

It moved to another on his collar, stitching it up in only a few seconds, then pulled a shard of glass from his shoulder and sealed the wound there just as quickly.

Before the spider could move on to the next wound, the thrumming in the human’s chest, his heart’s pulsing movement, stuttered. It's rhythm grew ever weaker.

The spider didn't know all that much about how creatures of flesh and blood worked, but it knew that, when that pulse stopped, they did too, and that they needed blood to keep it going.

The gash across the human's side was leaking a lot of blood. It had to be closed soon or the human would almost certainly die.

The spider moved to the wound and started the same pattern of criss-crossed silk that it had closed the other's with. It got an inch or so down the length of the gash when the silk's glue gave way, the wound splitting back open.

The spider chittered, pensively.

The wound was too big and the blood flow from it too strong for the silk to stick to the skin tightly enough. It needed something more substantial.

Holding up a leg, it stretched the tip out to a nearly hair-thin strand.

It could spare just enough of its own body to hold the wound closed enough for the silk to seal it. It wouldn't take much.

But…sealing a wound held together by a piece of itself would mean sealing a piece of its body in the human's. What effect might that have on such a creature?

After all, its body didn't have to exist in one single piece. So what was really the difference between making a part of its body a part of the human's and making the human's body a part of its own?

But, without action, the human would die either way.

…

Surely, such a tiny piece of itself would do no harm…

The spider used another limb to pull the thin, jet black strand taut. Using the sharp tip of the strand, it pierced the flesh on one side of the wound, then the other, weaving itself back and forth through the human's skin, pulling the torn edges back together.

Once the gap was closed, the spider sealed it with silk, the same as the others.

Good and Balanced and Correct.

[sweetvoidstuff]

Unseen, Yet Here II Cha Hyun Su x Reader

Cha Hyun Su x Reader

Summary: After sneaking out of the Stadion despite strict rules, you are forced to camp outside for the night. When you wake up, you find something beside you, and though you don’t know who helped you, you desperately want to believe it was Cha Hyun Su. (WC~700)

the first part, kinda ~~~~~ the next part, kinda

Masterlist

The Stadion had become a makeshift haven for survivors, its towering structure serving as both shelter and prison. With heavy gates locked and guards patrolling the perimeter, the rules were strict—no one was allowed to leave alone. Too many had already been lost to the monsters roaming outside.

You understood the reason for the rule, but that didn’t mean you liked it. The Stadion was suffocating. The same anxious faces, the same whispered fears. You needed space, just for a little while.

So, you waited until the patrols changed shifts, slipping through a weak spot in the barricade under the cover of night. The cold air stung your skin as you left the walls behind, the silence outside almost too vast compared to the restless murmur of the Stadion.

It had been months since you'd last seen Cha Hyun Su. No one knew what had happened to him. Some whispered that he had been killed, others that he had turned entirely. But you liked to believe he was still out there, surviving in his own quiet way. You had always been fond of him—his soft-spoken nature, the way he carried the weight of the world on his shoulders.

Maybe part of the reason you sneaked out was the foolish hope that you'd see him again.

As you wandered through the abandoned streets, a familiar sense of unease crept in. The world was too still. No distant cries, no flickers of movement in the shadows. You should have turned back, but the idea of returning to the suffocating walls of the Stadion so soon made your feet hesitate.

That’s when you saw it.

A creature stood at the far end of the street, its form hunched, limbs too long, its skin stretched and unnatural. Your breath hitched—but then you noticed something strange.

It wasn’t attacking. It wasn’t even moving toward you.

Instead, it crouched beside a cracked water pipe, carefully cupping its clawed hands to catch the trickling water, drinking in slow, deliberate sips.

You remained frozen, unsure of what to do. Monsters weren’t supposed to behave like this. They were supposed to be mindless, violent, driven only by hunger. But this one… it felt different.

When it finally turned its head, your heart pounded. But there was no aggression in its glowing eyes—only a quiet, almost human curiosity.

You didn’t run.

For a long moment, the two of you just stared at each other. And then, without a sound, the creature rose to its feet and disappeared into the night.

You exhaled shakily, only now realizing how tightly you had been gripping your weapon. A simple bat. Your instincts screamed at you to go back to the Stadion, but as you glanced at the darkened sky, you realized you had stayed out too long. The streets had become unfamiliar, and you weren’t sure you could make it back before morning.

With no other choice, you found shelter in the ruins of an old shop, settling against the wall as exhaustion took hold. You curled into yourself, the cold pressing in from all sides, and closed your eyes.

When you woke, warmth surrounded you.

Your eyes fluttered open, and confusion set in. A blanket—worn but thick—had been draped over you. Beside you, a neat pile of supplies: bottled water, energy bars, a flashlight.

Your pulse quickened as you sat up, scanning the area. The streets were empty. No footsteps, no signs of movement. But someone had been here. Someone had seen you and left these things while you slept.

You reached for the blanket, fingers curling into the fabric. It didn’t belong to the Stadion. You would have recognized it if it had.

