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m0onlustre · 3 days

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Only a fool would bargain with the leader of Onychinus

ᯓPairing: Sylus x female reader (afab)

ᯓGenre: somewhat enemies to lovers, smut, porn with oc plot, angst

ᯓWord Count: 5,8k

ᯓ tags - WARNINGS: mdni, reader isn’t the lnds!mc, explicit sexual content, first time sex (not virginity loss) alterations to the main story, dr/y humping, thigh riding, b/egging, f!receiving oral, p in v, unprotected sex, creampies, squirting, dirty talking, use of pet names (kitten, sweetie, baby), violence, mentions of injuries.

ᯓ Notes: Some of you may have already read my fic, The Price of Desire, in which the reader’s evol is mentioned. If you have, you’ll notice that the evol is the same in this story; however, there is no connection between the two. The concept of a reader with this ability was too appealing for me to resist, and since it was briefly mentioned in the previous fic, I decided to explore it further in this one. I hope you enjoy it as much as I enjoyed writing it! All likes and reblogs are appreciated. :3

Going on missions for Sylus was nothing new to you by now. You had spent years by his side since he first found you, a wild creature desperate for survival. Sometimes, you could still recall how close you had come to killing each other back then. You had been hunted by nearly every illegal underground group, all seeking your evol, and while on the run, you stumbled upon him like a scared and feral animal.

You had instinctively tried to attack him on sight; it was all you knew how to do, having fought for your freedom for as long as you could remember. You were no stranger to the danger he represented—the bloodthirsty leader of Onychinus. If other groups sought you as a mere experiment for your power, you could only imagine what Onychinus would do if they got their hands on you.

The moment you realized the person you had fallen headfirst into was the white-haired menace himself, you had attempted to fight him with everything you had. Sylus, of course, dodged every single one of your attacks effortlessly, but he was merely toying with you, for he possessed something you were unaware of; he could not be killed.

You had always been feared for your lethal evol—one touch from your bare fingers could send someone halfway to the other world. You were an extraordinary weapon, yet Sylus was not deterred; he was intrigued, even enamored by you.

With his energy manipulation, it was impossible for you to harm him, particularly when he thrived on high levels of adrenaline and excitement.

So, even as you forced yourself to keep trying to touch him, desperate to end the chaos, he reveled in your fierce determination. He loved witnessing the fire in your eyes as you believed you could take him down. When he finally grew tired of your little game and decided to put an end to it, he was blindsided by a fact he had overlooked.

While he had learned nearly everything there was to know about your evol and your abilities, he did not realize one important thing; you were immune to his mist.

No matter how fiercely the red and black tendrils curled around you, the moment your flesh made contact with them, they vanished into thin air.

Sylus had nearly salivated when he realized the challenge you presented. It had been far too long since he had encountered someone so intriguing, and he was determined that you wouldn’t walk out of that valley without becoming his.

That’s how you found yourself in his group now. Unlike everyone else, Sylus had made a promise that night: if you went home with him willingly, he would never force you to use your abilities for his research or personal gain. He needed you to choose to be there if you were going to help him.

His condition was simple: think of aiding him, and in return, you would gain his protection, a life free from fear and the constant need to run for your freedom.

You had taken a significant risk when you decided to go with him, but the white-haired man kept his word. It took you months to contemplate helping him instead of merely enjoying the luxury of his lifestyle, but he was patient. In time, you became not only his most valuable asset but also his right hand. Whenever he was out of town for deals or missions, you handled matters back home on his behalf.

Deep down, back then you knew he wasn’t just a kind-hearted man simply looking to help a struggling girl off the street. What he truly sought to protect was your evol because he believed you would eventually come around to assist him when he needed it most. So when you finally did, it was no surprise to him. He had merely given you a subtle nod and handed you the first files.

Now, two years later, you stood beside him at one of the many auctions taking place in the N109 Zone. He was after a particularly important and valuable protocore—one he had pursued for years—and today presented his chance to possess it.

Being next to him not only amplified his chances of leaving unscathed without extensive negotiation—after all, who was crazy enough to challenge the leader of Onychinus and his lethal right-hand woman?—but it also made it easier for him to operate, as you inevitably drew attention and distraction from other bidders.

His hand curled possessively around your waist as he proudly showcased you to the crowd. The dress you wore was as red as his eyes, hugging your every curve and accentuating your figure. Your hair was styled in a simple updo, revealing your back to the admiring gazes around you.

The less fabric you wore, the more difficult it was for his mist to approach you, and that was one thing you clung to. You knew he wouldn’t hurt you—he had come to not only depend on you but to trust you as well. Still, you maintained a small resistance, a defiance that you weren’t ready to surrender, no matter how much it irritated him.

Your gloves were snugly in place, allowing you to interact with him without draining his energy, thus enabling you to warn others of the imminent danger your touch posed. One slip of fabric, and whoever you touched would be lost forever.

“Mr. Sylus, I didn’t think you’d make it tonight,” a distant voice interrupted your thoughts, drawing both of your attention. A young man addressed your boss, his tone a mix of surprise and formality.

“Not happy to see me?” Sylus replied, his voice smooth as silk and sweet as honey, the smugness evident in his expression as he arched a white brow at the man.

“Of course, sir! I’m sorry, sir. I just thought you’d be out of town—”

“Change of plans." Sylus muttered, cutting him off with a tight smile before guiding you forward, his hand resting firmly on the small of your back.

As you walked toward the room where his meeting would take place, you tilted your face up to catch a glimpse of his profile. “He’s right, you know,” you began, curiosity lacing your words. “Weren’t you supposed to return next Tuesday?”

Sylus’s smirk deepened at your question. “If I had known you’d be so disappointed by my early arrival, sweetie, I would have made sure to come back yesterday.”

You scoffed at his remark, subtly flexing your back to shake his arm off, but his grip only tightened, keeping you glued to his side. “Be good now. You know how important tonight is,” He leaned in closer, his hot breath sending a shiver down your spine as it tickled your ear. “Don’t screw this up.”

You couldn’t shake the uneasiness that crawled up your spine from the subtle threat lacing his tone. Sylus had been under immense pressure lately, but you refused to let him take it out on you.

“Sylus.”

He let out an impatient huff as you halted him just outside the door of your final destination, but he turned his body to face you fully, his expression a mix of frustration and intensity.

“I’m not your enemy,” you asserted, holding his gaze with unwavering resolve. “Many people work for you, but aside from Luke and Kieran, no one stands by your side with the same loyalty I do. I know you’ve been struggling, but I’m the last person you want against you right now.”

“Oh, is that right, kitten?” His brows furrowed, drawing closer until your chests nearly touched. To an outsider, you might have appeared to be lovers, but the tension between you was palpable and lethal. “And why is that? Because you’re oh-so-dangerous?”

His provoking smirk ignited your anger, and while you couldn’t fathom what was going through his mind, you chose to avoid making a scene. Stepping away from him, you tried to regain your composure. “They’re waiting for us.”

Before you could take another step toward the door, you were abruptly lifted off the ground, hanging upside down over Sylus’s shoulder.

“What the hell are you doing?” you whispered-yelled, frantically scanning for prying eyes. Your surprise deepened when, from the shadows, Luke and Kieran rushed toward you, effortlessly pulling you from Sylus’s grip. “What—”

“Take her to the car and wait for me,” Sylus commanded sharply, his tone clipped and leaving no room for negotiation. As you were carried away from him and the room, you felt a pang of frustration.

“Let me down!” you practically shouted as the twins put distance between you and the auction building.

“Sorry, ma’am, no can do.”

“Yeah, ma’am, we’re sorry, but no one bypasses the boss's orders!”

Your heart thumped loudly in your ears as the events unfolded, anger and frustration boiling within you at how Sylus had treated you. It was the first time since you started working for him that he had dismissed you so callously, and you couldn’t ignore the pang of hurt that coiled deep in your stomach.

You sat in the backseat of the car while the twins chatted and bantered in the front, oblivious to your turmoil. It felt surreal, as if they were living in a different world. Maybe you were overthinking it—after all, you hadn’t expected him to disregard you like that, especially during an auction so crucial to him. You were valuable to him, weren’t you? He needed you by his side, didn’t he?

Your thoughts spiraled until they were abruptly shattered by a loud bang. Before you could process the sound, part of the building in front of you exploded in a fiery eruption. Wait—was that the floor where the auction was being held? The very floor Sylus was on?

Without a second thought, you threw open the car door, sprinting toward the burning building despite the twins’ frantic shouts urging you to stop. Your mind was consumed by one thought: Sylus. He couldn’t be hurt. He couldn’t die. Foolish girl, not even his evol could save him from an explosion of that magnitude.

Your breaths came in ragged gasps, sweat clung to your skin as you pushed your limits, charging up the stairs to the floor where you had been just forty minutes earlier. You stumbled multiple times, falling to your knees, but the thought of Sylus pushed you onward.

When you finally reached the floor, it was a scene of devastation. The area lay in ruins, engulfed in smoke and chaos, with scattered survivors struggling to breathe amidst the wreckage. You focused your eyes and ears, straining to find Sylus amidst the agonizing cries of others. Time blurred as you searched, exhaustion creeping in and threatening to overwhelm you.

Just when you thought you might pass out, you spotted it—silver locks, now dirty and disheveled, just a few feet away. Panic surged through you as you fell to your knees and crawled with the last remnants of strength you had left. When you finally reached him, your heart stopped. You had never seen Sylus so vulnerable, so exposed.

You reached out to touch his face, your irritation intensifying at the realization that you still had to keep your gloves on, unable to feel his soft, dirt-streaked skin. With the last remnants of your strength, you shook him gently, your voice coming out hoarse as you tried to call his name.

Slowly, his eyes peeled open, and you let out the breath you had been holding. Unfortunately, you had inhaled too much smoke, resulting in a violent cough that wracked your body.

Clutching your chest, you hunched over, trying to cough out the smoke while moving away from him. Just then, you felt his fingers wrap around your wrist, tugging you down to him. You attempted to focus on his face, searching for any injuries, but your eyes were tearing up, and your vision was blurred from the smoke-filled atmosphere.

Just as you thought you might lose consciousness, his voice broke through, shaky and hoarse but still as sharp as a knife. “What are you doing in here, kitten?” His eyes were half-lidded, and he groaned as he struggled to sit up. “Didn’t I tell you to wait for me outside?”

You tried to help him rise, but his heavy body only dragged you down, sending you sprawling onto the floor. As he noticed your condition, his eyes sharpened with concern, and his features turned serious. He began removing his coat, which was now dirty and full of holes.

“Sylus—you need to get out of here,” you urged, trying to push him away as he attempted to cover you completely with his coat.

“Don’t talk right now, sweetie.” His movements were urgent, almost desperate, as he made sure no part of your upper body was exposed. Your hands were now firmly pinned to your torso beneath his coat. “And don’t fight me.”

His fingers came to your face, squeezing gently until your lips formed a pout and your attention was solely on him. “Stubborn little kitten,” he muttered, his voice a mix of frustration and affection.

Just before you slipped into unconsciousness, you felt the tendrils of his red-black mist enveloping you, pushing through your evol’s resistance and carrying you away from the chaos.

When you finally opened your eyes, it took a moment for your surroundings to come into focus. The unmistakable scent of Sylus’s mattress enveloped you, grounding you in reality. You were back at the mansion.

Your limbs felt heavy, and a dull ache throbbed in your head. Every part of your body screamed for you to stay in bed, to drift back into sleep and forget everything that had happened before you lost consciousness. But your mind was fixated on one thing: Sylus.

