#and teach in general how to handle them

[tev-the-random]

"Aw man, what are they gonna do with Shadow now that he got his closure with Maria's wish and everything? What sort of story can he possibly have after that?"

*points frantically at Sonic 06*

[woodfrogs]

ive recently been having a lot of thoughts on politics and science and social media and the intersections of & interactions between the three

[phantomrose96]

The alt-right's foothold into Gen-Z is frustrating and I can see from over here how they're doing it.

You've got a generation of young-adults who are learning to be adults for the first time and for so many of them it sucks. It sucks to be in your first shitty apartment where things break, and to have your first shitty car that needs maintenance, and to be working a low-paying service or retail job where you get berated all day and barely scrape by. And you go home and you have taxes to figure out and electric bills to figure out and a screen on your phone to rot into to destress.

And this is men and women, equally, in this spot. But the alt-right messaging gets to tailor their approach to gender.

And hey women, yes you working a shitty job for shitty pay, overwhelmed by financial responsibilities and car repairs, what if you actually didn't need to do ANY of that? You don't need to. And you don't need to feel guilty about it. (You're not quitting, you're not being lazy), you actually are just embracing the chance to be exactly who an ideal woman should be. You should actually be beautiful, and demure, and barefoot in a sunny kitchen, glowing, pregnant, hearing the joyful sounds of your children while you bake a roast for your wonderful husband (strong, protective, loves you, handles the finances, handles the jobs, handles all the things you hate). OUR ancestors (don't mind the dogwhistle) did this for GENERATIONS, and modern society has failed you instead!

It's offering to break women out of all the parts of their real life that suck, and do it in a way that promises they're actually being better, being more admirable, more moral, more respectable, more correct, can feel good about, can feel proud about, as a Woman as Feminine as Mother as Goddess.

And the thing being promised does not need to actually reflect reality. It's a fantasy. It is not real. For every "beautiful demure barefoot" day, you'd be having another one covered in shit changing diapers of screaming infants with screaming children while your husband ignores you because it's Women's Work (take pride!) But that doesn't matter. It just needs to sound better than the reality they're living.

Then the men are targeted too. And it's the same in that it's getting to them by appealing to pride in their gender, but the messaging is different. It's "those finances are hard but ACTUALLY you're leveling up, you're grinding, you're finance maxing." It's hard but it's the kind of hard that is a challenge you can WIN at, boast about, post about, prove your manliness. Knowing cars, knowing home repairs, knowing taxes, that's your MAN pride, and you are so elite, you are so sigma, you are the envy of everyone, you are a masculine man. Women love you. Women will defer to you. Strong, respected, moral, loyal, unshakeable. Unlike those pansy men (mind the homophobic dogwhistling) who will whimper and cry like girls. You are better.

The shitty retail job is actually humble beginnings because you're minmaxing your way to financial success (bitcoin, crypto, investments). You can sleep with any woman you want as long as you're confident, and then you'll find one who understands how smart and confident and strong and protective you are and she will defer to you as her man. She will birth your children and teach them good morals and you will make it. Our ancestors lived this way for generations (dogwhistle) and modern society took it from you.

And with that messaging it makes it clear who the enemy in all this is - modern society that has convinced women to torture themselves with high education and terrible jobs, turned them Ugly with Ugly opinions and bad hair and nasty attitudes, yelping about "rights" and "equality" (pitting them against men! TAKING things from men!) All the while, society has been trying to emasculate men--replace them with women, make them soft and emotional, make them gay, make them WEAK. We've been made WEAK.

The naive women hearing this go "I'm not ugly! I don't hate men! I DO hate my job and my finances. I've been tricked. I'm actually rebelling by declaring my goal is to get a Perfect (White) (Christian) moral husband who will make all our decisions and protect me and our children." (And when she's financially trapped in an abusive marriage...? When she's suicidal with PPD but her husband won't touch that because it's Woman Hysteria...? And when her husband leaves her for someone who was as hot as she was 20 years ago and now she's figuring out finances, health care, taxes, bank accounts for the first time in her life...?)

And the men go "They've been TAKING things from us for too long! It's time to be men again! It's time to take pride! I am strong and confident. I am in charge! I never show weakness!" (And when he's got a gun to his head due to the depression he's never been allowed to talk about as Women Feelings...? And when he's financially ruined from a crypto scheme that stroked his ego and robbed him blind...? And when he's dead from alcohol poisoning and none of his adult children notice because no one's spoken to 'Dad' in 15 years...?)

And it's so hard to fight because you're arguing against a fantasy. How do you disprove their fantasy? It's so hard to explain to them, hey you're working a shitty job where you have no future because the rich bastards took it all from you. And now you're doing their work for them. You hate society because of what they've done to it and now you're doing their work. Now you're targeting groups who've never done anything to harm you and the guys responsible are laughing to the bank. How do you explain? How do you disprove fantasy?

[mutalune]

Hey there

I don’t know you and I understand you never asked for an Opinion or anything

But I saw your post on waking up with 0 pain

I’m a doctor, and I’ve been treating a patient for several months now

Several weeks ago was the first time in months they slept through the night without painkillers

They got like super excited but the next night was painful again

However, a couple weeks later we had a painless night again

Then again and again and you get where I’m going

It’s like in True Detective, if you ask me - the light’s winning

Again, I don’t know you, but I wanted you to hear from a random tumblr weirdo that there’s the potential for you to get better, whatever it is you’re going through

Every time you feel okay will add up to a massive number of okays and then it’ll become your norm

I can’t promise that, but it’s quite very possible

first off thank you for wanting to spread a bit of hope, I think that’s very kind of you and I appreciate it very much 💕

second off I love hearing from random tumblr weirdos (I’m just generally god awful at answering messages and miss notifications) so thank you for that as well

I’m def trying to straddle the line between “stay hopeful and have faith that things may get better, keep trying” and “things might never get better, I may need to adjust my lifestyle to support that, AND I can still live life and find joy”, because I think both can and need to be true. I’m gonna keep trying, and I’m also gonna do my best to be kind to my body for doing its best, ya know?

Sending love to you and your patient - that’s such an accomplishment to be having more okay-days after a long time of having none, and I’ll be keeping my fingers crossed that your patient continues to stack up those okay days 💕

[differenteagletragedy]

On domesticating Simon Riley.

Simon knows people, knows how to read them and how to get what he wants out of them, in a general sense. He also knows women, their bodies and how to handle them. How to pick one out that wants the same thing he wants, how to approach them and then how to cut and run.

What he doesn't know is how to stay. How to let someone else know him, even see him. What makes a home.

So you're going to have to teach him.

He has the most minimal wardrobe you've ever seen -- a few pairs of jeans, a handful of t-shirts, a couple of hoodies and one pair of boots. After a few weeks of watching him lace up those boots every time he takes out the trash, you check them for his shoe size then order him a pair of crocs to wear around the house and when they arrive, you leave them by the door, where he keeps his boots.

"The fuck are these?" he grumbles that evening when he goes to grab the boots while you're cleaning up after dinner. They're too big to be yours, but he knows they're not his.

"I got them for you," you answer, coming to stand beside him. "Just something to wear when you need to step outside for a minute or if your little feet get cold and you wanna wear something around inside."

"I don't have ... fucking hell," he says, pointing down to the shoes. "They've got holes all in them."

"That's so you can accessorize!" you say proudly, pulling out a little bag full of charms that you picked out for him.

It's ridiculous. It looks absolutely absurd. But he wears them anyway, because he's learning that when people care about each other, they make little gestures like this, and if there's a way that he can wear your love for him around like a badge of honor, then no matter how goofy it looks, he'll be proud to do it.

Simon chews his fingernails down to the quick, a nervous habit that he's had for as long as he can remember. After catching him with a couple of bloody fingers after one particularly bad evening, you tenderly pull him into the kitchen, wash his hands and dry them, then sit him down at the kitchen table and leave for a moment, only to come back with nail polish.

"Really, love?" he asks, looking up at you with a smirk. "Gonna give me a manicure?"

You roll your eyes, pulling one of the chairs closer to him and reaching out for his hands, replying, "What, too manly to have your nails done?"

"Yeah, that's what it is," he smirks, all sarcasm, then says, "Why though?"

"It's the taste," you explain, shaking a bottle of black polish before taking the cap off and carefully leaning in to start on his right thumbnail. "The idea is that when you go to bite your nails, the polish will make it taste bitter so you stop."

He can't help but smile a little to himself as he watches you work. He doesn't care one way or the other about his nails, but it's cute, watching you so focused on him. Still, something about it nags at him, because while it feels good, having you care, it doesn't quite feel right, not all the way. Not just yet.

"Not hurting anyone with biting them," he says quietly, his eyes on his hands as you finish up.

You give a little sigh, capping the bottle before meeting his eyes, and you tell him, "You're hurting yourself. And that's not ok, not with me."

He doesn't do birthdays, not his anyway. Not in a dramatic "I hate my birthday" way, it's just not something of note to him. He knows the date, acknowledges it to himself when it comes just as a reminder that he's 40 now, not 39, nothing more. The first birthday he has with you comes after you've been together for several months, and you only hear about it after the fact.

"My sweet boyfriend," you coo at him one night in bed, a little tipsy from the wine you'd had with dinner. "My beautiful, beautiful boyfriend."

He chuckles, still marveling at how much you seem to marvel at him. Your hands are on him, gentle and doting, and he hears you giggle as you ramble on.

"Sweet and kind and handsome and strong," you say, running a hand through his hair. "He always watches out for me. He always takes care of me. My favorite person."

"You're drunk," he points out, smiling softly, cheeks red.

"Am not," you reply. "Even if I am, the truth is the truth."

You go on, praising him for everything you can think of. Pretty blonde hair, pretty smatterings of freckles, pretty dimples that only you ever get to see. It's almost unbearable, hearing how much you adore him, but in a good way. Like it's stretching something in him that's been closed for far too long.

You're breaking him in, slowly and carefully.

"Have you ever," you ask him at one point, "ever in your entire 39 years, thought that you'd get a girlfriend as thoughtful and loving as me?"

It's a playful question, but of course he's never thought that. His chest aches at the thought of just how much you've given him, and how much you let him give you in return. So instead, he dodges it.

"Not 39 anymore, sweetheart," he says softly.

Your brow furrows immediately, not understanding, and he laughs quietly, his hand on your stomach under the blankets sliding to your side to pull you closer.

"A few weeks ago," he explains.

"Your birthday was a few weeks ago?"

"It was."

"And you just ... didn't think to say anything?"

You're serious now, almost concerned, and he can't stand it.

"It's not a big deal, love," he says, leaning in to press kisses against your forehead and temple. "Just another day."

"It is a big deal," you argue, pulling back to look at him. "I would have ... I don't know, I would have gotten you something. Treated you special. Thrown a party, something."

"One, I don't like parties. Two, you treat me special everyday. Three, you've already given me more than you know, I don't need anything else."

All those things are true, but it still takes much longer than he'd like to get the frown off your face.

The next day, you ask him to run some errands for you. You need the oil changed in your car, some things from the big grocery store on the other side of town, but you need to stay home and take care of some things that need done around the house. He agrees easily. He likes taking care of you.

When he comes back later that afternoon, he goes for the kitchen, ready to put up the groceries he'd picked up, and there you are, leaning against the counter and smiling at him like you were waiting for him.

The homemade cake on the counter beside you, with candles sticking out and "Happy Birthday Simon" written in icing on top, tells him that you were.

Every time you do something like this, perform some little act of kindness that comes so naturally to you, it feels like something gets unlocked inside him. Like there have always been chains wrapped around his mind and his heart, keeping him tight and cold and alone, padlocks piling on top year after year, keeping all the hurt secure inside. But somehow you have the key, and you take your time, undoing them all.

Undoing him, completely and thoroughly, until he's open for the first time. And it's raw and new, and it hurts, but something in him knows that the pain will give way to something beautiful.

He watches as you step up to him, wrapping your arms around his waist and leaning your head against his chest.

"Happy birthday, Simon," you say softly.

He can't say anything, not now, so he pulls you closer to him, strong arms cradling you against him, and you're close enough that he can feel when the corner of your mouth turns up into a smile

Another lock coming off. Another piece of proof that he can be something different, something better, with you.

[obsessivevoidkitten]

Practical Demonstration

Kinktober Day 3: Exhibitionism Yandere Male Alpha Professor x Gender Neutral Omega Teacher Assistant CW: Noncon, public sex, exhibitionism, abuse of authority, knotting, musk, scent kink, biting, claiming bites, pheromones, overstimulation, a/b/o dynamics, slick, suppressants, manipulation, praise kink, general yandere behavior Word Count: 1.6k (Okay guys, hope you enjoy this given how long you have waited for it! PLEASE comment, comments feed me <3)

You were the teacher's assistant for the renowned and well-regarded Professor Reid Sullivan. He had degrees involving anatomy and physiology as well as the psychology of alphas and omegas, and the college he taught at was prestigious.

Professor Sullivan was a bit of a prodigy, already being a highly respected academic despite only being in his early-thirties. His unkempt shaggy hair, dark circles around his eyes, and slight stubble made him appear older. His classes were popular, though he refused to teach large crowds. They reduced his efficacy. At most, he would teach 24 students at a time. This class, though, was limited to 20.

This meant students were always clamoring to sign up before all the slots were filled. Not only were people eager to watch him teach because he was so accomplished and good at educating but also because he was considered rather attractive by many students.

It didn't help that he was also an alpha, and despite his tired nerdy demeanor, he was actually quite fit.

But the main reason his classes were so popular was that he often incorporated live demonstrations into his lessons. In the past, he had omegas demonstrate heat and alphas show off knots while he pointed to and described the anatomy and the purpose for it. He even had an alpha and omega pair demonstrate mating on more than one occasion.

Working under him wasn't bad at all. You were an omega, so you were naturally pretty nervous at first. Working with an alpha superior could sometimes be rather hard. Even in this progressive age, there was still a degree of discrimination and power abuse.

Professor Sullivan was exceedingly kind to you. He even got you coffee and something to eat every morning, even though that would typically be a task more suited to you. He also let you sit in his large cushy chair and was quick to let you use his jacket as you rarely used one, and his classroom tended to be cold.

He was very patient and understanding, guiding you through lessons and helping you learn how to handle a class.

Then, on the day of the final lecture, his true colors were revealed.

He locked the door and then stood in front of it. He put on the display screen a presentation about seducing and breeding an omega.

"Omegas are instinctively attracted to mates that provide them with food. It doesn't have to be major, but a daily coffee and small bit of food will make them naturally more receptive to you..."

The lecture went into greater detail on the subject, also explaining how he microdosed the coffee to make suppressants less effective, but you weren't paying much attention. You were too busy staring at the screen that had pictures of you happily sipping coffee or nibbling on muffins or bagels. It was all so surreal.

"For a shy omega, you can't simply bombard them with your scent. It could scare them away or turn them off completely from your continued advances. Instead, get them acclimated to it..."

The screen now showed how he slightly scented his chair and jacket and gradually scented it more juxtaposed with images of you grading papers while wearing the jacket and sitting in his chair.

You were mortified. Professor Sullivan was a monster! You tried to push past him and get to the door. It almost worked as he was taken aback by your determination to escape, but the extra few seconds that you spent fiddling with the lock were all he needed to wrap his arms around you from behind.

"If your omega acts fearful before mating then the steps we took earlier will help us now."

“G-get off!”

You thrashed and squirmed, but he licked, sucked, and nibbled at your neck until the overstimulation clouded your mind and made your resistance much more feeble. After that, he turned you towards him and, after disrobing completely, pushed your head under his arm so that you got a full dose of his pheromones.

The students gave the professor their undivided attention. One or two omega students envied your place as they stared with wide-eyed fascination at Professor Sullivan's now throbbing cock. The rest were a bit uneasy because you clearly hadn't been willing. They weren't actually too shocked, though, this type of thing wasn't exactly uncommon.

"See how limp the omega is? That's because I canceled any bothersome suppressants, made them accepting of my scent, and subconsciously had them see me as a provider."