A thought lodged itself into your mind, hesitant but hopeful.

Could it have been him?

Cha Hyun Su.

You didn’t know if he was alive. No one did. But if he was… if he had seen you and chosen to help…

Your chest tightened with something you couldn’t quite name.

Standing slowly, you packed the supplies and pulled the blanket tighter around your shoulders before turning back toward the Stadion.

You might never know for sure who had been watching over you.

But deep down, you wanted to believe it was him.

[flowercrowngods]

something so monstrous pt.2

(in which kas feeds from steve and triggers a bad migraine pt.2)

🤍🌷 read part 1 here this part gets really intense on the migraine. descriptions of immense pain, fever dreams, and vomiting, some body horror imagery bc pain can be fun like that

Time and space lose all meaning as Steve remains on the precipice of something that is too violent to be called sleep, but not harsh enough yet to be unconsciousness. Real sensations evade him as everything turns into pain immediately. Even the twitch of his finger becomes a thundering blaze of blinding pain shooting through his body and settling behind his eye until he is sure he will wake up blind. 

The fear of that is everpresent, the blind spots too real to ignore every time it goes like this, and he imagines how they will grow. He imagines how they get worse every time until one day the pain inside his skull will be so immense it will take his eyesight in exchange for alleviation.

And even though it is unbearable, he opens his eyes whenever he can, just to make sure he can see still. It’s an added veil of terror that covers him whole and consumes him slowly but continually. 

At some point he notices something cold and wet being placed over his eyes, adding another layer of darkness that is welcome, even if it leaves an imprint of pressure and sensation on his forehead that makes his skin tear around it, his skull cracking and caving in beneath the touch. 

And still it helps a little, pulling him further toward consciousness but not further toward the pain itself. But Steve can only whimper weakly in response, six feet under a thick cloud of cotton-filled smog that even turns breathing into a chore, polluting his lungs with fear and horror and agony without compare.

He does fall into a fitful sleep at some point, grateful for the short reprieve, but it does nothing to alleviate his exhaustion. 

It feels like his eyeballs are being pushed into his skull for what must be hours upon hours, and the pain is so unbearable, so horrible, that he's not at all surprised when nausea rises in his chest, his body responding to its current state with confusion and a hard-reset. 

Steve keens, trying to roll onto his side, groaning at the flares of pain shooting up into his skull and down into his limbs. They only worsen the nausea and it's pure instinct that gives him the strength to sit up. 

"Kas?” he whispers, swallowing thickly against another wave. "Bathroom?” 

Instead of giving him directions or pulling him up to drag him there, Kas wastes no time. He gets up off the floor, approaching him with shuffling steps once more, and gently but quickly lifts Steve off the bed in a hold — firm, yet gentle — that brings another sting of tears to Steve's eyes. Pain and vulnerability and the need for everything to be over. That’s what makes him cry.

Still he manages to hold on, his head rolling onto Kas's shoulder, the skin of his neck blissfully cool against Steve’s overheated forehead pressing into him. 

Make it stop, he thinks. Longs. Aches. It’s supposed to be over. It’s all supposed to be over now. 

He whimpers again, and imagines that Kas is the one to softly shush him this time.

The coolness of Kas's neck is gone all too soon as the vampire sets Steve on the hard, uncomfortable bathroom floor. He doesn't go far, though, crouching down beside him and holding him up over the toilet. Steve can't see anything, but still he’s grateful that Kas left the lights off, the bathroom tinged in the same darkness as his bedroom. 

Pathetically, Steve rests his forehead on the toilet seat, chasing the coldness of it as pain and nausea reach their peak. It’s disgusting, but be’s not strong enough to care. A whine breaks from him, and he wishes Kas would leave. Even though the cold hand on his neck feels good, and even though he knows he wouldn't be able to hold himself up right now. 

I'm not weak, he wants to say. And maybe he does. But he can't recognise his own voice right now. 

"Not weak, maybe, but pathetic." 

No. 

"You know you are." 

Shut up. Go away. 

It doesn't make sense for Mr Munson to suddenly be here with them, to stand in the doorway and watch his nephew, who is more monster than human these days, holding up the pathetic form of Steve, who is more pain than human. More smoke than human. More vulnerable weakness than remotely human.

Go away. Eddie? I want him to go away. Tell— Go ‘way. 

The hand wanders, pulling Steve against cool skin again so his forehead rests against the toilet no longer, basking in the cold touch and the warmth of a body to hold him. 

"Safe," Kas says, and Steve wants to badly to believe him. Wants Wayne to leave, wants everyone to leave and just let him suffer in silence and solitude like always. 

Wayne starts talking again, but Steve can't hear him this time as he suddenly heaves and retches, throwing up what little he had to eat today. Over and over and over.

It goes like this for a long time. He has no idea how long. Has no idea where he even is anymore. 

The world tilts a few times when he loses his grip, his arms buckling, his hands spasming and giving out, and still he never falls. Only ever feels the cold, damp skin of Kas’s neck. 