With a groan, you attempted to sit up, quickly glancing over your body. To your relief, you realized you were freshly cleaned and dressed in one of your nightgowns, with no significant injuries aside from a few scratches on your skin.

You took a moment to steady yourself, ensuring your vision wouldn’t fade to black before you attempted to walk across the room toward the door. Sylus’s office was just down the hallway, and as you stepped outside, you could faintly hear Luke and Kieran’s voices drifting from inside. You paused, heart pounding, and when you heard Sylus’s gruff tone, a wave of relief washed over you. He was okay.

After a brief moment, you knocked once before turning the doorknob and peeking through the small opening. Sylus’s gaze met yours immediately, and the twins turned to regard you with their rare smiles. It wasn’t often they dropped their masks, even in the mansion, but now their boyish features shone through. Their red hair was pulled back into matching messy ponytails, and a hint of blush colored their cheeks as they took in your appearance in the gown.

Sylus coughed discreetly, and the twins exchanged glances before standing up to give you two some privacy.

As they made their way to the door, Kieran paused to ruffle your hair playfully, leaning down to whisper in your ear, “You gave us a scare there, little crow.”

You regarded both twins with a small, apologetic smile before turning your full attention to the white-haired man seated behind his desk. He still wore his torn shirt, which left his muscular frame fully exposed. With a languid movement, he rolled his chair away from the desk and beckoned you with a finger.

Taking slow, deliberate steps toward him, you felt a wave of self-consciousness wash over you as his intense gaze roamed over your form. Despite the butterflies in your stomach, you approached and stood before him, his legs slightly apart, causing your knees to brush against the inside of his thighs as he looked up at you.

Your eyes fell to his toned chest, now marred with scratches and bruises—evidence the damage inflicted, perhaps a sign that he was running low on evol energy and unable to heal completely.

“Are you okay?” Your voice emerged as a barely audible whisper, still tinged with hoarseness. You clasped your hands behind your back, fidgeting awkwardly.

You weren’t quite sure what had come over you; you had never before found yourself in a situation where you needed to actively express your concern for Sylus until tonight, and you hoped he wouldn’t recall too much of what had transpired in that building.

“Worried, kitten?” he asked, a small smirk curling at the corners of his lips as his gaze swept over your body. His fingers twitched with the urge to reach out and touch you, yet he seemed equally torn, grappling with the worry that had gripped him when you had passed out in his arms.

You sniffled softly, your eyes darting anywhere but to him, your body tense and rigid as if your bones were locking into place. Instead of answering his question, you opted to redirect the conversation. “Do we know what caused the explosion?”

His expression was unreadable, and you noticed his jaw tick slightly as he processed your words. After a moment, he exhaled slowly, raising his hand to brush his knuckles gently across your arm. A shiver coursed through you at the contact, and you could see the corners of his lips curl slightly at your reaction. This time, he didn’t bother to hide himself from you.

“I did.”

“What?” Your voice came out louder than intended, earning a deep, rumbling chuckle from Sylus. He relaxed further into his chair, locking his carmine eyes onto yours with an intensity that sent your heart racing.

“What are you talking about, Sylus? When I came in there…” It was becoming increasingly difficult to mask the emotion in your voice. “When I came in, you had fainted. What would have happened to you if I hadn’t found you in time?”

Amusement danced freely in his eyes at your small outburst. You truly were exquisite in your concern. “You underestimate me too much, sweetie.”

“You’re the one underestimating your enemies, Sylus!” You raised your voice, your hands gesturing in disbelief. “Just because you’re the leader of Onychinus doesn’t mean they can’t get to you if you’re unconscious.”

“Burnt men can’t walk, kitten.”

A small gasp escaped your lips at the speed and bluntness of his response. His smugness only fueled your anger at his reckless behavior. Leaning down, you gripped the arms of his chair, effectively caging him in. You were about to respond when you suddenly realized the position you had put yourself in. It gave him a full view of your breasts, the fabric of your nightgown flowing away from your skin and leaving little to the imagination.

Your ears and cheeks burned a deep crimson as you tried to pull away just as quickly as you'd leaned down. However, Sylus’s arm had already wrapped around your waist, anchoring you in place and pulling you impossibly closer. Your breath hitched when you noticed the way his pupils had dilated, his lips parting slightly as he fixated on your slowly hardening nipples.

“Sylus…” Your voice was barely a whisper now, heat pooling in your core under his intense gaze.

Finally, Sylus’s eyes met yours, and he began to stroke your back slowly, his tone low as if he feared shattering the delicate bubble that enveloped you both. “The explosion; It was my plan all along. Why else would I want you out and away from the building, sweetie?”

A frown crossed your face at his admission. Despite your initial shock, your body grew more compliant under his gentle strokes as he pulled you in, guiding you to straddle his thigh. His red irises darkened just a bit when your pulsing core made contact with his jeans and you felt a rush of heat flood your cheeks at the realization that he could probably feel just how wet you were.

Yet, he continued speaking, his voice smooth and steady. “Tonight had no other way of going. It was necessary and inevitable.”

“But why?” Your eyes had softened since you’d first entered his room, and you found yourself relaxing more beneath his touch as he explained the events of the night.

“Because, kitten, tonight’s transaction was off the table the moment it was proposed by the other side, a few days back when I was still away."

By now, confusion began to cloud your understanding of Sylus’s motives. “But…” Your gaze drifted to his desk, where numerous files lay scattered. “Is this why you came back earlier? Tonight’s transaction was for that protocore you needed, Sylus. I thought nothing could screw this up for you. Weren’t you after it for years?”

Sylus let out a small scoff, his lips pressing into a thin line as he studied your face intently. “You never asked me what the price of that protocore was, kitten.”

Curiosity piqued, you looked up at him again, instinctively leaning closer. Your breasts brushed against his chest, heightening the tension between you as if his answer were a secret he needed to share. “And what was the price?”

“You.”

Your eyes widened in shock, and a dark cloud crossed his features as he spoke. His grip on your waist tightened slightly, causing you to squirm on his thigh, which elicited a low grunt from him.

Your emotions were a chaotic mess, thoughts swirling together and leaving you breathless as you tried to process what he was implying. “So what you’re saying is…”

“The deal was off the table the moment they thought you were for sale.” Sylus’s leg bounced suddenly, and you couldn’t suppress the moan that escaped your lips. Your hands instinctively flew out to clutch the fabric of his open shirt for stability. “I came back because I had to send a message.”

His voice dripped with malice as he continued to move his leg, sending shockwaves of sensation through your core as it ground against his thigh.

The pleasure mixed with confusion made you feel light-headed; even if you wanted to resist, your body had already betrayed you. There was no stopping your hips from chasing the friction, no way to quell the whimpers that escaped your lips. Sylus’s fingers curled tighter around the fabric of your nightgown at the sound.

As you continued to grind against him, he spoke with a dark intensity. “They had to know, kitten; Nobody lives to say they tried to bargain with what belongs to me.”

“I—I don’t belong to you,” you breathed out, unsure whether you were trying to lie to him or to yourself.

“Is this why you’re drenching my thigh, sweetie?” As if to emphasize his point, he bounced his knee again, causing it to press against your sensitive nerves with a force that made you moan involuntarily, your head falling to rest on his shoulder.

“You poor thing,” he cooed in your ear, his hand sliding to your lower back, urging you to grind down against him.

“Tonight—you put yourself in danger, Sylus.” You struggled to form coherent thoughts as you chased your orgasm on his thigh, your mind slowly turning to mush. “That was so stupid, even for you.” You finished your sentence with a moan, and Sylus groaned, instinctively moving his hips upward, his own hard-on seeking friction.

“Were you worried about me, kitten?” He dipped his head to your neck, his lips leaving open-mouthed kisses as he awaited your response, which never came. Sensing your hesitation to voice your concern, his hand slipped between your bodies, his fingertip pressing onto your throbbing clit, making you cry out. “Answer me.”

“I—yes. Yes, I was s'worried.” Your head fell back in bliss, granting him access to suck and nibble on your throat as your hips moved faster and harder. The tight coil in your belly was only a few movements away from bursting. “I thought I’d—”

“Go on.” Sylus urged, his fingers dancing over your clit as he bounced his knee in sync with your movements, relishing the way you were making a mess on him, your whole body heating under his touch.

“I thought I’d lost you.” The words escaped your lips just as your orgasm washed over you, making your vision go black and your entire body shake with its intensity. Sylus’s arms wrapped around you, caging you against his chest as he let you ride it out, offering the small comfort you sought after your confession.

When you finally came down from your high, you were breathless, panting, and a few tears had escaped your eyes. But he was there, holding you gently and running his fingers through your hair. “I’m not that easy to get rid of, sweetie.”

You pushed your head off his chest, your eyes meeting his soft red ones. Without thinking clearly, you reached out to cradle his face. The moment your fingertips made contact with his skin, his whole body visibly flinched, and just like his heartbeat, it felt like time had stopped.

Horrified and regretful, you realized you had let your emotions get the best of you and forgotten about your evol. You stood up from his lap, pressing your hands tightly against your chest, the sound of your own heartbeat pounding in your ears.

Just a few seconds. Just a few seconds, and he’ll wake up, like he always does, right? Doubts gnawed at you; he was so weak after tonight, but his evol would heal him. It had to.

Just when you were about to scream for help, Sylus’s chest began to rise and fall again. His eyes fluttered open, and relief flooded your entire being. Your shoulders slumped, and your body shook, even though he was alright. How could you have been so careless?

“Sweetie.” His voice was soft as he stood from his chair, towering over you. “Look at me.”

You tilted your head up hesitantly, your regrets gnawing at you for what you had just done. You tried to open your mouth to apologize, but no words came out; instead, his lips found yours, silencing any sound you might have made. He threaded his fingers through your hair, pulling gently to angle your head to the side and deepen the kiss until you thought you might faint from lack of breath.

This time, you made sure to keep your hands glued to your sides, not daring to touch him again. When he finally pulled away, you were both panting. He rested his forehead against yours and moved his hand to the back pocket of his pants, retrieving something.

You tilted your head to watch him unfold two pieces of leather gloves. He carefully took your wrist, drawing it toward him before placing the glove on your hand, then moved to the other to do the same. It was a temporary solution, one that frustrated you to no end, but you wouldn’t jeopardize his life just for a touch of his soft skin.

“I’m sorry,” you whispered, your thoughts crashing over you like a tsunami of negativity at the prospect of harming him. Your frustration only fueled your desperation, and you found yourself clawing at the remnants of his shirt, trying to pull him closer. “I need you, please, Sylus, ’m so sorry.”

Sylus groaned as he felt you tugging him nearer, his own hands finding refuge on your body, touching and caressing anywhere he could reach. “Are you sure, kitten? Once we start, I don’t know if I can hold back.” His voice was low and controlled, while your legs trembled with desire and need.

“Then don’t hold back. Give me everything you have. I can take it, Sylus.” You pressed kisses all over his exposed chest, making him gasp and thin his patience. In one swift motion, you found yourself lifted off the floor, your body cradled in one of his arms as he carried you toward his desk.

“You really know how to bring a man to his knees, sweetie.” He placed you gently on top of the desk, taking his position between your legs. Your lips connected again as his hands deftly worked to rid you of your clothes.

Once you were bare before him, he stepped back, his gaze roaming over your body like a starving man taking in a feast. “Breathtaking.”

He fell to his knees in front of you, throwing your legs over his shoulders with a force that sent you backward, your elbows bracing against the desk for balance. He was too impatient to tease; he dived right in, his tongue lapping at your folds with urgent fervor.