The professor had a student roll over his chair to the center of the class before locking the wheels in place. He sat you down tenderly after taking off all your clothing and setting it aside.

"Gather around class, feel free to masturbate as long as you pay attention. This is especially important for you alphas."

Some of the students rubbed their crotches. The alphas encouraged the omegas since it would be helpful later to get them all hot and bothered. After the class formed a circle around the two of you, he continued.

"Now, before an alpha inserts themself into their omega, they must make sure the omega is properly slicked up. Some was produced earlier, but we will want more."

He demonstrated the proper neck stimulation techniques as well as how to slowly stretch out and prepare an omega by inserting gradually more fingers. Then he showed them how to massage an omega’s entrance with their cocks before penetration.

Before he even slipped his cock into you, you were already drooling with a dazed expression.

"Okay class, I said today would be an interactive lesson. The 10 alpha students were each delegated an omega and as part of their final grade, they were tasked with doing everything to their omega classmate that I have done to the TA. Omega students will be granted a participation grade."

The alpha half of the class began pulling the omegas close, stuffing the omegas' faces into their musky crotches or underarms.

The omegas were all bewildered. One gladly accepted their fate, a few were shocked into inaction, and most struggled. Only one managed to escape and get out the door but was chased down and brought back.

These were all students with dreams and goals, most didn't want to be an alpha's property and cumdump. At least not before they did things with their lives.

"I made sure all of your desks were sturdy enough for this, you can prop your omegas up on them if you'd like, putting your clothes on the desk and laying your omega on that will make them more comfortable, like a miniature nest with your scent."

The alphas were all stoked and barely able to hold back.

"If you have your omega in a state like our wonderful TA here is demonstrating then you may slip your cock into them, go slowly though, at least at first."

Professor Sullivan was the first to sink in, causing you to moan softly, soon the entire room was filled with the gasps and moans of a room full of omegas mingling with the grunting and heavy breathing of their alpha lovers.

The air was heavy with pheromones, musk, and the scent of slick.

Your mind wasn't really able to process what was happening around you, though. Your nose was focused on the scent of the one mating you as you instinctively wrapped your arms and legs around him.

"Oh, don't forget to praise your omegas, they may not understand your words right now, but the tone will soothe them."

He kissed you possessively.

"You're such a good mate for me. A perfect partner. So good at helping me teach this lesson. Taking my cock so well~"

He cooed into your ear lovingly as the alpha students praised and complimented their mates. Occasionally, an omega shuddered and squealed in orgasm with their alphas not too far behind.

Sullivan sped the pace up for you, and you didn't last much longer after that. You spasmed wonderfully around his dick as you came hard. Not the only time, though, as he coaxed several more climaxes from your trembling body before he finally came himself and tied you with his big knot.

"Once you've knotted your lover you should bite their neck to mark them as yours. This is essential to making your omega feel safe and loved and will make you secure in the knowledge that everyone knows who they belong to."

The professor bit your neck hard, causing you to moan more even as you flinched in pain.

"You look so beautiful with my mark."

After all the mating had finished and all the knots had deflated, the omegas were all still pretty out of it. Mating and being claimed took a lot out of them and it would probably be an hour or two before they recovered.

"Don't forget your homework! Aftercare is ESSENTIAL!!! Take your omegas to your dorms and make sure they are hydrated, well fed, and praised. If they get cranky at today's events, they probably just need another round or two of breeding."

Which, as it turns out, is exactly what he determined you needed when you wouldn't listen to reason at his home later. He tried to explain that it was all to enhance his teaching. He had been looking for the right omega to fall in love with and help with his lessons for YEARS!

And he finally found you. A TA aspiring to work in his field! You had always wanted a career in academics, and now you had one as his permanent assistant and live demonstration participant!

[taeslarityy]

outage ༄ joel miller one shot (18+)

-> pairing: no-outbreak joel miller au x female curvy reader

-> word count: 4.3k

-> summary: after a citywide power outage, you're left to deal with the scorching texas heat. until, the well-respected neighborhood dilf — joel miller — lends you a more than generous hand.

-> warnings/tags: sarah is 10/11 so joel had her a bit older, power outage, texas heat, yes this is a warning because its not a joke, reader has a cat!!!, age gap (reader is 24, joel is late 40s), curvy/mid/plus size reader, brief fatphobia, reader has self-image/parent issues + is a lonely gal, fluff, SMUT (18+), unprotected piv, creampie, oral + fingering (f!recieving), squirting, body worship, brief ass play, daddy kink, big ole tits, spanking, spit kink, praise kink, a bit of belly bulge, cockwarming, pet names galore (darlin, sweetheart, baby, _ girl), joel has a huge dick (not canon!)

-> a/n: hi hi! i have been so anxious to begin writing again and currently have some wips that i am just not confident with. so when i saw the lovely @hellishjoel post her #hotdilfsummerchallenge, i was positive i wanted to join in! such a pleasure to be involved in this — thank you kylee for creating such a fun way for this community to get involved! as a curvier woman, i wanted reader to reflect that. because... joel miller is a handsy mf and loves to just grab himself some wide hips, thick thighs and phat tits <3 but ofc, this is can be for various body types. please please please, leave your thoughts and even constructive criticism! <3 DILF NEIGHBOR JOEL, YOU WILL ALWAYS BE FAMOUS!!!!

You’ve got to be fucking kidding me. 

You release a groan of annoyance as the visual of your TV, coffee table lamp and humming of the refrigerator all flicker off into silence. The frills on your throw-blanket settle, as the ceiling fan no longer produces the small gusts of wind that have caused you to be rather chilly on this hot, humid and rainy summer night. 

When you made the courageous decision of moving across the country for a new teaching opportunity in Austin — you were never informed on the true brutality summertime unleashed onto Texas residents. More-so, you really had nothing to do but be caged up in the comfortable AC of your home. You’ve been here for roughly 14 months and the only "friends" you’ve made have been the 28 fourth graders you had the pleasure of teaching last school year. Tragic. 

Your coworkers, did not handle your arrival pleasantly. Young, beautiful, freshly-educated and determined. That’s what your grandmother referred to you as when you called her sobbing after your first week. Informing her that the seasoned teachers won’t even bat an eye at you, and when they do it’s a look of disgust. Whispering amongst one another. Like you were in middle school again, trying to befriend the popular girls. 

“I was foolish to think things could be different for me down here, so stupid of me.”

“Now listen to me, you are the most intelligent woman I know. More than anyone in this family. Bullies like that, it stems from an unknown jealousy and overbearing insecurity. Don’t let a few sour grapes ruin this outstanding career for you. Your students adore you already, and so do I. Just continue to be yourself and if that isn’t enough for them, so be it.”

Your grandmother always knew how to make you feel better. She had been instilling your own sense of confidence since you were a little girl. The only adult in your life to do so. If only her words were enough. Your coworkers just never let up. After overhearing them gossip about you during lunch break, you gave up your attempts indefinitely. 

“She really thinks she deserves a place here?”

“Look at her back rolls in that shirt…”

“She really needs to put that sandwich down.”

“Why is she so quiet? It’s freaky, honestly. No wonder she’s always alone.”

You’re not a stranger to being alone. You practically have been your entire life. Your parents never really bothered to form a genuine relationship with you, always so focused on your younger sister. She was the prettier, thinner, more impressive version of you. You have only had one best friend throughout your long 24 years on this earth. She was smarter than you and moved away from the timid small town you shared in Northern Maine, choosing an out-of-state university. So, being alone was a familiarity. You have made peace with it. But being lonely — that’s a whole other ball-park. 

The booming thwack of thunder startles you from your thoughts. Your sweet calico boy leaps from your warm lap and scurries under the dining table — tail puffed in fear. “Milo... it’s okay,” you whisper. He just gleams at you with his jet-black saucer eyes. Even you don’t believe your own words. You are not used to storms like this, and you didn’t really prepare. You read some articles online about stocking up: having plently of batteries, candles, non-perishable foods. Yet, you didn’t do any of that. 

Rubbing away the moisture from your damp upper lip — the heat inside your home already becoming unbearable. Deciding on a whim, you can head to a nearby hotel for the night. Unsure how long you will be without power and don’t wish to succumb yourself or your cat to the searing temperatures of the night. 

The rain has slowed down, as you feel the soft patter on your umbrella. Throwing your purse and water bottle in the front seat, you begin to dread unpacking all this stuff when you get to the hotel. Bags, cat litter, cage — scrutinizing yourself mentally and deciding you better fucking prepare for the next storm. 

“Where ya headin’ sweetheart?”

Your heart jumps at the deep smooth Southern voice that fills your thoughts at night. When your hands would find their way in between your quivering legs. Throughout the day. Pretty much all the time.

Joel Miller is the only person in this town that has ever filled the lonely void you can never seem to fill. When you moved to the quiet suburban street, he was the first to come greet you as you struggled to pull your mattress out of the U-Haul. Immediately lending a hand, and proceeding to lug all of your remaining boxes, furniture, miscellaneous items into your new home. 

“Pretty lady like you, shouldn’t have to lift a single finger.” He remarked when you blushed and assured him you could handle the rest, not wanting to be a burden. Even though the sweat dripping down your back was apparent and 5 minutes prior you had no idea how you’d be able to unpack the remainder of the truck. He then assured you — there was no way in hell you were being a burden. Words that were a rarity. 

Later that afternoon, he invited you for dinner at his home. You met his lovely daughter, Sarah. Where everyone learned that you were her new school teacher. What were the odds? 

Following that, seeing Joel was frequent. From parent-teacher conferences, backyard barbecues for the neighborhood, or even small intimate dinners with Sarah at each others homes. Sarah would even spend the night at yours on occasion. When Joel had a late night at the construction site, or when she just needed some girl time. You adored that little girl, and vice versa. 

You also adored the fuck out of Joel. 

So when you looked up at his porch, finding him in nothing but a pair of plaid pajama pants.. your throat went dry. His tanned skin gleamed softly from the street light — little speckled freckles adorned his waist in various spots. And that darkish grey hair on his chest and fat of his lower tummy that flowed underneath his pants. Your brain fuzzy at the thought of your face pressed against it as you swallow his cock. 

But you were not a fool. Joel would never express an attraction towards you. A man like that? He deserved the perfect woman. 

“Darlin’?” He speaks again, a bit louder. Disturbing your wandering thoughts. 

“I- I was gonna head to a hotel for the night, my house is too hot already. And I don’t want Milo to be uncomfortable.” 

Joel’s eyes wander down your body as you explain — the plush jiggle of your tits in that small tank. Nearly spilling out. Slightly damp from the rain or humidity. The chub of your tummy spills slightly from your leggings. A sight that makes his cock swell unbearingly. An act that occurs more often than not when he sees you or even thinks of you for the countless minutes of his day. 

“No way. Not gonna let ya drive in this weather. Plus, most hotels nearby are gonna be overbooked. I got the generator up n’ working, got the spare room too. You’re stayin’ over.” 

“No! No, Joel. I can’t.”

“N’ why not?” His hands have found his way to his hips, popping a knee out and giving you that classic dad glare. Not angry, but confused as to why you’re even protesting when he’s already decided. 

“I don’t want to intrude and I have Milo. You and Sarah are allergic.”

“Sarah left yesterday to stay with her mom in California for the rest of the summer. Besides, Milo loves me. I can handle a runny nose as long as I know the two of ya are safe.” 

To this, your stomach nearly flips inward on itself. You’ve never been alone with Joel in his home. Not for this long. The few times you’ve come over to help him with dinner before Sarah got home from soccer practice, have always been excruciating. Staring at him without worry. Watching his muscles flex through his t-shirts. Big hands chopping vegetables and plating food. His hand lightly touching your waist when scooting by. 

There’s no possible way you can survive a night in Joel’s home. 

But, he’s already grabbing his umbrella and walking over to you. He grabs your stuff from the car and tells you to go grab Milo. So, you do.

Joel slips on a t-shirt after he put your stuff in the spare room, disappointedly enough. You nearly told him to keep it off, but held your tongue. You made yourself comfortable at the island barstool as you typed up some early lesson plans, Milo at your feet. 

He patters over to Joel who is now leaning against the counter, brushing against his leg. He then leaps onto the granite and purrs against Joel’s arm. 

“Psst! Milo get do-“ you beg, embarrassment coloring your cheeks. 

“S’ okay, sweetheart. He’s not botherin’ me,” Joel attempts to settle your nerves. Petting Milo’s soft fur and scratching under his chin, that special spot all cats love. “Can I get you anythin’ to drink?” He nods towards the coffee he’s brewing. 

“Coffee would be nice, thank you.” You beam at him. Joel’s heart skips a beat every time your cheeks puff up ever so slightly when you smile at him. It’s something he swears is the most endearing thing about you. Of course, he’s only ever shared that with his daughter. Who begs her father to just take her favorite teacher on a date already. 

Joel grabs some sugar and oat milk from the fridge, your favorite. He learned from the few breakfasts you guys had shared. A bit of sugar and a nice gulp of milk softens the dark roast color in the mug, he slides it over to you as he grabs his plain black coffee. 

“You remembered!” You giggle slightly at the Number 1 Dad title that adorns the mug, taking a sip. You moan at the taste, exactly how you like it. 

“Of course I did, darlin’.” You almost hate how easily those pet names roll of his tongue. You summed it up as his southern hospitality, figured he calls any woman those special names. “So, you ready for this new school year?”

An icky feeling settles in your stomach. The thought of returning to the painful and toxic work environment you can only escape when you’re with your students.

“Not without my Sarah girl,” you swiftly change the subject towards the one person he can talk hours about.

He smiles proudly at her name. 

“Ya know, she still all mad that you wouldn’t flunk her so she could have another year with ya.” Both your laughs quickly fill the empty house. 

“Well, even if I tried to, that girl is too smart for her own good. She should skip a grade in my opinion.” You state, and you’re truthful at that. Sarah Miller is as intelligent as she is quick-witted. 

“Yeah, she gets it from me.” At that you roll your eyes playfully. Typing something up before closing your computer and taking another sip of coffee. “Although I love boastin’ over her, I guess I meant are you excited to go back? They treat ya good there?” 

Joel watches the color drain from your soft skin. Realizing he touched somewhere that might be too personal. Too raw. “M’ sorry sweetheart, shouldn’t have asked.”

“No- no uh, you’re fine. Um, honestly? No. I’m not excited. The staff there aren’t exactly the kindest bunch.” You confess, slight unease crawling over you. 

Joel’s eyes scrunch in confusion. Mind blank on how the kindest soul he knows, could be surrounded by complete opposite. “Whatcha mean?”

You sigh letting the anxiousness settle a bit before speaking again, “they hate me. I don’t even know why, really? I have tried my hardest to get them to accept me but nothing seems to work. Whether it’s jabs at my appearance, teaching style, they’re never satisfied.” Your eyes are burning slightly, haven’t confessed this burden you constantly carry to anyone. “If it wasn’t for your daughter and my class, and… you.. well, I think I wouldn’t have made it through. I try to be strong, I try to be everything that people expect from me but it’s just so hard, Joel.” At that, the fat tears begin to stream down your face.

Joel was frozen in shock. Or maybe anger. Protectiveness. He wanted to hurt the people who made you feel like this. The least deserving of any pain. He sets his mug down and snatches you in his embrace. Holding your head with his hand, stroking your back with the other. He lets you sob almost uncontrollably into his firm chest. 

“I just hate being so alone.” You whisper, clutching onto him. You can’t even be embarrassed anymore, you’re so overthrown by his scent, his comfort. Comfort you’ve not felt in so so long. 

Joel kisses your temple softly, "promise you're not alone, sweet girl." He nudges your head to look up at his own sorrowful expression. His thumb running over your full lips, a bit swollen from your teeth biting down on them in an attempt to muffle your sobs. "So beautiful." He murmurs as he leans down to place a kiss on your left cheek, his lips skim over yours before he places another on your right.

Joel just barely hears the whimper from the back of your throat when that feather light skim happened. He leans back half an inch, staring into your glossy eyes. "Tell me not to, and I'll let you go upstairs and get some rest. Tell me, sweetheart."

