#found two mistakes already

[eggmeralda]

<3<3 (<- platonic hearts)

[arolesbianism]

The sadness and agony that emerges everytime I start a new oni save and am forced to remember what it's like to have a dupe without a hat only to put them in a hat because I think they'd look cute only to remember hats make half of them look bald but I spent this long maxing out a skill for them so Im too stubborn to back down and remove the hat

[slvttyplum]

denial is such a funny thing because you can deny pretty much anything if people believe you enough, but this particular situation just didn't cut it enough that even you yourself don't believe the lies that came out of your mouth when you told people that you and satoru were just friends.

friends didn't fuck in a car at three a.m. coming from a party; friends didn't sixty-nine late at night out of horniness; friends didn't fuck each other just for the fun of it; everything that the both of you were doing to each other wasn't "friendly."

satoru found it comical when he saw a light of regret slide into your eye whenever you finished. it made him laugh because he knew that you wanted this and knew that there were things that you wanted to do with him that you couldn't even think about doing with anyone else, yet you denied it every time because it was a "mistake."

making sure not to cuddle after and to get out of his house or get him out of your house as fast as you could, throwing a "buddy" in there to assert some boundary, not knowing it had already been crossed and there was no going back. satoru didn't mind your denial of the way things fell, but he just wanted you to stop trying and instead just let things fall into place, so that's what he started to do.

fucking you out of your mind until you were blabbering, clinging out to him as you wrapped your legs around his hips and your arms around his neck as your vision went blurry, droll dripping out the corner of your mouth, trying to stay focused, but satoru's dick feeling like it was buried in your stomach wasn't helping.

sometimes he would go hard just so that he could see your eyes fill with tears and your smile as he ran his arms over your body, touching you all over, kissing your neck, and down to your chest, leaving his mark so that it would be there the next time he saw you. there was no chance of getting it off any time soon because of the pressure he applied.

other times going slow so he could be more intimate with you, mainly teasing you and letting you know that this wasn't just a casual thing; this isn't normal; he wouldn't do this with anyone but you, and that wasn't because the both of you were close, but because this was much more than friendship.

so amused by the situation, he started tracking how many times the two of you fucked each other to see when you would finally put your foot down and stop fucking him, but months went by and he couldn't even track anymore because it was so absurd.

"sixty… we fucked sixty times." he murmured to himself before laughing. you were a piece of work, but he liked it; he knew you, and he knew that you weren't going to keep trying to convince yourself that this was just a friend thing, so he wasn't going to push you into telling him anything.

plus, he liked teasing you during sex; that was the best part—getting you fucked up from how high you got while getting fucked, head banging the headboard, and all—getting you to say the darndest things so he can say them back to you.

he was a patient man; he could wait.

[noisilyscreechingsong]

Damian is de-aged to a baby and lost in Gotham. A magic user hit him with some kind of spell. His legs don’t work as well and he has trouble walking. That’s when a man appears and squats down with a tilt of his head.

“Yea, you are definitely not supposed to be out here, little guy.”

Damian glares at the man, early twenties, stubble along his jaw, ragged clothes, and dark bags under his eyes.

The man turns his head to look at the brick wall.

“Are you sure?”

And now he was talking to a wall. Curses. Of course he would be found by a crazy person.

The man suddenly hangs his head with a deep sigh. He regains himself quickly and stands. Moving closer to put his hands under Damian arms to lift him to perch on his hip.

Damian squirms to get down but refuses to make a sound. The last time he opened his mouth like this it was a pathetic baby sound. He couldn’t let this man see him like this.

“Looks like you’re coming home with me, little guy. I can tell you’ve got some spirit in you. Good, you’ll need it.”

Not ominous at all.

Damian stays with the man, mostly because he couldn’t physically drive a car, but also because he was almost always with him. The man would talk to air at the most random times. Obviously a schizophrenic. But Damian had to admit this man, Danny he comes to find out through a neighbor baby talking at him, has been genuinely trying to take care of him and take care of him well. Well, to the best of his abilities anyway. 

He feeds him organic purées that don’t taste half bad, except the carrots, that one was unacceptable. Danny cleans him regularly despite his crappy apartment and makes sure he is dressed appropriately for the weather. He makes an effort to take him out to the park to play in the sandbox or just walk around discovering ‘new’ things.

Damian doesn’t need a parent, he outgrew the concept when he was five and technically he already had one, but he could tell Danny would make an excellent father. Some mistakes can be overlooked compared to the effort he was putting in.

The only concerning thing was the talking to thin air. It took Damian an embarrassing amount of time to figure out the reason Danny was visiting all these random people and the graveyard. (Sometimes he will set Damian down to ‘play’ in the grass at the cemetery. It was quite odd.)

He was talking to ghosts. It wasn’t thin air or imaginary friends, no it was actually dead people. The reason Damian actually believes this is for two reasons.

One, Danny shows true results. Damian observes closely whenever they visit a ‘client’ and Danny always has accurate information despite never looking up or researching anything going in.

Two, he never calls himself a medium or psychic. He doesn’t boast about his ability to see ghosts. He does what he does to help the ghosts move on to the other side. Closure is what Danny always says. Closure for the family and the victim. In Gotham, there are a lot of victims.

Damian adjusts to his new life with Danny. It’s been five months and he’s getting used to being small and vulnerable. He’s allowed to be messy and whiny and childish. Danny never scolds him like Mother did. The man has never hit him or raised his voice at him and never expects anything from him. He encourages his progression to speak and walk, but doesn’t expect the best out of him.

It’s… nice. A good break if anything.

They are at the park when one of the bats spot him and pauses. Danny is blowing bubbles into the air and Damian tries to pop as many as he can. It’s a silly game with no clear rules, but Damian finds it entertaining nonetheless.

“Hi there! Is he yours?”

Dick Grayson wears a bright smile, but Damian can see the tightness around his eyes.

“Huh? Oh, yea, this is Damian,” Danny answers.

He had written it with the wooden blocks Danny had given him one week in. Danny took one look at the name on the ground, laughed loudly and ran with it.

“Do you mind if I say hi? He’s so cute.”

Danny looks puzzled by the request but ends up shrugging his shoulders, not seeing a problem with letting a stranger get close to Damian. (Damian knew Danny’s intense eyes were watching Dick’s every move. He was very protective like that.)

“Sure.”

Dick squats down to search Damian’s green eyes. Damian stares back just as intensely.

“Hey there, Damian. My name is Dick.”

Damian gives him a flat look at Dick’s terrible introduction.

“Grayson.”

Although with his little baby teeth not fully in it sounds more like ‘way-shah’.

Relief flashes across Dick’s face and he gives Damian a reassuring smile. It’s not as reassuring at he thinks it is. It promises to bring him home and restore him to his original age. Damian doesn’t know if that’s what he wants anymore.

Dick stands and gives Danny some imaginary excuse to leave quickly. Damian watches him go and so does Danny.

“Funny guy, huh Dami?”

Damian doesn’t respond and Danny notices his change in mood.

“Come here, little guy.”

He knows what Danny is going to do and willingly goes. He is pulled up into the man’s lap and held between two surprisingly muscular arms. Danny’s hugs are nice and warm. They aren’t too tight like Dick’s nor are they stiff like Bruce’s. He never thought he could enjoy human contact, but Danny has been showing him things about himself he didn’t ever know. Turns out he does like hugs and playing airplane and when Danny runs his fingers through his hair when he’s really sleepy.

“Let’s go home a little early today, huh? I’ll make spaghetti and you can be as messy as you want,” Danny promises.

Damian hums. Yes, that sounds nice.

That night Batman comes in through the window. Damian is waiting.

“Damian,” Batman whispers.

“Bah-mun.”

The flat, unamused stare is what gives him away.

Batman lets out a breath silently and reaches into the crib Danny had gotten him.

“I wouldn’t do that if I were you.”

Batman jerks into action, twisting to face Danny who had appeared suddenly. The door behind him is still closed.

Batman stays quiet, silently studying the man before him dressed in pajama pants and a worn t-shirt.

Danny tilts his head as he does the same. Damian has never seen the man so serious. He silently worries for the man. He didn’t want him getting hurt to unnecessarily protecting him from his father.

“I’d have to break your arm if you tried to do what it looks like you’re doing.”

Danny says it so plainly. So simple.

Batman straightens.

“He isn’t yours.”

He doesn’t say Damian is his. He doesn’t claim him as his own. Just that Danny shouldn’t have him.

Damian silently agrees because technically he’s right. He doesn’t deserve Danny. He can’t keep playing house like he’s an actual baby. But Damian is also selfish and over the last few months has been taught that it’s okay to ask for things he wants even if it’s not inherently beneficial. The stuffed dog he sleeps with every night is proof of that.

So Damian says nothing.

“He is now,” Danny answers simply like there was no other answer to such a statement.

“He needs to go back to where he belongs.”

“Over my dead body,” is the immediate response.

They stare each other down until Danny scoffs.

“Don’t think I’m not petty enough to fight you, Batman. I’ll fight anyone who wants to take him from me. Damian is mine.”

When Batman tries to forcibly take him, he ends up with a concussion, a blood nose, and two broken arms. Red Robin finds him in a dumpster the next morning.

The story continues with Damian learning how to be a child his age, Danny protecting him and doting on his brilliant son, and the Batfam’s frequent failed attempts to kidnap Damian back to them.

[shellshocklove]

moanin' & groanin' | logan howlett

pairing/AU: lumberjack!logan howlett/wolverine x inexperienced!female!reader

summery: working for your father's timber business isn't what you saw yourself doing, but when the wolverine comes looking for work it's suddenly not so bad – especially when he can teach you a thing or two.

warnings: this is an 18+ fic so mdni! age gap (in the way that his mutant abilities prolongs his life), swearing, use of pet names, smut, car sex, praise, a little dacryphilia, logan's got a dirty mouth, soft dom!logan, a little size kink (basically logan has a big dick), handjob, fingering, a little manhandling, unprotected sex (don't do it!!), no use of y/n

a/n: um hi! this is my first ever logan fic. i really hope i got him right! not beta read, and barely edited so any mistakes are my own. happy reading! <3

main masterlist / ao3

The pages crinkled under your fingertips as you turned another page. Over the top of your book you could see your father's men milling about, getting the timber ready for another outgoing truck. Day in and day out they worked like flannel-covered ants. 

He wasn't here, your father, leaving you to hold down the fort, or office to be precise, as he  ran errands. "I'll be back before lunch," he'd told you, a hand passing through the sleeve of his tan Carhartt.

The office felt bigger when he wasn't here, like his neuroticism took up twice as much space as he did himself. You looked around the room. It was small, more like a hut than anything else, raised up on cinderblocks. A tiny kitchen lined the front wall, the refrigerator had given out once this month already and something smelled like it had died in there, the white florescent light under the wall cabinets gave you a headache, and the tap drip drip dripped. The table and the mismatched chairs, your father had found at a fleamarked years ago, before you were born most likely, and they wore the wear and tear of years of use. 

Every available surface was covered in papers, and the wooden shelves on the wall dipped in the middle from the weight of the binders. When you were little you'd been afraid the wood would break in two, but they were still standing (hanging?) – maybe they'd stay like that for the rest of eternity for all you knew. Your father's office had only one desk, which made your job as occasional office manager and full-time problem solver, problematic. 

Your father would sit in his chair on one side, while you'd steal one of the mismatched chairs and occupy the other end. If you'd had your way, you wouldn't be working here. The timber business interested you just as much as your father was interested in the disco they played on the radio. "If it ain't the king of rock I don't want to hear it," he usually said and switched the channel. 

But the town was small, and no one was hiring. The summer after you'd finished high school you'd dreamt of moving to the city, but the money had been tight and your father needed you. At least the work, if your father didn't meddle, was relatively easy: answer the phone, type out the invoices and salaries, keep an eye on logistics, and make sure whatever breaks gets fixed. 

The radio hummed at a low volume, one of the singles from Tapestry, as you turned another page of your book. Leaning back in your father's office chair, you glanced at the clock over the door. He should be back by now. Just as the thought crossed your mind, the door swung open.

"Did you need something?" you asked, your book dipping down in your lap. 

Logan raised an eyebrow at you as he walked into the office on heavy steps, that damn cigar hanging out the side of his mouth. "Nice to see you too, princess," he poked jokingly, tugging at his gloves, one finger at a time, and tucking them into his leather belt. 

He sported the same outfit he usually wore; bootcut jeans, a white t-shirt under his flannel and a thicker wool-lined jacket. He must've been sweating in here with that on.

Autumn had claimed the trees and ground months ago, but this morning the frost had covered the ground and bit at the apples of your cheeks. Your breath had come out in swirling plumes when you'd locked yourself in this morning; the first glints of the sun peeking through the windows as it rose over the mountains. The first thing you'd done was crank the heater, and now as you approached midday, you'd shed your sweater long ago while the windows had fogged with condensation. 

The smallest of frowns tugged at your brows, as a heat prickled up your neck to your cheeks. Logan made you a little nervous– not in a bad way, but in a way where your thoughts would wander in his presence, conjuring up scenarios of him and yourself in… comprising positions. Okay, maybe it was in a bad way. But who could blame you when he walked around like that?

He'd arrived only a few months ago, at the tail end of the summer, looking for work. He was strong, stronger than any of the other men working for your father, and although the work was hard, it seemed like he never tired. You didn't know much about him and he kept mostly to himself, hidden away in a cabin up in the mountain, but sometimes you'd see him down at the local bar, nursing a glass of whiskey in one hand and a lit cigar in the other. More than once you'd seen him chatting up Kayla Silverfox, and more than once you'd wished it was you in her place.

"Oof," Logan groaned as he opened the fridge, grabbing his packed lunch and closing it as fast as he could. You appreciated him for that; whatever had died in there should stay in there.

"Yeah," you said, "I'm not cleaning that again, not even for a million bucks."

"Can't blame ya." 

He looked to the table for a second where the guys usually ate their lunches, before he decided to take your usual chair at your father's desk. As he sat down, you pushed the ash tray to his side of the desk, earning you a short smile in thanks as he rested his cigar. It wasn't unusual for him to talk to you on his breaks. 

So, why did you heart beat so fast in your chest?

Because it was the first time you'd been alone.

"So, where's your old man?" he asked and bit into the sandwich he'd packed in an old newspaper.

"Running errands– he should be back soon…" you trailed off.

Logan hummed non-committedly. "So, you're in here sittin' pretty readin' your book while we're out in the cold slavin' away– maybe I should become the boss' daughter."

"Well, it's not easy," you sighed, feigning confidence, "and you gotta be pretty first of all," you front teeth dug into your bottom lip as you tried to hide your nervousness.

"That's true," he grinned, "I ain't got nothin' on you, princess."

Logan held your gaze with intent, and it was like something in the air shifted. It happened sometimes with Logan, like he had this power beaming from him that sucked you in. Erratic wings fluttered in your stomach, and you had to drop your gaze.

"So, how's the book?" he asked, taking another bite of his sandwich.

"Eh," you shrugged, dog-earing the page your were on, before throwing the beat-up paperback on the table. "Too many plot twists– first they're on earth, then there's this virus spreading– so they have to move all of humanity to the moon, but then there's this species that lives under the surface of the moon who they start a war with, but one of the main characters are in love with a moonie– that's what they call them– so, now they're in love and trying to stop the war and…" you shrugged again.

Logan chewed slowly as he nodded his head. "Sounds complicated," he decided, making you let out a small laugh.

"I guess so."

A grin washed over Logan's face at your small laugh, and you felt his gaze roll over you, over your exposed skin. When he looked at you like that, like a predator drooling for a meal, you felt a small damp spot stick to your panties. You watched as his nostrils widened, his jaw clenching shut as a pulsing vein protruded from his neck.

"So, science fiction," he started, clearing his throat, "Didn't know you liked that," he continued between the last bites of his sandwich

"Some kid at the library recommended it," you shrugged, "so I thought I'd try it out. And it's not like it's that far from the truth– we've got mutants."

Logan crumbled the newspaper hard and quick, the sharp sound making you jump. "Yeah," he said, and stood to his feet, "That's true."

He grabbed his burnt out cigar, and threw the ball of newspaper in the trash. You started to wonder if you'd said something wrong, but then he said, "Your father's back," and not even a second later you could see your dad's old truck pull up outside the window.

How did he even know that? 

"Logan– wait," the words just fell out of your mouth before you could even think them through. He hovered by the door, raising a questioning eyebrow at you. 

You could be brave– Just say it! 

"Come by later would you? Before you leave for the day– I have something for you."

A gush of cold air blew in with the arrival of your father. He almost crashed right into Logan on his way out, nearly knocking him down the wooden steps. You thought you could glimpse a small nod from Logan, but he was out the door so fast you couldn't be sure. 

The rest of the day went by slowly as a growing anxiety gnawed at your neck. With your dad back you slipped out to borrow the car, driving into town to pick up some lunch at the local diner. It was routine at this point, something you did without thinking, but today your thoughts couldn't stay still. You were pulling up outside the office when you realized you'd driven the whole way with the radio off.

What was even your plan? 

You wished you were better at this. You could pretend, sure, put on a brave face to hide the nerves from surfacing, but how do you get a man like that to go for a girl like you?

You felt non the wiser when the sun had dipped below the mountains and he finally knocked on the office door. Your dad had left thirty-minutes earlier, stranding you at work with no way to get home. 

If this didn't go well, you didn't look forward to walking home.

"What 's it you wanted, princess," Logan asked, leaning against the frame of the door with one knee popped. Your eyes couldn't help but run down the length of him – his broad shoulders, the bulge hidden below his big belt buckle, and the veins of his exposed arms as he slung his jacket over his shoulder.

"Oh, um," you tried to shake your thoughts, and you rummaged the desk for the envelope. "Here," you said as you found it, stretching your hand out for him to take it.

