#fire candle x reader

[sundrop-writes]

Moth To A Flame

Fire Candle (No. 1 Sentai Gozyuger) x Fem!Reader

Summary:

Fire Candle kidnaps and takes you to his homeworld as part of the ultimate plan to take down his rival. He will use you - who he believes to be Gozyu Wolf's girlfriend - as bait to tempt the Wolf into a fight.

There's just one small problem with that. While you are close friends with Hoeru, you are definitely not his girlfriend, and you laugh in Fire Candle's face upon hearing his plan rather than quaking in fear. And then... you start flirting with him?

A Plan B quickly forms in his mind. And it's much better than the initial plan he had carefully spent time formulating. (And it ends with you screaming on his cock, so... everyone wins.)

Fire Candle (No. 1 Sentai Gozyuger) x Fem!Reader. Strangers to 'Lovers'. PWP Smut.

Word Count: 5,500

Main Masterlist* | AO3 Link

*Currently I do not have a No. 1 Sentai Gozyuger or Super Sentai specific Masterlist, but if I write more fics for this fandom, then I will make one and link it here.

Full list of warnings and author's notes below the cut.

Warnings: the reader has a vagina and breasts and goes by she/her pronouns (but as with most of my fics, the primary pronouns used are you/yours); the reader is described as wearing a dress and other than that, there is no major descriptions of her looks; the reader does not have a ring or any Gozyuger powers and does not fight alongside the team, but she does know that Hoeru is Gozyu Wolf (and it's implied that she knows who the other team members are by proximity); Hoeru and the reader are close friends; very slight background Hoeru x Reader - there is elements of affection and romance between Hoeru and the reader (they have feelings for each other that they have not confessed) but they are not dating, so the reader having sex with Fire Candle is not cheating; Fire Candle is under the impression that the reader is an innocent, demure, blushing 'virgin', but the reader laughs at this idea because it's not true; Fire Candle calls the reader 'stupid' and 'silly' (at first, in an attempt to emotionally dismiss her an intimidate her, and then to belittle her sexually); this could be considered dubcon - because Fire Candle kidnaps the reader before having sex with her (but it is very much her idea to have sex, so it's more like situational dubcon, and she's very enthusiastic about it); humiliation kink/degradation kink - Fire Candle calls the reader lots of demeaning names, including whore, and he treats her like an object for his sexual pleasure; the reader is talked about as a 'prize' to be won between Gozyu Wolf and Fire Candle; oral sex - reader receiving; orgasm denial (once - towards reader); choking with slight breath restriction towards the reader; penis in vagina sex; unprotected sex/creampie - but we don't even know if he's from earth, so we don't know if he would even have the ability to get someone pregnant; I believe that is everything. And I do apologize if I forgot anything.

A/N: I was debating whether or not I wanted to post this fic because I was mentally going back and forth about whether or not it's good enough to post, but Jaycen convinced me that it is, and at the end of the day, not every fic needs to be a magnificent masterpiece. Some fics can just exist to be average or even bad and still be fun. So here this is - my fun take on what it would be like to have sex with Fire Candle because I think he's hot. Also, this was not edited as thoroughly as I usually edit my fics because I'm tired, so if I missed any warnings, I'm sorry, and please do let me know so that I can add them to the list.

...

If someone had asked you where your day was going to end up, you never would have said that you would be waking up in a strange place that may or may not have been in your own dimension after being ambushed by someone you barely recognized and hit on the head, only to be knocked unconscious. No - your day had started out perfectly normal. 

You had woken up your younger brother and gotten him ready for school, did some light housework before going about your usual work of tutoring students in preparation for their college entrance exams. And you had just been on your way to see Hoeru at the cafe when something entirely bizarre occurred. 

Which - yes, bizarre things seemed to be occurring around you and to you more and more lately. But you were hoping that if you simply ignored it, it would stop. (Though that didn’t seem to be the case, as you were quickly realizing.) You were approached by someone - you thought you recognized him from a time before, when he had been screaming at the Gozyuger team, hurling threats through the air. 

Before you even had time to process his strange attire and the pack of bell-headed goons flanking him, you had been bonked on the head and everything went black. And now you were waking up with a pounding headache, trying to take in your surroundings. 

You found yourself in some kind of… white palace? The walls were made of white marble, screaming of opulence - golden trimmings and ornate stained glass inlaid into the walls truly completing the architecture, giving you a feeling that you did not belong. The room had absolutely no warmth - visually, and physically, the marble created a unique coolness to the air that caused a chill up your spine, goosebumps harsh on your skin. 

You were laying on a rather luxurious bed, on top of pressed, neatly tucked in covers - you had been placed on top of the bed rather than in it. And you were still wearing your clothes - the cute casual outfit that you had put on specifically to visit Hoeru that consisted of a simple, light (but beautiful) dress and a matching cardigan sweater - though you noticed that your simple slip-on ballet flats were missing. 

Strangely enough, there was a twinge of disappointment in the back of your mind. The part of you that secretly indulged in late night dark romance and loved the idea that you were desirable enough to kidnap thought that you should be missing your clothes or that you could be wearing some kind of scandalous tiny costume, chained to the bed with your legs spread open - 

These thoughts were disrupted by someone charging in - the door to the bedroom literally being kicked down, signalling the presence of the obnoxious kidnapper that you had yet to know the name of. Instinctively, you sat up, curious to see more of him - though you did regret it when your head gave a thump of pain at the sudden movement. 

“KNEEL BEFORE ME, SILLY GIRL!” 

He screamed out, his face twisted sourly as though his own words disgusted him. He glanced around the room, as though he had no clue where you would be, before his eyes landed on the bed, and his strange, bright irises shamelessly scanned over your body, raking over the length of your legs and the way the hem of your dress had crept up high on your thighs - before he firmly set his jaw and let out another yell. 

“DO YOU NOT QUAKE IN FEAR OF YOUR PRECIOUS GOZYU WOLF’S DEADLY RIVAL?” 

A sharp pain stabbed through your head at his yelling and you barely had time to take in his words, and he was clearly displeased that you didn’t actually seem scared - that you did little more than flinch at this presence, and it seemed to be because of his volume, and not because of any true fear. 

“No, I wouldn’t say I’m… afraid.” You told him honestly, moving to sit on the edge of the bed with your feet dangling off, hating the feeling of the cold marble against your bare toes - luckily, noticing your shoes (oddly) politely placed off to the side, as though they had been taken off with care while you had been unconscious. “Just in a bit of pain, and mostly… annoyed.” 

As you took in his appearance - even his heavily displeased expression at your words - you wanted to add something else to that list. 

Even past his strange attire and abundantly abrasive personality, he was definitely attractive. Broad shouldered inside his odd suit, with a firm jaw that carried his intense expressions well, his eyes striking in a way that suited him rather than feeling creepy. There were worse people to be kidnapped by. Much uglier ones. (You could have woken up in a bronze bikini chained up in the service of a giant slug. And this was much better than that.) 

“PREPARE TO FEEL THE WRATH OF-!” 

He began yelling again, and as it connected sharply with your eardrum, you let out a sigh. You raised your voice just enough to be heard in order to cut him off. 

“I’m sorry, but - who are you?” 

He stood in shock for a moment, his mouth gaping like a fish gasping on land as he struggled to comprehend your question. It seemed that he flailed at the idea of having to introduce himself. Especially to someone he believed should already know and fear him. 

“I am Fire Candle!” He announced proudly, puffing out his chest and striking a dramatic pose with his hands on his hips, finally speaking at a reasonable volume. “The Supreme Fire Prince, Ruler of the Dancing Flames, and wielder of King Caldelor! But you may also recognize me as Gozyu Wolf’s Greatest Dangerous Rival!” 

You couldn’t contain the laugh that desperately wanted to escape you at this, especially not with the utter serious tone that he announced these words in. You didn’t think that people truly declared themselves rivals - not outside of cheesy comic books or Saturday morning television shows meant for children. 

But things were starting to make more sense now. 

Yes, you knew that Hoeru was Gozyu Wolf. You were likely the only person who didn’t wield a ring yourself who knew that fact, entrusted to keep the precious secret because you were such a close, long-time friend of his. So … he had kidnapped you because you were Hoeru’s friend? And he was planning on hurting you to extort Hoeru and get some kind of reaction out of him? 

Again, this simply made you annoyed more than anything else. 

Fire Candle looked utterly shocked at your laughter, and then downright insulted, his expression shifting in that boldly readable way that was beginning to shine a unique kind of charm in your eyes. You couldn’t help it - but you were warming up to his unique flame. Even if that clearly wasn’t his intention. 

“EH?!” He screamed, boiling with anger as you continued to look up at him from your seat on the edge of the bed, a grin forming on your lips. “HOW DARE YOU?!” 

He pulled out a staff from behind his back (though with the ridiculous proportions of the weapon, he couldn’t have been hiding it there the whole time… so it more seemingly appeared from nowhere) - a giant silver and gold staff with candles on either end, luckily not lit at the moment. He pressed one of the candle ends into your personal space, threatening it near your neck but not pressing it against your skin. 

Again, a small wave of disappointment ran through you. 

He truly wasn’t scary. At all. 

“YOU WON’T BE LAUGHING WHEN MY PLAN COMES TO FRUITION, YOU STUPID GIRL!” 

You let out a bored sigh and reached up, putting a gentle hand on the end of the staff and oh-so-gently guiding it away from your neck, casting another look of bright shock across his features at the fact that you still weren’t frightened, you clearly didn’t feel threatened; he dropped it limply back to his side due to this sock, and stood there silently as you asked your next question. 

“What is your plan, exactly?” 

You felt curiosity biting at you, and you wondered if the day would end with you in some kind of slow-torture-death-machine or if his plan was simply to tie you up and write a ransom note and then wait for Hoeru - or rather, wait for Gozyu Wolf to come running to your rescue. 

He smirked deeply at this, the shine of his teeth making an appearance as his eyebrows creased to show his pleasure at your words, and you hated the tingle that shot between your legs at the look. Leave it to someone like him to be just as ignorant of how good looking he was as he was about the level of fear that he brought to a room. 

“My plan!” He replied, his voice reaching that semi-normal tone once again. “My plan involves using you - the innocent beauty - as bait…” 

You choked back another laugh at him describing you as ‘innocent’, but you didn’t bother to correct him. You simply listened on as he continued, beginning to pace the room dramatically and flail his arms to demonstrate his words. 

“I will bait Gozyu Wolf out with his blushing and frightful damsel in distress! I will put you in danger, and when he comes to rescue his endangered love, I will chop off the Wolf’s head and mount it on my wall in victory!” 

He made a slashing motion with his staff to demonstrate this and then pointed to a space on the wall - though you had to imagine that this was simply an example and not truly the space he had picked out, because if he was going through all the trouble to murder Hoeru, he wouldn’t hide his prize away in some bedroom, he would likely want to display in a main trafficked area for everyone to see. 

The mental imagery of Hoeru’s head stuffed and mounted on a wall - both in or out of the Gozyu Wolf helmet - did cause you to let out another laugh. It was utterly ridiculous. And you knew that this guy would never be able to pull it off. 

Fire Candle let out a deep growl, making a sharp stomp toward you - and for the first time that day, you felt a slight bite of actual fear jump through you. When your eyes jumped up toward him and saw true, fiery anger dancing there, this was, of course, followed by more lust settling into your stomach. 

He settled into another smirk, finally seeming pleased that he had managed to scare you. 

“You won’t be laughing when I finally defeat your boyfriend.” He spat out harshly, another (finally non-screaming) attempt to intimidate you. 

“Boyfriend?” You parroted back, raising an eyebrow sharply at him. 

The word caught you off guard, but it did bring things into a bit more clarity once again. 

You and Hoeru were close friends. You had been since you had met him at one of his first jobs - waiting tables at a restaurant that you frequented after school. Once he was fired from that job, he popped up at a boba shop near your house and you made a joke about how he was secretly stalking you, which made him blush. And you invited him over for dinner, citing that he looked like needed a good home cooked meal. 

Originally, your intent had been for it to be a date, but he was either too much of a gentleman or too obtuse to pick up on your flirting, so the two of you simply remained friends. And it stayed that way for so long that now you treasured the friendship far too much to ruin it by pouncing on him and humping him like a dog - as much as you wanted to sometimes. 

Though the comment did make you think back to the last time you had seen this costumed, screaming freak and his silver bell-headed jockeys. The last time you had gotten caught up in a confrontation, surrounding by the Gozyuger team and with no ring to transform with yourself, Hoeru had been intensely protective of you, taking great offensive when you had been knocked to the ground - it hadn’t hurt you or even left the slightest scratch on you, but it had turned him into a raging animal who lashed out on the person who so much as dared to shift the slightest force wrongfully in your direction. 

Obviously, Fire Candle had seen this, and he had mistaken the sweet, friendly protectiveness from Hoeru as romantic intent. 

You let out another snort of laughter. 

“Ho-” You cut yourself off sharply, scolding yourself internally for almost revealing your dear friend’s true identity to someone who only knew him as a mask. “Gozyu Wolf is not my boyfriend.” You easily corrected him, causing another expressively confused look from the brightly coloured man. 

“So if your entire plan hinged on him being made stupid by his love for me and rushing toward danger without a second thought, then - it won’t work.” You explained, knowing that Hoeru did love you deeply due to your years of friendship, and he likely would rush toward danger to save you. 

But this guy definitely didn’t need to know that. 

“I’m not a damsel, and I’m definitely not in distress.” You finalized, knowing that at the very least, these words were true. 

You weren’t some ‘innocent’ scared blushing girl. You didn’t need Hoeru to rush in and save you. You just needed this inconvenient bump in your day to be over. You were hoping that if you poked enough holes in Fire Candle’s plan, he would simply send you home and then you could pretend like this whole thing never happened. 

“Not… even a little bit?” He prodded, motioning toward you with his staff again, making the weakest, most vague threat you had ever seen in your life. 

You held in another laugh. He was so incompetent that he was almost adorable. There was such an odd charm to him that you almost wanted to stick around to see what he would do next. (Almost.) 

“No. Not even a little bit.” You replied honestly, shaking your head. “The only thing I am is bored. And mildly horny.” 

You found the honest words escaping your mouth before you could stop them, and then you leaned into the honest as he stared you down with a shocked expression. 

“I thought you kidnapped me because you had something else in mind. But this? Not that fun. Can I leave now?” 

You moved to step off the bed completely - not because you actually thought that you would be able to find your way out of this other-worldly place (and somehow get back home), but more so to gauge his reaction about you leaving. He instantly stepped in front of you, blocking your path, and you froze in place, biting back a smile at how quick he was to keep you here. 

“HOLD IT HERE!” He resumed screaming, holding up a demanding hand in your direction as you held your hands behind your back (and puffed your chest out subtly, trying your hardest to look appealing as he scanned his eyes over your body once again). “I MAY STILL HAVE A USE FOR YOU, SILLY GIRL!” 

You would be lying if you said that him speaking about ‘using you’ in the same breath as calling you ‘silly girl’ with such condescending intent didn’t turn you on. You knew that certainly said something about you - but you definitely weren’t going to open up that psychological box right now. 

“And what use is that?” You inquired, puffing out your chest more and blinking your eyes at him in the most cartoonishly feminine way that you could muster - at least the two of you were playing a game that was much more catered to your interests now. 

He smirked at you widely, and you once again felt a zap of heat between your thighs. 

“I’ll be devious and defile Gozyu Wolf’s precious girlfriend! And there will be nothing he can do about it!” 

“I’m still not his girlfr-” 

Your correction was cut off when Fire Candle took a step forward and delicately, teasingly brushed two gloved fingers underneath your chin, teasing you as though you were a gentle, elusive alleycat. The simple touch sent shivers through you, and you could do little more than lock onto his golden eyes and stare into his heated gaze as he continued speaking determined, powerful, lustful words. 

“I’ll creep into his mind by fucking the woman he loves.” He stated, causing more heat to bloom deep in your gut as he made his intentions more than clear. “I’ll ruin the Wolf’s precious girl by fucking her so well that any time she’s with him, all she can think about is my superior cock! My blazing fire splitting her open and warming her from the inside!” 

Well he certainly had a way with words. You had to give him credit for that. 

Something nagging in the back of your mind was begging to tell him that this ‘plan’ was full of holes, but the other part truly didn’t care - because he was attractive and offering to fuck you to one-up some supposedly perfect boyfriend that you didn’t even have. 

“Fuck it. Whatever.” You sighed, more to yourself, putting a hand on the shoulder of his leather vest and shoving him around to push him onto the bed that you had woken up on, surprised by how light he was and how easy he was to push around after the mighty game he had talked. 

You straddled his thighs and easily melted your mouth to his, moaning in delight at just how warm he was. He put his hands on your hips and encouraged you along as you ground yourself into his lap, soon feeling a stiff bulge underneath you. 

When you pulled away from his lips and moved to reach for his pants, excited to feel more of that bulge, he surprised you by truly taking control of the interaction. He used his grip on your hips to flip you over before you could blink, pinning you down against the tightly pressed covers of the bed in a breathless moment, leaving you spread-eagle and shocked into limpness as he hovered over you, now grinning down at you with a perfectly diabolical expression. 

“Not so fast, silly girl.” He spat out harshly, moving to grab both your wrists and pin them up above your head, crowding tightly close to your face, causing his warm breath to puff against your cheeks. “First, I must see you.” 

Oh… this was exactly what you had been waiting for. 

You should have been afraid that some (possibly non-human) stranger had you pinned to a bed, in a completely strange place, and you were completely at his mercy - but this was everything you had dreamed about in the back of your mind for a very long time. And you could do nothing more but lay there with dry-mouthed, wet-cunt anticipation as he unsnapped each button of your cardigan and ripped it off you before unzipping your dress and then peeling it off your head, also tossing it away carelessly to land in a pile on the floor. 

“Ahh,” He hummed, his eyes raking over your body more intensely now, threatening to make you shy, causing your thighs to clamp together around your now wet underwear - the last remaining scrap of clothing that you had on while you were exposed under his intense gaze. “Very beautiful.” 

“Thank y-” You wanted to be polite in receiving the compliment, but he jumped to cut you off. 

“Shh!” He bit out harshly. “I’m looking.” 

You did find a sick kind of thrill in him treating you like nothing more than an object - something beautiful to be seen and not heard from. And that usually silent part of your mind that loved to indulge in darker romantic fantasy immediately began to imagine him and Hoeru - or rather, him and Gozyu Wolf fighting an epic battle to win you. Not as a lover, but as a desirable sexual object. The ultimate prize. 

This thought was disrupted when Fire Candle reached out and grabbed both your breasts - roughly groping the flesh with his gloved hands, creating an intense, strange sensation of clean white fabric on your sensitive skin while his harsh touch dug in, immediately causing you to arch up into the touch and let out a moan. He kneaded the flesh around for a few moments, a gleeful expression on his face, though he didn’t linger here for long - a deflated whine coming from your lips when he stopped touching you. 

He ripped your underwear off in a blink, causing a squeal to sneak out of your lips. 

And then, another thrill rolled through your stomach when he scooted downwards and - just as harsh and demanding, acting just as entitled to your body - he grabbed both your knees and pinned your legs open, staring at your drooling pussy with the most wide-eyed unashamed expression you had ever seen. 

“My, my, you are very pretty for such a silly girl.” 

He commented, even then leaning forward and sniffing closely against your cunt - something that made your stomach recoil with embarrassment. You tried in vain to close your thighs, and found yourself surprised by how strong he truly was - and in that moment, you had an intense love-hate relationship with the way he smirked up at you due to your obvious shift to shyness. 

“Such a pretty, wet pussy, all for me!” 

You let out a gasp when he loudly heaved a glob of spit onto your pussy, the thick wetness landing below your clit and making you tingle. And you barely had time to recover from the shock before he forced your legs open even harsher, causing a burn in your hip joints - a bite of pain that only added to your general lustful dizziness - as he leaned in and latched his mouth onto your cunt. 

A shockwave went up your body and he hummed against you, seemingly pleased with your taste. You let out a throat ripping squeal at the feeling of him devouring you - clearly not with any gentleness or true sensibility toward you, but with the infinite greed of someone who had kidnapped you simply because he believed that you were an object of desire that would lure out his ‘rival’. He did not care about the feelings of others, he only cared about himself. And for some reason, that only made the whole thing hotter - knowing that he only saw you as a vessel for his pleasure, that he only sucked harshly on your clit and shoved his tongue deep inside your cunt to lap more of your wetness because he desired the taste. 

It was something that had you sucking air into your lungs desperately, causing your chest to flail as you began to shake under his tongue. 

“Fuck!” You cried out, an orgasm already coming to life deep in your belly. “Oh, fuck me!” 

You choked on a gasp when he ripped his touch away from you just as quickly as he had begun - he looked utterly crazed as he rose tall onto his knees above you, his chin now soaked with your juices and glistening, and his expression somehow wilder than before. 

“Now, now - none of that.” He scolded you, clicking his tongue in an utterly condescending way that ebbed another moan from your throat while he gently shook his head. He flailed out his tongue and collected some of that wetness from below his mouth, almost distracting you from his next words as you became obsessed with that bit of hot pink flesh between his teeth. “A sweet girl like you shouldn’t speak such foul words,” 

You couldn’t help the gasp that escaped you at this - you had no clue where he had gotten the impression that you were some innocent, demure flower. But you would play the part if he so desired. 

You batted your eyelashes at him heavily again and curled your lip into a perfect pout. 

“I’m sorry, Flame Prince.” You said, cooing the words out as sweetly as you could while your cunted throbbed, aching terribly - tempting you to break down and beg like a whore. “I’ll try to be good for you.” 

But of course, he could sniff out your act - and the result was better than anything you could have predicted. 

He reached out and pressed a gloved hand against your throat, gripping tightly on either side - firmly enough to command your attention but not enough to restrict your breathing. At least not too much. You inhaled sharply as he gave you a fierce look. 

“EH!” He shouted again, shaking the air around you. “You are just a dumb little whore! Thinking you can fool The Great Fire Candle?!” 

He choked you slightly harder, sending a perfect jolt through your body as your head began to tingle - and you couldn’t help but to moan quietly and lean into the touch. Of course, this caused a bright smirk across his lips. 

“Of course! I should have known the Wolf would have himself a perfect slut!” He grinned, releasing the hold a bit too early for your liking and putting that hand beside your head as he used his other hand to reach for the fly of his pants. “Well, now I’m going to steal his prize!” 

Before you could truly take in the feeling of something so unbearably hot pressing against your bare thigh, with only a breath of a moment to glance down your body and see how truly long it was (far more intimidating than the golden candle staff he had threatened you with) - barely enough time to gasp at the bizarreness of bright red pubic hair - before that cock was being prodded at your wet entrance and thrust into you. Again, without much care for you and with true, selfish greed behind the movements. Though the more he handled you like a toy, like you were nothing more than an object for his pleasure - like he had said, a simple prize to be bartered between two rivals - the more turned on you became. 

That’s why you moaned hotly and flexed your hips up into the touch as the thick stiffness of his cock bullied its way inside of you, his hips shoving forward with a stiff, demanding movement until he was buried deep inside your soft cunt. He didn’t hesitate before he began moving, using all of his power to fuck forward in rapid, harsh movements, beginning to fuck you senseless while you moaned out and gasped for breath, scrambling for something to hold onto. 

“There it is! The sweet sounds of victory as I steal from Gozyu Wolf!” 

(Deep down, you knew that his fixation seemed to be much more on Hoeru, and you had to wonder if Fire Candle had ever seen him without his helmet to be so utterly focused on him, even while his cock was so deep inside of you.) 

He put that gloved hand back around your throat and this time pressed much harder, using the hold as a handle to pin you down while he fucked his hips into you even harder, the sound of flesh slapping flesh - wet and utterly filthy - sounding off the cold marble walls and making for an utterly pornographic symphony. All you could do was reach up to grip onto his wrist tightly as you became light headed, your body absolutely rocked by the sensation of his long cock pounding into you while he gripped you by the throat. 

“Look at me!” He demanded, and your eyes blasted open to be faced with his wide-eyed, entirely insane expression - mostly teeth and tight lips, his forehead pressed tight into his highly drawn eyebrows, forcing you further into those wild, golden eyes. “I’m better than Gozyu Wolf!” 

“Y-you are!” 

He finally released his hold on your neck, sending a thrill rocketing through you as blood rushed back to your brain and your upper body tingled with soft fuzziness while your lower body was pierced with sharp jolts of pleasure edging on pain as he continued to pound his cock into you - colliding sensations that drove you insane and drove louder and louder moans out of you. He moved to grab into your breast, digging into the flesh almost painfully as his thrusts became sloppy - clearly on edge now. 

“Such a cute little whore!” He grunted out, his once proud voice dissolving into something much more thickened almost human as he drew closer to his orgasm. “When you return to your precious Gozyu Wolf, you’ll only be thinking of this - only be thinking of my cock.” 

It was those filthy words and devilish haze of lust that had overtaken his voice that truly drove you over the edge, causing you to grip his cock as an orgasm rocked your body, sharp breaths rattling your lungs as your body arched up, pushing your breast furthering into his touch. He then shoved his hips fully into you, and the sound he let out as he came was somewhere between hilarious and spectacular. It was a choked off whine cried out into the air as he stretched his neck back, and you found a particular fascination in watching the veins in his neck bump above his dual bow ties as he desperately chugged in air. 

While you felt hot pumps of his cum inside of you, you had a distant thought about if he was human, where exactly he was from, and if he could get you pregnant. 

But those thoughts disappeared when he took in a final gulp of breath and then looked down at you, brushing surprisingly soft fingers across your forehead as he gazed at you with a strangely fond expression before he said: 

“Perhaps I should kidnap you again sometime, Treasure.” 

… 

Getting back home was… utterly bizarre. It somehow only added to the entirely strange day that you had been having. (Somehow it was still around mid-afternoon, around the same time you had left, and you had to wonder if you had been gone for a whole day, multiple days, even, or if time had only passed in minutes while you had been gone.) 

But when your feet were securely back on the ground and you got a good sense of your surroundings, you made your way toward the cafe to meet Hoeru, as you had originally planned. 

Your stomach twisted with nerves as you saw everyone standing around in a seemingly nervous huddle. 

“Well, she can’t have gone far,” Rikuo posed. 

“Don’t say that!” Sumino fired back, firm and determined, worry seeping through her voice. “People can disappear out from under you, just like that!” 

You became sour with worry, wondering if it truly had been days. 

“We should be out looking until cosmic justice is-!” Ryugi began what surely would would have been an epic speech, but you walked fully through the door then, causing Hoeru’s eyes to jump to you. 

“Y/N!” He cheered out in relief, racing across the room to see you, trapping you in a tight hug before you got even three steps through the door. “You were supposed to meet me an hour ago!” He chastised, his voice in a steady tone very similar to his usual that only you could recognize had worry creeping in. 

An hour. Of course he had rallied the troops to start a search party after a single hour. 

“Hoeru, I’m fine.” You told him, trying to wiggle free of a hug that he clearly wasn’t ready to end yet. “One of my tutoring sessions ran late-” 

“Then what happened to your head?” Sumino asked, pointing to your forehead past Hoeru - pointing to the bruising bump where Fire Candle had knocked you unconscious. Something that you had forgotten about by now because the pain was very mild… especially after the orgasm you had experienced. 

“Yeah, that doesn’t look good,” Rikuo added on, eyeing you up and down with a frown. 

Hoeru finally pulled away from the tight hug and aggressively grabbed both sides of your face to pull you closer, inspecting the injury for himself with precise eyes, crowding tightly into your personal space. 

“You need omurice,” Ryugi said with a definitive nod. “It will help.” 

He disappeared off into the kitchen while Hoeru ushered you into a nearby seat that Rikuo pulled out for you (ever the gentlemen) and Sumino sat down beside you, grasping your hand gently in an attempt to be comforting - even though you didn’t need the soothing comfort. 

“I swear, I will destroy whoever did this!” Hoeru declared passionately. 

“I’m fine!” You assured him, trying your best to ignore the flare of heat in your gut at his words. 

“I WILL DESTROY HIM!” Hoeru screamed, taking one last glance at you before he charged out the door. 

So… oddly enough, Fire Candle’s plan had worked after all.

...

A/N: Keep in mind, this is a oneshot, meaning that this is a one chaptered fic and this is the end. There will not be a continuation or 'Part 2', so please do not ask for one in the comments. I consider it extremely rude if you read through an entire fic and then you simply type out 'Part 2??' or 'continuation when?' in the comments, especially after I have taken the time to type out a message like this letting people know that there will not be a continuation because this is a oneshot fic.

If you are going to comment, please comment something meaningful about the fic that has been written and please consider reblogging to support the hard work that has gone into this fic.

While I do have some ideas for a potential follow up, I ended it here for a reason. I had fun writing this and I enjoyed writing out this small capsule plot. At this current time, I am not working on a follow up and I am not working on any other Gozyuger fics at this time, though I could see myself coming back to this fandom while more episodes of the show come out and I continue to enjoy them.

Even if you don't comment, I hope you enjoyed the fic and I hope you have a great day, and I hope you consider checking out some of my other work by going through my Masterlist.

Happy reading,

Sundrop ☀️

[onim5]

🕯A Gentleman With A Candle🕯

Portgas D. Ace x Reader

Warnings: I guess this is sad and weird. And there's a kiss.

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

You sipped on your hot drink. Outside the library, leaves left the trees slowly. Fall sure was something beautiful, but also so tragic. You turned the page and kept on reading the book you found. It was interesting and made you feel comfortable. Sure, it was sad but it was also so romantic.

You cried light tears as you read the last page. Such a sad and happy ending wasn't what you wanted. As you finally returned your attention to reality again, you saw a man holding a candle to light up for you. You had been so lost in the book that you didn't even realize it got dark.

He smiled calmly. "I hope my flame assisted your eyes as you read, Miss." He asked. "It did, thank you. But you shouldn't have wasted your time on that." You answered nervously. "I don't do time anymore. Please let me show you the way out." He said, offering a hand. "Of course, sir." You answered taking it. He lifted you from your seat gently and then showed you the way out of the library.

"Oh, it's so dark." You commented as you saw the darkness of the night lay over the city. "I can walk you home." The man offered. You would have said no, but you didn't. He walked at a nice pace before you. His candle shined and magically spread warmth. "What's your name?" You asked, watching him with admiration. He didn't answer and just gave you a sad smile.

You looked around the man was gone, and so was the candle. In front of you, a small house stood, it was your home. Opening your door with a sigh, your eyes widened as they landed on the candle that stood on your counter. Its warmth gave a sense of comfort, and you couldn't bring yourself to blow it out. Sitting before it, you thought of the man. Wasn't this his candle?

As the weeks went by, the man kept on appearing in the dark. He was always gentle and spread a warmth around him. But when you held his hand, it was cold and in a way was it like it wasn't even there.

It had been half a year since the Marineford war. You looked at the picture of Portgas D. Ace in the news, the gentleman with a candle who was somehow always there for you, was the same man who was called a monster for his blood. Why was it you could see him?

Time went by, and one evening, he appeared again. "Let me light up your dark evening." He smiled, holding up the candle. "Are you dead?" You asked, holding his cold frozen hand. He smiled weakly. "I remember dying in my brother's arms and a war. It was very blurry after that, but I found myself wandering with this candle. I walked over the sea and searched island after island for someone else, and another source of light." His smile faded, and then he looked into your eyes.

"Wherever I went, all I saw was the night and fog. No matter how many houses I looked in, I found no one. But then I walked through a library. I couldn't believe my ears as they listened to pages turning. And then I found you." You felt his hand move to your shoulder. He breathed out and looked into your eyes. "I'm always here. Why is it you're the only one I can see? Why is it you can only see me sometimes? These are questions I believe won't be answered. But feeling your warmth like this makes me feel less empty. It almost makes me feel alive." Ace smiled as he leaned in and gave you a soft kiss. The candle flickered as you, too, leaned in.