It feels like a whole minute passes by. The soft patter of the rain, the smell of coffee beans from each others breath, the same slow breathing that overwhelms the little space between you both.

Desperation.

Your fingers tighten on his shirt, "don't let me go upstairs, Joel."

Joel smashes his mouth into yours, his guttural groan flying into your soft whimpers. The softness Joel expressed a moment ago is long gone. This kiss is messy, teeth-clanking, tongue inside your mouth. Like he wants to devour you from the outside in. He releases your lip with a pop.

He threads his thick fingers through the base of your hair and yanks it back gently, tongue on your neck. Biting the skin there. "You're so soft, baby. Just need me to mark ya up, is that right?"

You nod as hard as you can despite his harsh grip on your locks.

"I need you to use your words, sweet girl. Let me know what you're thinkin'."

"Everything you do is okay. I want more. I need it all. Please."

"Oh baby, cm'ere," he wraps your lavish thighs around his waist and hoists you into his arms. Easily. Like you're just the most delicate thing he's ever held.

As he walks to his bedroom, you smile into his neck. Arms wrapped over his shoulders, hand rubbing ever so softly at his greying curls. You bite at the skin under his ear and he gives your ass a huge squeeze. Groaning at how his big hands barely hold all the meat there. He couldn't wait to touch and gnaw at this body he loved.

At the foot of his bed, he taps your leg as if telling you to get down. You stand in front of his massive overbearing figure, staring up at him lustfully. You grab the bottom of your compression tank top and pull it over your head, revealing your unsupported chest. Your heavy tits fall a bit.

"My god," Joel falls to his knees in front of you, face nearly level with your pebbled nipples. Both his hands grab a fistful of each, rolling them in his palm. Your sweet noises fill the room and he swears he might've just came in his pajama pants right there. He takes his teeth and bite at the fat above your leggings, licking and sucking at a sensitive part of you. Literally and figuratively.

Joel abandons your chest to yank your leggings and panties down in one move, coming face-to-face with your prickly oozing pussy. He can't restrain himself much longer, spinning you around he pushes you down into his mattress.

He spreads your ass open with both hands, the chub of your lips open ever so slightly as the slick between them strings together.

"Perfect cunt." That's when you feel the chill of liquid spat right onto your puckered hole, dripping down to your clit. He leans in, tongue catching the tangy mixture of your slick and his saliva, right on your throbbing clit.

You screech into the sheets, so turned on from his actions. As he licks up to dip his tongue into your hole, one hand that's holding you open sneaks up your back, to your neck and yanks your head up.

"Nu-uh, let me hear you, baby girl." He demands as he pauses to throw his shirt off as fast as possible — not wanting to leave your cunt for too long without the warmth of his mouth.

He sloppily makes out with your cunt as it clenches and unclenches under his tongue, his beard prickling at your skin. Like he wants your scent all over him for as long as possible.

"Ohh daddy, more more," you whisper hazily, hand reaching back to grab his head desperate to have him as deep as possible.

Joel stops as he processes your choice of title. "What was that, darlin'?"

You freeze at his serious tone. Just now realizing what you've called the man. "Oh my god, I'm s-" Joel grabs your wrist and pins it against your lower back — thick middle and ring finger hooking into you with no warning. Your wetness aiding in the rapid slide of them.

He spits on your puckered hole again and abandons your wrist to land a harsh smack against your ass.

"Only dirty girls say that word, baby. Are you daddy's dirty girl?" He edges you on as he spanks you again on the opposite side. Hard. Unsparing. A side of Joel you've never seen. And oh, does it make you feel that coil tightening within you.

"Mmmm yes yes 'm your dirty girl, daddy!" You groan loudly, eyes swelling with fresh tears. But not tears of pain from earlier, pleasure.

Joel's fingers fuck into you harder, thumb now rubbing at your clit as he leans forward to prod his tongue at your asshole. "Cum for me, my nasty sweet girl. Drench my face. Let me taste you even more." He halts his fingers knuckle deep, hooked inside your cunt as he presses into that spot on repeat. Like he's stroking it out of you.

That's all it takes for you to silently scream as you squirt all over his lower beard covered face and your thick inner thighs, that nearly squish his head from how hard you're coming. Joel just keeps himself situated, never letting up. Allowing you to completely let go and rut back into him, telling him you need more.

"Thaaat's it, my good fuckin' girl.” He praises as he kisses your cunt and ass, he leans over your face capturing your lips in a kiss so messy and depraved. “Open that mouth.” Spitting roughly onto your tongue with a groan as you taste your sweetness that he knows he will forever be addicted to. No chance of recovery.

He ruts his thick bulge into your ass as you whine needly.

"Really want you to fuck my face, now." You beg, hand reaching down to grope him through his loose pjs.

"Mmmmm," he murmurs as his hips keep rutting into you. "Tonight is about you, baby. M' gonna stuff your tight cunt so fuckin' deep you'll feel it in your throat, don't worry." And with that promise, he releases himself, throbbing cock slapping against his lower tummy. You flip onto your back just to see it and your eyes widen at the sight before you.

You always knew it was huge just from perception, but god. It's thicker than your wrist, and looks like it would prod into your cervix. Painful even. Joel senses the worry on your face as he pushes your legs back against your chest. Admiring the way your stomach folds into itself, soft roll after roll. And the thickness of your inner thighs lays heavy. He just wants to get down and feast on you again but he might die if he doesn't feel you wrapped around him.

"You're in charge here, sweetheart. Understood?" He explains as he rubs his fat cock head up and down your swollen slit — notching on your opening with every downward stroke.

You nod slowly, peeking down at the monster between your legs once more. He squeezes your ankle, subtly reminding you to vocalize.

"Yes daddy, I understand."

"Good." And with that, he pushes into your fluttering hole. Your eyes roll back immediately, head thumping onto the soft duvet. He pushes in deeper, barely halfway in and he sees your feet and eyes scrunch a bit. It almost feels like he could rip you apart. Maybe it's because you haven't been fucked in a hot minute — or maybe it's just that Joel is so fucking hung. More than any guy you've slept with.

“Deep breath for me, sweetheart.” He soothes you, as soon as he sees your chest fall — he slams the rest of the way in. Hips flush with the back of your thighs. Cock fully sheathed in your warm soaked cunt. Heavy brimming balls pressed against your little puckered hole. “You feel so damn good. Dripping for me.” Joel’s eyes close at the feeling of you hugging him so tight. He suddenly forgets the feeling of any other woman he’s pleased. Utterly devoted to you from here on out.

When he pulls out all the way to his fat tip — it notches on your opening. Like he has to put in that extra effort to fully remove himself from you. But he doesn’t, and starts fucking into you fully. Never half way, never pulling completely out.. but always making sure he reaches the end of you.

“Da- daddy oh, harder please.” You plead, squeezing his forearm at the overwhelming feel of him nudging your cervix with every thrust.

That confirmation of pleasure is all Joel needs to push your legs back even more — ankles by your head — and began a brutal relentless pace. Grabbing a fistful of your jiggling tit and messy hair, he pulls your head up so you can watch how he ruins you for anyone else.

“Ya see that, see how swollen your gettin’ already?” Joel questions as he holds your head perfectly to observe the slight lifted pudge on your tummy. Paired with the way his coarse hair rubs against your swelled clit — it’s a drool worthy sight.

“Cus’ your so big, Joel.” You sigh, eyes fluttering from the primal force he’s using on your body.

A smug grin flicks across his face at the view. Mind consumed by the most perfect woman. Eyebrows turning inward, the little lines between them deepening as you try to comprehend all the emotions in this moment. Removing his hand from your head, he finds your clit and swipes it upward. Over and over. Leaning down, he sucks as much of your breast into his mouth as humanely possible. Tongue flicking the pebbled area, coercing your orgasm from you. “Cum with me, baby.” His muffled command shoots straight to your filled core.

As he feels you spasm around his thickness, he stills balls deep. “There it is, baby…” Spilling his cum inside your warmth. Plugging you, keeping you full of him. Joel relaxes his body against yours, finding your mouth to kiss you gently. Sweaty foreheads against one another. Joel goes to push off of you, his comforting body heat about to be ripped away.

"No! Wanna feel you longer, please."

Your protest makes Joel's heart surge. "Of course, sweet girl." Wrapping his large arms around you, he flips you both so that your soft plush body lays above him. The new angle makes his spent cock nudge a bit deeper, you both moan at the faint squelch of his cum overflowing your cunt. "You're so perfect," he mutters.

Smiling into his full chest, you leave a swift kiss. "So are you. Thank you for this. For.. everything."

Joel's hands finds your back as he begins gentle strokes onto your supple skin, his head resting atop your own. "Thank you, darlin'. I want you to understand something, you might just be the finest thing that ever happened to Sarah and I. Y'know, she didn't really want to see her mom. Never had the best relationship with her. She just wanted to spend the remainder of the summer havin' ya over everyday to swim and all. That girl admires you more than anyone."

Eyes foggy, you shift to gaze up at him. "And what does her father think?"

Joel pauses briefly, rich brown orbs beaming into yours. "Think she's damn right. She didn't want me to tell you this, but she left so I could have some alone time with you — take ya out. Scolded me sayin' by the time she's back, we better be together." He laughs at the thought, you join him. Picturing that 4'9 ball of fire lecturing her father on the rules of dating.

"So, you're asking me out Miller?" You question with a heavy hopeful heart.

"Should've done it forever ago, darlin'." He confesses, placing a delicate kiss on your temple.

And with that, you place your head back onto the warm chest of the man you've craved your entire life. Realizing, ever since that day where he first greeted you with that sultry gentleman voice — you were never truly alone.

thank you truly for reading! let me know your thoughts below or in asks!! reblogs are greatly appreciated <3

[flowersforbucky]

where the lines overlap

logan howlett x reader (dofp!logan x mutant!reader)

word count: 8.7k

summary: no one gets under your skin quite as much as logan howlett - and he knows it, too. sex pollen trope.

warnings/tags: 18+ only mdni, smut, sex pollen so dub con, frenemies to lovers? they aren't enemies but logan and reader don't really get along, reader is a mutant with pyrokinesis, reader is afab, reader is described as being smaller than logan, no use of y/n, wet dream, fuck or die situation, oral, pet names (bub, princess), brief pain kink for logan, unprotected p in v, cream pie

author's note: takes place after the events of days of future past - so everyone's alive, charles is old af, and logan has a pretty streak of silver in his hair. not proofread super well so please ignore any errors.

There's certain things that you like to think about when you're pissed off. It’s a coping mechanism that you learned in therapy at the ripe age of eleven.

Go to your happy place or whatever.

For you, that's the mansion's courtyard after a fresh snowfall, and having the library all to yourself on a rainy day, and the comfort of your bedroom on one of the rare days that you aren’t teaching, or training, or on a mission.

At this point in your life, you’ve forgotten just about everything you were taught in that therapist's office. It's not like you had wanted to be there, but your parents had been worried and scared – and rightfully so. With the unexpected emergence of your pyrokinetic abilities came multiple accidental house fires born out of preteen angst.

So they did the only thing they knew to do at the time – stick you in therapy in hopes you would acquire some anger management techniques.

These days, you have a pretty good handle on your powers. With a lot of time and effort, you learned to control them – and not just control them, but yield them in a beneficial and productive way.

All of that progress comes dangerously close to going out the window anytime you're in close proximity to Logan Howlett.

Maybe all is an exaggeration – but no one else makes your fingertips burn hot with fire that threatens to break through the barrier of your skin quite like him. From his bossiness to his arrogance and attitude, you’ve clashed heads since the first day you met him.

Today is no different.

“Don’t use so much force.”

You curse as the tip of the blade impales the target a whopping three inches from the center. By far your worst throw yet, though this one isn’t entirely your fault.

You snap your head towards the unexpected but familiar voice, pulling your last dagger from the holster secured around your thigh before chucking it in his general direction. It flies past him, bouncing off the wall behind him.

You knew that it wouldn’t actually hit him. And if by some miracle it had, he’d heal in two seconds and then go right back to being a pain in your ass.

A good looking pain in your ass, admittedly. But a pain in your ass nonetheless.

He looks at you with an amused expression. “See? Too much force.”

“I didn’t know that having giant forks for hands made you an expert on throwing knives.”

He exhales a breathy laugh, staring at you for several seconds before turning to pick the dagger up from the ground. He then proceeds to collect the rest of the knives that you had previously thrown from the body of the practice target.

In heavy silence, he struts over to you with the daggers in hand. He turns to face a wooden target board, finding the balance point of the knife before sending it flying through the air.

Bullseye.

“A long time ago, when I first joined this team, Charles made me practice a non-power related method of self-defense, too.” He pauses, lining the second dagger up with the practice dummy. To no surprise, it’s another perfect throw.

“Wanna guess what I chose?”

You snatch the remaining knife out of his hand.

“How to annoy someone by sneaking up on them and giving them unsolicited advice while they are minding their own business?”

You position your feet once again, holding the knife up in preparation to take aim. Your eyes dart back and forth between the blade and the target ahead of you. You hesitate, feeling nervous under his gaze.

Logan moves from standing beside you, to standing behind you. Your breath catches in your throat as his large figure looms over you. If he were to took a step forward, his chest would brush against your back.

He uses the tip of his boot to nudge your heel forward half an inch, adjusting your stance. He takes your right hand in his, and you have to consciously remind yourself to breathe.

A wave of annoyance washes over you that he’s able to fluster you so easily. It makes you as pissed at yourself as it does him. He’s barely touching you – his hand dwarfing yours is the only point of physical contact, but you’d think that he were pinning you up against a wall with his body.

You tell yourself the sudden light-headedness and increased heartrate is because of the newfound closeness, and nothing more. You’re used to being around Logan – the two of you live together and work together. His general presence is nothing new. But the intimacy of your current predicament is.

And maybe the fact that notes of tobacco and bourbon are infiltrating your senses doesn’t help.

“As unsolicited as my advice may be,” he says lowly as he pulls your hand back slightly, “I give it because if there is ever a situation where someone's trying to hurt you, and you’re unable to light them on fire for some reason, I would really hope that you could at least impale them.”

He tightens his hold on your hand, and then snaps both of your wrists forward. Surprisingly, your brain registers to release your grip just in time. When the tip of the blade impales the center of the target perfectly, he drops your hand.

But he doesn’t move from behind you.

“Much better. Now come back upstairs. Charles needs to see all of us in his office.”

••••••

You and Logan are the last people to enter Charles’ office.

Storm, Scott, Jean, Marie, and Bobby have all found places to sit throughout the small room. Logan chooses to lean against the door that clicks shut behind him, while you exhale in relief at the sight of an empty chair on the opposite side of the room, next to Marie.

“Ah, how nice of you two to join us,” Charles greets. “I was starting to think that Logan got lost on his way to retrieve you.”

You force out a laugh, earning a side-eye from Marie as Charles launches back into whatever he had been in the middle of before you two interrupted.

“Everything okay?” Marie murmurs to you. “You looked a little sick when you walked in.”

“Oh, yeah,” you shrug her off without looking at her. You keep your eyes on Charles. “Yeah, I'm just tired. Been training all morning.”

What were you supposed to tell her? That you were thankful to be wearing a tactical suit so that Logan couldn’t see all of the goosebumps that bloomed across your skin when he was practically breathing down your neck less than five minutes ago? Or that the walk back up to Charles’ office was filled with a loaded silence in place of your usual bickering and banter?

Marie might be one of your closest friends, and you trust her, but Logan is something of a fatherly figure to her. There’s no way you’re letting her hear those words come from your mouth.

You try your hardest to focus on all of the information that Charles throws at you. You’re all to leave on a mission early tomorrow morning. When he explains where you’re going and why, chills run down your spine.

Alberta, Canada – more specifically, Alkali Lake. All of your friends seem to tense up at the mere mention of the place.