Your back arched immediately, moans and whimpers spilling from your lips as he worked his mouth on your cunt, devouring you as if you were his last meal. Your legs tightened around his head, the pleasure overwhelming, which only made him groan and feast on you harder.

His tongue plunged into your tight hole, sending shockwaves of sensation coursing through your body. You thought you could hold on a little longer, but when his large hand spread across your tummy, pressing down, you exploded in his mouth. Your vision went white as you drenched him, your thighs shaking violently around his head.

The realization of what you had done hit you when he pulled away, his chin and exposed chest glistening with droplets of your release. You shot your gloved hand to cover your mouth, your legs instinctively closing in embarrassment.

Yet, he looked even more exhilarated, his hands gripping your thighs and spreading them apart as he positioned himself between them, his lips finding yours once more. “You’re going to do this again. And this time, you’re going to do it on my cock.”

He pushed you back, a firm hand on your chest as you lay spread out on top of his desk. Your eyes focused on his hands as they deftly undid his pants, pushing them down along with his briefs. The moment you saw his girthy cock—veiny and the tip angry and red for you—your mouth went dry.

You craved to satisfy him as he had satisfied you, but when you tried to sit up, his hand pressed you back down against the desk.

“Not tonight, sweetie. Right now, I just need to be inside you.”

Even though he spoke, he made no move to get on you, waiting for your consent first. You nodded, your eyes clouded with lust.

“Use your words, kitten. I need to hear you.” He was pumping his cock with his hand, his fingers barely wrapping around it. Standing before you in all his naked glory, he resembled a Greek statue, and your chest tightened at how wickedly beautiful he looked.

“Yes. Please, Sy, need you inside me.” Your voice came out breathless, and that was all the confirmation he needed. He wrapped an arm around your thigh, pulling you to the edge of the desk and throwing one of your legs over his shoulder to spread you open exactly as he desired.

He pushed the tip in at first, making you clench around him instinctively, as if trying to suck him deeper. An unsteady breath escaped him, and his body stuttered momentarily. You were killing him in the sweetest way. “So goddamn tight.”

Your eyes rolled back in pleasure as he pushed further inside you, his grip on your thigh tightening the moment he was fully buried in you, his pelvis pressing against yours. You could feel him all the way up into your stomach, and your legs began to shake, even though he remained still.

His breathing had turned erratic, and the moment your hips squirmed forward, his other hand came down to keep you in place. “Shit, baby, don’t move. Give me a moment.”

You were a whimpering mess, sweat beading on your forehead from the anticipation. But the instant he started moving, your whole body unlocked, turning to pudding under his thrusts. He began with a slow, deliberate pace, his lips parting as small grunts escaped him, each thrust igniting the fire building within you.

The more you clenched down on his cock, the faster he moved, until the desk scraped against the marble floor. “Fuck, kitten. You’re squeezing me so tightly.” His voice was thick with lust, and the sound of skin slapping against skin only intensified the fire burning deep in your core. “Do you love my cock that much?”

Your mind had turned to mush, thoughts consumed by how he stretched you and filled you to the brim. You nodded uncontrollably, crying out every time his cock brushed against your sweet spot. “Yes! I love it so much, Sy.”

“Good girl.” Sylus’s thrusts quickened as he heard your pretty sounds, the way your walls sucked him in making his thighs tremble slightly as he felt his release drawing near. “Such a good girl, so cock-hungry for me.”

“Ah— fuck.” Stars began to form behind your eyelids, your whole body rocking on the desk. If it weren’t for Sylus’s hands gripping your thighs, you would have slid right off and ended up on the floor from his relentless force. The desk shook violently from his pounding, and you were certain the whole house could hear you.

Sylus’s hand reached for your face, his thumb brushing against your lower lip before slipping past it to press down on your tongue, making you clench around his cock instinctively. “That’s it, sweetie,” he breathed, his eyes closing and his head tilting back in pleasure as your cunt hugged him tightly. “Give it to me; I can feel how close you are.”

You were indeed on the brink, your whole body burning and trembling under Sylus’s powerful thrusts. But what sent you over the edge was a sudden knock on the door, followed by Luke’s voice calling out to see if everything was alright.

The moment you realized you had been caught, and Luke could turn the doorknob at any second to find you spread for Sylus, his cock pressing against your cervix, you exploded. Your loud moans were partly muffled by the white-haired man's finger in your mouth. The pressure you applied around his cock as you climaxed made Sylus falter, his own orgasm crashing over him with a force he hadn’t anticipated.

His hot seed coated your walls, filling you to the brim and spilling out of you, trickling down your thighs as he continued to thrust, ensuring every last drop found its way inside. You were a crying, spent mess on his desk, while he tried to catch his breath, slowly lowering your leg back down from his shoulder.

Luke was long gone from outside the door, having heard enough to realize what was happening between you and Sylus.

You could only look up at him with a small shared chuckle before he leaned down to kiss your lips, his newfound gentleness contrasting sharply with the intensity of the moment. “I believe they received a lesson about eavesdropping now,” he murmured, a knowing smile playing at the corners of his mouth.

ps; this story has the potential to delve into other parts, either of Sylus and reader in the future or of their shared past from the moment he found her. You can always comment and let me know if you'd like to see something more from this fic:))

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gremlingirlsmell · 2 days

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trans woman: we should talk about transmisogyny in queer spaces

a dozen he/they's with "terfs fuck off" in bio, who've been waiting for this moment in the limelight for their entire lives: this but trans men. actually this affects trans men more. everyone is affected by transmisogyny. wow why are you dividing the community. we should be kissing and sucking and fucking instead. you're too online, this "discourse" is so online. it's not real. it doesnt exist irl. touch grass. in REAL communities trans women never complain. what, you actually meant irl communities? well I don't believe you, you make this all up. youre erasing us. I'll just willfully misunderstand everything you say in the worst way possible. why do you hate trans men? youre being misandrist. you're such a transradfem. baeddel. feminazi. everyone should know op is a terf and probably also into some problematic stuff. callout post: be aware of op they're a tirf infiltrator seperatist problematic kink haver. reblogs* popular thinkpiece: these transwomen reclaimed a medieval transmisogynistic slur 10 years ago, here is 200 links of terfs and nazis badmouthing them uh i mean sources, i think we should be able to call every transwoman we dont like this slur and also theyre dangerous if they reclaim it again. love trans women before it's too late #transandrophobia

#jeady rambles #transmisogyny #just a regular day on any social media as a transfem online i guess. this is why i disable reblogging after like 50 notes btw #for some reason they love to repeat that last line while being horrendously transmisogynistic

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a-lexia11 · 2 days

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Age of love (part 2)

Alexia Putellas x reader

Word count:Around 2k

Warning:none, just fluff.

Part 1

Based on this request.

You’ve been dating Alexia for a year now, and while your relationship is thriving, the public reaction hasn’t always been smooth sailing.

Initially, the 10-year age gap between you sparked intense debate. Some fans struggled to understand how the two of you could be together, while others were outright critical.

It was tough to navigate that scrutiny, but over time, more people began to see what you both already knew—that you complement each other perfectly.

Now, you’re recognized as more than just “Alexia’s younger girlfriend.” Fans respect you for who you are beyond the relationship.

Balancing college, a part-time job at the cafe, and your commitment to being at Alexia’s games whenever possible has earned you admiration. The fans genuinely appreciate that about you.

At one match, you overheard a fan say, “Y/N’s got it all together. She’s smart, she works hard, and she’s always there for Alexia. We love a queen for our Reina” Hearing that made you beam with pride; it felt good to know that people appreciated you.

During halftime of Alexia’s matches, social media is abuzz with tweets and comments about you. You’ve been spotted studying during games more than once, and fans have embraced that with enthusiasm.

“Can’t believe Y/N is literally studying at halftime,” one fan tweeted. “She’s an icon, honestly.”

Another post went viral, featuring a candid shot of you in the stands with your laptop open on your knees and textbooks spread around you. The caption read, “The REAL MVP,” followed by a queen emoji. It was a moment that captured your dedication, both to your studies and to supporting Alexia.

As you scrolled through your phone, reading these comments and posts, your heart swells with pride. It’s uplifting to see that people appreciate you not just as Alexia’s girlfriend, but for your own hard work, determination, and the unique path you’re forging.

Each supportive message reinforces your belief in yourself and the relationship, making all the challenges worthwhile.

——

Being at Alexia’s games has always been enjoyable, but recently, there’s been an unexpected twist—people have started asking you for pictures. At first, it completely caught you off guard.

During one of Alexia’s matches, a young fan nervously approached you at halftime. “Disculpa” the girl stammered, glancing up at you with wide eyes, “¿eres Y/N?” (Excuse me, are you Y/N?)

You blinked in surprise, momentarily taken aback. “Uh, sí. Soy yo.” (Uh, yeah. That’s me)

The girl’s face lit up. “¿Puedo... puedo tomarme una foto contigo?” (Can I... can I get a picture with you?)

You felt a rush of warmth and smiled, even though the request still felt surreal. “¡Por supuesto! Me encantaría.” (Of course! I’d love to.)

As she fumbled with her phone, trying to get the camera to work, you couldn’t help but feel a little awkward. You were used to standing by Alexia’s side, not being the one in the spotlight. “Aquí, déjame ayudarte con eso.” you offered, gently adjusting the phone. (Here, let me help you with that)

Once the picture was taken, the girl beamed. “¡Muchas gracias! ¡Eres increíble!” (Thank you so much! You’re amazing!)

You felt humbled by her excitement, waving goodbye as she rushed back to her friends.

Later, when you told Alexia about it, she burst into laughter.

“¡Mira a ti, cariño! ¡Ya eres famosa! Muy pronto te estarán pidiendo un autógrafo” she teased, her eyes sparkling with mischief. (Look at you, baby! Famous already! Pretty soon, they’re gonna be asking for your autograph)

You rolled your eyes, grinning back at her. “Yeah, right. They’re here for you, superstar.”

Alexia wrapped her arm around you, pulling you closer. “Maybe, but they love you too! “¿Cómo se siente ser parte del ‘club de novias famosas’?” she asked with a playful smirk. (How does it feel to be part of the ‘famous girlfriend club’?)

You chuckled, shaking your head. “Honestly? It’s still weird. I didn’t sign up for this!”

“Oh, come on! You’re a natural,” she said, nudging you playfully. “Just wait until you start getting fan mail. ‘Y/N, will you marry me?’”

You laughed, shaking your head again. “Not happening! They’ll always love you more.”

“Maybe,” Alexia said, leaning in closer, “but they appreciate you for who you are too.And it’s only a matter of time before you’re getting recognized at the grocery store. ‘¿Es Y/N? ¿La que estudia durante los partidos?’ (Is that Y/N? The one who studies during matches?)

You burst out laughing, feeling a mix of pride and disbelief. “Yeah, and I’ll be like, ‘Please, no photos while I’m buying groceries!’”

Alexia laughed along with you, wrapping you in a side hug. “Simplemente acéptalo, mi amor. ¡Ahora eres famosa!” (Just embrace it, my love. You’re famous now!)

——

Your social media following has grown since you started dating Alexia, largely because fans have loved the glimpses into your relationship. Nothing has sparked more conversation than the TikToks you've convinced Alexia to make with you.

One afternoon, you lounged on the couch scrolling through TikTok when you stumbled upon a new couple’s challenge.