He pushed off the door frame with a raised eyebrow, the cold air from the open door taking with it the warmth of the office. "What's this?" he questioned, taking the envelope from your hand. 

"It's your check– for this month's work," you explained.

His raised eyebrow pulled into a frown, "This is a week early," he questioned, "and I usually get these sent in the mail."

"Oh, I-I just thought I'd give it to you personally this time," you lied, fitting a shrug at the end for good measure, trying to sell how completely normal and nonchalant you were.

Logan raised a skeptic eyebrow at you, and you suddenly felt really really stupid. In your chest your heart could compete with a hummingbird's.

"Really?" he said with a smile before he dropped his chin, "Can I appreciate a little extra something in here, or…?" he trailed off, waving the envelope.

Letting out a shaky inaudible breath, you tried in your flirtiest voice, "Maybe if you give me a ride home…"

...................

The lights from the town below looked like stars scattered over the night sky, the yellow light of the roads connected them like on a string. You knew that Logan knew where you lived; the town was small, and even with the short time he'd spent here, it wasn't hard to get familiar. He'd stopped at the lookout point, about half-way up the mountain road. It was nice in the daytime, with a nice view of the town, the mountain and rivers, but at night it attracted a different kind of crowd: lovers. It was cheesy, and cliché, but clichés were clichés for a reason. 

The Led Zeppelin tape whirled, and the music stopped. 

Suddenly you felt nervous, fingers picking at a loose tread on your sweater. Logan leaned forward to flip the cassette, and his truck filled with a sound of organ, like you were back in church. When he leaned back he slung his arm over your seat. You watched how he spread his legs, getting comfortable, as his eyes found your face.

Under the wool, your heart picked up its beat.

In a brave move you shifted closer, the leather seat moaning under you, as a pleased smile tugged at the corners of his mouth. His big palm snaked around your shoulder, curling you closer to him until his lips caught your own. You only hesitated for a second before your hand found his neck, where your fingers tugged lightly at the hair at the nape of his neck. 

A low growl huffed against your lips, and he deepened the kiss, pressing himself roughly against you as he licked into your mouth. You couldn't help the small whimper escaping you. His touch was rough, almost impatient, but tender all at the same time, and you felt yourself fall apart.

The air stuck to your skin, clammy and sticky with arousal and now you started to get impatient. With a loud smack you broke apart, your lips raw and spent from use as you caught your breath. A rough hand cupped your cheek, the pad of his thumb skated gently over your skin as he tilted your head towards him.

"Such a pretty little thing," he mused. His eyes had gone dark, pupils huge and filled with lust; yours must've looked about the same as they rolled down his body. He shifted closer to you, pushing you closer to the door, and you got a better view of the bulge hidden behind his jeans.

Your heartbeat pounded in your ears, clogging up the sounds around you like you were underwater, pushing at your thoughts at the back of your mind. Logan moved with such ease, each touch natural and easy, like he'd done them a thousand times. Not like you, with only your short-lived high school boyfriend under your belt. 

"Hey," he shook your head gently, "Where you goin', bub?"

"I'm sorry," you whispered, a heat coating the apples of your cheeks. 

He shook his head, his face surprisingly tender for someone so rough, "Tell me, baby."

"I'm just…" you trailed of, trying to find your words, "I'm a little nervous– I haven't done this much," you said, avoiding his gaze.

"That's sweet, bub." The pad of his thumb rubbed the pet name into your skin as he leaned forward to catch your lips in a soft kiss, "But I wouldn't worry that pretty little head of yours 'bout it."

His breath was hot against your own, and an ache started to spread between your legs. The hand on your cheek travelled downwards to tug at your jacket, and you parted only for a second to rid yourself of it, but before you could lock your lips with his again he grabbed at your hands.

"I'll teach ya," he told you and guided your hands to his broad form. 

He let you touch him as he shucked off his jacket, your fingers dancing over the soft flannel. He was solid beneath your fingers, hard muscles from hard work. A patch of dark hair curled at his chest, peeking out beneath his white shirt, and you found yourself wondering where it lead.

Curling his hand around your wrist, he guided your hand lower; down over his chest where you could feel the solid form of him. His bronze belt buckle burned you like ice, but the heat of him as he pressed your hand to the hard bulge beneath the buckle burned even brighter.

"You feel that?" He looked you straight in the eyes. He pressed your hand down harder and you could feel the shape of him against your hand, hard and thick, and big. You barely managed a nod through the wave of heat coating your cheeks. 

"That's because of you, princess." His voice was low, almost like a growl, as he started to guide your hand to rub over the thick length.

"Me?" you questioned, breathless. 

"Yes, you," he chuckled, a heavy hand petting at your head. "D'you want to take it out? Stroke it f'me?"

"Please," you begged, looking at him with moony eyes through your lashes.

"So polite f'me," he mused, his hands tugging at his belt before he popped the button on his jeans. Slipping off your shoes, you crawled up into the seat, sitting back on your knees as you watched him pull at his jeans. Peeking out from under the denim, you could see a dark patch of hair.

Logan was in no rush, revealing only an inch at a time of the base of his cock, making a show of it as the tension rose. A wave of tickling arousal washed over you, and it made you brave, reaching a trembling hand forward, you helped him tug at the fabric.

At last his cock sprung free.

You felt your eyes widen at the sight, as you involuntarily squeezed your thighs together. Even with your limited experience, you knew he was bigger than most. The thick length of his cock bobbed from the weight, hanging heavy between his legs. At the tip of his fat head, a drop of precum pearled, almost invisible in the dark truck. 

"Come here, bub." He widened his legs as he reached out a strong arm for you, curling you into his shoulder. 

"Put your hand on it," he ordered, "like this," he grabbed at your wrist and guided you hand towards his mouth. You let him move you around, eyes blown out and wide as you couldn't take your eyes off his impressive cock. 

A wet blob of spit pulled you from your thoughts, it drew the slightest frown over your face until he guided your palm, now coated in his spit, to his cock.

Under your palm his skin was silky soft, but hard and firm at the same time. You found yourself mesmerized at the sight of your hand around him as you familiarized yourself with the heaviness of him in your hand. 

"There ya go–" he cut himself off with a groan as you formed a fist around the head of him. Your fingers struggled to reach around him, but it didn't seem like Logan minded much when you moved downwards smearing his spit over his shaft in an experimental tug. 

"That's it, good girl, just like that."

A warmth bloomed in your chest at the praise, wrapping itself around your heart. You wanted him to say it again– to be good for him. So, you reached forward with your other hand, wrapping it around the base as the other formed a fist around the head. Another pearl of precum beaded at the tip, and you took the opportunity to skate your thumb over it, massaging it into his spit.

A growl seemed to get caught in Logan's throat, and still riding off your high that the praise had sown in you, you started to pump his cock in slow strokes. A slick sound escaped under your fists with each stroke, and you watched how his head fell back in pleasure.

"Am-am I doing it right?" you asked, voice barely above a whisper.

At the sound of your voice, Logan sat up straighter, a heavy hand falling over your back to pull you closer. "You're a natural, princess."  

You couldn't contain the smile from coating your lips as he brought you in for another searing kiss. It was hot, and suffocating, and all-consuming, all at the same time. It clouded your mind, and you forgot what your hands were supposed to be doing. 

Logan's hand travelled down your body, his big palm grabbing at your ass. "Take of your pants," he ordered against your lips, "Panties too," underlining his order with a couple of light slaps to the flesh.

Shuffling out of his hold, you fingered at the button of your pants, pulling at them and your panties as quickly as you could. Goosebumps prickled over your exposed skin, the air suddenly frosty without Logan's touch – but that didn't last long.

The calloused pads of his fingers trailed up your thighs, pressing down into the flesh as he pulled you closer to him. "Come sit in my lap, princess."

He didn't wait for you to move, instead he manhandled you how he wanted. Spreading his legs wide apart he fit you between his legs, your back pressed against his hot chest with his hard and leaking cock caged against your ass. 

"I'm gonna touch you now, baby, okay?" his deep voice whispered in your ear.

"Okay," you peeped, heart pounding in your ears at this new proximity. 

He spread your legs, putting your wet and neglected cunt on display, hooking them over his knees. When his palms danced over your inner thighs, you felt yourself sink deeper into his chest, deeper into the safe scent of pine and man. 

"Need to get you ready f'me, bub– stretch this tight cunt out for my big cock," he cooed.

You ached for him, a sticky wet feeling between your legs as you wished so badly for him to finally touch you. His touch was light, but teasing, drawing circles along the thin flesh, circling closer and closer to where you needed his touch the most, before he pulled away. 

"Please," you whined, grabbing at his arm.

His breath felt hot against your neck, and you could feel the grin he pressed against your skin. He let you guide him upwards to hover his large palm over your mound, but he wouldn't let you have it. Instead, he pushed at your sweater. His hand spread across the skin beneath your belly button as prickled goosebumps followed the rough pads as they ran across your skin.

"Y'gonna feel me right here, bub?" he teased, "So deep inside your tummy?"

A whine caught in your throat and you felt like an exposed nerve. Arousal pulsated throughout your body, threatening to pull you apart unless he did something soon. Your neglected cunt dripped with an ache only he could sooth. 

"Yes, please, Logan," you whined, tears threatening to spill.

His thick beard scraped against your cheek, and you almost trembled from anticipation as he slid his hands downwards. He raked his fingers through the curls of your mound, and a gasp fell from your lips when he finally pushed at your clit.

A wide smile reached across your face when he started to circle his fingers, tight with the perfect amount of pressure. Your hips bucked to meet his touch, your cunt eager and dripping for more of him. His other arm clasped around your middle, keeping your still and steady in his lap as he had his way with you.

A bold finger dipped lower, running through your folds and teasing at you entrance. A slick sound filled the car as he played with your cunt, circling his fingers around your hole, dipping a teasing finger inside you just to the first knuckle, before withdrawing it just as quickly. 

"Such a messy pussy," Logan murmured in your ear, the deep bass of his voice vibrating into your skin. "Listen."

The sound as he played with your pussy was obscene, lewd, and so dirty you felt a heat crawl up your chest. A breathy gasp escaped you when he finally split you on his finger, and a satisfied smile coated your lips as he started to move it inside in a steady rhythm, prodding every so often at that spongy spot inside, the spot your own finger couldn't reach.

"F-feels s-so good," you managed to stutter out. 

The heel of his palm pressed against your clit with every thrust, teasing at your insides and conjuring moan after breathy moan from your lips. He guided you closer and closer to the edge, and you wanted so badly to fall. When he pulled out to slide another finger inside you, you felt a tear roll down your cheek with satisfaction.

"I can feel that pussy clenching me– you close, bub?" he poked, never stopping his fingers.

Your head rolled back, resting heavy on his shoulder as you nodded franticly, mouth parted slightly, humming out small breathy whines. You were so close, the tension in your stomach twisting and aching for release.

But then he pulled his fingers, dragging them up over your mound leaving a wet trail in your curls. You couldn't help the disappointed sigh as more tears pressed their way down your cheeks.

"Shh," he hushed you, "you're okay, bub." 

Under you, you felt him move, his strong muscles flexing as he shifted you on his lap. When you felt the blunt head of his cock slide between your folds, an eagerness came upon you. You grinded against him, making a small chuckle rumble from his chest. Logan slapped his heavy cock against your folds, coating his big cock in your slick arousal. 

The first stretch of him knocked the breath right out of you, the fat tip of him splitting you in half as he helped you guide yourself down on him. You had to remember to breathe, your hand fumbling for something to hold on to. 

"Fuck," you whimpered, eyes wide, "I-it's so big– it's t-too big."

His hand wrapped around your middle held you in place, keeping you still on his cock as you adjusted to the first inches of him inside you. 

"It's not too big, princess, you're doing so well f'me," he praised, "just a little more, bub– you can do it."

With a wet whimper you lowered yourself, taking a couple more inches of him, as Logan pressed more fluttering praise into your skin. He let you take your time, easing yourself down on him at your own pace. When your thighs were finally flushed with his, he was so deep inside you, you jolted, trying to move back up, but Logan's hands held you down. You felt him in your tummy, like he'd said, his cock reaching so deep you were shaking.

"Sit still, get used to it," he told you, as you tried to catch your breath, "You're being so good f'me."

And somehow the burning stretch of him soothed away into a pleasurable pressure, one you couldn't help but chase. With an experimental rock of your hips, you felt the fat head of him prod at your spot, making you mewl. And when you started to swivel your hips, Logan groaned in satisfaction, meeting your movement with small thrusts.

Slowly, he picked up his rhythm, strong hands shifted to dig into your hips, holding you in place for him to move you as he wished. In your ear, you heard him growl, deep and animalistic as he fucked up into you.

It didn't take long until your breath came out fast between moans as the pressure built, and built, and built. 

"Logan," you moaned, tethering right on the edge.

Another growl escaped his chest, as his strong arms hooked under your legs. He pressed them tightly to your body as he picked up his pace, bucking wildly into your eager cunt. You could feel him throb inside of you, and you couldn't help but clench at the thought of feeling him spill inside you, claiming you.

"Don't stop, please, don't stop," you begged, tears streaming down your face like two winding rivers, "I-I'm gonna come."

A hand slid between your legs to rub at your puffy clit, coaxing you closer and closer with winding circles. 

"Come on my cock, baby, come all over that big cock."

It was hot, and blinding. Euphoric shocks pulsed through your body, as you fluttered and gushed around his cock. Logan's grip on your legs tightened as you shook violently with your orgasm – a million stars exploded behind your eyes.

"Oh, that's it, bub, such a good girl," he praised between heavy wet pants against your ear.    

Fucking you through your ecstasy, Logan chased his own high at a relentless pace, and all you could do was take it, reduced to a ragdoll in his hands. In your ear he muttered nonsense interlaced with praise, telling you how good you felt, and how perfect you were for him.

With a deep groan he pulled out quickly, tugging at himself until he spilled his thick spend on the truck floor. With bleary eyes you watched how it pumped in quick spurts, dripping down his hand and soiled the knuckles in his own sticky cum. 

Behind you, Logan breathed hard, nudging his nose against the column of your neck to press soft kisses to the hot skin. 

A pair of bright headlights beamed down the road, pulling you from the moment with its blinding light. Logan helped you shift off his lap, reaching to hand you your discarded clothes before he tucked himself back into his jeans. 

The cassette whirled in the car radio, and you couldn't remember when the music had stopped. Logan shifted back behind the wheel and an eerie silence grew in the distance between you.

"How 'bout I take you somewhere to eat?" he posed.

You smiled, "I could eat."

...................

hopefully this was okay? a comment telling me your favorite part is always welcome, and my ask box is always open to chat <3 and thank you for reading!!

© shellshocklove, 2024 i do not give any permission to repost, translate, feed to AI or redistribute any of my writing, with or without credit!

[dilemmaontwolegs]

You Came, You Called || LN4

Summary: when strangers follow you from the nightclub there’s only one person you want to call.

Warnings: angst, threatening behaviour, fluff

WC: 2.4K

Lando stirred at the sound of his phone ringing on the bedside table. There were few people who could get past the ‘do not disturb’ setting that came into effect after midnight. With bleary eyes he reached for the phone and cringed at the bright light in his face but the sight of your name chased away his exhaustion.

It had been 162 days since you last spoke to him. It had been 162 days since he had ruined everything. He regretted his foolishness for every single one of those days and his stomach flipped at the thought of hearing your voice.

“Hey,” he answered, a flinch following as his voice cracked from lack of use while he slept. He quickly cleared it before trying again. “Hey.”

“Hey, baby.”

Alarm bells rang in his head and he sat up straight. Had you called the wrong man? That thought soured in his mouth.

“I’m on my way home.”

It wasn’t your unsteady voice he was focused on but the male voices that sounded far too close for his liking. “Aw, don’t call your boyfriend. We only want to talk.”

“Where are you?” Lando was already pulling on a pair of sweatpants and grabbing the first shirt he came across. “Are you okay?”

“No,” you whispered with a tremble in your tone. “I miss you.”

“Tell me where you are, sweetheart. I’m on my way.”

“Come on, gorgeous, it’s just a bit of fun,” a man called out and Lando saw red when he heard you choke back a sob. He knew the sound because he had been the reason for it before, and it had haunted him ever since. “He doesn’t have to know.”

“I’m heading towards Chocolat Boutique, please hurry.”

“I’m coming, sweetheart. I’m on my way.” Lando was already racing down to the garage and jumping in his McLaren. The engine roared loudly in the underground space before he tore out onto the street. “Keep talking to me, okay?”

The small store would have closed hours ago, but it was down the street from Jimmyz nightclub which was where you probably had been. He didn’t even know you were in town, and he didn’t have a right to know your whereabouts anymore.

“I’m scared, Lan.” The pain echoed around him as his phone connected to the car and played in surround sound.

“I know you are, but it’s going to be okay. I’m almost there, I promise.” He didn’t care about speeding tickets or running red lights. He flew through the narrow streets as he was forced to listen to the cat calls.

“I didn’t know who to call,” you admitted as you tried to walk faster but your heels hindered any escape. The three men were getting closer but they were in no hurry as they prowled both sides of the street to herd you along.

“You can always call me, love,” Lando swore, taking the last turn fast enough for the tires to squeal in protest. “And I’ll always answer.”

He found you on the footpath clutching your phone to your ear, hand cupped over the microphone as you spoke to him. Fear had widened your eyes and your normal stature cowered under the gaze of the men behind you.

Twisting the steering wheel, Lando skidded to a halt beside you and threw the door open. You had seen him angry before, when races don’t go his way, but this was beyond anger. Waves of rage rolled off him as you leapt into his arms, your trembling form finding itself molding perfectly back into his body. Two puzzle pieces slotting back together.

“I got you, sweetheart,” he soothed as he cradled the back of your head and glared over your shoulder. “You’re safe now.”