Kas has to carry him to bed when he's done and on the brink of passing out again, and Steve doesn’t mind this time. Kas also hands him a glass of water or two before pushing him back to lie down again. That’s nice. 

The wet cloth returns, and Steve isn't aware of his surroundings for much more after that.

—— 

The next time Steve comes to, he feels like he was freshly dragged through Lover’s Lake until his lungs gave out. His head is pulsing violently, his senses are sluggish and everything feels foggy. He has no idea where he is, the room pitch black around him as he lifts a lukewarm damp cloth from his eyes. 

A soft groan falls from his lips as he stretches his aching, cramped limbs, rubbing his hands over his face and regaining the feeling in his body. Little pinpricks of phantom pain shoot through him, his mouth tastes like ash and his head protests rather violently against his pathetic attempt at sitting up. 

He is disoriented and something about his vision is still messed up, something in the depths of the room not quite right and leaving him with a dizziness he can’t quite shake, followed by a wave of anxiety that something’s wrong with his eyes. 

He blinks. Blinks again, finding more things in the strange room as he does, his sluggish brain slowly catching up and filling in the blanks.

It all comes back to him like a tidal wave when he suddenly finds himself blinking at a pair of red eyes, softly glowing and wide open. 

“Kas,” he croaks, his throat absolutely parched. 

One second he’s wincing at that, the next he finds a cool glass of water pressed into his hands before the eyes and the shadowy form they belong to retreat to the foot of the bed again. 

 “Thanks,” he murmurs, stalling as he takes a sip. Embarrassment rises in him, but he doesn’t want to apologise. The thought of that somehow makes the vulnerability that much worse, so he tries to ignore it. It’ll all be fine if they simply not acknowledge it. 

He wants to ask for the time instead, wants to know how much the migraine took from him this time, but he knows Kas doesn’t really understand the concept of it all, let alone know the numbers.��

A silence settles between them and it’s somewhere between welcome and uncomfortable. Just like everything that happens in Hawkins. It makes Steve feel like a ghost again, but this time he’s a ghost in the room, not just in his own head. He’s the one who’s out of place.

With a little sigh, he places the glass on the makeshift nightstand again and falls over onto his side. His head is mad at him for it, still feeling too fragile for sudden movements, but lying down feels better than sitting.

There’s a huff from Kas that sounds more amused than derisive, so Steve looks at him. Looks at the shimmer in those eyes before closing his own again, not wanting to be looked at right now. Not wanting to face it.

“You,” Kas says then, his voice quiet and without the edge of that animalistic growl. The sound of someone who’s not meant to speak at all. The souvenir of someone who was human once before Evil grabbed him and modified him to His liking. 

“Me,” Steve says, an automatic response, just as quiet. He’s listening. 

“How… How are…” Kas struggles, huffing in frustration at the words that refuse to come, but still it’s the most coherent Steve has ever heard him. It makes him sit up half way again; leaning his weight on one arm to focus all his foggy and cloudy attention on the vampire trying to ask him how he is feeling. 

No more words come, though, the question half finished in the air between them. But somehow it makes Steve smile. Just a little bit. This feels important. And huge.

“My head hurts,” he answers truthfully, amused when Kas’s eyes snap back to his. To search them. To communicate something.

“Hurts?” 

“Yeah. It will, for a while. Always does. Nothing to do about it, really.” He wishes he felt as indifferent to it as he sounds, but that’s just the tiredness clouding his tone. It’s fast approaching now that he knows he’s relatively safe. Now that he knows he can rest. His arm gives out and he slides, slowly this time, back to lie on the pillow. “But it’s not as bad. And the other pain is gone, so…” 

So. He could go home now. He should, probably. Ignoring the weakness in his bones and the exhaustion in his every fiber. If he closed his eyes again right now, he could fall asleep. Still, maybe he should—

“Stay,” Kas says again, and Steve really should have figured. He’s not quite well enough to really fight him on that, though, so he shrugs. 

“Fine,” he mumbles into the pillow, halfway back to slumberland already. 

There’s movement on the foot of the bed, and before he knows it Kas has tucked him in again, draped across the pillows as he is. It’s still unreal, that, but Steve won’t complain. What’s even more unreal, though, is the image Steve gets of Kas curling up by the foot of the bed in a similar position. As if he still means to keep watch. 

It’s ridiculous. A little weird. And sort of endearing.

——

The next time Steve wakes, everything around him is a little brighter, daylight fighting weakly to fill the room, but it stands no chance against the large wooden planks and thick curtains meant to block it out permanently. 

He blinks away the heaviness, taking stock of his body. There is a crick in his neck and burgeoning cramps in his side and hip from the position he’s still in, and this head still is a pulsing, aching mess — but no more than usual. 

He taps the pads of his fingers to his thumb before flexing his hands. Only then does he stretch the rest of his body and announce his wakefulness. 

Opposite him, at the foot of the bed, Kas is already awake and still in the same position that Steve saw him last. Did he even sleep? Does he need that? Or has he just been staring at Steve, watching him, ready to carry him to the bathroom again for round two. 