Excitedly, you turned to Alexia, who was next to you, absorbed in her own phone. “Alexia, we absolutely have to try this one!” you exclaimed, your eyes shining with enthusiasm as you showed her the video.

She glanced at the screen, her expression falling. “No way. Absolutamente no. Ni siquiera entiendo cómo funcionan estas cosas.” she replied, half-joking, half-serious. (Absolutely not. I don’t even get how these things work)

You leaned closer, knowing she had a soft spot for you. “Please? It’ll be fun! I promise it’s easy.”

Alexia raised an eyebrow, skepticism clear on her face. “Siempre dices que es fácil, y luego yo termino viéndome ridícula.” she countered, crossing her arms. (You always say it’s easy, and then I end up looking ridiculous)

You pouted playfully, knowing it usually worked on her. “You’ve never looked ridiculous! You look adorable,” you whispered, leaning in for a quick kiss.

She sighed dramatically, a small smile escaping despite herself. “Fine. But if it’s no good, it’s your fault.”

You laughed, pulling her off the couch. “Deal! Let’s do this!”

Alexia pulled out her Samsung, the same one she had been using since the Olympic Games, and you felt a wave of disgust wash over you.

“What are you doing?” you asked, scrunching your nose as you looked at the phone, its sleek design somehow still managing to irk you.

“To film?” she replied innocently, a mischievous glint in her eye, fully aware of your aversion to that phone.

“Absolutely not! Get this thing out of my face!” you exclaimed, your voice rising as you reached out to snatch the phone from her hand.

You tossed it onto the sofa with a dramatic flair, feeling a little triumphant as she huffed in response.

“no es tan malo” Alexia argued, trying to defend her beloved device. But you just shook your head, unable to contain your disdain. (it’s not that bad!)

“It’s so… I don’t know, just not you!” you insisted, crossing your arms and pouting slightly. “You’re La Reina; you shouldn’t be using that!”

She laughed, rolling her eyes but unable to hide her amusement. “¿De verdad lo odias tanto?” (You really hate it that much?)

“Yes! It’s like, why not use something cooler?” you retorted, your expression earnest as you gestured dramatically toward her phone.

“¡Está bien, está bien! Conseguiré uno nuevo, lo prometo.” she chuckled, giving in to your playful disgust. (Okay, okay! I’ll get a new one, I promise)

“Good but no more Samsungs!” you warned her.

You pulled out your phone, your beautiful phone which is not a Samsung and set it up on a tripod, you started the music and began explaining the steps.

Alexia stood next to you, looking stiff and clearly out of her element. You could see her glancing around, visibly nervous. “¿Qué pasa si me caigo?”she asked, biting her lip. (What if I trip?)

“You won’t! Just follow my lead,” you assured her, trying to stifle your laughter. “Okay, now move your arms like this.” You demonstrated a simple move, your arms flowing gracefully.

Alexia watched intently, her brows furrowed in concentration. When she tried to copy you, her arms flailed awkwardly, and you burst into laughter.

“What are you doing?” you giggled between breaths.

“I don’t know!” she exclaimed, throwing her hands up in frustration. “"Me veo ridícula.” (I look ridiculous!)

You reached out to reassure her. “You don’t! You’re just... unique! Here, try it again. Just feel the music.”

“¿Sentir la música?” she echoed, looking even more confused. “What does that mean?” (Feel the music?)

“Just go with the flow! Like this!” You swayed your hips, demonstrating with exaggerated flair.

Alexia tried to mimic you, but she ended up swaying stiffly, her shoulders hunched. “¿Así es como se supone que debe verse?”she asked, a sheepish grin spreading across her face. (Is this how it’s supposed to look?)

“Not quite, but it’s getting there!” you said, stifling another laugh. “Okay, that was better! But maybe try to be a little looser?”

She rolled her eyes but couldn’t hide her smile. “I feel like una idiota”

You pulled her in for a quick hug. “You’re my adorable idiota! Now, let’s do it again!”

After several more attempts, Alexia finally managed to get through the challenge, though her movements remained stiff and a little awkward. You couldn’t help but smile at how cute she looked trying so hard.

Once you posted the video, the comments started rolling in within hours.

“Alexia is so awkward, I love it,” one fan commented.

“She’s trying so hard, bless her,” another added.

“She’s so awkwardly hot”, another said.

You glanced over at Alexia, who was shaking her head and laughing. “They’re too nice. I’m terrible” she admitted, still slightly embarrassed.

“They love it!” you reassured her, snuggling into her side. “And so do I. You’re giving them something real to enjoy.”

“Really?” she asked, a teasing glint in her eye.

“Absolutely! Especially when you’re moving around like a baby giraffe,” you replied with a laugh, nudging her playfully.

Alexia chuckled, finally relaxing. “Okay, maybe this was not bad. ¡Solo no me hagas hacerlo de nuevo pronto!” (Just don’t make me do it again anytime soon!)

“Deal!” you grinned knowing that you’ll definitely will make her do it again.

——

One night, after an exhilarating victory, the team invited you out to celebrate. They had come to cherish you almost as much as the fans did, and you were always included in their post-game festivities.

That night, the atmosphere was electric, filled with laughter and excitement, and you found yourself swept up in the joy of the evening.

The music thumped in the background, drinks flowed, and you felt lighter than you had in weeks. Alexia stood beside you, her laughter ringing out as she chatted animatedly with her teammates, her arm casually wrapped around your waist.

“Can you believe we won?” she exclaimed, her eyes sparkling.

“Absolutely! You were amazing out there!” you replied, nudging her playfully.

As the night went on, the music shifted to something upbeat, and the energy in the room changed. People started dancing, letting loose, and you felt a bold urge bubbling up inside you.

Fueled by a few too many drinks, you suddenly had an idea. Climbing onto a chair, you grinned down at Alexia and the team. “Watch this!” you shouted, your voice barely cutting through the music.

Alexia raised an eyebrow, a mix of amusement and concern on her face. “Y/N, ¿Qué estás haciendo?” she asked, a laugh escaping her lips.(what are you doing?)

“Just having fun!” you replied, adrenaline coursing through you as you pulled off your shirt and spun it around your head screaming at the top of your lungs “Vamos chicas”

The team erupted in cheers, their voices blending into a cacophony of encouragement. Soon, others joined in, twirling their own shirts in the air.

“¡Vamos, Y/N! ¡Muéstranos lo que tienes!” Cata yelled, laughter ringing out. (Go, Y/N! Show us what you’ve got!”)

“Is this how we celebrate a win?” Alexia shook her head but couldn’t suppress her smile. “¡Vas a arrepentirte de esto por la mañana!” (You’re going to regret this in the morning!)

“Nunca!” you shouted back, fully embracing the moment, feeling like the star of the show. (Never!)

The next morning, you woke up with a headache and a sinking feeling. Groggily, you grabbed your phone and discovered that someone had recorded the entire incident.

It had already gone viral. “Y/N is a whole vibe!” the caption read, and the woso community was eating it up, sharing the video across social media.

You groaned, burying your face in your hands. “Oh my god, I’m never going to live this down, am I?”

Alexia walked in, a sly smile on her face as she saw your reaction and lied down next to you. “Asumo por tu reacción que has visto el video.”she said, laughing. “But you know what? I think it’s iconic.” (You saw the video I assume by your reaction)

“Iconic? More like embarrassing!” you grumbled, but a smile started to break through.

“Embrace it!” she nudged you playfully. “It was very funny and people like it!”

“I just hope my mom doesn’t see this,” you joked, shaking your head.

“¡Demasiado tarde! ¡Ya se lo he enviado!”Alexia teased, winking at you. (Too late! I’ve already sent it to her!)

“Noooo! You’re the worst!” You both burst into laughter, the earlier embarrassment fading as you enjoyed the moment together.

——

A few weeks later, you sat in your usual spot at one of Alexia’s matches, watching her dominate the field as always. The game was intense, and your heart raced as the clock ticked down.

In the final moments, Alexia broke free, charging toward the goal with laser focus on the ball. You held your breath, eyes glued to her as she struck the ball cleanly, sending it soaring into the back of the net.

The stadium erupted in cheers, and you jumped to your feet, screaming her name. “Alexia!”

But what happened next completely took you by surprise. Instead of her usual celebration, Alexia turned to the crowd, a huge grin on her face.

With a mischievous glint in her eye, she pulled off her jersey and spun it around her head screaming at the top of her lungs “Vamos chicas!”, imitating the move you had pulled at the party weeks before.

The crowd went absolutely wild, and Alexia received a yellow card for taking off her shirt. She just shrugged it off, clearly not caring at all.

You stood there, mouth agape, shaking your head in disbelief. “Did she really just—?”

Fans around you lost it, chanting her name and cheering. “This is amazing!” one fan yelled, while another shouted, “Alexia, you’re the best!”

Social media exploded almost immediately, with fans praising her bold new celebration. “Alexia spinning her shirt like Y/N? This is the content we live for!” one tweet said, and you couldn’t help but chuckle at the comments.

Later, after the game, you waited for Alexia in the tunnel, arms crossed and an eyebrow raised as she approached, still buzzing from the excitement. “Really?” you asked, trying to keep a straight face.

Alexia beamed, a playful sparkle in her eyes. “What? You started it! I had to do something fun!”

“I can’t believe you actually did that,” you laughed, shaking your head in disbelief.

She stepped closer, leaning down to give you a soft kiss. “Fue un homenaje. Para mi reina.”she whispered, her tone teasing but sincere. (It was a tribute. For my queen)

You couldn’t help but smile back, feeling a warmth in your chest. “You’re unbelievable, you know that?”

Alexia laughed, pulling you into a tight hug. “Solo para ti. ¡Ahora todos recordarán nuestra celebración!” (Only for you. Now everyone will remember our celebration!)

You looked up at her and gave her a soft kiss on the lips. “La próxima vez, haré una voltereta. A ver cómo logras ese tributo.” you murmured against her lips, causing Alexia to laugh. (Next time, I’ll do a backflip.Let’s see how you’ll manage that tribute)

You both walked out together, the excitement of the match still buzzing around you, feeling grateful for moments like these.

FIN

#woso community #woso #woso soccer #woso appreciation #women’s football #alexia putellas imagine #alexia putellas x reader #woso x reader #fcb femení

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nathaslosthershit · 2 days

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Some Bad, But a Whole Lot of Good (LS2)

Summary: To the fans, it wouldn't be unreasonable to assume the week after his replacement had been hell for newly dropped Logan Sargeant, but to the people who knew him, they weren't worried. Warning: James Vowles slander, a lot of it, I made Logan yell at him because I want to yell at him

Getting fired a week before your first child was born wasn't on anyone's bucket list. But here Logan was.

He was mad- no he was furious. Sure, the past few months with the team have been miserable, but this was the worst timing possible.

"Why now? Why not the two weeks we were off on break?" Logan asks yells. He doesn't lose his cool, at least not like this, not by yelling at his boss.

"Logan, you have to understand we are in between a rock and a hard place. I am truly sorry but it's a difficult time for us-" Vowles begins to explain.

"A difficult time for you? I am about to have a fucking baby, James. Next week! What the fuck am I supposed to do?" He got up and ran his hand through his hair. "You just had a baby a year ago, I would have thought you of all people would have thought this through more."

"Believe me, we have Logan, we have discussed this at length for a long time now."

"Oh fuck you! You have been thinking about this for a long time and choose now to do something about it? God, James, why do you hate me so much? I know I haven't met expectations, I know I have fucked up, but I still have given everything to this team and this is how you end it?" he finally met his boss'- ex boss' now, I guess, stare.