He might not have been the most imposing figure but you knew Lando was strong and regularly had boxing lessons for training. You had no doubt that if anything escalated he would use every lesson to protect you, but the cowards shrank back into the shadows of the shops.

“Let’s get you home.”

You were in such a state of shock that you didn’t see Lando wince at his mistake. You hadn’t called his apartment home for 162 days, not since you packed your bags and left. But right now you longed for that place where you had felt so safe and secure, tangled in his sheets and he curled his body around yours.

He opened the passenger door and reluctantly stepped out of your embrace to guide you into the seat. The doors locked as he started the engine and you exhaled a heavy breath of relief when the street was left behind.

Tearing your eyes away from the tinted window, you looked at Lando properly and saw his disheveled appearance. “I’m sorry for waking you.”

“I’m not.” He took his eyes off the road for a second before reaching over to take your hand. “You’re freezing.”

He couldn’t tell if you were shaking because you were cold or if it was the adrenaline leading to shock. Dropping your hand he reached behind your seat to grab a hoodie that was always left in the car. The material was soft and smelled like him as you pulled on, inhaling deeply at the familiarity of the scent.

“I miss stealing these,” you whispered as you buried your cold hands into the front pocket.

Lando chuckled at the admission. He missed seeing his hoodies on you and asking if you knew where his favourite ones were. You would lie and he would smile at how terrible the attempt was.

“You can steal that one, if you want. I have too many now that they don’t mysteriously disappear.”

The car pulled into the garage and you found the space where your car used to park now filled with a pretty Lamborghini. A new sense of sadness hit that of course everything could be upgraded and replaced. “You can take me to my hotel. I wasn’t thinking clearly, you probably have company.”

His lips turned down at the thought and he shook his head. Lando understood why you would assume that, after all it was the reason you had left. What he had thought was harmless flirting had wrought destruction on his relationship with you. He knew he should’ve deleted the messages as soon as they were received but a moment of weakness when he was away from you led him to reply.

He betrayed your trust and he had regretted it ever since.

“There isn’t anyone,” he said as he parked. “There isn’t anyone ever, just to be clear.”

You mulled over his words as you stepped out of the car and accepted his hand, trading the warmth of the pocket for his palm. You kept hearing the insinuation echo with each step in the empty garage.

“Did you go out alone tonight?”

You shook your head. “Ana felt sick so she left. I should have gone with her.”

“So why did you stay?”

You weren’t ready to admit there was a slight hope you would see him so you just shrugged. It was Saturday night in Monaco and Jimmyz was the place to be - especially for a handsome, single man like Lando. You hadn’t wanted it to be this way though.

“I stopped going there after…a couple of months ago,” he said as he unlocked his door.

“Why? You loved that place.”

“I loved going with you,” he corrected. “I got to hold you and dance, show you off to everyone. When I went back, everyone just wanted to use me.”

You could imagine the women fawning over him and the men trying to be his next best friend. Sex or money, it was all they wanted from him.

“I’m sorry, Lan.”

“Lan,” he chuckled, following the light down the hall to his bedroom. The blanket was tossed aside and his charging cord was half hanging from the wall, a testament to how quickly he had left his bed to rescue you. “No one else calls me that anymore. It’s always Lando Norris, full name, so fucking weird. It’s Lando Norris getting out of his car. Oh, look, it’s Lando Norris scratching his nose.”

You laughed at his impersonation and sat at the edge of the bed. It was such an innocent thing but it brought back a million memories made in this room and he was seeing them all too as he stood frozen.

“Are you going to stand there all night, Lando Norris?”

His eyes traced your lips that mocked him before he shook his head of the thought that entered his head. Going to his wardrobe, he grabbed a loose shirt and tossed it to you before turning his back. “That’ll be more comfortable to sleep in than your dress.”

You laughed to yourself as he turned away, despite intimately knowing every inch of your body, until you found his eyes in the reflection of the mirror. His tortured eyes dared you to tell him to look away, but they begged you all the same. Maybe you were feeling grateful for the rescue, or maybe it was just an old habit that you held his gaze as you rose to your feet and let your dress fall to the floor with his hoodie.

His eyes darkened and he groaned, but the sound woke him up from his stupor. “I’ll go sleep on the couch.”

“Wait.” You took a step towards him as he stepped towards the door. “Please stay.”

He heard the fragility in your tone and the residual fear from the evening creeping back. He knew it was a bad idea but he couldn’t find the words to voice them as he gripped the door handle.

You watched his fingers release their tight hold before he nodded. “But please put the shirt on,” he pleaded as you tested his self restraint.

It was summer and the air still held warmth despite the early hour, but you dutifully pulled it over your head and climbed into the sheets. Lando waited until you were completely covered before he walked around to his side of the bed and curled up at the edge.

You both lay in silence, back to back, watching the shadows on the wall as the minutes ticked away. Lando was like a heat seeking missile and he was fighting an internal battle to keep from rolling over and curling his body around yours. You had always loved physical contact, it was comforting to be wrapped in his arms.

You knew he was awake and uncomfortable.

He knew you were awake and uncomfortable.

A few more minutes passed and you could no longer pretend he didn’t exist, or that you didn’t want the comfort he could give. “Lan?”

“Yeah?” His response was instant and you felt the bed shift as he rolled onto his back.

“Stop being weird and just cuddle me so we can get some sleep.”

“I don’t want to make you uncomfortable.”

You giggled and reached blindly for him. “I am already.”

Your hand found his arm and he shimmied across the space until it curled around your waist. His knees tucked behind yours and his breath warmed your neck as he whispered, “I’m sorry. For everything. I know you hate me, but-”

“I don’t,” you interjected, twisting your neck to look at him in the dim light. “I did, I really did. But I don’t anymore.”

“You should. I hurt you so bad. I deserve your hate.”

You swallowed down the lump in your throat and looked away as you admitted aloud what you had known for a while. “I can’t hate you, Lan, not when I still love you.”

Lando froze still behind you and you weren’t sure if he was even breathing. “You still love me?” Disbelief, wonder, hope - it was so saturated in that question.

“I thought something terrible was going to happen to me tonight so I called you in case it was the last time I could. I didn’t want ‘I hate you’ to be my last words to you.”

Lando’s gut clenched at the thought and his arms tightened around you, crushing your back to his chest. “I wish you called sooner, I would come day or night to get you.”

“I know.”

“I don’t think you do,” he said sadly. “Every weekend for the past five months I wonder if you are out drinking and clubbing. I know it’s not my place, and I lost all right to know where you are, but I need to know you safe, sweetheart. It kills me to think that there might be someone else looking out for you, because that was my job. It should still be my job, to protect you, because I love you too. I never stopped loving you.”

You squirmed in his arms but they were too tight to move. “Lan, I need you to let go of me,” you murmured.

“I’ve tried, but I can’t. I can’t give up on us.”

“Lan.”

His breath was shaky but he released his tight grip on you, despite his desire to keep you close. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have said any of that.”

He started to pull away but you finally had room to move and followed. “Lando! Come back, you muppet. I just wanted to see your face without breaking my neck,” you laughed.

He paused, a little from appearing between his brows. “Let go…oh…” His eyes lit up even in the dark room and he bundled you back into his arms. “Muppet is my word.”

You nuzzled your face into the crook of his neck and inhaled his scent. “I stole it too, like your hoodies.”

“I was a muppet so you can have it this time.” He pulled back so he could find your eyes. “Where does this leave us?”

“You broke my trust.” You felt him deflate at the words. “But when I needed you, you came.”

“You called.”

Your chest felt light with emotion those two words brought and you combed your fingers into his dark curls. “I don’t know where this leaves us but what I do know is that I really want you to kiss me.”

His eyes widened in surprise. “Now? Are you sure? It might just be the adrena-”

“Shut up and kiss me, Lan.”

He didn’t need to be told a third time.

[pocket-deer-boy]

This is just a personal pet peeve of mine but i feel like a lot of online art tutorials overstate the importance of stuff like guidelines to get “correct” anatomy every single time and while those are typically really good handgrips for beginners we should also tell beginners about gesture drawing. Like maybe i’m being too animatorbrained here but being able to pump out a pose in anywhere from 15 seconds to 2 minutes and quickly move onto the next drawing without lingering on every little mistake is a really really good way at getting good at drawing people proportions quickly. If you make mistakes fast you learn from them fast. So here’s a little exercise:

Sit down, grab some reference images, draw ten poses in twenty minutes (or do ten poses in ten minutes if you’re feeling adventurous or confident) and take a step back and look at your work after the fact. Be sure to move from drawing to drawing quickly once your timer is done. Pretend you’re in a model drawing class and the model has already changed pose whenever your timer hits - finish up whatever lines you were drawing, move on to looking at what the model is doing now.

You will make a lot of shitty drawings, of course, but that’s not so bad. You only spent a minute or two making each one. Focus on the drawings you do like, and look at them as a whole.

Look at all the drawings together and how they fit together on the page. Look at little details and lines you’re proud of. Take note of things you found difficult to get right in such a short time. Take note of the things you liked doing. Do the exercise again, and focus in on the things you want to improve or explore.

Maybe you want to focus on how the torso conveys its weight on the legs. Maybe you want to focus on how shoulders and arms bend around the neck. Maybe you want to focus on how to convey depth on the torso. Maybe you can learn something more about how to draw a body if you only draw using sharp lines and angles. Maybe you can learn something more if you only draw using squiggly, overlapping lines. Maybe you can learn more about how to draw a body if you only fill out the shadows with thick, quick lines. Congratulations! You’re not just learning how to draw a body, but you’re now also exploring your tastes!

This is a fine exercise to do alone, but it’s a lot more fun to do as an activity with a small group so you get to discuss the art you made together.

[hhoonii]

⋅˚₊‧ ଳ WHEN + WHY ENHYPEN STARTED LIKING THEIR IDOL! S/O

pairing: idol!enhypen x fem idol!reader, genre: fluff, requested!! enha realizing they're down bad

— heeseung

when he saw you perform

he was absolutely stunned by your stage presence. you carried yourself with so much confidence that it was hard to not notice you. the way your hair swayed in the air whenever you moved and the way your lips curved into a smile did things to him more than he liked to admit. after finding out your name, he was guilty of looking you up on google and stalking your instagram. the members would hear him giggling, and they would instantly know it was because he was watching videos of you.

— jay

when both of you appeared on a variety show together

it just so happened that you two had to be paired up for the whole episode. literally. connected by a bracelet, you had to walk, eat, do missions— everything together. he didn’t think much about it at first, but he found himself smiling when he saw you skip so excitedly, dragging him with you. and when you wiped the bit of pasta sauce off his lips, his heart started beating a little faster. your chemistry with him was off the charts, and all he wished was for your on-screen romance to become a reality.

— jake

when you filmed a tiktok together

he thought you were cute trying to learn the choreo for “XO”. you couldn’t quite get the hand movements right, prompting him to gently touch and guide your hands. maybe it was the close proximity, the warmth of your hands, or the way your eyes met, but there was this unexplainable tension that filled the room. he quickly looked away, hoping you didn’t see the creeping blush on his face. although the filming went smoothly, he kept replaying those moments with you in his head.

— sunghoon

when both of you were special mcs

seeing how pretty you are up close made something spark in his heart. he kept stealing glances at you while you were practicing your lines. he chuckled at the slight pout you would make when you made a mistake, which you playfully glared at him for. the first thing he did after the show was look on social media to see if fans captured any cute moments between you two. normally idols want to avoid being shipped with other idols, but the idea didn't sound too bad to him if it was with you.

— sunoo

when he saw you with another male idol

you two have been close friends since childhood. your friendship was well known in the industry, and strictly platonic. it wasn’t until he saw you talking and laughing with another male idol that he started to feel a little jealous. that guy didn’t know what makes you laugh most, nor your deepest secrets like he did. and why was he leaning so close to you? he wanted to brush his feelings aside, but imagining you with someone else didn’t sit right with him...

— jungwon

when he saw you practicing

back in his pre-debut days, you were his sworn enemy. you two competed for the top trainee spot, always trying to one up each other. after both of you debuted, one day he peered into your practice room window, but something felt wrong. watching you as an idol made him suddenly see you in a different light. your messy hair no longer looked stupid, but rather hot. your annoying voice was now something that made him feel giddy just hearing it. he could deny it as much as he wanted to, but the heart never lies.

— ni-ki

when you did a collab stage together

he was already aware you were one of the best dancers in the idol industry, so he looked forward to working with you. but what impressed him was how you were so kind to him, always looking after him and complimenting him. he remained calm up until the choreography that required your faces to be mere centimeters apart. you had to be in his arms, maintaining eye contact, but he couldn’t look at you without internally panicking. you were attractive, and he wondered how one could be so perfect inside and out.

[obsessivevoidkitten]

Animal Farm: Tuesdays

Three Yandere Dog Men x Gender Neutral Reader

CW: Noncon, knotting, nonhuman genitals, cum swallowing, spitroasting, biting, male harem, dog men, reader fucked silly, general yandere behavior, licking, scent marking Word Count: 555 (The next long awaited installment in my farm series. I hope you all love it. <3 I did not bother having this beta read, sorry for any mistakes. The original fic can be found HERE along with the links to the other installments)

You were still tired from the thorough orgy that the harpies had given. At least they provided you with plenty of gentle aftercare. But now it was Tuesday. And that meant that you were the property of the dog-men. Another day in the endless cycle of being a cumdump for horny monster men. You really dreaded time with the dogs. They always ended up biting the hell out of your neck. You entered the small cabin that the dog men inhabited and one of the cat men, Lionel, came stumbling out with a dazed look on his face and cum dribbling down his thighs. Good… maybe that would mean there urges were already taken care o- Your train of thought was interrupted when you were thrown on the bed by the most assertive of the three dog men, the one that had the ears and tail of s German Shepherd, Thorn. His claws slid under your waist band and partially pulled down to reveal your hole which he lapped at like a treat. “Fuck, I have been waiting a week for this farmer~” Apparently breeding Lionel did nothing to quell the desire to bury their knots in you. When he got tired of fucking you with his tongue he slid his dick in to the base, the bone in it jabbed you painfully until it mercifully swelled to full size. The stretch was only mildly uncomfortable. After bringing you to climax his knot inflated in you and kept the two of you tied with him periodically humping gently to enjoy the sweet friction against his knot as he plied you full of his hot seed. He gave your neck a quick bite before sliding out of you and then before you knew it one of the other two, this time the husky-like dog man, Corr, was slamming into you. But the third, Len, the fluffy one that had the features of a Newfoundland, couldn’t wait his turn. So while Corr was busy breeding your overstimulated hole Len took it upon himself to slide past your soft lips. The smell of his musky cock filled your nostrils as his nuts slapped your chin with every thrust. You whimpered and moaned lustfully into his cock as Corr started to knot you. Corr bit you on your shoulders and back as he began the long process of slowly depositing cum in waves into you as dog men did. Your body shook as you came again, but you started gagging a bit as Len knotted in your mouth. His dick twitched periodically as it sent another wave of bitter cum down your throat, leaving you no other option but to swallow. If you thought you were done you were sorely mistaken. Thorn had gotten hard again and plunged his cock right back into your now cum-lubed hole the second Corr had pulled out of it. A few hours later, when the fuck fest was finally done, the dog men all turned very loving and gentle. They licked you clean of their seed and bathed you, but they rubbed your clothes with their scent before allowing you to get dressed again. They spent the rest of the day feeding, cuddling, and caring for their little mate who was too dazed and tired from all the sex to really do much.

[hauntedhowlett-writes]

ANIMAL INSTINCT

PAIRING: logan howlett x vampire mutant!female reader

RATING: explicit | WORD COUNT: 2.3k

SUMMARY:

after helping you out by letting you feed from him, logan asks you to return the favor.

part two of bloodthirsty

AUTHOR’S NOTE:

thank you for all the love on bloodthirsty! here’s a nice and smutty second part. big thank you to @guiltyasdave for reading this over for me 💕

TAGS/WARNINGS:

explicit sexual content (18+ mdni), x-men (2000) logan howlett, able bodied reader, vampire mutant!reader, no use of y/n, single POV - reader, primal play (chase/capture), gratuitous use of growling/roaring, light fighting, mentions of blood, biting, rough sex, semi-public sex (in the woods), oral - f receiving, unprotected p in v, multiple orgasms, creampie, dirty talk, blade play (the claws come out).

Logan finds you in an empty hallway one afternoon, about two weeks after your encounter in the kitchen. You made the mistake of making eye contact, leaving you unable to turn and pretend you didn't see him like you've been doing since that night. 

"You avoiding me or something?" he says, hint of a smile on his lips. 

"No," you reply quickly. "What makes you think that?"

"Haven't seen you around much lately."

"Just busy."

"Right." He looks away for a moment, hands on his hips. "Look, I got a proposition for you."

"I don't--"

"I got this issue--," he continues, ignoring your response "--where it gets to be too much, you know? And I helped you out so--"

"What are you talking about?" you interrupt.

His voice drops a bit lower. "We're predators, right? And I don't know about you but sometimes my prey drive can be...too much, if you catch my drift."

"Okay..."

"And I got two words for you - quid pro quo."

You blink at him. "Logan, that's three words."

"I thought pro quo was one word."

"Why would you think that?"

"We're getting off topic," he says, waving his hands. “Think you can help a guy out?"

"Help you...how, exactly?"

You agree to meet Logan at the edge of the dense forest that surrounds the X Mansion at nightfall and as you walk through the grounds blanketed in darkness, your senses begin to feel more alive. Anticipation courses through you and the further you venture from the mansion, the darker the night becomes.

Logan is already there when you arrive, tension rolling off of him in waves. He gives you a tight smile.

"Took you long enough," he says. You roll your eyes.

"I'm still here, aren't I?" You gesture to the forest. "So, what now?"

"You run," Logan replies. "I hunt."

