#Slitting machine felt

[woolfelt123]

Slitting machine felt is being shipped

[littlelovelunette]

I LOVE UR WRITING SHDJDKSJDJD. What about reader walking in on Sevika masturbating and then helping her out??? 👁️👁️

Caught In The Sheets

Thank you soooo muchhh, sometimes I question whether I put enough effort into my fics but reading these words of praise are just enoughhh

Contains smut, panty sniffing, masterbating, fingering, mention of Sevika's happy trail, pussy description (Sevika), oral

"Honey, I'm home," Sevika called out as she closed the door behind herself, she looked like hell. She was too tired to even support the weight of her prosthetic at this point.

With another very heavy sigh, she opened the bedroom and didn't see you there. She walked around and found a note on the table.

The note said "I'll be off to the market grocery shopping by the time you come back, can you do me a favour and put the clothes in the laundry? I love you~"

Sevika rolled her eyes, a small smirk playing on her dark lips as she read the note. Of course you had asked her to do the laundry. It was the one chore you couldn't do without her help.

Sevika didn't mind, she found it endearing how you managed to take care of everything around the house but when it came to something as simple as laundry, you were absolutely baffled.

Sevika thought of your face when she first taught you to do it and it went all over your head just like when she tried to teach you cards, Sevika dragged the laundry basket to the washing machine and opened it up, reaching for the first article of clothing.

Her fingers hook around your panties... From yesterday night and the residue over it, the wet arousal etched onto the crotch of the cotton fabric.

"Jeez," Sevika mumbled under her breath, and she looked around the room despite knowing she was in there alone before slowly bringing the cloth closer to her face and taking a small whiff.

She could've moaned. She could've. But she didn't. She restrained herself.

Sevika's breath caught in her throat as she silently made her way to the bedroom, she felt so filthy, so humiliated. Her usual dominant pride hurt as she walked in the shared bedroom, she questioned why just the smell of your vaginal discharge was enough to get her going, enough to make her want to touch herself inappropriately.

Sevika laid down slowly after undressing herself almost hastily, she pressed the crotch of your panties to her face again, taking in a deep breath and smelling your arousal which was a little wet still but she didn't care.

She just needed to feel like you were there with her, that's all she needed really. Sevika let out a soft breath and her hands slowly wet down past her happy trail and to her pussy. She had been neglecting her pleasure for so long, solely focused on making you feel good.

Rough pads of her finger toyed with her own clit eliciting a small moan from her, hips buckling a little.

"Since when have I become so sensitive?" She thought to herself as she pressed her clit using a single finger, "Oh my gosh," she whispered as she closed her eyes, holding the panties in a tight grip with her mechanical arm.

Sevika's fingers traced down her pussy lips, and rubbed her slit teasingly as she tried to picture you being there with her, "Oh fuck, fuck, you're such a damn tease," she whispered biting down on her bottom lip.

As she got close to cumming on her own fingers, she felt her wrist being yanked away from her heat.

Sevika, whining a little (almost), looked up and seeing you standing there with your hair in a messy bun, grocery bags in another hand and a motherly stern expression on your face. Her cheeks flushed red like never before.

"So this is what you do when I'm gone for a few hours?" You tutted, dropping the bags to cross your arms.

"No, I don't..." Sevika begun but then trailed off, a little bit of guilt creeping in her tone told you a different story.

"Sniffing my panties and touching yourself? Are you serious?" You asked though there was no heat in your voice.

"I don't usually... Do this," Sevika said completing the lie with almost comical difficulty.

"Lay back," you ordered and surprisingly Sevika obliged, laying back down and grumbling something inaudible.

Sevika laid down on the bed with her back flat, legs spreading a little to expose her wet pussy.

"What a good girl, hm?" You crawled in between her legs, "Keep on sniffing, c'mon." You urged and Sevika flushed redder but didn't protest, bringing your panties to her nose again to take a long whiff of your arousal.

Her head felt a little dizzy and mushy this time as your breath hit her clit, her eyes snapped open and wide when she felt your start sucking and slurping on her pussy, all sorts of wet lewd sounds coming from you.

Sevika gasped feeling your fingers playing with her swollen clit, you always found it attractive how big her clit was only making her more sensitive.

Sevika's flesh hand grabbed your head but you swatted it away, earning another small whine from her. Sevika, desperate, took another whiff of the pair of panties now entangled between her metal fingers. She cried in a high pitched tone as you grabbed her hips and bit down on her clit momentarily before resuming to delve your tongue in her hole.

"Oh, fuck! Fuck!" She screamed more profanities, cumming on your tongue as her legs started trembling a little. Her big muscular thighs also trembling from the wrecking orgasm.

"I hate you." She grumbled when you pulled back.

"Oh, you totally sniff the person you hate's underwear when they're gone, don't you?" You smirked as you picked the grocery bags up from the floor.

"... You'll never let go of this will you...?" Sevika looked away, face flushing more.

"Nah, it's too good."

[poppyseed-cheesecake]

Caleb starts feeling like your panties aren't enough anymore and you're a heavy sleeper, so what's the harm in masturbating over you?

I dunno be warned mc is asleep for all of this and obvs can't say yes or no in this situation

1465 words

It had started off innocently enough.

Sometimes, when it was his turn to do the laundry, he'd take some extra time. Sometimes pieces would get...lost.

Sometimes they'd reappear after a while.

"Eh, it's an old machine. Half of my socks are missing too."

And you'd believed him. Of course you did. There'd been no reason for him to lie. And it was harmless, wasn't it?

He always made sure that no evidence was left of what he did when your panties would reappear.

But at some point that wasn't really enough anymore. Of course it wasn't.

You were just a room away, whenever he came home from the academy. And you'd grown up. You'd gotten taller, fuller, more muscular. You were training to become a hunter.

And you weren't aware in the slightest of how enticing you looked. When you came back from training, sweat slick and still flushed.

Or when you fell asleep on the couch after a shower, in nothing but a big shirt and a pair of too short shorts.

It didn't help that gran would go out for card games with her friends, or visit relatives in the countryside more often, now that you were both adults.

So, starved for you after not seeing you wor weeks on end, it was hard to still be satisfied with just a few flimsy pieces of cloth.

During one particular movie night, you'd pretty quickly fallen asleep.

Those aformentioned short shorts barely covering your ass as you curled up tightly. Soft snores echoing through the living room and Caleb white knuckling the blanket he draped over you. Well over your torso.

He knew you to be a heavy sleeper. He would carry you to bed later, in a few hours without you so much as stirring.

It was okay. It was fine. You wouldn't notice. You wouldn't be hurt. It would be okay.

His palms were sweaty and he swallowed hard. With how you were curled up, he could see your panties peaking out under the shorts. It was an old, loose pair.

Trembling, he reached out. A featherlight touch on the underside of your thigh. No reaction.

Emboldened by that, his fingers went further until they finally reached the flimsy fabric. A single, careful finger hooked underneath, and pulled the cloth to the side.

His breath hitched. Immediately, he took his hand back. As if burned.

No no no no he couldn't do this. He couldn't he really couldn't it was too much it was too pretty.

Caleb forced himself to look away, knowing that if he didn't, he'd not be able to hold back.

The finger that had touched you felt hot. He wanted to shove it in his mouth, but he didn't.

Instead, he lightly shoved his own sweats down, just enough to free his dick. He'd been hard for a while. Painfully so.

That very finger now pressed on his slit, his other hand clasped over his mouth. Eyes trained on your form, still avoiding what he wanted to look at most. Horribly aware of how exposed it now was.

How soft it felt, even with that brief touch.

He had to bite into the meat of his palm when he started stroking. Too close.

You rubbed your legs together. Of course. They were still cold, still exposed. Caleb steeled himself to look. Were it not for the hand in his mouth he'd have cursed, and he thought it better to keep it that way. So he used the hand that he'd been stroking himself with to drag the blanket further over your legs, mourning every inch of skin he could no longer see. In the end he couldnt bring himself to cover your ass. Actually, would it really be so bad if he looked a bit more? You were asleep, you wouldn't notice, right? It wouldn't hurt you if he just pulled your shorts and panties down a bit, they were old and worn out, it was easy.

And before he could overthink it, he'd done it. The view was overwhelming, but he could do this. He wouldn't touch you. Just look. Nothing more.

Even though he wanted to spread your lips...lick up and down, suck on your clit...the real deal had to taste so much better than what was left on your panties.

He thought of that alone almost brought him over the edge untouched. He could feel it in his belly, at this rate he wouldn't last long. And honestly he couldn't take it much longer.

With increased pace and force he stroked himself, taking in as much of you as he could, his gasps and moans quieted by his palm.

It was a messy, shameful orgasm, that left him reeling. He knew this was wrong, but he also couldn't go back. Especially after he, still hazy, dragged the tip of his cock along your folds, only once, only to feel them, before pulling your panties and shorts back up. Before washing his hands and carrying you to your room, tucking you in.

And you didn't wake up. You were a heavy sleeper afterall.

It should've ended there. No it should've never happened in the first place but he shouldn't have gone any further.

But how could he go back to just your panties after that? Especially since he'd gotten away with it so easily.

And he was just touching himself. It wasn't like he was sticking it in you or anything.

Sure maybe he'd touch you a teeny tiny bit but you wouldn't notice. It was okay.

So when he came back home for summer break a couple of months later, and he found you sleeping with all your limbs stretched away from you thanks to the heat every night, how could he not?

You slept in nothing but a tanktop and your flimsiest panties. And you even left the door slightly open for more airflow.

He just happened to walk by while getting a glass of water one night, and he just happened to see you.

Half of your upper body was exposed. He only came in to fix your shirt. It wasn't his fault it rode up further. Exposing your breasts.

Soft...untouched by the sun...The cool breeze hardening your nipples.

He quickly turned around. Head in his hands. He couldn't do this again. He shouldn't be doing this.

But he was already painfully hard. And you wouldn't notice.

You'd never know.

So he turned back around. Leaned over you slightly. Your breath was even, deep.

Your chest was rising and falling in a steady rythm.

Three finger. No more. Three fingers ghosted over your belly first. Gently pressing into the soft flesh, before daring to move up when you showed no reaction.

That was a mistake. Three fingers quickly became a whole hand cupping your breast, and once again he had to stifle a moan with his free hand.

This was dangerous. He had to stop.

It was impossible, with more urgency than he intended he pulled your panties down to your thighs.

For some reason he climbed onto your bed, your breathing still steady.

His face mere inches away from your pussy, he took his hand off his face, and pressed a gentle kiss to it.

All reason was gone, and his toung dipped below, the taste something he'd only dreamed of, a far cry from licking up what little was left in your panties.

Your breath hitched, and he stilled.

Listening, begging you to stay asleep. And after a few dreadful seconds you returned to your peaceful slumber.

But he couldn't risk any more, so he tore himself from you. Now kneeling over you, your hair splayed all around your pretty head, your body exposed to him, he could have cried.

Okay, he'd allow himself one more thing, before he would just...take care of himself.

He freed his cock from his boxers, revelling in its shadow on your belly. Slowly, softly, he touched the tip to your lips, then your chest, and in the end, once again, dragging it between your folds.

The smart thing - the right thing would've been to run to his room. To finish there and leave you alone.

But how could he? You were so beautiful.

And he was already so close. Fisting his dick while biting on his hand, he hovered over you.

Watching your beautiful form, so exposed to him.

When he came he had to scramble off the bed as to not let anything get on you. As much as he wanted to paint you with it.

Pulling your clothes back in place he was overcome with shame and guilt.

The next day he couldn't look you in the eye.

He had to stop this. This couldn't go on.

[mggslover]

Something with your coffee

In which Aaron gives you a treat with your morning coffee.

Pairing: Aaron Hotchner x fem!reader Genre: smut (18+) Content warnings: established relationship, bratty reader, sensual blowjob to mouthfucking, masturbation (fem!receiving) Word count: 1,4k A/n: don’t let the cute header fool you, it’s pure smut

The sun warmed the bare skin of your legs through the window as you put the coffee machine on. The deep aroma of the beans filled the kitchen. You loved days like these: waking up on a lazy Sunday without the use of an alarm, turning around in the sheets to see the peaceful look on your partner Aaron’s face as he’s still fast asleep, and softly tiptoeing your way to the kitchen to set a nice cup of coffee for the both of you.

Too enthralled in the sounds of chirping birds, you didn’t notice that Aaron had made his way over to you. He came fresh out of the shower, his face cleanly shaven, a towel wrapped low on his waist, and his hair still damp. His arms enveloped you in a hug from behind, his face in the crook of your neck as he pressed a soft kiss to your shoulder. The smell of him intoxicating.

“Good morning,” his voice rasped.

You hummed in satisfaction, “Good morning.”

You turned around, back leaning against the kitchen counter as you took in the sight of him. With your hand reaching out, you let your fingertips slide over his broad chest. He gazed down at the act, savoring the feel of your skin against his.

“Made coffee for me too?”

You nodded, “Of course.” Your free hand reached out to caress his bicep, while your other hand continued its path down his stomach.

“You know what goes well with coffee?”

He looked you in the eyes, allowing you to continue.

“Cock,” you answered as you palmed his length through the towel.

He chuckled, shaking his head, making you grin widely at him.

“Is that so?” he smiled in amusement.

You bit your lip and nodded, feeling him stiffen under your touch. With a swift motion of your hand, you undid the knot on his towel, exposing him. The dark hairs on his pelvis were tidily trimmed, and his cock, although half-hard, looked mouthwatering to you.

You folded the towel in half, letting it fall to the ground before you lowered yourself to your knees. You licked your lips at the proximity, moving your hands gently up and down his thighs. When you looked up to meet his gaze, you noticed the dark glint of desire in his eyes as he expectantly looked down at you.

Not wanting to keep him waiting, you took his length in your hand, slowly pumping it as you leaned in to press a kiss to his balls.

The contact made him shiver, his dick twitching in your hand. A breathless moan escaped your lips, and you licked a bold stripe up the skin. You hummed at the taste, repeating your action and ending it by wrapping your lips around the sensitive skin, tenderly sucking on it.

You continued letting your mouth play with his balls. Your thumb swiped over the head of his cock, the precum that coated your finger signaling you that he was ready for more. With a sensual confidence, you licked him from his balls to the midline of his shaft. Aaron moaned a perfect oh, making your stomach tingle in excitement at the sound.

You resumed where you left off, maintaining eye contact as your tongue moved up until it reached the slit of the head.

“Oh, honey,” he groaned, both of his hands stretching out to hold the back of your head.

You wrapped one hand around his shaft and placed the other on his thigh for leverage as you took the tip in your mouth.

Your cheeks hollowed, sucking on the slick tip. The way Aaron bit his lip encouraged you, flattening your tongue as you took more of him in. At a slow, deliberate pace, you bobbed your head.

Aaron wasn’t much of a moaner, compelling you to work hard to prove yourself deserving of the sounds he made. So, when you sloppily swirled your tongue around him, and a deep groan escaped from his chest, you felt a wave of pride wash over you.

With a sharp breath, you took him out of your mouth. “I can never get enough of you filling my mouth,” you giggled.

His hand cupped your cheek, and you leaned into his warmth. “Then why don’t you get back to work?”

His demanding words were a sharp contrast to his soft touch, and you felt yourself getting wet. You squeezed your thighs together, searching for some friction as you sunk your mouth back onto him.

The weight of his length felt heavy against your tongue, reminding you of how good he feels when he’s deep inside of you. You squeezed his thigh as you took more of him in, flicking your hand around his shaft in quicker motions, mirroring the movements with your mouth.

“Such a good fucking mouth,” Aaron growled. His head was thrown back in pleasure, and he pressed his hips forward, pushing his cock further down your throat.

You nuzzled your head, swallowing him until your chin rubbed against his balls. You held the stance for a couple of seconds, making the most out of the moment by humming and licking his cock, then pulling away in a breathless gasp.

Aaron observed you with a lustful eye. Your lips were darkened and wet with saliva, and your nipples stood hard. Aaron caressed your hair, fingers soothingly sliding over it.