As Logan looked at his team principal, he tried to see any remorse or sincerity in his eyes but just as he had suspected, James' apology was bullshit, completely insincere. He knew this wasn't going anywhere, he didn't even know why he was fighting.

Formula 1 had been the dream for a while. Logan had let himself sacrifice everything he could to achieve it. He tried to tell himself that he had made it and that he was happy, but it wasn't true. He couldn't face the reality of the dream he worked so hard for not being everything he had imagined.

After meetings about contract termination and how they were to proceed, a sad little goodbye party filled with people that were probably thrilled to have him go, and an actually heartfelt apology and goodbye from his teammate and those he worked closely with, the American left the factory for the last time.

The most difficult part of this whole affair? Telling his very pregnant wife that he was now unemployed, a week until their first child's due date.

After tears, cursing a certain British boss' bloodline, and dissociative silence, Logan sat next to his wife as she suddenly burst into laughter.

He was stunned, she was practically doubling over, at least as much as she could in her current condition. The sight so ridiculous given the circumstances that he began to laugh too.

Several minutes were spent laughing until their stomachs hurt and then trying to catch their breath before either one of them could say another word.

"This is such terrible timing!" she said, wiping her eyes as she continued to giggle.

"Could not me a worse time" he replied as he started to laugh even harder.

"God, we shouldn't be laughing at this! We have officially lost our minds"

"Perfect timing too! Just like everything else"

It was ironic, this was the absolute worse scenario Logan could come up with but this was also the hardest he had laughed in a long time. When was the last time he actually laughed? The last time he actually felt joy about anything involving his job?

As if she could sense what he was thinking, she took a few deep breaths, finally calming down, as she said, "This is insane of me to say, but maybe this is a good thing?"

He knew where she was going, he thought the same, but he needed to hear her rationalize it before he agreed.

"I mean, honey, you were miserable. And I am sorry because I did love some of the people on your team but most of them were jackasses! It was such a time commitment and you have spent so long giving everything to them just for the team to spit in your face. Plus, with savings and such, we have enough to be fine for a while, even with the baby. You finally can put your family and yourself first"

She was right, it was time he admitted to himself how much he had hated his job in the past few months. How miserable it made him. How he could hardly enjoy anything in his life because he was always thinking of how to improve, how to show he still has potential even with the shitty car he was given.

"Im sorry. I- its not fair that I spent so long chasing a dead end dream that I couldn't actually enjoy what I do have. I mean, I could never race again and I would be 1000 times happier with out little family then I could ever be in F1. I will never not put you both first again." He said as he looked at her, held the bump, and genuinely got to relish in what was to come.

The first race weekend since Logan was replaced, he wasn't stewing in his misery, he was sitting in the hospital next to his wife, holding his first born, and the last thing on his mind was what was happening anywhere else in the world outside of the room his entire life was currently in.

logansargeant

liked by alexalbon, jensonbutton, and others

logansargeant New job

user1 hey! so this is insane

user2 unemployment has never looked better

alexalbon This is a crazy way to hard launch fatherhood but good on you, mate!

logansargeant got to keep them guessing

user4 dilf era yes please

oscarpiastri how long is the contract?

logansargeant full time for 18 years, then after there is a bit more leeway, but there is certainly no retirement in my future

user3 replaced right before he had a BABY?! oh that British fuck better watch out

jensonbutton Such a big moment! So happy to see where life takes you, I know it will be great!

A/N: Had to finish this right after the news he is testing for indycar in november dropped!!! U-S-A U-S-A!

#logan sargeant x reader #logan sargeant imagine #formula 1 imagine #formula 1 x reader #f1 x reader

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dalishious · 2 days

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Zevran Arainai is an Underrated Delight

There is so much depth to Zevran Arainai’s writing that is often overlooked in favour of either sexually objectifying him or ignoring him altogether… which is kind of ironic, considering that’s how so many people in his life have treated him within universe. And then, of course, there’s the biphobia directed at his character back when Dragon Age: Origins first released. He was a joke in many Gamer Bro circles about how they killed him for flirting with their male protagonist. It’s such a shame, really. Because personally speaking, Zevran is one of my favourite characters in the entire Dragon Age franchise.

Zevran’s introduction to the game immediately sets him apart from every other character who is capable of joining the party. He first appears as an enemy; an assassin hired to kill the Warden by Loghain, the Warden’s political opponent. You immediately have the option to either kill him, or add him to the party roster. Zevran does not initially join the Warden’s cause out of the goodness of his heart; he does it because he knows that the Antivan Crows who essentially own him – which we’ll get to – will kill him for failing to assassinate your character. This really paints his original placement within the group’s dynamics in an interesting light. No one really trusts him; Alistair and Morrigan both outright voice this. Zevran himself believes he is only safe with the Warden so long as he makes himself useful, per how he sells his worthiness to the Warden when trying to convince them to let him join. There’s tension there that really makes getting to know him extra interesting, because before anything else, you need to build trust. So, when he’s finally ready to start revealing parts about his personal history, you the player really get to feel like you’ve earned something special from his character.

Zevran’s mother was Dalish, but fell in love with an elf from the city and left her clan behind. Unfortunately, Zevran’s father was assassinated, leaving her with nothing but his debts to pay. She turned to sex work, until she died giving birth to Zevran, and all that debt fell onto him in turn. Zevran was raised by the sex workers in the brothel his mother worked at, until the age of seven, when the Antivan Crow Guildmaster Talav Arainai bought him for seven sovereigns; one of eighteen children made into “compradi” (recruits) that year. In his training, Zevran was tortured in a variety of ways, and in his own words, “taught to know nothing else but murder”. Of those eighteen, Zevran was one of two who survived the training, the other being a human boy named Taliesen. Then, a woman named Rinnala (“Rinna”) was placed into House Arainai from the Azul Contract that dictated the Crows were to take in unwanted bastard children of the Antivan Crown. For a time being, Zevran, Taliesen, and Rinnala worked well together as a professional and romantic trio. But when Zevran and Taliesen were tricked into believing Rinnala betrayed the Crows in an internal Crow scheme, they killed her. When they learned otherwise, Zevran took it particularly rough, combined with the realization of how little he himself mattered, too.

The trauma that Zevran has experienced is something he often makes jokes about, or speaks detached from. I’ve been called out many times on doing the same thing with my own trauma, and I know it’s a pretty commonplace response in others as well. That makes it feel all the more real; his responses are so authentically relatable. It’s also in a way, I find a little therapeutic to get to comfort a character whose survival mechanism has been to downplay his trauma for so long. The Warden is able to tell Zevran that what he’s been through sounds horrible, and even though Zevran tries to excuse things as not being that bad, you gain significant approval from him, just for showing him sympathy. Sympathy is something he’s severely lacked in his life. For all Zevran jokes about his traumatizing experiences, they clearly left a mark on him. Zevran eventually admits to the Warden that he did not actually anticipate being able to kill them, and that what he really wanted in taking on the job was to die. Again, sorry to get personal here for a moment, but I too have attempted suicide, and honestly I still struggle with ideation sometimes. And yet again I must say that I find something really beautiful in a character like Zevran, who is able to find peace and happiness on the other side of surviving such a thing.

As for Zevran’s romance… oh, Zevran’s romance path is such a delight. He is so multidimensional in that he’s very flirtatious and fun, while also showing genuine vulnerability in time. He admits that his role as a Crow meant he was encouraged to use seduction as a tool. His only experience with a true relationship ended very poorly, with Rinna’s death and a wedge forming between him and Taliesen, who he is eventually forced to kill too in the game. One of my favourite moments in the entire game, is when you invite him to your tent and he says no… and if you accept his consensual rights, that is what changes everything for him and the Warden’s relationship. Zevran feels safe and loved, and he gets to be happy. As of Dragon Age: Inquisition, a romanced Zevran is still at the Warden’s side, too, if they’re alive.

I love Zevran Arainai so much. He truly is an amazingly well done character, and deserves so much more respect and interest than he gets.

*Sourced from in-game dialogue and World of Thedas vol. 2

#hand slipped and i wrote 1k about loving zevran sorry #zevran arainai #dragon age #dao #meta #suicide tw

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dekariosclan · 3 days

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We know from the epilogue that Gale is often so immersed in his research that he can ignore everything in the world, including Tav, until he finishes. How will Gale make amends after a few days of ignoring his love?

Ps: Tav wasn't really mad at him, of course, but sometimes it's a shame that the book is given more time than Tav, don't you think so?

Ooh what a great question!! 🥰

So I have to imagine that Gale getting caught up in his research—the topic of which can be anything and everything, depending on what his brilliant mind decides to focus on that week—is something Tav gets used to pretty quickly.

But I don’t believe that Gale ever fully ignores Tav, no matter how passionate he is about the topic he’s working on. For example, I don’t see him locking himself away in his study for hours at a time and completely forgetting to interact with Tav. This is a man who spent a year+ in lonely isolation, bereft, desperately longing for company. This is a man whose greatest wish (as shown by the magic mirror in Act I) has always been for a sweetheart to join him in his tower. And this is a man who, even when he read Karsus’s book and his thoughts were consumed with the knowledge it contained, was still focused on Tav, and what Tav would think, and how Tav would react.

So all that said—what I DO think happens is that he becomes immersed in his research to the point of complete distraction.

I can see him going up and down the tower, rummaging through his piles of books and bookshelves, paging through giant tomes, then tossing them aside and muttering to himself, while his conjured mage hand scribbles notes on a piece of parchment. Meanwhile, Tav watches all of this with fond amusement—because while Gale is pacing around with his nose buried in a book, his mind seemingly a million miles away, he’ll still occasionally take Tav’s hand and press it to his lips for a gentle kiss, all without ceasing his reading.

At other times he’ll step into the room and, with his gaze focused on the book or notes clutched in his hands, start bouncing ideas off of Tav: “My love, did you know that the alchemical properties of Daggerroot make it an excellent weapon coating? Do you think it could also be used for medicinal properties? Yes or no?…Hmm—I can tell by your silence that you are hesitant about it…you know, I do believe that you are correct in your assessment. Yes, now that I think about it, Mugwort remains the superior choice. Excellent advice my love, you truly know how to steady the direction of my mind even through the most volatile of seas!” Then he’ll hurry away—all without realizing that Tav was not even in the room, but in the hallway behind him, watching all this play out while trying not to laugh.

AND THEN, finally, when Gale has completed his work and the scholarly portion of mind is satisfied (until the next topic takes hold…) Tav will look up from whatever they were doing to find that their delightful wizard has, without their noticing, conjured an entire dinner spread of Tav’s favorite foods, scented candles, and flowers.

And their wizard will be before them, gently plucking whatever book or letter or item that Tav had been engaged with from their grasp, so that he can take both of their hands in his. Then he’ll caress them slowly, while smiling lovingly into Tav’s eyes, his full attention on them and them alone.

“Done with your research now, are you?” Tav will ask with a smile.

But Gale will shake his head. “My love,” he will admonish gently, as he worshipfully caresses his fingers over their face, down their jawline. “You should know that a wizard’s research is never done.”

Then he’ll place his bent finger under their chin, and smile. “I’m simply moving on to studying my favorite subject,” he’ll conclude, as he tips their head up and kisses them deeply.

#baldur’s gate 3 #bg3 #gale of waterdeep #gale dekarios #gale x tav #galemancer #answered ask

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shanastoryteller · 2 days

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Meg is the first choice, of course, but she’s not suited to this type of long term mission and they all know it. The problem is, almost none of them are. The nature of the beast, she supposes.