🕯

[spikedfearn]

Upon the Scarlet Altar

one-shot

Remmick x fem!reader

summary: On a night when the moon hangs low and your body bleeds for him, he worships you the only way he knows how: on his knees, mouth between your thighs, feasting like you’re the last taste of warmth in a world gone dark. But in his arms—cold as the grave—you find a different kind of fire. One that never dies.

wc: 4.1k

a/n: AHHH you guys—I’m seriously losing my mind right now. Mercy Made Flesh hit 1.7K notes in 72 hours and I’m just sitting here clutching my pearls and screaming into the void like !!! thank you SO much for all the love, thirst, and pure unhinged energy you’ve poured into my fic!! this fic is lovingly (and hornily) dedicated to @oc3anbxbyxoxo who requested remmick eating reader out while on her period!! and, as always, thanks to my number #1 pookie Nat @kayharrisons for beta reading!!

warnings: vampirism, bloodplay, oral sex (f!receiving), period sex, vampire x human, worship kink, possessive undead love interest, overstimulation, blood drinking, body worship, monsterfucking (soft), southern gothic setting, mild dubcon tones (power imbalance), religious/sacrilegious language, explicit sexual content, knife-edge tenderness, unholy devotion, mutual obsession, sex as ritual, canon-typical vampire violence (implied)

likes, comments, and reblogs appreciated!! please enjoy!!

The moonlight spills across the cold stone floor like spilled cream, pale and thick, stretching all the way to the foot of Remmick’s bed. You don’t knock when you enter. You never have to.

He already knows.

He’s there, seated at the edge of the mattress like he’s been waiting all night—shirt half unbuttoned, sleeves rolled to his forearms, his hair a soft tangle from too much pacing. There’s a gleam to his eye that hadn’t been there yesterday. Something feral. Something starved.

His nose twitches before his lips curl.

“You’re bleedin’,” he drawls, voice like bourbon left too long in the sun. “C’mere, sugar.”

You close the door behind you. You should be embarrassed. You’re not wearing anything underneath the long black slip you call a nightgown. Not tonight. The silk clings to your thighs, sticking just slightly with each step.

He’s watching. Always watching. Like he’ll die if he blinks.

By the time you reach him, he’s already reached for your hips, already dragging you between his legs. His hands are cold. They always are. But they warm quickly when they cup the back of your thighs and pull you forward until you’re straddling his lap.

“Could smell you from the hallway,” he murmurs against your mouth. “You don’t know what that does to me.”

“Then show me,” you whisper.

His eyes flick up. Crimson. Blazing.

Ravenous.

And then he lays you back.

The mattress dips under your weight, the room heavy with the scent of old wood, candle smoke, and something darker now—something copper-sweet. His breathing doesn’t hitch, doesn’t falter. But it deepens. Slows. Like he’s savoring every second before he lets the hunger off its leash.

Remmick’s palms press to the inside of your thighs, spreading you open like a prayer. His voice, low and reverent, ghosts over your skin.

“Goddamn,” he breathes, thumbing the edge of your nightgown up, baring the soft heat of your core. “Ain’t nothin’ in this world tastes as good as you do when you bleed.”

The shame you thought you might feel never comes. There’s only heat, only want, only the obscene pulse in your stomach as he lowers his mouth with something like worship painted across his face.

“Y’ain’t scared, are you?” he murmurs, his lips brushing the crease of your inner thigh. “’Cause I’m real hungry, darlin’. Real fuckin’ hungry.”

You shake your head, your voice a whisper. “No.”

His grin is all teeth.

“That’s my girl.”

And then his tongue slides over you—slow, deliberate, impossibly soft. He groans like he’s been starving, the sound deep in his throat, his arms locking around your hips to hold you still as he buries his face between your legs.

You cry out.

The first lick is hot and sinful, laced with something carnal and wrong, the wet glide of his tongue tasting the blood he craves, the slick that coats you. He doesn’t tease. Doesn’t build slow. He devours—growling against your cunt like it’s the only meal he’s ever needed.

“Christ,” he moans against you, lips already wet with it, tongue circling your clit with obscene precision. “You’re sweeter’n sin like this.”

Your fingers fist in his hair. You’re trembling. The sheets are damp beneath you from your own sweat, from the way your body shudders every time he moans into you like he lives for this.

And maybe he does.

Because Remmick doesn’t stop.

Not when your legs shake. Not when your thighs try to close. Not even when you gasp his name like it’s a lifeline. He keeps going, mouth locked to your cunt, tongue sliding deeper as he feeds and worships all at once.

“Gon’ give you everythin’,” he mumbles, voice thick and slurred with lust, lips slick. “Gon’ make you cum so hard you forget your damn name.”

You already have.

Your back arches, spine bowing off the bed as the wave crests—hot, thick, electric. His name spills out of your mouth in pieces, broken syllables caught between breathless moans, and he drinks it in like it’s part of the offering.

Remmick doesn’t let up.

Even as your hips buck, even as your thighs tremble violently around his head, he holds you down, strong hands keeping you spread and helpless beneath him. His tongue flicks against your clit with punishing precision now, coaxing you past the edge and straight into ruin.

Your vision whites out.

Pleasure burns—too much, too good, a drag across nerve endings that should’ve long gone numb but haven’t, not under him. Not under the mouth of a man who’s been alive for centuries and still claims you as the sweetest thing he’s ever tasted.

He groans again, loud this time, the sound vibrating through your cunt like a sin. You don’t realize you’re crying until he pulls back slightly, lips flushed red and glossy with blood and slick. The sight should be terrifying.

It’s fucking gorgeous.

“Look at you,” he rasps, dragging his mouth up your body, a smear of crimson trailing from your inner thigh to your hip. “So damn pretty fallin’ apart like that.”

He licks his lips, slow. Lingering.

“Could stay between these thighs all night, baby. Might just do that.”

Your breath stutters when he leans in, mouth brushing the shell of your ear. His voice is thick with lust, but there’s something else now—something dark. Territorial.

“Ain’t gon’ want nobody else’s blood, y’hear me?” he whispers, one hand cupping your throat, thumb brushing your pulse. “Ain’t nothin’ sweeter than you when you bleed for me.”

You whimper, your body still trembling beneath him.

And Remmick smiles.

Because you're not scared.

You're in love. In lust. In ruin.

The room is quiet now, save for the rasp of your breath and the low hum of Remmick’s satisfaction as he lays against you, one arm heavy across your waist, his nose nuzzled into your neck like he can’t bear to be even an inch away from your pulse.

You’re boneless, ruined—your legs still trembling slightly as the aftermath rolls through you in warm, dizzy waves.

But he’s calm. Too calm.

Like a beast that’s fed and now lies curled around its prey, not because it’s lost interest—but because it’s claimed you.

His fingers trace idle circles over your belly, smearing faint streaks of blood he hasn't bothered to wipe away. He hums low in his chest, then murmurs against your throat:

“Y’don’t know what you’ve done to me, do ya?”

You don’t answer. You can’t. Your mouth’s parted, your tongue dry, your body still fluttering in the places he touched and tasted.

He presses a kiss just beneath your jaw, then another, lower—his lips dragging slow.

“You come to me bleedin’ like that,” he drawls, voice syrupy and warm, “an’ expect me to behave?”

You feel his smirk as he speaks against your skin.

“Darlin’, you ain’t just mine. You’re marked. Body knows it. Blood knows it. Every time you ache, every time you get that little twitch in your thighs thinkin’ ‘bout me…that’s me callin’ to you.”

You swallow hard.

He pulls back just enough to look at you, those crimson eyes soft now, almost tender—but still burning. Still dangerous.

“I ever catch somebody else smellin’ you like this…” he shakes his head slowly, almost pitying. “They won’t get the chance to learn from their mistake.”

He says it like a promise.

And then softer, almost lovingly:

“Gon’ take real good care of you. Keep you right here where it’s safe. Keep that sweet little body fed, fucked, and mine.”

You blink up at him, dazed and flushed.

He brushes a knuckle down your cheek, then presses his lips to your temple like you’re something precious. Holy, even.

“Rest now, sugar,” he murmurs, voice velvet-dark. “We got all night.”

Steam curls like spirits from the clawfoot tub as the water runs, hot and fragrant with crushed rose petals and herbs from the garden out back. The scent is earthy, grounding—lavender, rosemary, and something darker beneath it. Something that smells like Remmick.

He’s at your side, one hand steady on the small of your back as he helps you into the water like you’re made of spun glass.

“You’re shakin’,” he murmurs, voice quiet now. Slower. “Let me fix that.”

The warmth envelopes you, and you sink into it with a sigh, limbs limp, head tipping back as your body adjusts. The blood between your thighs has already begun to dilute in the bathwater, but he doesn’t flinch. Doesn’t look away. If anything, his gaze softens.

Remmick kneels behind the tub and rolls his sleeves higher. He dips a cloth into the water and begins to wash you gently, reverently, careful around your thighs, your breasts, your throat.

Like he’s memorizing every inch of you again.

“Still can’t believe you walked into that church that night,” he says, the hint of a smile in his voice, low and fond. “All that fire in you, all that fury. Lord, you had no idea what you were walkin’ into.”

You remember.

You’d been eighteen. Hungry. Lost. Sleeping in the loft of the abandoned chapel on the edge of the forest because the shelter was full and the weather had turned. You hadn’t known the stories were true—not until you’d come face-to-face with the man who didn’t cast a shadow, who stood at the altar after midnight like he’d been waiting for you.

Remmick had looked at you the way God might’ve looked at Eve: not with shame, but with curiosity.

And then with hunger.

“I should’ve run,” you whisper.

He hums. “You did. I let you.”

You’d run through the woods, blood pumping so loud in your ears you could hear your own pulse. He hadn’t chased you—not right away. He’d let the fear bloom, let it take root, let you come back on your own.

You hadn’t been able to stay away.

Maybe it was the way he spoke. Or the way he looked at you. Or maybe it was the way the nights weren’t so cold when he was near.

“I didn’t want you to be afraid,” he says now, dipping the cloth to run it between your legs, slow and careful, like he’s cleaning a wound.

“I was,” you say. “But not of you.”

Remmick nods. He knows.

You’d been afraid of needing him.

And now look at you—body bare and pliant in his bath, flushed from orgasm and bleeding in his water, letting him touch you with those old, cold hands like they’ve got the right.

Because they do.

“You were too damn young,” he murmurs after a beat, brushing your hair back from your forehead. “But you looked me in the eye like you’d seen a thousand winters. Said you weren’t afraid of no man, no monster. Only the ones who pretend they ain’t.”

You smile faintly. “And you never pretended.”

His eyes darken.

“I told you what I was. What I needed. And you still chose to stay.”

You open your eyes, tilting your chin toward him.

“I still do.”

He leans in and kisses you then—not hungrily, not with possession, but reverence. Like you’re sacred. Like he’s praying with his mouth.

And in a way, he is.

Because Remmick never asked for salvation.

He found it anyway.

In you.

The water laps gently around you, soft and warm as skin, swirling faint pink around your hips. His kiss is slow—an ache, a promise, a tether. When he finally pulls back, your lips are damp, parted, breathless, and Remmick is just watching you.

Like he always does.

There’s something about the way he looks at you. Not just hunger. Not just obsession. It’s deeper than that—like he’s memorizing you, like the sight of you is the only thing anchoring him to this wretched earth. Like if he stopped looking, the centuries would catch up to him and pull him down to hell where he knows he belongs.

But not yet.

Not while you’re here. Not while your blood is still warm and your body still pliant and your soul still just out of reach.

He brushes the edge of the cloth over your collarbone next, then your shoulder, dragging it across your chest with trembling restraint. There’s a smear of blood on the side of your breast—his doing—and he wipes it away with the gentleness of a man afraid to break the thing he worships.

“You’re somethin’ holy to me,” he murmurs, low enough it sounds like it’s more for him than you. “Somethin’ sacred.”

You swallow, your throat tight, heart tripping over itself in your chest.

“No I’m not.”

He smiles, but it doesn’t reach his eyes. “Maybe not to the world. But to me? You’re a goddamn miracle.”

You can’t speak. Can’t move. All you can do is feel as he pours warm water over your shoulders, cupping the back of your head like he’s baptizing you in blood and roses.

“First time I saw you,” he says, “I thought I’d finally gone mad. Thought I was seein’ a ghost. You walked right through that broken door, moonlight at your back, lookin’ like vengeance and salvation in one breath.”

He sets the cloth aside.

“You didn’t flinch when you saw my teeth. Didn’t cry when I told you what I was. You just looked at me with those big, tired eyes and asked if I was gonna kill you.”

You remember that night. You remember the way your voice hadn’t shaken, even though your knees did. The way his eyes had gone wide—startled, not by your fear, but by your lack of it.

He laughs softly now. “And I told you, didn’t I? Told you I don’t kill what I’m fixin’ to keep.”

Your breath catches.

“Remmick…”

“I meant it,” he whispers, pressing a kiss to your forehead, to your temple, to the crown of your head. “Meant it then. Mean it now. You’re mine. And I ain’t ever lettin’ you go.”

Your fingers curl in the water. His arms wrap around your shoulders, pulling you gently against his chest, the sound of his dead heart silent beneath your ear.

But it feels like it’s beating.

Only for you.

Only here.

The water’s gone tepid by the time he speaks again.

“Time to get you outta there, sugar,” he drawls, voice velvet-thick. “Before I end up joinin’ you.”

He stands, boots echoing soft on the old tiles, and leans over the tub to scoop you into his arms. It’s effortless—like you weigh nothing at all. Your wet skin presses to his chest, and the chill of him—cold, corpse-cold—sinks straight into your bones.

But you don’t flinch.

You never do.

Because even if he doesn’t have blood that pumps or a heart that beats, there’s warmth in him still. In the way his arms hold you like you’re breakable. In the way his mouth brushes your temple like a promise. In the way he carries you through this crumbling house like you’re something he’d go to war for.

You cling to him out of instinct, arms curling around his neck as your cheek rests against the hollow of his throat. It’s icy. Still. But it’s home.

“I got you,” he murmurs, “Always do.”

He steps out of the bathroom and into the dark hallway of the house you’ve come to know like a second skin—your house now, though no one but the ghosts know it. The floorboards creak beneath his slow steps, the wallpaper is peeling, the chandeliers are draped in cobwebs like mourning veils. The wind outside presses against the windows like a lonely thing begging to be let in.

But here, in his arms, even cold, you feel untouchable.

You bleed against his skin.

It’s not until you reach the bedroom—your shared bedroom, with the worn four-poster bed and the rotting wainscoting and the lace curtains yellowed with time—that he speaks on it.

You feel the pause in his chest before the low, filthy rasp leaves his lips.

“Leakin’ all over me, sweet thing,” he mutters with a smirk, voice dipped in reverence and filth. “Leavin’ a trail like you want the whole damn forest to follow your scent home.”

You suck in a breath. The heat in your belly curls tight again.

He sets you down on the edge of the bed, your thighs parting on instinct, your slick skin sticking to his shirt, to the old quilt beneath you. The blood between your legs is thicker now, heavy. He watches it, eyes dark as pitch.

“Lord have mercy,” he whispers, dragging the back of his hand up your inner thigh just enough to catch the wet. His fingers are cool—unnaturally so—but they don’t make you recoil. They make you burn.

“You’re drippin’ for me. Bleedin’ like you want me to taste you again.”

He leans in, teeth grazing your ear.

“You know what that does to a man like me? That warm, dark sweetness runnin’ down your thighs? Ain’t nothin’ on God’s green earth tastes more like heaven than that.”

You shiver.

Not from fear.

From need.

He presses a kiss to the side of your neck, then another to your shoulder.

“Don’t you worry, baby,” he murmurs, voice so low it sinks into your skin like wine. “I’ll get you cleaned up again. Real slow. Real good. Might just make you bleed a little more while I’m at it.”

You tremble under his touch.

And Remmick smiles.

Because he knows you’re already his.

He kneels.

Doesn’t say a word. Doesn’t need to. You can feel it—what’s coming. The weight of his stare between your legs, the way his cold hands slip beneath your thighs and spread them wider, wider, until you’re completely exposed to him in the dim, flickering candlelight.

His fingers drag slow along the inner swell of your thighs, smearing blood and slick across skin like paint. His mouth parts.

“Christ almighty,” he breathes, voice reverent, his accent rougher now, more ragged. “Look at this mess. Look what you do to me, girl.”

He kisses the inside of one thigh—cold lips on burning skin—then the other. He doesn’t go for your pussy yet. He lingers. Worships. Drags his tongue along the seam of your thigh where the blood’s heaviest, groaning low and obscene as he tastes it.

He licks it up like it’s the finest thing he’s ever touched.

“Could spend hours down here,” he rasps, voice already wrecked. “Feastin’ like you’re my last goddamn meal.”

You whimper, hips twitching, your legs threatening to close—but he doesn’t let you.

“Uh-uh,” he warns, using his strength with ease to keep you open. “Don’t hide from me now. Not when you’re bleedin’ for me like this.”

His mouth finally descends on your cunt.

And this time, he takes his time.

The first pass of his tongue is so slow, so deep, it makes your eyes roll back. He licks a long, deliberate stripe from your soaked entrance to your clit, tasting everything—blood, arousal, need—and moaning like it’s divine.

His tongue flicks against your clit, again and again, featherlight but maddening. Then he shifts—mouth flattening, sucking, lapping at you with wide strokes of his tongue like he’s trying to ruin you.

And god, he is.

You fist the sheets, back arching, mouth open in a silent cry as he moans against your cunt, the vibrations shooting straight through your core. Your blood coats his mouth, his chin, his lips—but he doesn’t care. He relishes it. His hands grip your thighs tighter as he buries himself deeper, tongue fucking into you like he’s trying to crawl up inside and live there.

“Fuck, baby,” he groans between strokes, pulling back just long enough to pant against your slit. “You taste like heaven and sin all at once. Never gonna get tired of this. Never gonna stop wantin’ it.”

He slides a cold finger inside you—then another. Your body clenches hard, the contrast of his freezing hand and warm tongue almost too much to bear. But he knows your body now. Knows exactly how to curl his fingers, how to suck your clit while his tongue and hand move in tandem.

You start to shake.

Your vision blurs.

You cry out, your orgasm building harder than the last, pressure curling, snapping, about to break—

And he doesn’t stop.

Not when you start to sob his name.

Not when your thighs tremble and spasm against his shoulders.

Not even when you cum, shattering hard enough to see white behind your eyelids, your body jerking beneath his mouth like you’re being ripped open.

He keeps going.

Sucks your clit through it. Licks up every drop of blood and slick. Fingers you slower now, more gently, like he’s helping you ride it out instead of trying to end it.

“Good girl,” he murmurs, kissing your swollen cunt. “Gave it all to me, just like you’re meant to.”

You’re ruined.

Your chest is heaving, your limbs loose, soaked through and aching, and he’s still between your thighs, still worshiping, still tasting like he’ll never get enough.

And maybe he won’t.

Because you’re bleeding.

And he’s starving.

Your breath hitches—caught somewhere between a sob and a moan—as your legs twitch from the aftershocks, thighs sticky with blood and saliva. But Remmick’s still there.

Still devouring.

Still worshipping.

His tongue moves with aching tenderness now, lazy, slow—almost teasing if it weren’t so reverent. He licks through the mess he’s made, lips parting to mouth at your folds like he’s kissing your mouth, not your cunt. Like every inch of you is sacred.

And even as your hips jerk, trying to pull away—too much, too sensitive—he doesn’t let you go.

“No,” he murmurs, voice low, steady, commanding. “We’re not done yet, sweetheart.”

He pins your hips with those cold, strong hands, mouth descending again.

You cry out, thighs shaking violently, the sensitivity blooming into a new kind of agony—pleasure twisted at the edges, electric and sharp, making your toes curl and your spine bow. The room is spinning. Your pulse thunders in your ears.

But he’s soothing you as he ruins you.

“Shhh,” he breathes against you. “I got you. Just take it. Lemme taste every last drop you’re willin’ to give me.”

You feel your body trembling apart for him again, your stomach clenching, heat pooling low and impossibly fast.

Remmick’s voice is almost gentle now, slurred with arousal and reverence as his tongue drags across your clit.

“Don’t you go hidin’ from me, baby. You know I’ll chase you down.”

He kisses your cunt again, tongue flattening and lapping, nosing against your entrance where your blood is still fresh, still dripping slow. He moans deep in his throat like it’s a vintage he’s been saving for decades, like this moment—this mess between your thighs—is a gift he doesn’t deserve.

And god, the way he sounds when he speaks between strokes���

“Your blood’s hotter’n the devil’s breath tonight.”

Another lick.

“Tastes like lust. Like pain. Like home.”

Another.

“You were made for me, girl. Built to bleed for me.”

Your body coils tighter and tighter, the pleasure sharper now, no longer soft or slow—it’s demanding, relentless, fire at the base of your spine.

And he feels it.

He moans against you as you cum again—louder this time, messier, your entire body going rigid under him as you fall apart a second time, writhing as he holds you open and takes it all.

You’re crying now, softly, not from pain but from being so thoroughly undone.

From how deeply he sees you.

How completely he wants you.

When he finally pulls back, he’s soaked. Lips red, chin slick, eyes glowing like coals. He kisses your inner thigh, then your knee, then the scar on your ankle he once asked about and never brought up again.

You’re limp beneath him, panting, ruined.

And he looks so fucking proud.

“That’s my girl,” he whispers, crawling up your body. “My perfect, filthy little thing.”

He settles beside you on the bed, pulling you into his arms, curling your spent body against his cold one—and somehow, you feel warmer for it.

He presses a kiss to your temple, then your hairline, then your shoulder.

“Sleep now,” he breathes. “Ain’t no one ever gon’ touch you but me.”

And as your eyelids flutter closed, muscles aching, pulse slow and full, you realize this is what he’s given you—what no one else ever could.

Not warmth.

But safety.

Not love.

But devotion.

And in a house filled with ghosts, buried in a forest that forgot its name, you fall asleep knowing you’ll never be alone again.

Not as long as Remmick walks the earth.

Not as long as he’s hungry—and you’re his.

[ffiolette]

SATORU GOJO TWT LINKS

INCLUDES— fingering, squirting, clit play, lipstick, bdsm, sub!satoru, wax play, candles/fire, breast/nipple play, blowjob/throat fucking, cunnilingus, car sex, masturbation, feet fetish, usage of toys (eg. vibrator/fleshlight), grinding, rough-ish sex ?

WARNINGS— 21 links, all of these videos are for afab readers/viewers, don't like don't read/watch, make sure to be logged into twt/x beforehand, if some of the links stop working please lmk !

satoru with his big hands

he could come untouched from the sounds you make while he edges you

he bought you a new lipstick and knew the perfect way to test the colour out - sub!ver

you were too slow ontop of him so satoru ended up fucking up into you instead

satoru getting to appreciate the new lingerie set he got for you

it was supposed to be 69 but he got distracted by the feeling of your throat sucking him in

he passed class "munch101" with an A+

satoru had always been a tease

he got impatient on the way home

he heard you complaining to your friends that he doesn't fuck you well enough, and well he couldn't have that

sleepy morning sex with your boyfriend

satoru is completely and utterly infatuated with the way you feel around him, he can never get enough

he'd been eyeing your tits all day in the pretty sundress you wore

sub!satoru being so desperate and needy for you

fingering you like you deserve

sub!satoru wanted to give you something special for your birthday

torturing sub!toru like this

relaxing with him after a long day of teaching

satoru loves fucking you in this position because he gets to have your pussy spread for him

teasing him like this, you know you'll be punished later

ffiolette

[adelliet]

Wolverine x f!reader

HOLY SHOWER

Summary: After an exhausting day, you finally wanted to take a shower, but the water stopped running in your apartment, so you decided to go to your neighbor for help. But you got more than help.

Warnings: MDNI 18+, age gap, strong language, overstimulation, unprotected sex (piv), shower sex, more rounds

Masterlist

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You came home from work, exhausted and tired. Today was probably the worst day at work, the boss yelled at you, you almost got fired and you destroyed your clothes by spilling your coffee all over it, great. The only thing you wanted right now was a warm shower that would help you release all this negative chakras and relax.

On the way to the shower, you were already planning in your head how you're going to spend the rest of the evening, making popcorn and watching your favorite series while the vanilla-flavored candles were lit around. You'll only be wearing an oversized t-shirt and rabbit slippers that your moronic neighbor Wade Wilson bought you, after he almost set your flat on fire as part of his fight with some villian.

Wade is not a normal neighbor who occasionally throws parties and fucks with whores. He does this too, but he's really special. If you had to describe him in three words it would be a jerk, a narcissist and a wretch, but sometimes he's also nice, you have to admit that.

After you finally get out of your coffee-stained clothes, you threw them in the washing machine and went directly to the bathroom, naked. Opening the shower door, you took a deep breath and closed your eyes. Now, only well-being and relaxation begin, you may even practice yoga and meditate if you'll be sufficiently relaxed and full of energy. Just the thought encouraged you further and when you closed the shower door behind you, nothing and no one could stop you.

You turned on the hot water switch and took the citrus scented shower gel in your hand, you were about to squirt some on your palm when you realized the water didn't start running.

,,That's…weird” you said to yourself and reached for the cold water switch. Nothing. Not a drop came out and you were slowly starting to get furious inside. You reached for both switches at once and turned them to full power, but still nothing. You really held on, every nerve in your body was ticking not to explode but it happened anyway.

"Fuck!" you scream across the whole apartment and drop your head in your hands. This was something you had been looking forward to all day, you dreamed about it at work and the idea of ​​warm water running down your naked body was discouraging you from having a mental breakdown in the bathroom. The shower was your reason to get through the day and they're going to take it away from you like that? Fuck no.

You weren't going to just give up, the feeling of lukewarm water cleansing your body and your darkest thoughts, right now you need it more than anything in the world.

A light bulb went on in your head and you were out of the bathroom in no time. You quickly threw on an oversized white shirt, didn't even care that you’re not wearing anything under it, and went forward. Your face was focused on only one goal, Wade.

He's a devious bastard who's tried it on you countless times, but right now you're at the stage where you're even able to sleep with him just so you can indulge in that holy shower.

You knocked on the door right next to your apartment and waited for an answer. You started to be a little suspicious, because the apartment was truly gravely silent, but the creaking of the door interrupted your assumptions about what it might be. You took a deep breath and were ready to blurt out everything that had happened and convince Wade to let you take a shower at his place, but your words got stuck in your throat when Wade wasn't standing in the doorway.

Instead, there was standing a tall, old muscular man with a brown beard and sideburns, his hair was in the shape of beast ears and he had a stern expression on his face that immediately caught your attention. Wearing a white tank top that beautifully highlighted his body underneath and most importantly, showed off his shoulders which were way more massive than your thighs. You swallowed loudly in fear and blinked a few times to bring yourself back.

"Um hi! Is Wade here?"you asked and no matter how hard you tried, your voice was quiet and shaky, the guy definitely had to sense that you were so fucking nervous.

"Who's asking?" a deep grainy voice answered you with a question and leaned against the doorframe, as he crossed his hands on his chest, making his biceps pop out. He was really manipulating you with them, you had an incredible urge to stare at them and your brain was already automatically creating a million scenarios of what you wanted him to do to you with those hands. Luckily you were still somewhat conscious and didn't let your dirty toughts take over you.

"I am his neighbor...right next door" you pointed your head to your apartment, trying to keep your smile on your face. That man slowly looks at the direction you pointed, then looked back at you. "Wade's not home right now” his stern voice made you flinch every time you heard it, because it sounded like you just killed his parents and now you're going to pay hell for it.

You raised your eyebrows and nodded a few times. "Oh...okay well, when he comes back tell him I was there" you smiled again, hoping your smile would soften him up a bit, but you're too naive for even thinking this would work.

He was just looking at you, no response, not even a tiny movement of his face, nothing. You probably understood that you should finally get the fuck out of his face, and that was what you had planned. You turned on your tiptoes and walked back to your apartment, but he stopped you in your way there.

"Hey!" You immediately turned to face him.

"What do you want from him?" his biceps still hypnotizing you.

"My water stopped flowing and I really really need to take a shower" you put on a cute-innocent expression and your tone sounded so convincing that even a kidnapper, who was going to cut your throat, would let you take a shower.

He looked like he thought whether or not to let you in, even though he already knew his verdict long ago. "Come in" he nodded and disappeared in the apartment, thinking you were following him and you really did.

You were so grateful and happy that you would blow this man right here right now, not just because he was ridiculously handsome, but also as a thank you gift.

You closed the door behind you and the man made himself comfortable on the couch, a loud groan came out of him as he dropped himself there, making you feel that weird burning feeling in your lower stomach.

Although you knew Wade’s apartment layout even with your eyes closed, you still found it a bit inhospitable that man didn't even tell you where the bathroom is, but you didn't worry about it for too long. After all, you're not here to teach that grandpa good manners, you're only here for the shower.

You were almost headed to the bathroom, but something stopped you in your tracks. Thirst. Your apartment has no water and god knows how long it won't work and since it's quite late at night, all the shops here will be probably already closed.

You had to take your chance, that's why you backed into the kitchen and looked at him subtly. "Um, could I have a glass of water?" you asked politely. You only got an annoyed look and a stiff nod as response. You rolled your eyes and went to the kitchen.

You swallowed the water as if you had just been in the desert for few days, even that bastard noticed it too, but he didn't say anything.

"And um...you're Wade's partner?" "Fuck no" you wanted to start a conversation, get to know the stranger a bit, but this was probably not a good start. He looked disgusted, just thinking about it. "I'm his roomate, Logan" you finally got to know something about him and it wasn't just one thing, but even two. Wow, you're moving somewhere.

"Ah, nice to meet you" you said with a smile and poured yourself another glass of water which you drink like an animal. Logan just stared at you, scanning you and sensing that you were only wearing a light white fabric and literally nothing underneath it. Quite risky, he thought.

"And you're name?" he finally continued the conversation and you couldn't help but smile even more. Maybe you softened the grump a bit after all.

,,Y/N...” you fizz looking at Logan who just nodded and looked away. You felt it was time to finally indulge in what you were here for. Without another word you therefore went to bathroom, ripped off your shirt in one graceful motion and stomped into the shower, but you couldn't ignore the smell that clearly screamed Wade was touching himself here. Whatever.

Trying to ignore the smell, you reached for the hot water switch. The water finally touched your naked skin and you threw your head back, nearly blinding yourself with the hot water. After a while it started burning, so you reached for the cold switch, but it got stuck.

You tried to turn it with all your strenght, but nothing. So you quickly turned off the hot water and decided to ask Logan for help. After all, he has much bigger muscles than you, he will definitely be able to turn it on.

You didn't even bother drying off, you just threw your white shirt back on and went straight to Logan. When you stood next to the couch and waited for him to look at you, he wasn't just looking at you, he was admiring you.

You didn't realize that you were all wet and the white shirt was wet too, stuck to your body and practically transparent, revealing everything. Logan surprisingly cleared his throat and stopped breathing for a moment but still with the stern expression.

"Would you please help me with the shower? The switch is stuck and I can't turn it on" you beg, having no idea that your shirt is pointless to even wear at this moment.

Logan didn't take in a word you just said, he looked away from your body to your face and just stared. So you repeated your request to him and he instantly nodded in agreement. You were a little surprised that he was suddenly so active, but you didn't complain.

Logan quickly got up and went to the bathroom without giving any sign of being annoyed by your request. You walked right behind him, his whiskey scent tickled your olfactory cells.

When you entered the bathroom, you ran ahead of Logan to show him exactly where the problem was. "Here...s-see?" you struggle as you tried to turn on the cold water, but again, no avail. Logan just quietly took over the switch and effortlessly turned on the cold water, like it was nothing.

You laugh from the excitement of finally being able to enjoy a shower. But the thing was that the cold water was not only flowing on you, but also on Logan. His previously dry white tank top that covered his divine body was no longer dry and is definitely no longer covering anything. You looked at each other, your smile fade away in a second.

Your gaze locked on his body. His hairy body, developed and veined, his abs looked so eatable, so does his arms and boobs. His hair was damp, he looked irresistible and you fought your demons not to jump on him like an animal.