“Who would’ve thought you were such a dirty girl?” He hummed in wonder.

You made a small sound in response, pressing a wet kiss to the side of his length. “I’m only like this around you.”

“Good,” he hummed.

Rhythmically, you started jerking his length. You left small licks and kisses on the reddened tip, occasionally dipping your tongue into the slit.

“I’m going to come if you keep up like that,” he grunted, rolling his hips against your hand. “Where do you want it?”

“Maybe in my coffee. I could use a creamer,” you playfully teased.

“You’re so naughty,” he tsked.

You lifted your shoulders in a shrug. “I think I’m pretty nice.” You squeezed his cock in your palm, swirling your tongue around his tip. “Letting you fuck my mouth and all,” you add to your argument.

He let out a deep chuckle, the sound vibrating directly to your core. “I haven’t fucked your mouth,” he repeated. “All you’ve been doing is teasing me.”

You removed your lips from his tip with a pop. “Then why don’t you do something about it?” you blatantly state as you wrap your lips back around him.

He muttered a fuck. His grip on your head tightened, and he didn’t care about taking it slow as he thrust his hips into you. You relaxed your jaw, letting him hit the back of your throat repeatedly, swallowing around him.

Aaron did all the work for you, holding you in place as he fucked your mouth. It gave you the chance to reach down, your finger making contact with your clit. You moaned around his length in pleasure, trying to keep up with his pace as you rubbed your bud.

“That’s it, honey. Come with me.”

Your eyes watered, and Aaron pulled back. Your hand fastened its movements on your clit, and you used your other hand to jerk him off. Your tongue was stuck out, resting beneath his throbbing tip, ready for him.

His moans pushed you further to the edge. And with a cry you let go, your orgasm rippling through you. Your release ignited his, and with a deep groan, he came, thick spurts coating your tongue.

You made sure to swallow. Carefully licking him clean as his hips continued jolting in aftershocks.

With a lazy smile, Aaron looked down at you. He held you by your arms, gently lifting you up before pulling you into a warm embrace.

“You’re perfect,” he mumbled, pressing a kiss to your head.

He held you steady against him as he reached out to grab a cup of coffee from the machine. He brought the cup to his mouth, taking a sip.

“The coffee’s cold. How about a round two?”

[plasticflowersinahistorycemetery]

let the band play

one-shot

Pairing: Soldier Boy/Ben x Fem!Reader

Summary: This is the last straw. While out on recon with Butcher and Hughie, Ben went into your bedroom and used your favourite shirt to clean himself off. You're going to let the smug idiot know exactly what you think about him. Trouble is? He likes it.

Warnings: 18+!, Ben being his own warning again, language, creative insults, smut (panty-sucking, p in v, clitoral stimulation, cum on face, biting, sucking, licking, kissing, throttling, rough sex, slapping), misogyny, dirty talk, degradation, I may have missed some.

Word Count: 3,930

A/N: OKAYYYY, I got another one written and I lowkey (very, very highkey, actually) love nasty, mean, rough Ben more than I can ever put into words. Can you even imagine the pure hate-fucking this man is capable of? Ungh. <3 This one was inspired by a song... if you wanna give it a listen, then please do: "Let The Band Play" by Badflower. It's dark and gritty and just delicious for the tense vibes of this one-shot. As always, please give me feedback, if y'all feel like it. Until the next one! All the love.

"Oh, you lazy, no good, deadbeat Lying, woman-hating, piece of vile fucking scum You fucking downright piece of shit I'll spit on your grave, I'll make you suffer I'll massacre you, you fucking bastard You vile piece of shit, I'm coming for you You hear me? I'm coming for you! I'm coming for you! Ah!

And let the band play" 

Let The Band Play - Badflower 

The rhythmic slosh of the washing machine filled the cramped space, a dull, ceaseless churn that did nothing to tamp down the blistering heat rising in your chest. Your arms were folded tight, foot tapping against the scuffed linoleum, jaw clenched hard enough to make your teeth ache. The faint smell of detergent curled in your nose, too clean, too artificial, grating against the raw fury pressing like a hot coal against your ribs.

You weren’t even supposed to be here right now. You should’ve been upstairs, knocking back whatever cheap whiskey was left in the cabinet, decompressing after another long recon run. Instead, you were here, waiting for your shirt—your favourite black shirt—to be scrubbed of his fucking filth.

Because Ben had gone into your room. Again. He’d slithered his way into your space while you were out with Butcher and Hughie, ransacking your drawers, shifting your weapons, mixing your bullets in the wrong order—his usual bullshit. But this time, he’d taken it further. This time, you’d picked up your shirt and felt it, the crusted, stiff stain scraping against your fingers before your brain even caught up with what it was.

That fucking bastard.

The worst part? You weren’t even surprised. You’d known for a while now—panties disappearing, small things out of place, the gnawing suspicion sitting ugly in your gut. He’d been toying with you. Pushing, needling, waiting for you to catch on. And now you definitely had.

The door creaked behind you, and you didn’t have to turn around to know it was him. The air changed when Ben walked into a room—went heavy, charged, dangerous. That insufferable, lazy swagger, the barely-there drag of his boots, the scent of cologne and gunpowder and sheer, unrepentant arrogance.

“You’re stompin’ those pretty little feet like you got somethin’ to say, sweetheart.”

Your teeth snapped together so hard your molars screamed. His voice was dripping in amusement, thick with condescension, his usual cocktail of shit-eating smugness and predatory glee. He’d been waiting for this. Fucking waiting for it.

Slowly, you turned, arms still crossed, eyes slicing up to meet his with a glare sharp enough to slit his throat. He was leaning against the doorway like he had all the time in the world, watching you, his gaze hungry, expectant.

“I’m going to kill you.”

The words were calm, measured. Deadly. They only made him grin wider.

“Yeah?” He took a step forward, slow and deliberate. “What’s got your panties in a twist this time?”

Your nails dug into your palms. “You know exactly what.”

Ben hummed, tilting his head like he had to think about it, like he wasn’t fully aware of what he’d done, like he wasn’t thrilled about it. Then—mock surprise, all wide eyes and fake innocence.

“Ohhh,” he drawled, lips curling. “You mean your little t-shirt?”

The rage that slammed through your system nearly made your vision white out. He knew. He fucking knew.

“Are you—are you fucking serious?” Your voice came out strangled, barely contained. “You—you used my shirt? You went into my fucking room and—“

“Oh, come on,” he cut you off, rolling his eyes. “It’s not like you were wearin’ it.”

“That’s not the fucking point!”

Ben chuckled, a low, dark thing, rich with enjoyment. He took another step closer, and you barely stopped yourself from stepping back. You wouldn’t give him that.

“You’re gettin’ all worked up over a little mess,” he mused, voice syrup-thick with mockery. “What, you never had a guy come on your clothes before?”

Something inside you snapped.

The next thing you knew, you were shoving him—hard. He barely moved, but it didn’t matter. You wanted him to feel it. You wanted him to know that if you had a knife in your hand right now, you’d be planting it between his ribs.

Ben laughed.

A deep, rich, obnoxious fucking sound, like you were the funniest thing he'd seen all day. Like your rage was a fucking delight to him. His grin stretched wider, slow and deliberate, his eyes glinting with something sharp and dangerous.

“Aw, c’mon now,” he drawled, brushing nonexistent dust off his sleeve. “That all you got?”

Your hands curled into fists. “You are a scummy, vile, dirty old man,” you spat. “You’re just an old fucking dog, and I shouldn’t be surprised that you can’t be trained, because you can’t teach old dogs new tricks.”

Ben preened. Actually fucking preened. His broad shoulders straightened, his smirk turned smugger, his eyes burned with excitement.

“Careful, sweetheart,” he murmured, faux concern dripping from his tone. “Keep twitchin’ that little eye of yours like that and you’re gonna pop a blood vessel. Then what? No man’s gonna wanna fuck you.”

Your nostrils flared. Your pulse roared in your ears. Oh, fuck this.

Your hand snapped out, grabbing the first thing within reach—the bottle of fabric softener sitting beside the washing machine—and hurled it at him.

It hit him in the chest with a solid thud, and the bastard laughed.

“You’re real fuckin’ feisty, you know that?” He taunted, shaking his head. “Maybe if you weren’t such a mouthy little fuckin’ bitch, you’d actually get laid.”

Your vision blurred with rage. “And maybe if you weren’t such a festering, antiquated, deadbeat, woman-hating piece of shit, Payback wouldn’t have sold you out to the fucking Russians!”

His expression flickered. Just for a second. Just for a fucking second. And then his grin turned razor-sharp. His entire body shifted, and before you could register it, he moved.

He was on you in a breath.

One second, the space between you still existed—thin, crackling, electric. The next, gone. Ben stepped into it, filled it, drowned you in it, his body crowding yours until there was nowhere left to go. He was all heat, size, weight, a walking, talking fucking menace with that razor-blade smirk cutting across his face.

“Say it again,” he murmured, low and lethal, a dark, dangerous purr that slithered up your spine and coiled in your gut.

Oh, he was furious. You could see it in the taut set of his jaw, in the slight twitch of his fingers, in the barely restrained tension vibrating under his skin. But it wasn’t just anger. No, it was something else, something filthy, something that made his nostrils flare and his chest rise just a little too quickly.

He liked it. He fucking liked it.

So you gave it to him.

“You’re a no-good, perverted, misogynistic, chauvinist fucking cunt.” Your voice was steady, vicious, every word sharper than the last. “And if you ever step foot in my fucking room again, I’ll kill you. For real.”

His smirk twitched. Something flickered.

You weren’t done.

“You’re not a fucking war hero, Ben. You never stormed a goddamn thing in your life. Your entire legacy is bullshit—a propaganda piece for a country that doesn’t even fucking remember you. You’re just a relic of Vought’s past, and even they didn’t want you anymore.”

The groan that rumbled out of him was filthy. Deep, appreciative, dragging through his throat like smoke and sex and something far, far worse.

His hand slid down his front, blatant as all hell, and he palmed at the hard line of his cock through his jeans—adjusted it, made a whole goddamn show of it, a smirk creeping across his mouth as he let his head tip back just a little.

“Fuck, you’re really gettin’ me going now, sweetheart.”

Your stomach turned. Your lip curled into a vicious scowl, disgust and rage flooding through you all at once. You swung for him. Fast. Hard. Unforgiving.

He caught your wrist mid-air. Effortless. And then he moved.

A sharp yank, a forceful shove, and you were bent backwards over the still-rumbling washing machine, your spine curving against the vibrating metal, heat searing across your back from the sheer force of it. The room tilted, the whir of the machine filling your ears.

Ben’s weight pressed down, locked you in place.

One huge, brutal hand wrapped around your throat, pinning you down, thumb digging against your pulse, while the other clamped down on your hip—heavy, immovable, possessive.

A slow exhale ghosted across your cheek, the warmth of it infuriating, unbearable, suffocating.

His voice was a murmur, low and deep and satisfied as all fucking hell.

“Now we’re talkin’.”

“Get the hell off me.”

Your voice was sharp, but the angle was all wrong, your body bent backward, pinned at an unnatural curve against the still-running washing machine, his hand locked around your throat, fingers flexing just enough to remind you he could tighten his grip whenever the fuck he wanted.

And he laughed. Again.

That deep, gravel-rough chuckle, smug and entirely too entertained, rolling through his chest like you’d just told the funniest joke of his goddamn life.

“Sweetheart, I could pop your fuckin’ head off right now if I wanted to.”

Your teeth bared, rage coiling tight and vicious in your gut. With a sharp growl, you surged up, trying to fight against his hold, trying to push through the weight of him—

He used it against you.

Fast. Effortless. Completely, infuriatingly controlled.

His grip tightened around your throat, his other hand locked down hard on your hip, and suddenly, you were being lifted, hauled up like you weighed nothing. The room tilted, the washing machine’s hum shaking through your spine as he set you down on the edge—your thighs now spread around his waist, your body trapped between the vibrating machine and the sheer, unrelenting weight of him.

One of his hands clamped down on your hip, fingers curling in deep, holding you in place while his other shifted, the grip around your neck moving—repositioning—until his forearm was suddenly braced against your throat, keeping you folded against the machine, against the wall, against him.

And fuck.

Your breath hitched—not just from anger.

He felt it. He heard it.

That small, involuntary whimper that spilled from your lips the second he shifted, the hard, thick length of him dragging against you through your clothes—through nothing but layers of fabric.

His grin sharpened.

Head tilted, eyes dropping low, slow, deliberate—watching exactly where his hips were pressed up tight against yours. Then, back up to you. Those green eyes burned—mocking, amused, completely, utterly in control.

“You wanna get fuckin’ spread open, doll?”

You clenched your jaw, forcing down the humiliation pooling hot and unbearable in your gut. Your body was betraying you.

Every slow, deliberate grind of his hips sent a fresh wave of heat rippling through you, the thick, heavy length of him dragging against the growing dampness between your thighs—and he knew it.

Of course he fucking knew it.

Your fingers curled against the vibrating metal beneath you, desperate to keep some grip on your sanity, your dignity, your fucking composure. You still had fight in you. You weren’t going to let him see you fold.

Your lips curled, voice dripping in mockery, even as your breath hitched.

“Surprised you can even still get it up, Grandpa.”

His grin was wicked.

Then—pressure. A sharp, sudden grind, his hips pressing hard into yours, forcing the full, thick line of his cock against you, pinning you in place with nothing but pure weight and heat and dominance.

Your breath punched out of you in a soft, humiliating whimper.

Ben just grinned wider.

“That feel like I got any performance issues, sweetheart?”

His voice was thick, syrupy and dark, the rasp curling at the edges, drenched in amusement. His forearm pressed harder against your throat, not cutting off your air, but reminding you—reminding you exactly who was in control.

Your hands twitched, nails biting into the fabric of his jacket, unsure whether you wanted to push him away or pull him closer.

Then, his mouth dipped lower, his voice dropping into something slower, heavier, more dangerous.

“I know you wanna get fucked by me.”

Your stomach flipped. Your body went rigid, your breath caught hard in your throat.

His smirk stretched wider, all sharp teeth and victorious smugness.

“I’ve seen the way you look at me,” he murmured, tilting his head, his hips rolling slow and steady, rubbing deliberately, cruelly against your aching core. “When you think I’m not watchin’. When you think you’re bein’ real fuckin’ subtle.”

Your brain screamed denial, denial, denial, but fuck, fuck, fuck—

Because he wasn’t wrong.

Your mind flickered back—to the safe house gym, to the few times you’d ended up in the same room, both of you training, ignoring each other, keeping your distance.

Except you hadn’t really been ignoring him.

You remembered it too well—the way your gaze would drift, the way your teeth would sink into your bottom lip without thinking, watching the sheer power of him, all raw, solid muscle, all sweat-slicked, feral fucking strength, the way he moved, like a goddamn beast barely caged.

You had watched him.

And he’d fucking seen it.

“Shouldn’t feel too bad,” Ben continued, his voice low and thick, that tone dripping with mock sympathy. His hips rolled forward again, slow, deliberate, grinding his cock hard against you, dragging that pressure right over your aching, humiliatingly wet core.

“I watch you too, doll.”

Your breath hitched.

Oh, fuck.

“Barely hold myself back from comin’ over n bitin’ your fuckin' ass when you’re doin’ squats in those stupid little shorts.” His voice went rough, nearly gravelled, all hot and smug. “Y’know the ones, sweetheart—the ones that look like they’re painted the fuck on.”

Your heart slammed against your ribs. Because your eyes had flickered down—without thinking, without meaning to—and suddenly, you realised you were wearing those shorts right now.

Your body went rigid, heat flaring over your cheeks, over your chest, a full-body flush of anger, humiliation, something else.

Ben’s smirk widened. His forearm pressed harder into your throat, cutting off just enough space to make you feel the pressure, to make your breath catch.

“Yeah,” he murmured, his lips nearly brushing your jaw. “I noticed.”

Your stomach flipped.

His hips ground into you again, the full, thick line of his cock pressing exactly where he wanted you to feel it.

Then—his voice dropped into something low, dark, final.