That’s why it ends up being her, in the end. Well, it’s almost Ruby, but there’s one thing she has that Ruby doesn’t.

How she ended up here in the first place.

She thought Clyde loved her. She thought he’d take her away, from her father and her terrible life, and so when he died too young, before he could fulfill any of his promises, she’d sold her soul to bring him back.

But he hadn’t kept a single promise. She’d died in her father’s house.

“You remember being in love, don’t you?” he asks, cruel in his callousness, which is different than his other types of cruelty. It’s all he has, shining out in a thousand different ways. “You’ll be better at faking it.”

All she does is fake it.

“Yes,” she says.

This mission gets her topside. It’s worth it for that alone.

She slips into a pretty blonde named Rebecca first but by the end of the day, the girl’s screaming has given her a headache, and she slips right back out. She’ll probably just think she had a bad trip.

He’d offered to arrange something for her, but she wanted to pick herself, and she’s not interested in having someone crying and moaning in the back of her mind. But it’s not like there are a lot of options.

She could kill one, of course. But she’s never – she hasn’t been topside, before. Everything she’s killed before had already been dead. So she hovers for the next week, looking for some sort of opportunity, for something she can use that’s not going to scream at her.

The day before she’s going to have to either pick someone or risk being sent back, there’s a car accident.

The girl’s heart is still and her body’s warm, blood pooling down her head, but that’s nothing she can’t fix. She settles into the body, jumpstarting the heart and can feel the skin on her head knitting back together. It’s also blessedly, thankfully silent, with her the only one inside this body. The driver who hit her is dead and people are crowding in, a crying girl pulling her free. “Anne! Anne, are you okay, oh my god, I can’t believe that happened-”

She wrinkles her nose before smoothing out her expression.

The name will have to go. She’ll say she’s reinventing herself after tragedy, or something, but she’s not going to walk around responding to Anne. That’s not her name.

Anne’s a sophomore, which isn’t ideal, but she’s beautiful and doesn’t have that many friends and barely talks to her family, so she’s actually perfect.

She’s also blonde.

She’d been blonde before too.

All the demons who had run these sort of missions before give her advice, tell her things that will help her. Some of their assignments had lasted months, but no one’s tried to do it for as long as she’s supposed to.

He likes smart girls.

Be confident. Be flirty. He’s shyer than he looks.

He never had a mother. He likes it when girls take care of him.

He likes to take care of girls too. He wants to feel useful.

She’d had dreams, before, of all the ways she’d could escape her father. It wasn’t common for girls to get more than a basic education, but she’d been smart. She could read and do complicated sums and enjoyed the quiet evenings when she balanced her father’s books. She’d thought she might like an advanced education, thought it could get her out of her life, but hadn’t known how to manage it.

Clyde had seemed easier. More attainable. More realistic.

She’d sold her soul for nothing in the end. She hadn’t even got the full ten years of her bargain.

She doesn’t know how much of their advice she can take.

She can be smart, but considering the school they’re at, all the girls will be smart. She hadn’t been confident or flirty, which is maybe why she’d latched onto the first boy who smiled at her. She never had a mother herself and doesn’t know to act like one.

She’s never been taken care of and doesn’t know how to do that either.

There’s no way for her to do this. She’s going to be replaced and sent back below and he’ll be angry at her and she hates hates hates when he’s angry at her, what he does to her.

“Are you okay?”

She looks up, something cold on her tongue, but falters.

He’s standing there, warm hazel eyes and long dark hair, hunching to try and make himself smaller, and a smile on his face that does nothing to hide his concern.

“Do you ever feel like,” she starts, her dead stolen heart beating too quickly, “everything is falling apart around you and you have no idea what you’re doing and like maybe your whole life is one huge mistake?”

Well, fuck. She’s definitely being replaced now.

Except Azazel’s favorite throws back his head and laughs, smile stretching into a grin. “Every day of my life, more or less.”

“How do you deal with it?” she asks, scrubbing a hand over her face.

He shrugs. “Well, my brother would say women and liquor.” He seems to realize how that sounds a moment later and he pales, “Um, not that I’m – I’m not saying, I wasn’t trying to. He’s just sort of a cad, and – I wasn’t trying to, with you, uh.”

She feels herself softening in spite of herself. “So you’re not one to apply that method yourself?”

“No,” he says firmly, eyes wide. “God, I’m just – I’m sorry. I – I’m Sam.”

“Hi Sam,” she returns, with a smile she doesn’t have to fake. “I’m Jess.”

She’s not supposed to fall in love with him.

She’s to worm his way to his side. She’s to keep him from running back to his family, to keep him from rebuilding the bridges he’s burned. She’s to keep him distracted and focused on her until his powers activate and then she’s to guide him into using them, to be supportive and loving and to push him straight into Azazel’s arms.

Sam loves his family so much.

He talks of his brother all the time. His father less, the emotions there more tangled, but love no less fierce.

She nudges him away from it, talks to him about how it’s normal for families to grow apart, to say that they’ll understand when he graduates, that he’ll show them they type of man that he is.

By the time he graduates, his powers will start manifesting, and he’ll avoid his family without her prodding. He knows what they’ll think of him, then, and Jess tells herself that she’s helping him. That this is for Sam’s own good.

If he’s with her, then he’s safe. His father won’t kill him while he’s safe at school. He can’t kill Sam for powers that he’ll never know about.

It’s easy to dig into the anger for his father, to use his last words to Sam as a way to hold him at her side. His brother is more difficult. Jess doesn’t do much with that, in the end, tells herself that it would be too complicated, too suspicious, and as long Dean is sticking with their father it amounts to same thing anyway.

The truth is more complicated.

His father will kill Sam if he has to.

She doesn’t think that his brother will. She thinks that maybe he’d choose to protect Sam, over their father’s wishes, over everything he’d been taught, no matter the consequences.

She fears that she and Dean have a lot in common.

She invites Sam over for holidays, makes summer plans with him, holds as much of his attention as she can manage.

She studies and makes friends and laughs and spends so much time with him, but not all of it. It has to be believable after all, has to be constant, in a way that it didn’t have to be with all the other demons sent to take care of him.

Jess lives a life that had been denied to her and tries to do what she was sent to do and does the one thing she was definitely not supposed to do, which is fall in love with Sam Winchester.

His brother shows up in their apartment and she knows that she’s going to lose him.

Sam tries to act angry, but she knows him too well. He’s moving around his brother like a flower following the sun and she asks him not to go, tries to find the words to keep him here, but they all get caught in her throat. If she begged, if she threw a fit, if she demanded it of him, he would stay. He’d tell his brother he’s sorry but he’d stay with her and not help him and burn their relationship for good. He loves her enough to do that for her. She knows it.

She loves him enough not to make him.

He kisses her and she knows it’ll be the last time. He doesn’t.

“What did that take, five minutes?” Azazel is right there, breath on the back of her neck, and his anger fury rage pressing down on her even closer. “Over three years at his side and you lost him in five minutes. What a waste.”

“I kept him for over three years,” she says, tries to keep her voice steady, but knows she fails.

She had him for over three years.

“Not good enough,” he whispers, lips on the shell of her ear. “Guess I’ll have to send Meg in after all.”

Pain erupts hot across her stomach and her screams mix with his laughter.

Love always burns her in the end.

#jess finding her way to sam's side after and telling him everything and convincing him to trust her again #sam hiding his no longer dead demon gf from dean bc how the fuck is he supposed to explain this one #eventually coming clean and having to deal with dean trying to kill his gf while jess is just very understanding about it all #jess knowing all about azazel's plan and helping them kill him before he kills sam #basically the ruby plotline but played staight and also it's jess so #supernatural

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trulyy-yourzz · 2 days

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Unknown Affection

Billie eilish x female reader !

Summary: Your best friend finally expresses her affection for you after finding out your boyfriend cheated.

Warnings: Tiniest bit of angst and a little smut towards the end

First ever fic, praying you guys like it!! Notes at the end.

𓈒⠀𓂃⠀⠀˖⠀𓇬⠀˖⠀⠀𓂃⠀𓈒 𓈒⠀𓂃⠀⠀˖⠀𓇬⠀˖⠀⠀𓂃⠀𓈒

You and billie were best friends. Joined at the hip since you met in middle school, 7th grade, a moment you'd never forget. She was popular amongst all the other kids at school, and you were quiet. You only had about a few friends to talk to, but that was all. You never really cared about that kind of stuff.

It took you by surprise, and you almost couldn't believe it when she started talking to you during one of the classes you shared together. "Hi, I'm billie." You just nodded your head and smiled. You weren't much of a socializer, so you didn't really know what to say.

"Not much of a talker? I get that." Once again, you nodded and smiled. You were nervous, scared you might say the wrong thing. She tilted her head and gave you a warm smile. "You're very pretty." Your heart skipped a beat, and you looked at her, caught off guard by the sudden compliment. It was something you were never used to. Amused by your reaction, she just laughed. And immediately after that, you and billie were friends.

﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌

Fast forward a few years later, you and billie were in her fancy little apartment. Now in college. And here you were, talking up a storm as she just sat there and listened. Her head rested on the palm of her hand, pretty much admiring how beautiful you were. You never really understood why she thought you were "so gorgeous" when she was literally the definition of it.

Billie was perfect, not a single imperfection in sight. You kept talking and noticed she wasn't really paying attention. "Billie? Are you listening?" She chuckled. "Of course I am. I'm just a little distracted, love, that's all." You shook your head and nudged her shoulder. "Well, as I was saying, I caught him cheating, AGAIN. And he just sat there, denying it... i swear he's just so -" You looked at her, realizing she wasn't listening again. "Okay whatever. Never mind."

You rolled your eyes and took a sip of your coffee. She just laughed and sat up, looking at you with an expression you couldn't quite decipher. "Okay, okay, I'm sorry. I keep telling you to break up with him..." She said, looking at you with a bit of disappointment in her eyes. You circled your finger around the rim of your cup and sighed. "I know, but... he was my first love billie. I'm just confused."

Billie looked at you. She could tell you were genuinely hurting, but it was really starting to get on her nerves. That little boyfriend of yours always rubbed Billie in the wrong way. He was always googly eyeing her and trying to always talk to her. Billie knew he was just using you. She scoffed and crossed her arms, leaning back against the couch. "I just wish you would drop him already. Seriously, you've been at this for how long already? It's tiring." You looked at her and just blinked, a bit taken aback from the aggression in her voice. "Okay bils...I get it. There's no need to be rude."

You grabbed your cup and got up, walking to the kitchen. Doing anything to get away from the awkward situation. She blows raspberries and scratches the back of her neck awkwardly, realizing she was out of place and was definitely a bit rude. This wasn't like her. She stood up and walked over to you, grabbing your arm as she spun you around to face her. "Look, I'm sorry. It's just... you deserve better love. Way better."

You looked down at the hand that held onto yours, then back up at her. She's right. You did deserve better. Your boyfriend is an asshole and just uses you to get close to billie, but you didn't want to admit it. This kind of thing happened all the time. People always used you to get close to her, and it was bothering you.

You looked down at your feet, biting your lip to try and prevent the tears from forming in your eyes. You failed. You clenched your jaw as the tears fell from your eyes. Billie noticed and lifted your chin with her hand, gently wiping the tears away with your thumb as she cupped your cheek in the process. "Hey, you're the most beautiful girl I've ever seen. And if he can't realize that, then he's a dick that doesn't deserve either you or your love. Forget about him."