The deep timbre of his voice sends a shiver down your spine. What he's asking for goes against your nature but some deep part of you is eager to please. 

You take off through the trees, running as fast as your legs will carry you across the soft forest floor. With your enhanced speed, it's not long before you're miles from the manicured mansion grounds, surrounded by gnarled roots and a thick canopy of leaves that blocks nearly all light from the moon.

You slow to a stop, catching your breath. The snap of a branch is the only warning you get before Logan's heavy weight barrels into you, sending you both tumbling to the ground with him coming out on top, smiling down at you, a wild glint to his eyes.

"Gotta do better than that, bub," he says. He stands up, holding a hand out to help you to your feet. "I'll give you a head start this time."

"I don't need a head start," you grumble. "I'm faster than you."

He laughs. "We'll see about that."

You start running, his laughter ringing in your ears. Your path is less direct this time, weaving through the trees and doubling back to leave your scent in more places and crossing a small creek with the hopes that the running water helps to cover your tracks. You grow comfortable enough in your lead that you begin to slow down, keeping yourself attuned to the sounds of the forest and any changes that might indicate Logan has found you.

The trees break into a vast clearing, tall grass swaying in the breeze. Moonlight trickles past the branches, stripes of faint light illuminating the floor. You take a moment to appreciate the tranquility of it, but the calm is short lived when you catch movement at the corner of your eye.

Logan steps through the trees. He's removed his shirt, thick muscle glimmering with sweat, his chest heaving with labored breath. Your mouth goes dry at the sight and for a moment you really do understand what it's like to be prey, faced with something so deadly it's almost hypnotizing, impossible to look away even when you’re in danger. He stalks closer and you feel frozen in place, unable to move a muscle.

"Found you," he growls. 

Your survival instinct kicks into gear and you attempt to run away, sprinting across the glade with renewed vigor. If you can make it back into the forest you know you could shake him loose again, but staying in the clearing makes you a clear target. 

Logan roars, the sound loud enough to shake the branches of nearby trees. You risk a glance over your shoulder and are met with the sight of the man on all fours, running towards you with single minded determination. He rapidly closes the distance with impressive speed, wrapping his arms around you and taking you down to the ground for the second time that night.

You grapple with him, landing a kick to his chest that gives you the chance to crawl out from beneath him. He reaches a hand out for your ankle and drags you back toward him, using his weight to hold you in place. You wiggle an arm free and strike at his face, though he dodges and your fingernails scrape against his neck, leaving red gashes in their wake that heal in the blink of an eye. He pins your arm to the ground above your head.

"No more runnin’,” he says, a command that shoots straight to your core. You know he’s not talking about just tonight, but rather how you’ve been avoiding him. 

But how were you supposed to face him when the only thoughts you had of him since then were about how sweet he tasted, how good he felt, how much you wanted more, more, more that you couldn’t possibly ask him to give?

Your inner turmoil is lost when his lips slam against yours in a kiss that’s hot and hungry, stealing your breath with its ferociousness. His teeth sink into your bottom lip and you gasp at the sharp sting of pain that lights up your nerves. There’s nothing gentle about it, but you’re not gentle creatures and the beasts that pace and snarl beneath your ribcage have finally broken free.

Logan breaks the kiss to stare down at you with wild eyes. Blood, your blood, stains his lips and his tongue darts out to lick it away with a satisfied hum. He leans in close, burying his face in your neck, inhaling deeply, mouth open against your skin with the threat of sharp teeth over your racing pulse.

“Can’t hide it,” he says. “Not when I can smell it on you, sweetheart.”

“Smell what?” 

“How much you want it.” He nips at the juncture between your neck and shoulder, making you hiss. “How much you want me.”

Heavy hands find the hem of your shirt, shoving it up your chest until it’s bunched beneath your armpits. He pulls down your bra to expose your breasts and your nipples tighten at the sudden burst of cold air against your skin but his mouth is on you in an instant, warm tongue tracing the taut buds. Your back arches at the sensation and you dig your fingers into his thick hair, pulling at the strands. He hums with pleasure as he switches to your other breast, giving it the same maddening attention.

His palm slides down your belly, fingers dipping beneath the elastic of your leggings and finding your needy center, swirling through the mess you’ve already made in your underwear. You can feel the smug grin on Logan’s face before he even lifts his head to look at you.

“That’s what I thought.” He withdraws his hand, holding it up to his face. In the moonlight you catch a glimpse of the strands of slick stretching between his index and middle finger before he sticks them in his mouth with a groan, licking them clean. “Fuck, you taste better than I imagined.”

The metallic sound of his claws unsheathing reaches your ears and your pulse jumps as he drags the blunt side of a single blade up the inside of your thigh. The tip catches on the fabric covering your pussy and with one quick move of his wrist he slices through your pants. His claw disappears and he reaches down with both hands to tear the fabric further.

Logan settles on his belly with his head between your thighs, your legs propped up on his broad shoulders. He kisses your pussy over the soaked fabric of your underwear but

spares you any further teasing, grabbing your panties in a tight fist and pulling roughly until the elastic snaps against your skin and he holds the torn fabric in his fist. He tosses them aside and buries his face in your cunt, devouring you like a man on a mission. His tongue alternates circling your sensitive clit and dipping into your dripping entrance, expertly tracing every inch of you. You’re so lost to the pleasure that you don’t notice him getting to his knees until he’s lifting your hips, hands gripping your ass tightly to keep your lower body suspended in the air and his mouth sealed to your cunt.

“Fuck!” you cry out, muscles growing tense as your orgasm builds. It hits you like a tidal wave, coursing through your veins as you shout his name like a prayer. His hold remains tight as he works you through it until you grow boneless in the aftermath.

He lowers you slowly back to the ground and you fight to catch your breath while he quickly removes his belt and shoves his jeans down enough to free his cock. You watch him take himself in hand, a brief slide of his fist over his impressive length before he runs the glistening head through your sensitive folds, bumping your clit and making you shiver.

Logan’s gaze remains fixed to yours as he presses forward, breaching your tight entrance. Your body accepts him greedily, the slight sting and stretch barely a thought when all you can focus on is how full he makes you feel.

His lips find yours for a messy kiss while he begins to thrust, a slow drag of his cock from your body followed by a sharp snap of his hips that punches the air from your lungs. You cling to his shoulders, clawing at his skin. The scent of his blood invades your senses and your teeth begin to ache at the memory of his taste. 

Your teeth catch on his lip and he hisses but doesn’t pull away. Copper blooms across your taste buds and you can’t help the desperate moan that escapes into the kiss.

“Come on, baby,” Logan says. “Take a bite.”

You rest a palm on the back of his head, urging him closer, lifting your head and kissing his neck, licking the salty taste of him from over his fluttering pulse. You open your mouth, sinking your teeth into skin and muscle and vein until warm blood spills into your mouth. The combination of his blood on your tongue and his cock spreading you open sends you over the edge.

Above you, Logan growls, a deep rumble you can feel down to your marrow, some ancient part of you preening with excitement. He holds himself still as you clench around him. Your orgasm slowly subsides and you find the strength to unclench your tense jaw from his neck, gently licking at the blood that spills from the deep impressions of your teeth.

Logan sits up, cock slipping from your body and leaving you achingly empty. His hands grip your hips, forcefully turning your lax body over and hiking your ass into the air. He spreads your cheeks and the vulnerable position has your whole body growing hot.

“Hope you didn’t think we were done,” he tells you as he positions himself behind you, thrusting his length back into your body and setting a brutal pace that has you crying out into the night. 

One hand holds your hip with bruising force while the other settles on your shoulder, pulling you into every delicious snap of his hips. Your mind goes blissfully blank with the overwhelming pleasure building up inside of you for the third time.

He folds forward, his chest pressed to your back and his pace growing sloppy as he nears his own release. A hand curls around yours, a moment of intimacy that leaves you reeling.

Logan roars, hips slamming into a final time, dragging your last orgasm from you as his cock pulses with his release inside of you. A sharp pain on your hip makes you gasp and you notice his claws have extended from the hand wrapped around yours, sinking into the dirt.

“Shit,” he pants, sitting up after a moment. The loss of his heat makes you shiver. “I nicked you.”

You slowly move yourself into a seated position, muscles feeling like jelly, and inspect the area that the pain came from. Your leggings have a new slice in the fabric and the material is sticky with blood but to your surprise, there’s no wound to be found.

“You heal that quick?” Logan asks. You shake your head.

“Not usually.” You run your fingers over smooth skin. “Must have been your blood.”

“You think so?”

You shrug. “Just a guess. Never fed from someone with advanced healing factor.”

“You sayin’ I’m your first?” he asks with a smirk. You can’t help the laugh that escapes and his smirk stretches into a grin. Logan stands, fixing his pants and holding a hand out to help you up. 

“How am I supposed to get back into the mansion like this?” you ask, gesturing to your destroyed leggings. 

“Guess I didn’t think that through,” he admits. “Give me a few minutes and I can be back with some new clothes.”

“How are you going to get into my room?”

He turns to look at you, continuing to walk backwards.

“I’m a man of many talents.”

With a wink, he disappears through the trees. You sigh.

What have you gotten yourself into?

Thank you for reading!

LINKS

all masterlists | logan howlett masterlist | support for palestine

[br0kenangel]

BABY SISTER: 𝘣𝘢𝘣𝘺 𝘈𝘦𝘨𝘰𝘯 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘣𝘢𝘣𝘺 𝘈𝘦𝘮𝘰𝘯𝘥 𝘮𝘦𝘦𝘵 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘪𝘳 𝘯𝘦𝘸𝘣𝘰𝘳𝘯 𝘴𝘪𝘴𝘵𝘦𝘳 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘧𝘪𝘳𝘴𝘵 𝘵𝘪𝘮𝘦.

The Red Keep hummed with quiet excitement, a rare gentleness settling over the halls as the news spread. The queen had given birth to another child, a girl, and the brothers were brought to see their sister for the first time.

Aegon, stomped ahead, his silver-blond hair a wild mess that matched the glint of mischief in his violet eyes. “I don’t see why everyone’s so fussed,” he grumbled, casting a look over his shoulder at Aemond, who followed more cautiously. “She’s just a babe. Probably all wrinkly and loud.”

Aemond didn’t reply. He wasn’t quite sure what to expect. His small hand clutched the edge of his older brother’s sleeve, his wide eyes taking in every detail as they approached the cradle where their sister lay sleeping. Aegon made a face as they neared. “See? She’s not doing anything interesting.”

Despite his words, Aegon leaned over the cradle’s edge, his annoyance more curious than he let on. Aemond stood on his toes beside him, peering over, almost shyly. Inside the cradle was the tiniest babe they’d ever seen, her silver hair softer than the finest silk, curling slightly on her tiny head. Her cheeks were pink and round, and she slept peacefully, her breaths soft and steady.

Aegon wrinkled his nose. “She’s so small.” He reached out and gave her a gentle poke on the cheek. “Hey, wake up.”

Aemond gasped softly, his eyes wide. “Don’t!” he whispered, though he was just as curious. He glanced back down at her, nervous that Aegon might have hurt her.

The babe stirred, her little nose scrunching up. Aegon watched in surprise as her eyelids fluttered open slowly, revealing the same violet eyes that both brothers shared. She blinked up at them, her gaze drifting between Aegon’s smirk and Aemond’s wide-eyed stare. Then, as if recognizing them in some deep, instinctual way, the corners of her tiny mouth curled into a soft, gentle smile.

Both boys froze, their hearts seeming to stop at the same moment. Aegon, who had been ready to declare his sister boring and unimportant, suddenly found himself captivated by that smile. His earlier irritation melted away, replaced with something warm and protective he didn’t quite understand. “She’s… she’s smiling at us,” he whispered, almost in awe.

Aemond, who had been hesitant, felt his heart swell. He reached out a tiny hand, his fingers barely brushing her soft, pudgy one. “She’s beautiful,” he breathed, his voice filled with wonder.

The babe made a small, contented sound, her tiny hand curling instinctively around Aemond’s finger. Her eyes, so large and innocent, stayed fixed on her brothers, as if already knowing how important they would be in her life. Aegon reached out too, letting her grab his finger with surprising strength. The moment was simple, yet so lovely. The two boys stared down at their sister, completely captivated, forgetting any doubts or teasing words.

Aegon, who had been ready to dismiss her, now felt a fierce surge of love and protectiveness. “I guess… I guess she’s not so bad,” he admitted, but there was no mistaking the affection in his voice.

Aemond just nodded, still entranced, his heart swelling with a love he had never felt before. “We’ll take care of her,” he said softly, a promise in his quiet words.

Part 2 ♡ Part 3

@ 𝒃𝒓𝒐𝒌𝒆𝒏𝒂𝒏𝒈𝒆𝒍 𝟐𝟎𝟐𝟒. 𝒅𝒐𝒏'𝒕 𝒄𝒐𝒑𝒚, 𝒓𝒆𝒑𝒐𝒔𝒕 𝒐𝒓 𝒕𝒓𝒂𝒏𝒔𝒍𝒂𝒕𝒆 𝒂𝒏𝒚 𝒐𝒇 𝒎𝒚 𝒘𝒐𝒓𝒌𝒔 𝒉𝒆𝒓𝒆 𝒐𝒓 𝒂𝒏𝒚 𝒐𝒕𝒉𝒆𝒓 𝒘𝒆𝒃𝒔𝒊𝒕𝒆𝒔.

[back2bluesidex]

Slide - MYG (18+)

Pairing: Producer!Yoongi X Lyricist!Reader 

Theme: Angst, smut, unplanned pregnancy. Fwb to ?

Word count: 2k+

Summary: 

"I can see the pain in your eyes I don't wanna say that I'm God, but I'll take you to heaven if you die"  

Alternatively, 

You would go back in time and fall in love with Yoongi over and over and over again even after knowing that he would never once be yours in any of the timeline.

Warnings: implied smut, explicit smut, emotional sex, very sad (don't underestimate the angst huhu), depressed yoongi, reader is pining so hard lord!, creampie, unplanned pregnancy, NSFW!!

Listened to Slide by Chase Atlantics

Minors do not interact!!

Series Masterlist | Masterlist | Patreon

A/N: Lemme know if you want a part 2? (even though I already know the answer hehe).

Arrangement.

You would rather call it an arrangement - the thing that is going on between you and Yoongi. Anything you have been feeling for him, outside your usual practice, is your, solely your decision or more likely… fault. 

Hence, it’s a given. A given that you shouldn’t feel your heart dropping to your stomach, crashing on whatever is available inside your body and shattering into a thousand pieces, when you find Gyuri walking inside the room. 

Beside you, Yoongi tenses. His body goes rigid as the air inside the room thickens beyond repair. And all of a sudden you can’t breathe. 

Now you understand why Namjoon has been avoiding to reveal the name of the artist all along.

Lee Gyuri - One of the most successful solo artist as well as Min Yoongi’s one true love, who had left him broken so bad that you once found him on the street, unconscious, vomit all over his clothes - is now back in his life… in your life, which has been revolving around him. 

Where she left - You started. 

You picked Yoongi up, put him into pieces, not that you were able to heal the cracks but you at least conjoined it all together. 

And just like that - one night after a long heart to heart talk and a few beers, you found him seethed deep inside you. Yoongi chanted your name again and again as if it’s a mantra that will heal the cracks of his heart all while he rutted in you like a mad man. 

It started from there - the arrangement. 

At the end of long days and even longer nights, whenever both of you were too exhausted to go home, you spent the nights crammed together on Yoongi’s studio couch. 

Quiet whispers, curse words, wandering hands, secret body parts slick with arousal - everything had made your existence dwindle dangerously through his fingers. 

Yoongi always fell asleep right after but you stayed awake, tracing the slope of his nose, bow of his lips, map of his pale skin glinting in the dark. 

You had made a mistake. 

You fell in love.

Now as Gyuri slides inside the room with natural elegance, you hear Yoongi’s breathing getting quicker in pace. 

He is anxious. 

You place a hand on his knees, under the table. It’s a practiced habit that you adopted over time. Your fingertips help to calm him down. 

Everything is the same. 

Except this time, Yoongi doesn’t relax under your touch. 

“Yoongi, can we talk for a moment?” Gyuri requests with a timid voice at the end of the meeting. Her eyes quickly lock with yours for a fraction of a second. 

You half expect for Yoongi to say no. You pray to the universe for his answer to come as negative even when you know –

“Yes. Sure.” 

That Yoongi never stopped loving her for a moment. Yoongi loved, loves and will love only one woman - and that’s not you. 

Even though you don’t feel your legs anymore, you stand up. You choose to take the stairs to exhaust your body so that your sadness can be masked. 

But even as you climb down floors after floors - your heart stays confined in that room locked with two lovers. 

“She said she wants to work it out this time. She has been missing me terribly... she said.” Yoongi doesn’t look away from the blaring computer screen. 

He probably doesn’t have the heart of looking into your eyes. 

Somewhere he, too, knows of the deepest secrets you have been hiding from him. 

“And? What did you say?” You chew on the inside of your mouth, again praying for him to answer something of your liking. 

“That I will think about it.” you knew he would say that. 

“What is there to think about, Yoongi? You still love her.” you force the words out of your mouth even when your throat closes up. 

Tears threaten to spill from the corner of your eyes but you blink those away.

Yoongi finally looks at you, his own eyes glinting with moisture. 

“But what about you?” The question is rhetorical - metaphorical. 

“Me? I will go back to where I started from.” you lie, heart threatening to leap out of your chest. 

You would go back, but not where you started from, you would go back to the night when you picked Yoongi up from the street.

In simpler terms, you would go back in time and fall in love with Yoongi over and over and over again even after knowing that he would never once be yours in any of the timelines. 

You squeeze your eyes shut tight, pretending not to hear anything at all. 

Even though you have to summon all of your willpower to do so - you stay still in your bed. 