You dig your teeth into your lower lip, fighting the urge to sneak a glance to try to gauge Logan's reaction. You’ve never been to Alkali Lake before, and you’re far from excited about going – you can only imagine how he feels, given his history with the abandoned military base.

After no word of any activity surrounding the base for years, Charles had been made aware that the recent disappearance of a group of young adult humans had been traced back to Alkali Lake – to a modern day subsidiary of the group Weapon X.

The same group responsible for Logan’s skeleton being made from adamantium.

This, of course, is where all of you come in.

After a detailed rundown of the goals for tomorrow – the main one being safe extraction of the humans – Charles dismisses all of you to rest for the remainder of the day.

When everyone stands up, you finally risk glancing at Logan, but he’s already opening the door to Charles’ office and strutting away.

••••••

Thick stubble scratches your innermost thighs as sharp teeth and soft lips alternate between kissing and biting the sensitive flesh between your legs.

His face is covered in your slick from the three orgasms he’s already pulled from you with his tongue. He lays nestled between your legs, pinning you to the mattress beneath you. Your thighs rest across his shoulders, his hands splayed across your belly.

You're putty in his hands.

“I've gotta say, the sounds you make when you cum are way cuter than the sounds I'm used to hearing from you,” Logan muses against your cunt. His voice sends a vibration over your already overstimulated core.

You can only guess that the sounds he’s referring to are annoyed sighs and you telling him to shut the fuck up, but right now, you don't care enough to ask for any clarification.

“Yeah?” You yelp when his tongue flicks against your swollen clit. “Maybe if you spent less time pissing me off you’d get to—”

You're cut off by him plunging the tip of his index finger inside you. You writhe against him, your walls constricting around the digit.

“Less time pissing you off, more time letting you fuck my fingers and face. Got it.”

The slamming of a door somewhere outside of your room causes you to bolt upright in your bed.

You open your eyes to darkness except for the red glow of the numbers on your digital alarm clock that read 12:26 in the morning. Your heart feels as if it’s going to beat right out of your chest, and your skin is clammy with a thin layer of sweat. You throw your covers away from you in an attempt to cool yourself off.

“What the fuck. What the fuck. What the fuck—”

You whisper the three words to yourself over and over again until your breathing resumes a normal pattern.

You’re alone, of course. In the comfort of your private room, where you had fallen asleep several hours ago. The difference between now and then is an uncomfortable pool of wetness between your legs, soaking your underwear.

You can’t even recall the last time you had such a vivid sex dream. It felt utterly lifelike – you reach down between your legs, trailing your fingers over the skin of your inner thighs where you had felt his beard tickle and tease you.

How the fuck are you supposed to look him in the eye tomorrow, when you’re having to work together to rescue humans from Alkali Lake? How are you supposed to come up with smart-ass remarks for his endless taunting and teasing when you’re going to be trying your hardest to not replay the images of his hazel eyes looking up at from between your thighs?

“Get a fucking grip,” you whisper hiss to yourself.

It’s Logan. The same Logan who acted like he was too good to say more than ten words to you the first half a year that you were with the team. The same Logan that tries to get you benched for the dumbest, smallest reasons he can think of. The same Logan that condescendingly calls you kid or princess every chance he gets because he knows it gets under your skin.

You need a glass of water. And some fresh air, and a cold shower—

You start by picking up the pair of sweatpants that you’d discarded before falling asleep a few hours ago. You step back into them, deciding to trek to the kitchen for some ice water. Your mouth feels as dry as cotton.

As you approach the end of the hallway that leads from the team member's bedrooms to the kitchen, you hear the soft shuffling of footsteps and see low lighting that spills from the refrigerator.

As soon as you step into the kitchen, you come to a halt. You recognize the large frame standing in front of the open fridge right away.

Of fucking course it would be him. And of fucking course he wouldn’t be wearing a shirt.

You clear your throat to announce your presence, not quite trusting your voice to speak. He looks at you over his shoulder, a bottle of beer pressed to his lips.

You walk over to the cabinet beside him, keeping your eyes off of him entirely as you get a glass.

“What's got you awake at this hour?” He closes the fridge, leaning back against the edge of the countertop. The only light in the room now comes from the small, dim bulb above the sink.

If he only fucking knew, you think. If he only knew that the real reason you are out of bed right now is because you’d just woken up from an extremely graphic, jarring dream of you riding his face.

You fill the cup up with cold water from the kitchen sink and take a large swig before once again turning to face him.

“Could ask you the same thing,” you answer with a vague gesture to his half-dressed form and beer bottle.

He takes in your appearance, too. His eyes trail from your exposed feet, to your baggy sweatpants, and up to your even baggier t-shirt before settling on your face. You feel particularly vulnerable under his gaze right now. You compare how you look to how he looks – with his stupid abs that look like God himself chiseled them from stone and his sweatpants that hang just a little too comfortably.

You sip on your water just to keep from biting your lip.

“Guess we were both thirsty,” he shrugs as he takes another sip of his beer.

“Guess so,” you hum, and because you don’t want to fall into an awkward silence and it’s the only thing you can think to add, you say, “Nervous about the mission?”

His expression darkens and posture tenses at your question. “I am,” he admits. “And if you knew as much as I do about that place, you’d be nervous, too.”

You huff. Your grip tightens around the glass in your hand at the mere insinuation that he knows your feelings. “Who says that I’m not?”

“If you’re going, you’re not nervous enough.”

You fight the urge to roll your eyes. You take a deep breath, knowing damn well the direction that this conversation is headed. You’d heard it all from him before – anything to keep you as far away from him as possible.

“Of course I’m going, Logan. Whether you think I’m good at it or not, it’s my job.”

“It’s not that I don’t think you’re good at your job. It’s about experience—”

You laugh, cutting him off. You can feel the telltale warmth of fire beginning to form beneath the tips of your fingers, your irritation threatening to bubble over.

“Experience?” you exclaim. “Do I need to remind you that I’ve been with this team for three years now? Just because I’m not two hundred years old like you doesn’t mean that I don’t have experience.”

“I’m very aware of how long you’ve been with this team, bub,” he says calmly, which makes you all the more heated.

“For three years you’ve spewed every bullshit reason you can think of to keep me on the sidelines,” you laugh. “I wish you’d fucking admit that you just don’t like me. It’d be a lot more respectable than acting like you’re worried about—”

Logan’s gaze drops to the glass in your hand, making you come to an abrupt pause. You follow his stare, realizing that you’ve managed to melt the glass where your fingertips grip the glass. Water begins to leak out from the holes, spilling onto your sweatpants and the floor below you.

There’s no visible flames emanating from your fingertips. Your anger hadn’t progressed to full on fire, just intense heat, but still. No one else makes you come as close to losing control as him.

No one. And he seems to know it, too. You can tell by the smug look on his face.

You dump what little liquid is left into the sink before chucking the distorted glass into the garbage.

You start to storm past him, to get away from him and go back to your room without another word, when he grabs you by the wrist. You look at him in bewilderment – this is the second time in the last twenty-four hours that he has held your hand in his.

“Didn’t know you were so hot and bothered over me,” he says with an amused smirk.

You rip your hand away from him, an exaggerated look of disgust on your face. Your recent dream pops into your head and you have to remind yourself that he’s not Jean or Charles – he can’t read your mind.

“You're lucky that you've got those handy healing powers,” you spit as you once again begin exiting the kitchen. “If I thought there was a chance of it actually shutting you up, I’d burn more than just Charles’ vintage glassware.”

You hear him say your name, but you’re already speed walking back to your room and playing your list of happy place thoughts on a loop in your head.

The soup that Storm makes when everyone at the school seems to get sick at the same time. One of your younger students picking you a flower. The smell of fresh laundry, the crisp pages of a new book.

Finally, your bedroom door clicks shut behind you.

You would have been better off just enduring the discomfort of a dry throat, you think. You don't know what's worse – not being able to sleep because you're rattled from a wet dream about him, or not being able to sleep because you've once again allowed him to get under your skin.

You crawl back under your covers, hoping that when you close your eyes, you don't see his face again.

••••••

Logan doesn’t make any more appearances in your dreams for the rest of the night, but that doesn’t stop him from being the first thing you think of when you open your eyes in the morning.

And as much as you hate to admit it to yourself, the only thing on your mind the entire flight from New York to Alberta.

From the tension that filled the air when he corrected your knife throwing technique yesterday morning to the warmth of his calloused hand when he grabbed you by the wrist in the kitchen last night, you're fighting a losing battle with no one but yourself.

As far as you can tell, he’s utterly unaffected. The fact that he chose to sit directly in front of you on the jet instead of any of the other empty seats says as much.

Not even ten minutes into the flight, you're staring at the tufts of his hair and his broad shoulders when you have to remind yourself that there's two telepaths occupying this jet with you. Though you trust both Charles and Jean to not read your mind without cause, the mere possibility of either one of them accidentally tuning into your thoughts and seeing a replay of your most recent dream or hearing you think about what it would be like to tug on those stupid fucking tufts of hair that resemble kitten ears is enough to mortify you.

You find yourself grateful that you brought a book and headphones with you to distract yourself for the duration of the trip.

An eerie feeling creeps into your bones as soon as you step onto the hanger of the jet. You can’t deny that the scenery surrounding the military base is beautiful – from the snowcapped mountains to the frost covered lake, it’s picturesque. But then your gaze settles on the large dam, and you remember what lies beneath.

“Can't say that I've missed this place,” Logan grunts, drawing your attention to him. His face is impassive other than his mouth being set in a hard, straight line as he stares out towards the water.

It's rare for Logan to elicit feelings outside of burning irritation (and maybe, possibly, sometimes arousal) from you – but right now, there’s a part of you that wishes the dynamic between the two of you were different.

As much as he infuriates you, you still care about him. You wish you could say that you didn’t, but the fact that you feel the urge to reach out and give his hand a reassuring squeeze makes that pretty hard to deny.

That urge dissipates as quickly as it comes over you. The bitter chill of the mountain wind and your teammates voices pull you back to reality. You awkwardly fiddle with one of the daggers strapped to your thigh instead.

“Jean and Scott, the two of you take the west side of the building,” Charles instructs when the group nears the discreet entrance. “Bobby and Rogue, clear the east wing. Storm and I will be keeping watch outside to make sure that no one tries to escape with the humans.”

“What about us?” you ask with a slight nod towards Logan. The fact that neither of you had been given instructions yet leaves it to be assumed that you’ll be paired up together.

You and Logan working as a pair was nothing out of the ordinary, and although that typically comes with a lot of annoyance, right now you can’t help but feel a little relieved by it.

Even if you are still irritated at him for his behavior and choice of words in the kitchen last night and even if you do think of him between your thighs every time you look at him for more than five seconds, he’s still more familiar with this place than anyone else here.

And no matter how much he makes you want to tear your hair out, there's never a time that you feel unsafe when he's near.

“You and Logan are to inspect the basement,” Charles answers. “I trust that you can refrain from melting any antique personal property until we are back at the mansion, my dear,” he adds with a knowing smirk.

“I was planning on paying you back for that,” you mumble.

“No,” Charles sighs. “You weren't. It was very expensive.”

Logan snorts, earning curious glances from everyone other than you and Charles. He does get a nasty side-eye from you – a silent promise to deliver on last night’s threat to find something to burn other than vintage glassware.

Your teammates split up into their respective groups upon entering the base, leaving you to follow Logan's lead towards the lower levels.

It’s unsettling just how silent it is. The only sounds are that of yours and Logan's boots against the ground. You'd be able to hear a pin drop from across the building.

And it's cold. The kind of cold that makes your bones ache. You instinctively flex your fingers, focusing on the warmth that radiates from the tips.

As the two of you make your way through the dark, seemingly endless basement, checking each room for signs of life, you can't help but think of Logan being here under much different circumstances.

You don't know the full extent of his time here – even he only remembers bits and pieces. But you know enough to know that this can’t be easy for him.

The fact that he's being uncharacteristically quiet only reaffirms that. He makes none of his typical taunts and jabs, only speaking when absolutely necessary.

You find yourself damn near wishing he’d make some snide comment about how you’re walking too loudly and how being partnered up with you feels like babysitting duty – if he did, maybe then you wouldn’t feel this annoying, persistent worry over his mental well-being.

“Logan,” you begin quietly as the two of you approach a large set of hospital style double doors at the end of a corridor. “I know being here can't be easy for you. I'm sorry that you have to be.”

He huffs a laugh under his breath, not meeting your eyes as he slowly pushes one of the doors open, peaking into the room before stepping inside and holding the door open for you.

“Just part of the job, bub,” he sighs. “I know what I signed up for.”

You enter, walking past him into the dark room. You shine your flashlight around the cramped space. Right away, you can tell that it’s vacant, as all of the other rooms you’ve checked have been. But it’s different – whereas most of the rooms have been completely empty, this one contains multiple twin sized beds. No frames, no pillows, just plain white sheets on each one.

“I know you do. But that doesn’t mean it isn’t hard.”

The door clicks shut behind him, and he shines his own flashlight around the room from right behind you.

“It’s okay, princess,” he snorts. “I’m a big boy. You don’t gotta pretend to be worried about me.”

Princess. Your fingertips tingle as soon as the pet name leaves his lips.

“I’m not pretend—”

The sudden, loud clicking of a deadbolt echoes through the room, silencing you. You and Logan stare at each other for a brief moment, startled and confused, before he turns around and pushes on the double doors to no avail.

He slams the full weight of his body against the metal, but it doesn't budge.

“What the fuck,” he growls in between repeated strikes against the doors.

“Logan and I are locked in a room in the basement,” you say as you click on the communication device in your left ear. “The door automatically locked after we came inside. We can’t get it open—”

You’re met with white noise.

“My fucking comm isn’t working.” Panic begins to set in as you yank the device out of your ear to inspect it. There’s a small green light indicating that it is on, but for whatever reason, it isn’t getting signal.

“Scott? Storm? Can anyone hear us?” Logan says as he messes with his own communication device. “Nothing,” he grunts after a moment of silence.

“Professor? Jean? If either of you are listening, now would be a great time to poke around in our brains and let us know.”

Nothing indeed.

“Okay,” Logan says as he backs away from the double doors. “Blast them.”

“Blast them?” You repeat, dumbfounded. “They’re industrial metal doors. They’re like two feet thick. These walls are made out of concrete.” You bang your first against the rock solid wall for emphasis. “What the fuck do you think fire is—”

“I don’t hear you suggesting anything!”

“How about not setting the room we are trapped in on fire? Only one of us has regenerative—”

A loud hissing noise sounds from above, causing you and Logan to both point your flashlights up towards the ceiling. You squint, trying to make sense of what you’re seeing. Large vents make up well over fifty percent of the ceiling, releasing what appears to be a fog like substance. It quickly transforms the air above you into one large, milky looking cloud.

“Charles! Storm! Scott – we need help. Quickly, we need help. I don’t know what’s going—”

You continue to shout into the communication device while Logan alternates between punching the door with his fists and throwing the full weight of his body against the metal, but all of your efforts are futile. The doors don’t budge, and you hear nothing but static from the comm.

You frantically glance around the room, looking for another escape route. There’s no other doors, and no windows. You’re completely enclosed by the four concrete walls and the impenetrable metal doors.

“Hold your breath!” Logan shouts as the fog descends upon the two of you, but it’s too late. The sickeningly sweet smelling mist encompasses you, making it impossible to see anything other than the thick silver vapor. It infiltrates your nostrils, causing you to gag. You cough, desperately trying to clear your airway of the substance.

It burns – your throat, your nostrils, your eyes and skin. Anywhere that it comes in contact with you feels like pins and needles.

You’re vaguely aware that Logan is somewhere to your left, asking if you’re okay in-between coughs and gags of his own. You can’t catch your breath well enough to answer him.

His hand clasps around the top of your arm. Your vision goes fuzzy and you collapse into him, light-headed from the profuse coughing.

“I think it’s dissipating,” Logan whispers in a strained voice, still supporting you so that you don’t fall to the floor. You risk cracking your eyes open the slightest bit, and realize that he’s right. There’s still a veil of mist surrounding you, but it’s no longer so opaque that you can’t see even two inches in front of your face.