You looked into her eyes. She leaned in closer, and you felt your heart start to race. What was she doing? You grabbed onto her arm gently and closed your eyes. She smirked and stopped, only a few inches away from your lips. She could feel your heavy breath. It was tempting...so tempting. She cupped your chin and lifted it higher as she gently placed her lips on yours and smiled as she felt your grip on her arm tighten.

She waited until you parted your lips, a sign that you gave her permission to continue. She snaked her hands around your waist, pulling you so close that she could feel your heartbeat on her chest. She hummed into the kiss, noticing your hands trembling as they held onto her arms for support.

Billie licked the bottom of your lips before lifting you up into her arms and placing you gently onto the kitchen counter. Her lips snaked down to your neck. Licking. Biting. Completely devouring you. Your head fell back, and you moaned. She smirked. You looked so beautiful beneath her, so helpless and weak to her touch. Billie always had a thing for you. Compelled to tell you the truth. But never wanted to make a move, worried she'd make you uncomfortable... until now.

Billie moved her hand from your waist to under your shirt. When she realized you hadn't been wearing a bra this entire time, it had only turned her on even more. She cupped your breast in her hand, circling your perked up nipple with her thumb, and you moaned again. You grabbed onto her shoulders, nails digging into her skin as she pinched down on your nipple. Causing your eyes to flutter shut from the stimulation. "Mmn... Billie-"

This was your best friend. You had thoughts about situations like this, maybe once or twice, but you always brushed it off. Now that you were experiencing the real thing. You wanted more... needed more. You'd never felt so good in someone's embrace like this before. She made you feel so special.

She licked a stripe up your neck before pulling back and looking at you, only lust and desperation filling her eyes. She licked her lips and smirked, biting down on her bottom lip. Her hand fell down to your ass before pulling you closer. Her head resting on your shoulder, your scent driving her absolutely wild.

"Fuck... you have no clue what you do to me..."

Notes:

I literally had to re-write the whole thing because my phone died, and I didn't press save.💔 But it ended up turning out better than what I initially wrote...

But I hope you enjoyed it! This is just a little something, so I know what I want to do moving on :) 💕

#billie eilish #billie eilish x reader #billie eilish x you #billie eilish x y/n #billie eilish x fem!reader #billie eilish imagine #billie eilish fanfiction #billie eilish fic #billie eilish smut #billie eilish oneshot

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lotus-lost-n-found · 2 days

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Some Batfam Headcanons because the brain never stops;

Jason hates being called "Bruce's Son". But he hates it more when hes called "One of Wayne's Orphans/Wayne's child" because fuck you I'm his son-! wait no--

With the exception of Damian, they rarely refer to Bruce as "Dad/Father". Either it didn't occur to them/didn't see the need to/thought it would be strange. But when Dick/Jason/Tim/Cass are tired or injured it might slip out. And Bruce might just crumble a bit at it

Doesn't mean they don't say it to their siblings when Bruce is out of Earshot.

"Dad said you couldn't." "What do you mean Dad said I couldn't use that mug? It's my mug!" "You snooze you lose Timmy Boy-" "Jason don't be an asshole-"

That being said Bruce says "son/daughter/child" at every available opportunity he can after he knows that they have acclimated enough that they wouldn't be uncomfortable/know they can tell Bruce that they don't want to be called that.

First time Bruce called Dick "son" in a way that meant "You are my kid" and not in a "This police officer just called me son with a brow furrow" way Dick grinned and carried on with the conversation. Later he wondered if his dad wouldn't like someone else calling him Son; but Dick thinks about the life he was given because of Bruce and thinks maybe his dad wouldn't mind.

Calling Jason "son" is a hit or miss situation, even before he died. The first time it happened he was confused, he didnt think that was the relationship they had and it made everything change for him. He got frustrated--not angry--with himself and Bruce at this sudden emotional turmoil. Wasn't he just the kid Bruce picked up in an alleyway? Wasn't he just some street rat in bright Robin clothing? (He lets himself believe that he can be Bruce's son. If for only a little while).

Tim cries after Bruce is out of earshot, it would've been a year or so after his parents died and he was adopted. He didn't think he could have been wanted like that again. Even if you think the Drake's had A+ Parenting or not, I don't think he would have gotten a lot of confirmation of being wanted otherwise.

Cass smiles, emotions carefully concealed under her expression. She's grateful she found Bruce and he doesn't mention it if she leans a bit closer in a request for closeness.

Damian doesn't expect anything less, he only appears satisfied. But also relieved that he has gotten the confirmation that yes, Bruce wants and accepts him.

#these are just my thoughts #they dont have to align with your own!#i am also trying to find a healthy balance between being emotional and being Angry for jason--#he wasnt the angry robin dammit! maybe emotional and a bit more physical but cmon #points at Dick 'Eldest Daughter Syndrome' Grayson #when dick gets older i would imagine that he would resent being called anything in relation to bruce #if its just for his angst phase when he first becomes nightwing or if hes dealing with his own identity/or going through a fight w bruce #i also find the father / son dynamic with dick & damian interesting so i might ponder on that a bit more #also giving tim insecurity issues about where he fits in with the batfam is important to my soul (i have problems)#sore rambles #lotuspowder rambles #batfam #dcu #bruce wayne #dick grayson #jason todd #tim drake #cassandra cain #damian wayne #batfam headcanons #dc headcanon #headcanon #batkids #batkids headcanon

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tj-is-down · 2 days

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Save a Horse, Ride a Cowboy (Tyler Owens x Reader)

Back again with another random fic for y'all. This is not proofread, so don't hate me!

Summary: Tyler and the reader have been on and off "together" for years now, keeping it secret. Until, suddenly, one of them decides they might want more.

Word count: ~2.1k

Warnings: None except some swearing, and reader is described femininely in this one.

Here’s the thing about Humble Creek: everybody knows everybody. A small town made up of just under five thousand, there was nothing that anybody could do in secret, because if one person knew, then it was just as if they’d taken a bullhorn and announced it to the entire town.

Which made Y/N’s life all the harder. See, she did have a secret, and although it hadn’t gotten out yet, its secrecy was held in the hands of a monster. A tyrant, a tool, a pain-in-the-ass douchebag with a cowboy hat and a Texas accent.

Tyler Owens.

Y/N had known he was trouble since they were kids. Growing up on rival ranches, they were destined to be enemies, and even more so, to blur the lines. Y/N had never trusted him. Not because their families were constantly fighting, as she believed everybody deserved their own chance to prove themself, but because he had fucked his up, royally.

In elementary school, middle school, high school, Tyler was always the talk of the town. Always with a girl on his arm, Tyler was confident, and everybody else was just putty in his hands. Y/N told herself she didn’t understand what people saw in him.

She lied.

It started in eighth grade, when Tyler showed up in a too-big tux and a bouquet of flowers he’d handpicked from his family’s garden.

“You wanna go to the dance?” He asked, grinning cockily. Even then he knew how to charm, before he even knew what charm was.

Y/N’s dad had said no, absolutely no way, but Y/N was in her rebellious phase and so this only pushed her to say yes. She went out right then, in her mud-stained t-shirt and jeans, and they’d walked to the school together at seven p.m. and walked home together at nine. He’d kissed her cheek goodnight and she’d wiped it off, embarrassed.

“You’re annoying, Owens.”

“And you’re pretty, L/N.”

On the next Monday he came to school with Cherry Lee.

Y/N tried to be mad. She tried to hate Tyler, to swear that she’d never talk to him or think about him or even look at him ever again. But two months later, when Tyler and Cherry broke up, he’d knocked on her door when he knew her parents weren’t home and, against her better judgment, she’d let him inside.

They’d been on-and-off “together” ever since.

Now, Tyler wasn’t single for long intervals, usually just a couple of weeks here and there, and he would never cheat, nor would Y/N let herself become a homewrecker (no matter how fragile the relationship), but when Tyler showed up on her doorstep, bouquet in hands and that look in his eyes, she knew she couldn’t say no.

She was an adult now, but still, she couldn’t resist those eyes. Tyler had been single since before leaving for college, and when he came back it was like he’d never left. Sure, now he had a truck, a big name, a crew, and a YouTube channel, but he still had those eyes, and his family still had a garden with a never-ending supply of flowers.

He showed up on her door one morning, after her parents had left for church.

“Can I help you?” She asked, opening the door. As always, a t-shirt and jeans, dirty from the morning’s work on the farm.

“You’re not at church?”

“You knew I wouldn’t be.”

“Well, maybe the two and I can practice praying on our own? I think the first step is kneeling down; you wanna start?”

Y/N went to close the door, but Tyler’s hand reached out to prop it open.

“Come on, Darlin’,” he said, laying the accent on thick. “You want to go for a drive? I’ll buy you a coffee.”

“Hold the coffee,” she said, walking past him. “I’d rather not have anyone see us together.”

He grabbed her waist and stood behind her, kissing her neck. “We’ve been doing this for years, babe. No one’s gonna find out, I promise.”

She leaned her head towards him, breathing in the scent of firewood mixed with his cologne. He pressed a kiss to her forehead.

“You gettin’ sappy on me?” He asked. Though his voice was soft, she could feel his smirk.

“Nope.” She pulled out of his grasp and got into the passenger seat of his truck. “We going, or are you just gonna stand there looking all doe-eyed?”

“For you, I’d stand here all day, sweetheart.”

“Just get in the car, Romeo.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

***

They drove for a while, to the outskirts of town, when Tyler stopped the truck and leaned over. He kissed her lips, hard and slow, putting his hand on the back of her neck to pull her closer. She reciprocated, holding his bicep, moving her mouth in tandem with his and letting herself fall into him.

“Why are you being so love-y today?” She asked after they separated.

“I can’t show my girl some love?”

“Is that what I am? ‘Your girl’?”

He shrugged. “Is that so bad?”

“You’re annoying, Owens.” She pushed his shoulder.

He mock-pushed her back as he said, “You’re pretty, L/N.” He rubbed the back of his neck. “Seriously, though, there is something I wanted to talk to you about—”

Y/N scoffed. “Are you about to ask me out?”

“Well, no, but—”

“Okay, good.”

“Would that be so bad of me?”

“Kinda.” Y/N breathed a laugh, but when she saw Tyler’s face, serious and a little upset, she stopped. “I mean, it’s not like we have the best thing going on here anyways, and I just don’t want to be—” She paused, about to say heartbroken, or used, or a placeholder for when you find someone better, but Tyler cut her off.

“Yeah, you’re right.” He started the truck, engine roaring to life. “It was dumb, nevermind. I’ll take you home.”

“Tyler, you know what I meant—”

“Yeah, yeah. We’re just messing around, right? That’s all this is, just messing around.”

He didn’t say another word on the ride home.

He dropped her off, barely waiting for her to shut the truck door before he drove away.

***

Tyler didn’t answer any of Y/N’s calls or texts for the next few days. Y/N was upset, barely leaving her room checking her phone obsessively for any sign of Tyler Owens. She even started watching his YouTube channel, but there hadn’t been any uploads for over a month. Nothing on Instagram or Facebook, either.

Her mother yelled up the stairs to her one night, calling her down.

“That’s what you’re wearing?” Her mom said upon seeing Y/N.

“This is what I always wear. Why?” Y/N was suddenly self conscious, confused as to why her parents cared what she wore in the house.

“Tonight’s the fair,” her mother responded, attempting to jog her memory.

“You’re helping us run our booth?” Her father tried.

“Ah, shit,” Y/N mumbled, remembering. “Do I have to go? I totally forgot.”

“Of course you have to go!” Her father said. “We need the three of us there; it’s a family ranch, remember?”