Your tears though - keep falling, rolling down the apple of your cheeks and making a small puddle inside the curve of your ear. 

He keeps rambling on the door. 

Sometimes the knocks are steady, sometimes infused with anger but his voice stays low. You wouldn’t hear him calling your name if you weren’t attentive enough.

“Y/N! Please open the door.” Yoongi requests again. Through the wood of your door it sounds like a whisper, “Please. I- I want to see you once.” 

Every pore of your body woozes out the desire of letting him in, taking him inside your arms and never ever letting him go. 

But you are afraid. 

He has never once visited you by his own will. 

He only tagged along when you asked him to. 

So you are afraid. 

Afraid of what he might say. Afraid that he might say what you don’t want to hear. You already know everything - know enough - if he points it out now that he is going to leave you behind as the love of his life is back then you might as well break down, which you definitely don’t want to do. 

You have always appeared to be nonchalant before Yoongi about this arrangement, about his kisses, his marks, his simple ignorance - and you want it to stay that way. 

However, your resolve breaks when you hear a sob, muffled by the door. 

Is he crying? Why? Why is he crying at your door? 

So you get up, pad towards the door and swing it open. 

Yoongi’s head shoots up and you look at his face. 

He is a mess - a mess that you love. 

With dark hair all disheveled, face smeared with tears, lips chapped, Yoongi says, “I am here to end things.” 

This. You were afraid of this. 

Your insides churn and mold into a ball of nothingness. There are words sitting on the tip of your tongue but you choose to stay silent as always.

“Okay.” you reply, holding the door knob again ready to shut it on his beautiful face for once and for all. 

Yoongi forces his hand at the edge of the door, preventing you from closing it. 

He steps inside your apartment and within a few moments, you are being pushed to the door, closing it with the force of your back. 

Yoongi kisses you with everything he has left inside. You kiss him back. 

You don’t know what is happening but if this is for one last time, then you will accept it. 

Your hands wrap around his neck on their own accord. His chapped lips mold perfectly with your moisturized pair. 

They move in perfect sync, perfect rhythm - the rhythm of destruction. 

“Y/N” Yoongi whispers in between the kiss, “I am sorry.” 

You don’t pay his words any mind, rather you let your fingers get lost in his long dark hair. 

The kiss grows hungrier by every second you spend in each other’s hold. 

Yoongi starts directing you towards your bedroom and your small apartment space takes no time to be crossed. 

You soon feel the edge of your bed behind your knees. 

When you fall back - Yoongi falls with you. 

He looks into your eyes, his own eyes telling a thousand different stories all together. But tonight, you don’t try to read those. 

What’s the point when your own chapter is ending? When memories of you will be left to collect dust on the surface? 

What’s the point when he knows he is going back to the one he has always loved? 

His rough calloused hand comes in contact with your cheek. 

“I’m sorry.” he whispers again as he reaches down to place a kiss on your forehead. 

“I’m sorry.” he kisses your right eye.

“I’m sorry.” he kisses your left eye.

“I’m sorry.” this time it’s the tip of your nose. 

“I’m sorry” and lastly it’s your lips. 

You have never seen Min Yoongi this emotional. 

After Gyuri left him, he became numb. You were never able to thaw the frozen parts of him. 

But tonight you see a completely different Yoongi. Is this Gyuri’s magic? Has her return made him a human again? 

Yoongi - who never touched you or kissed you more than it’s needed, is now apologizing while kissing every small part of your face? 

You take a sharp breath and reply, “it’s okay.” even though you don’t know what he is apologizing for. For not being able to reciprocate your feelings? For using you when you let him? For leaving you behind after tonight? 

He has already started placing kisses around your jaw, throat, collarbones. His hands fist the hem of your pajama top and he pulls it up revealing your naked chest. 

He doesn’t waste time diving down and taking one of your perked nipples inside his mouth. 

He sucks on it softly, sweetly - like a lover. Your tears start spilling from your eyes finally. But you completely lose it when you feel his own tears on the mound of your breast. You let him sob, as you sob quietly. 

It doesn’t take much time for your clothes and his clothes to join as a hip on the floor of your bedroom. 

Yoongi pumps himself, preparing for one last time to enter you. When he lines his cock on your entrance, he takes a quick glance at your face, as if asking for permission. 

Your tear stained face lights up in a small smile - it’s not fake. 

He enters you, takes up every corner of your walls, fills you with himself - both of your body and heart. 

Yoongi doesn’t say anything anymore. He pushes himself inside you, pounds into you with an unusual pace. 

His face comes to rest on the crook of your neck. You embrace him to stay there, stay with you as long as it lasts. 

For the first time ever, Yoongi doesn’t fucks you - he makes love to you. 

The realization makes you shudder. 

Why now? Why now out of all the time? Why now when everything is ending? 

His breath starts getting labored, you feel yourself hanging close to the edge as well. 

And after a few more thrusts, you let go. He fills you up following your invitation. 

Both of you stay like that even after the deed is done - for a moment, an hour? You don’t know.  

You feel his disposal running down your inner thigh, when he finally slips out of you. 

You sneak a glance in his dark orbs for one last time. With a sore throat and an equally sore heart you whisper, “Be happy, Yoongi.” 

You see one last drop of tear slipping down his eyes when he dips down to cage your lips in his for one last time. 

It’s been a month since that night. 

It’s been a month since you last talked to Yoongi beside work. 

It’s been a month since you last saw Yoongi outside work. 

It’s been a month since you withdrew from Gyuri’s project.

It’s been more than a month since you had your last period. 

As you stand in your bathroom, with the tiny testing kit, those two red lines mock you. 

You thought that night was the last time? But this after effect - where will you go with this? Who will you confide in? 

It can’t be Min Yoongi - can it? 

You have let him slide through your fingers after all. 

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[dalamjisung]

A muted shade of green ✧ Spencer Reid

genre: fluff, light angst

word count: 6339

pairing: reader x spencer reid

description: Dr. Spencer Reid is simply adorable. And you actually think he might be perfect. Until, that is, he isn't.

a muted shade of green masterlist // next chapter

His apartment is a muted shade of green and you always wonder why is it that he painted it so dark. The book covered walls never fail to impress you, making you smile into the ether that was this place with its shelves and shelves of worldly stories. His taste, you think, is more towards the classics and refined tales that carry significance and importance in the world of literature. Dostoyevski, Austen, Orwell, Doyle. Though here and there, in some corners of the living room or thrown haphazardly in the kitchen counter, you see peeks of contemporary names, the ones you’re sure you sold him a long, long time ago. Murakami, Zadie Smith, George. 

You met Spencer when you first moved into D.C., about a year or so ago, and sometimes, you really think that it was just yesterday when you first saw him with his purple scarf walking inside your store.

“Excuse me.” 

You have too many books in your arms to even see who is talking to you, but you apologise nonetheless; it’s the least you can do for your first customer. “I’ll be with you in a moment, apologies for the mess, we literally just opened.” In your defence, you had been so busy unpacking all the new orders and organising things into shelves that you absolutely forgot to put the plaque with your opening hours by the door. You can hear his shoes clicking and clacking around the place, and a wave of anxiety washes through you. If he leaves with a book– luckily two– you will have made your first sell and that just might remind you that of the reason why you decided to do this in the first place.

Carefully putting the pile of Maggie Nelson’s on the counter, you finally turn to face him, tired smile from ear to ear when you see him holding two books already. “You found something you like?” You gently ask, voice calm and fingers fidgeting while you wait for an answer. “Many things, actually. I’m quite glad to see a wide variety of books here, it’s been hard finding something new to read lately.” 

His voice is pointed and it echoes in the empty store. The clock on the walls says it’s 7:58AM and you suck in a breath; it’s definitely too early for someone to be looking for books, but maybe he wants entertainment for his commute, maybe he needs a distraction for the way, or maybe he is odd like that. 

It must be cold outside. The man is wearing a purple scarf  inside what looks like a wool coat, and somehow, he fits in there, in your store. He looks like the kind of person who would be buying books as early as 8 in the morning and you’re not sure if that is adorable or unhinged. 

“Just these, thank you,” The loud thump of the pile of books he deposits by the cashier makes you gasp. “You have a great selection here, I was lucky you open early!” The twinkle in his eyes is what keeps you from telling him that that, in fact, was a big mistake. In the middle of rushing to get the keys from the landlord in time, get the deliveries, get everything sorted and organised, you had completely forgotten to put out the hours for the shop. 

“I am glad you found us here! Do you live nearby?” At this point, you’re just trying to make conversation as you bagged his items, smiling at the titles and happy to see your favourite book in the midst. “I live just across the street, actually,” He said, giving you his card. “You’ll see me a lot, I’m afraid.”

“And what should I call my most loyal customer, then?” One look down at his card and you would know, but you wanted him to tell you himself. 

“Spencer Reid.”

There is not really a sound reason as to why you walk so freely into his apartment. The first time he asked you to do this, he was going on a case and needed someone to water his plants. As it turn out, your store is quite literally across the street from his building and you don’t really mind the mindless task, so you tell him to not worry, you’ll take care of it. It had been a few months since you two met, five or so, and despite taking you some time to truly understand, you got used to the fact that Spencer created a routine for both of you, knocking on your shop’s door every Monday at precisely 8 in the morning. With time, you stopped questioning him even when you had many, many questions– was he even reading all these books? If yes, how?! Every visit, he left with three books or more, and unless he pulled all nighters every night, those were simply sitting on his desk. 

Instead, you start putting a few titles aside whenever you spot them. You start it with ‘A Gentleman From Peru’ by André Aciman, short and sweet. Next week it was ‘A Little Paris Bookshop’ by Nina George. Then ‘Cultish’ by Amanda Montell. And just like this, you two form your own little book club, his visits extending beyond their usual thirty minutes into the better part of the hour to talk about the plot, the characters, the arcs. You know there is quite a lot you don’t know about Spencer, of course there is, but you learn more and more with every little debate you two have. You learn about his morals through the character he likes, and his dreams through the plots he enjoy. You learn about his photographic memory that allows him to quote his favourite sections to you, and you learn that he is a very logical man through his hatred for the inaccuracy of investigative books. You learn and you learn and you learn and you find out that you like learning about Spencer. More than you like learning about anyone else, that is, and now, every time he walks in, you can’t help but get excited, smiling as you only imagine what you would learn that day. 

Sometimes, you did notice the absence of your favourite customer. He would disappear for weeks on end and then act like nothing happened, and you get it; he doesn’t owe you anything, you’re just the lady that sells him books, but you feel like there is something that is starting to bloom when, every time he comes back, he brings you a book. “I thought you’d like it,” Is all he says before leaving with his bag of new reads. For a moment, it’s like an exchange, but Spencer never demands anything of you; never asks for anything more than new books and recommendations. 

It’s quite rewarding finding the books you sold him scattered through the apartment. There are a couple in the kitchen, open split on the counter and you smile fondly at the clumsy way he marks his books. There is no folded page, no book marker, no random picture; just his book, cover facing up, open and splitting the spine in half enough to crease. You shake your head, smiling like he’s done this just to rile you up.

“Oh my god, don’t!”

You don’t mean to shout but it’s too late. His eyes widen in shock and he immediately freezes, mouth stuck in a little ‘o’ shape that makes you blush. “What did I do?” 

The wince in your expression is as visible as the light of day when you speak. Your hands hover in the air, unsure of what to do now, but still trying to do something. “The book, Spencer,” The words come out like a whine, and if you start stomping your feet you might as well look like a child. “The spine. The book. The– oh my god, the noise!”

The way he laughs at you is contagious, and you start laughing with him, face hidden behind your hands in embarrassment. Owning a bookshop doesn’t come for free. Your particularities when it comes to your literary treasures are enough to scare any sane person away. “You know, there are worse sounds than a book’s spine breaking,” He mused, closing the book before walking to your counter. His nimble fingers drum a soft rhythm as he waits for you to go around and charge him for the book. It’s a symphony, almost; so loud in your quiet store that, for a second, your heart is tuning in, thumping as his fingers do, beating to the song he creates. 

“You don’t have to buy it,” It’s a little ridiculous how airy your voice sounds then. Aren’t you a little too old to have a crush? “It’s okay if–“ But he doesn’t even let you finish, rattling off some facts about the writer. Most of the time, actually, he is rattling off some fact about something, and some you know, some you don’t, but you never interrupt him. You like hearing him talk. 

You miss hearing him talk. Whenever Spencer leaves, you miss him. You miss the knock on your shop’s door at 8AM. You miss the shy little chuckles. You miss the purple– the constant, always there purple. A wave of sadness hits you then, looking around the apartment with a longing expression. 

The first time he calls you over, it’s not really an invitation. A week before it happens, he doesn’t show up for your Tuesday unboxing and you have to carry all the new orders inside by yourself. It takes double the time and despite the effort it takes you, it’s the absence of his coy chuckles and snarky commentary that leaves you breathless. When you open the boxes, checking inventory to make sure there had been no issues with your order, you find the book Spencer asked you to get him. It’s one of those special books, so old and unique that you could only get your hands on it because you had contacts in the space. “Huh,” You frown at that– it isn’t like Spencer to forget something. Hell, it isn’t like Spencer to forget anything. Before you can cower away from doing it, you send him a text. You have his number saved in the system, and this feels wrong, it really does. Using his personal information that he gave to you as a client felt wrong. But for a second, it makes you stop biting your nails in anxiety. 

Your book is here. 

It’s Y/N, by the way. 

He doesn’t answer right away and you wallow in your regret for as long as you can. Your shoulders hunch forward as you line up the new arrivals in the shelves. Your frown sits on your forehead all day while you help other passing customers. Your hands brush against the book, all ready and wrapped up and sitting on top of the counter. You hate waiting; you hate waiting for someone or for something to happen as if you’re praying for a miracle. Literature has taught you many lessons in life. It has shown you countless of love stories that could’ve been resolved with a simple conversation. It has told you about people that waited and waited and waited until time passed them away. It has taught you that waiting is simply delaying the inevitable. 

But what literature has not taught you is that, sometimes, waiting truly is all you can do. 

That day, you don’t get a message back. 

You get a call instead. 

“Y/N?” The familiar voice on the other side speaks before you can and your shoulders tense up. Something is wrong. He sounds hoarser than usual, airier, too. 

“Spencer,” You say back, clearing your throat of any remnants or indicators of how nervous you are. “Spencer, are you okay? You sound rough.”

Even his laugh sounds weak and a zap of worry rushes through you. “I’m fine,” He mumbles, and you know he’s saying it out of politeness. “I just got sick. I think I have a cold, it’s nothing much, really.”

The relief that washed over you in crashing waves is almost embarrassing. Even though he is not there to witness it, your face still flushes in a dramatic red. “Oh. I see. Sorry, I didn’t mean to bother you–“

“It’s not a bother,” The way his voice interrupts you, so strong and concise, makes you chuckle. “You’re not a bother. I uh, I’m glad to hear my book arrived.”

For a moment, you both stay quiet. You, on your end of the line, are nodding like he can see you. Except he can’t. Except he is waiting, probably, for you to say something. Do something. “I can bring it to you. If you want.”

This time, there is no pause. “Yes. I mean, yes, please. I– I don’t have anything new to read and–” Spencer pauses to cough and you start moving immediately. There is no one in the store and you quickly change the sign to ‘closed’, grabbing his book and your bag before locking the door behind you. There is a pharmacy at the end of the block and you keep your cellphone balanced between your shoulder and ear while your hands make sure you have your wallet with you. “Sorry.”

“No problem at all,” You cross the street in such a hurry that you don’t notice the traffic, getting a symphony of horns calling you out as you run to the other side of the street. “Shit…”

“Are you okay?”

“I’m fine,” You tease, laughing a little and entering the pharmacy with purpose. “So just a cold, right?”

“Y/N, where are you?”

“Out,” There is no need to be vague, but you don’t want to give him a chance to protest. “I should be at yours in fifteen minutes with the book.”

“Just the book?” He asks in such a suspicious tone that you can’t hold back a laugher. 

“What else?” Thank god for automatic cashiers speeding up this entire process. You are in an out in less than five minutes and before he can even answer, you are almost at his door. Admittedly, you are speed walking, almost running, in a futile attempt to get there sooner. “Which apartment do I buzz?”

“Apartment 23.” And that is the end of the call. 

By the time you make it to his floor, panting just as you hike the last step upwards, he is already waiting for you, and you can’t say you’re terribly bothered to have a man like Spencer Reid waiting for you by the door. “Spencer,” You still admonish, a small smile playing on your lips. “You shouldn’t be out and about like this.” 

“Then who would let you in?” The mischief in his expression, much like that of a child making an innocent joke, makes you giggle, nodding in agreement. “Do you want to come inside? I promise everything is clean, I’m not a slob or anything.”

“Yeah, let me come in so I can give you your stuff.” 

“I knew it wasn’t just the book,” The coughing fit that followed has you rushing your hands, pulling things out of your bag in a desperate attempt to get him the medicine you bought. This had always been your curse, the flustering anxiety of wanting to help but being unable to take your time. Shaky hands push the book towards him, with the medication and some old receipts stuck to it. 

“Oh shit, sorry!” You squeak, grabbing the receipts and shoving it back in your bag. One of these days, you’d have to close the store early to clean this thing. “But uh, yeah, I got you some cold medicine and your book. I’m sure you know this with your big brain and all, but you need to take this before bed, cause it makes you drowsy, and this other one in the morning since it has caffeine! And you should be good in no time… hopefully!”

In life, a pause is not always a bad thing. It’s a time to think. A time to appreciate, to enjoy. It’s a time to be. A pause, however, from the man whose brain worked a thousand miles an hour, doesn’t feel like something to be thankful for. “Is… Do you not like that brand? I didn’t want to get the generic thing, I don’t know why, I–“

“Thank you.”