The thought of that makes his skin crawl.

“Hi,” he says to fill the silence that is all too inviting for his spiralling mind.

Kas grunts, but it sounds more like a hum. Sort of gentle around the edges. He doesn’t move, doesn’t seem at all fazed that they’re just kind of staring at each other. Steve swallows, not really sure how to go from here.

He fists the blanket and rubs the linen bedding between his fingers, feels the rough fabric catching on the callouses along his hands as uncomfortable seconds tick by. Still Kas doesn’t move. 

“Listen, man,” Steve says at last, thinking back to yesterday’s events and the vampire’s sudden care. “Thanks, alright? What you did, that was, uh. That was nice. You didn’t have to do any of that.” 

Another hum, and it occurs to Steve that Kas is back in his normal state, retreated back into his mind, hiding from the world himself now that it no longer needs him. It’s a strange thought, that Steve being hurt would be what brings him back. If at all. Maybe he’s reading it all wrong. Maybe it as just a coincidence, or maybe Kas tasted something in his blood that made him want to improve Steve’s physical state for selfish purposes. That’s probably more likely.

But it makes him feel even more wrong-footed than before, and it leaves him hyper-aware of the situation. Of their dynamic. Indifference and annoyance and… He doesn’t want it to change, doesn’t want some kind of debt between himself and Kas — especially not when Kas has no means to really settle it. But he also can’t feign some kind of gratitude when what he feels the most is mortification and embarrassment; and he sure as hell doesn’t want Kas to know that either. 

So he throws back the blanket and gets out of the bed, a little dizzy at first, but he doesn’t care as he slips into his shoes and hurries out of the room. 

He just wants to leave. Get out of here and go home, go back to bed and get over the mortification of having been seen like this. Of having been taken care of. By someone who doesn’t even like him. By someone who hissed and snapped at him one moment and then carried him to the bathroom the next. 

“It looks like there’s nothing human left in him, but we do have data that suggest otherwise.” Owens’s words echo through his mind as he crosses the living room. “It seems to be in hiding, the Munson part of him; that’s our hope at least. That you can get him back out one day, make him win over the vampire part. It could be like a self defence mechanism, I guess. We hope he can still be coaxed back into the land of the living. How, though, we don’t know.”

Was this what happened? Has Steve’s weakness triggered the human part of Kas’s tortured brain to take over? No, that can’t be. 

It seems unreal. Unlikely. Wayne telling him stories or Dustin talking about their campaign, that should have helped. Even Mike playing the guitar, or Robin rambling about something or other; all of that was much more close to who Munson was. Or used to be. Eddie Munson never struck Steve as someone who took care of people naturally. Someone who stepped in. He stepped up, sure, but only ever for the wrong reasons. 

It makes no sense. So it must be wrong; just Steve’s exhausted brain grasping at straws. It usually does that, anyway. Nobody knows if Eddie is even still in there. Part of Steve hopes he’s not. 

Just as he reaches for the front door, ready to just get out of here and pretend like nothing happened, he feels a presence behind him. Kas followed him out of the bedroom, standing in the doorway now with an unreadable expression. It's the blank one he usually takes on, but where before it was normal, it throws Steve off now. Maybe because he saw how Kas can look at him. How expressive his eyes can get.

He holds them, the red shimmer a little dimmer out here in the brighter living room. 

And maybe it's the blankness in those eyes, or the lack of judgment in Kas's every action, but whatever it is, it makes Steve let go of the door and turn to face Kas properly. 

"Why'd you do it?"

The vampire inclines his head. Listening. Always listening. Steve doesn't know how he never noticed that. It seemed so primitive before. Like how a dog will react to its owner speaking, but never process the words. Kas processes, though. So Steve keeps going.

"Why'd you... You kept saying that word. Safe. Do you, uh. Do you know what it means?" 

Slowly, his eyes growing a little less blank, Kas nods. 

Steve looks around the cabin, swallowing thickly, still feeling so out of place in here, still feeling the need to run and leave it far behind. But something makes him stay. Makes him want to understand. 

"You wanted me to feel safe?" Again, Kas nods. "Why?" 

There is hesitation there, and Steve wonders if it's because he doesn't want to tell him, if he doesn't know the answer, or if he doesn't know how to answer. It's a loaded question, maybe. 

"Pain," he says at last, his voice barely discernible from a growl, but somehow Steve seems attuned to it now. Maybe because he listens now. Because he wants to know. To understand. 

He waits, watching as Kas struggles for more words once more. Just like last night. 

"Know... Know... pain. Know.” He taps his temple with a clawed hand, and Steve's heart falls, his chest aching with realisation. 

Right. He would. He would know pain like that. If what the doc says is right, if what Vecna taunted them with is right, if every working theory the kids have is right, then… yeah. Kas would know. He’s know something about pain. More than any of them. Pain so intense it splits you apart from yourself. 