“I’m gonna ask you one more time. Real nice.” His smirk twitched. “Do you wanna get fuckin’ split open—” another sharp grind, your body jerking at the friction, your mouth parting in a whimper—“or are you gonna keep pretendin’ to be the little modern feminist pussy we both know you ain't?”

The word tore from your lips before you could even think.

“Once.”

The second it was out of your mouth, he moved. His lips slammed into yours, all teeth and heat and hunger, a brutal, ravenous collision, his tongue licking into your mouth like he was trying to devour you from the inside out.

He growled into the kiss, biting, sucking, wrecking your lips like he had every intention of leaving them swollen and bruised for days. His hand snapped up, tangling roughly in your hair, tugging, tilting your head exactly how he wanted.

“Fuck,” he groaned against your mouth. “You taste so fuckin’ sweet.”

You scrambled for purchase, hands grasping, clawing at his hair, his jacket, trying to pull him closer, tighter, anything—but your angle was still off, your back still pressed at that awkward arch against the washing machine, still trapped by his weight.

You barely had time to process before he grabbed the neckline of your shirt and—

Ripped.

The fabric tore in half with one sharp pull, the pieces hanging uselessly off your arms, baring your heated, flushed skin to the cool air of the laundry room.

Your eyes snapped up, scowling.

“You’re a dick.”

Ben grinned, chest heaving, thrilled.

Then you fisted his own shirt, fingers curling in tight, and ripped it straight down the middle—just like he had done to you.

He laughed, a deep, rasping sound that sent heat pulsing between your thighs. Then he hooked both hands into your shorts, yanked hard—

Riiiip.

The material shredded apart, leaving you in nothing but your soaked underwear.

Ben hummed, voice all mock innocence, the barest smirk curling his lips.

“Oops.”

Before you could snap back, before you could snarl and shove and cuss him out, he shoved you down, pushing you flat against the washing machine, his hands pressing down heavy on your thighs to keep them spread.

And then—his mouth was on you.

Right over your slick, soaked underwear, latching on, sucking hard, loud, obscene, the heat of his tongue pressing hot and wet through the fabric.

A sharp, wrecked sound tore from your throat, your hands flying out to grab for anything—his hair, the edges of the washing machine, the crumpled remains of your shirt.

Ben moaned against you, soaking in your reaction like it was the best thing he’d ever fucking heard.

And then—he did it again.

Ben’s groan vibrated straight into your core, deep and wrecked, as he sucked hard, his mouth sealing over your underwear, dragging the fabric and your aching cunt into his mouth. The heat of his tongue pressed, the wet suction pushing through, and your hips jerked, a sharp, unbidden gasp ripping from your throat.

Then he pulled back, lips slick, breath ragged, eyes burning as he flicked them up to yours.

“Yeah, sweetheart,” he murmured, voice dark and guttural, half-taunt, half-worship. “Real fuckin' sweet.”

Before you could fire back, before you could even breathe, his hand snapped up and—

Smack.

A sharp, stinging slap right over the spot where his mouth had just been.

A startled yelp tore from your lips, your body tensing against the vibrating metal beneath you, and Ben just grinned, eyes gleaming with something hungry, predatory, insatiable.

You barely had a second to recover before he was shoving his jeans down, just enough to free himself, his cock thick, flushed, hard as fuck, and you were already struggling, fingers shaking as you tried to yank your underwear down.

You got one leg free—

Then he was back on you. His hand slammed against your chest, pinning you back down, your underwear still clinging to your other leg, tangled just above your knee.

“Nah, sweetheart,” he rasped, gripping himself, lining up. “You don’t need to worry ‘bout that.”

And then—

He sank in.

One, long, achingly slow stroke, stretching you open, shoving in deep, until he was buried to the fucking hilt.

Your mouth parted, a wrecked, breathless moan spilling past your lips, your hands clawing for something, anything, nails scraping over the metal of the machine, the bare skin of his biceps, the solid muscle of his stomach.

Ben let out a rough, punched-out breath, his head tilting forward, his forearm tightening where it pinned your throat again.

Through gritted teeth, voice low and shattered, he muttered, “Holy shit, sweetheart—way fuckin’ tighter than I thought you’d be.”

You barely registered the words.

Your mind was already white noise, your body blissed out, wrecked from the stretch, from the sheer, impossibly full feeling of him seated so deep inside you, from the unrelenting weight of him pressing you down.

Then he pulled back.

And slammed home again.

Your head hit the wall, a strangled moan punching out of you as the pressure built, his hand still wrapped tight around your throat, keeping you exactly where he wanted you, keeping you open and helpless and fucking ruined beneath him.

Ben was ruthless.

The hand not wrapped around your throat dropped, his fingers sliding down, knuckles dragging over the plane of your stomach, the sweaty dip of your navel—before they pressed, rubbed, circled your aching clit just right as he kept slamming into you, rough and unrelenting, shoving you higher, higher, higher—

And then he laughed. Low, dark, mean as all fucking hell.

"What happened, sweetheart?" He rasped, his breath hot against your jaw, grinning as your back arched. "Ain't you supposed to be some big, bad feminist? All that moral high ground, all that virtue-signalling bullshit—" he gave a brutal, punishing thrust, making you gasp, your hands scrambling against his shoulders—"melting right the fuck outta your pretty head now, ain't it?"

You shook, legs trembling, your body betraying you, the heat coiling tight and hot and fucking unbearable.

"C'mon, use that big mouth of yours." His fingers rubbed harder, faster, pushing you closer to the edge, his cock hitting deep, hitting perfect with every driving snap of his hips. "Tell me how much you fuckin' hate me, sweetheart. Tell me how I'm a misogynistic piece of shit while you're soakin' my cock."

Your breath hitched, a sharp, wrecked whimper slipping from your lips.

His smirk deepened.

"That's what I fuckin' thought."

He was so fucking smug. So fucking cocky. He was growling into your skin, sneering at your unraveling, at the way your nails bit into his skin, at the way you tightened around him, nearly choking his cock, your thighs clenching, your entire body locking up—

And then you cried out, pleasure ripping through you, your body shaking, spasming, your orgasm hitting so fucking hard it knocked the breath out of you.

Ben groaned, biting hard against your collarbone, his tongue lapping over the mark immediately after. "Yeah, that's it," he gritted out, his cock still pounding into you, working you through it, keeping you locked down, shaking, helpless. "All you fuckin’ needed was a good, hard fuck to get that attitude outta you, huh?"

Your mind barely processed it—not when he was licking and sucking, his mouth everywhere, his teeth scraping rough along your throat, biting at your face, dragging his tongue over your cheek before kissing you filthy and deep—

And then—

Beep. Beep. Beep.

The washing machine. Your shirt was done.

Ben stilled for a half-second. Then he fucking laughed.

The second his laughter faded, he was right back at it—pounding into you, all force and greed, using your wrecked, overstimulated body to chase his own high, the smug, cocky bastard making sure you felt it.

His hand dug into your hip, his grip on your throat tightened, pulling you into every brutal thrust, forcing you to take him, take it, take all of it.

“You better hurry up, sweetheart,” he mocked, voice raspy, strained, dragging his teeth along your jaw, pressing a wet, biting kiss just beneath your ear. “You wanna come again, you better fuckin’ keep up.”

His fingers found your clit again, but his movements were deliberate, lazy, cruel—not giving you enough, not letting you have it until he wanted you to.

“Such a good little fuckdoll,” he groaned, his lips brushing against your damp, overheated skin. “So fuckin’ sweet when you’re just takin’ it, huh? That’s what you needed. Just needed to get fucked stupid, yeah?”

You whined, barely coherent, barely able to even snap back at him.

Ben groaned, tension knotting in his stomach, his pace turning desperate, erratic.

“Where d’you want it, sweetheart?” He rasped, voice thick and hungry, hips snapping into you harder. “Inside you? All fuckin’ deep, fillin’ you up, yeah?”

Your brain kicked back online real fucking fast.

“Under no circumstances can you fucking come inside me.”

Ben snarled, gritting his teeth as his pace stuttered, his grip tightening in irritation.

“No fuckin’ fun.” His sneer was vicious. “Fine. You want it on your fuckin’ face, then?”

Before you could even breathe, his grip on your throat yanked you forward, pulling you off the washing machine. Your knees hit the floor, legs still shaking, useless, your mind still spinning as he fisted his cock, his other hand gripping your hair, holding you right in place.

“Fuck, sweetheart—"

With a low, guttural groan, he spilled across your face, his breath ragged, loud, unrestrained, groaning deep and shameless, his entire body tensing as he pumped himself dry, streaking hot, thick ropes over your cheeks, lips, chin.

And then—

"Oh, for fuck’s sake."

Your blood turned to ice. Your entire body locked up.

"Pair of fuckin' animals."

You whipped your head toward the door—and there stood Butcher. One hand on his hip, the other rubbing his temples, shaking his head like he'd just walked in on two stray dogs humping on the sidewalk.

And then?

He turned and walked right the fuck back out.

Mortification. Pure, searing, full-body mortification. You were still on your knees, still panting, wrecked, still covered in Ben’s cum.

And when you turned back?

Oh, he was grinning. That shit-eating, cocky, bastard grin.

Your stomach sank. Because in one hand, Ben was holding—your shirt.

Your freshly washed, still-warm shirt that he’d clearly grabbed right out of the machine while you’d been frozen in horror, looking at Butcher.

And now? Now he was wiping himself off with it. Casual. Smug. Completely unbothered. Once he was done, he tossed it at your face.

“Go on, sweetheart.” His smirk was lethal. “Get cleaned up.”

@mostlymarvelgirl @lunaleah @drakulana @sl33pylilbunny @itshellfire @nevercameraready @suckitands33 <3

[toxicanonymity]

Hello my beautiful Toxy 🖤 I wrote a letter using Resistbot to oppose my state governors use of DOGE to try and filter out important educational programming in my state of Florida. Ron DeSantis is a fucking coward and utilizing DOGE in our education system here would be incredibly harmful !

I was wondering if I could get a blurb for my main man Night Walks ? 🖤🍃 (I know you just did one!!! So if not that's ok!!)

I love that you are doing this btw, a really great incentive to get people to contact their representatives !!!

SAVE act | blorbos for democracy | 5calls | resistbot

Olivia, that's amazing 🖤 well done speaking up. We should all demand accountability and also ask our elected officials to vote no on the SAVE act.

In the park

Joel miller x f!reader | night walks au

WARNINGS: 18+ predator/prey type behavior, dubcon touching in public, PIV, 630 words of this filthy creep, coming in hot. . . and it continues here.

Fireflies were beginning to to dot the treeline and you knew you shouldn't be at the park alone at this hour. But you weren't *completely* alone. It wasn't deserted - you could still hear the tink of baseball on metal bat in the distance. That's where Joel had been. He’d come to sell weed to one of the little league coaches and got caught up in conversation with an old friend... Until he noticed you. By the time Joel caught up, you had taken your sweat soaked T-shirt over your head, getting ready to stretch before leaving. A humming coke machine was the only light nearby.

As Joel approached from behind, the hairs on the back of your neck stood up, sensing a presence. Before you could run, he grabbed hold of the sports bra between your shoulder blades, and pulled you back toward him. His hand covered your mouth before you could scream, and your heart jumped out of your chest.

“Hey, princess,” he greeted you in your ear, and you felt a wave of relief at the sound of his voice “it's just me.”

He spread his fingers enough for you to say “what the hell, Joel” And you kind of tried to pull away from him, but he held you in place and wrapped his arms around you from behind until you stopped your halfhearted struggling and just breathed. He didn't have to hold your mouth.

His hand glided up your dewy stomach and under your damp bra. “Walkin’ without me?” His voice was husky. “Dangerous” He cupped your breast and palmed your hardened nipple and his dick twitched against your back side. “But god damn, ya feel even better than ya look.”

With one hand still in your bra, he shoved his other hand down your shorts. He rubbed your clit rapidly, expertly, and sucked at your ear, then under your ear. Massaging your breast with one hand and rubbing your clit with the other, he had you like putty in his hands. When you let out a soft moan, he slid his fingers down your slit and murmured, “yeah, now she's ready for me.”

He slid his hand out of your shorts and licked his fingers, then took your keys out of your shorts pocket. He slid his other hand out of your bra and put his arm around you. “Gonna walk ya to your car.” You followed his lead in silence.

When the two of you got to your car, he opened the passenger door and instructed, “take your shorts off” as he sat down in your car. He pushed the seat back to make more room. When you didn't comply right away, he looked you in the eye and said ,”drop’em. Now.”

You stepped out of your shorts, and he freed his cock from his pj pants. “C’mere, beautiful,” he nodded you over, then looked down at his cock. “Right here, baby. Take a seat, c’mon.”

With your shorts in your hand, naked from the waist down, you straddled him.

“Attagirl,” he gushes as he helped you onto him. Didn't even close the car door. “Fuck,” he whispered, running the head of his cock through your dripping folds. “Fuck, yeah. Ohh” he moaned in a crescendo as you sank down on him. “Good girl,” he breathed, and kissed you as your body welcomed him, hugging his shaft with your soft walls. He peeled your sports bra off and took your tit into his mouth, then nosed your cleavage and smothered himself in your chest. “So goddamn sexy,” he gushed, and you lifted up just slightly on his shaft, then swallowed him whole again, filling yourself with his cock.

“Hell yeah, there she is.”

-

-

SMUT CONTINUES HERE.

Ty for reading 🖤 please consider commenting or sharing if you enjoyed.

[concreteangel92]

Every Last Drop

Noah Sebastian x female reader

18+

Warnings: mean dom!Noah, daddy kink, dom/sub relationship, PiV, cum play in a way? degradation kink, I think that’s it

Small filthy drabble, no plot of any kind 😎

Permanent taglist: @flowery-mess @iloveyoutodeathbutimdrowning @collisionofyourkissmakesitsohard @lma1986 @fadingangelwisp @theanarchymuse95 @w0manof-flesh44 @dream-machine-love @thisbicc @amelia-acero @badomensls

Let me know if you’d like to be added to the permanent taglist!

“Fu…fuck….Noah”

Noah was mercilessly pounding into you from behind, his hands leaving bruises on your hips with his strong grip.

The sound of skin slapping against skin echoed around the room with the bed frame creaking under the pressure of your moving bodies.

“Fuck…just like that baby”

You could hear his gutteral growls coming from deep within his chest as he continued his brutal pace.

Your moans were coming out more as choked gasps as your breath was being stolen from you with each thrust, the feeling of him going so deep within your slick walls was mind shattering, your hands are fisted up in the sheets with your ass high in the air for him.

“Such a good little whore for daddy aren’t you babygirl, you’re so responsive, your cunt is practically dripping all over me”

You tried to respond but your words were lost, your high fast approaching as you listened to him speaking so filthy in your ear.

Suddenly Noah stopped.

“You should see the mess you’re making on me angel, my dirty little girl”

You felt him pull his cock back to his tip and you knew he was admiring his work.

“In fact…”

Noah pulled out of you completely causing you to whine at the loss. He turned you around and showed you his hard length resting heavy in his hand.

“Look at the mess angel, we can’t have that now can we?”

His tone was so condescending and patronising as he stared down at you and you loved it.

“You better clean me up baby”

You looked at the mess you’d made, your own juices covering his length making him shine under the LED lights in his room, seeing it covering his pubic hair around his base and collected around his head, mixing with his own precum that was slipping from his slit.

“Don’t worry, I’ll make sure you’re rewarded baby, can’t have you having all the fun by getting to taste how sweet you are”

His hand comes to tangle itself in your hair and he pushes you down the floor so you’re on your knees in front of him.