At first, you barely hear it. For someone whose voice is so rough and hoarse, you’re surprised he can still sound so smooth and airy. Your reaction is obvious; he can see the blush in your cheeks and the way you bite back a smile. “Y/N, thank you, I really appreciate it,” He says it again and now you think he just wants to get a rise of you. “You didn’t have to.”

“I know,” You shrug, faking humbleness while you keen at his praise. “I wanted to.”

“I know.” 

There is a dance that happens after that, one that you find yourself enjoying quite a bit. Spencer is more present than ever, and you’re getting used to having him around. It’s like you two broke the glass wall the kept you at a safe distance, and now is when you two discover each other a bit better. Like how you find out that, when Spencer’s hand lays on the cashier counter, just an inch or less away from yours, you feel the heath that it emanates. Like how your fingers curl and your palms itch at the sight of his shaggy curls falling on top of his beautiful eyes. Like how his laughter is deep when it’s true and dry when it’s forced. Like how he can read 20,000 words per minute, but he chooses to read 183 instead just so he can read you passages out loud.

You are not sure what he has learned about you, or if he even cares to learn something about you, but the thought still makes you smile. “What’s gotten you so smiley so early in the morning?” 

Ah, yes; another thing you’ve learned about Spencer Reid– he is as quiet as mouse when he wants, and as loud as an elephant when he doesn’t. “My god!” You jump, hand immediately going to your heart to try and keep it from beating our of your chest from the shock. “Spence! You scared me!”

“I’m so sorry,” He laughs, raising his hands in the air, shaking the two cups of coffee he is holding. “I come in peace.”

“And with bribery, I like your style.” 

His style doesn’t change, still haven’t. For ages, you think he buys you coffee at the nearby cafe. You don’t really know the name of the place, some cliche Cafe something something, but the one time you’ve been in there the coffee was terrible and the music too loud. It’s hard picturing your shy, smiley book-lover in there, trying to order something without raising his voice. It’s only when you see the go-to paper cups on his counter, on the fourth or fifth time you come around, that you realise Spencer has never gone to that cafe to begin with. 

The cups are still there. You make a point in spotting them every time you come over– next to the microwave, close to the paper towels. The reminder that this man has, in fact, been making you coffee most mornings validates the fluttery feeling you have whenever you think of it. It makes it somewhat logical. “I must be spending too much time with him,” You mumble to yourself, pushing your sleeves up and getting to work. You are there for a reason, and if those wilting plants die on you, you fear that you might just never be invited back. “Why does he even have plants?” 

You don’t know much about Spencer’s job. He hasn’t told you anything about it except that he travels a lot for it, but you can imagine it is something of importance– a man like Spencer was someone of importance, after all. In your mind, you can imagine him walking into an office down by the Financial District, working with big corporations as an advisor. Yes, you can absolutely see him as some sort of advisor or consultant, but something about him working in finances doesn’t sit right with you– he is yet to talk to you about crypto investments and how to better implement a payment system into the store. Shaking your head, you switch it up. Financial services, aren’t quite right, but maybe an editor, working in a publishing house. With the way he devours books and how well-rounded his personal library was, you could see him as a Publishing Director instead, reading manuscript after manuscript. 

The thought of him reading brings a smile to your face. In his living room, there is an armchair that sits next to the large window on the west wall of his apartment– he says he likes how the sunset hits and makes the pages look warm and golden, turning words into a burning fire of knowledge– and you can practically see him there, blanket over his legs, books and books pilled next to it. It’s your own little secret, how every time you come over, you grab a book, any book, and you sit there for thirty minutes, forty, fifty, an hour; until the sun has completely set and you have to get up to turn the lights on. 

Today, when you sit down, when you bring your knees up, when you drape the blanket over you, something feels incredibly right and incredibly wrong. On the pile of books next to you, right at the top, lays a copy of Gulliver’s Travels. If you remember correctly, which you usually do, last time you sat down at that spot you managed to read up to chapter five before the sun was gone. When you grab the book and you see the bookmark you gave Spencer the second time he visited the store, and you frown– usually, he’d pick up from where you left off. “How long has it been since you last came home, Spencer?” You muttered out loud, grabbing the book regardless. Because even when it breaks your heart to know something has been keeping him away from his precious nook, it fuels your heart to know he leaves your book where you can easily pick it up. To know he doesn’t mind you sitting on his armchair, to know he doesn’t mind you reading his books, to know he doesn’t mind you settling, somehow, in his house. 

A knock on his door, however, breaks you away from your precious moment of rest and relaxation. For a moment, you can’t move, frozen in place light a kid that has been caught doing something wrong. It’s only when they knock again that you move, shuffling to the door to look through the peephole. “Who is it?” You ask, voice weak and shaky. 

“I have a delivery for Spencer Reid.”

How silly you feel in that moment, hand over your heart as you take a deep breath in relief. Unlocking the door, you smile to the USPS guy. “Sorry, he isn’t home right now. I can take it for him.” All you have to do is sign it and close the door, but once you put the package on the counter and your eyes catch sight of a note scribbled on top of the box, all those butterflies inside of you slow down. And find perch. And for a second, make you miss them just like you miss him. 

The first time you think Spencer might have a girlfriend is when he comes into the store with a certain look in his face. He is practically glowing and his eyes don’t leave his phone for a second. “What has you smiling like that?” You two are close enough to ask these kind of things now, making jokes about each other as if you have been friends for ages. “Or uh, who?” Even though you started the conversation, you want to end it now. There is a sour aftertaste in your mouth when you suggest another person to be cause of his happiness, and you know, right there and then, that that is just your jealousy speaking. At this point, you’ve been harbouring a crush on Spencer for the almost two months and there’s only so much a girl can take before exploding. 

“Oh, it’s just a friend.” Somehow, this answer doesn’t settle you as much as you hoped it would. 

The second time is when he brings a woman around. She is blonde, and loud, and colourful, and you eye her carefully. They are matching costumes, and for a second, without even saying, you already feel left out. It’s stupid, being this green over someone so pink. If Spencer was purple, and if you are green, than that woman was pink– she is happy and light and exciting. Next to her, you… well, you are as muted as his green walls. “Y/N!” He calls for you with such a big smile and you just don’t have it in you to pretend to be busy anymore. 

“Hey Spencer,” It comes out quiet and a bit distant, but he doesn’t seem to notice, not with the way he is going back and forth on the ball of his heels. “And hello, ma’am. Welcome, I’m Y/N Y/L/N, the owner. Please let me know if you need any help.”

That day, you two barely talk, but that’s okay, because Penelope, as she introduced herself to you after you help her find a specific book on coding, speaks for both of you. She says that it’s lovely to finally meet you, and mentions how much she has heard about you, and you think this is a very cruel thing to do to your poor, squeezing heart. But you push through. You pretend you’re tired, you apologise for the distance, and you lie about a cough. It’s better if they stay away, you say, but Spencer doesn’t buy it. Instead, he buys Penelope her book and leaves with promises of coming back the next day with your usual coffee. 

After that, you don’t see Spencer for two weeks.

It’s a bittersweet feeling when you get the text that he is back. After almost a week and a half without seeing him, you miss Spencer. He created a space for himself in your life and in your store, and when he is gone, it’s just not the same. But just like how he did, you created a space for yourself in his apartment. Suddenly, the muted green walls aren’t claustrophobic or smothering, but comforting. They are safe. Familiar. They are Spencer. And just like you said, you miss Spencer.

“Y/N!” 

You should be happier to hear his voice, but it’s not the same. The fluttering in your stomach is still there, like a slow buzz trying to come alive, but it’s not the same. Not when the note on the box, flashing like neon signs behind your close lids, has been tormenting you and your poor heart ever since you made the mistake of opening the door. “Y/N? Are you here? The door says open…” At one point or another, you have to come out of hiding and face him. Delaying the moment, though, is the best defence plan you’re able to come up with– if you look into Spencer’s eyes, if you see that pretty smile he has every time he comes back from a work trip… you’re fucked. 

“Y/N, I need you to tell me if you’re here!” It’s not the same. 

His voice. It’s not the same.

Usually mellow and undulating, Spencer sounds stiff, like he’s holding something back. Something new. Something… heavy. There is an edge to him right now, so sharp and cutting that it has you stepping out from behind the Science shelf in pure curiosity. And just like people say, curiosity killed the cat. In this case, however, it almost kills you. 

When you turn the corner to find him by the door, the first thing you see is a man. He is tall and handsome and oddly serious. The way his brows are pulled together make you falter, steps slowing down and mouth opening to ask if he needs help.

That’s when you see it. 

More like you catch a quick glimpse of it, the shinning spark of metal to your side, and you do a double take. You have to do a double take. It’s like your brain doesn’t believe what you’re seeing, and you move your head so fast you feel your neck tensing up in that way that makes your eyes water. “WHAT THE FU– OH MY GOD!” There is no way to throw yourself against a wall graciously, arms over your head and fear written all over face. You land in an awkward angle and your shoulder takes the brunt of the shock, making you gasp in pain while your legs give our under you. 

Of all the ways you’ve imagined Spencer, him holding a gun up to your head was never one of them. “Y/N!”

“Oh my god!” You think you might pass out– you’re breathing too fast and your chest is squeezing, squeezing, squeezing to the point of physical pain. There is a ringing in your ears, muffling the entire conversation between Spencer and the other man and even though you try, you can’t look up; you’re frozen in a state of distress. For the first time since you met him, you’re scared of Spencer Reid. “I– I– Oh my god, I c-can’t– I can’t b-breathe, I can’t–“

“Y/N, look at me! Look at me, you’re okay, I’m so sorry, I’m sorry,” The moment his hand touches your shoulder, you’re shrinking away. 

“Who are you?!” You manage to gasp enough air into your lungs to scream at him. One shake hand moves to the back of your neck, pressing down on the sore nape as you finally move to look at him, crying and all. “Spencer, who are you? Who is he? What is happening? Why do you have a gun in my bookshop, why–“

“Ma’am, I need you to take deep breaths,” The other man quickly holsters his gun and you actually think you might be going insane when flashes you a badge. “I’m SSA Derek Morgan, I work with Spencer. We are with the FBI.”

Federal Bureau of Investigation. Spencer is a fed. And he never told you. 

“The FBI…?” You whisper, eyes going wide and breath hiccuped in your throat. “S-Spencer, you work for the FBI?” Nothing about this makes sense to you. The gun, forgotten in his left hand and now pointing down and away from you, is all you can look at. The gun that looked heavy and cold. The gun that those hands hold– the same hands you’ve wished and, admittedly, dreamed of holding yours instead. The gun, the gun, the gun.

The gun. You’ve never seen a gun before, not this close. In museums, of course, and in movies and shows, but never in real life. You don’t have interest in it either, having voted, without fail, for anti-gun laws and representatives. Anything and everything about this, about seeing him with that deadly weapon, feels wrong, and you really think you might be sick soon.

“Kid, put it away, you’re freaking her out.” 

Then is when you catch sight of the Spencer you know. It’s the clumsy actions, looking almost freaked out himself– his hands fumble with the holster and it takes him a couple of tries to fit the gun properly. That’s when you know for sure– you are going to be sick. “Trash,” You mumble, trying to get up but falling again and again. “Trash, pass me the–“ But there is no time and you throw up right there and then, between the cashier and the nonfiction section. 

“What just happened?” 

“Morgan, get her some water– there, over the counter,” The rapid successions of words make you feel a bit better, a cadence of tone and rhythm that has your hands finally stabilising. “Y/N, you’re in shock. Adrenaline kicked in and left, and you pressured crashed, which is what made you nauseous. You need water, and to come sit by the counter.”

It’s funny, how in any other circumstance, you’d be ashamed and embarrassed to have gotten ill in front of him. As far as you know, Spencer is a germaphobe and this surely counts as germs. But as he grabs your hands, gentler than you’ve ever seen him grab any book in your store, and brings you to your chair behind the counter, you wonder if he forgot or simply doesn’t care. Both options don’t make sense. “Spence, what is going on?” Your voice comes out winey and rough, and there is no way to hold back the pained wince when you feel the sting spreading through your throat. Sip by sip, you try your best to drink the water and soothe yourself, but nothing seems to help. 

Nothing until you hear him next to you, small and quiet and, dare you say, meek. “I’m sorry.”

As much as you’d like to tell him he has nothing to be sorry for, he does. “I see…”

“It was just… it was new, having someone not know I’m FBI,” His thumbs play with each other and you’ve known him long enough to recognise that Spencer is nervous. “And we started getting closer and I just didn’t find an opportunity to tell you.”

“There were plenty,” You clarify, feeling a bit of a bitch for the bite in your voice making him gulp. “But it’s okay. I’m not… I’m not anything of yours, I guess, so it’s okay. You don’t owe me anything.”

“Don’t say that. You’re my friend.” That hurt.

“Do you point a gun at all your friends or am I just special, Spence?” It is supposed to be a joke, but the memory makes your bottom lip start wobbling again and you feel stupid. You feel so, so incredibly stupid right now that you can’t even begin to explain why. “Sorry, I’m just– I’m not okay.”

“I know, and we’re sorry,” There is such raw honesty in his words and he manages to make you smile a little. Your hand is still shaking, but you stretch it out towards him regardless. It’s a conscious decision to hold onto his wrist, covered by his jacket, than to reach out for his palm, and from the way he looks at you, you know he recognises the effort. “But you need to come with us.”

“Why?” You cry out, a single tear coming out of the corner of your eye. At this point, the shock is going away and you’re more overwhelmed than anything else. You’re scared and confused and overwhelmed and it’s his pulse, beating again and again, that brings you back to Earth. “Why do I need to go with you? What is going on?”

“Y/N, when you were housesitting for me, you received a package, right?”

In the midst of everything, the memory of that day, that box, that note, all fade. Frowning, you shrugged. “The delivery man knocked and said he had a package for you… I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to intrude, I–“

“No, no, no, you didn’t, you didn’t. Please.”

“Ma’am, when you signed for the package, did you use your name?” The man, Morgan, ask, and all you do is nod. Of course you signed with your name. “Kid, we need to take her to the office now.”

“I am not going anywhere until you tell me what’s going on!”

Finally, some energy in you. Some strength. Your voice echoes in the empty shop, and the chair tips back when you stand up on stiff legs. Looking at Spencer is hard, when you feel the burning of your rage inside, but you still do; you still meet those pretty brown eyes, you still stare him down until you practically force the answers off of him. “The package… did you see who it was from?” 

“Spencer, are you insinuating you’ve pointed a gun at me because I read a message your girlfriend wrote on the package she sent you?! Because I didn’t mean to– I didn’t! It just… It was there, right at the top and I–“

“She is not my girlfriend,” He immediately cut you off, hands waving in front of him in a visual demonstration of desperate denial. “Not at all! I don’t have a girlfriend! I was–“

“We can deal with this later,” Morgan is quick to interrupt, sighing as he looked at you. “Y/N, we re really sorry to disrupt you like this, but this is for your own protection. Please lock the store and let’s go.”

It takes time for you to gather everything you need. You are not a disorganised person by any means, but suddenly, you can’t remember where you put what. Your bag is thrown under the cashier, and your keys are, for some reason, in the Fiction shelf. Your glasses are in your head the entire time, and Morgan has to point that out to you. The more you look, the more flustered you get, yet somehow, you make it to the car. Morgan is driving and Spencer is on the passenger seat, and the way they keep talking to each other using words that make no sense to you make you want to scream. “Spencer.”

The heaviness of his name, said with such emotion,, lingered in the air. His eyes meet yours through the rearview mirror, and he nods. “Yeah?"

“Spencer,” You whisper again, eyes wide in shock as reality starts to dawn. “Spencer, if she’s not your girlfriend, then who the fuck is Cat Adams?”

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AAAAAhhhhh I'm trying something new >.< I've been a massive criminal minds fan for a long, long time and Dr. Spencer Reid has my heart <3

Please let me know what you think, this is my first Spencer fic and I'd love if it got to turn into a series!

[rin-may-1103]

Delilah's language (part two)

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"Tomorrow?" Danny repeated, glad he had set his cup down.

Mr. Wayne smiled, relieved Danny hadn't completely brushed him off. "yes, it's tomorrow. Damian, my son, is a huge conservationist. he gets it from his mother."

Danny blinked but before he could cut in, Mr. Wayne continued, "Oh! not that I don't care about the environment and stuff, it's just-"

"I get it," Danny reassured. he did not want to get stuck listening to Mr. Wayne try and fail to 'fix' his self-perceived mistake. "but I still don't really understand why you want me there..."

like sure, the kid's a fan of Danny or whatever (he was still trying to wrap his mind around that one.) but would the kid actually want Danny at his party? wouldn't that be like... he didn't know, weird? to just have this random guy from Illinois show up?

"Right!" Mr. Wayne coughed, scratching his face in embarrassment. "once Damian learned that the purple back gorillas would be in Gotham, I suggested we have his birthday party at the zoo. He told me he wanted to know everything he could about their species. so, I invited all the scientists working with the gorillas to the party so he could talk to them."

Danny nodded in understanding when Mr. Wayne glanced at him, even if Danny thought that that was the most fruitloop way he could have gone about it. then again, Danny's pretty sure all billionaires were fruit loops...

"He started digging into their history once he learned about them, and after some digging, he discovered that you basically saved their species. He has declared that he must meet you at all costs. something about needing to know their language?" Mr. Wayne trailed off, looking at Danny as if to see if he knew what his son meant.

If the kid was looking to Danny so he could learn the language then that meant he read the same paper Danny had. the scientists that had dedicated themselves to studying Delilah had printed one claiming that the purpleback Gorilla language was apparently hard to learn. (Even if Danny had been able to understand it pretty easily and told them so.)

they had listed Danny as the only person fluent in it so far, which now that Danny thought about it was kinda rude. they hadn't asked to put his name in there and now look at him! being visited by Fruitloops looking for him to be at their son's birthday parties.

anyways.

so, if the kid, Damian, read the same paper, he must have concluded it would be easier to learn the language from someone who was already 'fluent' than try and teach himself. (something Danny can't blame the kid for, but still.)