"Shit," Steve whispers more to himself than to the room, crossing his arms in front of his chest to hug himself and keep from digging deeper, keep his heart from falling further, and keep the horror at bay. 

He doesn't want to imagine the kind of torture Kas went through. Is still going through, if what the doctors say has even more truth to it. If Munson is still in there, still suffering because human minds have a way of holding on to pain — Steve knows soemthing about that, too. 

"I'm sorry," he offers. It's all he can offer. In the end, it’s all that’s left.

And still it's so lame. It's not enough. 

But Kas just nods again, a pained shadow of a smile appearing on his face. Something transpires between them in that moment, Steve can feel it, but he can't really define it. Maybe some kind of understanding. Some kind of safety. 

"I gotta..." he starts, motioning to the door behind him. "I gotta go. Will you be fine? Did you have enough, y'know, to drink?" 

Another nod, and the smile widens a little. Looks a little less pained this time. 

"Good," Steve says, stuffing his hands into his pockets, lifting his shoulders to his ears, trying and failing to seem casual in the face of those glowing eyes. "I’ll– I'll see you around, yeah?" 

And then he's out the door, his head spinning and aching, his steps heavy with the weight of whatever has changed between him and Kas in the past twenty-four hours. 

... sooo. part 3 anyone?

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[kenjakusbrainstem]

Stuck (Mahito x Reader)

Contains: Rape, stuck in a wall, piv sex, body horror, multiple limbs.

Yo long time no see Mahito x reader fans, I admit sometimes I get far too excited to write him with Kenjaku I forget that he needs his own spotlight sometimes too. Going through some weird things irl as well so it was nice to be able to let out some of my feelings with this one, hopefully its enjoyable! Crossposted to Ao3 under the same name and shared to twitter at kenjakusbrain! Comment or rb if you like or have any thoughts <3

You regretted the split second detour as soon as you made it to the end of the dark alleyway. It was late and you didn’t normally take this way home, how were you supposed to know the alley was a dead end? A large man had been following you ever since you left the movie theater. You’d been foolish enough to try and tell him to leave you alone, which had only egged him on further. 

In an attempt to get away, you ducked into an alley. Quickly running to the end of it, before you realized it was a brick wall. It was far too tall for you to climb, especially with nothing to stand on, but you could see some light shining through from a hole about waist height. It was definitely too small to fit through, but as you heard heavy footsteps in the darkness behind you, you pushed away those thoughts.

Forcing your arm and head through the hole, you violently clawed at anything on the other side for leverage. Hand finding what you imagined to be a dumpster handle, you forced your other arm through, ignoring a crack in your shoulder. You could deal with a dislocated shoulder later.

Pain rushed through your body but it was drowned out by the adrenaline. You continued to force your body through the tight hole. Only pausing when you heard the man behind you begin to speak, words almost unintelligible, but it definitely sounded like he was arguing with someone. Perhaps someone was around to save you after all. Regardless, you still wanted to get out.

Half of you had made it through, your arms and head on one side, hips and legs on the other. Not much further to go, you thought as you attempted to get your hips to fit. 

They wouldn’t budge. 

Frantically you tried to force your way through, clawing and kicking to move your body forward, but nothing seemed to work.

The sound of flesh hitting pavement pulled your attention from trying to free yourself. A soft giggle sounded behind you, definitely not from the man who’d been pursuing you. Had you been saved?

“Hello?” You called out, unsure if you would even receive an answer.

The only response you received was a hand resting on the small of your back. Even though the gesture was not violent, it still startled you. You kicked back reflexively, but before your foot made contact with anyone, it was caught. The feeling of your leg being lifted into the air made you panic further, you could feel the material of your skirt bunching up around your hips.

“Why are you trying to go through the wall? Is that some silly human game?” A soft voice asked from behind you. He wasn’t quiet, but the intonation of the questions sounded curious, like a child asking why about some mundane thing they just didn’t understand yet.

You tried to get control of your leg back, but you could feel the hands wrapped around your ankle were strong. It didn’t make sense to you that this person could have dispatched the man that was following you and still be confused about why you were stuck like this. And what did he mean by ‘human’?

“That person was chasing me, he isn’t still there is he? It sounded like he got knocked out. I’m stuck now. Can you please help me out?” Your words ran together as you frantically tried to explain and ask questions at the same time. It should have been obvious that you were trying to escape. 

Another soft laugh echoed off the walls around you. It made your skin crawl, something had seemed off ever since you started interacting with this mystery person, even if they did save you, there was something definitely wrong with this.

“The big man? Oh you don’t need to worry about him at all, he’s in my pocket now and can’t hurt you. I could get you unstuck really easily, but it might make you sweat more than it sounds like you already are,” The man said, his words only making the situation more confusing. Nothing that he said reassured you at all, neither did the second set of hands picking up your other leg.

Even if you had been talking to only one person, the hands on your other leg made your guts twist with anxiety. Maybe you hit your head and all of this was a strange nightmare that your mind had cooked up?

You opened your mouth to ask a question, but the words were cut off by a scream as your legs were spread fully, exposing you to the person, or people, behind you. 