“Lick me clean angel. Every. Last. Drop”

[drugsorgasmsandcheese]

to kiss and to die | l. howlett

old man!logan howlett x fem!grim reaper!reader

description: in which death has never been so peaceful

warnings: logan’s death, angst, fluff, not beta read, pics used are not mine and were found on pinterest, the use of one latin word so if it’s badly translated i do apologise.

word count: 2084

he was used to people on the richer side of town booking his limousine service. it was a limousine service, after all. so logan didn't think much of anything when he pulls up outside of a penthouse building and a young woman steps into the car, giving her name to confirm she ordered the service.

when logan confirms, she smiles and closes the door behind her. she screams money, but old money. there's class about her and the way she holds herself. back straight as she sits, one leg crossed over the other and her head held up high. he can't help but take her in. he's never been one to care about the likeness of a lady a woman could be, but there is beauty that radiates off her, that is her, that logan can't seem to shake.

her head is turned to look out to the window, gazing upon the lights of the city that never sleeps. she seems observant in the way she looks, like not a single detail could be missed by her and she wouldn't allow it if it slipped by. logan's eyes slip down to the outfit she wears: a short black dress with a slit in its side, a pair of sheer black tights, black leather heeled boots that hugged her calves, and a black leather trench coat. she's slick, she's elegant, she holds herself high and with might.

as he drives, he approaches a red light. the woman takes the time to pull out a compact mirror, reapplying her lip liner followed by a clear gloss. when she's done, she smacks her lips and places the items away. "you're a hard man to find, logan howlett."

logan's eyes snap up into the rear-view mirror as he starts the limousine up again. his name on her lips is like honeyed venom, he can't quite decipher the emotion that lingers in him when she speaks of him like she knows him. his hands clench on the wheel as he drove, keeping the ride smooth as he turns a corner.

"who are you?" he asks, his voice gravelly and gruff just like his appearance, eyes flicking between hers and the road.

the woman smiles softly, an odd reassurance about it as she does so. "a mutant, just like you." she speaks, honeyed tone never dropping.

teeth snarl at her response. "that's not an answer." he's lived what feels like a thousand lifetimes, and he knows that even people like him aren't to be trusted.

"'the reaper.'" there's a knowing look on her face as she, the reaper, confirms her identity.

mutants knew her, the stories and legends that were a tale as old as time itself. a mutant that dealt the card of death, one who escorted mutants into the afterlife, who resurrected those she believed were not quite done with living. she was all four horsemen of the apocalypse, a woman that wielded so much power the world was her sandbox. nothing more to play with. to see her was like to see a ghost - blink and she's gone.

his jaw clenches tightly. "and what do you want from me?" logan all but growls out.

"you seek me out. why?" she questions with such poise in her character that it's hard for logan to differentiate between talking to death and indulging in his own delusions.

her questions hangs in the air for a moment or two, it's not like either one are keeping count. he can't find the words, he's never been good with them. he's harsh, he's a brute, a killing machine. when is there time to talk when you're killing yourself by killing another?

but there's a security in her presence. she's reassuring, it's peculiar. he's face to face with death and logan's never felt so settled. "i'm old, and i'm tired. there's nothing left for me here."

the way she smiles at him was a comfort in his own as he pulls up to her destination, the limousine coming to a stop. "there's plenty left for you, logan." she sits forward, and logan only notices how she never wore her seatbelt. he supposed she didn't have to. "just because you are at war, doesn't mean you can't find peace."

there's always the discussion of god being all-knowing, but what of death? what of the reaper who knows your story, who escorts you to the place you shall forever remain. death knows, she knows.

the woman pulls out a slick, black business card that's tucked between her pointer and middle finger, handing it to logan. he takes it so gently that he scares himself. he's a brute and yet he's gentle when the time comes. it appears to just be a simple black card, but even with his weakened vision, he can feel the indents in it. 'THE REAPER.'

"no one understands pain better than death." she says and logan's eyes are still fixated on the card.

death, such a simple term given the complexity and intensity of the situation. of him, of her. the words ring out in his head, no one understands pain better than death.

his gaze snaps up, his expression stoic but calm, like he's accepting whatever fate she'll grant him. he watches as she leans forward and places her hand on his cheek. he never expected death to be so warm.

"don't be what they made you." she whispers, and he lets out a sigh in content, in relief. the weight of his regrets and his lost humanity have hung on him heavily, his shoulders finally being lifted.

it's been a long time since logan's been touched. he doesn't even know if he's ever been held like this, cradled almost. to be looked at in such understanding. solitude and loneliness have kept him a shell. he chased it out, leaning into her touch, and it's like she can see him. the guilt, the regret, the pain.

"that's all i am. that's all i know." logan replies. his voice is strained, like the battle he's fought against himself, in his mind, has finally come to light.

her thumb runs across his cheek slowly, brushing against his grey beard. "if death is what you wish, logan, don't let it be a slow one. you've been tortured long enough." her eyes lock onto his. "good men don't deserve to be tortured, and you are a good man. you are a man, not the soldier, or the monster, or the weapon they forced you into being."

logan's expressions softens at her words. and, for the first time in his life, he's being given a choice. the choice to die. not as a weapon, a monster, a soldier, but as a man.

his hand reaches up, brushing over her own cheek. death is warm. there's an intimacy behind it that he's craved for so long that logan feels like he's falling apart from the inside out, and it's different from how he's felt before.

"you have my card, use it. death is everywhere, logan, and so am i."

the feeling of human connection. he craves it. being secluded and a shell of himself has made him overwhelmed as their skin touches. "death," he murmurs, his voice hoarse and gruff like it always is "and you."

she nods, her lips twitching. "take care of yourself, superstes, it's not your time just yet." she finishes and pulls away, stepping out of the limousine and leaving logan entrapped within his mind. not at war, but at peace.

—

the next time logan sees the reaper is at the funeral. it’s expected, mutant reaper or not she’s bound to turn up when one dies. but he also knows it’s because his fingers had subconsciously stroked the sleek business card in his pocket.

she lingers by his side and he feels himself reaching out, grasping onto her hand and she returns to the touch. death is warm. their fingers interlock, and it’s a reassurance that she gives him like she did last time. like she can read his thoughts.

it’s not your time just yet.

the thought makes him reach into his pocket, fingers itching to grace the adamantium bullet he’s carried like his guilt for years but he can’t find it. it’s then that he realises the weight that settles in between their hands and he looks at her.

she still wears that leather trench coat, and a part of logan wonders if that’s her very own black cloak. it suits her, if it is. the air of sophistication, of elegance still surrounds the reaper, and another part of logan wonders if she’s always been like this, or if there was a time when she succumbed to her powers and became a beast like he had.

the reaper’s gaze meets logan’s, that same soft smile gracing her lips. “not just yet.” she speaks and logan nods, hand squeezing hers. human connection.

she stays with logan when gabriela lopez approaches him, and a part of her seems to physically soften at the sight of the woman. when he questions her about it later, she only responds with a question of her own. “what did i tell you?”

it takes a few seconds to recall. he can’t tell if it’s from the old age so his brain has wore down, or if he was so focused on being touched and looked at like he was understood that he forgot her words, until it clicks. “death is everywhere, and so are you.”

and all the reaper does is nod, not another word spoken. but she was the one who pushed for logan to accept the job of escorting laura, and he didn’t know why. but there is something so alluring about death that he couldn’t say no.

the reaper stays by logan’s side awhile longer, her scythe hanging over him like a thread. there’s a time when her fingers trace the scars over his skin that his weakened healing has failed to take care of of, and the word is uttered from her lips again: “superstes.”

he’s not quite sure what it means, what language it is, but she looks into his eyes as she says it. not at the scars, but at him. and it touches his soul.

there’s another time in the kitchen. the couple who had graced them into their homes after the accident, where it’s just them. there’s the slow music in the kitchen, and if his old self remembers correctly, it’s ‘dream a little dream of me.’

logan’s leant against the counter as the reaper approaches, taking his hand in hers; an offer. he’s reluctant at first, he’s not really one for dancing, but death is so tempting. the weight of the adamantium bullet in his pocket, the way she follows him everywhere.

his calloused hand slips into hers, and it’s not really dancing. they sway on their feet, her clutched close to his chest and his chin rests on top of her head. death is warm, and this is the human connection he has longed for for so long. he wants it to linger, to last longer, he needs it like a beggar, and logan is willing to get on his knees if he has to.

but when x-24 arrives, she’s as good as gone.

—

he meets the reaper again, and it’s like a setback in time the way her hand is outstretched in front of her, and the words escape from her lips in a promised whisper: “it’s your time, superstes.”

logan looks down at her hand and he smiles. it’s genuine, just like the one in his final moments, and he takes the reaper’s hand without a single moment of hesitation.

even in death, she is a warm embrace.

he holds her close to his chest, and logan can’t help but sway like the lyrics are behind them, and the reaper chuckles, following his movements. his head dips down, nose brushing against hers and logan lets out a sob. peace, all he’s ever wanted, has finally settled down upon him. in his death as he held laura’s hand, he knew what it felt like. to be at peace, to be loved, to die.

now, as he places a gentle kiss on the reaper’s lips, he knew what it was like to be loved by death, to find peace with death, to be kissed by death.

death is warm. death is beautiful. death is peace. death is…all a man like logan has ever wanted.

[sushi-enthusiast]

Come get your Subby König!!

This is a König x reader(ish) fic

Inspired by a comment from @prettygirleevee on a previous work (thank you sm!!)

Pure smut

18+ MDNI I’LL TELL YOUR MOM ON YOU (no age = blocked)

CW: fem reader, headlocks, choking, handjobs, sub!König, pathetic!König (kinda), dom!reader, under negotiationed kink (please don’t do this irl), implied plus-size reader. Let me know if I missed anything

Masterlist

König wasn’t sure how this had started, maybe it had been the adrenaline from a rough operation, stress from adult life, or the sheer fact that his wife was the most beautiful, capable, and strong woman he’d ever laid his eyes on. He knew that she was strong, her plush arms hiding the muscle beneath, muscle she was currently showing him. Play fighting had quickly turned into half a WWE match and now—despite being a trained killing machine— König had his wife’s entire arm wrapped around his neck tight, not to mention the legs she’d wrapped around his torso in what felt like the world’s tightest, hottest hug. As she squeezed, goading him, König felt his head go light. A little from the lack of oxygen but mostly from the flow of blood rushing away from his brain and towards his cock, which was now straining in the loose sweats he’d thrown on after arriving home.

His voice came off in a pleading whisper, not the thunderous boom he usually had, but a higher pitched cry “bitte!” This caused his wife to loosen her grip, which was the furthest thing from what he wanted. He let out a whine and pushed her arm back, eliciting a chuckle from his wife “ohh I see, you want more huh baby?” She tensed up her arm again as she reached her free hand down and towards the growing tent in Köing’s pants, stroking it through the thin fabric. König let out a shaky groan as he bucked his hips up into his wife’s touch, unintentionally furthering the restriction on his neck for a moment. After a few minutes of teasing and causing the large man to squirm, she slipped her hand under the waistband and began slowly stroking his thick cock. König began to pant, his warm breath losing its usual steady pace as he fell further into the pleasure being offered by his wife. She added a little more pressure as she stroked his cock, going from light teasing to tight stimulation as the tip of his cock began to peak through the sensitive layer of skin, moving back and forth ever so slightly as she continued her steady ministrations. Occasionally, she changed pace and removed her hand from his now weeping cock to ghost her nails along the shaft and swirl around his tip, dipping a little past the excess skin to tease the slit of the head before going back to fisting his member.

Normally, König had stamina, even as he was pounding into his wife, looking into her sparkling eyes and watching her breasts shake with his thrusts, he could hold out, wait until she had finished. But now? The way she had expertly teased his cock, driving him up the wall, how she’d managed to use the perfect amount of pressure as she moved her hand up and down his shaft, and the way the strong arm wrapped around his neck offered only enough oxygen to keep him from passing out entirely? König could feel himself getting closer and closer to the edge, a the knot that had been building in his core was threatening to unravel at a rapidly rising rate. A high pitched whimper escaped König as he bucked up into his wife’s palm desperately. Hearing his cries, she increased the pace, providing him with a bit more relief before König let out a deep groan. His seed spilled over her still-clasped palm and onto his abdomen, creating a Pollock-esque splash of fluid to be cleaned in a few moments, after he thanked his wife profusely, his voice still high as she released her hold on him and kissed the back of his neck.

Slowly, she weaseled out from under König and picked up a towel, wiping his abdomen down and placing a few gentle kisses on his flushed cheeks and angular nose. By now, König was exhausted and had leaned back onto the plush pillows. As he regained some of his composure, his wife slid beside him, facing him as she placed an arm over his waist and whispered “you did so good my love, are you okay?” In response König let out a pleased hum and wrapped his own arms around her as he pulled her closer and buried his head into the crook of her neck.

[woolfelt123]

Felt cutting strips

[urmomschocolatemilk]

Simon Riley x Alternative!fem!reader

I went thrifting td with a friend and got this idea. Reminder that my inbox is open ghost headcanons and requests

If there was one thing Simon knew about you from the moment the two of you met, it was that you loved to sew. Almost every piece of clothing you owned was handmade or altered. You’d cut up shirts, using the lace or frill at the top and add it to another piece of clothing. You’d tailor dresses and shirts for your friends and family and always patch up Simon's on base uniform.  

You weren't sure what made sitting in front of the sewing machine, eyes trained on a certain strip of whatever you were working on that was so therapeutic but it was. Not only was it that you loved the art of sewing, but in-store brands never seemed to have something you liked, or fit your personal style, so being able to make your own clothing really came in handy.

Your birthday was coming around and Simon, being the best boyfriend he was, had already picked a restaurant and booked a reservation. What you didn't know however, was that he’d been learning to sew for the past couple of months because he wanted to make you a dress that you would absolutely adore. He knew nothing he could buy would cut it, and he also knew that you loved handmade gifts. So, he found that this was the perfect gift. 

Now Simon knew what you liked about your clothes and what you didn't. For example, you didn't like light tones because you felt they highlighted any hyperpigmentation you had. Or that you didn't like to wear dresses with too high a slit on the side because you felt that it caused the fabric to fall weirdly around your legs.

Even with all this knowledge Simon didn't want to get it wrong. He wanted this gift to be perfect and as previously stated, something you’d adore. So, he stole your sketch book, which contained every preview of a design you’d created in the past year and flipped through it. Taking mental notes of each similarity and alteration.  

The week after that Simon enrolled in a regularly scheduled sewing class to begin working on his project. Simon did feel out of place there, especially at the start. He was the only man there, let alone a 6’2 military buff, but the instructor didn't treat him any differently, and he didnt pay any mind to it either.

“You want this to be your first project?” the teacher asked when Simon first showed her the sketch. He nodded. “This is quite difficult for a beginner. You understand that, yes?”

Simon shrugged ‘It’s going to be a gift.”  

Every week, twice a week Simon showed up to class. He never skipped a session. He needed this dress to be perfect. It took a month for him to get it looking decent, and then another half month to get it looking perfect. It seemed he was a fast learner.  

Finally, he was able to take it home, and the first place it went was to the dry cleaners. He wasn't going to risk throwing his masterpiece, and more importantly, your gift, into the washing machine to get ruined. Then when he picked it up he folded it neatly and placed it in a gorgeous red velvet box he had bought.  

Hiding it was easier than Simon had expected it to be, considering that you lived together and every part of the house was easily accessible to you. The only thing you didn't ever touch was his desk. So, he decided to keep it there, placing it at the bottom of the desk cabinet and neatly stacking some papers and folders around it to keep it concealed.   

Finally, the day came around and you were just about ready to begin getting ready for dinner when he stopped you mid-way into the bathroom.  

“I want to show you something,” Simon said, taking your hand and sitting you down on the bed. You furrowed your eyebrows, slightly concerned.  

“Is everything okay?” You asked  

“Just wait here,” he told you, walking swiftly out of the room and into his office. Simon rarely smiled, like really smiled, but when he came back into the room, red velvet box in hand his lips were turned up in subtle excitement.  

“What's this?” you asked with a grin, taking the box from him and running your hand over the soft, plush exterior.  

“Your birthday present," he answers. Simon is nervous as he watches you lift the lid, placing it gently next to you and taking out the soft fabric in the box. Your lips part in awe as you realize what it is, and you pinch it at the top, holding it out in front of you and letting it unravel itself. He watches as your eyes glaze over it slowly, taking in every detail. You love it. 