You, on the other hand, were practically naked in front of Logan and he hadn't seen such a beautiful woman with a beautiful body in a long time. The way the water drops ran down your neck, under your wet t-shirt, around your chest to your stomach, this was the end for Logan.

Without any warning, he pounced on you like a beast, cupping your cheeks with his big hands, almost surrounding your entire face. You automatically joined in and cooperated, wrapping your arms around his veiny neck and just gently digging into him with your fingernails.

Deep passionate kisses were making you vibrate more and more from excitement. Your tongues fight with each other for dominance, sure thing that Logan won. You were so hungry each time your lips touched, so desperate for him, for his body and what it can do to you.

Logan couldn't wait any longer, he grabbed your shirt and took it off pretty briskly, even though it was practically useless. But he didn't leave you alone and took off his tank top too. You broke the kiss just to see the treasure he offers. Naturally, you reached for him and gently ran your fingers around his abs, which caught your breath.

,,You like it?” he asked hurriedly and smiled as he saw your shocked face. For someone who is really truly old, he's not bad at all. You looked up at him and smiled, giving him a chance to start kissing you again, more likely, guzzle your face. He was rough and wild but at the same time tender and loving. This combination makes a total waterfall between your legs.

He was holding you by your weist, really digging his strong fingers into your flesh, making you moan into the hungry kisses. That itself make his erection begging to finally free him from those thigh boxers, what really keeps him trapped.

He didn't wait for another sound of yours and quickly started unbuckling his pants, his clumsy hands tried to take them off as quickly as possible and you tried to help him. Your hands touched, but there was no time for romance, his growls and your sighs said it all.

When you finally managed to unzip Logan's pants as part of your cooperation, they were on the floor next to the shower in no time, along with his black boxers. His dick sprang free, making a slappy sound as it hits his belly. You needed a moment to adore his little friend, and your eyes widened from his length. How can he even walk around with this thing?

He chuckled as he watched your surprised face once more, and got your attention by grabbing your chin and lifting your head up. "My face's right here, sweatheart" you melt at his words, his tone not as stern as it used to be just moments ago and his eyes...fuck his eyes were full of lust and desire just for you.

The rules have changed a bit, the shower is no longer what you longed for and can't live for, now it's Logan. You need him badly, like breathing or eating, you need him so badly that your knees almost start to buckle in desperation and Logan knew it and sensed it.

After all, he needed you just as much as you needed him. So he decided not to delay any longer and pinned you to the wall, the shower still continued with a flow of cold water that smoothed you at least a little, but still, you were burning with arousal and passion.

He glued his lips to yours again, his body was just as glued and his cock was poking you in your inner tight, unintentionally provoked your wet folds by moving his hips to feel at least a little friction. Of course, this movement made your neck make noises you didn't even know existed.

"I won't last long with you bub" Logan mumbled between kisses but he continued with both his movements and his uncontrollable kissing and biting of your numb lips. His wolfish voice excited you whenever you heard it and your legs were already shaking with anticipation.

Logan's tip started leaking with precum and this was a clear sign for him that he should finally fuck you like you deserved.

Before you could blink, he grabbed you by the neck, but not too hard to hurt you, but not too loose to not have control over you. He found the perfect center that suited both you and him and at that moment, he began to slide it into you.

Your jaw dropped and your eyes shut tightly as you felt his tip stretching your throbbing core. Logan growled, his face pinched but his eyes open to see your pleasing face. Oh he will remember this face for the rest of his life.

He was already fully in, fitting in perfectly as if you two were just meant for each other. Logan waited a while for you to get used to him and you had the opportunity to open your eyes for a moment and admire his wet head. How the drops slowly ran down his face, down his whole body, it was so fucking hot.

After a while, when you started getting impatient and get used to his length, you started moving your hips, just a tiny moves, but Logan knew damn well you were ready for more. That's why he helped you a little by pulling out and pushing back his member into you, making you whine his name out loud.

It was peaceful steady movements, he played with you like a toy and you marveled at it. Your eyes were opened and you were holding eye contact with Logan the whole time. Every time he pushes into you, he squishes his nose and hisses and he does that again anytime he pulls out of you.

It was pain but also a thrill for him going so incredibly slow, but both of you enjoyed it like nothing else. The thing was that you were insatiable barbarians who kept wanting more and more. Logan decided to indulge both of you.

He let go of your neck, leaving big red marks and fingerprints there and moved his strong hands to your hips. He needed to keep you in a place, because what was going to happen wasn't for some weaklings.

You looked at him with hope and curiosity of what was going to happen, and you found out really soon. Without any warning or hesitation, Logan started thrusting into you with no mercy. Now this was exactly what you needed.

His animal awoke in him, his teeth clenched as his balls was slapping against your ass. It all makes easier the running water, which served as a natural lubricant, keeping you both still wet, even though you didn't really need it.

He kept muttering something under his breath as he aggressively rammed his cock headlong into you. You just let yourself be led, he had full control over you and you fucking loved it. Your hands were tightly glued to his back, your nails digging deep into his flesh but it was just a tiny, hardly felt pinch for him.

Soon you started to feel that strange feeling in your lower abdomen, that need to go to the bathroom, that burning flame, that twirling writhing feeling, all together clearly proved that you were on the edge and you won't hold it in for long.

Logan was stretching you really hard, but you were still full of his dick inside you. From time to time, his base was touching your sensitive clit, making it even harder to keep you quiet. The moment you knew you loose it completely, was when he grabbed you by your ass and lifted you up so that your legs were wrapped around his waist and you weren't touching the ground. In this position, he easily found your g-spot and he was hitting it with rage and passion, sending you straight to your orgasm.

But Logan wasn't much better off. You were so incredibly tight around him, your pussy was literally just perfect. His veins were pulsating and his dick was twitching inside you, his heartbeat accelerated and he already lost control over his movements. He was so consumed by his climax that he had no idea what his hips were doing and how hard or fast he was thrusting into you.

He snarled like a beast, watching the part where your bodies connected, being so desperate to cum inside you, filling you up so that his sperm would drop out of you. You were already losing your senses, your eyes rolled back and you make a really long and deep bloody lines on Logan's back by your sharp nails, as you were really close.

,,Logan I-" you wanted to warn him, to inform him but it was useless, because before you could finish your sentence, you clench tightly around his member, your lower body started vibrating and the pleasant feeling of relief finally flooded you all over.

Your juice started dropping on the floor and you tried to catch your breath and gain your senses back, but Logan was still going in his full speed and strength. He was really frantic trying to catch up his orgasm, which he succeeded in after a few strong and wild thrusts.

The last one was the strongest and loudest one, he screamed really loudly, not caring if Wade was already home or not, the most juiciest and the most deepest.

The only sounds in the bathroom now were your heavy breathing and the steady flow of water that didn't stop. You felt dizzy, overstimulated, but the feeling of pleasure and relief was irreplaceable. Logan felt the same as you, although he didn't see twice unlike you, but this was an unforgettable experience for him. But he didn't want to stop yet.

"You ready for round two?" he asked, keep trying to catch his breath. This question woke you up like a slap in the morning and you looked at him with wide eyes. He was serious, he meant it and you were speechless. Although you were tired, you knew that the moment Logan will let you on your feet you wouldn't keep your balance, but of course you wanted a second round.

Logan waited impatiently for your answer and when you nodded your head, it warmed your heart to see a sparkle in his eyes. Immediately, his lips were on yours again, his dick that never leave your insideness started moving again, heating you up and creating another arousal.

The overstimulation was insane, you knew you would cum soon again and it made you feel a little embarassing, but Logan was on the same boat as you. His balls were so full that he could explode at any time, he needed to empty himself inside you.

He was starting to pick up his pace and speed again and before long you were in the same situation as few minutes ago, his hips thrusting into you with no limit, you mercilessly destroying Logan's back and praying your pelvis won't crack.

If he could, he would have turned you around and fucked you from behind like a brute, but he could feel your legs being weak and practically non-functional, so he held you tightly around his waist and continued in a position that soon brought you both to your second orgasm.

You both whimpered and wailed as you struggled to fill your lungs with oxygen. Logan was still full of energy but you're only human and when a beast like Wolverine jumps at you, there's no way you'll end up in better condition than him.

After you finally breathe normally and calmly, Logan started laughing out the two powerful orgasms and dropped his forehead to yours. You joined him and you both laughed like idiots while you were still inside each other and the freezing water was pouring over you.

Wade is going to be really surprised when his water bill comes.

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[ceramini]

loser! jake BUT readers all of a sudden nice to him and jake is confused (and turned on ofc) maybe special occasion or smthn.surprise ne queen !!

⁺𝅄 𓊆 ❀ 𓊇 just so u guys know.. this will be my last jake fic/drabble before I retire him :(( i write for all of the members and I didn’t think people would request or even like my loser!jake stuff this much, so he WILL make a retrurn on my blog, I just want to share my work for other enha members as well <33 pls understand

pair loser!jake x hot!reader ͡ ͘◡ ꫶᳝᳜᳝᳜᳝᳜৯ tags reverse cowgirl, cockwarming ✿ scene jake forgot their third anniversary, again. He’s bracing for punishment, but instead, you’re suddenly super nice to him. Like, really nice. Confused, flustered, and lowkey turned on, Jake starts to wonder: is this mercy… or a horrible horrible setup? ────── library ⊹ ࣪ click to join taglist

like + reblog appreciated <3

Jake wakes up to the smell of bacon.

Which is weird, because he’s the one who usually forgets the pan and sets off the smoke alarm, and you usually sleep in on Sundays like it’s a constitutional right.

He blinks, dazed and warm and puffy-eyed, as your voice floats into the bedroom.

“Jakey,” you call softly. “Wake up baby. I made you breakfast.”

Jake sits up slowly. His hair’s a mess. His eyes are crusty. He’s half-hard under the blanket because of a dream he already forgot, and his first thought is:

Are you possessed?

“Baby?” you peek your head in, grinning.

Jake squints. “Wait. Did I die?”

You giggle. “No, dummy.”

“Did you die?”

“No.”

“Then why are you—” he looks down at the tray you’re carrying, eyes wide, “—bringing me pancakes?”

You sit beside him on the bed and brush a kiss to his cheek. “Because I love you.”

Jake flinches like you slapped him.

“You do?” he says, eyes watery.

You roll your eyes fondly. “Obviously.”

He leans against you, still confused but clinging like a koala.

Jake is an affectionate idiot, he clings without realizing, kisses without thinking, forgets his keys in your purse because “you’re the safe place.” But today, something about you is different.

You’re not just being kind, you’re being intentional.

You kiss him before he leaves the house.

You help him find his shoes even though they’re right where he always leaves them.

You pack his lunch. Write a little note.

And when he comes home after hanging with Sunghoon, there’s candles on the table.

Candles.

Jake stops in the doorway, staring.

“…Are we summoning something?”

You turn, wearing that adorable outfit, the one he kept staring at the day you tried it on in the store, too stunned to speak, until you went “should I not get it?” and he panic-yelled “NO GET IT GET IT.”

You wore it.

For him.

Jake gulps.

“Did I do something right?” he asks. “Or did I do something wrong and this is the part before you kill me?”

You walk over and wrap your arms around his waist, laying your cheek against his chest. “You did everything right.”

Jake stands frozen. His whole body is stiff, except for one very obvious part.

You notice.

Of course you do.

You giggle. “You’re so easy.”

Jake whines. “You’re being so nice to me. It’s turning me on. That feels unethical.”

Dinner is perfect.

You give him his favorite part of the steak.

You laugh at every one of his terrible jokes.

You even rub his knee under the table like you want him.

Jake’s not used to being the pretty one in the relationship. You’re hot. So hot. It makes no sense to anyone that you date a guy who once cried during an animal shelter ad and accidentally set his microwave on fire trying to make instant ramen.

And yet.

You treat him like he’s the prize.

Jake wants to cry.

And then…

You give him a gift.

Wrapped. Bow and all.

Jake tears it open, confused, and finds:

A framed photo of you two, from your beach trip where Jake got sunburned and you made fun of his farmer’s tan.

A pressed flower from the first bouquet he gave you. He thought you threw it out.

A tiny hand-written book titled: “101 Reasons Why I’m Glad You’re Mine”

Jake blinks down at the cover.

“I—I don’t—” he stammers.

And then, finally, his eyes flick to the calendar on the wall.

The date glows like a punch to the gut.

Anniversary. Three years.

Jake forgot.

You didn’t.

“Jake,” you say softly, sitting beside him on the bed. “You okay?”

He looks like you kicked his puppy.

“I’m the worst boyfriend ever.”

“No you’re not.”

“I am. You did all this. And I didn’t even get you, like— like a card. Or a rock I found outside. Or a dumb doodle or a weird TikTok link or, anything.”

You rest your hand on his.

Jake’s bottom lip wobbles. He sniffles.

“It’s okay,” you say gently. “You always forget dates. I kind of expected it.”

That only makes it worse.

“You knew I’d forget?” he says, heartbroken.

You give a small, sad smile. “It’s not about remembering. It’s about trying.”

Jake stares at you.

And then, without a word, he kneels.

He presses kisses to your thigh. Your knee. Your hip.

Your stomach.

“Let me make it up to you,” he murmurs. “Please.”

He worships you.

That’s the only word for it.

Jake moves with reverence. He kisses you like he’s trying to apologize with his mouth, long, wet kisses that leave you gasping.

When you slide his shirt off, he fumbles a little with yours.

“Can I see you?” he whispers. “Please?”

You nod.

Jake groans the second your top’s off. His hands are greedy, trembling, desperate. But still gentle.

He takes his time.

So much time.

“Turn around?” you ask softly, cheeks warm. “I wanna ride you. That way.”

Jake’s brain short-circuits.

“Reverse— um what is it— um?”

“Reverse cowgirl?.”

Jake whines, already tugging his pants off. “I don’t even know if my heart can take that.”

You straddle him, slow and teasing.

And when you sink down, his hands fly to your hips.

Then hesitate.

Then slowly, tentatively, cup your ass.

“Can I?” he whispers, voice wrecked.

You nod.

Jake lets out the dirtiest moan you’ve ever heard.

“Your ass is insane,” he babbles. “I’m—fuck—I’m gonna die. This is my punishment. You’re punishing me.”

He doesn’t even thrust.

He just holds you there, buried inside, cock so deep and warm that it feels like you’re melting together.

“P—please,” he breathes. “You’re so warm— n’so pretty. Like a goddess. Like an avenging angel with the softest—oh my god—you clenched.”

You giggle.

“I’m sorry,” he moans. “I know I forgot. I know I don’t deserve this. But I love you. I love you so much I feel it in my spine.”

You lean back slightly, rocking your hips once.

Jake chokes.

“I’ll never forget again,” he gasps. “Swear to god. I’ll tattoo it. I’ll set calendar alerts. I’ll carve it into my desk.”

You bounce once.

Jake screams.

You’re both laughing by the time he flips you over and kisses you breathless, trying to say everything with his hands and his mouth and his body that he forgot to say with words.

And after, when he’s soft inside you, buried to the hilt, and you’re both tangled and warm and sticky, Jake whispers:

“Next year I’m doing the most. Be ready.”

You hum, nuzzling into his chest. “Can’t wait.”

🪷 ─── @gxwesn @gyarumindd @somuchdard @ssanhwatto (join the taglist guys..)

[thesewordsareallihavetogive]

Feeding the Pitt Crew - Dr. Jack Abbot x chef!reader

Summary: 3.2k words. Based on this request: i love love love chef!reader !! could u maybe do a short compilation of all the times she has given food to the pitt crew ? :)  Scenes are not in chronological order. This is a companion piece to Flesh Wound.

Warnings: innuendos. Mentions of PTSD, suicide, military-related accidents, and death. Family fluff, more innuendos, the chef is a damn catch and Abbot thanks his lucky stars he has her.

a/n: I got very hungry while writing this. also stay tuned to the end for some deleted dialogue that was too funny not to share. Divider credit!

1. Jack’s Birthday

Jack was working on his birthday. Well, it technically wasn’t his birthday yet, but when the clock struck midnight, he’d be a year older. He stopped counting the years after he turned 34.

Jack’s birthday might not be that important to him, but it was definitely important to you.

You got out of the restaurant a bit later than you normally would after going through all the closing tasks with your staff, but you’d still make it to the Pitt by midnight if you walked briskly.

There was a lull at the Pitt—the kind that made staff afraid of getting comfortable. No one dared to say the Q or S word. It seemed too right. Doctor Abbot sat at one of the dictation desks, squinting at some new test results. He was still in denial about needing reading glasses.

The high counter partially construed Jack’s view of you as you walked up to him. He was so focused on his charting that he didn’t spare you a glance.

“If you have any questions or concerns, please return to your room and activate the call light. Our staff will be with you as soon as possible.” Doctor Abbot droned. The speech was practiced, he could recite it in his speech. On one occasion, he had. You had to stifle your giggles into a pillow to avoid waking him up. He’d be the first to admit that his bedside manner wouldn’t always get him a five star review, but he was a damn good doctor.

“Is that so?” you smirked, your head tilted to the side as you assessed him. Forget the lingerie set wrapped up in a black gift box, tied with crimson ribbon in your closet at home, you should get him some damn glasses for his birthday.

Your boyfriend finally whipped his head to look at you. His features instantly softened at the sight of you. He rounded the desk and led you to the staff break room with your joined hands. He was trying to keep a low profile, and based on the gift bag in your left hand and to-go container in the right, he figured giving you his one-on-one attention away from the prying ears and eyes from the likes of Myrna and the night shift nurses was in his best interest.

“What are you doing here?” Jack asked almost rhetorically. Before the deserted room’s door could shut, you were already unboxing a homemade slice of cake (with the promise that the rest of the cake was in his apartment fridge, waiting for him to devour) and had pulled out candles and a matchbox.

Jack watched you work with his toned arms crossed over his broad chest. He attempted to feign his baseline stoicism, but it quickly fell apart as he watched how excited you got while lighting the candles.

“You know, it’s against hospital policy to have an open flame,” the doctor informed you while wagging his finger. Jack knew his words didn’t even sound that convincing to himself.

“You were never much of a rule-follower anyway,” you quipped back, showing him a toothy grin as you finished up. The chocolate ganache layered cake was adorned with just a few candles. 

“Figured it would be a real fire hazard if I brought out all fourty-some candles.”

“Smart-ass.”

“Think you can take the heat?” Jack stepped to you, invading your personal space. His intense eyes never left yours as he wrapped his arms around your waist. He was tired, sure, but his seemingly ever-present fatigue was the furthest thing from his mind as he, who notoriously hated celebrating his birthday, stood alone in the break room with the woman he loved. Every year he spent with you just tasted sweeter and sweeter.

“Oh, I know I can,” you responded, flirtatious desire dancing in your eyes. You stepped back from Jack to give him room to blow out his candles, but not far enough to loosen the firm but gentle grip of his large hand on your hip.

With a dramatic inhale and gentle exhale onto the art that was your baking, the gray, gruff, bordering on geriatric, trauma physician blew out his birthday candles at 12:02 a.m.

“Happy birthday, Jack,” you smiled sweetly and pressed your lips to his.

2. Steelers Win the Super Bowl

The Steelers won the Super Bowl for the first time since 2009. Naturally, the Pitt was receiving an abnormally high amount of drunken party-related injuries. In all honesty, Pittsburgh’s fans were giving Philly’s Eagles rowdy fanbase a run for their money.

The betting board listed all different possible scores, plays, fouls, end zone dances, the variety of celebration-related incidents and injuries night shift would encounter in the Pitt, and finally, what kind of snacks Mrs. Abbot would be bringing in for the crew.

Earlier in the evening, Jack was told he wasn’t allowed to bet on the last item specifically.

“You know too much. It’s like insider trading.”

“Yeah, you’ve probably seen what she’s bought in groceries over the last couple of days. Or maybe you even talked about it!”

The security staff and techs volleyed back and forth as Doctor Abbot grew more and more annoyed. He just wanted to place a damn bet on what songs his wife’s favorite artist would be performing during the halftime show.

Doctor Abbot swore he had no idea what his wife had planned, or if she was even going to visit.

“Psh. She always visits when she knows your ass will be too busy to eat something on your own,” Shen interjected as he posted his bet on the board.

True.

When you walked in with two large boxes with Abby’s printed script on the sides in your arms, Abbot barely noticed the boxes threatening to escape your grasp. No, Doctor Abbot was much more transfixed by the little number you’d decided to show up at his workplace in. 

Your knee-high boots, fishnets, and tight leather mini skirt were more than enough to catch the eye of a concerning majority of hospital staff and lucid patients, but it was the oversized Steelers jersey you’d borrowed from Jack’s closet that had him subtly readjusting himself in the middle of the Pitt.

Shen and one of the security guards you’d seen at least half a dozen times generously offered to take the boxes off your hands and to the staff lounge. A few newer staff members were drawn toward the aroma, but instead of following the food to the break room, they stayed swarmed around you as you slowly made your way through the Pitt. Your boots, unfortunately, were not made for walking.

Jack huffed and wrapped up as quickly as possible, his eyes rarely leaving you. The junior staff surrounding you clearly weren’t aware that you were the Mrs. Abbot, otherwise, they certainly wouldn’t have been pushing their luck by flirting with you. As if the massive rock on your ring finger wasn’t enough of an indication that you were not available.

Doctor Abbot finally finished up and began his leisurely stroll toward his wife. He might’ve had more urgency if he wasn’t tired to his bones, if his muscles weren’t achey in a way that he knew only a warm bath with you tucked between his thighs would soothe.

That was until you started to bend over to adjust your boot.

Jack was at your back in an instant, preserving what modesty you had left. The leather skirt had ridden far too high up your thighs for his comfort. The junior staff scrambled away at the deathly dagger glare Doctor Abbot dealt to each of them.

Jack’s hips pressed firmly against your back, his hand splayed across your belly, pulling you against him. His lips were mere millimeters from your skin as he whispered into the shell of your ear.

“Trying to put on a show, hmm?” His warm breath fanned against you, and you wondered if your husband could feel your bounding pulse.

“Only if you’re the one watching,” your eyes fluttered closed and you leaned back into Jack’s strong form. Abbot hummed and squeezed your hip before gently pulling away. He intertwined his fingers with yours as you both joined Shen and half of the nightshift crew in the staff lounge. Your eyes widened to see that more than half the food was already gone, but you were happy nonetheless that it was being enjoyed.

Jack took in the spread you’d thoughtfully crafted for his crew. Buffalo chicken dip sat in the center of one of the Abby’s catering boxes, surrounded by fresh-baked pretzel bites. In the other tray, an assortment of veggies was wedged between hummus and your secret ranch recipe.

Jack grazed on the snacks, but never strayed too far from your side. His hand rested on the small of your back that was exposed, his thumb softly massaging your skin; You’d styled his Steelers jersey to a cropped fit by cinching it with a black and gold scrunchy.

Like always, it didn’t take too long before the momentary peace in the Pitt was interrupted. Doctors Shen, Ellis, and Abbot’s pagers all lit up simultaneously as an incoming trauma alert was called out over the PA system.

Jack pressed a chaste kiss to your lips and shamelessly squeezed your butt with his large hand before performing a final raid of the snack spread, shoving a combination of celery, pretzel bites, and buffalo chicken dip into his mouth before jogging to the ambulance bay.

3. Memorial Day

Memorial Day was always a tough day for Jack.

For most of the country, it was a day off from work and an excuse to cook out or spend an afternoon at the pool.

To Jack, it was a reminder of all the men he’d served with who died in action. Those who died from all-consuming PTSD and self-inflicted wounds. It reminded him of the accident that killed several servicemen—the one that he was lucky enough to survive, minus a leg.

Every year, you let Jack decide what to do for the day. Sometimes he drove for hours on end with no destination in mind. Just him, the open road, and a sense of control. Other years, the two of you stayed inside with the blackout curtains drawn and watched hours of shitty reality TV as sweet aromas wafted from the kitchen. Blue Bell vanilla ice cream paired perfectly with your chocolate chunk cookie recipe.

When the fireworks went off, Jack buried his head against your neck and held onto you like a lifeline.

Abbot joked that he’d put on at least a couple of pounds around his midsection since he began dating you. You simply shrugged and told him you were into it; into his stubble and graying hair, his soft tummy and firm, rippling arms, his “DILF vibe”, as you called it.

This Memorial Day, Jack decided he wanted to celebrate. He’d spent years mourning, and he always would. This time around, he wanted to celebrate his friends’ lost lives and honor the sacrifice they’d made.

Only after you’d checked with your husband multiple times to make sure he was okay with it did you invite Abby’s staff and the entire PTMC ER crew over to your home for a Memorial Day cookout. Half of the Pitt was scheduled to work, but the night staff made sure to stop by before their shift started, and the day shift arrived not long after, still in their scrubs and exhausted, but motivated by the promise of Mrs. Abbot’s food.

Jack insisted on manning the grill.

“This is where I shine, baby,” he insisted while checking over the grill and propane valves.

“Sure, honey,” you conceded with a light hum. You let him cook the burgers on the condition that he wear his “I rub my own meat” apron. It didn’t take much convincing.

More than one party guest groaned when they saw you weren’t preparing the hot dogs and burgers yourself, but their moods quickly turned around when they took in the sight of your kitchen island. No counter space was visible. The marble slab was covered corner to corner with various side dishes and desserts. Certainly, anybody with any dietary restrictions at the party could find something to enjoy.

This year, when the fireworks danced across Pittsburgh’s sky, Jack didn’t go inside. He didn’t draw the curtains. Instead, he held you tightly on his lap, surrounded by his friends and found family around your backyard bonfire.

4. The Bake Sale

You and Jack agreed early on in your relationship that kids just weren’t in the cards for you two. Given how dedicated you both were to your respective careers, it wouldn’t be fair to bring children into a home that was empty half the time. Neither of you wanted to give up your ambitions. It was a selfless decision, really. Every child deserves loving parents who want to have children, and that simply wasn’t you and Jack.

That didn’t mean you weren’t an absolutely kickass cool Aunt, though.

When your niece’s school ballet recital was coming up, your sister told you the PTA was arranging a bake sale fundraiser. Before she even finished her sentence, you agreed to help out. You would do anything for your little niece.

The morning of the recital, Jack watched his home turn into a bakery. You generously allowed him to taste test and even enlisted his help… in washing dishes and rearranging things in the kitchen to make room on the counter for the dozen pans you’d churned out.

“Honey… are you running the bake sale by yourself?” Your husband asked as he carefully slid slices of banana bread into small cellophane bags.

“Oh gosh, no! I’m just helping out a bit,” you called over your shoulder, wrist deep in powdered sugar. What an odd thing for him to ask.

Jack looked at the packed kitchen counters with his eyebrows raised. He loved your baking and cooking more than life itself, but there was no way you were going to sell out of this many treats.

The recital was beautiful. Sure, the kindergarteners weren’t exactly ready to be recruited by the New York City Ballet Company, but the joy on their faces and adoration from their families filled the room. The love was palpable and warm. It was comfortable.

Jack bought a bouquet of pink roses and baby’s breath for your niece. Ballet wasn’t his thing, but he loved spending time with you, no matter what you were doing. Motherhood was never something you craved, the same way fatherhood wasn’t something Jack ever pictured himself in. But the love you felt for your nieces and nephews? It knew no bounds.

Just as Jack suspected, your desserts were a hit at the bake sale and outsold other contributions by far. But, you were still left over with a surplus of treats that had the other PTA moms in shock. You and your husband had tasted more than your fair share of desserts during your baking spree, but you didn’t want the food to go to waste. You knew exactly the place to deliver the boxes of spare treats.

It was weird to see Doctor Abbot in the Pitt without his uniform. His jeans and collared button-up shirt stretched across his broad chest in a distracting way. Your husband caught you staring and winked at you with one of his signature smirks.

Abbot moved through PTMC’s halls with practiced precision. He knows the hospital like the back of his hand and could navigate it blindly. He knows it almost as well as he knows you.

Normally, your husband wouldn’t have you carry anything or lift a finger. But the Abby’s boxes and bags were too much to carry alone, even for him. So he carried the heaviest and told you where to scan his key card while you balanced a single light bag on your shoulder.

The two of you slipped into the Pitt, almost unnoticed amidst the chaos. Almost.

“Aye! Abby’s is here!” The charge nurse announced across the Pitt, earning the attention of every staff member. You waved to everyone with a kind smile while Jack used his chin to attempt to secure the top box in his arms. Doctor Ellis wasted no time making her way over to the couple, plucking the top two boxes out of Dr. Abbot’s hold and blowing a kiss to you as she passed.

“Thank you, Mrs. Abbot,” she grinned and disappeared into the staff lounge. Jack spared you a sideways glance, you shrugged in response.

You and Jack didn’t even make it halfway down the hallway to the breakroom before a flurry of staff members had taken the boxes and bags out of your hands, calling out Thank you! You’re the best! Mmm, this smells amazing!

Once the metaphorical dust settled, leaving you and Jack both empty-handed and alone in the hallway, you chuckled to each other.

No, the food would certainly not go to waste. Not on the Pitt crew’s watch.

5. The Soup Kitchen

At least once a month, Abby’s made an appearance at soup kitchens throughout Pittsburgh for unhoused people in the community. You had half a dozen tried-and-true recipes that were always a hit among guests, but you were ready to try something new. While you could’ve had Jack taste test for you, you knew he’d just tell you he thought everything you cooked was amazing. Which was true.

Usually, Abby’s was closed on Mondays, but you made an exception today to invite a handful of PTMC’s finest to sample the new soups. The physicians, nurses, and techs alike mingled in the dining room while they snacked on stray saltines.

You cleared your throat and commanded the room effortlessly. Jack stood to your side, his hands clasped behind his back. A small smile graced his face as he watched you in your element. The trauma physician admired the way your engagement ring glimmered in the light as you gestured to the spread in front of you.

“Listen up! Here’s the deal: Help yourself to some soup. Give me your feedback directly, or if Jack has threatened you,” you added pointedly, pinning your fiancé with a nonlethal glance, “feel free to write it down and leave it in the suggestion box. Constructive and complimentary feedback are equally appreciated. If you take leftovers home, I expect you to volunteer with me at a soup kitchen event at least once over the next couple of months. Got it?” You looked at the small crowd, smirking at the way they were practically drooling.

“Yes, ma’am!” They enthusiastically agreed in unison.

“Alright, kids, dig in.” You didn’t have to tell them twice. Kids, even though the majority of the present staff were older than you, your fiancé included. Nobody objected as they eagerly served themselves.

You leaned against Jack, who was already slurping the last drops of soup from his first bowl, and rested your head on his shoulder. It was nice to see the Pitt staff letting loose. Abby’s was your second home. You had worked tirelessly over the years to make it an inviting place for people to enjoy good food and relax; it was so rewarding to see the frontline workers let their guard down and take a deep breath.

Jack pressed a kiss to your forehead—it was like he could sense your racing thoughts.

“You do good work, baby,” he murmured sincerely against your hairline, massaging the small of your back with his free hand.

“You too, Doctor Abbot.”

a/n 2: Here's the deleted dialogue mwah. *set during the Steelers Super Bowl scene. Jack is taking in his wife’s arguably semi-scandalous outfit* “Aren’t you cold, baby?” “A hoe never gets cold.” “Don’t say that!” Jack replies instantly, exasperated. “Relax. I’m only your hoe.” Damn straight. “Also, I’m approximately 4 drinks deep, so I’m not feeling much of anything right now.” “That sounds more like it.”

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[not-neverland06]

you're not her

The 'Worst' Logan x fem!mutant!reader

a/n: really wanted to write for the worst logan so I found a streaming site so I could finally watch the new Deadpool movie (yay pirating) (this is totally hypothetical and a joke to the feds lurking) I was going to just read the wiki plot but I don’t think that was going to cut it Again, using the same superhero name/powers. It’s not an OC I swear, it just makes sense in comic book movies to have some alternate name and I’m not creative enough to come up with multiple different supe names. Summary: You hate him, you really fucking hate him at first. He’s cruel and constantly reminds you that you’ll never be the hero he knew. You’re not her and he’s made that abundantly clear. But what are you supposed to do when he’s suddenly your new roommate and you have no choice but to wake up to his face every day? I feel sad because I don’t think I did the angst justice with this one. But if I keep staring at it trying to fix it, then I’m never going to post it. (This is a long one guys) Angst with a happy ending (because I’m a little bitch) Makeout scenes and smut towards the very end 18+ MDNI

You don’t know how you got here, but you know you’re mad at whoever dragged you into this shit. You don’t think it would be wild to assume it was Wade’s fault. Usually, when something goes wrong in your life it’s on him. 