Before you even had the chance to beg for help or call out to maybe urge someone closer, you felt the wall you were stuck in tremble as if it had been struck by something heavy. Much to your surprise, a hand came from behind you, wrapping around your lips. 

You could make out enough of the arm in the dark to know that it was freakishly long, even ignoring the fact that it had come through the wall. The fact that you could see the elbow in front of you made your mind hazy, no wonder the thing had referred to you as a human, because he couldn’t be! Even if the fingers felt human and the skin looked normal, it had to be twice the length of a human arm or more, not to mention the strange stitch like markings covering the skin.��

“Geto said I need to get better at working with humans so he can try making more cursed womb paintings and you’re in the perfect position to practice. I hope you don’t mind that I want to get some practice alone, he says I’m usually too sensitive and finish too quickly,” The man, monster, whatever was behind you said. None of the words made sense to you other than being in a position to practice. 

This is what you had been trying to escape in fitting yourself in this hole, and yet you’d only gotten yourself into an even worse situation. Maybe if you were lucky the person would put you out of your misery after. 

Now that you were sure that it was just one person behind you, the feeling of another hand reaching out to rip your panties off of you was more frightening. There were far too many hands involved for this to be anything other than a monster. 

“Wow! You’re already so slick down here! Geto said humans only get like this when they’re excited, so maybe you like this more than it seems!” His excited words made you cringe internally. You mentally cursed whoever this ‘Geto’ he was referring to was.

The fingers that had ripped your panties now slid between your soaked folds easily. You didn’t know why you were so wet but you hated yourself for it. The tips of his fingers stroking against your clit made a spike of pleasure cut through the fear and anxiety filling you. 

He didn’t waste time teasing you for long, though. The fingers traced up, slipping around your entrance for just a second before they were replaced by the blunt head of the man’s cock. You squirmed in an attempt to get away, but you already knew the movement would do nothing for you. 

It didn’t hurt as much as you anticipated when he pressed himself into you. His size must have been below average as it barely felt like he was sticking two fingers inside. A dark moment of reprieve filled you, it could always be worse, you thought. The ache in your thighs hurt more than the stretch in your pussy as he started to slowly thrust.

Relief only lasted for a moment however, as you suddenly felt something else inside of you. It was as if with each thrust inside of you his cock grew in size. Different than if he were just getting harder. Somehow it was as if he could change his shape at will, the stretch that hadn’t bothered you before was now burning as he pressed his large, throbbing cock inside you.

Suddenly, you could feel everything, every vein on his cock filling you up so completely that you thought you’d burst. Another scream threatened to escape, but the hand on your lips kept any sound from getting out. Tears pricked the corners of your eyes as his thrusting continued. 

You could barely make out the sound of whiny moaning through the wall. It seemed like you weren’t the only one that was feeling more than they had expected from this. The hands on each of your legs were squeezing tighter with every thrust, your feet had started to feel almost numb. You could only hope the numb feeling would spread.

The monster’s thrusts were hard to anticipate, it was like he was moving on instinct without any rhythm or method to the way he fucked into you. It was hard to anticipate when the next thrust would come as his hips changed pace constantly. One thrust was hard and deep, the next shallow and slow. 

It was clear he was chasing only his pleasure. 

Tears slid down your cheeks as he continued fucking you, you hated how good it felt when the thrusts weren’t too hard. Being so full did hurt, but whenever the thrusts slowed down it almost felt perfect. The slow drag of his thick cock, if this were any other situation, you were sure that you would be screaming in pleasure instead.

It wasn’t long before his thrusts became even more inconsistent, as if he were losing control. His whining moans sounded even more desperate. Only a few more deep thrusts before he pressed himself all the way into you, filling you to the brim before releasing deep inside of you. 

You were stuffed so full you could feel each spurt of his cum inside you, and even feel it leaking out of your body around his cock.

He pulled out quickly, dropping your legs as he moved. The hand that covered your mouth patted your cheek before being pulled back through the hole. Before you could even think to say anything, you heard a noise from above you. Craning your neck you watched a normal looking man jump down in front of you.

As he turned to face you, you noted the stitches on his face matching the ones on the strange arm that had held your mouth closed. Only, he looked normal, his arms were proportionate, everything about him was like that of a normal human, including the two arms with only two hands despite how many hands you had felt.

The stress of the night had finally become too much for you, as he leaned in to say something, you felt your consciousness leave you.

[anonymous-dentist]

Or: the first week of Cellbit's life after being turned into a vampire by the man he's been dating for three weeks

For @smallchaoscryptid's Spiderbit Week Day One- Vampires

-

Day Zero - Saturday

"Just stay still!"

"I am still!"

"Nooo, you're fucking wiggling."

"I'm trying to get comfy. If I'm going to die, I want to be comfortable."

"My lap isn't comfortable? Is that what you're telling me?"

"Your knees are bony."

"I'll show you bony- stay still, motherfucker!"