“Where did you get this?” you ask, not taking your eyes off the beautiful piece of fabric. He swears he can see your eyes glittering in the light as you look at the dress.  

“I made it.” He states. You’re already smiling, but when you hear his answer, your smile widens. You look beautiful, he thinks.  

“You made this?” You repeat excitedly, your head turning to look up at him. He nodded. “This is gorgeous baby!” You were so touched by the length and effort he had put into something for you. You knew he didn't know how to sew so the fact that he learned to and took the time to learn what you liked and didn't like made your heart bloom with adoration.  

“You like it lovie’?” he asked. You nodded profusely, setting the dress aside as you stood and threw your arms around him. Pressing a kiss to his lips you answered.  

“I love it.” 

[justmeinadaze]

Ying & Yang Part 4 (Steddie X You)

Warnings: Older Daddy Eddie (Late 30s)/ Older Dom Mr. Harrington (Late 30s) & Younger Fem Sub Y/N (mid 20s), SMUT, dirty talk, light spanking, light punishment, light choking, praise, FLUFF

ANGST, Harrington goes MIA, tries to intimidate reader and throws a tantrum with Eddie, mentions of Steve's dad and his struggle with relationships. Protective Edward Munson <3. I think that's all.

Word Count: 5232

Series Masterlist/ Donate to Me

Steve’s head shot up when he heard your familiar giggle at the party he was attending. 

A couple of months passed since his surprise visit for Eddie’s launch and equally surprising departure. His best friend called him multiple times but Steve just didn’t know how to respond. The messages his best friend left on his machine tore him apart as he replayed them over and over just to hear his voice. 

“Hey Steve. It’s Ed. I know you got a lot going on right now but if you could give me a call or text and let me know you’re alright. Y/N and I haven’t heard from you and we’re just a bit concerned. I, um, I love you, man. Talk to you soon.”

One night about a couple of days after the calls stopped, Steve swung open the door incredibly disheveled and coming face to face with you. His normally styled hair was frayed every which way and his button up shirt was hanging off one of his shoulders. 

“Y/N, hey. Hey, honey. What are you doing here? Is Eddie with you?”

“No… I came on my own to check on you. You don’t answer your phone and he’s really worried, Steve.”

The sound of glass clanking in his apartment had you both looking as a young lady in her bra and panties placed her glass of wine back down on the table. 

“As you can see, I’m fine so tell Ed not to panic. I’ll call him when I’m free.”

Your defensive nature and care for the man you love took over as you stood up straighter. 

“You seem free now. Why don’t you take a minute and at least send him a text.”

“I have company.”, he growled as his eyes narrowed. 

“Hm. Well, playboy, if we wait for you to NOT have company we’d never hear from you again.”

“What’s the matter, little girl? Jealous? Fuck off, Y/N.”

As he starts to shut the door, you smack your hand against it holding it open. 

“I don’t care where you stick your dick, Steven, but I do care about how you treat Eddie. He loves you very much and you’re his best friend. If you don’t want to fuck me anymore, that’s fine. If you don’t want to fuck him anymore, that’s fine. But don’t you dare cast him aside like he’s nothing after everything he’s done for you!”

His eyes darken as he takes a few steps forward backing you out of the doorframe. 

“Last time I checked, I don’t report to you. Now this is the last time I’m going to say this. Fuck. OFF!”

You jump as he shouts out his last word and this time you voluntarily take a step back. 

“What about Daddy? He needs us both.”

“Daddy knows where he can find me.”, he replies with distain before slamming the door in your face. 

Since then neither of you had tried to reach out to him, going radio silent on your socials as well. He missed you both so much but things needed to stay as they were. The thing was…Eddie always answered his calls whether it be day or night but now he wasn’t. Eddie texted him throughout the day to tell him certain things and that had stopped as well. He did try and initiate conversation a couple of days after your visit but neither of you answered. 

When he heard your laugh, he thought he was dreaming again. Steve dreamt of you and his best friend every night. But when he pushed the girl he had been making out with off his lap and went towards the sound, there you were smiling at something Eddie was whispering to you as he held you close his chest. 

“Hey guys.”

Both sets of eyes met his and he felt like he could melt into the floor with how beautiful you looked tonight in your dark red, elegant dress that had sleeves that rested on your biceps showing of your soft, tanned arms and a slit up to your thigh that had Steve wanting to fall to his knees to kiss up your leg. 

Eddie, as always, looked equally delicious with his all-black suit that screamed he was in control tonight of not only everyone in the room but you later that night when you both got to your hotel. 

“Hey, Steven. How have you been? We haven’t been able to get a hold of you.”, Eddie replied nonchalantly as he took a sip from the glass he was holding. 

“Yeah, um, I’ve just been really busy with work and—”

“Women?”, the music producer chuckles as he gestures behind his friend towards the wide-eyed girl he had just been making out with. 

“Yeah, I mean, you know how I am.”, Steve breathily laughs as he turns back around. 

“That I do.”

The businessman blinked at his friend’s slightly cold response before focusing his attention on you. 

“How have you been, Y/N?”

“She’s been good.”

At Eddie’s interruption, Steve stood up straighter as his ego started to take over. 

“Can she not answer?”

“No, she can, but baby girl here told me you were rude the last time you spoke with her and came back home crying in my arms. You hurt the woman I love, Mr. Harrington. I won’t allow you to do it again.”

They glared at each other as your boyfriend kept a protective arm secured around your waist. 

“You were right. Daddy knew exactly where to find you; at a party with some random partner’s tongue down your throat while you bury your feelings and avoid being happy. Have a nice evening.”

With that, he turned away from his best friend and led you towards another part of the building. 

***

“Eddie, he’s going to make a fool out of himself and do something he can’t take back.”, you whispered in his ear as you watched Steve knock back another shot before making out again with a different girl at his side. 

“Hm. He already did when he scared you which is why he’s acting like this.”, your boyfriend replied casually.

“He didn’t scare me. I said I was worried because he seemed so different than the man you introduced me to. I’m not afraid of either you.” At your last sentence, his eyes met yours as you stuck out your tongue in jest making him chuckle. “Baby, I know how much you love me and how protective you are. It’s one of my favorite things about you. You always say I come first but don’t forget, honey, you’re his Daddy to.”

As you speak, his soft chocolate eyes take you in as he absorbs what you’re saying before heavily sighing and pressing his forehead to yours. 

“What did an asshole like me do to get a perfect angel like you?”

“I imagine it was some satanic ritual that involved a sword of some kind.”, you tease causing his face to light up as the smile you fell in love stretches across his face. 

As quickly as it appeared, it was quickly wiped away when the sound of a subtle gasp and hard smack echoed through the room. 

“Fuck you, Steve Harrington!”, the girl shouted before her heels clacked against the floor away from the businessman as he laughed drunkenly. 

You began to step forward but Eddie hastily took hold of your wrist and pulled you along behind him as he headed where he knew you wanted to go. 

“Steven, get up.”

The man laughed again as he adjusted his body to face you both. 

“Naw. I think I’m good right where I am.”

“I didn’t ask if you were comfortable. I told you to get up and this is the last time I’m going to say it. Get. UP.”

Steve did stand but placed himself in front of Eddie till their noses were mere centimeters apart. 

“What gives you the right to think you can fucking order me around, Edward?’

“Because you’re mine and misbehaving. Good boys get to party, drink, and have a good time. Bad boys get sent home and punished.”

“Fuck you. I don’t belong to anyone.”, he growled but his eyebrows furrowed slightly as if his own words hurt him. 

“We can do this the easy way or the hard way; you decide, little boy.”

His amber irises scanned his friend’s hardened features before glancing over at you. You were being a good girl, waiting for Daddy’s next instruction but even he could tell you were extremely tense. 

You were worried about them both. 

“Fuck you, Eddie. Just let me be me and you go back to your happy life in LA.”, Steve sighed as he swiveled his body to sit back down. 

Before he could, however, your boyfriend grabbed his bicep and tugged him towards the exit. 

“Come on, baby! I guess we’re doing this the hard way.”

###################

The entire car ride back to Steve’s place, Eddie murmured instructions to you mostly making sure you were comfortable and felt safe. 

“Usually, I’m pretty gentle with him but this may require a bit of a rougher touch. I want you to stay on the sidelines until I say otherwise but if at any point you get scared or feel uncomfortable just say ‘Red’, sweetheart.”

“Ok, Daddy.”, you coo as you lean your head against his shoulder. “I love you and he loves you to. Don’t forget that.”

His soft eyes meet yours before tenderly kissing your forehead. 

“Come on, man. Let’s talk about this tomorrow or some shit.”, Steve whined as Eddie continued to push him down the hallway towards his bedroom. “I’m fucking exhausted.”

His best friend continued to remain silent as he complained, shoving him into the bathroom and turning on the shower. You noticed immediately it wasn’t steaming like it had the last time you showered here but the other boy wasn’t paying attention, completely taken off guard when he was pushed into the standing shower and cold water drenched him. 

“Jesus fucking Christ! Are you fucking kidding me?!” Hitting Eddie’s arm to get him to let go worked for a millisecond before he grabbed his collar with his free hand and pushed Steve to his knees. “This is a $3500 suit, asshole!”

“And mine is $2000. Any other pearls of wisdom you want to share, little boy?!”, the man bellowed as held him in place under the water. “You didn’t want to have this conversation the easy way so we’re doing it my way. We could have done this any number of ways, Steven, but you chose to scream and intimidate Y/N. You disappeared the morning after you surprised us with a visit like we were one of your common whores you fuck on any given night. You don’t answer your phone so I’m fucking done.”

You watch as Steve tries to get the upper hand but even you know how much physically stronger Eddie was. While they both went to the gym and worked out, the long-haired boy kept up with his routine better than the other.

The businessman got a good smack to his friend’s cheek but Eddie managed to wrangle his wrists and pin them above his head. 

“If I had known you fucking my girlfriend would turn you into a prick like your dad I never would have suggested it!”

Both their movements ceased and under his damp hair, you saw Steve’s jaw tighten. As if he had been holding back, he pushed against the other boy’s hold and used both palms to shove him hard against the other wall before opening the glass shower door and stomping towards the bedroom. 

You offered him a towel but he didn’t even look your way, water coating the floor as he walked past. Running ahead of him, you shut his bedroom door and blocked it with your frame. 

“Steve, please. Talk to us.”

 “Fuck you.”, he growled.

Equally wet, Eddie came around the corner and shoved his friend away from you. 

“You don’t talk to her that way.”

“Then tell her to fucking move and you both get out of my house.”

“You know, this didn’t have to be so complicated, Steven. If you didn’t want to be in a relationship with either of us that’s fine. We could have gone back to how things were or just been platonic with each other. We didn’t have to play THIS game.” 

“He can’t go back to that.”, you answer for him. “Can you? Because you care about us to.”

When his honey irises met yours, you knew you were right.

“She asked you something. Answer her.”

“I don’t answer to her.”, Steve remarked with attitude as he glared at his friend once more. 

“Yeah but you answer to me. Do you care about us?”

Both their dominance oozed from them and a shaky breath left your lips at the sight. Daddy and Mr. Harrington were about to go toe to toe so you stepped out of the way and took a seat on the bed as you watched their dynamic unfold. 

##################

“Do you care about us?”, Eddie repeats. “I do. You were always so good to me and the first person to actually make me feel like I could put my wall down. That night in Vegas when you kissed me, I didn’t even think twice about it when I let you make love to me against that glass window.”

“Fuck, baby, so fucking tight. It’s ok. It’s ok. I got you.”

“Mmph…s-s-so fucking big.”

“I know, I know, honey. Do you think you can take a bit more of me?” When Eddie only nodded, the businessman roughly grabbed his cheeks between his fingers and grunted angrily into his ear. “Verbally answer me.”

“Y-Yes, Sir. I want more. Please give me more. Oh f-fuck.”

“Good boy. Just keep your hands pressed against the glass and I’ll give you what you need.”

Steve’s eyes fluttered at the confession and the memory before he took a step closer with a mocking smirk on his face. 

“Aw, little Munson thought we were making love? No, honey. I fucked you that night and you loved it. Just like every other night after. That’s why we do what we do. You need me to fuck you and put you in your place.”

“Oh, is that why we do what we do? I thought you needed me to help take care of you when you’re feeling fucking low and to remind you that you’re not the fucking asshole, idiot playboy everyone including your dad thinks you are!”

Steve’s hand clings to Eddie’s bicep as both his arms and body cage him in against the couch while he delivers slow, firm strokes as he thrusts his cock deep into the man beneath him. 

“Yes, Daddy. Just like that.”

The music producer’s lips kiss parts of his friend’s back to his shoulders before resting his chin by his ear.

“Just like that, sweetheart? You like the way Daddy fucks you? Yeah, so fucking good. You look so fucking handsome like this taking my cock. Jesus. I know how to make you cum undone, baby. I got you.”

“Thank you, Daddy. Thank you so much. Fuck!”

“It’s not just the sex, Steve. Even you told Y/N I’ve pulled you back from the edge a time or two.

The businessman sits on his bed as he knocks back another glass before refilling it again with the bottle of whisky by his bed. Eddie slides a chair nearby in front him, watching him with careful eyes as he takes a sip. 

“I worked really fucking hard on that prototype for 2 years and my father just swoops and creates a cheaper version in 3 months.”, Steve chuckles sarcastically as tears leave his eyes. “Why, man? Why does he do this? He doesn’t fucking care about other people…”

“Hey, hey. It’s ok.”, his friend coos as he takes a seat beside him and presses his head to his chest as he wraps his arms around him. “Like you said, Steve, he doesn’t care about anyone but himself. I’ve seen all the hard work you put into this. Release it and let people make their own decisions. I’m sure it won’t take them long to realize which product his better.”

“Thank you for coming over, Eddie.”

“Of course, sweetheart.”, he whispers as he continues to play with his hair. 

“Please, Mr. High and Mighty! If it wasn’t for me you wouldn’t have even shown up for that first date with Y/N!”

Your boyfriend’s eyes widen as the flick in your direction. 

“Why are you so fucking nervous?”, Steve laughs as his friend disappears from the frame to dig around in this closet. “From what you told me, you were suave as hell asking this girl out.”

“It’s because fate was working in my favor. What do you think of this?”, he asks as he flashes him a couple of shirts. “Fuck, maybe I shouldn’t go.”

“Eddie! Calm down and sit.”, he commands as he waits for the man to do what he says. 

“She’s different than the other girls we meet, Harrington, I can tell.”

“That’s good because your ex was fucking awful.”, he chuckles. “Honey, just be yourself and I promise she’ll fall head over heels.”

“That actually comforts me to know you were nervous. You were a bit intimidating the first time we met. You had me the first time you smiled at me though.”, you grin softly his way causing him to flash you one in return. 

When his gaze finds Steve again a thought hits him before he shrugs and reaches for your hand.

“Come on, baby girl. Let’s head back to our hotel.”

The businessman’s eyebrows furrow in confusion as he watches Eddie pull you towards the bedroom door. 

“But Daddy…”

“No buts, princess. If Mr. Harrington doesn’t want us here then that’s fine. We can maintain our distance until he’s ready to talk to us.”

Clinging to him, you allow him to guide you but a few steps from his front door you hear shoes squeak against the wood before Steve slides to your sides, cups Eddie’s cheeks, and passionately kisses his lips. 

It was rough and needy as he held him to him and their tongues danced together before the pretty boy fell to his knees to hastily unbuckle the other man’s pants. 

This was the first time you were seeing them do something so intimate and you didn’t want to intrude, standing out of the way until Eddie gestured you to his side. His arm wrapped around you and you both watched as Steve wrapped his mouth around your boyfriend’s semi hard cock. 

“Fuck, baby.”

“Does his mouth feel good, Daddy?”, you whisper in his ear as you circle your arms around his neck and your fingers play with his hair. 

“Yeah, sweetheart. So—mmph—warm and wet. He knows how to use his tongue.”

“He does.”, you smile as you kiss his cheek. 

“D-Do you like it, baby? Seeing Stevie suck Daddy’s cock?”

“Yes, Daddy.”