"KIDS!" Dad's voice bellowed from downstairs making Mr. Wayne startle and turn to glance down the hall. "IT WORKS! IT WORKS!"

...

"so, when do we need to leave?" Danny asked, all previous paranoia and reservations thrown out the window.

mr. Wayne slowly turned back, his brows furrowed in confusion. "we, uh, we'd have to leave in," he glanced down at his watch, his eyes widening a little, "an hour. I have to leave in an hour."

mr. Wayne then frowned as he looked back up at Danny, "I just need your parent's permission and you can come with me now, or I can arrange for another flight for you later tonight or early tomorrow?'

danny did not want to find out how they were going to test their new machine, so, he turned and cupped his hands around his mouth as he shouted, "HEY MA! CAN I GO WITH MR. WAYNE TO HIS KID'S BIRTHDAY PARTY?!"

it was silent for a second before she shouted back, "SURE! JUST BE BACK BEFORE WE LEAVE FOR OUR TRIP!"

oh, right. his parents had a trip planned for their anniversary. something about a huge ghost or demon trap in Wyoming they wanted to investigate.

"YOU'RE LEAVING TOMORROW THOUGH!" Danny shouted back, "DAMIAN'S BIRTHDAY IS TOMORROW! I CAN'T GO IF I WANT TO BE BACK IN TIME!"

"OH! UH, THEN JUST BE SAFE! TAKE YOUR BLASTERS WITH YOU!"

Danny blinked, then shrugged. He could do that. turning back he found Mr. Wayne staring at the floor, his brows raised and furrowed in concerned confusion. Danny didn't know someone could make a face like that, but seeing as Mom had finally gotten Mr. Lancer to curse in front of him last year, it wasn't that surprising.

"let me pack my bag and then we can get going," Danny announced, standing up and grabbing his cup from the table, silently offering to take Mr. Wayne's as well. the man handed him his full cup and watched as Danny walked away.

well, at least Danny had already told the other ghosts to leave him alone for the rest of the week. they shouldn't get into too much trouble while he's gone. speaking of trouble, Mr. Wayne lived in Gotham, a place riddled with crime and violence.

dupping the cups into the sink, Danny turned and rushed up the stairs. unplugging his phone, Danny sent Sam and Tucker a text to let them know he wouldn't be in amity for the rest of today and tomorrow. he also let them know he'd keep them updated.

once done with that, Danny turned to his closet and rummaged around until he found his old backpack. pulling it out, he dumped the contents onto his desk and made quick work of packing his essentials. Clothes, phone chargers, and ectoplasm in case of emergencies. Mr. Wayne said he'd pay for the travel fair and hotel expenses, so Danny only needed to worry about food.

glancing in the mirror, Danny finally noticed he was still dressed in his pj's. he took a second to debate whether he really cared enough to get dressed properly or not before shrugging. Mr. Wayne's already seen him in them and they're comfy, no point in changing.

zipping up his bag, Danny tossed it over his shoulder and quickly ran downstairs. Mr. Wayne was walking around the room, studying a few of the leftover project pieces that his parents had left lying around. man, Jazz was going to be so annoyed once she learned they hadn't been picking up after themselves. again.

"Alright, Mr. Wayne. I'm ready when you are." Danny greeted, stepping into the room. the man turned to look at him, a strained smile on his face, "Just Bruce is fine."

"Alright, mr. bruce then." Danny agreed, gesturing for the man to start making his way to the door.

mr. Bruce heaved a sigh, shook his head in resignation, and turned to walk out the door. digging his keys out of his pocket, Danny turned to shout into the house one more time, "BYE MA, DAD! I'M LEAVING! HAVE FUN ON YOUR TRIP!"

not waiting for a response, he closed the door and locked it. turning around, he found Mr. Bruce studying him. lifting his brow in confusion, Danny started making his way down the steps and over to Mr. Bruce's fancy car. why the man had a fancy car when he said he'd be flying Danny didn't know, but he's pretty sure it has something to do with image or something.

Vlad did the same thing after all.

Next

[sh1-n0bu]

♡︎ 𝙨𝙩𝙪𝙙𝙮 𝙤𝙛 𝙖 𝙙𝙧𝙖𝙜𝙤𝙣 𝙖𝙣𝙖𝙩𝙤𝙢𝙮 𝙥𝙩3 ♡︎

characters: sub!dragons x dom!gn!reader

warnings: established relationship, dragons have vent that hide their two cocks anatomy, eating out, fingering, handjob, squirting, light mind break, exhibitionism, biting, blood/injury mention

notes: part 1, part 2 is here respectively. genuinely didn’t think this idea would be liked so much it would have two more parts lmao. wasn’t really thinking of writing part 3 since i was all outta thoughts but here we are. dividers from benkeibear

it had been a while since the relationship between you and your beloved dragon had become official. of course, there were bumps along the way and you two still wished to keep your relationship a secret. who knows whatever the hell the court of elders would say or how people would react to you once they find out that it was you who was chosen by the dragon himself specifically to be his mate and not some higher ranking diplomat or a royalty. mainly, it was to keep you safe.

the dragon could give less than two fucks about his title or fame. title be damned, he could care less of society’s judging eyes and open ears on him. he could care less about how the courtiers would argue against his decision. all he cared about was you and he wanted to keep you safe and away from harm. the courtiers included. most specifically the courtiers; he dealt with their shit for long enough on a daily basis, he didn’t wanted them to find out about his most favored treasure and meddle with his personal life.

but mostly, it gets annoying when he wanted to keep his beloved by his side yet his beloved is away on a business trip. a very long one. it has been what? over a month and a week and the poor dragon was desperate to have you by his side again. every moment he catches himself recalling of past moments with you, he finds his tail swishing side to side, a low pleased purr in his throat. or he would recall of moments of comedy; such as when you tripped and fell down the stairs in front of him at your first meeting, how you stuff your face full of your favorite treats like a chipmunk, or when you accidentally drank a cup of hot tea, mistaking it for a cold one and burning your tongue. the dragon finds himself chuckling at that, snorting, turning to his side as he calls out your name to recall said events out loud. only for his wagging tail to droop and a sad whine escape him when he remembered, right; you were away on a business trip and hasn’t returned yet.

his mood was noticed of course. it’s easy to be noticed when all eyes have always been on you since the very beginning of your life. the courtiers asked him of what has been weighing on his mind lately, the soldiers that guard his grand office bowing in respect as their eyes look over him with concern, how the people have already started a rumor amongst themselves.

“the great dragon found a mate they said”, “the great dragon perhaps lost a loved one recently”, “the great dragon’s mood downing reason is his nature. he is a dragon after all, he would surely miss his kin” great dragon this, great dragon that — all he wanted was you. finding himself stuck in the middle, he could barely find the time to even focus on his work. words on the paper in front of him meddled and meshed together into a white and black mess. he could read the words but it wouldn’t register in his brain. instead, what occupied his mind and heart was you with your bright smile that was like the warmth of a sunlight on his skin after a millennia of snowstorm. letting out a sigh for the nth time this past hour, he turns to look at the calendar hung on the wall of his office. a bright red marker circling the 23rd of the next month, making his tail droop as a defeated whine escapes his lips. how could he ever wait patiently for your return?

walking through the long corridors of the grand building where the dragon stays seated for work, you whistle a few tunes as you pass by some of the workers or nod your head in greeting when a guard walks by. the workers of this place knows you by now; or at least have memorized your features. you were a common visitor to the dragon, either called by him or coming by your own accord to tend to some matters. whether it be your lazy work ethnics or the large contracts you’ve struck — no one really knows. no one is yet to suspect that you two are in a relationship. not yet.

knocking on the grand oak doors with dragon symbols carved onto the outside, you push the door open as you saunter inside. the moment the door closes behind you with a soft click! you were nearly tackled over onto the floor as a scaled limb tightly wraps around your thigh. wet kisses trail from your neck down to your collarbone, the tail on your thigh squeezing harshly enough to the point it nearly cuts off your blood flow. laughing, you return the death squeeze, running a hand through his hair as you kiss the base of his horn that had materialized.

“i’ve missed you too, my love” you manage to breathe out, voice nearly a gasp with the way he was about to topple you over with his bigger frame. you could see the shine of his scales on his jaw and chin, the hardened skin having grown vastly in number due to the sudden shift in his mood. and if the room were any but darker, you were sure that his eyes and horns were pulsing a soft glow. just like the thrumming of his heartbeat you could feel over the material of his clothes.

before you could tell him to get off and allow you to breathe, his lips met yours in a manner that was as if he was trying to smash his skull with yours, merging the bones together. he must have been lonely, hands cupping your cheeks tenderly while he desperately kissed your lips over and over as if trying to merge your bodies together. his usually cold veneer be damned, he had missed your scent, your lips, the warmth of your body — you.

the great dragon had missed his beloved mate.

forked tongue licking at your lips, he impatiently pushes the wet muscle inside your mouth. licking at the cavern, messily slurping on your tongue and dismissing your choked noises, your dragon pushes his tongue deeper into your mouth, preening his scales with a low whimper. pulling his tongue out, seeing the saliva connecting you together, he lets out a drawn out whine, grinding his crotch against your own.

“missed you… missed your scent and everything… so bad” he mumbles, a low rumble in his chest as he drags you towards his desk by the tail that was hooked around your thigh. you let out a grunt, almost loosing balance but following along. sharpened claws fumble with his belt and pants, eager yet impatient as he leaves a few tears and holes into the material. disregarding his clothes half heartedly, he lays down on the desk, claws grasping at the edge of the wood as he props his legs up, showing you the weeping slit of his vent. he was already so wet and aroused, acting like he was in heat as his tail tugs you closer to himself.

“look at you, my love. we just shared a hug and a kiss and you’re already dripping wet” you tease him, fingers spreading his vent open as usual. like an excited puppy seeking for validation, his two cocks slip out, reaching for your hand.

“mhm. all wet and eager for you, mate♡︎” he nods enthusiastically, claws leaving the desk to spread his cent open further for you to stare at. just seeing him like this, in a compromising manner with slitted pupils blown wide; it was enough to make your mouth salivate. the fuzzy end of his tail tap against your calf, already telling you to hurry up and bury your face into his vent, take his cock into your mouth, any cock, anything — he doesn’t mind it. the poor pent up dragon just wanted your touch, craving for the high that you deliver so expertly, knowing his body better than he does.

“my my, thank you for the meal” you coo, patting the inside of his thigh gently. hooking the beck of your leg into his chair behind you, you pull it close to yourself before plopping down. the soft cushions felt like clouds to your tired body that was cramped into the workers’ ship, inviting you to sit on it and eat out its owner to your heart’s content.

placing tentative kisses to the small bundle like clit on top of his vent, you flatten your tongue, licking a stripe up the soft scales of his vent and the base of his cocks. just a token of affection and he was already squirming in his place, bucking his hips into your mouth. but he needs yo learn patience when it came to you, something you showed with small little licks to the side of his vent, collecting his juices into your tongue and tasting them. he lets out a punched out whine at that, spreading himself open more to try and entice you. he smelled like a freshly brewed maple syrup, tasted like the nectar of the forbidden fruits on your tongue, sounded like your favorite song in loop.

“hurry it uppp—! aaah♡︎ j-just like that... deep♡︎ deeper♡︎ wan’ your tongue deeper inside my vent♡︎!!” a surprised squeal comes from him, legs jerking in place as if wanting to wrap around your head. reaching a hand out, you push two fingers inside his mouth, muffling his noises and making him choke on the digits. the poor thing tries to make a noise of protest, only succeeding in a meager choked moan.

pushing apart his vent open further with your fingers, you push your tongue inside as far as it could reach. not deep inside to reach that soft spot inside his vent, but certainly deep enough to make him gasp around your fingers. you can feel his forked tongue come up, the long limb slithering around your fingers and between them to try and wet them. his attempts sometimes ended up futile, making the dragon choke on the accumulated saliva on his tongue and your fingers. sometimes, he would get a little too excited, his thighs warming your cheeks and ear until you slap them open again.

he tasted delicious, like a fruit mix syrup that was left in the perfect condition for you to feast on. a nectar of both sin and sweetness, coupled with his cute noises that ask you for more like the greedy dragon he was. dragons were naturally possessive, it didn’t surprise you that your sweetheart pulled you in for a quick fuck inside his own office in broad daylight. flattening your tongue, you ease the muscle in and out smoothly on the soft scaled base of his cock inside his hole. slimy liquid drip down your chin, forcing you to slurp some while the ones you couldn’t taste dirty your jaws and the floor.

“ummgh! s-sho guwd… deeper♡︎ wan’ iwt deeepeeerrr♥︎♥︎” he chokes out around your fingers, rocking his hips back and forth to make your tongue thrust inside his vent more forcefully. your poor pent up dragon, so needy to the point he was fucking his dripping folds into your mouth. taking one of his hands that tried to hold his vent open for you, you guide one of his fingers to rest over the small bundle on top of his slit, making him rub the muscle slowly. it acted like a clit, a tiny muscle that came out when he was aroused, sensitive to the touch.

after a few messy flicks to the clit like muscle, without even having you properly touch his angry red cocks, he was spurting cum into his shirt. it will be a mess to wash them out later but right now, all you focused on was the cute flush of his face and the way his pupils dilated into hearts when his eyes met yours. making a show of his debauchery, the dragon pushes your fingers out just enough to make you watch how he drooled around them, long tongue slithering between the two digits. the hand that was over the small clit like muscles stroked his bigger cock a few times, letting the last few drops of his cum spurt into his chest. just like how you guided his hand earlier, he did the same to yours. letting your wet fingers scoop up the mess on his skin and shirt before wiping them clean with his tongue, suckling on the tips of your fingers as if he was suckling on your cock. were your eyes deceiving you or were the corners of his lips turned up into a smug grin?

taking your fingers out of his mouth, making the dragon whine at the loss, you push your saliva coated fingers into his hole. all the earlier smugness of his face disappears in an instant, throwing his head back with a loud wail as his vent clenches around your tongue. claws that were scratching at the wood of his desk weakly paws at your head, fingers fisting at your scalp as he couldn’t decide between fucking into your tongue deep into his vent or the fingers now scissoring his hole open.

“angh—! ah ah guhhn♡︎♡︎ [n-name]! mmng eengh—♥︎ aah... so gooddd♡︎ m-missed you, missed this—♥︎!” the dragon weakly bucks his hips, wiggling in place unable to decide what to do. all he could do was paw at your head or at his shaking legs that were propped up on the desk, mind melting away into a soft mush. there were nothing in his mind, filled with cotton as he could only hyperfixate on the feeling of your fingers and tongue fucking him open like he was a cheap whore in a brothel and not the great dragon inside his own office.

“ummgh!! umgck— kuhng♥︎♥︎!” a sharp wail of his gets muffled as your place your free hand over his mouth, forcing him to stay quiet. in his own greed for pleasure that your provided, he had forgotten where you two were. not like he could care less. he was disgustingly possessive and his tail refused to budge from its place that was snugly wrapped around your middle. the fluffy end consistently patting against your thigh whenever your fingers pushed deeper, curling up to hit his prostate.

it was dizzying; the pleasure, your tongue squeezing into his vent, the way you roughly fucked into his prostate with your fingers as you force him to muffle his noises. if only he could moan and shriek to his heart’s content and not force himself to shut up.

slipping your fingers out of his hole with a lewd shlick! your hand pumps his smaller cock at an agonizingly fast pace. his smaller cock was more sensitive, another new discovery you used to your heart’s content as his legs thrash around, the dragon’s tail squeezing around your middle painfully. bot that you cared, you were just trying to get him to cum again quicker. if you were correct in your assessment, in half an hour, he had a meeting.

unable to help himself, the dragon bites down on your hand, making you grimace as the sharp fangs in his maw pierce through your skin. he could taste your blood as it trickles into his mouth, making him whine in concern for hurting you before his legs jerk violently, wrapping around your head tightly. back arching on the desk so beautifully, screaming into your hand, his smaller cock spurts out more cum than the one before, his slick juices squirting onto the warmth of your tongue from his vent. slurping up as much as you could, you finally ease your tongue out as his cocks go soft in your hand. the small clit like muscles on top of his vent soften back inside as you push his legs open slowly. taking your hand away from his mouth, you couldn’t help the smug grin that crawls onto your face as you see your cute dragon.

pupils blown wide, covering the color of his irises, a small smear of blood on his lips with his cocks wearily slipping back inside his vent. once safely tucked back inside, the glistening folds of his scaled vent flutters, clenching around the phantom feeling of your tongue showed up inside it. pulling over a pack of wet wipes from one of his desk drawers, you place kisses to the pulsing scales on his chin as you wipe him clean to the best of your ability. satisfied with how he finally had you by his side, his tail weakly pats your leg, a pleased rumble of a purr in his throat as his claws hook into your shirt to yank you down onto the desk on top of him. as quickly as you fell, his arms were around you, keeping you caged in his grasp. huffing out an amused laugh, you decide to indulge in his wishes for cuddles.

only until the doors will be knocked of course.

[xxxanteaterxxx]

Misunderstandings

siriusblack x shy!reader

Summary: You mistake Sirius Black flirting with you as him making fun of you. Remus is determined to get you two together.

CW: Misunderstanding, Remus playing matchmaker, drinking, and partying. Fluff.

Is this bad? Please someone let me know.

Sirius Black was not someone that you knew personally. You had never even spoken to the handsome boy, and you weren't really planning too either.

His name was well known throughout the school. Whispers flying around about the group of boys that he ran around with. The Marauders and the pranks they played on unsuspecting victims.