"Guapito- oh, shit-"

Cellbit sucks in one final, shuddery breath and goes limp, his fingers twitching- searching for Roier's.

But Roier's hand only finds his after he's dead.

Day One - Sunday

His eyes are open, but all he can see is the scent of blood in the air. He can't move, but his limbs beg to be put to use. He's so hungry.

Something settles in his hair, something cold and soft and almost comforting through the pain wracking his entire body.

"Shh, gatinho," it whispers. "I'm back."

He leans into the touch with a whine, eyes slipping shut and exposing him to The End again. It's horrible, but at least. At least it isn't nothing.

There's nothing. The End is something. The End rejected him. He is alive, and he is hungry.

Fingers card through his hair, gently massage his scalp. But it isn't his head that's hurting, it's his everything. His mouth. His teeth. His teeth-

Air brushes past his mouth. Prey.

Instinctively, he snaps at it, growling as his teeth dig into the prey.

"Puta madre-" the prey swears, but, no that isn't the prey. That's...

He whimpers as the not prey tears its hand out of his mouth.

"You're lucky you're cute," the not prey tells him. "Hold on, let me get you some actual dinner."

And then the not prey leaves. Again.

And he is alone with the nothing. Again.

Day Two - Monday

The room is too cold but the blankets are itchy and the pillow is too warm and the overhead fan is turned on and he's so cold, why is he so cold?

Shivering, he pulls his blanket over his head. But it itches, so he pulls it back off, but he's so cold-

"Hey, no, come here," the not prey says.

He snarls as he's gently pulled to the not prey's chest, but his anger dies down the second he recognizes the not prey's scent: guapito.

His guapito.

He burrows back until he can't tell where guapito ends and he begins. Then, and only then, does he start to feel warmth again.

The End was warm, so warm. But it turned him away, and now he's cold- but that's good, right? He doesn't know why it's good that The End rejected him and sent him back to the nothing, his head hurts, his teeth hurt. But. But maybe it has something to do with his guapito.

A kiss is pressed to the back of his neck. "There we go. Sleepy gatinho, eh?"

He hums in acknowledgment. But he doesn't talk, he doesn't know how. He doesn't think he's supposed to. He's too hungry to even though he'd just eaten moments or hours or centuries ago.

"Tomorrow will be better," guapito tells him, and he believes it.

Day Three - Tuesday

He keeps biting the inside of his mouth when he tries remembering how to speak to guapito. And, frankly, he's starting to get sick of it.

He pouts, but guapito just smiles and coos and leans in close and brushes its nose against his.

"You'll get used to it," guapito says. "They'll be done growing in by tomorrow."

Tomorrow is forever away, though. When The End had sent him back, it had told him that he would wake up 'tomorrow', but he was there for what felt like thousands of years. He only found his way back to the nothing when he'd heard someone talking to him.

Who...?

Wordlessly, though not wordless by choice, he bites guapito's nose. He doesn't bite hard, and he doesn't bite with his fangs, but guapito still screams and tumbles off the bed dramatically.

He smiles, fangs and all, but guapito just grumbles and reaches up and pinches his cheek hard.

And then guapito smiles, fangs and all.

It's beautiful.

He tries to say as much, but he ends up biting his tongue. Again.

Damnit.

Day Four - Wednesday

He can't stop crying, why can't he stop crying? He isn't in pain, but it all hurts so badly, but he doesn't know why, and-

"Gatinho, hey, it's fine," guapito softly says- it sounds sad, and now he feels worse because he made guapito sad and he's just a failure of a... of a... of a...

He can't remember? Why can't he remember? All he remembers is The End and then the nothing that came afterwards, the nothing he's been living in since. He blinked, and he was out of The End, and he was in somebody's arms, but who? Guapito, right? But why? How do they know each other?

He chokes on his own tears as he comes to a terrifying realization. He doesn't know who he is. He's been awake for days, but he doesn't know his own name- oh, God.

Guapito holds him closer, rocking them gently back and forth on the floor, because he had crawled off of the bed in his own misery hours ago and hasn't been able to muster the will to get up since.

The End took something from him before kicking him out. Did The End take him?

Guapito shushes him gently, far more tender than it's been since he's known him. But he doesn't know him, so how does he know that?

"You'll think this is funny later," guapito assures him. "I did. You're just emo today, it's fine. New instincts and shit, they'll figure themselves out, and then we can go back to bed. Okay?"

He buries his face in guapito's shoulder. What he would give to be in bed again...

Day Five - Thursday

There are flashes in his mind of things he can't quite remember. A garden filled with blue flowers, a swimming pool. A little boy in overalls locking him in a closet with...

Guapito trudges into the room with a fresh pitcher of blood for them to share, because he's still hungry.

"I'm making you go hunting when you're out of bed," guapito huffs.

He places the pitcher down on the bedside table and wipes the non-existent sweat off of his forehead with his headband.

He is stunning.

"Okay," he croaks out, wincing as his fangs clip his tongue. But it's worth it for the brilliant smile guapito sends him and the forehead kiss he gets.