You take deep breaths, making no effort to step away from him as you attempt to regain control of your breathing. Your lungs feel like they are on fire and your throat feels like you haven’t had any water in days.

“What the fuck was that?” Your voice comes out as a croak.

“Can you stand?” he asks you. You nod, reluctantly pulling away from his embrace.

As soon as he steps away from you to see if the doors are still locked, the momentary relief that you felt when the fog began to dissipate is replaced with renewed terror. The room, which was previously dark except for the light from your flashlights, suddenly glows a deep red color from the ceiling that now emits crimson fluorescence.

You open your mouth to call out for Charles or Jean again, when a throbbing sensation radiates throughout your gut. You clutch your hands over your abdomen, gasping at the sudden and awkward feeling.

Logan turns his attention away from the doors and back to you as soon as he notices how you’re hunched over. You stumble over to the bed that's closest to you, the world blurring around you in shades of red.

“Something is wrong,” you gasp out. You know you're stating the obvious – something has been wrong since the moment that the doors locked behind you.

He's next to you in two long strides, kneeling beside the bed and looking up at you in concern. The ache in your lower belly seems to worsen with his close proximity. Your skin feels feverish, making you want to peel your tactical suit off of your body.

“Tell me what you're feeling,” he demands. Other than obvious confusion and fear, he appears physically fine. You piece together that whatever that shit was, it’s effecting you much differently than it is him – undoubtedly due to his healing abilities.

You can't form a coherent sentence – all you can focus on is the way that the discomfort in your abdomen travels down to your groin, making you clench your thighs together. You have the inexplicable desire to reach out and pull him to you, as if having him as close as possible to you is the only solution for every uncomfortable thing happening to you.

“You gotta talk to me, bub. Tell me what’s going on,” he says when you don’t answer him. He puts a hand just above your knee and you have to hold back the whimper that threatens to break through your lips. He notices your pained expression and quickly withdraws his hand from your thigh.

“No!” you gasp, grabbing his hand in yours out of desperation to maintain some level of physical contact with him. “I – I don't know how to explain what’s happening. Just – I just need you to keep touching me. Please. Whatever that fog was, it’s making me feel like…”

You trail off, realizing that you must sound every bit as insane as you feel. You don’t know how to begin articulating what’s happening to you, because it makes no sense. When the silver mist first started to rain down from the ceiling, the last thing on your mind was Logan pinning you to one of these mattresses and railing you until you until you see stars. Now, you think that if he so much as stops holding your hand, you'll fucking die.

A look of clarity washes over Logan’s face – with a hint of something else that you can't quite pinpoint, too.

“I think I know what this is,” he murmurs. His stare is locked on one of the daggers strapped to your thigh. He squeezes your hand in his, though you don’t know if it’s to comfort you or himself.

“I’ve heard of this before. Didn’t know it actually exists. I came across it once when preparing a lesson on Alkali Lake—”

“What is it?” you implore.

His eyes finally flicker back up to yours. Images of last night’s dream flash through your mind again. Instead of his hand holding yours, you visualize his slender fingers pumping inside you. You stare at his lips, imaging the feeling of them sucking love bites into the meat of your inner thighs –

“It’s a chemical created for breeding experiments,” he answers after a pregnant pause. “They – Weapon X – wanted super mutants. Some of the subjects were… less than compliant. This made it so that they weren’t able to fight it.”

You let his words sink in. It’s not something you’ve ever heard of, but you don’t doubt that what he’s saying is true. How could you, with the way that your pussy is throbbing at the mere sound of his voice? Under normal circumstances, you might not read too far into that. But right now? On a mission, locked in a creepy basement, unable to get in contact with your teammates?

“Weren’t able to fight it,” you repeat slowly. “You're saying there’s only one way out of this.”

He doesn’t answer – just looks at you with sympathy. With pity.

“No,” you shake your head. You yank your hand from his grasp and move back across the mattress as the gravity of the situation hits you. To distance yourself from him feels like ripping air out of your own lungs, but the alternative is borderline unthinkable.

“I can’t – won’t ask that of you,” you declare. There’s a voice in the back of your mind that laughs at you, as if saying it’s cute that you think you have a choice. The pain and longing grow with each passing second, threatening to consume you from the inside out.

“You’re fine. It would be different if it was both of us. But you shouldn’t have to do this just because you're stuck here with me.”

“Have to? You make it sound like it would be a punishment for me,” he chuckles darkly. He finally rises from where he had been kneeling next to the bed. He stands beside the mattress, looming over you in the maroon lighting.

“Let’s not overcomplicate this, princess,” he murmurs. He grasps your face in his palm and tilts your head to look up at him. His touch is a balm – it feels like running a burn under a cold stream of water.

“I'm gonna take care of you, and then you can go right back to tolerating my existence.” He runs the calloused pad of his thumb over the swell of your bottom lip. Your eyes flutter shut, reveling in the sensation of the singular digit against your flesh.

“Besides, it’s not like you haven’t dreamed about this. Or were you moaning about someone else who just happens to have the same name as me last night?”

Your eyes shoot open at the revelation that not only had you said his name in your sleep, but he’d fucking heard you. And has the nerve to tease you about it at a time like this.

He's smirking down at you. His smugness irritates you often, but right now it’s enough to cause the tips of your fingers to burn hot. You jerk his hand away from your face, causing him to hiss when your fingers wrap around his wrist.

He chortles, his eyes rolling back in his head at the sensation. The reaction fills you with annoyance – of course he would have a fucking pain kink.

As much as it pisses you off, it also spurs you on. Blame the influence of the chemicals that you’re currently under, but the fact that he can so easily tolerate and even enjoy something that would have anyone else running in the opposite direction does something to you.

You’re past the point of finding it in you to care about consequences. You’re no longer thinking about how you’ll be able to look him in the eye when this is over, or how you’ll pretend like everything is perfectly normal when the two of you are back on the jet with your teammates.

Maybe you can fight this drug, or maybe he’s right and there’s no point in trying. Either way, you’ve decided that you're going to have him before you leave this room.

You drop his hand, bringing yours to the zipper at the neckline of your tactical suit. You slowly tug it downwards, gauging his expression as he watches you expose your chest and stomach.

For once, he’s all out of smart remarks.

A part of you feels a sense of satisfaction and wants to continue taking your time with undressing yourself, just to keep him looking at you like this – but every fiber of your being is screaming at you for more.

You waste no more time with shoving the restrictive Kevlar material down your arms, leaving you in only your bra from the waist up. Logan unfreezes at the sight, crawling onto the bed on his knees. You maneuver yourself so that you’re laying flat against the mattress, pulling him down with you.

He rips the fabric of your bra away from your breast, immediately attaching his mouth to your nipple. He rolls it between his tongue and teeth, causing you to arch your back into his touch. Your legs instinctively wrap around his hips, pinning yourself to the mattress with his body. You mewl at the feeling of your pebbled nipple in his warm mouth.

His other hand attempts to free the opposite breast, but the fabric is too tight and restrictive. He let’s out an annoyed growl, pulling back to unsheathe his claws and snip the material in between your tits, letting them spill free.

“Hey! I loved that bra—”

Your complaint dies in your throat when he slates his lips over yours.

There’s nothing slow or sensual about the way that he kisses you. He slips his tongue past your lips, moving his lips with fervency and urgency – like he needs this as badly as you do.

You buck your hips up into him, desperate for any amount of friction. He grinds down against you, his erection evident even through the thick material of both of your tactical suits.

He pulls back, breaking the kiss to unzip your suit the rest of the way down. He peels it down your thighs, only stopping to discard your boots. When you’re left in only your underwear, he looks at you with a satisfied smirk.

“So, what exactly was I doing in your dream to have you saying my name like that, huh?” he asks as he toys with the waistband of your panties.

You roll your eyes, your patience growing thinner as the ache in your belly grows stronger. He can tease you about that all he wants when you’re back in the safety of the mansion, when you’re no longer under the influence of potentially life threatening chemicals and capable of thinking of a proper comeback.

“Shut up and eat me out.”

His smirk only grows, but he doesn’t tease you any further. He tugs your panties down your legs, tossing them to the floor. He lowers himself onto his stomach, still fully dressed. Under less dire circumstances, you would’ve been eager to get him out of his clothes, too – but right now, your highest priority is feeling his mouth on you.

No wet dream could have prepared you for how euphoric it actually feels for his teeth to nip at the tender flesh of your inner thighs, or the way that his tongue draws lazy circles at your hole before his lips lock around your clit.

You writhe against him, chasing the release that you’ve been desperate for since the second the vapor first came in contact with your skin. He’s more than generous, expertly nursing at your swollen bud as he eases a slender finger inside your cunt.

One finger – that’s all it takes to feel your climax building, the coil in your lower belly tightening. You feel your walls pulse around the digit as your orgasm washes over you. You don’t even try to hold back your cries and praises of pleasure, letting him know how good he’s making you feel.

When he sits back, his lips and beard glisten with your slick in the red glow that encases you both. You push yourself into a sitting position and reach for the zipper of his suit, antsy to shed his clothing now that your physical discomfort had been quelled – at least for the time being.

He helps you, shrugging out of his vest and tugging his undershirt over his head. Your mouth goes dry at the sight of him. You’ve seen him shirtless before, but never shirtless for you. You want to dig your nails into the planes of his chest, and run your tongue along the protruding vein that disappears beyond the waistline of his pants –

You undo his belt buckle and pop open the button of his pants before hastily yanking both his pants and boxers down in one movement. His cock springs free, bobbing inches before your face. You start to adjust your position on the bed – to get on your knees and take him in your mouth – when a low chuckle causes you to pause and look up at him.

“Nuh-uh,” he tuts, earning a confused pout from you.

“You don’t want me to suck your dick?” You ask with raised brows.

“S’not about me right now, bub. I said I was gonna take care of you, and that’s what I’m gonna do. Now lay back down for me.”

You aren’t going to argue with that.

You return to your original position on the mattress, pulling him down with you. He hovers above you, using one arm to support himself on the bed. He takes his cock in his free hand, stroking his length a few times before nudging his head through your folds until he’s lubricated in your juices.

“Don’t you worry, though,” he murmurs against your lips. He teases his tip at your hole. “If you still wanna suck my dick when we get out of here, I'll let you.”

“Oh, you’re so thoughtfu—”

He sheaths himself inside you, turning the end of your retort into a gasp. He fills you entirely, stilling to allow both of you time to adjust to the sensation. The stretch is damn near blinding, making your eyes roll back into your skull. You glance down between your bodies, halfway expecting to see him jutting out of your stomach.

He fucks you similarly to how he kisses you – like this is saving him as much as it is you. It's rough, and fast, and messy – and you dread the moment that it’s over.

No one has ever filled you as completely and perfectly as him. You don’t think anyone else ever will, again.

Each drag of his cock along your walls has you clenching around him, each time his head rams against your cervix you can’t help but cry his name.

He snakes his hand in between you, reaching down to where his body collides with yours. His thumb massages over your sensitive clit.

You rake your nails down his back and he hisses in approval, snapping his hips into you at a brutal pace.

“Fuckin’ ruinin’ me for anyone else, princess,” he grunts before kissing you again.

You don't have time to overthink the sentiment before your second orgasm is washing over you. Logan cums as soon as he feels your pussy pulsating around him, fucking you until he's spilled every last drop of his warm seed deep inside you. When you're both finished, he stills inside you and rests his sweat-slicked forehead against yours as he catches his breath.

“You think it worked?” he grunts.

As if on cue, you hear the deadbolt unlock from the other side of the room. A second later, Storm’s voice sounds from your communication device that had fallen to the floor at some point.

“I don't feel like there’s a ticking time bomb inside my vagina anymore. So, I’d say yeah, it worked.”

He huffs a laugh, and then pulls out of you with a sigh.

“Logan,” you say, stopping him before he can pull away from you entirely. He stares down at you, waiting for you to continue.

You aren’t even sure what to say. Truthfully, you just weren’t ready for the moment to end and for things to go back to normal between the two of you.

“Thank you,” you spit out after a moment of loaded silence. “For… helping me,” you finish lamely.

“Don’t thank me, bub,” he chuckles. “It’s far from the worst thing that's happened to me in this place.”

••••••

You sleep the entire flight back to New York.

And as soon as you've showered and your head hits the pillow after returning home to the mansion, you sleep for another ten hours. Every time you wake up and think that you're finally well-rested, your body says otherwise and you're asleep again within minutes.

You wish you could say it’s a dreamless sleep, but that would be a lie. You see Logan’s face every time you close your eyes.

But it's different than the last dream you had of him. It isn’t images of his head between your thighs or his fingers slipping in and out of you.

It’s just.. him. His presence. The lingering feeling of his lips on yours, the light flavor of tobacco and menthol.

And the echo of the words he spoke as he teased you with the head of his cock and made you cum around his length.

“Don’t you worry, though. If you still wanna suck my dick when we get out of here, I’ll let you.”

“Fuckin’ ruinin’ me for anyone else, princess.”

When you wake, the ache between your thighs for him remains, despite the fact that the effects of the drugs had long since faded.

You know you shouldn’t read too far into words spoken while the two of you were locked in that room. But you can’t help but keep thinking that he wasn’t under the influence of chemical subjugation. Which leaves you questioning if he meant the things he said, or if he was just trying to lighten a scary, impossible situation for both of you.

You suppose there’s only one way to find out.

When you finally gather the courage the knock on his door, the sun has set and everyone has retired to their bedrooms for the evening.

You almost dash back into your own room during the few seconds that it takes him to open his door. He wears sweatpants, a plain black t-shirt, and a surprised expression.

“Hey, bub,” he greets you apprehensively. You don't normally make a habit of stopping by his room for late night chats. “Was starting to worry that you’d fallen into a coma.”

He opens his door wider, motioning with his head for you to come inside.

“Felt like it,” you give a small laugh. “Whatever was in that shit wore me out.” You take a seat on the edge of his bed, nervously wringing your hands together.

“You feeling better now?” he asks as he leans against his dresser, crossing his arms over his chest. Your eyes trail over the large muscles of his chest and shoulders. The memory of his body caging you to the twin sized mattress in the basement of the bunker flashes through your mind.

You nod, hoping that it’s convincing.

“All things considered,” you shrug. “I just wanted to check in with you. Has Charles… said anything?”

What you're actually trying to ask is if Charles interrogated him about where the two of you were during the mission, why no one was able to contact either of you, and why you have been so exhausted that you've done nothing but sleep for the last day, but you trust that he knows what you mean.

“He hasn’t said anything, but..” he trails off, eyes darting around the room to avoid your gaze. “It’s Charles. Safe to assume he knows and is just being decent by not saying anything.”

“Right,” you murmur.

If he doesn’t already know, it's only a matter of time before you slip up and imagine the feeling of his lips on yours or the sounds of his moans in the middle of a mission debriefing.

“And the humans..? They’re all okay?”

“They are,” he assures you with a soft smile. “They’re all receiving medical attention, and most have been reunited with their loved ones.”

You breathe a sigh of relief. “No thanks to us, I guess.”

“No,” he laughs. “I suppose not.”

He pushes himself off the dresser, walking the few feet to where you perch at the edge of the mattress. He sits down beside you, his thigh brushing against yours. He smells of Old Spice deodorant and spearmint toothpaste, and it makes you the room spin around you.

“But everyone’s okay. They’re safe. And you’re safe. That’s what matters.”

You nod, not trusting your voice to speak. He’s close enough that you can practically feel the heat from his body. You risk looking at his face, your gaze flickering between his eyes and his lips.

“Yeah,” you finally agree. “You’re right. Well, I’ll let you get some rest. I just wanted to check in with—”

You start to stand up, when he cups your jaw in his hand and pulls your face to his. He’s hesitant in a way that he wasn’t yesterday – he gives you the opportunity to pull away before he sweeps his tongue across your bottom lip, as if asking for permission.

When you don’t give any kind of indication that you want him to stop, he pulls you flush against him and slips his tongue past your lips. You bring your hand to the back of his neck, twining your fingers through his hair.