What you do know; you look like shit. Wade and Wolverine are both standing over you in their awesome ass uniforms and you’re still in your fucking pajamas. How are you supposed to be badass and save the world in pants that have Spiderman’s face plastered all over them?

“I’m gonna fucking kill you, Wade,” you growl at him. 

He places his hand daintily on his chest and waves you off, “Save that for the bedroom, pookie.”

You grit your teeth and glare up at him, Wolverine gives him a similarly disgusted look. “Fuckin’ ridiculous,” you grumble under your breath. You get to your feet and brush yourself off, finally looking around and taking in wherever the fuck he’s dragged you. “Where are we?”

“The void,” Wade responds, voice ridiculously dramatic. You look around and throw your hands up in defeat. 

“What the fuck, Wade? Why did you drag me with you into this?” You look over at the Wolverine beside him. He hasn’t stopped glaring at you both and his claws are out, clearly ready to just eviscerate you. “Who the fuck is this?”

“Okay, wow, language, Flux. I’m disappointed in you.”

“Eat me-”

You’re cut off by the knock-off Wolverine standing a few feet behind you both. “Flux?” He demands, voice so low you almost can’t hear him. Both you and Wade’s heads whip around to face him. Thus far he’s been relatively silent, you nearly started to wonder if he was mute. 

“It’s her X-Man name,” Wade tells him, gushing like it’s some big deal. “Impressive, huh?” You don’t bother correcting him that it was your X-Men name. Can’t exactly call yourself that if they booted you off the team for being a crappy superhero. 

Logan snorts and shakes his head. He stalks towards you and you nearly fall over in your attempt to scramble back from him. “You,” he demands, claws pointed at you threateningly. “You’re Flux?”

Wade hisses, watching as Logan swipes out at you. “Alright, peanut, let’s put the claws away and take a deep grounding breath.”

“Shut the fuck up,” Logan snaps at Wade. He turns to glare at him and you take the opportunity to scramble behind your friend for protection. At least if he gets stabbed, he’ll heal. “You,” he scoffs and it trails off into a laugh. There’s no humor behind it, he's just a dick. “You are a fucking joke compared to my Flux.”

The ground underneath you rattles, pebbles bouncing off the cracked desert and ricocheting off their boots. Wade quickly moves away from you, shoving you forward so he’s not in the line of fire. “Yeah, well you’re just an alcoholic fuck who could never hold a candle to my Logan.” 

You can feel energy brewing at the tips of your fingers, waves, and waves of hate building up within you. The man across from you feels the shift, the static suddenly permeating the air around you both. You let your power build and build…

The pebbles drop back to the ground and you stumble back from Logan, nose bleeding from overextending yourself. “Shit,” you mutter, wiping at your face with the back of your hand and shaking your head. 

Logan laughs again, it echoes through the stormy sky and you wish you had any control over your powers so you could just send him flying. Or, better yet, turn his bones into liquid and flip him inside out. “Oh,” he lets out a long exhale, glaring at both of you. “This is fuckin’ ridiculous.” The faux smile drops from his face and he raises his voice just loud enough to make you jump, “Just one big fuckin’ joke!”

You have about five seconds to dive to the side before Logan is lunging at Wade. “Wait, wait, wait we can talk about this!” Wade shouts, but it’s too late, he’s already on the ground getting his head caved in. 

You let out a rough sigh, stumbling off to the side. You’re drained from that shitshow of powers. You barely made a few rocks levitate and you feel like you’re going to pass out. You walk away from the two men and throw yourself on the ground, trying to reorient yourself while they fight like wild animals. 

You can hear them in the background, stabbing and shooting like they’re aiming to kill. Too bad neither of them can die. It’d save you a hell of a headache.  They run past you, Logan’s got his claws buried in Wade’s gut while Wade’s desperately firing off his gun into Logan’s chest. 

Your head rolls weakly to the side and you mutter out a pathetic, “No, stop. Don’t kill each other.” As expected, neither of them listens to you. They keep fighting, showing no signs of stopping. 

There’s a moment of silence after about ten minutes of nothing but grunts and insults. You peak your head up in interest. Logan got his claws posed over Wade’s throat. You wonder if decapitation would actually kill him or if he’d somehow manage to survive that. 

Wade doesn’t seem interested in testing out the theory, “They can fix it!” Wade shouts, “They can fix your timeline. I just need your help saving mine.”

Your eyes widen and you meet Wade’s masked gaze over Logan’s shoulders. The white slits widen and he minutely shakes his head, telling you not to say anything. Like, maybe, that neither of you has any fucking clue if the TVA is capable of even fixing timelines like that. 

You know Wade is desperate when he makes that promise. It’s the only reason he would say something so stupid. It’s a blatant lie, one pulled so far out of Wade’s ass you’re genuinely surprised that Logan can’t smell the bullshit. Whatever happened in his universe must have been horrible for him to ever believe anything that comes out of any Deadpool’s mouth. 

It’s a long moment before Logan finally pulls his claws out of Wade. Your friend slumps forward in relief as Logan stalks away from him. You glare at Wade from where you are on the ground, “That was fucking stupid,” you snipe at him. He gets to his feet, walks over to you, and forcefully yanks you to your feet. 

“Not a goddamn word,” he warns, but you aren’t exactly threatened by him when he's got three holes in his head from Logan’s claws. Still, you hold your hands up and acquiesce, following after him as he chases down Logan. 

Your mind is still fuzzy when you are captured by Cassandra. You're recovering from overextending yourself, eyes blurring and limbs going limp like jello when her army of henchmen circle you all. 

You finally feel yourself starting to come back to your body when you wake up tied to Johnny. “And,” Wade draws the word out, waiting until you lift your head to finish, “there she is! Happy you could join us, princess. Mind turning these ropes into dust for me?”

You groan and let your head slump onto Johnny’s shoulder. He smirks and glances down at you. “Oh fuck off, both of you. I can’t do shit right now and you know it, Wade, I’m drained.” 

Logan is glaring at you, but there’s less hate in his glare and more confusion now. “Can you do anything?”

You narrow your eyes at him, lips screwed up while you try to decide if he’s being an asshole or genuine. “Hard of hearing or something old man? I’m drained,” you reiterate, your tone a little too bitchy. 

Logan narrows his eyes, grunting something foul under his breath. Wade interferes before you can piss each other off anymore. “She had an accident, her brain’s a little broken now. But it’s fine! Whose isn’t?”

You huff and throw yourself back against the cage you’re all being transported in. You feel eyes on the side of your head and slowly look over to see Johnny grinning at you. “Hey, you know I’ve met one of your variants-”

“Don’t give a fuck,” you interrupt. You hear Wade snicker under his mask, giving you an encouraging thumbs up even with his hands bound. You were both a little disappointed it wasn’t Captain America lurking under that cloak. But at least this guy isn’t such a prude he won’t cuss. 

For the next five minutes, you’re on the receiving end of a very enthusiastically vulgar rant about just what a cunt Cassandra Nova is. He’s still not even finished by the time you reach the gates to her lair.

Your eyes widen when you see all the people lurking around the walls. Most of them you recognize as people you’ve put away or killed in your world. But there’s something just minutely different about them than the version you faced in your timeline. Their eye color or outfit is always just slightly off. 

The familiar faces are almost a relief. But there is nothing comforting about knowing you're outnumbered two hundred to four. The cage is tipped over and you go rolling out, you grunt as Johnny’s elbow digs into your ribs. 

Before you can even attempt to shove him off, the ropes are whipped off of you and you’re dragged by an invisible force across the ground. Rocks and sand scrape across your tender skin and bury themselves deep in your pores. You hiss in pain when you finally come to a stop and your body is your own again. 

A groan slips through your parted lips unbidden as you struggle onto your knees. Your pajamas are ripped practically everywhere and you feel like you might as well be naked at this point. You really wished that you at least had a chance to change before you were kidnapped to another universe. 

The woman you presume to be Cassandra Nova is currently fucking Wade’s skull with her freakish telepathy fingers. Johnny’s a pile of guts and bones on the floor and you have no fucking clue where she flung Logan to. 

You get to your feet, shaking your head and reorienting yourself. In a second she’s in front of you, head tilted to the side while she regards you curiously. “Woah,” you jump back, glaring at her outstretched hand. 

“Careful,” Wade warns her breathlessly, still clutching his head. “Flux here has a pathological fear of bald people.”

You nod, “It’s true, you can imagine how strained my relationship with your brother was.” Cassandra circles you, a devious tilt to her lips. Your eyes track her, unwilling to take your gaze off her for even a second. You feel like a rabbit, facing down a fox that’s made its way into your burrow. 

“Curious,” she mutters. “I’ve seen quite a few of you down here before. But,” she chuckles and before you can move her hand is shoving its way into your brain. You scream, there’s an agonizing burn as her fingers probe under your eyes and dig through the deepest part of your subconscious. It feels like someone’s taking a shovel and ripping up your worst traumas. “None of them have been so weak.”

Wonderful, even she wants to insult you. You can feel the way she’s plucking through your thoughts, tossing aside the ones she doesn’t like. Images of your childhood are flashing across your vision. You can no longer see the world around you, it’s like every one of your worst memories is being played on a projector. 

“Ah,” she clicks her tongue and jerks your neck around until you’re looking at something you’ve tried to forget for years. “Here it is. How easy it would be for me to simply unblock those powers of yours.” She smiles, her face appearing before you and blocking out the bloodshed. “It would make this far more entertaining for me, what do you say?”

Your teeth are clenched so tightly you’re surprised they haven’t cracked yet. It’s hard to get the words out when her fingers are still dancing through your skull. “Fuck you,” you finally spit out. She releases you suddenly, and you surge forward with a gasp, clutching at your skull desperately. 

You half expect your brains to begin leaking from your nose and eyes. But nothing happens, despite feeling incredibly violated, everything is still in its proper place. Cassandra walks past you like everything is fine and dandy in the world. “Well, as much as I would love to see those powers of yours in action again, Flux, I’m afraid Alioth must eat.”

Before you can ask what she's talking about there’s a loud rumble. Like thunder cracking through the sky and land, the ground underneath you shakes. Cracks form under your feet and the henchmen around you all start desperately racing for cover. 

You turn around, staring wide-eyed at the purple cloud of death and destruction steadily moving across the sky. A face breaks through the clouds, grinning down at you. Purple lightning hits the ground and the villain next to you explodes into nothing but dust. 

“Shit!” You shout, turning around and running to try and avoid getting zapped up next. There’s no coming back from this one. Once this monster gets you, not even god could save you. 

Suddenly, an arm wraps around your waist, lifting you off your feet. “No time for consent, we’ve got to get the fuck outta here!” Wade shouts in your ear. Logan is standing next to some robot leg, ripping out cords until a jet on the back fires up. Wade leaps onto the boot, wrapping an arm around Logan’s legs as you’re all shot into the sky. 

You’d scream if you weren’t trying not to throw up. You hurtle through the sky at speeds that have your skin nearly ripping off your skull. The rocket on the back of the leg starts to sputter out. The flames flickering out and then back to life. It steadily begins to drop until you’re plummeting headfirst towards the ground. 

Wade wraps himself around you, tossing himself off the boot so he can brace your fall. You hear and feel nearly all of his bones break under your weight. For a moment it feels like you’re laying on warm jello as you try and catch your breath. 

“Nailed it,” he mutters weakly. You’re pretty sure he can’t breathe, a rib having pierced his lung in the fall. A shadow looms over you and you glance up to find Logan glaring down at you. You stare at him apprehensively, half expecting him to unsheathe his claws and just end you right here. 

Instead, to your surprise, he holds a hand out. You look at it with suspicion, glaring back up at him. “Fucks sake,” he mutters. He reaches down, roughly grabbing your hand and jerking you to your feet. You feel the warmth of Wade’s blood on your back and grimace. 

“Thanks,” you mutter, still not entirely trusting of him. 

He purses his lips into a thin line, backing awkwardly away from you. He just nods and starts surveying the land around you. It feels less like trying to figure out where you all landed and more like awkwardly avoiding eye contact. 

The whole interaction leaves you feeling odd. “Well, that was as awkward as two virgins on prom night,” Wade loudly announces as he jumps to his feet. You whip around and send him a dirty look but his attention has already been snagged by something else. Lately, you’ve been considering grounding up Adderall and slipping it into his breakfast, you think it might do him some good. 

What’s got to be the fugliest dog you’ve ever seen in your life bounds towards Wade. He drops to his knees, ripping off his mask and opening his arms wide to the mutt. You grimace, taking a step back when she starts licking his face. “Oh, that’s just wrong.”

Thankfully dogless, you steal Nicepool’s Honda Odyssey - much to Wade’s chagrin. Logan’s in the front seat, Wade beside him. You’re sitting in the back, rubbing your temples and trying to get rid of the raging migraine you’ve had since Cassandra finger blasted your brain. 

You’ve been zoning in and out of the conversation happening in the front seat of the car. But Logan suddenly slams on the brakes and you go hurtling forward. Without even looking at you, both their arms shoot out, blocking you from flying through the windshield. 

Your face scrunches up as you look at both their arms, it feels like being saved by an overbearing soccer mom. “Buckle up, princess,” Wade tells you. He shoves you back into your seat and you look between the two men suspiciously. 

“Did you just say if?” Logan growls, glaring at Wade. Your face drops, finally realizing what you’d missed. 

Wade lets out a weak chuckle, “Slip of the tongue?” Logan growls and the claws come out. Wade raises his hands, “Okay, let’s put a brake on the crazy train. I wasn’t lying it was just an educated,” for the first time in your friendship Wade is actually speechless. You’re shocked by the silence. Until, of course, he runs his mouth again and comes up with the lamest cop-out you’ve ever heard. “It was an educated wish that they could fix your timeline, alright?”

Logan doesn’t give much of a warning except a low growl before he shoves his claws deep into Wade’s thigh. “You motherfucker!”

“Hey!” You shout, jumping forward and ripping Logan’s claws out of Wade’s leg. “Look, we’re trying to save our whole fucking universe. Can you blame him for lying?” You regret opening your mouth pretty much immediately. 

You should have just stayed out of this, it wasn’t any of your business. And if they wanted to be two dumbasses and fucking tear each other apart then so be it. But you never should have drawn attention to yourself. 

“Shut the fuck up,” Logan shouts at you. It’s so startling, coming from him. You’re still associating him with the man you’d looked up to growing up. Your Wolverine was a hero. He was the reason you wanted to be an X-Man. And they look exactly the same, it’s nearly impossible for you to separate this one from the one you knew. 

But it's easier now. Because the man you’d known would never be so cruel and jaded to the world. Not like this. “Why the fuck are you even here? You’re just some watered-down knockoff of a real hero. You are nothing, you’re worth nothing. It’s a fucking joke that you’re alive and the woman I knew is buried six feet deep. If there was anything right in the world you would be in a grave somewhere crawling with maggots.”

Your eyes water without your permission. You don’t know this man. Yet, he has the face of your greatest hero and the man who you’d grown up hearing stories about. It’s like facing everything you’ve ever wanted to be and having it shout your deepest fears and insecurities back at you. He’s just confirming something you’ve known for years. You never deserved the title of being an X-Man. You never deserved the uniform or anything that came with it. 

Your breaths are coming short and fast, it feels like your lungs are constricting. You worry you won’t be able to get air in but he doesn’t care. No, he keeps going. “You follow this fucking clown around and you contribute nothing to the world. You’re never gonna save your fucking timeline. You can’t even make a few rocks float.” It’s not the words that hurt you next. It’s the way he says it. “You’re pathetic.”

He spits them at you. There’s venom lacing his tone like he’s seen into you and knows there’s nothing in you to offer. For the first time in a long time, you feel seen and you hate it. Because he’s looking past the sarcasm and the faux confidence you carry yourself with. 

He sees the empty husk of a woman you truly are and he’s forcing you to face it with him. It causes you physical pain, to know that everything you’ve ever feared about yourself is true. You don’t have anything to say to him, you can’t. 

Your lips tremble and you feel so fucking small. You can hear your parent's voices in your head, screaming at you and wishing you were never born. They’d rather have a stillborn than a fucked up mutant for a daughter. You see the way even other kids at the school would hide from you. You were made wrong, even as a mutant you were never truly accepted. 

Logan’s face drops ever so slightly at the prolonged silence in the car. Even Wade isn’t speaking, he’s just staring at you both. “I,” he starts, but Wade cuts him off. 

“I’m gonna hurt you now.” Wade’s never been one to let people run over you, even when you might just let yourself fall into the background. You shouldn’t be surprised when he draws a knife and stabs it into Logan’s throat. 

But the arterial spray that follows catches you off guard and suddenly your tears are dried. Instead, you’re throwing open the car door and diving out before one of them crushes you. You make it out of the car just in time, Logan having thrown Wade right where you had been sitting. 

Music starts up in the car as a result of their fighting. Divorced dad rock and the sounds of their, borderline, sexual grunting are your soundtrack for the rest of the night. You curl up at the base of a tree, waiting for them to be done with each other. 

Logan’s words continue to echo through your head. And the longer you linger on what he said the angrier you get. Not necessarily at him, but at yourself. You’ve let yourself linger in self-pity and wallow in regret for so long. 

You look in the mirror and you no longer recognize yourself. He’s right, as much as you hate to admit it, you’re a fucking joke. You toss your head back, slamming it against the trunk of the tree hard enough for it to hurt. 

There’s this manic, cloying feeling tugging at your chest. It’s like someone’s sitting on your ribs, crushing you until you can’t breathe anymore. You keep throwing your head back, letting the pain distract you until you feel warm blood leaking down the back of your scalp. 

“Shit,” you hiss, hand coming up to cradle the back of your skull. You wince when you feel the split in your skin. The blood leaks over the tips of your fingers, running through the cracks of your palm. 

You force yourself to relax, to move your head away from the tree. As you go to stand up, possibly to get Wade and Logan to quit their fighting, you notice something odd. The air around you is still, you can no longer hear them grunting or groaning as they rock the Honda. 

Leaves are suspended in the air. They’re not trembling from the breeze, they’re completely frozen. You take a step forward and gasp when you hit something solid. The air in front of you has solidified somehow. 

The realization dawns on you slowly but surely. This is you, you’ve done this. Manipulated everything around you on an atomic level. You’ve turned something you shouldn’t be able to feel into something you can touch. Frozen the world around you. Whatever Cassandra had done inside your head, it had knocked something loose. 

You haven’t had this wide a range of control for years. Any attempt to do something like this has been met with nosebleeds and long periods of blacking out. Elation fills you, the hurt from earlier is nearly gone. 

You glance through the wall of air and try to see if you can still see the Odyssey. To your horror, it’s gone. You wave your hands and the air returns to normal. The leaves drift back to the forest floor and you run back to where you’d left the two men. 

There are tire tracks dug deep into the mud. You know Wade wouldn’t willingly leave you behind, not here. You don’t know if Logan’s just kidnapped him or if someone else has. Whoever was driving was clearly in a rush to get out of here. 

You must have missed it all while you were having your meltdown. “Fuck,” you shout, your voice echoing into the branches above. You take in a deep breath and start walking. Hopefully, you can catch up to them before whoever has them does serious damage. 

You make it to a weird cave/hideout area. The Odyssey is parked outside and when you peek through the broken windows you find the interior completely destroyed. There’s blood soaking through every surface, anything and everything has been smashed and bent the wrong way. 

You don’t even know if this is from Wade and Logan or whoever had snatched them. Shaking your head you back up and slink towards the entrance of the den. You can hear shouting inside, it sounds like Wade, but you can’t make out what he’s saying. 

You haven’t seen action for a long time. At least not any that you could actually contribute to. It feels a bit like riding a bike. You’d practiced on your way here, making things around you float or eradicating a few trees into nothing but dust in the wind. But this is different. 

Your friend (and Logan) are inside, possibly being tortured. Maybe even dead. Though, you seriously doubt the universe is going to be that nice to you. You let the energy build in your arms, it’s like a warm tingling feeling. It shoots down to the palms of your hands until you feel static in the air. 

You take a step inside and spot three people. Each of them is decked out in weapons. One of them turns and spots you. “Who is-” 

You don’t let him finish, throwing your hands out and slamming them all into the wall so hard the whole interior shakes. Dirt rains down from the ceilings while their faces contort in pain. You run inside, spotting Logan and Wade. 

You shoot Wade a big grin but he throws his hands up and shouts, “Read the fucking room!” Your brows furrow and he points emphatically at the people you’re holding, “Good guys!”

“Oh shit,” you release them immediately, a guilty look on your face. “I am so sorry.” Logan cackles in the back, doubled over laughing while the three people in front of you brush themselves off. 

You don’t want to be out here with him, but it’s better than being in that cave with the others. Laura walks past you, sending you an uneasy smile. You’d noticed her sitting beside Logan and decided they probably needed a few moments to themselves. 

They were finished now, though, and he had the only bottle of liquor left in the cave with him. You trudge over to him, leaves crunching under your boots. Elektra, after that horrific introduction, had given you a uniform a different Flux had left behind. 

She was long gone, killed by Cassandra years ago, but she’d conveniently been your exact size. The uniform is nearly identical to the one you have buried under your bed. Black leather with a dark purple X going across your chest and matching purple seams. You’d never wanted something ridiculously flashy. Just something that people would see and associate with the X-Men. 

Because that’s all you’d ever wanted to be; a hero. It feels like a pipe dream now. If your pajamas weren’t so destroyed you would have just stayed in them. You don’t feel like you deserve this uniform, not when the woman who’d worn it before you had actually been a hero in her timeline. 

“Don’t want company,” Logan snarks, without even looking back to see who’s coming up to him.

You take a seat on the lawn chair closest to him and snatch the bottle of whiskey from his hands. “Good,” you tilt your head back, downing as much as possible. It burns the whole way and you revel in the slight tickle in the back of your throat. 

“Alright,” Logan mutters. He gently takes the bottle back from you, giving you an aggrieved look when he sees just how much you’ve stolen. He looks back into the fire and sighs, “Look, I’m not interested in hearing about your sob story or why you’re suddenly drinking all my liquor-”

“Gambit’s liquor,” you interrupt, not bothering to look at him. “And I’m not looking to dump my sob story on your lap. I just want to sit in silence and that’s impossible because Wade hasn’t stopped running his mouth since we got here.”

He looks a little surprised by the brusque way you dismiss him, “Alright,” he mutters. He takes another swig from the bottle and you both stare silently into the fire. It’s like that for a while, you don’t bother keeping track of time. 

All you hear is the crackling of the flames. All you can feel is the way your eyes burn from staring into the fire and watching sparks pop off the logs for too long. The breeze rustles the trees, makes the leaves shake free and dance around the logs of the fire. 

He breaks the silence first, to your chagrin. “About what I said,” he clears his throat uncomfortably, still refusing to look at you, “back in the car.”

“Don’t,” you snap, voice low. “Just,” you let out a long breath and shake your head. You finally look over and meet his eyes. He does actually look sorry, but you don’t want to hear it. “Just don’t, I deserved it all right.”

“No, no you didn’t.” You open your mouth to argue but he gives you a firm look that has your jaw snapping shut. “I was wrong, I don’t know you. And if my Flux had ever heard me talking to you like that she would have melted my fucking spine.” He laughs a little and you feel your lips twitch up slightly. It’s the first time you’ve seen him look anything but angry. 

Curiosity loosens your tongue and knocks you out of the dazed stupor you’ve been in. “What was she like?” You ask, tone earnest. “Your Flux, I mean, you make her sound so amazing. I just can’t,” you trail off, but the look on his face tells you he understands your unspoken words. I just can’t see myself as a real hero. 

He groans and leans back on the log he’s resting on. He stretches his legs out in front of him, the liquor bottle placed on the forest floor. You’re surprised, you figured the thing was glued to his hand. 

“Well,” he reaches up and scratches at the scruff of his chin, a wry grin on his face. “She was always giving me shit, never let me get away with anything.” You unconsciously lean forward, drawn into the endearing way he begins to describe this other version of you. 

It’s not ridiculous to assume this variant meant something to him. He’s got a shine to his eye that you haven’t seen in the whole time you’ve been together. His gaze has been empty, closed off to anything and everything. But now, his eyes are crinkling at the corners, there’s an easy smile on his face that you can’t miss. 

“Ah, she was fucking feisty. And strong, she was so strong. She was always a better hero than I was. She lived for that shit,” he trails off and shakes his head. You can see you’re losing him and you don’t want this to end. You’re in your own little bubble right now, getting to pretend there’s a version of you out there somewhere that actually lived up to her potential. 

“Her powers,” you blurt out, desperate for something to stop him from retreating back into his mind. “Did she have, um, good control over them?”

Logan nods, eyes darting down to the bottle of whiskey before flickering back up to meet your gaze again. “Yeah, Charles trained her, she was right up there with Jean. She could have,” he stops and suddenly you feel guilty for making him talk about this. You can see the tears in the corner of his eyes, the way the whites of them go red. “She could have been great.”

“I’m sorry,” you whisper, “I didn’t mean to pry.” But you did. You were being selfish and forcing him to talk about it even though you knew it would hurt him. 

“Look, kid, she would have liked you. I’ll tell you that much,” he says reluctantly. Like the words hurt to force out. You suppose he isn’t used to being genuine with anyone. 

You shake your head and look down at your hands. “I appreciate the thought, but I doubt it.”

Logan grabs the bottle again, gulping it down like it's water. His words have a slight slur to them as he speaks again. “I think I would know, bub. ‘Sides, you made it into the X-Men, tells me what I need to know.”

You scoff and fix him with a sardonic look, he raises his brows in question and you roll your eyes. “They’ll take fucking anybody. And I still wasn’t good enough for them.”

Logan shakes his head and frowns. “If what I saw in there,” he points back to the den and you feel your cheeks warm as you remember what you’d done, “is any indication, then I’m sure you were plenty good.”

You lean towards him, elbows braced on your knees. He follows suit, leaning so close you almost want to back up. The proximity flusters you slightly but you shake the feeling off. “You don’t even know me and the first real thing you said to me was that I’d be more useful as fertilizer.”

He sighs, face screwing up at your harsh words. He runs a hand over his cheeks and groans, “I didn’t mean it like that.”

You lean back in your chair and idly twirl your hand through the air. The leaves around you lift up and flutter through the air above your head. Logan watches and you turn back to him, waiting until his eyes meet yours to speak again. “Yes, you did. And you were right. I’m fucking useless, powers or not.” The leaves drop, a few fluttering into the fire. “We’re irrelevant, Wolverine, two washed-up X-Men who never looked good in the uniform.”

There’s a twinge of hurt on his face but you can’t make yourself feel bad about it. Since he’s such a fan of brutal truth, you’re sure he can handle it. 

You watch as the leaves curl up at the corners, the fire burning them straight through the middle. You get to your feet and move past him. You’re nearly back to the den when he calls, “The suit looks right on you,” over his shoulder.

You pause at the threshold of the door. He’s already drinking again, staring into the fire and watching it burn. You take a few steps towards him, staring at his broad back. “What happened to her, your me?”

Logan looks down at his hands, his ring finger specifically. You wonder at the significance of the movement, what exactly you’d meant to him. “She married me,” he mutters, voice cold and closed off again. 

“Goodnight, Logan,” you whisper, finally walking inside the den. 

You miss the small goodnight he sends back to you, finally turning around only to watch you leave. 

There had been a very clear plan set in place. Get Juggernaut’s helmet, put it on Cassandra, and then kill that psychotic bitch. Which is why you’re so confused when you’re standing knee-deep in guts and watching Logan and Wade leap through a portal above you. 

You don’t have time to feel angry or even hurt that they left without you. Laura is grabbing your arm and you’re both running for your life, trying to escape Alioth again. You run into Cassandra’s lair ducking into one of the rooms and dragging Laura with you. 

You’re both holding your breaths and praying that he’s sated by the others still outside. After a few minutes, the cracks of thunder stop and you risk peeking your head outside. The clouds have retreated back to their usual spot in the middle of the void. 

You take in the carnage of Cassandra’s evil lair. Most everybody is dead. You only have to skirt around a few people to get back to the Odyssey. 

You throw yourself in the driver’s seat and sink back against the bloodstained cushions. You let out a relieved breath and look at Laura, “What do you do to entertain yourself around here?”

You acclimated to the idea of being stuck in the void pretty quickly. There wasn’t exactly a lot waiting for you back home. Besides, Laura was nice enough. You had food, beer, and company. You didn’t really need much else. 

You’re pretty sure if you linger too long on the thought that Wade left you behind you’ll fall into a depression that you’re never going to be able to claw your way out of. So, you forced a smile on your face and played cards. Nothing else to do but wait to die of old age or for Alioth to kill you. 

Of course, your plans had to be ruined. There was an odd rush of air against your back and then a slight whoosh. Laura glanced over your shoulders and her brows furrowed, you turned around to find three armored men waiting behind you. 

“Flux,” the man glanced from you to Laura, “X-23?”

“Laura,” you both correct at the same time. 

The man gives an aggrieved sigh and holds his arm out, “Come with me, please.”

You stand up, energy tingling in the palms of your hands while you regard them suspiciously. Laura comes up behind you, claws out and glaring at them. “Why should we?” You demand. 

Barely a second later you hear the most insufferable voice in the world. “Hiya, peanut!” 

“Wade,” you hiss. You follow the armored men through an oddly shaped portal and find Wade standing beside a shirtless Logan, smiling proudly at you. “You fucking left me,” you hold up your hands and his eyes widen. 

His hands quickly come up, trying to assuage you, “Hold on now-”

You throw him back, his body hurtling into a nearby building and caving in the wall. Logan watches it happen with a small smile, “Been wanting to do that for a while.” 

Once Wade had recovered he filled you in on everything that happened. TVA did a general clean up and then you were standing in front of your apartment door, keys in hand like nothing had happened. 

It was so bizarre, going from a mission to save your timeline and then you’re expected to just go about your life. You stay standing in that hallway for you don’t know how long before you hear someone behind you. 

You jump and drop your keys when Logan clears his throat. “Shit,” you hiss, whirling around and glaring at him while your heart races. He chuckles and bends over to grab your keys for you. 

“Sorry,” he mutters. This is the most relaxed you’ve ever seen him, covered in blood and in a borrowed shirt. “Uh, Wade doesn’t have enough room at his place. Told me I should come over here.”

You look over his shoulder and see Wade peeking his head out of his doorway. He catches your eye, sending you a thumbs up. You almost smile but then he makes a phallic gesture with his hands, pointing at Logan and humping the air. You glare at him and he quickly backs into his apartment, but not before sending you one last encouraging shit-eating grin. 

You look back at Logan and he’s waiting expectantly for your answer. “Yeah,” you take your keys from him and unlock the door. “I’ve got a spare room but there’s no bed in it right now.” Your eyes widen when you see the mess that is your apartment. 

You quickly rush through, picking up empty take-out boxes and dirty laundry and shoving them into your room. He’s smiling at you when you come back and it's slightly off-putting. “Um,” you gesture towards the couch awkwardly. “You can take the sofa tonight and we’ll look at setting you up with something more permanent tomorrow.”

“Thanks,” he hovers by the armrest and you engage in the longest stare-off of your life. Neither of you says anything for a few suffocating moments before he gestures at himself. “Shower?”

“Oh,” you snap out of your stupor and nod your head. “Yeah, right, of course.” You show him down the hall, “Here. I’ll go get you a towel.”

You rush towards your linen closet, leaving him behind in your bathroom. You grab a few clean towels and then figure he might want some clothes as well. You grab some pajamas that Wade’s left over when he’s crashed before. They’ll probably be a bit tighter on Logan, but you wouldn’t mind seeing that. 