"You are so sexy when your voice is all fucked," guapito growls, playful and not at all threatening.

He bites back a frown. "No."

"Yes. And you had better get used to being called sexy because you-" Guapito pokes him between the eyes with one finger. "-are stuck with me for forever. No take-backs."

He doesn't want a take-back. He's been thinking through the hunger pangs, and he thinks that he went to The End because of guapito. Not because guapito sent him there, but because guapito was the one to pull him home.

This is home, right? A dimly-lit bedroom with wooden walls and well-worn floors, scratchy blankets and soft pillows, soft voices downstairs. Guapito.

It doesn't ring any bells, but he thinks that, if it wasn't his home before The End, it could be his home now that he's left it.

A small smile on his face, he reaches up and cups guapito's cheeks.

"Okay," he repeats, just because he thinks guapito needs to hear it.

And guapito smiles, and it's all just... okay.

Day Six - Friday

He has a name, he thinks. Cellbit. It's what guapito calls him when he thinks he's asleep. When Cellbit is asleep.

It sounds familiar. So does the mention of a child- Richarlyson- and the mention of a woman- Jaiden- and the mention of another child- Bobby.

But what's guapito's name? He has to have one, right? One as beautiful as he is.

"You look almost normal today," guapito comments.

Cellbit doesn't feel normal. He feels hungry, but he's less hungry than he's been for the past several days. He feels cold, but he doesn't mind the cold as much as he used to. He feels confused, but he's remembering more every day. So he might be back to normal soon.

(Whatever normal is for him, anyway.)

The End had taken normal from him. He remembers it being freezing. He stayed huddled before its mighty presence shivering and begging to be heard. He wasn't dead, he wasn't. He couldn't be dead, he was talking. He couldn't be dead, he had... someone to get back to.

And then he'd heard the voice, and The End had released him.

Cellbit leans his head onto guapito's shoulder and closes his eyes.

"Te amo," he whispers. He may not remember who guapito is to him, but he knows this to be true.

Guapito stiffens beneath him, but he quickly relaxes again and slings an arm over Cellbit's shoulders.

He presses a soft kiss to Cellbit's temple and whispers, "Me, too."

Guapito had mentioned something about spending eternity with him, and that sounds just fine to Cellbit. He doesn't think he'd rather have it any other way.

Day Seven - Saturday

Cellbit wakes up not hungry for the first time since escaping from The End. He stares up at the ceiling, and his mind is filled with one word and one word only:

"Roier?" he whispers.

Next to him, guapito- Roier!- stirs. He yawns and rolls onto his side so that he's facing Cellbit. His face is red and marked with the imprints of his pillow, and his eyes are squinted shut and wet with interrupted sleep, and drool is dried to the corner of his mouth, but Cellbit is still caught breathless because he's so perfect.

"Gatinho?" Roier yawns. "What's wrong?"

He squirms until his head is using Cellbit's chest as a pillow. He wraps both of his arms around Cellbit's one like it's a stuffed animal.

His eyes slip shut again, but he doesn't fall back asleep. He's too busy tapping his fingers against the inside of Cellbit's elbow.

"I think I died," Cellbit says. His voice is quiet, contemplative. Almost reverent, because he stared The End in the face, and he was let go. Why?

"You did," Roier responds.

"But I'm here."

"You are."

"Why?"

Roier mutters something about "fledgling amnesia". Cellbit only halfway understands, but he doesn't question it. He doesn't think he wants to.

"Because I'm a vampire," Roier eventually says. "And you wanted to be one, too."

Cellbit blinks. "Huh."

"Yeah, 'huh'." Roier lightly pinches Cellbit's arm. "Go back to sleep. We need to go hunting tomorrow."

Hunting... Cellbit likes the sound of that.

But, first:

"We should get married."

This wakes Roier up fully. He sits up, lets go of Cellbit, stares at him with wide eyes.

Cellbit sits up, too. He takes Roier's hand in his, turns it over. Thinks about how good he'd look with a ring on his finger.

"I might not remember everything about you," Cellbit tells him, "but you've been with me all week even when I was..." ("...completely feral and out of control...") "...emo. And I liked you enough before to die to be with you. So... marriage only makes sense, right?"

Roier's mouth flaps like a fish's for a good couple of tense minutes before he cracks a grin and tries covering it up with furrowed eyebrows and a faked frown.

"Try again with a ring," Roier snaps with happy tears in his eyes.

He flops back down and pulls the blanket over his head.

Cellbit stares at him for just a moment before smiling so wide his cheeks hurt.

Wordlessly, he snuggles back down into bed. He slips beneath the covers with Roier, pulling him to his chest and spooning him from behind. He hides his smile in the back of Roier's neck and giggles as Roier swears at him through his own laughter.

"I can't believe I'm going to be with you for forever," Roier teasingly complains.

"Me neither," Cellbit responds.

The rest of eternity until the sun should die out and then beyond. Until they both crumble to dust in each other's arms at the end of the universe.

That sounds wonderful.