“Jesus Christ, I love you.”, Eddie whimpers as his lips crash to yours. 

Feeling his nose scrunch, you lean away from him as he pants against your lips while the other man takes him as far down his throat as he can; the gags of his throat making your pussy clench. 

“Why don’t you help him, Y/N?”

“I don’t want to get in the way.”, you murmur. 

Fingers roughly grip your face as your boyfriend forces you look his way. 

“Don’t ever let me hear you say that again. You are never in the way, baby.”

Nodding and giving him another soft kiss, you sink to your knees and lightly pet Steve’s head with your own fingers. Silently, he moved out of your way to allow you to take Eddie’s dick into your mouth as his tongue flicked and sucked his balls.

“Thaaaat’s it. Fuck, that feels so good.”

The two of you work in tandem, taking turns before Steve abruptly wraps his hand around your throat to keep you still and kisses your lips with Eddie tip between your tongues. 

“Goddamn it, Steven.”

After grabbing his collar, your boyfriend hoisted his friend to a standing position and you eagerly followed as he led him to the kitchen counter nearby. Wrapping your arms around his neck, Steve lifted you onto the marble and tore off your dress as Eddie aggressively pulled off both their suits. 

A whimper you had never heard before left the businessman’s mouth and you tilted back to see Eddie gripping his shoulder as he gradually slid into the man in front of him. With his palms placed on either side of you, his head hung as he bit his bottom lip.

To you they both looked incredibly sexy. 

With Eddie it was like being on the outside looking in and watching what his dominance looked like on someone else. His beautiful chocolate eyes were dark with need and care as his fingers clung to Steve’s waist. The veins and muscles on his arms were more definite as he thrust into him with water still stuck to his tattooed chest that you desperately wanted to lick off. 

Watching this new side of Steve was an experience. The way his mouth fell open and the whimpers Eddie pulled from him had your pussy dripping. To see him be vulnerable like this made your submissive side desperately want to praise and coddle him which you did as you scooted your body closer to his so he could rest his head against your shoulder. 

You couldn’t wait to see what Eddie looked like this way. 

“Does Daddy feel good?”, you asked in that little girl tone that drove them both crazy. 

“Mmph—yes, honey. So fucking good.”

“Daddy likes being told. You should tell him how good he’s making you feel.”

As he cranes his neck, your boyfriend circles his palm around his throat and kisses his lips. 

“Your cock f-feels…so good…Daddy. So deep.”

“My cock feels good, little boy? You know what didn’t feel good? Us worrying about you. Wondering if you were ok and you not answering my fucking calls.”, Eddie growled as his palm spanked Steve’s ass making him moan. “Watching Y/N worry and then seeing her cry when she came home after what—mmm—you said to her.”

“I’m sorry. I’m so fucking sorry.”, he panted out as his eyes met yours. “I’m sorry. I-I-I was scared. I was so fucking scared.”

When his head fell into the nook between your neck and shoulder, your arms held on to him as he continued to apologize causing Eddie to stop moving. 

“I’m sorry for being such an asshole. I didn’t mean to scare you either. I just…” Cupping his cheeks in your hands, you leaned your forehead against his. “I’ve never had anyone in life long enough to care about me and definitely no one like you two.”

Your eyes lock with Eddie’s and as if you read each other’s minds, he carefully pulls out of Steve and you hop down from the counter with the businessman’s massive palm guiding you down. 

Holding his hand, you walk with him back to his bedroom.

“Be careful of the water, Mr. Harrington.”, you say in your little voice that makes him softly smile. “Did you know I used to be afraid to? Of losing Daddy.”

Shaking his head, he watches you with careful eyes as you fall flat on your back in his bed and guide him till his whole frame is on top of you. 

“My last few relationships weren’t bad per say but I’ve never met anyone like Eddie. He’s so confident, sweet, and just so passionate about everything especially me.”, you giggle. “The first time I saw him smile, I knew I wanted to be with him for the rest of my life and that scared me.”

As your boyfriend kneels beside the bed, he pets your head as he kisses your forehead. Reaching between your bodies, you take hold of Steve’s cock and run the tip between your folds causing a little moan to leave his lips. 

“Do you know what helped calm me?”, you whisper as he shakes his head once more. “The way he talked about you.”

Opening your legs wider, you both groan as you help slowly guide his length into your entrance. 

“Fuck me.”

“Steve, Eddie loves you so much and takes care of you in more ways than you know. You should hear the way he b-brags about you and—mmm—how much you mean to him.” The man’s head fell beside yours as he did little thrusts to push his cock deeper into you and with every warm pant of his breath, your pussy clenched tighter around him. “No matter what, sweetheart, he’s always going to be there for you because you were always there for him. E-Even if you told him to fuck off, he’d still protect you. That’s the kind of man he is.”

As your eyes rolled back and fluttered tightly closed, you felt Eddie climb onto the bed and Steve still slightly before his grunt of pleasure against your neck caused you to open them again just in time to see your boyfriend slide his cock into the man between you both. 

“H-He—ahhhh—wouldn’t have introduced me to you this way if he th-thought I’d hurt you. We’re both here for you. Oh my God.”

Eddie leaned down pressing his chest against Steve to reach your lips. 

“I love you, baby.”

“I love you to. Does he feel good, Daddy?”

“Shit. Yeah, he does.” After placing a kiss on his cheek, Steve catches the other man’s head and locks his lips with his own. “Everything’s ok, sweetheart. I promise. I-I’ll always be here for you.”

“Me to.”, you murmur as you softly smile and caress his face. 

Biting his bottom lip and falling completely on top of you, Steve roughly slams his hips into yours pushing his cock deep inside you while thrusting Eddie further into him. The bed underneath you shakes with the force as your fingers thread through his damp hair. 

“That’s it, Steve. FUCK! Make my good girl cum.”

A loud repetitive string of uhs echo through the room as he animalistically pumps into your cunt till your body trembles and you cum hard, squeezing his length like a vice as he pushes up onto his palms to roll his hips till you feel his release warm you. 

“Good—mmm fuck—good boy. Where do you want my cum, baby?” When the boy doesn’t respond, Eddie pulls his hair to lift his head till his lips hover over his ear. “Come on, sweet boy. Where do you want Daddy to cum? You want Daddy to fill you up?”

“P-Please, yes, Daddy. Cum inside me.”, Steve whimpered and you watched with half lidded eyes as Eddie panted into the other man’s open mouth till his rhythm stuttered, pumping his release into the man beneath him. 

#################

Steve wasn’t sure when he fell asleep but when he woke up the sun was just barely peeking through his curtains. Hearing music and realizing neither of you were in his bed, he grabbed a pair of his sweats and went on the hunt. 

The smell of bacon hit his nose as soon as he entered his living area and his eyes landed on you with your back to him as you swayed to the beat in one of his button up shirts. A soft melody begins to play and you perk up as you run to Eddie who was by the stove with a spatula in his hand. 

“Baby girl, I’m busy.”, he chuckles. 

“Oh, come on, grumpy. I love this song.”, you tease as you circle your arms around his neck and he leans his forehead on yours. 

Your palms reach up to cup his cheeks and he watches as his friend practically glows before kissing your lips. Turning your head, you notice Steve standing off to the side and let Eddie go to place yourself in front of him. 

“You've been fighting the memory, all on your own

Nothing worsens, nothing grows

I know how it feels being by yourself in the rain

We all need someone to stay.”

As you wrap your arms around his waist, he presses your head into his warm chest and rests his cheek on your hair. 

“You were alone, left out in the cold

Clinging to the ruin of your broken home

Too lost and hurting to carry your load

We all need someone to hold.”

“I’m sorry I made you cry, honey.”

“Hear the falling and lonely, cry out

Will you fix me up? Will you show me hope?

The end of the day and we're helpless

Can you keep me close? Can you love me?”

“I forgive you.”, you reply into his skin making him laugh as he releases you from his grip and caresses your bottom lip with his thumb. “I love you. You don’t have to say it back right now or anything. Just—”

As you had started to walk away, Steve pulled on your wrist and brought your mouth to his.

“I love you to.”

Your grin grows as you kiss him again before leading him into the kitchen and hopping back up on the counter. 

“You don’t have a lot of food in that castle you call a fridge but I managed to put something together here.”, Eddie conveyed sarcastically as he flipped the bacon and reached over to turn off the stove. 

“I’m sorry for being so stubborn and saying the things I said last night.” The long-haired boy turned to face him as Steve scanned him over. “I’m sorry for…me.”, he chuckles. 

Eddie blinks as he nods, glancing your way before finally speaking. 

“I forgive you. We don’t have to jump right in, Steve. We can take this one step at a time and—”

You beamed as the businessman reached for the other man’s face and pressed a firm kiss to his lips. 

“You calm down over there.”, Eddie lightly scolds without looking your way when he hears your legs kicks up like an excited child. 

“This is all new to me.”, Steve starts as he gestured between the three of you. “Not just the… or the us both being dominate…but being in a relationship in general. I love you to and I’m willing to try. I trust you both.”

“How about we start with breakfast and go from there?” 

Nodding, Steve takes the plate that’s handed to him and heads towards the couch where he normally eats if he’s home but as he starts to pick at the food, his arms lift in surprise when you crawl over him to sit on his lap. Softly smiling, he lowers them around you and continues to eat until Eddie walks by to slide more food in front of him. 

“She’s going to pick at it. Trust me.”

When he playfully pokes your nose, you pretend to bite his finger making Steve chuckle behind you. 

“Hey Steven?”, Eddie calls as he throws himself down on the other side of the sofa.

“Hm?”

“I love you to.”, he grins before tossing Steve an equally playful wink. 

#################

@aol19 @livsters @dashingdeb16 @too-efn-old-to-be-here

@yesimabratandwhataboutot @eddiesguitarskills

@scarlet-witch23 @soph342 @micheledawn1975 @thatgurljen @fluffansmut

@chelebelletx @peaches-roses-sins @areiofhope @hugdealer @nerdygamingartist

@bootywizzard @bexreadstoomuch @calumfmu @myherometalhead

Here's hoping these tags work the first time around this time!

[xo-cori]

Ellie is sooooo into sneaking around and secretly fucking you in public but Abby is a complete opposite she just wants you all only because only her can hear and see you because you’re hers. Idk how I think Dina would be!!!

kissing and hope they caught us

pairing: ellie williams x fem!reader

summary: the best way to prove that somebody is yours is to show them off.

warnings: smut (MDNI), exhibitionism, ellie being a cocky little shit

a/n: lord forgive me

All you can feel is her hands, everywhere.

Her fingers reach somewhere deep inside you as the palm of her hand covers your mouth, muffling all of your pretty noises only because she’s not sure how it’d sound to an outsider. After all, the two of you are cramped in an almost pitch black laundry room, the dim blue LED lights from the living room barely creeping in through the slits of the unlocked door. She’d been staring at you all night, though. She could bear not seeing you for a few minutes.

“Gotta be quiet,” Ellie mutters, “don’t want anyone walking in, do you?”

She expects to get some sort of reaction out of you, but you only clench down around her fingers at the thought of it. You grasp at the edge of the washing machine for some support, knees barely holding you up now, and Ellie doesn’t even try to hold in her laugh. “Oh, you would fuckin’ like that.”

You let out a low whine, though she can still hear it over the loud music just down the hallway. She moves her hand from your mouth so she can bring her lips to yours, working to swallow all of your moans that couldn’t be held back even if you tried. You weren’t trying, though. Not one bit. You gasp into the kiss as her fingers curl up, thumb pressing down onto your clit in a steady rhythm that has you seeing stars behind your eyelids. It’s embarrassing how close you are after just a few minutes alone with Ellie. She does unspeakable things to you, and seems to have a habit of making a mess out of you no matter where you are.

Bathrooms, closets, backseats. It’s a thrill that she chases, that gives her just as much pleasure as she gives you– if not more.

You haven’t been caught, yet, but you’re starting to think that it’s only a matter of time. Luck runs out quicker the more you abuse it.

“I’m gonna cum,” you whimper, grabbing onto her hair in a vain attempt to ground yourself. Your heart pounds in your ears to the beat of the music and she swears she can feel it against her own chest.

“Remember what I said, yeah? Quiet.” Ellie says. Regardless, her thrusts have somehow gotten faster and the speed dizzies you. Your head falls forward into her shoulder, pressing your mouth into the fabric of her sweatshirt to cover up the sound of another whine– it’s her name, she realizes, still quite loud despite your efforts.

She fucks you through our orgasm until you reach down to grab her wrist, halting her thrusts, mumbling something about it being too much, and she finally pulls out of you. You keep yourself tucked safely in her shoulder as you try to catch your breath.

Ellie lets you rest for a moment and takes the opportunity to lick the wetness from her pruned fingers, suddenly wishing that she’d taken you to a more secure area so that she could’ve tasted you properly– a regret she finds herself having often when you find yourselves in these situations.

After a few long moments, she gently grabs your chin and makes you look up at her, just barely able to see her eyes through the darkness. “Damn. I’m ready to go home if you are.”

Though you normally would’ve felt bad for leaving a party so early, you can’t imagine anything here better than what awaits you back home (or, if Ellie’s feeling to impatient, right there in the car). “I’ve been ready since we got here,” you huff.

“Do you think Dina’s gonna be mad?” She asks, eyebrows furrowing with a fickle concern that could easily be erased.

“Jesse brought Fireball, Els. She’s probably not gonna remember she even had this party.” You reply, to which she hums in agreement. Your friend isn’t exactly known for being able to handle her liquor, and you’d both seen her drink quite a bit of it within the span of a few hours. If she isn’t hunched over a toilet bowl by now, she’s probably going to keep drinking until she is.

So, Ellie kneels down to help you pull your shorts back up as you readjust your shirt to look more presentable; to make it look like you’d been doing anything but getting fucked in a laundry room.

You know, deep down, the thought of anyone finding out is only turning you on more.

[pickledpascal]

Thee Wolverine

Pairing: Logan Howlett x Maya Imik

Warnings: animal tendencies, cat behavior, some sexual themes if you squint, fluff otherwise!

A/N: just felt like there was too much feral!logan where he's a fucking machine. what if he just wants to be close to his mate, c'mon now.

Word Count: 1.8k

Hugh Jackman Masterlist

Logan did not go feral. Well, if someone asked, he would say he didn’t.

But there were days, weeks, months when he didn’t act like himself. Where scent, touch, and just about everything seemed to drive him crazy. He’d isolate himself in his room, exiting it with a few more claw marks lodged into the walls or he’d simply leave the mansion. Live in the woods for an indiscriminate amount of time until he felt normal enough to return.

With Maya, that changed.

Similar to their usual routine when they were about to sleep, Maya read a book beside Logan as he got in bed next to her. The whole day, he had felt urges. He knew he was slipping little by little. Around Maya, the fight in him crumbled. His pupils turned to slits as he felt that part of his brain take over.

He pulled her close, causing her to let out a light squeak at how roughly her pulled her. He buried his head into her neck and rubbed his cheek against the exposed skin of her neck and shoulder. His pupils rounded and dilated before he closed his eyes.

Maya looked at Logan curiously, an amused smile on her face. The book was long forgotten as he kept rubbing his face against her until he tucked his head underneath her chin. She carded a hand through his hair and pressed a kiss to the top of his head.

Logan wasn’t a stranger to cuddling. Even less so as the person who wanted the affection, desperate for it at times, too. However, this was a whole new level Maya hadn’t experienced yet. Though, she didn’t mind.

A low purr escaped Logan’s chest as Maya kept her fingers in his hair. Surprise was an understatement. She was downright ecstatic at the discovery. Logan was a goddamn cat. Well, more like a tiger. Large and dangerous with deadly claws and an even deadlier bite but downright cuddly and soft when they wanted to be.

They went to sleep like that. Maya’s arms were around Logan’s shoulders while his arms were wrapped around her waist, holding her tightly to him. Their legs tangled together so he could lock their bodies like puzzle pieces. Maya had never felt so warm in her life. It was like being covered in the world's best heated and weighted blanket.

Waking up was another ordeal.