You were friends with Remus, but that was the closest you got to the group of boys.

Almost every girl in the school was convinced that they were going to marry him. Not you though, you were more than content to sit back and steer very clear of the troublesome boy.

He had never noticed you and so you paid no mind to him.

That did not mean that you knew nothing about the boy, you had ears. The rumors were hard to ignore, but that was all they were. Rumors. Nothing important to let take up the precious space in your head.

Sirius Black hated libraries. They were too quiet and filled with people who enjoyed being quiet. He hated the quiet and he hated quiet people. So why was he here? Oh yes, because his friends were forcing him to work on an essay that was due the next week.

He was already bored, and he had only made it three steps into the library. His eyes roamed the different table, looking for his friends. His eyes scanned over your lonely form for a second before they drifted to the other tables.

When he still did not find his friends, he found his eyes drifting back over to you. You were slumped into a comfy looking chair and reading a book. You were obviously very engrossed into the words onto the page. His eyes scanned your face, and he noticed then that you were very pretty.

He barely had time to think about it before his feet were taking him towards the comfortable looking chair that sat beside yours.

You paid no mind to the person who had sat next to you, opting instead to turn the page and continue reading your muggle book. You had no homework to be working on and what better way to spend your time than reading one of your favorite books. Alice in Wonderland.

Then, the person next to you cleared their throat. You couldn't help the way your eyes flickered up to see who it was. He was already staring at you, your eyes snapped back down to your book. Was that Sirius Black?

Fear began coursing through your veins. Were you about to be prank, oh god, you were. You were just about to make a move and stand up when he started talking.

"So, how come I've never seen you before?" The question was innocent, and you really weren't sure if he was talking to you or someone behind you.

You waited for someone else to answer, really hoping that he was not talking to you. You knew that you were wrong when he sighed, and a hand reached over and snatched your beloved book away.

Your face heated miserably and there was already the pressure that sat horridly behind your eyes. A very obvious sign that you were about to cry. Your eyes flickered up to look at him.

"Um, I-I'm not sure why. We have classes together." You spoke back quietly, your eyes looking down to his lap where your book sat. It was closed and your place had been lost. Your throat felt tight.

"No, really?" Sirius paused, before a smirk grew on his lips. "I'm sure I would have noticed a pretty face like yours, love." He spoke again. Was he making fun of you? You couldn't tell, but your face grew even hotter at the thought.

Then you realized that he was making fun of you. You needed to get out of here. The room was beginning to blur and the next thing you knew, you were standing up and rushing out of the room. Your book forgotten and tears starting to stream down your face.

Sirius was left alone, holding a stupid book that he had no interest in. His friends had finally decided to show up, his mood was already soured.

"What the hell did you say to her, Pads? She looked like you'd kicked her cat." James was laughing at him; Sirius felt his mood sour even more.

He gripped the book he had taken from you and stood up, ready to follow his friends.

You had hoped he had left the book, going back a few hours later to search for it. You could have cried all over again when you realized that it wasn't.

Sirius Black was not used to rejection. It was a feeling he hated. So maybe that's why he couldn't stop thinking about you. It didn't help that he still had your stupid book either.

He had found himself thinking about you quite often. The way you were sat curled up, looking so small in that chair in the library. Or the way your eyes seemed to sparkle when you had looked up a him. Or the way you stuttered when had spoken to you.

He wasn't enamored with you by any means, because Sirius Black didn't have crushes. He didn't pine after people the way James did. He didn't do commitment. So, why were you occupying his thoughts. There was nothing special about you, besides the way you left him in the library without a second glance.

He began to see you everywhere and realized that you did have classes together. He was quite embarrassed at that but chose not to let it show. He didn't let his eyes linger on you, but he couldn't help but look towards you when you giggled at something one of your friends would say in class. Or when you would whisper the answers to questions quietly, even when it wasn't you who was called to answer.

He thought he was being subtle, he really did.

"So, what's that about?" Remus had asked him as his eyes followed your form. You had just walked out of your last class with the Gryffindors.

"Hm? What?" Sirius had asked, turning to look at his friend. Remus looked at him with a knowing look.

"Why have you been staring at Y/N Y/L/N every chance you get?" It was James who had asked this time. "Didn't you make her cry?"

Sirius felt his head snap up to stare at his friends incredulously. Had he really made you cry? For some odd reason that did not make Sirius feel good.

"Oh, you don't know." Remus sighed, clapping his hand on Sirius' shoulder. "She thinks you were making fun of her." Sirius felt his heart drop.

"I called her pretty!" Sirius spluttered out in an attempt to defend himself. James huffed out a laugh and Remus rolled his eyes.

"She's shy, Pads. You can't woo a girl like her as easy as you can the others." Remus paused; the boys didn't know that he read with you from time to time. He considered you a good friend of his. "She's very shy. And also, one of my friends, so if you're just looking for a hook up, she's not the one."

Sirius stared up at his friend like he had grown two heads. Moony was friends with you? Moony thought Sirius wanted to sleep with you? Sirius could have laughed, but he didn't. Because that's what he had been going for.

Remus carried on. "She's the type of girl you settle down and marry. She's too smart and sweet for the dating with no real plans for the future." He had said. Sirius rolled his eyes and accepted that you were off limits. He still kept your book though.

Sirius Black had not been thinking of you, and when he did, he just pushed those thoughts away. He was very proud of himself.

It wasn't until he had seen a boy from Slytherin laughing loudly at something you'd said in the hallways after class one day. You were blushing in a way that made it look like your face was glowing. He watched miserably (Remus's words, not his) as the boy wrapped an arm around your shoulder. You didn't run away on the brink of tears from him.

So, what had Sirius done wrong. Remus placed a hand on his shoulder, stopping him from marching up to the two of you and snatching you away.

"Why don't you try and talk to her?" Remus asked, looking far more amused than Sirius had liked at the time. Sirius glared at the thought. Why should he be the one to talk to you? Remus raised his hands in surrender.

"All I'm saying is that she really is quite lovely when you get to know her." With that thought Remus was walking towards you, leaving Sirius to watch. Sirius didn't hear anything that was said.

He only watched as you blushed further when Remus pulled you away from the boy. He watched as he whispered in your ear, and he saw the way you nodded and allowed yourself to be whisked away by Sirius's own friend.

You had found yourself in Remus's company one evening. You knew he was friends with Sirius Black, but the two of you didn't really talk about your other friends. Not unless you were retelling a story that involved one of them.

Remus cleared his throat, pulling your attention away from the book you were reading and up to his face.

"You know, I think Sirius is quite taken with you." His eyes were warm, and you could see the amusement swirling around in them. You could hardly fight the blush that was taking over your face. You blinked cluelessly up at him, surely not.

"Well, I find that hard to believe Remmy." You sighed and looked away, locking your eyes onto the wallpaper across from the two of you. "He made fun of me." You willed yourself not to cry at the reminder.

Remus saw your lip wobble and sighed, pulling you towards him. "Oh dove, he was flirting with you." This caused your eyes to snap towards him, the blush growing stronger. There was no way, you had been so sure.

As if reading your mind, Remus continued. "Oh yes, and I think he would love it if you would talk to him." The thought of it made you feel nervous. You shook your head. Remus chuckled; you could feel the vibrations in his chest.

"Don't be nervous, dove." He cooed. You blushed even harder, turning to burry your face in his chest.

"M'not nervous, Remmy" You sighed. "I just don't think he and I are looking for the same things." You said, you were nervous though. You didn't like being made fun of.

"What if I made it easier, hm?" Remus asked. You pulled away from his chest to look up at him. "There's a party tomorrow and I would love if my sweet dove would come." He was looking at you, and just as you were about to say no. That those sorts of things weren't your thing, his hands moved to your side and began to dig in. He was tickling you.

You laughed. Remus thought it was a sweet sound, you were like a sweet baby sister to him. He just wanted to see you happy. "Remus-" The air was stolen from your lungs. "S-stahp!" You laughed, trying to catch your breath. Remus was relentless though.

"Not until you say yes!" He had said, you were beginning to cry, and your sides were cramping. So, you caved, nodding your head wildly and still giggling as he finally stopped his torture. You tried your best to glared up at him.

"You play dirty, sir." You had huffed and he had laughed at you before helping you up and walking you to your dorm. He had won and now he would have all of his friends at a party to hang out with him tomorrow night.

You had agreed to let him pick you up and he had even coerced you into staying the night with him tomorrow. He was looking forward to making you and Sirius talk.

You were not a party person. Which is why you were allowing the other girls in your dorm to play dress up with you. Monica was doing your make up, and Darlene was fussing over your hair. Shelly was digging through all dour of your closets to find you something to wear.

"Yes! This is perfect, Y/N, you are going to look smashing." She giggled as she turned towards the mirror to show you what she had picked. It was a dress, although it looked more like a shirt to you.

As if sensing you were about to protest, Monica spoke up. "Nope! You swore you would wear whatever we picked!" And then she told you to close your eyes so she could finish the look.

By the time you were done, you had to admit that you did look good. Monica had kept the make up very simple, going for a more natural look. Darlene had opted to let your natural curls show, twisting the top part of your hair up into a cute little bun.

The dress wasn't so bad, it was very short though and very tight. Your petite frame was on show for everyone to see. There was a knock on the door.

Darlene squealed and rushed over to open it. She ushered Remus in after telling him to close his eyes. You stood very still, looking like a deer in headlights when he did open his eyes.

His mouth dropped open, and a faint blush began to creep up on his cheeks. You beamed at him. He reached up to rub at the back of his neck and he chuckled.

"Well, now I'm not so sure if I want to share you with Sirius." He had said, and you laughed. Remus was glad you hadn't taken him seriously, even though he very much was. You smiled and accepted the arm he had offered to you.

The girls all giggled and pushed the two of you out of the room, after making sure he kept an eye on you and that you would be returned safely tomorrow morning.

The walk to Gryffindor tower was filled with Remus subtly flirting with you and you trying your hardest not to turn around and run. Not that he would let you, he kept a very firm grip on your waist in order to ensure that you wouldn't.

When you walked through the portrait you realized how many people were actually there. Suddenly, you were sweating. Remus tightened his grip on you and began leading you to the couches where you saw to very pretty girls sitting together.

They cheered when they noticed him and then you were being sat down in between Marlene Mckinnon and her girlfriend Dorcas. Remus told them to keep an eye on you while he went and grabbed drinks. The girls grinned wolfishly as Remus turned and walked away.

"So, you're Y/N." Marlene had said, leaning closer to you as if you wouldn't be able to hear her. You felt Dorcas wrap her arm around your shoulders, pulling you closer to her. Marlene wasted no time in scooting closer to the both of you.

You nodded, opting to stay silent. You didn't trust your voice. You could feel the heat creeping up your neck at their close proximity.

Marlene leaned in close to your face, drawing your attention back to her. You swallowed thickly.

"You are very pretty." She sang, leaning in even closer if possible. You could feel your face heating and it seemed that she noticed as well, because she smiled wider.

"Oh, I think she likes that, D." She hummed, looking past you towards her girlfriend. Your eyes widened; did you like that? You could feel Dorcas hum in thought.

Then, Marlene was pushing even closer, leaning over you to press a kiss to her girlfriend's lips. If you weren't blushing before, you surely were now. Marlenes breast we an inch away from your face, and you tensed and tried not to move. Then she pulled back, cuddling right back up to you like nothing had happened.

"So pretty girl, you got a boyfriend? Girlfriend?" She asked, turning her head to bat her lashes at you. Her smile was so bright, you surely thought you would go blind if you stared any longer. You cleared your throat, looking away. You pretended not to hear her giggles.

"No, I'm not seeing anyone at the moment." You kept it simple and began to pray for Remus to return. She wasn't satisfied and now Dorcas seemed interested in the conversation as well.

You were shifted as Dorcas removed her arm, leaning forwards in her seat so that she could look at you as well.

"Have you ever had a partner sweet thing?" What was up with these questions, why did it matter to these girls? You shook your head as you turned to meet her eyes. She seemed surprised by your answer, and you didn't miss the way her eyes flickered to Marlene when you answered.

She licked her lips, reaching out to place her hand on your thigh. You felt Marlene place a hand on your other thigh. Then it dawned on you. They were flirting, and they were flirting with you.

Just as everything began to make sense, you knight in shining armor returned. There was Remus coming your way with two drinks in hand. He was eyeing the three of you with a slight frown on his face.

The pleading look in your eyes must have been all he needed to come to your rescue.

"Hey, dove. You ready to go mingle?" He handed you a cup and offered you his newly free hand. You nodded and pulled away from the two girls who looked like they were ready to devour you whole.

They seemed disappointed at the interruption. You smiled and before you left Marlene spoke up.

"Well, pretty girl, if you're ever ready for a relationship, you're always welcomed here." She called out as Remus began to pull you away. His grip was tight and grounding. You heart was beating out of your chest, what the heck did that mean?

When he found a semi cleared spot in the room he stopped, turning to face you. "So, seems you're making quite the impression, hm?" He grinned down at you. You flushed and nodded your head.

"I think they were flirting with me!" You cheered, bringing your cup to your lips and taking a drink. It burned and you couldn't help but scrunch your face up at the feeling. Remus chuckled and pulled you closer.

He began leading you to a different spot in the room and before you really knew where you were going you were coming face to face with his friends. The Marauders.

You gulped as Remus pulled you down onto the couch next to him. His arm stayed wrapped around you and he had you practically sitting on your lap. On your other side was Peter, you had never really talked to him, but he looked pretty sweet.

You offered him a smile when he looked over at the two of you.

"There you are Moony!" James slurred as he leaned on Lily Evans shoulder. Said girl offered you a grin and shoved James off of her and over onto Sirius.

"Y/N, right?" She gushed, and you were pretty positive that she was already drunk. You smiled and nodded anyways and tried to fight the blush that was working its way buck up your neck. "You are so pretty!" She sang as she leaned forward to get her point across.

"Yes, Lils, she is very pretty." Remus purred behind you. You missed the dark look that Sirius threw his way, but Remus did not. He grinned at Sirius and pulled you even closer, pressing a kiss to the top of your head.

You took another sip of your drink, hoping that the unbearable heat running across your skin would settle but it only seemed to amplify it. Remus reached over to pull your legs over his, so instead of leaning into his chest you were now fully sitting on his lap. You didn't mind, you and Remus were always cuddled up in some way.

You went to scan the people around you, choosing to ignore the conversation happening within the group. You looked at James who was currently whispering in Lilys ear and said girl was not enjoying the way he was practically laying across her. You giggled quietly.

Then your eyes moved to Sirius who was glaring at Remus, you tilt your head back to look up at Remus who was grinning over at Sirius. You tapped his chest, causing him to look down at you. You smiled at him and moved your head to look back at Sirius. You hadn't spoken to the boy since that night in the library.

You hadn't forgot about how upset you were, but maybe Remus was right. Maybe Sirius had only been flirting with you? You wouldn't know because you had never really been involved with anyone like that.

He was already looking at you, so you offered him a smile and took another sip of your drink. It was empty though, had you really already drunk that much of it? Surely not, so you sighed and reached for the cup in Remus's hand, swapping it with your empty one.

Remus chuckled. "I'll go grab us more drinks dove." Remus moved your legs and stood up, patting the top of your head before he took off in search of more drinks.

Sirius took that as his chance, jumping up as soon as Remus was out of sight. He moved to the empty spot next to you. You looked over at him and offered him another sickly sweet smile.

You were pretty tipsy, whatever was in that cup was strong and you rarely ever drink. Sirius was so pretty and you couldn't stop yourself from leaning towards him.

"Hi." You grin, tilting your head to look up at his face. He smiled back, causing your face to heat miserably. Was it always this hot in here?

"Hello lovely." He said back, Sirius was feeling the effects of the alcohol he had consumed but he was doing his best to remember what Moony had told him. You were shy, but you were also loosed up from the drink you had. So maybe things would be different now.

"Are you enjoying the party?" He asked, trying to make conversation. He didn't want you to bolt again. He didn't think he could handle it this time. He was being so nice to you and then you realized that you had misunderstood him that night in the library.

"Yes! and I am pretty sure that these two girls were flirting with me." You said, a large grin sat on your pretty face and Sirius could feel one making its way on his face at the sight. "Do you still have my book?" You asked him.

Sirius felt his heart drop, he did still have your book and he really hoped you wouldn't be mad. He had read it and he had seen the little notes you had left in it. What you thought about certain things and what you would have done at certain parts. He hated reading but he loved that book. Your book.

"Uh yes, I do. I read it actually." He said quietly, as if he were embarrassed to admit it. You leaned in closer to hear him. He saw no anger on your face.

"What did you think of it? Sorry about all the scribbles, I like to make notes of things." You rambled on, waving your hands as you talked. You didn't notice how close you were to him, and he wasn't about to point it out.

"It was very good love, I actually think it's my favorite book now." Your eyes lit up at that. He liked the book and it's his favorite too? You giggled at the thought.

"It's my favorite book too!" You grinned, reaching out to grab his arm. Sirius felt like his heart was going to beat out of his chest at the look in your eyes. He realized then that he really was smitten with you, and he never wanted this feeling to stop.

Remus was coming back now, not that you noticed. He handed you your drink and took the seat across from you, not bothering to make Sirius move. This is what he had been wanting to happen.

So, he sat back and watched as you drank and enjoyed Sirius's company. He could have laughed at the look on Sirius' face when you scooted closer until you were practically leaning on him.

Sirius knew you wouldn't remember everything from tonight, and he followed Remus as he carried you up the stairs to their dorm. Listening to you ramble to your best friend about how pretty Sirius Black was, he couldn't fight the grin that sat on his face or the feeling of his stomach doing flips.

Sirius Black made his decision; he was going to ask you on a date, and he was going to make you his. He would do whatever it took to keep that pretty smile on that pretty face of yours.