He takes his time with you. Whereas yesterday’s kisses were filled with urgency and desperation, todays is tender and sensual. Now, you’re allowed the luxury of taking your time.

He lays down against the mattress, pulling you with him. You straddle his stomach, your lips never once breaking contact. His hands grip the globes of your ass, his fingers digging into the meat through your pajama pants.

You grind against the hard planes of his abdomen, earning a throaty growl from him.

He breaks away, nipping at your bottom lip with his teeth.

“I said something I didn’t entirely mean yesterday,” he whispers, out of breath.

“What?” you ask, sitting upright and looking down at him. “You aren’t going to let me suck your dick?”

“No,” he chuckles. “God, no. I meant that. If you still want to, that is—”

“What is it, then?” you interrupt with a playful nudge to his chest.

“I said you could go back to tolerating my existence. But I hope you wanna do a little bit more than just tolerate me.”

You laugh under your breath, leaning down to press your lips to his once more.

“I could see myself doing a little bit more than just tolerating you.”

oooops i accidentally wrote another fic where logan overhears something that he wasn't supposed to 😅🫠 did not originally plan for that to happen hahaha

check out some of my other logan fics -

by the end of the night

dog tags drabble

[partiallysame]

How would the team act when Price's wife is on her period? (I'm sorry, just need to period comfort😭) -🐻✨

Ok so price already knew about your period he had it all down to a T (def had your cycle tracked in his phone in case he was gone and needed to send you something). You couldn’t remember the last time you bought your own period products he is a very good and attentive husband. Now he’s gotta teach 3 idiots how to handle not just women in general but you specifically. Showed them where the pain meds were, the heat pad, your not so secret sweet stash and how to keep it full without you noticing. Price could prepare them with words all he wanted but nothing could truly prepare them for you. The first time they saw you cry it was giving 3 stooges them running around and into each other trying to grab everything Price said you liked and bring it to you as fast as possible. Them doting on you almost became too much sometimes god stop touching the overstimulation is about to make you lose it. One at a time please. But maybe month 2 or 3 they got it figured out. Somehow knew what takeout you were craving before you could voice it. Knew when you wanted to be left alone and knew when you wanted to be held. The first time you bled through your pants or the sheets you were big embarrassed and that confused them “shoulda seen how much blood came out of Simon when he broke his nose. We know how to get a good stain out love”. While you were the stay at home housewife they did everything for you as much as they could (even when not on your period). Every now and then the sudden mood change would catch them off guard. The random tears or going from happy to grumpy might’ve shaken the usual man but trained soldiers can handle a little back and forth. Plus price threatened to confiscate you from them if they couldn’t figure it out.

[jerryandersonsdaughterinlaw]

cowgirl!abby | farmer!abby | rodeo!abby headcanons ❀

she works on a sprawling cattle ranch where the air is dry, the sun is relentless, and the work starts before sunrise. she’s up at 4:30am daily, pulling on worn-in jeans, a flannel, and her old cowboy hat that’s a little too big but never leaves her head. she walks the pastures with coffee in hand, black and scalding.

she’s all calloused hands and quiet grit, doesn’t talk much but gets more done in a day than most do in three. always smells faintly like saddle leather, hay, and cedarwood. spits sunflower seeds when she’s thinking, leaning against a fence post with one foot propped up.

she’s a natural with horses, she can break in a stubborn colt with a quiet steadiness that earns the animal’s respect more than force ever could. abby always keeps a few sticks of licorice in the front pocket of her jeans, breaking off small pieces with her tired fingers and slipping them to the horses when no one’s looking. doesn’t matter how stubborn or flighty a horse is, if abby’s around, they calm right down. she whispers to them like they’re people— gentle, steady, the way her father used to. every single one follows her like a puppy, tugging on her braid with their lips.

she handles most of the heavy lifting on the ranch— hauling hay bales, fixing fences, wrangling cattle. she’s the one people call when the generator goes out or a storm knocks down a power line. she’s good with her hands (wink), knows how to build, fix, and repair anything from a broken tractor engine to a splint for an injured animal. she has a soft spot for the barn cat who sleeps in her hat.

she has her own battered pickup truck, and the passenger seat is always covered in dust and loose tools. keeps a sketchbook in her glovebox. sometimes draws the animals, wildflowers, or the view from the pasture at dusk.

she can lasso with deadly precision. the only time she shows off is when someone new visits and thinks they can out rope her. they never can. she didn’t grow up with much, but she learned early how to make do with what she had. always fixes her clothes instead of buying new. her cowboy boots are held together by sheer willpower.

abby’s at the saturday farmers market every week, manning her modest booth with jars of homemade jam, fresh eggs, and neatly packaged baked goods. her table’s also got hand carved wooden spoons, beeswax candles, and maybe some hand stitched potholders if she’s feeling generous that week.

she’s not flashy. doesn’t call out to people or chat much. just leans back in her folding chair, boot propped up, quiet and observant beneath the brim of her old hat. you’re drawn in by the smell of something warm and spiced— turns out abby bakes cinnamon peach bread and it’s still faintly warm in the wax paper.

you asked abby four separate times for a tour of the farm before she finally gave in. “didn’t think you were serious,” she muttered, ears turning pink. it started out practical— showing you the fields, the coop, the main barn. but you kept asking questions, smiling wide at everything, stopping every few feet to admire something. flowers, a wind vane, an old horseshoe nailed into a fence post. abby watched you more than the road ahead, arms crossed but gaze soft.

she does ends up helping you climb over a fence when you get stuck in the back pasture— and holds you by the waist just a little longer than necessary. when you reached the pasture fence, you reached for abby’s hand and said quietly, “thank you for showing me.” abby squeezed back, clearing her throat before replying, “wasn’t much.”

you sit on the porch swing while abby works nearby, sometimes reading aloud to her while she shells beans or mends tack. bringing her a lemonade when there’s sweat dripping from her brow. abby never asks for affection, but starts leaning into it—letting you braid her hair on hot days, or rest a hand on your knee while you ride in her truck. she shows affection through small acts; packing you lunch, teaching you how to ride bareback. blushes like hell if she gets complimented, just tips her hat low and mumbles, “ain’t nothin’.”

abby converted the old feed room in the barn into a makeshift workshop. the space smells like sawdust and oil, and it’s lit by a single hanging bulb and slats of sun that spill through the cracks in the wood. the walls have pegboards lined with tools, labeled by hand. a small, painted sign reads: “ain’t perfect, but it’ll hold.” she’s claimed one of the old horse stalls in the barn. it’s got a rubber floor mat, a heavy bench, a rusted squat rack, and a set of free weights she picked up secondhand. she welded the pull-up bar herself. she lifts in the early morning or late at night, usually shirtless in the summer, music low, sweat dripping down her back while the barn creaks and settles around her. you once peeked in and just… stared. speechless. abby noticed and tossed a towel at your face. “you gonna spot me, or gawk?” you did both.

there’s a creek that winds past the far edge of the property. narrow, cold, lined with smooth stones and wild mint. abby’s gone there since she was a kid. it’s where she thinks. on hot evenings, she rides out there bareback, ties her horse to a tree, and strips off everything. leaves her clothes in a pile and wades in slow, savoring the shock of cool water. she floats on her back, eyes closed, arms spread wide. it’s the only place she ever lets herself feel completely weightless.

one summer evening, you drove up to surprise her, bringing dinner in a basket and wearing one of her old shirts. abby wasn’t home. you followed the hoof prints to the creek, and spotted her from a distance— half submerged, eyes closed, water trailing down her collarbone and arms. you froze, stunned by the sight of her so unguarded, so natural, so beautiful. abby noticed you and didn’t panic, just smirked. lazy and warm. “you gonna join me, or stand there like a damn scarecrow?” you did, slowly and shyly, undressing in pieces. you didn’t touch at first, just drifted side by side, hands grazing beneath the surface, lips meeting only once, soft and unhurried.

abby’s been riding since she could walk, but started barrel racing in her late teens— drawn to the adrenaline, the control, the rhythm of it. she competes in local rodeos on the weekends, sometimes weeknight events during the summer season. the circuit is small but loyal. everybody knows abby.

her horse, a sleek black mare named storm, is just as competitive and stubborn as abby is. they’ve been a team for years and trust each other like sisters. she wears a dark button up with the sleeves rolled, jeans that hug her hips just right, a thick leather belt, and her signature hat. her braid falls over one shoulder when she rides. she’s got rough hands and bruises on her knees, but she shrugs them off like it’s nothing. “just dirt. it’ll brush off.”

abby is fast. she cuts close to the barrels, almost recklessly so, but never knocks one. her timing is surgical. her control is terrifying. before a run, she always takes a deep breath and whispers something into storm’s ear. no one knows what she says. maybe even storm doesn’t.

she’s quiet and focused before the race, usually pacing with her hat low over her brow and her thumb hooked into her belt loop. but the second she’s out of the gate, she transforms— tight posture, hard focus, her jaw clenched, dust kicking up behind her like a desert cloud. she rarely celebrates after. just pats storm’s neck and gives a small nod. unless you’re there. competing in the evenings under floodlights, dirt flying, muscles coiled, then looking up and seeing you in the crowd? she’s flustered.

the first time you come to a rodeo, you’re a little overwhelmed by the dust, the smell, and the energy. but the moment you see abby ride, you’re hooked. you stand on the bottom rung of the fence, hands clenched with excitement, heart in your throat as abby comes flying around the final barrel.

after abby wins, you run to the stables with a water bottle and a wide grin, acting like you just watched her win the olympics. you start wearing one of abby’s old rodeo hats, slightly too big, tipped back on your head. you make a little sign for one of the bigger events. it’s hand painted and says: “run fast, cowboy. i love you.” abby sees it and nearly rides right into a fence. afterwards, you’re tugging at abby’s shirt, flushed and breathless. “you were incredible. you always are.” abby smiles slow, tucking hair behind you ear. “only ‘cause you were watchin’.”

before every event, abby finds you in the stands, and if no one’s looking, she’ll tip her hat down over your face and kiss you hidden behind it. you start bringing little good luck charms— pressed flowers, tiny stones, even just folded notes, and tuck them into abby’s tack bag before a race.

after a particularly muddy ride, you help hose down storm while abby changes. you tease her about the dirt in her teeth and abby flicks water back at you. after nighttime events, you ride home in the truck with the windows down, dust on your boots, country music playing low on the radio, your head on abby’s shoulder.

at the season finals, you wear one of abby’s button ups tied at the waist, boots, and lipstick that makes abby lose her words for a second. the crowd’s loud, but all abby hears is your voice as she lines up at the gate.

when she wins, she doesn’t go to the announcers or the barn first— she goes to you, scooping you up off the ground in both arms, and kisses you full on in front of the whole damn town. someone whistles. someone shouts, “get a room!” you just grin against her lips and say, “no need. we’ve got a barn.” abby just chuckles, “you’re trouble,” and kisses you again.

you love pulling abby in by her belt loops. it started as a playful move— done once with a wink and a cheeky smile, but it quickly became a thing between you. it’s your own way of “reining her in,” especially when she’s trying to dodge affection in public or is busy pretending she’s too focused for softness. you’ll hook two fingers in the loops, tug her close, and murmur something like, “c’mere, cowboy.” and abby will sigh like she’s being put out, but the corners of her mouth betray her every time. she lives for you being bold like that. even if it makes her blush all the way up to her ears, she never pulls away. in fact, she starts wearing pants with sturdier belt loops. just in case.

you’re not quite tall enough to meet her lips, especially when abby’s in her cowboy boots— so you step up onto them without asking. the first time, abby froze like a spooked horse. “you’re gonna scuff ‘em.” you grinned and kissed her anyway. she didn’t bring it up again. it’s become a quiet routine, stepping up onto the toes of her boots, hands curled around her collar or neck, pressing your foreheads together before a goodbye or a soft “i missed you.”

later that week, you slipped away to the barn after dinner. the loft was warm with summer heat, dust catching the golden light through the slats. abby laid out a wool blanket over the hay, rough but clean. you stretched out together, close but not rushed, the distant hum of cicadas and swaying trees outside the only sound.

you whispered stories, fingers in abby’s hair. she listened with her head on you chest, calloused hand rubbing slow circles on your hip. when you kissed, it was gentle and familiar, like something you’d already done a hundred times in dreams. your touches were slow, filled with quiet laughter and stolen breath— abby cradling you close, murmuring things she couldn’t say in daylight.

you stayed tangled up in each other, sweat damp and smiling, straw clinging to your hair. abby plucked it out gently and kissed your temple.

“you drive me crazy, you know that?” you whisper.

abby shrugs. “could say the same.”

“you wouldn’t trade me though.”

abby turns, mouth twitching as she leans into your neck. “not for a whole pasture of peach trees.”

i wrote a smut for this ;) linked here

[coltcassidyy]

Starfire inspired male reader x mark and his variants 🙏🙏🙏🙏

Absolutely cause this is fire. Probably gonna write head canons for this cause I suck

Also the only ever starfire related media I’ve consumed is um teen titans go so bear with me here.

Tw : some nsfw? Or suggestiveness. A little tiny bit of rough stuff (mentions of possessiveness, manhandling)

Starfire inspired male reader x mark and his variants

Mainstream mark

At first he was kinda … weirded out by you. It was odd, a random person from a random planet just coming to earth for no reason, barely accustomed to the human culture (ok man)

But you grew on him, and fast. Sometimes he thinks it’s hilarious, how you talk, how you act, how you ... just, behave in general, sometimes he considers taunting you but that’s too cruel

Fucking died laughing at your grammar it’s so funny to him

Sometimes finds it kinda hard to keep up with your optimism. He loves you for it, don’t get me wrong, but sometimes he gets genuinely confused on how you can see the bright side of everything. It never fails to cheer him up whenever he’s down

LOVES how possessive you can be at times. It makes him feel loved, and with everything that’s happened to him, he doesn’t mind if the reminder is a little rough

He likes teaching you how to cook too. Mark’s a mama’s boy, and his mama’s an amazing cook. He shows you most of her recipes, even some he’s made himself (even though they aren’t as good as his mom’s, you still praise him to the moon and back). He likes how intimate cooking together can be, and he loves teaching you things about humans and their customs

DEFINITELY made you read seance dog, or some of his other comics. Sometimes he gets a little excited and geeks out to you about comics, sometimes comparing the both of you to his favorite comic couples, even one time getting the idea to make a comic based on the both of you. But ultimately, and unfortunately, his hands were a bit full.

He 100% taught you how to kiss and it was 100% awkward and giggly and silly fun fun

Sinister mark

Oh this guy hated you bruh

Genuinely wanted to rip his eyes out when he first met you. Got him on some tweaker shit

But upon your second interaction (more so, him watching you fight a villain with less than / equal to strength than you, and winning), got him bricked like a mad man

Went home and jerked his shit I promise you

Also thinks your language (?) barrier is hilarious. But unlike mainstream mark, he isn’t afraid to be mean about it. Just straight up mocks you sometimes. He thinks that because of your speech pattern that you’re dumber than him, less than him and that gets him going

Gets him going. To his bedroom so he can jerk off. Get it

Sometimes he says or does shit to intentionally piss you off just cause it gets a kick out of him watching you try to convey anger with that ‘silly accent’

Bruh’s just a dick

Can you tell sinister mark isn’t my favorite

Full mask mark ( I came here to find mom and bring her back with me )

His heart stopped when he first saw you. He Thought (knew) you where the prettiest boy he has ever had the fortune to lay his eyes upon

He’d bring you little gifts under the guise of ‘teaching you human culture’. Things like bringing you flowers ( “humans do this for one another to express gratitude” ), little snacks that he knows you like ( “this is an example of how humans show each other that they care about one another’s well being, by bringing them food, nutrients” ), or even occasionally one of his sweaters or shirts ( “this is to show I trust you with my belongings” ), hoping you’ll return the favor.

This man is a yearner, a lover. Before the both of you were even romantically involved, he’d come flying to your window and begging for attention after every fight like a kicked puppy (I mean, it’s not too far off).