“Logan, let me go.” Maya huffed as she tried to get away from him but he kept a firm hold around her body.

“No.” He hummed, rubbing his face into her hair with a large, easy smile on his face. It would have been more endearing if she hadn’t had an important briefing with Scott in the morning.

Eventually, he did let her go but he full-on whined at the loss of contact. He even growled lowly when she got dressed properly, eyes turning to slits. Maya didn't notice. He hated that she was covering her skin. Hated that he didn't have as much access as he did earlier.

He stood up and pressed his chest to her back and wrapped his arms around her waist, letting his chin rest on her shoulder as a chuff rumbled in his body.

Maya pecked his cheek. “Don't worry, you'll be okay without me for a little while.” Logan frowned. His pupils seemed to get impossibly rounder.

Maya wondered what that was about. In fact, he hadn't said more than a word to her since yesterday, when they had lunch. She brushed it off as just him having a bad day, he'd talk to her later about it, as he always did.

She left the room and went to the briefing with Scott. It went smoothly. They were brainstorming ways to get better protections for mutants from experimentation in a lawful route with Jean and Ororo. Maya didn't think she was of much help but the others reassured her that she was.

During lunch hours, she sat where she usually did with some of the older students. Yukio, Ellie, and Kitty had become friends she liked even if they were nearly ten years younger than her. After a while, she noticed Logan was not in the dining hall like everyone else. Maya pursed her lips.

“Have any of you seen Logan today?” She asked. They all knew of their relationship, at this point, so she felt no reason to hide her worry or favor for the older mutant.

Kitty chuckled. “You didn't hear? He canceled all of his classes.”

“What?” Maya blinked. To be fair, Logan didn't seem like he wanted to converse with anyone, much less a bunch of children. “Why?”

Ellie stared at Maya flatly. As always. “He didn't tell you?” She raised an eyebrow. Then let out a soft “hm.”

Maya pushed a hand through her hair and screwed her eyes shut for a moment, slightly exasperated. There was a lot she didn't know about Logan, he was nearly two hundred fucking years old, of course, she wouldn't be able to know every goddamn thing he went through.

“What is it?” She pressed.

Yukio answered this time, in her usual cheerful tone though it was quieter now as if she was telling a secret. “Sometimes the animal part of Mr. Howlett takes over! He becomes more,” She thought about it for a moment, “Feral. Gives into his animal instincts. He always cancels classes when that happens.”

Maya could not believe what Yukio was telling her. She laughed. She knew it was true. But feral? Describing the cuddle bear that was Logan that morning as feral was silly.

She could still see him in the back of her mind, pupils so dilated they seemed to take over his entire hazel iris. His hair was so fluffy from lying around in bed that it seemed to accentuate the two tufts on either side of his head.

When Maya did come back to his room—their room—she was bombarded by Logan. He pulled her down to the bed with him and nearly shredded off her shirt to expose her skin. He nuzzled his face against her stomach which made her chuckle. He was so goddamn cuddly. She wondered what the students thought he did while he was like this. What urges did they think he had? To kill? Destroy shit? Dare she say fuck?

Logan chuffed again, his entire body rumbled with the noise as he rubbed his cheeks against her. His facial hair made it feel scratchy but Maya didn't mind it much. He was enjoying himself, why would she stop that?

“How've you been?” She asked in a murmur, trying to make some conversation.

“Missed you.” He hummed. His nose traced the soft outline of Maya's abdominal muscles.

Her heart warmed. She glanced around the room. All of the drawers designated to her were slightly ajar. She looked back down at Logan, an amused smirk on her face. He was wearing one of her shirts. A simple black T-shirt with a vintage design on the front.

“Yeah?” Maya tugged a little at the shirt. She raised an eyebrow at him.

Logan pouted softly as he raised his head to look at her. “Smells like you.”

Maya let out a breath, her eyes softening and full of affection as she tugged Logan up her body. “C'mere, sweetheart.” He happily obliged. “I don't mind you taking my clothes if it helps you, okay?” She nodded at him.

He kissed Maya's cheek in response, purring lowly. He wrapped his arms around her again and rubbed his cheek against hers. She laughed. It was his favorite sound in the world. He wanted to hear it all the time. His heart twinged with affection each time he heard even the faintest of chuckles escape her lips.

“Mate makes me happy.” Logan murmured. He rubbed his face against her hair again to feel the softness of it.

He loved her presence, the feeling of her skin against his. More importantly, for his feral mind, he loved having her scent all over him and he loved rubbing his scent all over her. No one else would know besides him and that's what made it so much sweeter.

Maya let Logan mess up her hair, a light smile on her lips. She had never thought of herself as his ‘mate,’ but she was. They were made for each other, it appeared. They fit together like a lock and a key or a pen to paper. They were so similar yet so different. And they embraced those differences without fail. Each flaw seemed to only make them love the other more. Now that they found each other, they were never going to let go. Never could let go.

She pressed a kiss to his cheek, earning her another chuff. “You make me happy too, mate.” Maya wrapped an arm around Logan's shoulder. She thought she might as well appeal to his current mental state.

Logan purred happily. He grew even happier when Maya rubbed her cheek against his. His lips parted. A smile that showed his teeth formed on his face.

Maya wanted to take a picture. But she didn't feel like ruining the moment. It was a rare sight to see Logan smile with teeth. She wasn't sure if it was because he intentionally tried not to show his sharp canines in fear of being seen as scary or what but… it was so beautiful when he smiled like that.

She brushed a hand into his hair. Logan let out a contented purr. She scratched at a specific spot in his hair that she knew made him go weak—she wanted to know if something else would happen now that he was giving in to his animal urges.

Almost immediately, his whole body relaxed and went limp. He closed his eyes and purred louder. His entire body rumbled with the noise. Maya was sure that if Logan had a tail then it would be wagging.

“You’re cute.” She smiled, scratching at the hairs on the nape of his neck.

Logan let out a low gruff noise in protest. He didn’t complain otherwise. How could he? Maya had him weak in the knees.

If he was standing, he would have probably collapsed onto the floor with how she was touching him. He liked it like that. The comfort he could feel from a simple touch Maya gave him was more than what he could put into words. He breathed in her scent, letting his body mold into hers.

“Love you, so much.” He hummed against her skin. It was muffled to the point Maya wasn’t sure what he said for a few seconds.

She rubbed her cheek against the side of his head. “Love you too.”

[outofgloom]

SHUN THIS PLACE

The Lord of Steel stood on the threshold, at long last. Behind him, the priests lay dead, splayed across the desert, along with the bodies of his soldiers. The elemental weapons of the priesthood had been as terrible as foretold, but in the end, his power had prevailed.

He scanned the midday sky briefly, but it remained mostly clear. A good omen, although it would not last. Evening would bring stormclouds—red storms, the kind which did not water the dry earth.

In fact, he was counting on it.

He stooped and crossed the threshold, moving out of the desert air and into the cool interior of the structure. His eyes adjusted quickly to the dimness, and he saw that the walls were covered with carvings. No surprise there: He’d encountered versions of them before, on the obelisks of the Great Jungle and the abandoned cliff-cities of the Great Frost. Even so, these were the fullest and most detailed he’d seen so far. There were full words here, in fact, alongside the usual pictograms, written in the strange script of the machines.

He was impatient, eager to take the next step, but he had not gotten this far by ignoring good intel. As odious a task as it was to him, perhaps just this once he ought to give the inscription a full read....

HERE-PLACE IS MESSAGE

...the first line parsed out, alongside a symbol which usually meant “listen” or “take heed”. This place is a message. He read on:

MESSAGE IS BIG

...No, that should be rendered something like “great”, shouldn’t it? He was rusty. “Significant”, perhaps. This message is significant.

HERE-PLACE IS NOT...something. He was unsure. “Virtue”, maybe? That was it: No virtue is here, in this place.

He paused, eyes flicked to the right, looking out at the desert. Had that been movement? A moment passed.... Ah, a thin cloud had passed across the sun. That was all. Satisfied, he returned to the text. Where had he left off? No virtue is here.... Right, and after that, he knew the words “temple” and “shrine”, in series: 

HERE-PLACE IS NOT-VIRTUE NOT-TEMPLE, NOT-SHRINE

HERE-PLACE IS NOT-TOMB NOT-TREASUREVAULT, NOT-VALUE

HERE-PLACE IS.... What was that symbol? The inscription beneath...“danger”, “destruction”?

DANGER IS.... Is what? The glyphs were faded. He squinted at them, traced them with a finger. “Individuated”? “Discrete”, maybe? That seemed right: A discrete size and shape, in a specific location.

Immediately after that, the next line was clear:

DANGER IS WHAT LIES BENEATH

Now that was more like it—

Something struck him from behind, bit into the armor of his upper back, and there was a noise shrieking in his ears and sparks were flashing in the visor of his helmet, overwhelming his senses, sparks burning into his neck. He cried out and twisted away from the stone wall, striking out blindly. 

Contact. He felt metal crumple against his fist, followed by the sound of his assailant thudding against the opposite wall. His hand went to his shoulder, felt wetness there, and sharp, throbbing pain. He gritted his teeth and shook his head, trying to focus. There!

It was one of the machine-priests—heavily damaged, but still alive. It heaved itself up on two bent legs, and the tatter of its robes whirled around it. He and his soldiers must have missed one, somehow...or it had repaired itself. How could he not have noticed its approach?

He stepped back quickly, putting distance between himself and the enemy. The mask that covered the priest’s face was cracked, likely from the blow he’d just dealt it, but the eyes still glowed bright. He realized dimly that the mask was made in the shape of the mythological Stalker Eel—a wide, round mouth, slitted forehead. It was a stealth-mask. Of course....

There was the shrill, whining noise, and he saw that the priest’s remaining arm ended in something like a buzzsaw. That explained his ringing ears and the jagged tear that had been cut into his armor...and the sparks. Surely it had been aiming for his neck. He was fortunate that it did not carry an elemental weapon, or his situation would be more dire.

The priest crouched, weapon held forward. He readied himself, trying to focus against the pain. Searching, searching with his mind....

It lunged. The sawblade shrieked in his ears once more, and he felt the vibration of it in the base of his skull.

Thud. Clatter. The whine of the spinning blade peaked and ramped down, grinding harmlessly against the stone floor as the priest’s arms and legs spasmed where they now lay, along with its body. 

The priest’s head, mask and all, floated in the air before him. He’d found what he’d sought: the small linkages of true metal that joined the creature’s skull to its torso. At this range, he’d been able to detect them amongst the lattice of false protometal and artificial flesh that made up the bulk of the creature’s body. Then, it was only a matter of...unlinking.

The eyes were wide with shock. They remained glowing for a second, then they winked off. A rasp of air escaped the disconnected throat, and the jaw went slack. It was over. 

He set the head down on the floor, well away from the still-twitching body. Then he tended to himself: He removed the damaged armor plates and drew out a spool of metal thread. In a few minutes, he’d used his powers to stitch the wound in his shoulder. It was painful, but necessary. He’d wasted enough time.

He rubbed his eyes and glanced at the inscriptions on the wall once more. They were undamaged, it seemed, but he didn’t have much patience left. He hated reading, especially this kind. Too much ambiguity. And after all, the attack had made him lose his place. He almost left it there, turned to his true goal in the back of the structure, where the walls narrowed down...but the next series of inscriptions drew his attention back. These he had never seen before. He sighed:

DANGER IS TO.... An odd phrasing here. “To anatomy”? Or was it “to geography”? He’d never thought about it, but in the language of the machines, the words were almost the same.

DANGER IS TO THE BODY DANGER IS TO THE LAND TO KILL OR TO CHANGE

His heart beat faster. Ah, this was worthwhile. A confirmation of sorts. Surely he had found the right place. His shoulder ached, but he shrugged it off.

DANGER TAKES A CERTAIN FORM...The same word as above. A certain body?

FORM OF DANGER IS AN OBJECT

OBJECT IS.... He blinked, re-read the word. That did not conform to his research. He read back over the lines again, making sure that he had not missed anything. No, it was clear.

The danger takes a certain form.  The form of the danger is an object. The object is a Mask.

He frowned. A mask? How could that be the fabled weapon of the Ancients? The masks that the machines had worn were so fragile, so easily crushed, as he had just demonstrated. He glanced down at the disconnected head of the priest. Could a simple mask be the same as the weapon that had burned off the surface of the planet in ancient times, dissolving and remaking life into its current form? The Age of Shattering had been ended that way, it was said.... It seemed impossible, but perhaps this too was a distorted myth. There was no way to know, in the end, and it didn’t really matter. He would find out the truth soon enough.

Except...his eyes returned to the head of the priest where it sat on the floor. Yes, it could work.

Click. The cable he had scavenged from one of the other bodies outside jumped with energy from the still-functioning core of the priest’s torso, and after a moment, the eyes sparked on, began to glow, faintly at first, then stronger. 

The limbs did not move this time. He had removed them all, even the connection to the waist, little more than a torso-shaped power source now. The jaw shifted, and a hiss of air went up into the throat as the voicebox engaged. The eyes flicked back and forth, took him in where he crouched, then glanced toward the remains of the body...and quickly away.

What was that expression? Revulsion? Could the machines experience something like this? He had never asked.

“Why...?” the priest said in a raspy voice. 

“For information,” he replied.

“You are...monster. My...my body—”

“May be yours again, once I have what I need.”

The priest did not respond.

“What does this indicate, this word here?” he continued, pointing to the last part of the inscription that he had translated. “Tell me what you know.”

“Mask,” the priest said plainly after a moment.

“Does it have any other meaning?”

“Mask...no. No other.”

“Are you sure? I’ve found that the memories of your priesthood are not always reliable. The Ancients made you badly, I think.”

“No other. Just ‘mask’.”

“And what mask does it refer to? Surely you still know this.”

“I cannot.”

“I’m going down, either way. But if there was, say, some additional warning you wished to add, some further piece of knowledge that might deter me or improve the outcome.... Well, this is your last chance.”

The priest’s eyes frowned—or as close to a frown as a machine could muster. After a moment, it seemed to decide:

“The mask,” it said, “life to the world, it once gave. After an age of shattering, of disjointing.” The wording was strange, as if the priest were repeating some litany.

“Life, you say? That sounds good to me. Have you looked at the state of the world lately? There are few left since the Plague and the petty wars it engendered. Few who remain whole in mind, that is. Even the Tetrate is crumbling, and the Red Storms worsen every day.”

“Beware,” the priest continued, “for life with death comes also.”

“Ah, yes, of course. But that is the Great Cycle, isn’t it? The world has not changed so much that we’ve all forgotten.”

“Life and death.... You are recent, comprehend not.”

“Recent.... You mean young? Hah! I am the Lord of Steel, first of the elements, the true metal, which cannot corrode, spawn of the metal-star Exsidia, which issued unmade from the Void—”

“Life and death and life...” the priest intoned, ignoring him.

“Why do you babble? You’re just a broken machine, I think. Another of Their useless clockworks.”

“I am not machine,” the priest spat back.

“Then speak like it. What more can you tell me?”

“I remember in the Time Before,” the priest said, with the same odd phrasing, “For the world, we were made, to build and to maintain. Nothing more....”

“You were made for such. Not I.”

“...And when the world failed,” it continued, “sacrifice was needed. Always sacrifice. Life was given to us, so that it might be given unto the world. Cores made to burn.”

“You speak of how the Age of Shattering ended, I think.”

The priest hesitated. Its mouth trembled, then:

“Not one age...not one, but many.”

“What? What do you mean by that?”

“The world failed...has failed, over and over. And when the world failed, there was sacrifice. Burning to sustain, to kindle life and light. Over and again.”

“That...makes no sense. The Age of Shattering is—”

“Ended now, and never again.”

“So you say, but—”

“No more sacrifice.” The priest’s voice dropped to a whisper, and its eyes wandered back and forth. “No more, to start the world anew. That destiny is over. No more will our cores burn, to kindle the stars and to light the lamps of the universe. It is enough.”

“What is this sacrifice?”

“Life with death comes also. That is the challenge of the Mask, to remake the world. Beware.”