You walk back to the bathroom and the thought of knocking doesn’t even run through your head. It should, honestly, but you’re already so thrown off by him even being here. You walk in and immediately gasp and drop the towels. 

“Oh, I'm sorry. I’m so sorry.” He’s standing naked before you. Clothes discarded on the floor behind him. Everything on perfect display. Your eyes land on his abs, noticing a few prominent veins leading down-

You cover your face and turn around. “Sorry,” you mutter again. God, you’re such an idiot. You still haven’t even left. You’d just been shamelessly ogling the man naked and you don’t even have the decency to walk out. 

You really can’t help it though. It’s been such a clusterfuck, the last 72 hours. Your brain is fried and Wade’s little show hasn’t helped you at all.  

You hear Logan laugh behind you. “It’s alright,” he mutters. Something warm ghosts across your arm and you jump slightly. His hand firmly grasps your bicep, gently tugging your palms away from your face. 

You risk a glance over your shoulder and nearly gasp at how close he’s gotten. He's towering over you, something in his face you can’t place. “It’s alright,” he whispers again and you find yourself nodding without really thinking. 

He’s got both hands on your arms now, trailing up and down. The touch is so featherlight you can barely feel it at all. You don’t even realize how he’s gently coaxing you closer until you trip on the towels at your feet. 

You startle, looking down at them and moving to kick them aside. But he stops you, his finger nudging your chip up so you’ll look at him again. There is such blatant want painted across his face that it makes your heart skip a beat. Your breath catches in your throat when he wraps an arm around your waist and drags you closer. 

You can feel all of him. You can feel just how much he wants you. It catches you off guard, this sudden display of attraction. You don’t know where it’s coming from, what’s brought it on. But you can’t find it in yourself to care. You’ve been so lonely for so long. You just want to bask in the fact that he looks absolutely starved for you. 

No man has ever looked at you with such heartbreakingly yearning eyes - like he’s been looking for you his whole life. He dips down, lips ghosting gently over yours. Your breaths mingle together, you can nearly taste him. 

It’s unclear which one of you moves first, who pushes closer to the other. But it doesn’t matter because the second you put real pressure behind the kiss he’s all over you. One of his hands drifts down to your ass, squeezing the flesh there and dragging you closer, grinding his hips into yours. 

You moan at the feeling, your arms wrap around his neck and you press yourself even closer. He groans against your lips at the first swipe of your tongue. You part with a gasp when he picks you up, practically tossing you onto your sink. Your legs spread instinctually, making room for him as he slots himself between them. 

It’s odd, feeling so vulnerable even when he’s the one who's completely naked. It still feels like he’s holding all the power. 

His lips are moving frantically over yours like he’s terrified you’re going to disappear the second he lets go. You can taste something desperate on his tongue. Something deeply rooted inside him that you can’t identify. 

One of your hands drifts from his neck, trailing over the muscles of his chest. Your fingers carve a path down his abs, relishing in how muscular he feels under your palm. Your hand reaches his pelvis, nearly wrapped around him when he jumps back. 

He grabs your wrist in a grip so tight you know there’s going to be a bruise. A pained gasp slips out and he releases you immediately. “I’m sorry,” he mutters. “Sorry, I can’t.” He won’t look at you now, backing up towards the shower and shaking his head. “This was a bad idea, I can’t do this.”

You shake your head, slipping off the sink and hiding your bruised wrist behind your back. “No, sorry, I shouldn’t have moved so fast.”

You feel too ashamed to meet his eye. He kissed you but you feel like you’ve forced yourself on him somehow. It’s a nauseating feeling and you want nothing more than to run back to your room and hide. 

He takes a step towards you, something pained on his face. “Kid-”

You just shake your head, step out of the bathroom, and grab the handle of the door. “Sorry,” you whisper again, closing the door behind you. You lean against the cool wood, trying to catch your breath. 

Your hand drifts up to your lips, still tingling from how desperately he’d kissed you. It doesn’t make any sense. He came on to you, he threw you up on the sink, and made out with you more passionately than any man ever has before. So why are you the one who feels dirty?

You rush down the hall and into your room, slamming the door behind you. You dive under your covers, closing your eyes even though you know you won’t sleep. No, your shoulders are tensed up to your ears and your bones are vibrating with an energy you need to release. 

You’re completely tuned into the other person lurking in your apartment. You can hear as he starts the shower, how he talks quietly to himself sometimes. Then when he gets out you can perfectly picture what he looks like while he’s getting dressed and it only makes you feel worse. 

You listen as he leaves the bathroom and pauses in the hall. You can see it in your mind’s eye, how he stares at your door. He walks towards it and lingers for a minute before cussing quietly and heading back into the living room. 

You suddenly remember that you didn’t lay sheets out on the couch for him. You feel guilty, but there’s not one part of you that will be dragged from this bed and face him. Not now, at least. 

He’s up for a little while longer, getting water. Turning the TV on and off. Rooting through your cabinets looking for booze you know you don’t have. Finally, he settles on the couch. You’re awake for another hour, unable to relax until you’re completely sure he’s asleep. Even as you drift off and your body finally relaxes your mind doesn’t. You keep seeing that stricken look on his face and it makes you sick to your stomach. 

It’s the smell of pancakes that wakes you up. You’re not sure when you finally managed to pass out last night but you know it was late. Which is why you’re so pissed off that you’re being forced to get up at seven in the morning. 

You’re used to being able to sleep in a lot later than that. You’re already in a pissy mood from last night and it only gets worse as you trudge around your room getting ready. You’ve never been more thankful to have snagged one of the rare two-bathroom apartments in the building.

You don’t want to have to share a bathroom with Logan. You don’t even want to use the other one after what happened last night. It’s too embarrassing and painful to think about. The emotional whiplash of feeling so desired and then absolutely hideous is making your head spin. 

You’re sure it was all just a problem on his end, but it really doesn’t make you feel any better. When you can’t stall any longer, and you know that Logan has heard you get up, you slip quietly out of your room. 

The curtains in your living room are open and he’s in the kitchen fucking around with your stove. The news is playing quietly on the TV and you’re astounded about how little he’s done and how much more homely your apartment feels. 

It’s never really been home to you. Not after you were booted from the X-Men. But he’s somehow made it ten times cozier than it ever has been. You almost resent him a little for it. 

“Morning,” he grumbles from the kitchen. “Coffee,” he motions behind him and you see a steaming cup already waiting for you. You silently slip behind him, grabbing the creamer from the fridge and pouring it until you’re sure it’s sweet enough to not actually taste the coffee. 

“Thanks,” you mutter, moving to sit at the table. You keep your eyes trained on the TV, pretending to pay attention to the news so you don’t have to look at him. He bores his eyes into the side of your head until you feel like you’re going to have holes in your temple. 

When you can’t take it anymore you finally look over at him. He doesn’t smile, his face barely even twitches, he just looks back to his pan and continues scrambling some eggs. “Didn’t know you cooked,” you offer up weakly, already growing anxious from the silence. 

It feels wrong, to be walking on eggshells in your own apartment. He grunts and shrugs, “Not really cooking. You had the mix in your pantry,” he tells you brusquely. His tone borders on rude and you scoff. 

The audacity of this man to have an attitude with you in your apartment. He was the one who threw a hissy fit last night. You roll your eyes and go back to the news, all it tells you is that the world is just as depressing as the inside of your apartment is right now. 

You notice out of the corner of your eye the way his shoulders slump forward. He leans against the oven, seeming not to care if he burns himself. You suppose it doesn’t matter, he’d just heal. “Sorry,” he mutters. It sounds like it pains him to say the words. 

“Whatever,” you mumble under your breath. You take a long sip of your coffee, slurping a little so you have something to fill the atmosphere. 

He puts some food on a plate and brings it over to the table for you. You usually don’t eat breakfast, preferring to just skip the meal and eat a bigger lunch. But it feels too bitchy to say that to him, so you just accept the food with a strained smile. “Thanks.”

He sits across from you, glaring down at your table like it insulted him. You drag your fork against the plate, letting the scrape of metal against porcelain drown out your worries. Finally, he looks at you. “Look, about last night.”

You tense up. You want to interrupt him, to stop him from explaining. You know it’s just going to hurt your feelings, whatever he says. Whether he tells you it was a mistake or he just realized he’s not attracted to you, either way, you’re fucked. But, it’s also kept you up all night so you just shut your mouth and let him speak. 

You keep your gaze trained on your plate, unable to fully face him. He lets out a long sigh and clenches his fork so tight you hear the metal bend. He drops it to the table and clenches and unclenches his fists a few times. 

“I just couldn’t kiss you, not when I wasn’t doing it for the right reasons.”

Your brows furrow in confusion and you finally look up at him. “What?” You demand, disbelief coloring your voice. 

His eyes are boring into yours, an intensity behind the stare that leaves you feeling a little shaken. “You look like her,” he whispers, and the grief is so thick in his voice it makes your throat tighten. He pauses briefly before continuing. “There are,” he clears his throat like he’s trying not to cry. It makes you lean back in your chair, arms crossed over your stomach uncomfortably. 

“There are a few differences, obviously. You’re not a carbon copy. But your mannerisms, your attitudes, you’re so similar. And I,” he shakes his head and gives you one of the most genuinely apologetic looks you’ve ever received. You can tell he really does feel guilty for projecting on you but it doesn’t make you feel any less uncomfortable. “And I just wasn’t doing that for the right reasons. I was pretending you were her and that’s just not fair to you.”

You lean your elbows on the table, head falling into your hands. You let out a rough sigh and groan in irritation. You knew the reason would hurt but you didn’t think it would be this bad. You feel gross, icky under your skin knowing that he was pretending you were another version of yourself. The version of yourself you’ve always wanted to be; the hero. 

But you also feel such a deep sadness and sympathy for him. He’d briefly mentioned that he was married to this other you. You can’t even begin to imagine what it would feel like, to see your dead wife’s face staring at you and she doesn’t even know you. 

“I,” you don’t even know where to begin. You struggle to say anything for a minute and you both just stew in the tense silence. You take in a deep breath and look up at him. You do what you always do, forcing a smile and shrugging it off. “I appreciate the honesty, really.” You stand up, bringing your still-full plate into the kitchen and busying yourself with cleaning up. 

“Clearly,” you snap, your voice crueler than it should be, “It was a mistake. We’ll just have to make sure it doesn’t happen again, right?”

Logan sits silently at the table. He looks like there’s more he wants to say but you don’t give him the chance. You can’t take it. You finally thought someone had wanted you for you, flaws and all. You’re a fucking idiot, he barely even knows you. Whatever connection you thought was there was just brought about by your own loneliness. 

“I gotta get ready for work,” you tell his back because he isn’t looking at you now. 

He nods, scraping his fork across the plate as he aggressively cuts into his food. “Right.” You wait for him to say anything else but he doesn’t. 

You walk past him and head back to your room. You don’t even have a job, you don’t have to work. But you still grab your purse and head out of the apartment. Pretending you do just so you don’t have to look at him anymore. 

You really should have let him finish, though. You should have let him keep talking to you. Let him explain how as much as he sees her in you, that’s not why he wants you. He wants you for you. Because as similar as you can be, you’re still a completely different person from who his late wife was. You’re someone strong and incredible and he genuinely wants you. But he can never really let himself be happy. 

It takes a few days for you both to ease up around the other. The incident in the bathroom is never brought up again. You take him shopping for clothes after a few days. It feels wrong to keep giving him Wade’s hand-me-downs. You would have had your friend take him, but you don’t trust Wade’s sense of fashion at all. 

After that and getting lunch together while you were out shopping things got a little easier. You bought him a bed for the spare room because you felt guilty seeing him all cramped up on your tiny couch. 

You don’t initiate any physical contact with each other. The closest you’d gotten was your hands brushing when you both reached for some popcorn at the same time on movie night. But you hadn’t really minded that bad. 

Eventually, he starts to feel like a real roommate and a friend. He lets little pieces of himself slip out. Slowly opens up about his past. You haven’t made any existential discoveries of course. But he tells you stories of what his X-Men were like. 

You try not to dance around the topic of his wife, you don’t want him to think you’re avoiding asking about her. But you also don’t want him to think you’re obsessed with discussing her. 

He’s right, you two weren’t carbon copies of each other at all. You might share a few things in common but the more both you and Logan learn about each other, the more clear it is how different you both are from your variants. 

Sometimes you think he looks at you like he’s really seeing you, not her. But you can never be sure and you don’t want to put much strength behind the thought in case you’re wrong. You hate the idea that when you’re thinking of nothing but him, he’s just seeing her reflection on your face. 

There’s nothing you can do about it but it doesn’t stop the hurt. 

Tonight, at Wade’s suggestion, you’re both up on the roof waiting for a meteor shower that you’re ninety percent sure is never going to happen. You’re also one hundred percent sure that Wade just tricked you out of your apartment so he could have sex in it. He and Vanessa don’t really get a lot of time alone with Blind Al around. You’re already mentally preparing for the absolute fuck storm you’re going to have to clean up after.  

There’s a light nudge on your shoulder and you glance over at Logan. He’s got the whiskey bottle outstretched towards you and you take it from him with a smile. One thing about being his roommate, your alcohol tolerance has skyrocketed. His liver might regenerate, but you’re pretty sure if you keep going down this route yours will give out in a few months. 

“Think this is actually going to happen?” You ask, pointing up toward the clear night sky. 

Logan chuckles and shakes his head. He stretches out in your flimsy lawn chair and you try not to let your gaze be drawn to the sliver of skin peeking out from his shirt. “Probably not, but I don’t mind being out here.”

There’s an unspoken, with you, that makes you smile. You meet his gaze, his eyes soft as he watches you. “Me either.” You lean back in your chair, pulling your legs up onto the seat and huddling under your blanket. “It’s peaceful.”

You drink together in silence for a little while longer. Then you have to tap out, you don’t want your brain getting too foggy. Tonight is nice, you want to remember it tomorrow. To your surprise, he caps the bottle and places it to the side. You don’t mention it but you do feel like you’ve noticed he’s been drinking a little less. The dark circles under his eyes seem to be easing away ever so slightly. 

He looks over at you with an odd light in his eyes. You shift uncomfortably under his stare when it lasts a little longer than it usually does. You chuckle awkwardly, “Do I have something on my face?”

There’s a soft uptick to his lips as he shakes his head. “No,” he mutters, looking back out at the night. “You mind if I ask you something?”

Ominous, but whatever. “Sure.”

He still doesn’t look at you and you worry slightly about whatever it is he’s going to ask. He doesn’t ease you into it all, “Wade said your brain was broken?” A laugh springs out of your throat from how brusque that was. He rolls his eyes. “Fuckin’ idiot mentioned it in the void, been wonderin’ about it.”

“It’s fine,” you tell him. You’re relaxed enough that you don’t mind answering. You don’t want to pop the soft bubble you’ve managed to create around each other. “Here,” you hold your hand out for the whiskey bottle. He gives you an apprehensive look before handing it over. 

You unscrew the cap, “This,” you say and point your hand at the glass. The liquid inside lifts into the air and you freeze it before dropping it back into the bottle with a splash, a simple little party trick. “This used to be enough to put me in a coma for two days. That’s what he meant. Something happened to me and I just couldn’t do it anymore.”

Logan’s eyes widen and he shakes his head in disbelief. You laugh a little, “I assume your wife never had problems like that?”

There’s always a fond smile when you mention his wife. Whether the memory is bittersweet or not. “She wasn’t perfect, much as I thought so. When she used her powers too much she,” he trails off and looks down at the floor. You frown, ducking your head down so you can catch his gaze. 

“You don’t have to talk if you don’t want to,” you promise quietly.

But he shakes his head and gives you a weak, tight-lipped smile. “No, I want to. And I don’t want you to think you’re the only Flux who struggled. When she used her powers too much she would deteriorate. Parts of her would just disappear, I don’t even know how to describe it. They were destroying her from the inside out.”

You let out a low whistle, eyes widening slightly. “Well, maybe I didn't get the short end of the stick after all.” It’s quiet and for a moment you worry your humor was ill-timed. 

But he lets out a rough laugh, “No, I guess not.” He takes in a deep breath before looking back up at you. There’s no distant sadness in his eyes like there usually is when you bring her up. It seems to only be a familiar ache now, rather than something fresh and bleeding. “But what happened to you? Why couldn’t you use your powers?”

“Oh,” you look down at your lap, picking at the strings of your pants. It would be unfair to have him talk about his wife and then wimp out when it was your turn. 

“Um, There was this mission. A bunch of kids, mutants, were being held in this warehouse. It was actually pretty normal, just go in, retrieve them, and bring them back to safety. I must have done a dozen of these before, but, I don’t know. Something was this different this time around.”

You can still hear them screaming. In your mind, you hear the way they cried for help. And you see the look on your faces when they realize you can’t save them every time you go to sleep. 

You suck in a sharp breath and almost jump when his hand lands on yours. It’s gentle, he’s barely even touching you and he’s not even acknowledging what he’s doing. But you take his hand in yours and squeeze, it’s nice, grounding. 

“Long story short, they were heavily guarded and I was pretty drained from fighting off the guards. My powers were practically gone by the time we could even get to the kids. And, I don’t know, something must have gotten knocked over or hit the wrong way because smoke was filling the place and everything was on fire. I couldn’t see anything, couldn’t breathe, and the kids were blocked off. There was nothing we could do to get to them. Everyone kept screaming at me, telling me to just use my abilities and get them out of there. I couldn’t,” your voice gets thick and you look anywhere but at him. “I,” your mouth hangs open and you don’t know what you could possibly say. 

There’s no excuse for what happened. “I just couldn’t,” you whisper. You sniffle and your eyes flutter rapidly, trying to stop any tears from coming. “Hadn’t been able to use my powers since then. Trauma block or something, I guess,” you dismiss yourself flippantly and shrug. 

Logan just squeezes your hand again. He doesn’t seem to know what to say to comfort you and you’re honestly grateful for the silence. You get so sick of people telling you there was nothing you could have done. Or that the others should have helped you. Because that’s not a fucking excuse. There’s no fixing what happened, no giving those parents their children back. You fucked up and you don’t appreciate people giving you cop-outs. 

You keep your gaze trained steadily on the ground, eyes going blurry while you try to slip into the back of your mind. You don’t get the chance, though. Logan is kneeling in front of you, hands slipping up your arms to cup your face. 

He forces you to look at him, to stay present in the moment with him. “You fucked up,” he tells you. It's so shocking that you can’t help but let out a loud wet laugh. You sniffle and he grins, wiping the tears out from under your eyes. His grip on your cheeks tightens and he makes sure you’re listening as he speaks, “You fucked up, kid. But that doesn’t mean you didn’t try your fucking hardest. And it doesn’t erase all the people you did help.”

Your eyes search him, trying to find any kernel of untruth. Trying to prove to yourself that this isn’t real. That he isn’t real. You don’t deserve this moment of such unwavering trust and faith. This is meant for someone else, for someone who deserves good things in life. 

You’ve never truly believed you deserved happiness or peace like this. But right now you don’t care because he is saying everything you’ve ever wanted to hear. And he actually means it. 

Your hand drifts up, covering his and tilting your head to press a gentle kiss to his palm. It’s tentative, a test, a way to give him an out if doesn’t want this. His grip on you tightens for half a second before he shoots forward and claims your lips with his own. 

It escalates quickly. You practically melt off your chair, straddling his lap while he leans back on the ground. Your hands tug at his hair while he moves desperately over your body. He can’t seem to decide what he wants to do, where he wants to touch you. 

You love how fully his hands engulf you, the tight way they cradle you to his chest. You’ve never felt more secure in someone’s arms than you do right now. He’s got you, and he wants you. For you this time, you can tell. You can tell from the way he holds you that this isn’t a desperation born from grief. It’s something else, something you’re not ready to identify yet. 

His tongue laves across the seam of your lips, silently asking permission. You smile against the kiss, parting your lips and deepening it. He licks into you, tasting you with a low grunt in the back of his throat. You feel your hips start to move of their own volition. Gently grinding down against his lap. You moan when you feel just how bad he wants you. 

You lean back, parting from the kiss and pressing a finger to his chest to keep from following. You chuckle at his eagerness, grinding your hips down again and watching the way he thrusts up to meet your movement. “Didn’t know I was such a good kisser,” you tease. 

But he doesn’t return the joke or play along. His face falls slightly and he pulls further away from you, the look on his face distant. “What?” You whisper. “Do I have bad breath?” You joke, trying to keep the mood light. 

He shakes his head and runs a tired hand over his face. “No,” he mutters. He repeats the word more firmly and finally meets your gaze. “I think I need to take this slow, just because of…”

He trails off but you know what he means. His wife. You don’t know if he’s still projecting her onto you, you felt so sure he wasn’t earlier. But if every time you kiss he’s gonna pull back you’re not sure that you can do this. “Of course,” you mutter with a bite to your voice. It’s hard not to feel a little rejected every time he acts like this. 

You move to get off his lap but his hands clamp down on your hips and he shakes his head again. “You don’t have to get up.”

You hesitate, thighs still hovering over his. You should get up and put as much space between you as possible. But he’s so warm and you want to be held for a little while more. You nod and he looks relieved. You lean back down, pressing your chest against his and letting your head rest in the crook of his neck. 

He wraps a heavy arm around your back, keeping you close while the other reaches up to stroke your hair. It makes you feel small, in a good way. Like you can just relax and he’ll take care of you. 

“Goddamn,” he laughs a little and you sit up. He nods to the sky above and you turn around, gasping. 

“Fuck,” you whisper, “he wasn’t lying.” For once, Wade was telling the truth. Above you, it looks like the sky is falling. Glittering stars dart across the sky, streaks of blue following behind them. You grin, “It’s so beautiful.”

Logan keeps his eyes on you and nods, “Yeah, it is.”

“Ah, look, my favorite fuck buddies.”

”Wade,” you greet tightly. You shove the bottle of wine you brought into his chest and he stumbles back. “Just let us in, you freak.”

He frowns, placing a hand over his heart. “You know, it really hurts when you talk like that. I think we all need to hold hands and have a good old-fashioned jerk circle.”

You roll your eyes and flick his thick forehead. “It’s share circle, dumbass.”

”Not the way I do it,” he moves to the side and lets you both in. “Well, mi casa es su casa, especially since Vanessa and I had rockin’ sex in your bed last week.”

He walks off before you can hit him or even begin to respond to that. “I fucking knew it,” you hiss, glaring at his stupid Hawaiian shirt while he mingles with the rest of the people at the party. 

Logan chuckles behind you, “How did you two ever become friends?”

You roll your eyes and turn to face him. “I moved in next door,” you respond dryly. “This was a nonconsensual friendship because god hates me, clearly.” You shrug your jacket off and he takes it from you, hanging it up on the hook by the door. He comes back, slinging an arm around your shoulder, and leading you towards the kitchen. 

You hear Wade laughing loudly in the background and he grunts, “I’m gonna need a drink for this,” he mutters. You nod your head in agreement. You don’t get very far, though, because without any warning Wade is in front of you. He’s got his ridiculous dog in his arms and shoves her in your face. You grimace and jump back. Logan abandons you and you narrow your eyes at his retreating back. Traitor

Wade says your name with disappointment. “You know, Mary Puppins is a part of my life now. As my best friend, you need to bond with her. I can’t have you two fighting like this.” He shoves the dog into your arms without any warning and you flinch away from her wandering tongue. 

“If this thing licks me, I’m putting her down,” you warn him gravely. 

He gasps and snatches her back. “You are no longer welcome in my home,” he tells you with a snotty huff. You roll your eyes and watch him go. When he’s out of sight your lips curl up in a grin and you glance at Logan. 

He’s by the sink, making himself a drink and taking a deep swig straight out of the bottle. You creep up behind him, wrapping your arms around his waist. He smiles, hand coming down to gently hold your arm. “What’re you doing?”

”Come with me,” you whisper. You take his hand and lead him through the apartment. You both skirt around the partygoers, giving them vague greetings and waving them off when they give you odd looks. 

Logan leans down, lips brushing across your ear as he whispers, “Where are we going?” Your knees nearly give out when you hear that low tone of voice of his. You just shake your head and lead him down the hall. You can sniff out Wade’s room from the permeating stench of his axe body spray. 

You throw the door open and drag Logan inside behind you. His nose wrinkles up at the stiff socks littering the floor and the smell. Other than that, it’s relatively clean. You actually thought this would look so much worse. 

“Now,” Logan demands, “are you gonna tell me what we’re doing?”

“Well,” you lock the door and turn around with a devious grin. “Seeing as Wade has ruined my favorite sheets, I feel like we need to get him back somehow.” You glance around the room, trying to figure out something of his you want to destroy. 

You don’t hear Logan moving towards you. You’re too busy rooting through Wade’s desk and trying to find something good to shred up.  All you’re seeing is increasingly more disturbing porno mags. He has got a serious problem with pegging. You briefly wonder if you should set up an intervention or something for him. 

You nearly yelp when Logan’s hands grip your shoulders, whipping you around to face him. “I’ve got an idea of what we can do.” That’s your only warning before his lips cover your own. You melt into him immediately, hands fisting his shirt and dragging him closer. He grins against your lips, lifting you and placing you on the edge of Wade’s desk. 

“Mm,” you moan but shove his chest back and shake your head. “Wait,” you hop off the desk and take a seat on Wade’s bed instead. “There’s no point in this if we’re not on the bed.”

Logan shakes his head with an amused huff. He walks towards you but instead of taking a seat on the bed next to you like you'd expected, he kneels before you. Your brows furrow together and you frown. “Wait, what’re you doing?”

He gives you a gentle smile, hands coming up to rub gently over your thighs. The warmth of his palms soothes you almost immediately. “You trust me?” He asks, voice a low rumble against your chest. 

“Yeah,” you whisper. He nods encouragingly and leans forward, kissing you gently. There’s nothing expectant in this kiss. He’s doing it just to be close to you. Then you feel his hands drifting higher, fingers running over the buttons of your jeans. Your lips part, ready to ask him a question. But he just takes the chance to dip his tongue into your mouth, eagerly tasting you. You moan into it, not protesting when he presses you back into the bed. 

His fingers dip under the waistband of your jeans. You lift your hips to help him tug them the rest of the way down until they’re dropping to the floor quietly. You have a million questions dancing on the tip of your tongue but you can’t find it in yourself to actually voice any of them. You don’t want to break the moment. This is the first time he’s seemed comfortable going further than kissing and some heavy petting. 

“Fuck,” he whispers. Your hips jolt as he runs a thumb over the wet spot on your panties. “All this just from kissing?” He asks, a teasing lilt to his tone. You feel your face flush, cheeks warming when you realize he’s never actually seen just how much he affects you. “Relax,” he tells you, squeezing your thighs once before slipping a few lithe fingers under the band of your panties. 

He tugs them down, but the second he sets eyes on you he gets too impatient to take them off the rest of the way. They dangle off one ankle while he lifts your thighs, setting them on his shoulder and dipping down to press a gentle kiss against you. You gasp at the contact, head tilting back while you instinctually grind your hips up against him. 

It’s been a long time since you’ve actually been with anyone and you already know you’re going to cum embarrassingly quick because he fucking devours you. You’ve had boyfriends who liked to eat you out before, but this is something completely different. 

He drags his tongue over you, sucking on your clit like it’s his only true joy in life. You can’t even make noises, your jaw hanging slack while you cant your hips higher. He groans when you grind against his face, shaking his head and flicking his nose across your bud. You nearly come from the sight of him smiling against your cunt alone. You feel it building slowly, and it’s like your powers are swelling up along with your release. 

Wade’s knicknacks are floating off the shelves, some of them rotating in the air, others fluctuating between liquid and solid forms. You can’t control yourself, you’re barely aware of the chaos happening in the room around you. You just feel a warmth at the tips of your toes, swelling over your body, making your skin feel too tight. There’s little to no warning when you cum. He dips his tongue inside you and you let out a long moan, drenching his face. 

The sheets are soaking wet underneath you and you know you’ve ruined his shirt. You’ve never come that hard before and you would reflect on that more if he wasn’t still fucking eating you out. You think your brain is going to melt out of your ears, you're so overwhelmed by all the different sensations.

He dips his tongue into you, dragging out your orgasm and drinking as much of you down as he can. Your hips keep twitching, you’d be thrashing out of his hands if it wasn’t for the near brushing grip he has on your hips. “Fuck fuck fuck,” you reach down, grabbing his hair at the roots and tugging. He groans at the feeling, barely leaning an inch back. “No more,” you whisper, chest heaving. 

He smiles, palms smoothing across the skin of your thighs, “You okay?” 

“Mhm,” you hum weakly. Your head falls back against the bed with a dull thunk and you struggle to catch your breath. “Holy shit, where did you learn to do that?” He doesn’t answer, just laughs. You jump slightly when he presses a tender kiss on your thigh, every part of you oversensitive. 

He moves slowly up your body, hands dragging your shirt up until he’s pulling it over your head. He cups your cheeks, letting you recover while he kisses your cheeks and face. You laugh slightly at the feeling of his beard tickling you. 

You pull back, meeting his gaze for a long drawn-out moment before you lean forward to finally kiss him back. You can feel yourself slowly coming back into your body. Your limbs tingle back to life while you lazily make out with him. 

His hands drift down your chest, squeezing your breasts. You laugh against his lips, arching into his touch. You reach back, unclipping your bra and throwing it off somewhere in the room. In the far reaches of your mind, you make a mental note to take that when you go. You don’t want to think about what Wade would do with it if he found it. 

Logan pulls back from you and your lips tip down at the serious look he wears. Your fingers trace the lines of his face and you tilt your head in question. “What’s wrong?” You whisper. You’re completely naked before him and he’s still clothed, you don’t want him to leave now. 

He can’t keep doing this to you. He can’t keep forcing you into these vulnerable positions and then leaving. There’s only so much rejection you can take before you start to resent him for it. 

He tilts his head down, gaze dragging across your body appreciatively. He’s looking at you like you’re art and it makes you feel like you should be in a museum somewhere. Finally, his hand drags down from your chest, wrapping around your waist and dragging you onto his lap. 

You brace your hands on his shoulders to steady yourself. He leans towards you, lips trailing lightly across your jaw. “You’re not her,” he whispers against your skin. Your mouth parts, a pained breath slipping through. You try to move back from him. You hadn’t expected something like that, not now, not when you thought you’d made so much progress together. 

To have you naked, vulnerable like this, and then say something like that to you. It was fucking despicable. You shove his shoulders back but he barely moves. You shift, trying to cover yourself and fighting off the urge to cry. Why won’t he let you go? Why does he keep doing this to you? 

He reaches out, snatching up your wrist before you can get far. “I don’t want you to be. I never wanted you to be her, I need you to know that.”

He tries to kiss you but you snatch his jaw in your hand before he can. You let your nails dig in until there’s red blooming under your fingertips. He hisses, but he’s not mad, you can feel how much he enjoys the little pinpricks of pain. 

“No more pulling away,” you warn. “I’m not playing this damn game with you anymore, Logan. You want me, then commit.” You release him with a shove and his pupils dilate with want. You appreciate the gentle way he’s been treating you, but you know you’re both holding back. 

He’s the first partner you’ve been with that can actually take what you give and vice versa. There’s something only mutants understand sometimes. You normally have to hold back, have to make sure you don’t scare a guy off by making the walls shake when you come. 

You push him down onto the bed. Hands sliding under the hem of his shirt and running over the grooves of his muscles. You haven’t had a chance to appreciate just how gorgeous his body is before, but nothing is holding you back now. 

You snap your fingers and the buttons rip open, he surges forward catching your lips with his while you both frantically push his shirt off. He throws it off to the side and his fingers fumble with his belt buckle while you trail kisses down his neck. You glance up at him for a second before biting down on a particularly sensitive spot. 

He groans, head rolling back while you grin against his skin. You make your way back to his lips. “Don’t hold back,” you tell him, trailing your hands down to his fists and running over the spots where the claws come out. 

“Sweetheart,” he starts tone apprehensive. You shake your head, shutting him up with a kiss. 

“Don’t. Hold. Back.”