So soft, so gentle with you like he thinks you’ll break if he handles you too rough.

Unlike the other marks, he doesn’t think you’re stupid for your accent. He thinks it’s beautiful and unique, and on a particularly good day, he’s telling you how much he loves your voice.

Sometimes he sits you down and makes you talk to him about your day purely because he loves your accent so much.

He lets you take control the first time you two have sex. He tries to teach you and talk you through it, but it’s hard to understand what he’s saying when he’s whimpering and moaning between syllables. But you aren’t complaining! The sound is music to your ears.

Straight up GOONED when he saw you fight for the first time. Seeing how tough you are, and how capable you are in meanings of self-defense and attack— it made him feel 100x more safe around you.

Viltrumite mark

At first, he only saw you as a compatible mate. A way to grow the viltrumite empire.

But boy, he fell in love. And he fell hard.

Being a viltrumite, and knowing nothing about foreign culture, especially Tamarian, it was a struggle for him to show affection towards you at first.

But he grew, and he learned. From longing ( and kinda creepy ) stares and brief touches, to sweet kisses that linger warmth for hours on end and gentle words of reassurance and love. Gentle, in public, at least

When the two of you are alone is when he can really prove his love to you.

Sex with him is downright filthy— messy. He’s a viltrumite, he has high stamina, and he’s cumming as many times as he sees fit.

Even if you can’t biologically get pregnant, it doesn’t stop him from trying. What’s a man for hoping?

He’s pressing your thighs down to the bed and thrusting in you like there’s no tomorrow, muttering filth in your ear about how he longs to see you carrying his young— how pretty you’d look with a little bump in your tummy, how warm and soft and absolutely fucking delicious you are and how he’s so thankful to have claimed you when he had the chance.

Kinda like full mask mark, he’s a lover. Like I said earlier, he might be less lovey-dovey in public, but you have to trust that after he learns how, he’s showering you in affection

It’s constant praise, little gifts he gets you that he knows remind you of Tamaran, sometimes even having your planet’s traditional cultural meals cooked up.

He’s kinda stupid though. At one point he tried to get you involved in like some ‘proper English’ class thingy and you took it as an insult and you locked yourself in the bathroom for a little. Quite hilarious

(( sorry this was kinda ass and I didn’t do a lot of variants. If you like this, I can make a part 2 ))

[spookyji]

perverts! for renjun and jisung

mdni, not a threesome but perverted best friends/roommates renjun and jisung girl idk what this is but i need it

hmm, everyone you told about your plans to room with two boys was hesitant. are you sure, what if they have inappropriate thoughts, wouldn’t it be better to room with other girls the first time you live away from home? and you shook your head, insisting that renjun and jisung wouldn’t have such thoughts. after all, you’re just close friends, always have and always would be. what’s wrong with that? so naive of you.

and so you moved in with them, blind to all the many reasons why they’d convinced you. wasn’t it sweet of jisung to offer you his bed when you first came, while you wait for your delayed furniture and boxes? acting like he’ll take the couch, knowing you’re too nice to let him do that, insisting the both of you can share comfortably… and you’re such close friends, after all, it’s nothing strange. you don’t notice anything, so you?

the way jisung listens to your breathing until it slows, tentatively checking if you’ve fallen asleep, a restrained groan slipping from his lips as he touches his stiff bulge, wet spot in his boxers and he’s so hard it hurts. you’re just so pretty like this, asleep without a second doubt, unaware of the way jisung gently touches you, his long fingers sliding up your bare thighs, shit, wearing a skimpy t shirt and shorts to sleep, you must’ve meant for this to happen, hmm?

slowly fisting himself as quiet moans and grunts slip from his lips, whilst peeking down your shirt, just the sight of your cleavage making his cock twitch, lifting the hem to look a little more, god, he can just imagine your soft, pretty body held in his big hands, you’d look so delicate and small. you smell so nice, it’s just all too much for him to handle, sticky ropes of cum dripping over his abdomen as he bites down on his t shirt to keep from moaning loudly, poor jisung came so hard, he can’t help it when you’re here. and you’d never be the wiser, would you?

being alone with renjun in the apartment when he helps you move your boxes, taking a less than subtle look at your ass when you bend down, swallowing hard when he can take in your pretty thighs and cleavage. so when you’re both sweaty from moving boxes and rearranging furniture, you don’t hesitate to take a shower,, oh, but did he mention that the shower doesn’t work without spraying everywhere unless you turn the knob a certain way? blood rushing south the moment you cry out, clothes soaked and stuck to you, transparent with water when renjun asks what’s wrong, taking a generous look at your pretty body through uselessly soaked clothes… then he’ll teach you how to work the annoying shower.

and what a perverted roommates renjun and jisung are. movie nights and renjun’s sits so close to you, ‘accidentally’ dropping popcorn on you so he can pick up off your thighs, wiping away butter from your thigh with a tissue, or the way he’ll overfill drink so you inevitably spill a little on yourself, renjun will help you clean up, yeah? feeling your pretty body through a napkin or towel, smoothing over your soft tummy or thighs, making sure to clean ever last bit of juice, or else it’ll get sticky,, not knowing his fantasies of pushing you against a wall and eating your pretty pussy, licking you clean with his tongue. jisung’s no better, purposefully placing dishes and glasses high up in the kitchen so you’ll ask him to help, letting him get a good view of your cleavage, making him feel so big next to you when you thank him,, oh, but he’s thinking about bending you over this counter to show you he’s much stronger than you, look how easily he can manhandle you.

and renjun who moves his bed so only a wall separates you, making you hear him jerk off some nights, his pretty moans and whines just audible through the wall,, becoming more and more conspicuous until you hear him moaning your name,, well, it’s a little awkward when you try to avoid mentioning it and try to forget it, right? there’s no way renjun really jerks off to you, until you come home to the apartment and have to pass his door, hearing him whine your name audibly… and he knows you’re listening… won’t you come help him, as friends? as best friends? it’s so easy for renjun to coerce you into sucking his dick, it’s just what best friends to, they help each other out, don’t they? and fuck, for someone who’s so innocent, your pretty lips wrapped around his cock and trying your best, his hands fisted in your hair,, making him feel good, sticky cum dripping in mess when he cums on your face. you’ll keep it a secret from jisung, won’t you?

little does renjun know,, on nights he’s out late, jisung’s touchier than usual, offering to teach you how to play games like overwatch, making you sit on his lap and his bulge pressing against your ass but you won’t mention it, would be so awkward! his big hand resting on your thigh, creeping up higher and higher,, ‘til you’re losing focus and he’s pressed up against every inch of you. please, jisung whimpers, when he’s humping your ass, holding you down in his lap and his fingers caressing your thighs, and don’t you want him to feel good? it’s not like it’s weird, is it? and you don’t want to say no, letting his big hands feel your curves and body, clothed bulge rubbing against your ass through thin shorts. you won’t tell renjun, will you,, when you see the way his cum forms a wet spot in his basketball shorts.

it’s only a matter of time before one finds out about the other, the ‘favors’ you do for both of them because you’re sweet and naive… how long does it last before jisung walks in on you kneeling in front of renjun in the kitchen, sucking him off so prettily and it’s only fair if he gets a turn, too…

—

i need to write a rensung threesome now need them so bad at the same time

[miss-vanta-likes-to-write]

Life Line (pt1)

(I ain't) Sorry (pt2)

All Night

Cheater!Price x wife!Reader

CW: adult themes. infidelity. 18+

a.n: quick author's note from me. The point of this mini series was written because I really needed an outlet for big emotions surrounding infidelity. I got inspiration from stories I've seen about women and partners dealing with infidelity. I have never been cheated on, but I am the daughter of three generations of women before me who have dealt with infidelity, and its effects trickle down in the ways that you learn to love and teach your daughters how to love. I have watched infidelity ruin my mother, her mother, and her mother's mother. All of them handled it the best they could in the circumstances that they could.

Thank you all for following along with this story.

I had my ups and downs, but I always find the inner strength to pull myself up. I was served lemons, but I made lemonade

The constant ticking of the clock was loud. It was like a gunshot going off each second. Sixty gunshots. Absolute agony. Is it really your choice to be here in the therapist office? Sure, you drove your car here. Sure, you walked willingly into the elevator, down the hallway, sat down across from the woman who is far older than you. You feel judged. Like you have done something wrong. Mrs. Davis keeps her face neutral after you unload everything that has happened.

A year. It has been a year since you pressed a hand gun to John Price's side and made your demands. Things have not gotten better. You know he doesn't see anyone else no matter how much you tell him that you don't care. You play by the rules he unwittingly put into place when he began seeing his other woman. You have had boyfriends left and right, all of them similar to the husband you have in some shape or form.

Military. Sparingly available. Broken in some shape or way. Too quick to say to you "I love you. Let me have you." Two proposals a month apart from each other. Promises you can not bring yourself to even believe.

"You still love him. That's why you won't leave." Mrs. Davis states as plain as day. "No more of this, you want your children to have both parents under the same roof. Your children deserve to be more than a cop out and an excuse for your own emotions."

It stings. The words hit you in the face and for a second you may actually swing on her. Your eyes avert themselves and tears fall quietly down your cheeks. "I...I don't know Mrs. Davis. He makes me so angry. Every time I look at him, I get so so angry." Your voice cracks.

"Are you angry because you still love him? Or are you angry because for him to behave how he behaves now shouldn't have taken you learning of the infidelity and restructuring your marriage?" She seems so concerned when she asks you this. "I can only speculate, you're the one that knows."

You dab at your eyes and sit in silence. You know why you are angry. You are angry because you are hurt and he was the one to hurt you. Putting those words out into the ope though? Was too hard. "I'm angry because I gave up everything for him!"

"Hmm go on." She says.

"I gave up the best years of my career because he asked. I gave up my body because he wanted children. None of my pregnancies were easy. The baby we wanted was my hardest and I know when that happened the operation he was on abysmal, but I needed him. I felt abandoned. I felt like a failure. I felt like God himself abandoned me. And for him to go and fuck around hurt me so much. And I'm angry because after all of that I loved him, through all of that I loved him. And even now I love him, and it's not fair because I don't know if he loves me." You're close to hysterics as you vomit up all of the negative the vitriol that lived inside of you.

"So why make yourself suffer by seeing other men and staying with your husband? From what you say, you have had options and you still have options." She leads you towards the truth. "What made you make those rules for your marriage? What made you decide to drink more often and participate in pursuit of wreckless relationships?"

"I felt ugly. Little. Unwanted. And sleeping around and getting gifts, being adored by any man made me feel like how I was before John Price." You whisper. "Before I was a mom. Before when I was me."

"Do you think you've grieved enough? There is healthy grief and then there is unhealthy grief, you have chosen the unhealthy route it seems." She scribbles something down on her notebook and then checks the time. She is always careful to send you home on an upswing and positive note. She doesn't ever allow door stopper statements to happen. "You need to decide what will make you feel better. Staying with your husband or leaving."

You blow your nose and wipe your eyes. It's clear that she isn't really talk about your marriage.

"How are your children doing?" She asks. "We last spoke about Iyana and her father daughter dance. Did that happen yet?"

"No, that's next Friday, and she's over the moon." The smile on your face hurts.

Take one pint of water, add a half pound of sugar, the juice of eight lemons, the zest of half a lemon. Pour the water from one jug then into the other several times. Strain through a clean napkin.

That afternoon your car pulls up to the house. John's truck, like most Fridays sits in the driveway. The windows and sides are covered in pink and blue car chalk. Courtesy of Iyana and Jackie and wanting to give daddy's car a new paint job. The front yard is covered in toys, and it let's you know thatbhe probably got them both early from school. The inside of your house is a bit junky, Bluey plays on the TV, blocks and barbies strewn across the floor.

Grandmother, the alchemist, you spun gold out of this hard life, conjured beauty from the things left behind. Found healing where it did not live. Discovered the antidote in your own kit. Broke the curse with your own two hands. You passed these instructions down to your daughter who then passed it down to her daughter.

"Daddy, I'm glad you came and snuck us out of school today." Iyana can be heard clearly from the kitchen.

"Really Princess?"

"Uh huh. Really."

You stay hidden out of sight as you listen to them both. Jackie can be heard humming, not really participating in the conversation, he's been slow to really talk and hit certain milestones. Yet another worry that has burden you as you try to make sure that his teachers and baby sitters meet him where he's at. It's a full-time job and you and John often find yourselves uniting together on that front.

John hums and there is the clink of dishes "why is that?" The grin and the sweet look he gives her can be heard in the soft inflection of his voice. The kids are the only people he makes an effort to keep a low and gentle voice with.

"Because you got us ice cream and you let me pick out ice cream for mummy, and mummy needs more ice cream because she is always sad and grand mum says ice cream makes people happy." Her little child logic makes your heart clench. The silence that follows is loud. Only dotted with Jackie laughing and saying that his ice cream is cold.

"Iyana..." He says, "I think it's important that we try to make sure mummy is happy. But its not something for you to worry about."

"Why not Daddy?" She pressed him, "She makes sure all the time that me and Jackie and you are happy." The pout on her face must be serious if it draws a deep sigh from John.

"Because, it's Daddy's job to make sure Mummy is happy. And it's Daddy's job to take care of her."

"You promise?"

"I promise."

"Good, because I like it best when Mummy is happy, because then she let's me get whatever I want from the store!"

"Iyana-"

You don't stay downstairs to hear the rest of that conversation. Quick to sneak up stairs and to your bedroom. Heavy like lead, that's what you feel like, what your body feels like. You aren't sure if you should stay and make you both suffer or leave and suffer separately. There's no real right answer, all you know is that you can't go on like this.

You can't go on with relationships with other men. You can't keep searching for comfort in the bottom of a wine bottle or underneath the hands of someone else. After each tryst, a part of you feels hollow. Each orgasm feels a little less fun and light each time it happens. Sex feels like torture, and your hyper sexuality is a curse after having a demolished and destroyed sex drive. Looking in König's blue eyes were too similar to John's. Listening to the teasing lilt of Phillips words reminded you too much of the John you first met. There were men after them, all of them either polar opposite or the same, but the faces and features all blended together.

They formed one full amalgamation of your demons and the demon always whispered, "you are not enough."

The sun sinks in the sky, casting a warm glow into your bedroom. You have not moved but listened to the squeals and laughter of your kids. At one point your son entered and he laid with you quietly, his toy plane crushed between his body and yours. Plastic sticking into your soft body at sharp and odd angles. Your daughter would flit in and out, excitedly telling you about herlr day. And through it all, the only words you can think about are "Am I staying or leaving? Will it be just me or all three of us?"

"Sweetheart?" John stands at the doorway to your room. He hasn't been in here, in the room you conceived your children in a year. An invisible wall keeps him out of this once sacred space where whispered words of love were said. He has changed over the last year. Some parts for the better, some parts for the worst. He's transforming into a silver fox, slowly but surely, but those blue eyes you fell in love with are the same.

You make no move to sit up at first. But if you don't do this now, you may never get the chance. "Iyana, why don't you and Jackie get the blankets from your room and from downstairs. We are having a movie night in mummy's and daddy's room tonight."

"Can we watch Frozen?" She bounces up and down on the bed. Jackie whines at being jostled.

"Monster movie." He whispers.

"We will do both." You say. The entire time you're fully aware of John standing there. Mouth open like a fish out of water. He hasn't been invited into your room and bed in a year. Something he thought he'd never have again. All movie nights moved to the front room only after that Friday.

Iyana pulls at Jackie saying to come on and the two dash out of the room around John's legs. Iyana screaming about popcorn and how they would get to have more snacks before bed. John is slow to approach your bed and he sits down quietly.

"Is something on you mind?" He asks and he won't look at you. Fridays are now known for being days that change things for you both.

"I want to talk about our marriage John." It's a struggle to keep your eyes on his when he looks at you.

"What do you want to talk about?" There are tears already in his eyes.

"I want to talk about if I'm staying or leaving, and what that will look like. I don't make any promises to know right now fully on what the plan is. But I'm ready to talk with you about it."