“So...the mask is not simply a weapon to be wielded for my ends? That’s disappointing, given the enemy that I contend with.”

“A tool may be used for many tasks: to build or to destroy. The potential is in the core of each of us.”

“I have no core. Unlike you, I am flesh, blood, and true metal. But if a sacrifice is needed...perhaps your core will be useful to me after all.”

The priest’s eyes closed behind its mask.

“Any more to say? I confess you have not convinced me of—”

A force took hold of him, wrapping invisible fingers around his throat, and he saw with a shock that the mask on the priest’s face had changed form somehow, becoming smaller, more angular. The air shivered with telekinetic energy, and he was choking, hands clawing at his throat, eyes bulging, but there was nothing there to grasp. He staggered back against the wall as the crushing force increased, and he felt something give way in his chest. Pain shivered up and down his spine. His vision was going dark.

No other choice. With the last desperate vestiges of his power, he struck out, found the linkings of true metal once more, and wrenched the priest’s head to pieces. 

The pressure on his throat and torso released, and he fell to his knees, gasping and retching. His heart pounded in his ears, and his head throbbed, but he was alive. After a few moments, he tried to sit back against the wall, but sharp agony broke out in the right side of his torso. He ground his teeth, breathing in short gasps, eyes clenched shut. He was pretty sure he’d popped a stitch in his shoulder as well. The wound burned.

He held himself still, trying to stay conscious and control his breathing, trying to endure through the surge of pain. It hurt, but after a few moments, he was able to get hold of his panic and focus. He searched within his chest cavity, feeling his power ping off the metallic bones. There: one rib was cracked, another dislocated. Nothing for it. He held the image in his mind, gulped air through his bruised throat, and did what had to be done.

The fusion of the cracked rib was white-hot iron near his heart, and the sound of the other rib popping back into place was audible in the small space. He screamed, writhed, and slumped over into unconsciousness.

Minutes passed, maybe more. He flitted from a dreamless nothing to wakefulness...and then back again. At last, in a half-aware moment, his mind managed to grasp a scrap of reality. His eyes fluttered, and images flickered in his thoughts: A flash of the low stone ceiling above. A glimpse of the lower part of the wall. The last three lines of the inscription were visible from where he lay, and even in his near-senseless state, they were familiar to him. He had seen them before:

HERE-PLACE, DO NOT REMAIN BELOW-DANGER, DO NOT APPROACH HERE-PLACE, SHUN

His mind offered the translation:

Do not inhabit this place. Do not approach the danger below. Shun this place.

He moaned, felt the hard floor on the back of his skull. The world was expanding again, finally, beyond the margins of his pain-wracked body. He was lying on his back, and his injured shoulder was spasming against the stone. He shifted to take the pressure off, and found that the pain in his side was substantially less now. That was good. He blinked, wiped moisture from his eyes, then carefully, he tested the movement of his limbs. No new pain greeted him. Also good.

His vision was clearing up, and he turned his head leftward, took in his surroundings.

The wreckage of the priest’s head was scattered across the floor around him. A fragment of the upper part lay nearby, with a single, empty eye, staring.

Shun this place.

A shame. The machine had been cunning, speaking its riddles and warnings, same as the Ancients. Had any of it been true, or had the priest simply been buying the time it needed to summon a new mask? No way to know for sure. He sighed and swallowed painfully, raising a hand to massage his sore throat. It wouldn’t deter him, and anyways, he still had the priest’s intact core, if some sacrifice was really required.

With effort, he shifted up onto one elbow, glanced over at the limbless body.

Shock. He squinted, shook his head, looked again: The same as before. How? The torso was smashed, torn open from inside. Had he...?! No...no, it must have been the priest. He cursed—the machine had tricked him even as it attacked. But why? Did that mean that it had been telling the truth after all?

No more sacrifice.... No more will our cores burn....

He sat up, breathing gingerly. The wind was rising outside the structure, and he shivered as he looked out: A line of red clouds now limned the horizon, off to the east. How long had he lain here? Too long—It was coming soon now, and he had wasted much time. No more delays. He heaved himself to a kneeling position, raised his head, and there was the inscription again, staring him in the face.

Do not inhabit.... Do not approach.... Shun this place!

He straightened shakily, dusted off his hands. The Protodermic Priesthood had done its work well, to uphold the ancient dictates, to instill fear, and to keep the vaults of deep time sealed. To the very last, it had done its work, and it had nearly been the end of him. But it had failed.

The Lord of Steel breathed in and centered himself, drawing upon his power. He slid a hand along the metal-stone hybrid of the structure around him, feeling its alien composition. It had taken him many years to acquire enough of it, secreted away on underground markets, and more years after that to study the substance, to understand it, and to modify his own power to affect it.

He advanced slowly, leaving the inscriptions behind. The tunnel stretched into cool darkness and ended in a blunt wall. But he knew better. He focused his mind, felt the stone-metal shiver downward, a solid shaft extending deep into the surface of the planet. Not entirely solid, however. He could sense the seams and joints, where the material had been fixed together. Now at his command, the shaft opened in segments, one seal releasing after another, and he shaped it into a stairway, leading down, down....

The danger is to the body, to the land. To kill or to change. 

He turned the words over in his mind for a moment. This world could use some change, that was for sure. He’d always thought so. He moved to the edge of the newly-formed staircase and smelled the dry, sterile air of a previous age.

When the world failed, sacrifice was needed. Always sacrifice. 

If it was true, then the priest had not been willing to make such a sacrifice, going so far as to take himself out of the equation...permanently.

No more will our cores burn, to kindle the stars and to light the lamps of the universe. It is enough.

Was that the reason for all of this, the burying of the past? Those who had been made by the Ancients to sustain the world...whose lives had been used to keep it going, however many times...at last, they’d gotten fed up?

I am not machine, the priest had said. If it was true, then who could blame them? 

Doubt pricked at him. Whatever was to come—sacrifice or not—he himself, the Lord of Steel, would have to face it alone. Was he prepared for that? Surely after all his planning and labors, all the sacrifices he had made since taking up the mantle of Element Lord, this could be no worse. The challenge of the Mask, to remake the world. Beware....

Maybe it was fitting. The legends said that the world began with metal: a great silver sea, hanging in the void.

Perhaps the world to come would begin the same.

He glanced one more time at the carnage that had been the body of the priest, then out at the desert, at the corpses in the sand, at the pale sky. The clouds were piling up now. Stormclouds, shimmering with red light that was not lightning. Ever since the second Dreaming Plague, it had been this way, when the Eater had reemerged—hungry, and hungrier now.

He scowled, allowing himself a moment of the old hatred, for that color and what it represented—ancient enemy of the Children of Iron. Only a moment. In the end, such anger was futile.

His dreams had already been eaten, after all.

Faint thunder reached his ears. The light outside was growing redder by the minute. It would be here soon, just as he had planned, and he would be ready for it.

Ready to risk danger to the body, to the land. Ready to kill or to change.

Ready to remake the world.

He turned back to the staircase and blinked to align the retroflective layers of metallic crystal behind his eyes, enhancing his night vision as he peered down into the dark. Down to where life was hidden....

Do not inhabit this place.

Life with death, whatever that meant.

Do not approach the danger below.

Red light approached, flickering hungrily across the dunes. Could it read the inscriptions, understand the warnings?

Shun this place.

He began the descent.

[lovesickeros]

☆ even the gods bleed [ pt 3 ]

{☆} characters neuvillette, wriothesley, furina {☆} notes cult au, imposter au, multi-chapter, gender neutral reader {☆} warnings none {☆} word count 1.9k {☆} previous [ 1 ] [ 2 ]

Wriothesley was not a man of superstition. He did not kneel at the altars until his knees bled, he did not pray until his voice gave out– he did not, contrary to popular belief, suffer divine punishment for his apparent lack of respect.

After all, what Divine would look so deep beneath the waves just for a glimpse of the sinners that inhabit it?

Not them, evidently.

He hadn't slept in the past four days, though. There was a heavy air of something where ever he walked– it followed him like a thick fog, lingering and choking him until it dragged him to his knees like a chain. His thoughts inevitably linger on the striking, extravagant letter so conveniently adorning his desk at the fortress– the broken wax seal, the letter tucked into his pocket.

He'd recognize the seal of the Iudex any day. Wasn't often he spoke to him– but the shaky, distorted words hastily etched into the paper made him pause. Neuvillette always had a steady hand– elegant, flowing script that him of flowing water.

It had kept him up for days.

The implications were..haunting. He'd poured over the letter for hours, illuminated only by faint light of his desk lamp. Yet no matter how many times he tries to see what must be hidden beneath the ink, the paper itself even, he finds nothing but the shaky script of a request that sends a bolt of pure frost through his veins.

He noticed, of course, the odd goings on of Fontaine. He'd heard vague whispers of the Divine's hunt for the imposter– he'd heard, too, of the ceaseless rain pelting Fontaine until even he wondered if the nation would finally sink beneath the waves.

It didn't, though. And that only made it all the more odd. Days of constant rain, just for it to stop suddenly..he tugged his coat tighter around him, throwing up the hood of the cloak clasped even tighter over it with a grunt as he leaned around the corner of the alleyway.

He didn't believe in superstition, but this was too hard to ignore as a simple weather anomaly.

Maybe that was why he ignored his gut– he knew that this was probably a trap, at the very least it was suspicious. But damn it, he couldn't ignore the instinct to follow the only lead he had.

His boots clicked against the rain stricken streets as he stalked through the shadows, mindful of the clinking of machine patrols just a few streets away. Yet every step felt heavier then the last as he took a long, good look at the Palais Mermonia. He almost considered bringing out his gauntlets, but he thought better of it– if it came down to it, he needed information. And he would need whoever was waiting for him alive for that– the dead don't speak and all that.

The letter's directions led him in a..rather roundabout entrance to a secluded room, evidently, as he lifted his hand and quietly knocked against the door. Two rapid knocks, pause, another knock, pause, four knocks. It doesn't take long until he hears the latch of the door unlock.

The leather of his gloves creaks as he clenches his fists, adjusting his stance. He's ready for a fight, if he must, but as the door quietly slides open he feel the weight on his shoulders relax slightly– the familiar, sharp features of Neuvillette meets him. He almost reflexively smiles at the way his pupils turn into thin slits, a momentary surprise that he quickly hides well behind a cough and the creak of the door as he pulls it open fully.

"Wriothesley. I see my letter has found you well. Please, come in." Polite as ever, Neuvillette steps aside to let him in, but he can see the exhaustion lining his features– the bags under his eyes aren't as well hidden as he thinks, at least to him. "Bit odd to be inviting me all the way out here in the middle of the night, don't you think?"

His tone is smooth as he steps into the room, brushing down his hood and glancing at Neuvillette over his shoulder, watching as he shuts and locks the door behind him.

"I apologize for the..less then ideal circumstances, but I'm certain you will understand when you see for yourself." He wants to retort, but the Iudex beats him to it, vaguely motioning to the room behind him. An invitation– but he wonders if it's worth taking.

His gut says no, but he's feeling a little risky today, he supposes.

He turns back slowly, barely able to make out the two figures he'd missed on the first glance on the other side of the room– though it's hard to mistake the flourish of the Hydro Archon, even in the dark. It's the other figure that makes the breath hitch in his throat, though.

Or maybe, more accurately, it freezes. So does his blood, his whole body even, locked in stasis for a long, tense moment– he can't see them clearly, but his instincts are going haywire. He can feel his vision almost rattle where it rests against his left shoulder, cold leaking through the layers of clothes and into his skin until he has to fight to suppress a shiver.

He'd always fancied himself the hunter– he was the one who dealt with unsavory folks, in the end. But he felt like a rabbit pinned beneath the crosshairs of a gun this time. He could almost feel the teeth of the bear trap snapping shut around him, crushing bone and flesh beneath cold metal.

For a long moment he thinks he feels fear.

And with a sharp click and a burst of light, it's gone and he takes a raspy, choked breath as he blinks away the blurriness in his vision, taking in the room illuminated by the lamp.

He's not sure what he sees is better, though.

Because his body knows that their Divinity is as real as the blood running through his veins.

So why do they remind him so much of himself? Why does he see the look of the boy who died in a pool of blood not his own in them?

It is a sick, cruel kind of familiar.

Wriothesley didn't believe in superstition– but that was born of the unknown. He knew, now. He could reach out and touch the truth with his own two hands.

The throne of the world was a lie.

The thing sitting on it bled red. And if it bled, it could die.

He clenched his fists tighter– and released, letting his shoulders slump with a huff and a half hearted chuckle. "I wasn't expecting you to be in possession of a wanted criminal when you sent me that letter." He could see the gears whirring in their heads, the subtle dampness in the air reminding him just how delicate a situation it truly was.

He wasn't particularly inclined to getting blasted by a jet of water today.

"Relax, I'm not going to spill to anyone else. Seriously– don't get my jacket wet. It's expensive and a nightmare to dry." His lips quirk into a half smile, but it twists into something almost genuine at the laugh covered up by a cough he hears from the Divine. Bingo.

"It's fine, Neuvillette. Let him go." Their voice is like honey dripping from their lips, and he has to close his jaw with his hand before they can see the way it dropped in his surprise. "Of course, most Divine. My apologies." He relaxes at the sharp click of his heels as he joins them on the bed, his posture far more relaxed then he's ever seen. The Hydro Archon, much to his confusion and amusement, is far too invested in playing with their hair to pay much attention to him now that things have calmed, evidently.

Huh.

They seemed pretty cozy about it, he noted. He guesses they three of them had some time to get acquainted.

"So..who's going to explain what the hell is going on?" He probed, crossing his arms over his chest and watching the three carefully– they all looked tired, but even through the exhaustion neither seemed inclined to stray too far from the Divine. "And what exactly your plan is? You can't keep hiding them here forever. Someone will sniff them out sooner or later."

"We are aware," Neuvillette interjects, lips pursed into a thin line and his thin brows furrowed. "But as I'm sure you've noticed, the hunt for the..forgive me, most Divine, but the hunt for the alleged imposter is still at it's peak."

He grumbles in acknowledgment, hanging up his cloak by the door and sliding out of his heavy coat, resting it over the back of a nearby chair. "Hm. Suppose that's why the patrols are so common now a days."

"I'm afraid so. As you can imagine, we cannot simply ask them to..stop the search. It would draw unwanted attention and suspicion. The Divine would be found immediately if we tried to bring them out of the city at the moment." Neuvillette added, looking proper and elegant, despite the circumstances– even in the face of the Divine and the Archon turning on him and tugging his hair into intricate braids. "So I hope you understand that it was a great risk to send you that letter."

He rubs his chin, huffing in amusement– a solid plan, maybe, but his power didn't extend too far out of the Fortress. He had his connections, sure, but what use were they when he had to get the, uh, "imposter" out of Fontaine? Smuggling them out wouldn't be easy, and then there's the point of where to take them they'd have to contend with.

"Yeah, yeah– I get it. But it's not like I can just smuggle them out or keep them in the fortress. Even if we got them out of the city, we'd have to find somewhere to bunker down, and if someone spots any of us lingering there.." Archons, what a mess he'd gotten himself into. He was really looking forward to the next time he could kick his feet up with a cup of tea.

"I understand. I have already made plans, in fact." Neuvillette hesitates, and he can feel the temperature drops a few degrees. "I..cannot share them in full at the moment, but it is not for a lack of trust." Neuvillette reasoned, hands folded neatly in his lap– not that it hid the way they shook slightly. He wanted to ask, but he thought better of it.

"Eh, I don't hold it against you. The walls have ears, even up here." He deflected, running a hand through his hair. He really hoped Sigewinne wouldn't ask too much when he gets back. "I trust your judgment." He hesitates for a long moment, pulling out a simple, neatly folded letter of his own.

"Memorize the code words, then burn it. I'll be waiting for your next letter." He murmurs, plucking his coat and cloak and tugging them back on one after another, shuffling back over to the latched door. He hesitates again, his hand lingering on the door.

"I just hope your plan is worth the risk, Neuvillette."

He leaves before he can respond, the harsh click of the door ringing in his ears even as he steps back into the shadows of the night.