It’s like a switch flipping. Even the way he looks at you changes. You’re not something to be cherished and adored. You feel like a deer pinned by a wolf. He’s got you in his clutches now and there’s a real possibility you might not survive this. 

He stands up, dropping you on the bed and dragging your hips off the edge. He doesn’t kick his jeans off, just lowers them enough for his cock to hang out. You’ll address the fact that he wasn’t wearing boxers later, you’re too worried about what’s hanging between his legs right now. 

You’re no virgin, but goddamn, there’s no way that’s going to fit. 

He laughs, the noise cruel and it makes shivers crawl down your spine. “We’ll make it work, kid.” He spreads your legs and you tilt your hips up, making it easier for him to just sip inside. 

There’s a slight stretch, but you’re already soaked for him. You’ve been waiting for this to happen since you walked in on him naked in your bathroom. “Oh, shit,” you toss your head back, taking in a deep breath while he pushes in. It feels like he’s rearranging your insides, molding you to fit him perfectly. 

You can already feel yourself clenching down, just being so close to him is enough to make that tingle in the tips of your toes start. He leans down, placing your legs over his elbows and rutting into you like a wild animal. There’s nothing gentle or slow about this. 

You’re both so pent-up, tired from the weeks of dancing around each other. Your nails drag up his back, blood following your movement. Your powers are actively surging against him, pain only driving you further into each other’s arms. 

You can hear his breathy grunts and groans in your ears and it’s music to you. Neither of you cares about the party going on just outside the door. You’re loud, skin slapping against skin while you loudly call out his name. 

God, you hope they hear you. Hope they realize just how thoroughly you’re wrecked for each other. You can feel yourself getting closer, hips stuttering against his while you struggle to match his pace. “Come on,” he mutters in your ear. He releases one of your legs to reach down and rub your clit. 

“Fuck,” you groan, reaching up and tugging at his hair while your back bows. It only takes a few more tight circles of his thumb before you’re spasming around him. He’s quick to follow behind you. 

He pins your hips to the bed, dropping your legs while he thrusts faster. He loses his rhythm, the muscles of his abdomen flexing as he cums inside you. It’s like a mini death, you feel like you’ve lost time when you finally manage to come back to yourself. 

And when you roll your head to the side you realize just how much damage you’ve done to Wade’s bed. “Shit,” You glance up at the sound of his voice and notice little droplets of blood on your hips. Logan’s claws are out, stuck in the fluff of the bed. 

You force the words out, tongue heavy in your mouth. “Do that often?”

“Not really,” he mutters. The claws retreat and he rubs his fingers over the blood. It’s not bad, you’ve honestly done worse to yourself. It’s like a big paper cut. When the rough pad of his fingers presses against the cut you hiss at the sting, nearly enjoying it. 

“Must be special,” you tell him with a cheeky grin. He shakes his head with a laugh and takes his time pulling out. You hate the loss of him inside you but it's a slight relief. He's larger than any partner you’ve ever had and it’s almost overwhelming to be so full. 

“Come on, let's get you dressed.” He pats your thighs, glancing around for your clothes. 

“Uh, Logan,” he looks up and you glance at his still very hard cock. “I thought you came?”

The smile he gives you is slightly terrifying. Because there’s a promise in it. He’s not getting you dressed for no reason. He’s taking you back to your apartment so you can have more fun where there are less people and fewer reminders of Wade. “Stamina's part of the deal, sweetheart.”

“Oh,” you whisper, voice breathless in shock. You wipe the cum off your legs with Wade’s sheets. You feel like you’ve thoroughly gotten revenge on him for destroying your favorite bed set. Maybe, you’ve gone a little farther than revenge, though. 

You feel guilty, looking around the room and seeing everything you destroyed. Once you’re dressed, you wave your hand, putting most things back where they belong. But there’s nothing you can do about the bed. The sheets are soaked with a mixture of yours and Logan’s releases and there are six holes dug deep in the bed from his claws. 

When you step out of the room with Logan, struggling to press down your hair and get it back into place, Blind Al is waiting by the door. She’s doing a line off the back of her hand when you pass by. You think you’ve almost made it scott-free when she yells, “Man, I wish I couldn’t fucking hear,” at you. 

You tense up, shoulders to your ears while you run to the door. Logan laughs, grabbing your coat for you and pressing a hand to your back while he leads you to the apartment. “Weren’t feeling so embarrassed earlier,” he teases. 

“Shut up,” you grumble, dragging him into the apartment to finish what you couldn’t on Wade’s bed. 

You’ve managed to keep any holes out of your bed, you just have to use your powers to keep his at bay. It’s nice, not having to explain why everything around you is levitating to the person you’re having sex with. There were a lot of awkward conversations that came from that. 

You’re lying on Logan’s chest, fingers idly running over the veins in his biceps. “I want to be serious about this,” you tell him. 

His hand pauses from where it’d been stroking your back. You sit up on your elbow so you can get a better look at him. “I mean it, I,” there’s no way to say this without sounding like a complete bitch. You just have to rip the bandaid off. 

You take in a deep breath, “I know that you still miss her,” you say, unwilling to say her name. Logan sits up, looking more serious now. “But I don’t want to be with you if you think that I’m going to turn into her. Or if you think that I’m the last connection you have to her. I’m not her, Logan, and I'm never going to be her.”

You expect anger on his face or regret, maybe. But you don’t expect him to laugh at you. You roll your eyes, lips pursed while you wait for him to finish. He notices the pissy expression on your face and quiets down, but you still see a smile fighting on his lips. 

“I know you’re not her. You could not be more different” he tells you with a slight smirk, like there’s an inside joke you’re missing out on. “I was married to her for a long time and I loved her. But we had our time together. Now, I just want my time with you. You’re not her,” he leans forward, pressing a sweet kiss to your forehead. “That’s why I want you.”

You feel your heart flutter in your chest and have to fight to keep a stupid grin off your face. “Okay,” you whisper. “Good, well as long as we’re on the same page,” you tell him, faux serious. He just rolls his eyes and pulls you back into his arms. 

You’re going to cuddle up beside him when you hear your phone going off like crazy on your nightstand. Your face pinches in confusion and you reach over to grab it. 

Wade

Did you fuckers have sex???

In my bed!!!!

And you didn’t invite me?!

….

Wade

Tell Logan I want his claws in me next

“Fuckin’ dumbass,” you mutter, throwing your phone somewhere on the bed. Logan laughs again, drawing you closer. 

a/n: i have a really weird tendency for masochism, idk what that’s about. I just feel like if you were having sex with this man, he’s taking you like a wild animal. also feel like I might be a one-hit wonder. the smut just wasn’t doing it for me this time guys nor was the angst, i’m disappointed in myself

I just don't think I did justice to his character in the movie, I might have made it too OOC/ if I did PLEASE let me know

end. — I do not own the characters or the comics/movies Wolverine/X-Men, but this writing is my own all rights reserved © not-neverland06 2024. do not copy, repost, translate & recommend elsewhere.

General Taglist: @evasmlp

Logan Taglist:  @nonamevenus ♡

[inu-mxki]

treasure / luffy x fem!reader

“pretty.”

luffy’s rough, callous finger tips traced over your cheek bone and down across your jaw. his big, grey eyes flicking across your features as if he was memorising each freckle, scar and crevice. a soft but entranced expression on his handsome face, as he ran the pad of his thumb over your bottom lip.

“so pretty.”

the captain was a forward man. he left little to the imagination when it came to what he was thinking. and he may not have recognised his emotions towards you as romantic feelings right away, but he sure knew that you were special, and in a way that was different to the others. so when you returned from the two year break, more mature and stronger than before, seeing you again ignited something in him that felt like a fire at the very pit of his stomach, and luffy realised something:

he’d missed you. really, really missed you. like a limb.

and he simply had to make sure you knew that.

“my pretty, though. right?” he mumbled, his loving eyes seeking reassurance. luffy was never someone who particularly needed it, but love was new and different for him. he’d paid it no mind before, and he was still navigating how it worked and felt now these feelings had a name. so he did ask for reassurance, but only from you.

“of course,” you whisper to him, a genuine smile curling at his soft, pink lips, “always, luff.”

“good.” he sighs, his fingertips now travelling down your neck to you bare shoulder, leaning in to press a kiss at the corner of your mouth. “want to look at you forever. so beautiful.”

you relax against him, his warm skin against yours, keeping your body from the cold of the sea air at night. the room was lit by the dimming lights of candles, the rest of the ship sound asleep by now, feeling like it was just the two of you.

“luff,” you whisper, and his eyes meet yours again, his large hand now at the small of your back, holding you as close as possible, legs intertwined. he hums, the same, lovesick look in his eyes as he watches you say his name. “i love you. you know that?”

he chuckles deeply, breathlessly, and you feel the vibration in his broad chest. you look away from his intense gaze for a moment, and begin tracing the scar on his chest with your finger. the muscles beneath his skin are solid, the scar rough and deep as you lightly trace along it. then two fingers, with a feather like touch, press against the bottom of your chin, forcing your eyes to meet his once more. luffy almost looks drunk, completely obsessed with your existence. and he truly was; until you, he didn’t think this kind of thing was important.

but he’d be damned if he lost it now. just having you there, wrapped in his arms, the boat drifting calmly along whilst his loyal crew slept safe and sound, was a feeling he wouldn’t trade for anything.

“look at me, pretty.” he whispered, his voice much lower and gruff with tiredness. luffy was so undeniably handsome, and you honestly became so lost in him that it scared you sometimes. he ghosts his lips over yours, only touching the slightest bit, teasing, until you feel him smile. “stupid question. course i know that.” then his hand snakes around your jaw to hold you gently, fingers threading in the hair at the nape of your neck, and he finally presses his lips to yours. with a sigh you melt into him, and allow him to take the lead, as he kisses you with such intensity and yet it’s soft, warm and loving.

“love you more.” he then mutters against your lips, just hovering there, enjoying the way your breathing quickens as you patiently wait for more. then he grins again, before whispering, so deep and gritty you feel it right at your core. “let me show you what a precious treasure you are to me, yeah?”

[filmstarved]

i can fix him and fuck him.

18+ [logan x female!reader]

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

word count: 5,737

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“it’s too hard being here.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“lo…logan, i’m-“

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“lay down,” he said.

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

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

“are you—“

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“you’re my good girl, huh?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

SNIKT!!

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

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

“…i love you, logan.”

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

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

ease and silence…and love.

[sundrop-writes]

Update for Sunday, April 13th, 2025:

Hey everyone, so I know I was supposed to be editing the second half of the George fic, but I caved into a brainrot that has been haunted me for weeks and I started writing a fic for a character named Fire Candle from a show called No. 1 Sentai Gozyuger

And I know most of you don't even know what that is let alone who that is. So if you like reading fics for fandoms you're not a part of, you're in for a treat. But I totally understand that probably 0 to like 5 people who follow this blog are actually gonna end up reading this fic. And that's okay, this is gonna be a little treat just for me. This is mostly just for me. But I really needed this mentally after the week I've had (I also need to cling onto this mentally with the doctor's appointments I have coming up)

For those of you who are curious - this is gonna be Fire Candle x Fem!Reader, Strangers to 'Lovers', basically PWP (forreal this time). A lot of filth. And I'm gonna have fun with it. So if you like campy villain characters and wanna imagine yourself fucking one, stick around and read this fic lmao

IT'S HIM!!!!!!!! my perfect annoying screaming BABEYYY

[viridescentelf]

Yandere elf x reader - Valentine’s Day

happy valentine‘s day y‘all 👽

Silas Character and Art belongs to @meo-eiru pls go to her and tell she‘s the queen of yandere

since so many peeps asked for more Silas smut, here‘s him „cleaning“ you. Don‘t know how lore accurate this is so pls forgive me if i missed something! i also didn‘t really proof-read so oops 😶‍🌫️

Warnings: 18+, dubcon, noncon, oral sex, general nsfw

—————

His long tongue lapped up your sweet and sour juices. You squirmed, both from the explosive pleasuring scale and his firm grip on your wrists.

You had been telling him about the concept of Valentine‘s Day (some true and untrue things because you could), as he thought it was only humans named Valentine that could celebrate their love on this manufactured holiday. Understanding that it meant showing love to anyone you feel deeply towards - even mothers - Silas hurried to remedy his misunderstanding.

You had never seen the elf change that quickly before. He had adorned some kind of elven festive garb and placed several beautiful flowers in his own and your hair (you watched him from the window scurry around the garden to find them), weaving the stems neatly (and fast) into your strands.

He then asked what humans traditionally did on Valentine‘s Day. You mentioned flowers, chocolates and date nights - trying to skirt around the topic of sex - by using the word „cuddling“. It was something you didn‘t really mind with him, he was extremely cozy to lean into, his soft muscles giving ample cushioning, even if he didn‘t let go of you unless you needed to pee.

Your eyes had followed Silas running into the kitchen and frantically throwing ingredients together to make pralines and chocolates. The house smelled amazing. He hectically returned to the living room where you were reading, chocolate smeared all over his dopy face, to ask if you preferred strawberry or raspberry. You had only gotten to „rasp-„ before he quickly turned to finish his craft.

You had thought this wasn‘t half bad. It was really entertaining watching him cook, bake and decorate with the speed of a doom‘s day dad preparing for the end of the world.

A few hours had passed. Silas had picked you up from the couch and carried you quickly to the dinner table, where he had lit so many candle that you had to blink rapidly through the blinding light. The chocolates were all individually wrapped and adorned with sweet messages. The food he cooked looked amazing, but it was frankly hard to see all of the details through the flickering little fires. Silas placed you on his lap and fed you everything, beyond your stomach‘s ability and despite you saying that you were full.

Feeling woozy from the excess food, you lay catatonic in his arms as every squeeze within the cuddle session made you even more nauseous.

„My darling! I love you I love you I love you I love you!“

He peppered kisses on you as you tried to focus on not throwing up. His kisses helped, whatever was in his weird saliva simultaneously healed you while you knew he was trying to prepare you for what he wanted next.

He hadn‘t cleaned you yet. You had tried to distract him with various other Valentine‘s Day traditions (some of which you made up, like how the greatest act of love is having to do an interpretive dance outside with twigs in your mouth which you watched with absolute glee), but he never missed this part of the day regardless of how hard you tried to get him off schedule. He was relentless that way.

You were still too full to move. He knew this.

Laying you out on the bed, you watched him remove your trousers and underwear. The ravenous glare in his eye always threw you off, every time. It was so menacing and filled with what felt like eons of pent up desire that it shut you up instantly.

His green eyes shimmered as he saw you leaking already, ready for him because of his aphrodisiac sputum and whatever else he added to your meal and chocolates.

He never really told you what he gave you.

What would it matter? You couldn‘t stop him anyway.

Silas‘s head lowered and you instinctively raised your arms to try to push his head away. He grabbed them so fast and held them down onto the soft mattress, that your arms sank deeper into the cushioning.

„There, there…let mama clean you up…“

His grip didn‘t hurt, but it was like cement blocks lying on top of your hands. There was no way you could get them out.

He kissed you. Your body squirmed slowly in response, because it just felt so marvelous. The tongue wreathed out of his smiling lips and traced you, mapping out its course. Your back arched expectingly, but he took his time, breathing his temperate air onto you - warning of the incoming impact.

Silas’ long tongue punched into you and you let out a deep rooted moan you had never heard yourself make before. It snaked through your walls like the invader it was and you felt his hands shake with his own pleasure.

He lapped everything up, your water flooding out of you uncontrollably without a stop in sight.

His mouth wrapped around you and sucked gently, every pop from the release making your spine curl even further. The stinging tingling clenching fiercely and surrounding your entire lower body, every lick, kiss and suction pushing your further.

You climaxed many times, from the penetration and from his feverish licking, every new flick causing your hips to convulse furiously.

He was saying something, but you couldn‘t hear with dark moans escaping your throat. He quickly returned to his task, letting you grow weaker with every orgasm.

You knew hours passed, because the light from the window was dimming. He had feasted on you for so long that the mattress was soaked.

Finally letting up, happy with his cleaning job, he pulled you up into a seated position while his growth pointed like a dagger at your face, his tall stature looming over you.

He huffed, as his giant hand caressed your cheek. Your exhausted eyes stared up at him.

„M-milking time darling…“

[sixeyesonathiel]

the spoils of sanctity

pairing — holy knight gojo x demon princess reader

cw: heavy dubcon, noncon elements, yandere themes, power imbalance, explicit sexual content (oral sex—forced fellatio, penetrative sex—vaginal, tail play, cock slapping, clit slapping, nipple play, edging, multiple orgasms, creampie, breeding kink, cervix penetration, sex positions—kneeling oral, bent-over doggy style, missionary with hips tilted, folded missionary, face-down doggy, pinned missionary, cowgirl), brat taming, dacryphilia, degradation/humiliation, corruption/dumbification, mind break, forced submission, public humiliation mentions, restraint/bondage (sashes, choker enchantment), asphyxiation (throat squeezing during oral), size kink, sadism, perverted behavior, religious sacrilege (mock prayers, holy/demonic themes), pseudo-marital dynamics (trophy wife as a literal prized possession), 18+ only, minors DNI. 10k+ wc.

a/n : damn. i may have written satoru here a lil too freaky.

the war had torn the world apart, kingdoms reduced to ash and bone, and satoru, the holy knight, stood as its shining fucking savior. the people wept at his feet, praising his blessed sword, his sanctified armor, his pure goddamn soul. they thought he’d dragged you—the demon princess, half-human spawn of filth and pride—back to the palace to purge the evil from your veins. to correct you. to save the world from your clawed, defiant existence.

they were wrong.

so fucking wrong.

behind the palace walls, he wasn’t saving shit. he was breaking you. claiming you. turning you into his collared little trophy wife, a prize he’d won with blood and steel. the world saw mercy in his grip on your leash. you saw the truth: a perverted freak who got off on your humiliation, who wanted to fuck the humanity into your demon half until you cracked.

his private chambers smelled like wax and sin, the air thick with the flicker of sanctified gold candles lining the walls. their light danced over the stone, over the tattered remains of your finery—black silk shredded at the thighs, clinging to your sweat-slick skin like a second hide. your wrists burned where the ceremonial sashes bit into them, the same ones that had once bound saints, now twisted to tether you to the floor. he’d repurposed them with a smirk, his big hands tugging the knots tight, like he was wrapping a fucking gift.

satoru loomed over you, all white hair and sharp blue eyes, his armor shed to reveal the taut muscle beneath a thin tunic. holy knight, my ass. he looked like a predator playing dress-up, and you were the prey he’d been salivating over since the battlefield. your tail twitched behind you, black and forked, a little rebellion against the restraints. he noticed. of course he fucking noticed.

“still got some fight in you, huh?” his voice was low, mocking, as he crouched down, fingers brushing the edge of your jaw. “thought i’d beaten that out of you by now, princess.”

you bared your teeth, a snarl ripping from your throat. “i’ll claw your fucking eyes out, you sanctimonious prick.”

he laughed—deep, filthy, and it made your stomach twist in a way you hated. “oh, i’d love to see you try. but first—” he reached into a velvet pouch at his hip, pulling out the choker. it glowed faintly, a thin band of silver etched with runes, pulsing with some holy enchantment that made your skin crawl. “—let’s get you dressed up proper.”

you jerked back, but the sashes held firm, yanking a hiss from your lips. “don’t you fucking dare—”

too late. his hands were fast, wrapping the choker around your throat, the clasp clicking shut with a sound that echoed in your skull. the enchantment hit instantly—your demonic power dulled, a heavy fog settling over the fire in your veins. but that wasn’t the worst part. no, the worst part was the way it fucking glowed, a soft pulse of light that brightened when your body betrayed you. and it was already flickering, damn it, because his fingers lingered on your neck, brushing the sensitive skin there, and you couldn’t stop the heat pooling low in your gut.

he stepped back, tilting his head like he was admiring a painting. “look at that glow, princess. you’re already begging—and i haven’t even touched you.”

“fuck you,” you spat, cheeks burning as the choker pulsed brighter. you hated it—hated him—hated the way your thighs clenched under his stare.

“oh, i will.” he grinned, all teeth and perversion, then grabbed your tail in one swift yank. the jolt shot through you like lightning, a gasp tearing out before you could stop it. your body arched, writhing against the sashes, and he tightened his grip, tugging just hard enough to make you squirm. “sensitive there, huh? perfect.”

you wanted to rip his throat out. instead, you glared, panting, the choker glowing like a fucking beacon. he watched it pulse, his eyes darkening with something sick and hungry, and then he moved. one arm slid under your back, the other under your knees, hoisting you up bridal-style like some twisted mockery of a wedding night. your tail lashed against his chest, but he just chuckled, carrying you across the room with infuriating ease.

“put me down, you bastard—” your words cut off as he dropped you, not gently, onto your knees. the stone bit into your skin, cold and unforgiving, and you glared up at him, chest heaving.

he didn’t say a word. just smirked, stepping back to grab something from the edge of the room—a mirror, tall and angled, dragging it over until it faced you dead-on. your reflection stared back: disheveled, flushed, the choker glowing like a neon fucking sign.

the candles flickered as he adjusted the mirror, the scrape of its base against the floor loud in the tense silence. you stayed on your knees, the sashes still binding your wrists behind you, your tail flicking uselessly against the stone. every muscle screamed to lunge at him, to sink your claws into that smug face, but the choker’s enchantment weighed you down, dulling your strength to something pitifully human. it pissed you off. he pissed you off. and yet, your body was buzzing, the heat from his touch still lingering, the choker’s glow a constant reminder of how fucked you were.

he didn’t rush. he savored it, peeling off his tunic slow enough to make you twitch with impatience, revealing the hard planes of his chest, the faint scars crisscrossing his skin—proof he wasn’t just some prissy knight playing hero. he was a fighter, a killer, and now he was your goddamn captor. the pants came next, sliding down his hips, and you couldn’t help it—your eyes flicked to the bulge straining his undercloth, thick and heavy, and the choker pulsed brighter. fuck. he caught it, of course, his grin widening as he stepped closer, cock springing free when he shoved the fabric down.

“like what you see, princess?” he taunted, fisting himself lazily, the tip already glistening. “don’t worry, you’ll get a real good taste.”

you snarled, baring your teeth again. “i’d rather choke on glass.”

“cute.” he closed the distance, towering over you, the mirror framing the whole filthy scene—your knees on the stone, his shadow swallowing you whole. “but you’re gonna choke on this instead.”

you fought the urge to vomit, glaring up, defiance blazing in your chest, lips sealed tight, jaw clenched. no fucking way you were giving him this. not without a fight.

“open up,” he said, voice all smooth mockery, like he was coaxing a stray dog. “don’t make me ask twice, princess.”

“make me,” you shot back, flashing your fangs, a bratty snarl curling your lips. your tail flicked behind you, smacking the floor, and his eyes gleamed—dark, perverted, like he’d been waiting for that exact answer.

“oh, i will,” he said, and he moved—fast as hell. one hand clamped your jaw, fingers digging into your cheeks, forcing your mouth open just enough, and the other swung his cock down, slapping it against your cheek with a wet, humiliating smack. your head jerked, a snarl caught in your throat, and the choker flared bright, glowing like a fucking spotlight in the mirror.

he did it again—harder, the head smearing pre-cum across your skin, the sound echoing sharp and filthy. your eyes watered, not from pain but from the sheer rage boiling up, tears welling up as you glared, unblinking, refusing to let them fall.

“look at that,” he purred, leaning down, breath hot against your ear. “tears already? didn’t know demons could get so worked up.” his thumb brushed the corner of your eye, smearing the dampness, and you snapped your teeth at him, missing by an inch. he laughed—low, nasty, and it made your stomach twist.

“you’re not a princess anymore,” he growled, straightening up, fisting his cock right in front of you. “you’re my wife. say it.”

“fuck. you,” you hissed, voice dripping venom, tears brimming but holding, your glare cutting through the haze. the choker glowed brighter, betraying the heat pooling low in your gut, and he grinned, all teeth and sick delight.

“wrong answer,” he said, and then he shoved himself in—no warning, no buildup, just the thick, hot length of him filling your mouth, hitting the back of your throat so fast you gagged hard. your eyes widened, tears welling hotter, stinging as you fought to breathe, your throat spasming around him. he groaned, deep and guttural, like it was the best fucking thing he’d ever felt, and his hand fisted in your hair, yanking the sash tied there, pulling tight enough to make your scalp burn.

“that’s it,” he grunted, hips rocking slow at first, dragging it out, letting you feel every inch. “take it, you nasty demon slut. choke on your holy knight.”

you did—fuck, you couldn’t stop it. your throat clenched, spit dripping down your chin, and every gag made him thrust deeper, harder, picking up speed until your head spun. the tears wouldn’t stay back now, pooling in your eyes, blurring your vision, but you glared through them, locking onto his face—his smug, perverted grin, the way his blue eyes drank in every twitch, every flinch. he slid his free hand down, fingers wrapping around your throat, pressing the choker into your skin, cutting off your air just enough to make your chest tighten.

“can’t breathe, huh?” he cooed, voice dripping with fake sympathy as he squeezed tighter, fucking your throat with a rhythm that left you dizzy. “poor little half-breed, choking on my cock. just relax—let it happen. i’ll take care of you.”

you gagged again, harder, spit bubbling at the corners of your mouth, and the tears brimmed over, not falling yet, just sitting there, heavy and hot, as you glared up at him, defiant even with your air gone. your tail lashed out, smacking his thigh, and he tightened his grip, cutting off more, his thumb stroking the glowing choker like it was a toy.

“keep fighting,” he rasped, voice rough with lust, hips snapping faster. “makes it better when you break. look at those eyes—fuck, you’re gorgeous like this, all teary and pissed.”

your lungs burned, your throat raw, every thrust making you gag louder, wetter, until your vision swam. he talked you through it, nasty and low—“breathe when i let you, slut. yeah, just like that, gag on it, let me feel that throat”—and you hated how your body reacted, hated the slick pooling between your thighs, the choker pulsing wild and bright like a damn beacon. he groaned again, louder, his grip on your hair tightening, and then he pushed deeper—nose pressed to his pelvis, air completely gone, holding you there as your throat spasmed helplessly.

“fuck, yes,” he growled, watching your eyes, the tears trembling but not spilling, your glare still burning through the haze. “look at you, choking so pretty. holy salvation’s too much for you, huh?”

you wanted to claw his face off. wanted to scream, bite, anything—but all you could do was glare, tears welling thicker, chest heaving as he finally eased up, pulling back just enough to let you suck in a ragged, desperate breath. spit strung from your lips to his cock, and he smirked, wiping it with his thumb, smearing it across your cheek.

“aw, poor thing,” he said, sarcastic as hell, when you coughed, gasping, throat wrecked. “can’t take it? too bad—i’m not done.” he shoved back in, slower this time, dragging it out, letting you feel every inch as he fucked your mouth again, hand still on your throat, squeezing light then hard, playing with your air like a game. “cry for me, princess. let me see those tears fall.”

they didn’t—fuck him, you wouldn’t let them to—but they sat there, heavy and defiant, as you gagged and glared, the choker glowing so bright it lit up the mirror behind you. your reflection showed it all: your wrecked face, his cock stretching your lips, the sashes binding you tight. his breaths grew ragged, his thrusts sloppy, and then he came—hot, thick, spilling down your throat in pulses you couldn’t escape. he held you there, choking you through it, forcing you to swallow every drop, his fingers digging into your neck as he groaned, long and filthy.

“good girl,” he purred, pulling out slow, a string of spit and cum connecting your lips to his tip. “look at you, all messy and fucked out.” he wiped your mouth with his hand, smearing it more, and you coughed, gasping, the taste of him bitter and overwhelming. your eyes burned, tears still welling but not falling, and you glared up, chest heaving, tail twitching uselessly behind you.

he didn’t give you a second to recover—just hauled you up by the arms, your legs wobbling, weak from kneeling, and threw you over his shoulder like a sack. your tail dangled against his back, smacking him weakly, and the mirror caught it: your flushed, teary-eyed glare, his smug grin, the choker still glowing faintly as he carried you off, ready to break you more.

the room spun as he carried you, the candles flickering low, wax dripping onto the stone like little tears he couldn’t wring from you. your throat ached, raw and bruised, spit and cum still slick on your chin, and those damn tears sat heavy in your eyes, stinging but stubborn, refusing to spill.

your tail flicked against his back, a weak protest he ignored, and your wrists burned where the sashes dug in, your body buzzing with rage and something darker—something the choker wouldn’t let you hide. he crossed the room in long strides, the mirror looming ahead, and then he dropped you—hard—onto your knees, the stone biting into your skin. you hissed, tail lashing out to smack his leg, and he laughed, kicking your thighs apart with his boot, setting you up for the next round.

the mirror threw it all back at you—your knees pressed into the cold stone, your flushed face staring back, hair wild, the choker glowing like a fucking spotlight around your throat. your tattered silk hung off you in shreds, barely covering shit, and satoru loomed behind you, all muscle and menace, his tunic long gone, scars crisscrossing his chest like some holy warrior’s badge. but there was nothing holy about the way his hands slid down to grip your hips, fingers digging in hard enough to leave bruises, or the way he tore the silk aside with one rough yank, exposing your ass and the dripping mess between your legs. the air hit your skin, sharp and humiliating, and he groaned low in his throat, like he’d just unwrapped a goddamn present he couldn’t wait to ruin.

“look at that,” he muttered, voice crude and thick, one hand sliding up to grab your tail, yanking it hard enough to make you yelp. the jolt shot through you, your body jerking, and tears welled up fast, hot and heavy in your eyes as you glared at him in the mirror. “already soaked for me, huh? some fucking demon princess you are—dripping like a cheap whore. you sure you’re not some lowly succubus?”

“die,” you snarled, twisting against his grip, claws scraping the stone, but he tightened his hold, pulling your tail up and back, forcing your hips to tilt for him. the choker pulsed violently, glowing brighter with every ounce of heat pooling in your core, and he laughed—dark, filthy, leaning down until his breath ghosted your ear, all teeth and sick delight.

“nah, you don’t get to talk back, slut,” he said, crude as hell for a holy knight, his free hand grabbing his cock—thick, heavy, way too fucking big—and lining it up, the head brushing your entrance, teasing, not pushing in yet. “you’re gonna thank me for this. every thrust—say it. say thank you, or i’ll leave you here, leaking and desperate.”

“like hell—” your words choked off as he slammed into you, no warning, no mercy, burying himself to the hilt in one brutal thrust. your scream bounced off the walls, raw and ragged, your body jolting forward until your palms slapped the stone, claws digging in hard. fuck, he was huge—too huge—stretching you so wide it burned, splitting you open, and the tears brimmed thicker, stinging your eyes as you glared at him, refusing to let them spill.

“say it,” he growled, hips snapping against your ass, the wet slap of skin on skin loud and obscene. he grabbed your tail tighter, using it like a goddamn leash to yank you back onto him, each thrust deeper, harder, his cock hitting spots that made your vision blur. “thank me, princess, or i’ll stop right now.”

you only gritted your teeth, stubborn, claws raking the floor, defiance burning even as your body shook under him. he stopped—dead still, cock buried so deep you felt it in your guts, the sudden lack of motion making you twitch, your breath hitching. “no? fine. then you don’t get shit,” he said, voice low and mocking, his hand sliding up to press your face against the mirror, smearing your cheek into the glass, your hot breath fogging it up.

“you bastard—” you started, but he pulled your tail again, sharp and punishing, and thrust once—hard, slow, dragging it out—before stopping again. your eyes fluttered, tears welling hotter, the choker glowing so bright it lit up your wrecked reflection—hair tangled, lips parted, those damn tears welling up as you glared.

“say it,” he repeated, voice dark and dangerous, his cock twitching inside you, teasing you with how full you felt. “or i’ll leave you like this, dripping and empty, with that pretty little choker telling everyone what a needy slut you are.”

you hated him—hated the smug tilt of his mouth, the way his blue eyes glittered with perverted glee, drinking in your teary glare like it was fucking wine. but your body was screaming, aching, and the words clawed their way out, bitter and sharp. “thank you,” you muttered, barely audible, venom dripping from every syllable.