"You already know I don't want you to leave."

You're quiet, the conversation abruptly cut off by the sound of your children calling for you. Asking for popcorn and juice and cookies. Instead you stand up and make your way to the bedroom door. The conversation that needs to happen will happen in this room most likely. It won't be an easy one. It won't be more than once. There will be tears. Sins laid bare for you both to see.

And in the end, it will take time. It will take time for you to feel whole again. But whether you stay or go, you'll be fine in the end.

End

a.n: purposely left open ended. You can decide if reader stayed and gave it another chance or if she left and took the kids or left and didn't take the kids. There is no way to perfectly heal and react to relationships. And I wanted the ending to reflect that. Thank you all again for reading.

Tag list: @fightmebissh @galactict3a @thoughts-nshit @pocketfulofposies @salma062022 @andromeda-starship @gazsluckyhat @uraeus56 @leahnicole1219 @lay-z

[majinbangus]

will johnny ever punish simon(and how) for playing too rough with you and accidentally hurt you (yk some dog just like that) or doesnt listen to reader or makes reader upset????

follow up question if simon and reader do something and it upset him how will he handle it???

im in LOVE LOVE LOVEEEEEE with ur guard dog simon and owner johnny reader

i hope you have a good day and win the lottery ❤️

》 18+ i'm glad you're liking my guard dog!ghost series! sorry my answer got a little long but a short way of explaining Ghost's dynamic with reader when it comes to punishments is that he's technically submitting, but he's also not really submissive ygm? he'll go through his punishments, but energy is very much this post. that's what im tryna go for at least -> more here

Accidentally hurting you, Soap can forgive. Ghost is always extremely careful not to seriously hurt you. Yes, he'll be rough and leave you sore or with bruises sometimes, but he still behaves much like the scrupulous guard dog he is, listening to your every command and taking care to protect you from real harm.

As Soap likes too remind you, Ghost is very well trained already, and it's up to you to show him that you can take care of him just as Ghost takes care of you. In fact, Soap is a little harder on you if he catches you slacking, reminding you that a dog like Ghost deserves a responsible owner willing to take care of such a diligent dog.

However, in the rare event that Ghost doesn't do his duty as your guard dog and leaves your side, Soap will get upset, but he would actually leave the punishment up to you (since you're technically Ghost's primary owner. Soap is there to teach you how to be a good owner) and act as the enforcer for whatever punishment you see fit.

So if you wanna make Ghost sleep in a dog crate for a week, Soap will buy the crate and Ghost isn't allowed on the bed. If you want to keep Ghost on a leash until you regain trust in him, Soap is gonna do some leash training with Ghost.

For more sexual punishments, Ghost will be kept in a cock cage for a while so the most he can do is mindlessly rut against you, and Soap will be the one to hold the key to his cage. He'll only unlock Ghost if you say so, but he'll also encourage you to keep Ghost locked because he's a shit he wants you to be a firm dog owner and not give in to Ghost's dog brown eyes that you've developed a soft spot for. When that happens, Ghost might bare his teeth at Soap because he knows what he's doing, but won't do much more because he knows Soap would suggest a cock gag next, that fucker-

(also if you wanna spank Ghost, Soap is will enforce that too)

But these punishments are rare and far in between. Ghost is very disciplined, so they don't happen often, but when they do, Ghost will go through them like a good boy, knowing that he messed up. He'll regain your trust and be an even better dog for you.

Now if you and Simon do something that upset Soap, (like for example, exploring a dangerous alley willingly, even though Ghost told you not to go in, but went with you anyway because you told him the 'quiet' and 'heel' command) you'll get the brunt of the punishment since 'dog behavior is a reflection of your guidance, sweets.'

Ghost won't get a harsh punishment, but he'll have to stay leashed to his crate, watching Soap give you your punishment which could range from all sorts of things, but mostly, it'll be Soap treating you like a dog- a puppy- to show you how to be a good owner.

He'll make you wear a tail plug and have you crawl on all fours. Tell you commands like 'sit pretty' or 'bow' or 'come'. You're not allowed to talk, only bark, and If you can't follow his commands, the longer the punishment will go and the more intense it'll become. Hell, if he's feeling generous, he'll unleash Ghost and make him show you how to be a good dog, letting Ghost correct your behavior. They may even tag team you, and you'll be aching for days, but the lesson will definitely stick.

[s7my]

☾⋆｡° WHAT YOUR MOON PHASE SAYS ABOUT YOU 🫵🏻

being born under a certain moon phase shows how you feel things, handle emotions, and go through life. it helps explain how you grow, deal with change, and what kinds of moments shape you the most 🌜

to find out which moon phase you were born under, here’s a simple way: first, get your birth date, then use a moon phase calculator — search for “moon phase on [your birth date]” or use sites like “yourmoonphase.com”

🌑 new moon

people born under a new moon feel like fresh starts in human form. they often carry this innocent, curious energy, like they’re always beginning something new or stepping into unknown territory. they’re instinctive, emotionally driven, and might not always know why they feel something. they just do. life tends to push them into situations where they have to learn by doing, even if it means starting from scratch over and over. they’re wired for initiation: first loves, bold ideas, trailblazing paths. emotionally, they might be more private or internal, but there’s a quiet intensity that pulls people in. they’re here to create beginnings, not follow what already exists.

🌒 waxing crescent

these people are dreamers, but with an edge. they’re fueled by the tension between “where i am” and “where i wanna be” so there’s always this soft urgency in their vibe. they’re full of potential and lowkey obsessed with growth: learning, improving, becoming. life often puts them in roles where they need to believe in something bigger than themselves. their emotional world is hopeful, but sometimes scattered; they crave reassurance but also space to figure things out. people are drawn to their idealism and quiet ambition, even if they don’t always shout it. the transformative energy is strong here. they’re not who they used to be, and they won’t stay who they are now for long.

🌓 first quarter

first quarter moon people come with a built-in fight. they live in the tension between what they feel and what they’re doing, so they’re constantly being pushed to act. they often come off strong-willed, passionate, and restless. they want change, and they want it now. life throws them challenges early on to build resilience and grit. emotionally, they can feel torn, caught between comfort and risk, but they’re very brave and keep showing up anyway. they’re the ones who take leaps even when they’re scared. people admire their boldness, though they might not always get how sensitive they really are underneath.

🌔 waxing gibbous

born under a waxing gibbous moon, these people have this deep internal pressure to perfect things. not in a superficial way, but like, “how can i make this better, deeper, truer?” they have a natural gift for seeing what’s almost there, and that makes them amazing at building, fixing, or refining. they’re emotionally deep, super reflective, and often get stuck in cycles of self-improvement. life tends to test their patience and faith in themselves. they’re the ones always searching for meaning behind the mess. people find their wisdom and attentiveness magnetic. they give “i see you” energy, and it’s powerful without being loud.

🌕 full moon

full moon people are walking contradictions, and they own it. they carry both light and shadow so visibly that it’s impossible not to notice them. emotionally expressive and highly relational, they often learn who they are through mirrors: friends, partners, and even enemies. life brings them intense relationships and moments of truth that push them to integrate their inner world with their outer reality. they might struggle with clarity in their early life but eventually become truth-seekers, bridge-builders, or natural therapists. people are drawn to their raw honesty and emotional insight, even when it’s messy. their presence is powerful. they reflect what others are scared to see in themselves.

🌖 waning gibbous

these souls are wise and generous, often feeling older than their age. they’re here to teach, not necessarily as formal teachers, but through storytelling, insight, and emotional truth. they’ve seen some sht, and they turn that pain into something useful. emotionally, they’re deep but not overly dramatic. they’ve already worked through a lot and want to help others do the same. life often puts them in supportive or mentorship roles, and people naturally open up around them. they might struggle with being “too available” or drained, but their heart is huge. their vibe is calm, knowing, and comforting, like someone who’s been through the fire and made it out.

🌗 last quarter

last quarter moon people have major “old soul” energy. they’re not here to follow the crowd; they’re here to break cycles, release what no longer works, and rewrite emotional patterns that go back generations. they often go through deep internal transformations and might feel like they don’t quite fit in with others. life pushes them to let go, forgive, or detach from things that used to define them. emotionally, they can seem distant or hard to read, but there’s a storm of insight under the surface. they carry wisdom through silence, and their energy is felt more than heard. people find them mysterious, thoughtful, and deeply impactful, like they’re always on the edge of something bigger.

🌘 waning crescent

born under the dark moon, these people are here to wrap things up, not just in their own life, but karmically. they might feel like they’ve lived many lives in one and tend to carry heavy emotional wisdom. they’re dreamy, introspective, and often need solitude to process their feelings. life gives them spiritual themes early on, like grief, endings, intuition, and they come out of it with a powerful softness. emotionally, they are like mystics or artists; they don’t always explain their feelings in words but express them through energy, creativity, or presence. people are drawn to their quiet depth and the sense that they “just know” things. they’re not here to chase attention, but instead they’re here to find peace.

thanks for reading <3 @s7my

[the-tarot-witch22]

Your relationship dynamic with your future spouse - Pick a pile

Pile 1/ Pile 2/ Pile 3

My Paid Readings | My insta

Liked my blog or readings? Tip me!

Hello everyone ! This is my another pick a pile or pac reading so please be kind and leave comment or reblog, and let me know if it resonated with you!

Note : This is a general reading or collective reading. It may or may not resonate with you. Please take what resonates and leave what doesn't. And it's totally okay if our energies aren't aligned!

How to pick : Take a deep breath and choose a pile which you feel most connected to! You can choose more than one pile, it just means both pile have messages for you!

I worked really hard on this pile please show some love by leaving comments, likes and reblogs!

Pile 1:

(The cards I got for you - 4 of cups, king of wands, 2 of wands and 3 of pentacles)

Okay so the very first thing i felt when i did your reading you would be sharing similar past, like you both might have gone through similar things in your life, some of you might have come from toxic households, parents, ex who were a piece of shit, and your fs had gone through similar things, same heartbreaks or betrayal in their life, and that's how you bond with them, you understand each other, the feelings you have for each other, the dynamic between you both is quite emotional, vulnerable and yet loving, i feel you will see each other, the feelings between you both will flow, i feel they will teach you a lot and so will you, like how not every person is same, how different you both are, but you still blend together, for some of you your future spouse is way more mature than you, they have experienced so many things, they takes relationship very seriously, or intensely, you both will teach other how important is to be happy with what you have to look at the things which will make you both happy you won't both will grow together, i also feel for some of you, your future spouse is your partner crime they support or encourage you in anything you do, the bond you will share with them is quite flowy and smooth. I also channel a scene where he is like let me do it for you type of thing they will also feel they can be just themselves when they are with you, but there also signs they just wanna impress you in whatever thing they do, you will also be on same wavelength physically and emotionally, your dynamic with them is just so sweet, They will definitely treat you the way you deserve to be treated, for some of you , you will both bond with your same interests, like do you know the couples who just travel together, not stopping for anyone, exploring new things new places, you are them, you both will share that interest with each other, there will be also some versatilities in a good way, you might both have difference of opinions but i see you both understanding each other's pov and giving each other things you both deserve and want.

Okay so guys your pile tells me how understanding and sweet your fs is with you, your dynamic is just so easy with them. and you deserve that!

Pile 2:

(The cards I got for you - ace of cups, ace of swords, 2 of pentacles and temperance)

Okay so the very first thing i felt was your dynamic with your future spouse would be very calm and peaceful, very soft and pure, your future spouse will awaken a very new feeling in you give a new meaning to love and life, you both would be very comfortable and relaxed with each other, for some of you i am sensing you could need alone time it could be you or them, but you both will let each other in, that's how meaningful and calming your relationship is, I also feel many people around you could be jealous of you and him, like you relationship, the way you treat each other, the feelings , the person could be very new not someone you already know, their way of thinking will attract you so much to them, their beliefs, their open mindedness, their way of handling anything will melt you, you will understand each other emotions very deeply honestly, almost like telepathically, i channel a scene where you need something and you don't even ask him and he will be there with that very thing, that is honestly so sweet, even i am feeling butterflies, the dynamic would be very soft and safe, like you know you can trust them blindly, he will just be there whenever you need him, present for you, I also feel you will both like indoor dates rather than going out, because you would want to spend time each other than spending it with others, or seeing others, i also heard "you are the only one who matter for me, there is no one, i would be rather be with", okay wow, for some of you guys, you could need reassurance from your other half and he will happily give it to you, i also feel Pisces and Gemini energy here for some of you, or it could be your future spouse, your relationship with each other is so free you won't be tired with each other's presence, okay so that serves as the confirmation with you letting each other in your personal space, i also feel you both would be communicating a lot , communication will definitely have a big role in both of your relationship, i also feel no matter the distance you both would make it through till the end , i also heard "i wanna grow old with you", gosh they are such a softie for you! for some of you could have doubts about your fs intentions but i feel and hear they will be very patient with you, i see a scene where they are busy, but they will reply to your texts, just to let you know they are their for you, you don't have to worry about anything, They will make sure you have their attention, they are quite attentive and thoughtful too, they would also like to do or go to grocery shopping with you, i channel a scene where they are looping an arm around your neck, just like talking or showing you their love, their love language could be physical touch or words of affirmation, the dynamic of your both is very balanced, you will nourish and care for each other a lot.

So pile 2, seems like you guys got the gem, and i can't be more happier <3

Pile 3:

(The cards I got for you - king of pentacles, knight of wands, the star, 10 of swords and queen of wands)

Okay so the very first thing i feel for you guys you guys might have manifested each other in your lives, you guys have wished for them and waited for them so long, but soon the wait is going to be over for you, and they will be coming into your life. I also heard "we are meant to be together", they dynamic between you both is just so happy and loving, you caring for each other's needs, being there for each other in tough times, and supporting each others in lows and high, that's how your both relationship is like, honestly i felt that tingly happy feeling right here for you both, and i love that. For very few of you, you both dynamic is like "tom and jerry", playful and flirty banter, some of you could be manifesting that enemies to lovers trope where they falls first and harder (not for everyone but for few) or it could be like your favourite trope, and i love that!, So for the majority of you the dynamic is like they are your provider financially, emotionally and physically, such an honest vibe i got from them, Like they would definitely let everyone go down for you i keep hearing the song "I'd let the world burn by Chris Grey", so your fs might be telling you how you are their treasure, their precious they won't let anyone hurt you, makes sense why i felt that protector and provider energy from them, their love language could be gift giving and act of services, they will shower you with love and surprises, the dynamic between you both is very healing and intense both mentally and physically, they will be your anchor, like when you feel lost they will hold you tell you how you everything for them, such a sweet couple, i also channel that trope, "bad ass fmc x men who is just obsessed with her" in a good way, you both would be such a power couple together, you both could be each other's divine counter part, your future spouse would be very protective for you, i channel a scene where you just spend his money and he is like, that's my wife, such a book men he is, you both would also share that hot sexual dynamic who just can't keep their hands off each other, he keeps telling me to tell you "when we meet , you will be my ride or die", i will kiss the fu*k outta you, lol they really are something , love that for you, your sexual dynamic is also on same level, you two will be craving each other and intensely, he is also telling me it's very soon, not a lot of wait till you both meet, your dynamic is just very divine and intense, you both will be healing each other's wound, which has been imprinted on you, the dynamic is also very healing, i feel you both would be helping each other grow from past wounds, you guys can also check out pile 1, it could have messages for you, you both will just get each other, for some of you guys, you guys could have been abandoned by their loved ones and it could be your future spouse too, so you will help them and vice versa you guys could be going through lots of transformation right now or have been through them, which has caused and left you very exhausted, but i see your future spouse helping you through everything and you will be helping your future spouse, I also feel you both will see each other, like in a party your future spouse would be the only one who matters, the dynamic between you both is prosperous and full of abundance!

So pile 3 give me a towel, because i am sweating right now with love and intensity, your future spouse wants you to wait and he will be in your life very soon, so happy for you guys~

Thank you for stopping by! Take care and remember you are loved <3