“louder,” he snapped, thrusting again, slow and deliberate, dragging his massive cock out then back in, making you feel every inch. “mean it, or i’ll fuck you dry and leave you begging.”

“thank you!” you spat, louder, the humiliation burning hotter than the stretch, your tears trembling on the edge as you glared at him in the mirror. he grinned, satisfied, and then he let loose—fucking you rough and relentless, each thrust shoving you harder against the mirror, your cheek pressed tight, your breath fogging the glass in quick, desperate pants.

“look at you,” he purred, voice dripping with sarcasm, his hand sliding down to grip your hip while the other tugged your tail rhythmically, matching his brutal pace. “being good for once. my holy cock’s ruining you, huh? turning you into my perfect little cocksleeve.”

you couldn’t answer—couldn’t think—your body shaking under the onslaught, the choker glowing like a damn star as he pounded into you. the mirror showed it all: your ass bouncing with every thrust, your tail twitching in his grip, your flushed face with those tears welling up, defiant and furious. he leaned down, teeth grazing your shoulder, and his voice turned crude, nasty, a holy knight gone feral.

“what if your subjects saw you now, huh?” he growled, thrusting harder, his cock stretching you so wide it hurt in the best fucking way. “their proud little princess, ass up, choking on the dick of the knight who slayed her father for mercy. bet they’d love to see you crying for it—tears all pretty, pussy leaking like a tavern wench.”

“shut—up,” you gasped, voice breaking, the tears trembling heavier now, your glare sharpening even as your body betrayed you, clenching around him. he groaned at that, loud and filthy, his hand sliding up to cup your jaw, tilting your head so you had to watch yourself—watch him fuck you into the stone.

“nah, i’d parade you like this,” he said, crude and gleeful, his cock slamming in so deep you swore you felt it in your throat. “show ‘em how their haughty little half-demon queen takes it—tail yanked, choker glowing, all teary-eyed and fucked stupid. they’d bow to me instead, huh?”

your claws dug into the stone, scraping hard, and you tried to crawl away—knees scraping, tail lashing, anything to escape the heat, the shame, the way his words made you throb despite yourself.

satoru only yanked your tail hard, pulling you back with a growl, his cock grinding in deep, holding you there. “oh no you don’t,” he said, breath hot against your neck, teeth nipping your skin. “you don’t get to run from this.”

he shifted, one hand sliding under you, fingers finding your clit, rubbing fast and rough while he fucked you, and the tears welled thicker, your glare burning through the mirror as your body tensed. “cry for me,” he muttered, voice low and nasty, his thrusts slowing but hitting harder, deeper, his dick so big it felt like it was rearranging you. “let me see those tears, princess—gimme something to jerk off to later.”

“fucking pervert,” you rasped, voice raw, the tears trembling on the edge, your hips bucking despite yourself as he worked you closer, the heat coiling tight, so fucking tight. he laughed, crude and dark, his fingers relentless, his cock grinding in just right, and you felt it—the edge, right there, your whole body shaking, the choker glowing blindingly bright.

“gonna cum already?” he taunted, leaning down, licking a stripe up your neck, his voice a filthy whisper. “thought you were tougher than that, demon slut. go on—thank me again. louder.”

“thank you,” you choked out, half-snarl, half-moan, the tears trembling, your glare locked on his smug face as your body started to unravel, the pleasure crashing in hard. but he stopped—pulled out completely, fingers off your clit, leaving you hanging right on the brink, a wrecked, shaking mess. your scream was pure frustration, raw and pissed, your tail lashing out to smack his chest, and he laughed, loud and filthy, stepping back to admire you—ass up, dripping, teary-eyed, and glaring like you’d kill him.

“not yet, princess,” he says, voice dark and promising, his cock still hard, glistening with your mess, bobbing as he shifts his weight. he leans in close, breath hot against your neck, and grabs your tail—fingers wrapping tight around its base, yanking it hard enough to make you yelp, tears pricking sharper, your hips jolting back into him.

“we’ve got more to play with,” he growls, crude and gleeful, tugging again, slower now, dragging you backward step by step, your knees scraping the stone as he pulls you toward the bed.

the mattress looms ahead, plush and draped in rich silks, and he shoves you forward, your palms sinking into its softness as you catch yourself, ass still raised, tail twitching in his grip. he releases it with a rough swat, climbing onto the bed, settling back against the headboard, legs spread wide, cock heavy and waiting. he pats his lap, grinning like a bastard, daring you to crawl up, his eyes glinting with perverse hunger.

“if you’re so strong,” he taunted, voice dripping with that sick, perverted glee, “ride me. show me that demon pride you’re so fucking proud of.”

you glared, chest heaving, the choker flickering as your blood boiled, those tears welling up hotter from the sheer audacity of him. no way you were letting this smug prick win easy—he wanted you to climb up and take him? fine. you’d ram it down his throat, make him choke on his own game.

with a snarl, you crawled onto the bed, the silk soft under your knees, and straddled him, your tail flicking behind you like a whip, smacking the mattress in a bratty little tantrum. he grinned, leaning back, one hand stroking his cock slow and deliberate—thick, massive, glistening with your slick from before—the other beckoning you closer like you were some pet he owned.

“go on, princess,” he said, eyes glinting with dark delight, drinking in your glare, the way your lashes fluttered with unshed tears. “prove you’re not just a trophy wife. show me what that half-demon filth can do.”

“watch me, you sanctimonious fuck,” you snapped, bratty as hell, planting your hands on his chest. your claws dug in, scratching red lines across his skin, and he hissed—pure pleasure, not pain, the sadistic freak.

you braced yourself, lining up over him, the thick head of his cock nudging your entrance, and fuck, he was huge—bigger than you’d clocked up close, a monster that made your thighs tremble just looking at it. you started to lower, slow, cautious, feeling the stretch burn right away, and your breath hitched, a whimper slipping out before you could bite it back.

how did it even fit inside you earlier?

it was too much—way too fucking much. you got an inch down, maybe two, and the tears welled thicker, stinging your eyes as you glared at him, refusing to let them fall. the choker flared, bright and humiliating, glowing with every twitch of your hips. you forced yourself further, another inch, gasping as the stretch split you open, your claws raking his chest harder, leaving bloody streaks he didn’t even flinch at.

“pathetic, huh?” he muttered, voice low and crude, his eyes a sea of crazed blue, pupils blown wide, locked on your face—on the way your brows knit, your lips parted, the tears trembling as you struggled.

“shut up,” you hissed, panting, shifting your hips to try again. you sank lower, slow and stubborn, determined to take him, and a choked moan tore from your throat as he stretched you wider, deeper, the burn mixing with a heat you hated. your tail lashed wildly, smacking his thigh, and he grabbed it fast, yanking it just enough to make you jolt, the choker glowing brighter, your slick coating him as you squirmed.

you pushed down harder, forcing yourself, and then—fuck—he hit your cervix, the blunt pressure making you cry out, raw and sharp, your whole body shuddering as you finally bottomed out.

the tears spilled then, hot and unwilling, streaking down your cheeks as you glared at him, chest heaving, thighs shaking from the effort. you’d done it—three shaky, agonizing thrusts, riding him slow and deliberate, your claws digging into his chest for balance.

but it wasn’t enough for the impatient bastard beneath you—too slow, too fucking tentative—and he groaned, low and frustrated, his hands slamming onto your hips, fingers digging in hard enough to bruise.

“fuck this,” he growled, crude and impatient, his holy knight patience cracking wide open. “you’re too damn slow, princess—thought you’d ride me like a queen, not whimper like a bitch.” before you could snap back, he took over—lifting you up like you weighed nothing, then slamming you back down onto his cock, full force, the head smashing your cervix again. your scream echoed, raw and desperate, tears streaming now as he filled you completely, the stretch so intense your vision blurred.

he didn’t stop—bounced you again, harder, using you like a fucking ragdoll, his grip iron-tight on your hips. up and down, fast and brutal, each drop driving him deeper, hitting your cervix every time, the wet slap of your ass against his thighs filling the room.

“that’s better,” he grunted, eyes locked on your face, drinking in every tear, every gasp, every twist of your expression like a perverted addict. “look at you—crying on my cock, princess. so fucking pretty when you break.”

“fuck—you—” you gasped, voice cracking with every thrust, your body shaking in his hands, the tears falling freely now, hot and bitter, your glare still burning through them. the choker glowed violently, a pulsing spotlight on how soaked you were, how your thighs clenched around him despite your snarls.

he laughed, dark and filthy, one hand sliding up to grab your tail again, tugging it in time with his rhythm.

“what’s wrong, princess?” he purred, bouncing you faster, his massive cock spearing you, the pressure on your cervix making your sobs louder, your tears streaming harder. “too big for that demon pride? too holy for your filthy little cunt? i’m cleansing you, slut—fucking all that evil right out of you.”

you couldn’t answer—couldn’t think—your claws scrabbling at his chest, leaving bloody trails he ignored, your sobs mixing with moans you hated yourself for. he kept going, watching you fall apart, his breaths ragged but controlled, like he was edging himself too—holding back just to savor how fucking gorgeous you looked, all teary and wrecked.

“cry harder,” he growled, crude and sadistic, his voice rough with lust. “gimme those tears—holy knights like me live for this shit, purifying dirty little demons with big, fat cocks.”

your legs started to give out, muscles trembling, and you slumped forward, chest slamming into his, face buried in his neck as he kept bouncing you, relentless, his dick grinding so deep it hurt in the best way.

“aw, poor thing,” he cooed, sarcastic as hell, one hand fisting in your hair, yanking your head back to see your tear-streaked face. “can’t take it? too bad—i’m not even close to done.”

he slowed then, just a little, grinding you down onto him, letting you feel every inch of that massive length, his cock throbbing inside you as he watched you sob, tears dripping onto his chest.

“fuck, you’re too pretty like this,” he muttered, almost to himself, his voice low and crude. “all teary and fucked out—makes me wanna cum, but nah, i’m a patient man. holy, right? gotta drag this out, keep cleansing you till you’re pure.”

you were shaking, sobbing, the heat coiling tight in your gut, every grind pushing you closer, your body betraying you as you rocked against him, chasing it despite the tears, the humiliation. he groaned, eyes fluttering, his own edge creeping up, but he held back, sadistic bastard that he was, loving how you looked too much to let it end.

“gonna cum, huh?” he taunted, voice a filthy whisper as he felt you tense, your sobs turning to desperate gasps. “go on—thank me and i might let you. say it, slut.”

“thank you,” you choked out, half-snarl, half-sob, tears streaming as your glare locked on his smug face, your body right there, teetering on the edge, so fucking close. but he stopped—yanked you off his cock completely, flipping you onto your back in one swift, brutal move, the silk soft against your spine as he pinned you down, his dick hovering over you, hard and dripping, his grin wide and wicked.

“not yet,” he said, voice dark and crude, his chest heaving as he edged himself too, holding back just to watch you writhe. “we’re switching it up, princess—got more filth to fuck out of you.”

he didn’t let you whine about the loss and denial—just yanked the sashes up, tying your wrists tight to the headboard, and forced your legs wide, turning the plush bed into some fucked-up altar. his bite mark throbbed on your shoulder, his cum smeared your skin, and he settled between your thighs, eyes gleaming with that perverted, possessive hunger, ready to wreck you all over again.

he knelt there, all holy knight bullshit on the surface—white hair catching the candlelight, sharp jaw set like he was about to pray—but his hands were pure filth, sliding up your thighs slow, thumbs brushing the slick mess he’d left behind, smearing it like he was marking you. your tail flicked, smacking his wrist in a bratty little rebellion, and he grabbed it fast, pinning it to the bed with a rough tsk, his fingers digging in just enough to sting.

“still got some fight, huh?” he said, voice low and mocking, spreading your legs wider until the stretch burned, exposing your dripping cunt to the cool air. “let’s see how long that lasts, you filthy demon whore.”

his fingers traced your folds, slow and teasing, dipping just barely into your entrance—light, shallow, not enough to do anything but make you twitch. the choker flickered, a faint glow pulsing with your heartbeat, and you hissed, tugging at the sashes, the knots biting your wrists.

“don’t you fucking dare—” you started, ultimately annoyed at his backtracking, but he cut you off, sliding one finger in—just one, knuckle-deep, curling it slow to graze that spot inside that made your hips jerk up, chasing more despite wanting something else.

“shh,” he murmured, crude and dark, his other hand pressing your stomach flat, pinning you still as he worked that finger in and out, agonizingly slow, letting the heat coil tight in your gut. “holy things take time, princess. you’re still a dirty fucking mess—gotta clean you up proper.”

you snarled, thrashing against the sashes, but he held you down, adding a second finger, stretching you just enough to make you gasp, then stopping—completely still, letting you clench around him, your breath hitching as you glared, tears welling up hot and heavy.

“please,” you spat, venom dripping, and he smirked, pulling his fingers out slow, dragging them along your walls until they slipped free, leaving you empty. your sob echoed, raw and pissed, and the choker flared brighter, slick dripping down your thighs as you bucked your hips, desperate for anything.

“not good enough,” he said, voice a filthy lilt, chanting some mock-prayer bullshit—“purify this sinner, wash her clean”—while his fingers went to your clit, rubbing light, maddening circles that made your whole body tense, teetering right on the brink. your tears spilled then, streaking down your cheeks as you glared at him, defiant even through the haze, and he groaned low, like the sight of you crying was better than fucking you.

“look at those tears,” he muttered, crude and gleeful, leaning down to lick one off your cheek, his tongue hot and slow. “crying for my cock already? pathetic little half-breed.” he pulled back, grabbing his dick—still hard, massive, dripping—and slapped it against your clit, the wet smack loud and humiliating. your body jolted, a choked moan tearing out, and the choker glowed violent, lighting up your wrecked face in the dim room.

he didn’t stop—kept it up, relentless, playing you like a damn fiddle. he’d drag his cock along your slit, slow and teasing, nudging your clit with the head, then pull back, slapping it down again, each hit making your hips buck, your sobs louder, tears streaming as you glared through them.

“damn you,” you rasped, voice hoarse, tail lashing out to smack his arm, but he pinned it down, laughing soft and dark as he leaned in, breath hot against your cunt.

“keep crying,” he purred, crude as hell, licking one slow, deliberate stripe up your slit, stopping just shy of your clit. your whole body arched, a scream caught in your throat, and he pulled back, slapping his cock against you again—harder, the sting sharp and electric. “holy knight’s gotta taste that demon filth—wash it out with my tongue, huh?”

he dove in then, but never enough—tongue flicking your clit light and quick, then pulling away right as your thighs started to shake. he’d suck it hard, lips sealing around it, only to pop off with a wet smack, leaving you gasping, sobbing, the tears falling faster as he watched, eyes dark with sick delight.

“so fucking pretty,” he muttered, sliding two fingers back in, pumping them deep, curling them just right until your hips rocked, your breath hitching, then yanking them out, smearing your slick across your thigh.

“please—fuck—please,” you choked out, half-snarl, half-sob, the tears burning your eyes as you glared, your pride shredded, your body screaming for release. he grinned, grabbing his cock again, slapping it against your clit in a quick, brutal rhythm—smack, smack, smack—each hit making you flinch, your sobs turning to desperate gasps, the choker glowing so bright it hurt to look at.

“begging now, huh?” he said, voice rough with lust, leaning over you, his cock brushing your oversensitive folds, teasing, not pushing in. “thought you’d kill me—where’s that fire, princess? all i see is a teary little slut, dripping for me.”

he slapped his cock down again, harder, the wet sound obscene, and your tail lashed out, smacking his chest, weak but furious. he grabbed it, yanking it hard, making you yelp, tears streaming as he pinned it to the bed.

“gonna break you slow,” he growled, sliding his fingers back in—three this time, stretching you wide, pumping them fast and deep, curling them just right until your whole body tensed, your sobs loud and broken. he’d pull them out right as you started to shake, leaving you clenching around nothing, then slap his cock against your clit again, over and over, the sting mixing with the heat until your mind was a haze of need and rage.

he kept it going—hours, minutes, who fucking knew—switching it up just when you thought you’d snap. he’d lick you slow, tongue dragging along your folds, then stop to suck your clit hard, pulling off with a grin as you screamed. he’d fuck you shallow with his fingers, then deep, then pull out, slapping your cunt with his hand, then his cock, each hit making your tears fall faster, your glare burning through the haze.

“holy work’s never quick,” he’d murmur, crude and dark, licking your tears again, groaning against your skin. “gotta purify you, my filthy bride—cry all you want, it’s just making me harder.”

your body was a wreck—shaking, sobbing, slick pooling beneath you, the choker glowing blindingly bright as he played you, every nerve on fire. he’d tease his cock against your entrance, pushing in just the tip, letting you feel the stretch, then pull out, slapping it against your clit again, laughing as you bucked, your sobs turning to desperate, broken pleas.

“i’ll kill you,” you rasped, voice raw, tears streaming as he hovered over you, his dick brushing your folds, his eyes locked on your teary glare.

“cute,” satoru only purred, slapping his cock down one last time, hard and wet, making you flinch, your whole body trembling, right on the edge, so fucking close you could taste it.

but he didn’t let you—pulled back completely, leaving you panting, sobbing, a wrecked mess tied to the bed, as he loomed over you, his massive dick hard and dripping, his eyes dark with that perverted hunger, chest heaving from his own restraint. he untied the sashes, letting your arms flop uselessly, then grabbed your hips, flipping you onto your back with a cocky smirk.

he didn’t waste a second—hands clamped on your hips, yanking you down the bed until your ass hit his thighs, your legs splayed wide over his. the silk bunched under your back, damp and warm, sticking to your skin as he knelt between your legs, his cock hovering over your cunt, thick and heavy, the head glistening with pre-cum and your slick.

your chest heaved, tears still streaming, your glare burning through the haze as you rasped, “you’re a fucking monster,” voice raw and broken from sobbing.

“and you’re my filthy little demon,” he shot back, crude and dark, grabbing his dick and slapping it against your clit one last time—smack—the wet sound loud and obscene, making you flinch, a sob tearing out as the choker flared. “gonna breed that evil right out of you, princess—fill you up till you’re clean.”

he lined up, the head nudging your entrance, and thrust in—hard, deep, no mercy, burying himself to the hilt in one brutal snap of his hips. your scream was instant, guttural, your body arching off the bed as he stretched you wide, his cock slamming past your limits, hitting your cervix with a dull, aching thud.

thee tears fell faster, your glare dissolving into a desperate, teary mess as the heat exploded, the orgasm crashing through you immediately—weeks, hours, who fucking knew—of pent-up need unraveling in a single thrust. your cunt clenched around him, tight and pulsing, slick gushing out, soaking his thighs as your legs shook, toes curling, a raw, “fuck—fuck—” spilling from your lips.

“there it is,” he groaned, voice rough and filthy, his hands digging into your hips, holding you still as you spasmed around him, your first release ripping through you like a storm. “cumming already, huh? such a needy little slut—couldn’t even wait for me to move.”

he didn’t stop—didn’t even pause—just started fucking you through it, slow at first, dragging his cock out inch by inch, letting you feel the stretch, the way your walls fluttered, then slamming back in, hard and deep, hitting that aching spot again.

the sensation was overwhelming—his cock filled you completely, thick and unyielding, the head grinding against your cervix with every thrust, a dull, bruising ache mixing with the sharp, electric pleasure still buzzing from your orgasm.

your thighs trembled, spread wide over his, the muscles twitching as he kept your legs pinned, knees bent slightly, feet dangling uselessly in the air. the silk rubbed your back raw, your spine arching every time he drove in, your breasts bouncing with the force, nipples hard and sensitive against the cool air.

“look at you,” he growled, crude and sadistic, one hand sliding up to grab your tail, yanking it hard enough to make you yelp, tears streaming as he twisted it in his fist. “crying like a bitch while i fuck you clean—holy knight’s dick too much for your demon filth, huh?” he thrust harder, faster, the wet slap of his hips against your ass loud and relentless, your slick dripping down onto the silk, pooling beneath you.

your second orgasm hit fast, spurred by his tail yank and the brutal pace—your cunt spasmed again, tighter this time, a hot rush of slick coating him as you screamed, voice breaking, “fuck you—fuck—” the tears wouldn’t stop, your glare flickering, softening into something dazed as your body shook, the pleasure too much, too soon. your clit throbbed, oversensitive from his slaps, and every thrust sent a jolt through it, sharp and searing, making your toes curl harder, your breath hitching in short, desperate gasps.

“that’s two,” he purred, voice dark and gleeful, leaning down to lick a tear off your cheek, his tongue hot and slow, groaning against your skin. “sobbing so pretty—keep it up, princess, i’m gonna flood that filthy womb.” he shifted, hands sliding under your thighs, lifting them slightly, bending your knees more, tilting your hips up so he could hit deeper—straighter—his cock grinding into your cervix with every thrust, the pressure building, aching, making you sob louder.

the position burned—your thighs stretched wide, muscles straining, your hips tilted at an angle that left you completely open, vulnerable, his weight pressing down as he fucked you into the bed. the silk caught every drop of slick, every tear that fell, your arms limp at your sides, claws digging into the bedding as he pounded you, the sensation splitting you apart—sharp pleasure, dull pain, all of it blending into a haze. your third orgasm crept up slow, coiling tight as he kept that brutal rhythm, his cock dragging along your walls, the head smashing your cervix, your clit rubbing against his pelvis with every thrust.

“holy fuck,” he grunted, crude and breathless, his own restraint fraying as he watched you unravel, your tears glistening in the candlelight, your face flushed and wrecked. “look at that—crying and cumming, such a perfect breeding bitch.”

he yanked your tail again, harder, and you screamed, the sound raw and broken as your third hit, your cunt pulsing around him, slick flooding out, soaking his cock, his thighs, the bed—a wet, messy gush that made him groan louder, his thrusts faltering for a second before he picked up again, relentless.

your body shook, legs trembling, the sensation electric—your clit throbbed against him, your walls clenched tight, the pressure on your cervix a deep, aching pulse that made your sobs turn to whimpers, your glare fading into a glassy, teary stare.

“can’t—fuck—can’t take it,” you gasped, voice slurring, your hands clawing at the silk, tail twitching in his grip as he kept fucking you through it, drawing it out, the wet squelch of your cunt loud and obscene.

“you’ll take it,” he growled, crude and dark, shifting again—hands sliding under your ass, lifting you higher, your hips off the bed now, your lower back arching as he folded you more, knees pushed toward your chest. “gonna fuck you till you’re pure—till you’re dripping with me, slut.” the new angle was brutal—his cock hit even deeper, straighter, every thrust slamming your cervix, the pressure sharp and relentless, your clit grinding harder against him, sending jolts through your whole body.

your fourth orgasm crashed in fast, spurred by the angle, the tail yank, the crude filth spilling from his mouth—your cunt spasmed hard, a hot, wet rush soaking him again, your scream turning to a high, broken whine as your eyes fluttered, tears streaming, your face going slack—mouth open, tongue lolling slightly, eyes half-lidded and dazed, a wrecked, mindless mess. your body shook uncontrollably, legs kicking weakly, the sensation overwhelming—his cock filling you, stretching you, the ache in your cervix blending with the sharp, pulsing pleasure in your clit, your whole core a throbbing, soaking wreck.

“fuck, yes,” he groaned, voice rough and filthy, leaning down to lick more tears off your face, his thrusts slowing but still deep, grinding into you as you trembled. “look at you—crying and squirting, such a dirty little demon. holy knight’s breaking you good, huh?”

he didn’t stop—kept fucking you slow now, letting you feel every inch, every pulse, drawing out the aftershocks as your body twitched, your sobs turning to soft, teary whimpers, your glare completely gone, replaced by that glassy, fucked-out stare.

he shifted again, hands sliding up to grip your thighs, pushing them back further, folding you in half—knees nearly at your shoulders, ass lifted high, cunt angled straight up for him. the position was obscene—your legs spread wide, pinned, your slick dripping down your ass, pooling on the silk, his cock poised above you, massive and dripping, ready to plunge back in.

your breath hitched, a weak, “no, please—fuck—no more,” slipping out, but he just grinned, crude and sadistic, slapping his cock against your clit again—smack, smack—making you flinch, a sob tearing out as your oversensitive body jolted.

“oh, we’re not done,” he purred, voice dark and filthy, lining up again, the head nudging your entrance. “gonna breed you till you’re leaking, princess—till that demon filth’s gone and you’re mine.” he thrust in slow this time, dragging it out, letting you feel the stretch, the way your walls fluttered, still pulsing from the last orgasm, and your fifth hit almost instantly—a sharp, searing wave, your cunt clenching hard, another gush of slick soaking him as you screamed, voice breaking into a wrecked, teary mess.

your body felt like a live wire—every thrust sent jolts through you, your clit rubbing against him, your cervix aching, the sensation splitting you apart—sharp and hot, wet and messy, your tears falling faster, your face slack and wild, mouth open, eyes rolling back slightly as you shook, completely lost.

satoru kept going, relentless, fucking you through it, his groans mixing with your sobs, the wet slap of his hips against your ass a constant, filthy rhythm, your slick flooding out, soaking everything.

his hands tightened their grip on your thighs, holding you folded—knees near your shoulders, ass lifted high, cunt angled up like an offering. your voice was gone, a hoarse, “no more,” barely audible, but he just grinned, crude and dark, pulling out and slapping his dick against your clit one last time, making you flinch, a teary whimper slipping out as he lined up again, ready to finish what he started.

“gonna fill you up now,” he growled, voice rough and filthy, his hands tightening on your thighs, keeping you bent in half—your knees pressed close to your shoulders, your ass hanging off the edge of the bed, hips tilted so high your lower back arched sharp, the silk bunching beneath you.

your legs dangled, feet brushing the air, useless and trembling, your cunt spread wide, slick and pulsing from the last round, every nerve raw and screaming. he thrust in slow, dragging it out, letting you feel the stretch—his cock thick and unyielding, sliding past your walls, the head nudging your cervix with a dull, aching thud that made you sob, tears falling faster as your glare flickered, fading into a glassy, teary haze.

“fuck—yes,” he groaned, crude and dark, his hips snapping forward, burying himself deep, the pressure sharp and relentless, your cunt clenching around him instantly.

your sixth orgasm hit hard—immediate, a hot, pulsing wave, your walls fluttering tight, slick coating him as you screamed, voice breaking into a wrecked, “fuck—fuck—” your body shook, thighs trembling against his grip, the sensation splitting you apart—his cock grinding your cervix, your clit rubbing against his pelvis, a searing jolt that made your toes curl, your breath hitching in short, desperate gasps.

“that’s it,” he purred, sadistic glee dripping from every word, his hands sliding down to grip your ass, lifting you higher, keeping you folded tight as he fucked you through it, slow and brutal, letting the aftershocks ripple. “cumming again, huh? you really are such a filthy slut for a princess—can’t stop, can you?”

he didn’t let up—kept thrusting, deep and steady, the wet slap of his hips against your ass loud and obscene, your slick dripping down, soaking the silk beneath you. the position burned—your thighs pressed tight to your chest, your knees bent sharp, pinning your lungs, making every breath shallow and ragged, your spine curved so hard it ached, your ass lifted off the bed, held up by his hands like a prize.

his cock filled you completely, stretching you past your limits, the head smashing your cervix with every thrust, a deep, bruising ache that mixed with the sharp, pulsing pleasure still buzzing from your clit. your tears wouldn’t stop, streaming down your face, pooling in the hollow of your neck as you sobbed, your glare gone, replaced by a dazed, teary stare.

“look at you,” satoru grunted, crude and breathless, one hand sliding up to grab your tail, yanking it hard enough to make you whimper, tears spilling as he twisted it in his fist. “crying like a fucked-out whore—holy knight’s cleansing you good, huh? fucking that demon filth right out.”

he thrust harder, faster, the rhythm brutal, your cunt clenching again, your seventh orgasm building fast, spurred by the tail yank and the relentless pressure.

it hit like a punch—your walls spasmed tight, a hot rush of slick coating him, a messy flood that soaked his thighs, your scream turning to a high, broken whine as your eyes fluttered, tears streaming, your face going slack—mouth open, tongue lolling slightly, eyes half-lidded and wild, a wrecked, mindless mess. your body shook uncontrollably, legs kicking weakly against his grip, the sensation overwhelming—his cock spearing you, the ache in your cervix blending with the sharp, electric heat in your clit, your whole core a throbbing, dripping wreck.

“seven,” he growled, voice dark and filthy, leaning down to lick a tear off your cheek, his tongue slow and hot, groaning against your skin as he kept fucking you, drawing it out. “sobbing so pretty—gonna breed you till you realize that you’re mine, princess.”

he shifted, hands sliding under your thighs, pushing them back further, your knees brushing your ears now, your ass lifted higher, your hips tilted so steep your cunt was practically vertical, his cock plunging straight down, hitting deeper, harder, the pressure on your cervix a constant, aching pulse.

the new angle was brutal—your legs folded tight, thighs pressed to your chest, your feet dangling near your head, toes brushing your own hair, your spine curved so sharp it hurt, your ass hanging in his grip, completely exposed. every thrust drove him straight into your core, his cock grinding your cervix with a force that made your sobs louder, your tears falling in a steady stream, your breath shallow and ragged, lungs burning from the squeeze. your clit rubbed hard against him, every snap of his hips sending a jolt through it, sharp and searing, making your whole body twitch.

“holy fuck,” he groaned, crude and sadistic, his thrusts slowing but hitting harder, grinding deep as your eighth orgasm crept up, coiling tight in your gut. “look at that—crying and cumming, such a perfect little cocksleeve. gonna fill that filthy womb—make it pure.”

he yanked your tail again, sharp and punishing, and you screamed, the sound raw and broken as your eighth hit, your cunt pulsing around him, a hot, wet rush soaking him, your body shaking, your face slack and wild—mouth gaping, eyes rolling back slightly, tongue slipping out, a teary, fucked-out wreck.

he didn’t stop—shifted again, hands sliding to your hips, flipping you onto your stomach in one rough move, the silk soft under your chest as he yanked your ass up, knees sinking into the bed, your thighs spread wide, your face pressed into the damp bedding.

your arms stayed limp, too weak to move, claws digging into the silk as he thrust back in, deep and brutal, his cock slamming your cervix from behind, the angle sharper, straighter, the pressure a constant, aching thud. your ninth orgasm hit fast, spurred by the shift—your walls clenched tight, slick dripping out, not a squirt but a steady leak that soaked the bed, your scream muffled into the silk, tears pooling beneath your face as you shook, completely lost.

“nine,” he purred, voice rough and filthy, one hand gripping your hip, the other yanking your tail up, using it like a leash to pull you back onto him with every thrust. “crying into the bed—you’re so pretty and pathetic, taking my holy cock like this.”

he fucked you harder, the wet squelch of your cunt loud and obscene, your clit rubbing against the silk with every slam, sending jolts through you, sharp and hot, your tenth building fast, your mind fraying at the edges.

he shifted again, climbing over you, his chest pressing your back into the bed, his knees bracketing your thighs, pinning you flat, your ass tilted up just enough for him to keep thrusting—deep, slow, grinding now, his cock buried so far it felt like it was in your stomach, the head smashing your cervix with every roll of his hips.

your legs were trapped under him, bent slightly at the knees, feet brushing his calves, your arms pinned by your sides, claws scraping the silk as he fucked you down into the mattress, his weight heavy and unyielding, your breath shallow and desperate.

“fuck—yes,” he groaned, crude and dark, his breath hot against your neck as he licked another tear off your skin, his thrusts slowing but hitting harder, grinding deep. your tenth orgasm crashed through—a sharp, searing wave, your cunt pulsing tight, slick flooding out, soaking his cock, your scream a broken, teary whimper as your face went slack—mouth wide, tongue lolling, eyes rolling back, a wild, wrecked mess.

your body shook, pinned under him, the sensation overwhelming—his cock filling you, the ache in your cervix a constant pulse, your clit grinding into the silk, your whole core a throbbing, dripping ruin.

“ten,” he grunted, voice filthy and triumphant, his hands sliding under you, cupping your stomach as he thrust deeper, grinding into you. “gonna cum now—fill you up, princess. breed that demon filth out of you.” he didn’t rush—kept it slow, deliberate, letting you feel every pulse, every twitch, his cock throbbing inside you as he groaned, low and filthy, his breath ragged against your neck. then he came—hot, thick, spilling into you in heavy pulses, flooding your cunt, the sensation sharp and hot, your walls clenching around him as he ground it in, creaming you deep, the excess dripping out, pooling on the silk.

“fuck—take it,” he growled, crude and sadistic, shifting again—hands grabbing your thighs, flipping you back onto your back, lifting your legs high, pressing your knees to your chest, your ass off the bed, your hips tilted up in his grip, his cock still buried deep, cum leaking out around him as he thrust back in, slow and brutal, pushing his seed deeper.

your eleventh orgasm hit instantly—a hot, pulsing wave, your cunt spasming, a sharp squirt soaking his stomach, your scream a wrecked, teary mess as your face stayed slack, eyes wild and unfocused, tongue lolling, a mindless, fucked-out shell.

“good girl,” he purred, voice dark and filthy, fucking you through it, his cock grinding his cum into your womb, the position tight and brutal—your thighs pressed to your chest, knees bent sharp, feet dangling near your shoulders, your spine curved, your ass lifted, his weight pinning you as he bred you, relentless, your tears falling, your sobs soft and broken, your mind gone, shattered under the onslaught.

he stayed buried inside you, cock softening but still thick, plugging his cum deep as he caught his breath, chest heaving against yours. your thighs trembled in his grip, muscles twitching, your knees still shoved up near your ears, feet dangling uselessly, toes brushing your own hair from how tight he’d folded you.

the silk were a soaked mess beneath you—slick, cum, tears, all mixing into a damp, sticky ruin that clung to your back, your ass, your thighs, the sensation warm and gross, a constant reminder of how he’d wrecked you. your arms lay limp at your sides, claws flexing weakly, scraping the bedding, your breath shallow and ragged, lungs burning from the squeeze of his last position.

“fuck,” he muttered, crude and low, his voice rough with exertion as he pulled back slightly, his cock slipping out slow, a thick, wet squelch echoing as more cum leaked from you, dripping down your ass, pooling on the silk.

he groaned at the sight, one hand sliding under your stomach, pressing down to feel the bulge where he’d filled you, his thumb rubbing slow, possessive circles over your womb. “look at that—stuffed you good, huh? cleansed that demon filth with my holy seed.”

your eyes fluttered, tears still streaming, hot and bitter, pooling in the hollow of your neck as you lay there, wrecked and shaking, your face a slack, wild mess—mouth open, tongue lolling slightly, eyes half-lidded and dazed, unfocused, staring at the ceiling. the choker pulsed faint, a dull glow that matched your slowing heartbeat, your cunt throbbing, oversensitive, every nerve fried from the marathon.

your tail twitched, brushing his knee, a weak, involuntary flick, and he grabbed it fast, yanking it just enough to make you whimper, a soft, teary sound that made him grin, crude and dark.

“so pretty like this,” he purred, sadistic glee dripping from every word, leaning down to lick a tear off your cheek, his tongue hot and slow, tracing the salty streak up to your eye. “all fucked out, crying, full of me—lovely wife, huh?”

his hand slid up, cupping your face, thumb brushing your trembling lips, smearing spit and tears as he tilted your head, forcing you to meet his gaze. those blue eyes gleamed, perverse and triumphant, drinking in your wreckage like it was a fucking masterpiece.

you couldn’t speak—voice gone, throat raw from screaming, sobbing, begging through the hours he’d ruined you. your chest heaved, breaths short and shaky, your body too heavy to move, every muscle spent, your cunt aching, stuffed full of his cum, a dull, pulsing heat that made you twitch.

“mine,” he murmured, crude and low, licking another tear off your skin, his breath hot against your neck as he nipped the bruise he’d left earlier, making you flinch, a soft, broken whimper slipping out. “mine. mine.” his fingers dug into your hips, possessive, his cock brushing your thigh, half-hard again, smearing cum and slick as he pressed it against you, teasing, not thrusting in yet, just letting you feel it. “gonna keep you like this—bred, broken, all mine.”

he leaned back, kneeling there, his chest heaving, sweat slicking his scarred skin, his white hair damp and messy, sticking to his forehead as he watched you—watched the cum leak from your cunt, watched your tears glisten in the candlelight, watched your body tremble under his hands.

“holy fuck,” he muttered, crude and reverent, his voice rough with lust and exhaustion. “look at you—wrecked, dripping, crying like a little bitch. my pretty filthy bride, huh?”

he shifted, sliding down beside you, one arm draping over your stomach, pulling you against his chest, his cock pressing against your ass, still half-hard, smearing more mess as he settled in. your legs stayed splayed, thighs quaking, your breath hitching as he nuzzled your neck, licking the sweat and tears off your skin, his hand sliding up to cup your breast, thumb brushing your nipple, making you twitch, a soft, teary sob slipping out.

“so good,” he murmured, voice softening but still crude, his breath hot against your ear. “took it all—every drop, every thrust, every fucking tear. you’ll love me. they all do. eventually,”

his hand stroked your stomach, pressing down where he’d filled you, like he was claiming it all over again. your eyes fluttered shut, exhaustion pulling you under, your body too wrecked to move, too broken to fight, the tears slowing, your breath evening out as you drifted, teetering on the edge of oblivion.

but then—fuck—it sparked. not life. not hope. just pride. that brittle, burning ember he hadn’t managed to fuck out of you. not yet. not ever.

your eyes cracked open, glassy and bruised, but gleaming with that same imperious spite, the same loathing that had never once faltered—not through the screams, the begging, the breaking. your voice was a rasp, torn from somewhere buried deep, meant not to fight him off but to wound him where it mattered.

“as if i’d ever love a holy mutt who only fucks like he’s trying to prove something.” your lip curled, defiant even as your voice trembled. “must be hard, knowing the only crown you’ll ever have is between my legs.”

the words clawed out, weak but venomous, your tail twitching against his grip, smacking his thigh with what little strength you had left, a final, defiant snap.

he froze—breath catching, his hand stalling on your stomach, his cock twitching hard against your thigh—and for a heartbeat, the room went dead, the candles flickering low, wax dripping silent onto the stone. then his face split into a grin—wide, cruel, unhinged, his eyes flashing with sadistic, perverted delight, his love twisting into something vicious as he moved—fast, brutal, flipping you onto your stomach, yanking your hips up so hard your knees sank deep into the silk, your ass lifted high, your face shoved into the soaked bedding, his seed and slick smearing your cheek, the scent choking you.

“oh, my filthy bride,” he snarled, voice sharp and scolding, dripping with cruel glee as he fisted your hair, pulling until your scalp burned, his other hand grabbing your tail, twisting it so viciously you screamed, tears spilling fresh, your body jerking under his grip.

“thought you’d learned your place, huh? mouthing off like a brainless brat—guess my cock didn’t fuck enough sense into you.” he scolded you like a child caught stealing, his cock—hard again, massive—slapping against your cunt, smack, smack, smack, each hit wet and stinging, making you flinch, your oversensitive clit throbbing, your sobs raw and loud.

“you don’t get it, do you?” he growled, leaning over you, his chest pinning your back, his breath hot and heavy against your ear as he scolded, voice cruel and cutting. “you’re mine. my wife, my trophy, my fucking prize. you insult me? you spit that venom? i’ll carve it out of you, brat—fuck you till you’re choking on your own screams, till you’re begging me to keep you.”

he yanked your tail harder, twisting it like a rope, his hand cracking down on your ass—slap, slap, slap—each hit sharp and brutal, leaving welts, your body jolting, your tears soaking the silk, your glare flickering back, weak but defiant, burning through the haze.

“pathetic,” he sneered, crude and sadistic, his cock nudging your entrance, teasing, the head slipping in just enough to stretch you, then pulling out, leaving you empty, shaking, sobbing. “look at you—crying, leaking, talking big like you’re not supposed to be my breeding bitch. you think you’re tough, huh? i’ll fuck that attitude till you’re nothing but a whimpering mess, till you’re crawling for my mercy.”

he slapped his cock against your clit again—smack, smack—harder, the wet sound obscene, your body bucking, your screams muffled, your tears endless, the choker flaring bright as he leaned in, licking your cheek, groaning at the taste.

“i hate you,” you rasped again, weaker but sharper, venom dripping, your tail snapping against his grip, a frail but furious smack to his wrist, your claws tearing deeper into the silk, shredding the silk, defiance blazing through the tears, the pain, the wreckage. his laugh was cold, cruel, slicing the air as he shoved your face harder into the bedding, muffling your sobs, his hand cracking down on your ass again—slap, slap—welts blooming, your body trembling, his cock poised to ruin you again.

“go on, keep cursing me like that,” he growled, voice dark and filthy, scolding you like a king to a rebel, his sadistic glee a living thing as he lined up, the head nudging your cunt, teasing, promising pain. “i’ll make you pray to me by the time i’m done.”

[targaryenluvs]

DELICATE

pairings: dark!coriolanus snow x innocent!wife!reader

warnings: erm we’re back at it with another dark corio! possessiveness, literal murder, threats, vulgarity, nc touching -dumbification/babying, emotional manipulation and vulnerability, sexual undertones and thoughts, ownership?? NOT PROOFREAD

summary: coriolanus had to marry. lucky for him one of the most eligible girls of the capitol was up for grabs. only problem? he hoped his cold exterior would keep her away but nothing broke her sweet spirit. what happens when he finds himself being drawn to her light? and how far was he willing to go to keep it untainted and all to himself?

word count: 2.09k words

a/n: i swear i can only think of dark ideas for him because he is practically crayz - i loved this concept tho so enjoyyyy - annoyed i can’t find any post-lucy gifs snd i’ve already used the other one help me plz

taglist: @sleepydang @aspieundercover @darktrashsoulbear @3lliesrifle @rafeysbafey @zejjef @themorriganisamonster @cryfordemie @winterblu2 @earthangel-111 @taylarxse @alexameliamg @katastrophic04 @jjggdfvvy @joshwifeyslaymamaballs @10ava01 @kis9na @princessdaella @princessloveweird @prettybiching @justacaliforniandreamer @bxtchopolis @witchafterz @har-rison-s

PART TWO

coriolanus wanted nothing more than a relaxing night. he’d been at a campaign meeting for about four hours and he’d gotten absolutely nothing out of it.

he was in the right mind to fire them all and work it himself but he knew he couldn’t. all he wanted was to go home, have a bath drawn for him, eat dinner with you and go to sleep.

coriolanus had seen a number of weird things in his life but nothing was weirder than seeing you, hanging up the laundry to dry. you’d stopped him in his tracks but hadn’t yet noticed his presence as you hummed to yourself and went about your business. after staring in confusion for a few minutes he cleared his throat, “y/n. what are you doing?” you turned towards him with a smile, “it’s christmas! so i sent the staff home for the rest of the day so they could be with their families. don’t worry i had them prepare your bath, dinner and everything else. there were some things left to do so i thought, why not do them myself? i cleaned my room and yours, ironed the previous batch of laundry and placed them away, dusted the library and i was hanging up the laundry until you showed!” you beamed as you continued to hang the clothing.

coriolanus took a seat on one of the lawn chairs as you continued. he decided to watch you, to make sure you were okay. because who on earth wants to do laundry? that was the very reason you had so many servants. but here you were.

“you can head inside corio, no need to wait for me!” you said sweetly. coriolanus was a strong man, always rational. but god when you spoke so sweetly to him- no. “there’s no need, i’ll wait till you’re done.”

the sun was hanging low as the last rays illuminated the dining room. you’d set out candles, flowers and other pieces on the table. back home you loved setting the table, until your father would reprimand you for doing something you didn’t need to. what will people say if my daughter is acting as a servant?

but right now you felt at ease.

you had a good life. good friends which were rare to find in the capitol. good family and a good husband. he was proper, took care of you in every way, even if he didn’t love you, you were grateful to be married to someone you liked. admired. you’d heard whispers of corio’s childhood, his depleted resources and poor upbringing. but you couldn’t care less. he was more of a man than anyone you knew. and he was extremely pretty, your parents would’ve probably married you off to whomever they thought would help with social standings so this match? a lifeline.

coriolanus kept himself in check. he was up for presidency, his name and wealth restored and he was respected and feared. you were a diamond in the rough. whilst all the other girls in the capitol were, special, to say the least, you weren’t like them. first of all, he could tolerate you. like you even. you were exceptionally smart, well-read and spoken, respectful of those worthy but even those beneath you. you were kind, not the fake kind of the capitol. kind to everyone, helping everyone however you could.

and to him it was more than perfect. someone kind would be easy to have, easy to be married to. he knew from the second he saw you as marriage material that you’d never endanger those around you. you cared, enough to put your happiness to the back of the line. you’d be easy to control. after the wedding he expected you to be clingy, desperate for his love and affection. as any girl would from their husband, but you kept your distance. you didn’t push yourself on him, you did your duty. you did what was required and more. but you always listened, listened to him.

so he assumed you’d be easy to be married to, but he was always in awe of you. your sweet smiles every time you passed eachother in the halls, in the morning at breakfast and at night for dinner. always catering to him.

“what should i wear?” “you can choose.” “you tell me.” “it’s your choice.” and god did it inflate his ego. you were always asking about him, how his day was, what he did, who he saw etc. but it wasn’t just small talk, you were always listening. absorbing his words like a sponge, wide eyes, head nodding along dumbly. he loved it. and over the year he found himself, caring, on the inside at least.

every time you’d go out there were hungry eyes consuming you. your face, body everything. and he wanted to personally pluck out each eyeball and feed it to their families. so again, overtime, he’d shield you, protect you. his sweet wife who knew nothing of what the others wanted to do to her. a hand on your back, an arm around your waist, a peck on your forehead and his large red coat around you. all for show right?

he wanted to puke.

the smell of cabbage wafted to his nose and he was oh so close to putting this fist through the wall. who on earth-

you were humming, again. “corio!” your voice was music to his ears, corio, no one said it to him anymore. not even tigris. but he only liked, only wanted it to come from you. “dinner is served, some of your favourites are here. i asked tigris what you use to eat as a kid. ooh, you never told me you liked cabbage, me too! guess that’s another thing we have in common.” you beamed as you walked over with a bottle of wine, “tell me when to stop.”

he eyed you up the entire time. trying to catch a fleck of disgust whilst you ate, andddd, nothing. you weren’t lying, you actually liked it. he swallowed his own fear and began to eat.

“mm, i was wondering what you wanted me to wear tonight? i’d like to match corio, if that’s okay with you.” corio smiled slightly, “i would like to match. i have something i would like you to wear tonight sweetheart.” your eyes darted forwards as the word fell, sweetheart.

you couldn’t help the smile that came to your face, he only used terms like that in public. and based on his reaction afterwards, of which there was none, it meant that he probably didn’t even realise. or he did, you could never read him.

the red dress did things to coriolanus. the idea of you in it has his head spinning, but to actually see you in it? he wanted to throw you onto his bed and never let you out.

but to you it looked as if he was studying the dress rather than looking at you in it. “you look good.” you grinned, “thank you corio! i love your suit, you look very handsome.” you straightened his suit as he looked over your shoulder, your back was bare. “do you have a throw?” you quickly nodded and picked it up from the dresser. “good.” you already got a million stares in ordinary clothing, tonight was going to test his patience and anger.

the gala was gorgeous. for once there wasn’t ugly statues and weird color matches. a clean and pristine white hall, chandeliers, gold accents.

your heels clicked on the floor as coriolanus held his arm for you. “your hand please.” corio stared, waiting for your further explanation. “when we link arms your arm is too high for me. i end up with my arm at my neck.” you laughed as he lent his hand, which you gladly took.

stares and compliments at every corner of the room, everyone was looking at you two. the future president and first lady of panem. a match made in the capitol. you and coriolanus made the rounds, talking to present sponsors, potential sponsors and other candidates, much to coriolanus’s distaste. after a while you realised you were sort of just standing there, so you excused yourself for a drink and a closer view of the band.

“you look, ravishing.” charles operman. a sight which no one wanted to see, but to you he was just an ex-peer of the academy. “charles! thank you, corio picked it out for me.” you’d missed the way his jaw clenched at the mention of your husband, but you were to engrossed by the angelic singer and band. “you know, i always thought we’d end up together.”

the abruptness of his sentence had you choking on your drink, “excuse me, i’m married charles. i’m sorry if you thought that we would be together, i see you as a friend. i’d hate to lose a friend.” you smiled as he got uncomfortably closer and leaned into your ear, hand on your bare back.

coriolanus’s grip on his cup was tightening as he listened to lucky drone on and on. he wanted to see the life leave charles’s eyes, maybe his head would make as a nice present for you. “excuse me.” he nodded his head as he placed his cup on a passing waiters tray. you were helpless, and he was here to help you.

his breath was hot in your ear and you could smell the liquor on him as he was grabbed from you. “coriolanus, sir.” charles mocked salute as coriolanus stared at him, maybe he thought if he stared long enough hed burn into the floor. coriolanus rarely smiled, but this one was unsettling to say the least.

“if you ever put your hands on my wife, look at her, speak to her. it will be the last time you do so. i might just call in a favor with dr gaul, i hear your fond of snakes?” charles’s eyes widened, he hated snakes. he couldn’t even watch the 10th hunger games, the second he saw the snakes he ran to the bathroom and hurled.

“when i become president, you better keep yourself in line. it’d be horrible to see your family in the games no?” charles took a step back, “you can’t do that, i’m capitol.” coriolanus drew back,

“you won’t be for long.”

you couldn’t believe your eyes, of course he’d protect you but, threatening? he’d never do it right? the shutters of cameras had you reaching for corio, “can we leave my love?” coriolanus turned to you, “of course sweetheart.”

he’d stayed up for a long time. a smile came to his face when he remembered the sound of charles’s neck snapping. the door creaking open revealed a disheveled you, “corio? are you awake?” he sat up as you released a breath.

“what is it y/n?” you took a shy step forward, “i uhm, i can’t stop thinking about charles. he scared me, i didn’t know what to do corio. i-” you couldn’t stop the tears from falling as coriolanus swiftly got out of bed, helping you into his bed. “i- can i sleep here tonight? please?”

this was definitely not how he first expected to have you in his bed, but how could he say no to you? your hair in its braid, messy and lose, puffy eyes and tear stained face. he wished he’d first seen you cry underneath him but he’d take what he could get. what he didn’t expect was for him to like this, the scene of you crying, needing him. he was the one who could help you, console you, coddle you.

coriolanus nodded as he moved back to the bed, tucking himself and you in softy, caressing your hair and kissing your forehead. god he’d held out for so long, denied himself and his feelings but having you in his arms was all he could ever want, but the idea of being in you flooded his head.

would you cry like this? would you shout and scream? did you like it soft and sweet? he couldn’t be soft and sweet, he’d savour the moment but he loved the idea of unravelling you, he’d be the only one to see you like this, him being the only one to make it happen.

you curled into his chest, like a baby. your soft cries and whimpers went straight to his crotch and soon enough you were asleep.

his sweetheart, his delicate little wife.

corios hand slipped downwards and into your pants, he promised himself he just wanted to feel but god you made it difficult. he saved you tonight, didn’t he deserve a reward? didn’t matter if you detested he had you where he liked. so he slowly rolled over and placed you on the bed.

your eyes fluttered at the change of placement but he couldn’t care less. he was done waiting.

you squirmed underneath him in your sleep but his worries faded away.

[mariasont]

Sugar, Spice, Spencer's Advice - S.R

everyone expects spencer reid to fall for purely intellectual types, but what they don't know is your ability to remember his rambling lessons and your diligent googled research makes him feel irrationally turned on

pairings: spencer reid x bimbo!receptionist!reader warnings: established relationship, some suggestive content, brief mention of food-play (non-graphic, discussion only), spencer being protective, fluff af, spencer's negative outlook on sugar/food (super brief), teasing/banter, flustered spence wc: 1.4k request: here!

You’re happily licking at your ice cream cone, eyes soft with uncomplicated happiness, and Spencer thinks he’s becoming entirely too familiar with this feeling. It’s habitual. To observe you is like revisiting his favorite passage in a beloved book, each time discovering nuances he’s missed before.

He’d given in the instant your expression had turned imploring — big, pleading eyes, soft pout — your most effective weapon. Spencer has abandoned all pretense that he can resist your nightly sugar-driven rituals.

He’d pondered briefly the psychological undercurrents of your craving, but each theory usually ends up dissolving when he’s confronted by the smile you give him when he caves.

His attention drifts back just as your feet land on the dashboard. Spencer half-smiles at the sight of those slip-ons, your comfy choice through the entire day of painfully predictable romance movies. He was pretty sure he lost the plot somewhere around hour two — another mistaken identity plot twist, seriously? — but keeping track of said plot wasn’t really the point anyway. 

He’d watch paint dry if it meant hearing you laugh like that, but thankfully you usually pick slightly better entertainment. Usually.

Spencer reaches over instinctively, his hand finding its place on your thigh, patting twice for good measure.

“Hey, feet off the dash, please,” he says. “Airbags deploy faster than you think, and personally, I’m pretty attached to the current arrangement of your features.”

His mind trips over the calculation against the embarrassment of sounding like an overbearing parent. He’s not even your husband yet. Yet.

But you immediately drop your feet without complaint, settling into a position that looks decidedly safer. Spencer breathes a little easier. He gives your thigh a grateful squeeze, his thumb brushing back and forth just once in a wordless thank you.

You tuck your legs beneath you, body angled toward him, elbow planted on the center console, cheek resting in your palm. 

“My face appreciates you looking out for it,” you tease gently. “Always looking out for me actually. Is there anything else I do that’s, like, secretly super dangerous?”

Spencer’s eyes catch yours, and he lets out a laugh, shaking his head. 

“Come here,” he murmurs, lifting his hand from your thigh to sweep his thumb along the edge of your mouth, collecting the vanilla ice cream that’s smeared there. “As far as dangerous decisions go, I’d say your habit of leaving candles burning unattended ranks pretty high. One of these days you’re going to burn the whole place down, sweetheart.”

“But you said most fires from candles happen because of flammable stuff near them, not just leaving them burning,” you remind him sweetly, nose wrinkling with affection. “So really, as long as I keep things away from my candles, I’m totally safe. And I always listen to you about that.”

His heart flutters with messy pride and affection that makes him feel embarrassingly sentimental. Sure, conversations about Marcel Proust or string theory aren’t exactly your cup of tea (he’s pretty sure you’d turn your nose up at the mere thought), but there’s this distinctly genuine and wonderful way you navigate the world. 

You absorb everything he says — half-formed ideas, scattered facts, fleeting memories — in a way that weirdly puts eidetic memories to shame. 

It’s dizzying, actually, the way you’re smiling at him right now, effortlessly beautiful and clearly unaware that he’s suddenly acutely conscious of how his pulse is pounding. 

He loves you, he knows he does, deeply, and apparently by the way his face flushes hot and his breathing quickens, he’s more turned on by your quiet brilliance than he ever expected.

“Okay, so candles are covered,” he says with mock seriousness, “but what about all my advice on not talking to strangers or, I don’t know, not accepting free candy from mysterious vans? Are those making the cut too?”

“Come on, Spencer, you taught me better than that,” you say proudly. “I know all about risk assessment now, if someone seems sketchy or pushes too hard, it’s probably a danger sign. And,” you add with a satisfied smile, “that’s why you’re the only one allowed to take me for sweets. Want a bite?”

Spencer eyes the melting ice cream warily, the overly sweet scent doing nothing to tempt him, it’s essentially frozen sugar, after all, objectively terrible for him. The mental list of reasons to politely decline is endless.

But the knowledge that your lips have just been there sets off a chain reaction, desire eclipsing logic. Suddenly, he’s more than willing to abandon nutritional morals for the vague promise of an indirect kiss. Though, admittedly, he would much rather prefer the direct approach. But he’s fairly certain that running into a telephone pole would rank even higher risk wise than unattended candles or dashboard hazards. 

So, instead, he ducks his head, taking a careful bite, instantly regretting it when the sticky sweet cold paints his cheek.

Your giggles ripple, making him smile sheepishly as you shift closer. He expects your thumb, mirroring his earlier gesture, but then your lips brush against his cheek, your tongue catching the vanilla drip. Every ounce of rationality deserts him into one helplessly smitten mess.

“You know, saliva actually cleans better than wiping,” you announce thoughtfully. “So, you’re welcome, Spence.”

He’s half certain he’s never mentioned anything about saliva enzymes, but then again, he’s so thoroughly distracted by you most of the time he might’ve. It sounds exactly the kind of oddly specific detail he’d share.

“Okay,” he manages, unable to suppress a smile. “Where exactly did you learn that one?”

“I googled it.” You tilt your head. “Like, I thought food-play might be fun to try with you?” You shrug lightly, expression utterly innocent as if discussing something far less suggestive. “But then all these articles said it can get kinda gross and messy, and honestly, Spencer, I realized you’d probably just stress about germs and clean-up, and there’s no way I’d enjoy it if you weren’t totally relaxed and happy.”

Of all the things he anticipated you might say tonight, casually mentioning food play research was not on the list. It lands like a dropped grenade, exploding into fragments of thoughts he cannot possibly hope to piece together.

His cheeks burn hot as images — sticky and indecent images — flood his mind without permission. Vanilla dripping slowly down your collarbone, lips parted in invitation, eyes sparkling with that innocent curiosity he adores.

But beneath this sudden rush of desire lies something even softer because he can almost see it — your earnest expression as you scroll through webpages, considering all the possible complications, all the ways he might react. 

Spencer’s chest aches in a way he can’t pinpoint, a vulnerability spreading through him that he rarely allows himself to feel. He’s not used to people taking such gentle care of his anxieties, treating his quirks as something precious rather than burdensome. A small, quiet part of him wonders if he deserves this kind of thoughtfulness, this careful, intentional love you offer without hesitation. He wants to believe it, wants to let himself trust it completely, but the tender astonishment that grips him right now makes it hard to think straight.

“You know, angel, next time just come straight to me, okay? I promise my answers are better, and less traumatizing, than whatever you’ll find online.”

“Well, don’t blame me when you start getting texts at two a.m. about my random questions.”

Spencer raises an eyebrow at you. “I think we both know that if my phone goes off at two a.m., you’re probably not looking for statistics.”

You smile at that.

“I mean, yeah, probably,” you concede. “But honestly, Spence, I did read this thing about late-night dopamine spikes or whatever and —,”

He doesn’t think. He can’t think. The moment the car is in park, his body moves on its own, leaning across the console, hands gently cupping your face as he silences your adorable scientific ramble. He’s never felt such urgency, such an intense, overwhelming need to kiss someone as he does right now. It’s impulsive, reckless, completely out of character, and yet he feels no regret. Only relief. Only you.

For once in his analytical life, Spencer lets instinct win, savoring your lips and the small, surprised sound you make against him. He hopes you hear in his kiss everything he can’t yet put into words.

💌 masterlist taglist has been disbanned! if you want to get updates about my writings follow and turn notifications on for my account strictly for reblogging my works! @mariasreblogs

[banj0possum]

My Lovely Melody

Yandere!Rockstar x GN!Reader

CW: yandere is a playboy before he meets reader, suggestive (creepy) thoughts, minor obsessive behaviour

🎸 Axel's been in many relationships with both men and women alike, but all of his little flings felt nothing more than that, just flings.

🎸 And he was content with it, I mean being a famous rockstar meant lots of people wanting a chance with you and he indulged in that fact.

🎸 He could sleep with whoever he wanted, whenever he wanted, and he wouldn't have to deal with the commitment that comes with dating or any of that messy stuff.

🎸 So why the hell can't stop thinking about you ?!?!?!!

🎸 He scratched his head trying to make sense of it, his messy hair getting even more ruffled as he tries to get the image of your smile out of his head.

🎸 You were in a miscellaneous store full of alt clothing, trinkets and various other stuff when he walked in with his bandmates.

🎸 It was fairly normal when he came in the store. It was dim with some random punk song playing faintly in the background. His friends started exploring, looking at the graphic t-shirts and mugs shaped like skulls and the like.

🎸 He got a bit bored and wandered to the other side of the store. It had posters, candles and..who's that?

🎸 There you were, staring longingly at a plush toy sitting on one of the shelves, just standing there.

🎸 He didn't think much of it, probably just some person baked out of their mind. "Hey buddy, you doin' good?"

🎸 You snap out of your gaze and look at the big hulking man in front of you. You stutter out an apology and explain your little misfortune.

🎸 "So you want this..toy...but you can't afford it..?" He raises a brow at you as you nod, making him chuckle.

🎸 He thought for a moment, looking at the stuffed creature, well it wouldn't hurt to buy it for you, he's pretty well off from all the gigs and concerts he's been in so...

🎸 "How 'bout I buy this thing for ya then? But you owe me~" He winks, thinking he could score some quick sex for being such a 'gentleman'

🎸 But no, instead of a blush or a knowing smirk, you just looked at him with the widest, most innocent eyes he's ever seen, you were practically shaking with joy as he said it.

🎸 You thanked him profusely before listing off things you could do in return, treating him to some food, buying something for him in return, plain paying him back..he was a bit surprised.

🎸 "O-oh...uhm that was a joke heheh, y-you don't have to do all that babe..." He blushes.

🎸 The two of you head to the cashier, his friends spying from behind the aisles as his gaze is locked on the little ball of cuteness beside him.

🎸 Seriously? Did you even know who he was? This has never happened before...most of the time, he would pay for someone's drink or something and they'd be on his dick in seconds, but you, you were so..different...it felt nice..

🎸 You didn't even get it in a bag, you immediately took the plush after it was paid and hugged it close.

🎸 so cute so cute so cute so cute so cute!!!

🎸 "Hey uh..so me and my buds are in a band and uhm..wanna maybe..watch our next gig?" He asks nervously, he's never been so shy towards anyone!!

🎸 You agree, thinking it's the least you could do for what he did for you.

🎸 You take out your phone, Axel can't help but grin at the case, it was cute, like you~..

🎸 "Here's my number if..you need it.." You smile at him, that smile..that damn cute smile...you had his heart wrapped around your finger at this point.

🎸 "Th-thanks sugar..I'll see you there.." He smiles back as you part ways, he heads back to his friends who were bombarding him with questions as he watches you skip out of the store with your new little soft friend.

🎸 That night, he was getting ready for the show when he got a message notification and sees that you sent a picture of the show from one of the seats with some text "Good luck out there!"

🎸 His face was on fire as he realized you were there, he peeks out in the crowd and there you were, your little plush toy in tow.

🎸 You look so out of place from the people in spiky jewelry and dark outfits, you were just in a hoodie and baggy pants, albeit the hoodie had a MCR design on it, but you can tell it was very soft compared to the rest of the audience.

🎸 Finally it was time for the show to begin and it was the most passionate he's been in a while, it seemed as if the words he was singing were dedicated to you and you alone.

🎸 The little glances at you made you giddy, like a friend seeing their bestie perform, you were cheering excitedly for him, not in a fangirly way, but one of genuine support and amazement.

🎸 After the performance, Axel tried finding you, but the crowd was too big and he assumed you must have left already.

🎸 Wait..why is he being so buddy buddy with you? You just met today! It's not like you two were best friends or anything!

🎸 He tried dismissing the thought of you, tried distracting himself by flirting with other people, but he could only think about you, and making you smile like that again..

🎸 no no no! get out of my head!

🎸 Maybe a little fling can ease his mind?

🎸 Even on his bed with some random girl after show, he can still think of you.

🎸 Would your skin be as soft? or maybe softer? How would your hair smell? He bets your moans would sound delicious..

🎸 shit FUCK!!

🎸 Even after his one night stand, he kept thinking of you

🎸 He stares at your messages, you sent a lot of pictures of your plush toy doing goofy things to him, so cute..so silly...he can't help but smile.

🎸 He decides to look you up on social media and..

🎸 Wait a minute...you make music too?

yep this was a bit short but idk man i love making you guys suffer <3 stay tuned for part 2 (i am actually out of ideas guys please request me please please ple-)