“Besides,” her mother added. “The Owens’s will be there. We can’t let them get a leg up on us! If you’re not there, Tyler will be running the show for sure.”

“Well, maybe not,” her father said. “He’s doing the kissing booth, remember?”

“The what?” Y/N said. “Tyler’s doing a kissing booth?”

Her father nodded. “To raise funds for his family’s ranch. He and his whole ‘team’ will be there, whatever they’re called.”

Y/N paused for a moment, trying to wrap her head around it all. Was that what Tyler was trying to talk to her about the other day? The kissing booth? But why would it matter what Y/N thought about it?

Her mother ushered her up the stairs. “For Pete’s sake, change into something nice, and quickly!”

Oh, shit.

***

The Humble Creek Fair was bustling with energy. People from nearby towns came to see what it was all about, and it was always the most popular time of year.

Y/N sat at her family’s booth, eyes peeled for Tyler. She kept checking her phone to see if he’d answered, but when she didn’t get any notifications she decided to take matters into her own hands.

“I’m going for a walk,” she said to her parents.

They both nodded, and her father added, “Make sure to see how the Owens’ booth is doing. I want to make sure we’ll still be in business next year.”

Y/N looked around for the kissing booth, and when she saw a long line of women, she followed it to the front. She walked around to the back of the attraction, but didn’t see Tyler anywhere. It wasn’t until she’d nearly given up entirely when she heard a voice behind her.

“What are you wearing?”

She whisked around, coming face-to-face with Tyler, who was holding some sort of weird meat on a stick.

“What are you eating?”

“Pork leg, fried and marinated in pickle juice,” he said, shrugging. “I’m hoping it’ll make my breath smell bad so less people come up. Now, back to you.”

“What about me?”

“You’re wearing a dress. You never wear dresses. ‘Jeans and a t-shirt, that’s me,’” he says, doing a poor impression of her.

“I don’t sound like that.”

“Yes you do, but that’s besides the point. What’s your deal?”

Y/N shrugged uncomfortably. “I wanted to, I guess.”

Tyler looked at her dead-on. “You look nice, Y/N.”

She rolled her eyes. “I’ve been texting you for days. No response. But now that I’m here, all I get is, ‘I look nice’?”

“What else do you want from me?”

“An answer, Tyler. What’s your deal? Why didn’t you tell me about the kissing booth?”

“I tried to, but then you came at me with all that ‘this is a bad idea’ crap, and I figured you didn’t want me to tell you. Or you didn’t care if I told you or not.”

“Okay, so—”

“Wait.” He stops her. “Do you care?”

Y/N kicks the ground. “If I did?”

“If you did,” he said, stepping closer to her. “I’d drop the pork leg and kiss you.”

“And if I don’t?”

“I’d eat the pork leg, and I’d kiss a bunch of people who aren’t you, and I’d feel like shit about it.” He took another step closer to her, nearly closing the gap between them. “Please say you care.”

“Ugh,” she scoffed. “You’re gonna make me say it? You can’t just, like, infer from the situation?”

“I’m really bad at inferring things,” he said, a cocky grin on his face. “So, I’m gonna need to hear you say it.”

“You’re annoying, Owens.”

“You’re pretty, L/N. Like, so pretty. But I do need to hear you say it, and I’m also gonna need you to—”

“I care, Tyler. Now shut up and kiss me, or I’m gonna take it back.”

“Can’t take it back, babe. It’s set in stone.”

In one fluid motion, he dropped the pork leg, grabbed Y/N by the waist with his other hand, and pulled her into a kiss. It was deep and passionate, not like any of the other times they’ve kissed. They kept it going for as long as they can, holding their breath until they couldn’t anymore, and then they pulled apart, gasping for air with their foreheads touching.

“Will you go out with me?” He asked her, still struggling for air. “Like, on a real date, not just driving in the truck?”

“I guess,” Y/N said, teasingly. “If I have to.”

“I mean, you don’t have to. But if you do, I’m gonna need you to wear this again.” He grabbed her and pulled her closer to him, if that’s even possible. “Because, if I’m being honest, L/N, this is the hottest I’ve ever seen you. Like, I didn’t think you could get hotter, but here we are. Speaking of, can we go? I really want to go somewhere with you. Like, privately.” He winked at her, and she scoffed, rolling her eyes again.

“Don’t you need to raise money for your farm?” She asked him, gesturing to the booth behind them.

“Fuck the farm,” he said. “Save a horse, ride a cowboy, yeah?”

“Fuck off,” she said, pulling him into another kiss.

“Seriously though, can we go?”

#tyler owens #twisters #twisters 2024 #glen powell #tyler owens x reader #glen powell cinematic universe

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paddockletters · 17 hours

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late-night talkings | osxar piastri

paring: oscar piastri x reader

summary: Late at night, unable to sleep, you and Oscar dive into a heartfelt conversation about racing, the future, and life beyond the track. As memories resurface and dreams unfold, you realize just how much the future holds for both of you.

author's note: first fic with oscarrrr, i hope you liked it .. Well, as I always say... english is not my first language so pardon me if there are mistakes —feel free to tell me— and my requests are open!👀

It was well past 1 AM, and neither of you could sleep. The room was bathed in the soft glow of the bedside lamp, the dim light barely enough to push back the darkness. You lay next to Oscar, staring at the ceiling, each of you lost in your thoughts.

His sigh broke the silence first, and you turned your head slightly to see him lying on his back, eyes heavy with exhaustion yet still wide awake.

“Can’t sleep?” His voice was low, barely a whisper in the stillness of the night.

“Nope,” you replied, a soft smile pulling at your lips. “You?”

Oscar chuckled lightly, running a hand through his messy hair. “Not even close. My mind won’t shut off.”

You shifted closer to him, the blanket sliding down as you propped yourself up on your elbow, looking down at him. “What’s on your mind?”

For a moment, he didn’t answer. Instead, he stared at the ceiling, his fingers absentmindedly tracing circles on the back of your hand, a small, comforting gesture.

“Everything,” he finally said, his voice soft. “Racing, the future, us…”

You tilted your head, a small frown forming on your face. “What about us?”

Oscar let out a sigh, his eyes flickering over to meet yours. “I’ve been thinking… about where I want to be in a few years. About what happens after racing. And I don’t know, it’s just been on my mind a lot lately.”

You paused, taking in his words. It wasn’t the first time you had these late-night conversations, but this one felt heavier, more serious.

“What do you see?” you asked softly, your fingers brushing a stray strand of hair from his forehead.

He hesitated, as if weighing his words carefully. “I see more races, obviously. Hopefully a few wins,” he added with a small smile, but there was something deeper behind it. “But after that... I don’t know. I just know I want you there with me, wherever that is.”

His words settled in your chest, warm and comforting. You remembered a conversation you'd had early in his career, before everything got so intense, before the constant travel, the pressure, the sleepless nights like this one.

It was his rookie season, and everything had been so new—so exhilarating and overwhelming all at once. You were standing in the paddock, watching him from the sidelines as he navigated the chaos of his first race weekend. You could still remember the way his face lit up when he saw you after the race, his excitement bubbling over despite the exhaustion that lined his features.

“I can’t believe this is my life,” he had said, pulling you into a hug. His arms were wrapped tightly around you, his heart still racing from the adrenaline of the day. “I didn’t think I’d make it this far, but here we are.”

“I always knew you would,” you had replied, resting your head against his chest, feeling the steady thrum of his heartbeat beneath your cheek. “You were born for this.”

Now, lying next to him in the dark, you couldn’t help but smile at the memory. So much had changed since then, but in many ways, things were still the same. You were still by his side, through the highs and the lows, the wins and the losses. And he was still the same Oscar, even if the weight of the world sometimes rested on his shoulders.

“What about kids?” you asked suddenly, the question slipping out before you could stop yourself. “Do you ever think about that?”

Oscar’s eyes widened slightly in surprise, but then he laughed, the sound soft and genuine. “You’re really asking me about kids at 2 AM?”

You shrugged, a playful smile tugging at your lips. “Why not? You’re the one who brought up the future.”

He sighed, his expression turning thoughtful. “I do think about it sometimes. Not anytime soon, obviously, but... yeah. I could see us with kids one day.”

There was a moment of silence, and then he added with a teasing grin, “They’d have to be faster than me, though. I can’t have slow kids.”

You burst out laughing, playfully swatting his arm. “You and your racing. I swear, you’ll be teaching them to drive before they can even walk.”

Oscar grinned, his eyes lighting up with that mischievous sparkle you loved so much. “Absolutely. I’ll get them in a kart as soon as they’re old enough. Gotta keep the Piastri legacy going.”

You rolled your eyes, but the warmth in your chest only grew. It was moments like this—these small, quiet conversations—that reminded you of why you loved him so much. Despite the craziness of his career, despite the pressure and the constant traveling, he was still the same goofy, thoughtful guy you fell in love with.

“Do you ever wonder what we’d be doing if you weren’t racing?” you asked after a beat of silence.

Oscar turned his head to look at you, his brow furrowing slightly in thought. “Sometimes,” he admitted. “But then I think… this is where we’re supposed to be. I don’t think I’d be happy doing anything else. And I like to think you wouldn’t either.”

You smiled, leaning down to press a kiss to his forehead. “You’re right. I can’t imagine a life without you doing what you love.”

His hand found yours under the covers, and he squeezed it gently, his thumb brushing over your knuckles. “I’m glad you’re here, you know. I couldn’t do any of this without you.”

The sincerity in his voice made your heart ache in the best way, and you leaned in closer, resting your head on his chest. “I’m not going anywhere.”

The conversation lulled, but the silence was comfortable, filled with unspoken promises and the steady rhythm of his heartbeat beneath your ear. You lay there together, wrapped up in each other, the future stretching out ahead of you in a way that felt both daunting and exciting all at once.

But eventually, exhaustion began to creep in, and you could feel Oscar’s breathing start to even out as he drifted off to sleep. You stayed awake for a little while longer, your mind swirling with thoughts of everything you had talked about—the future, kids, racing. It was all so uncertain, but for the first time in a long time, you didn’t feel scared.

As sleep finally began to claim you, you whispered into the quiet, “Goodnight, Oscar.”

In the dim light, you felt him smile, his arms tightening around you as he mumbled sleepily, “Goodnight, love.”

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mymindisneverhere · 2 days

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I can’t lie I’m enjoying writing these. 🙃 lowkey wish it was me

warnings: 18+, SMUT, edging, dirty talk, oral sex, fingering.

Summary: Aaron is having a get together at his home with his colleagues and his wife has had an attitude with him all day… he ends up fixing it tho.

30 Whole Days

He marched up the stairs and into the bedroom searching for her. His breathing was heavy, not from exhaustion but from rage. This was it, she had pushed him to the limit with her most recent emotional outburst. He understood how sensitive she was and that at times her emotions could get the best of her but he never thought she’d use this moment to embarrass him in front of his people.

Her attitude was far out of control and he didn’t know if he were to blame or if this was all on her. She had been short with him all day. Half assed answers, avoiding kisses and walking away when he’d reach for a hug. He couldn’t believe 30 days had done this to her, and had caused her to become so… bratty.

Attempting to lighten her mood, he had asked her to bring him and the guys another round of tequila shots. He knew his wife’s favorite thing to do was serve him, not only because he’d asked but because it was her love language, so he figured it wouldn’t be an issue.

She waited a few beats to respond then flashed a fake over exaggerated smile to him before heading to the bar that sat right outside on the back patio. She was over him at this moment. She was pissed, frustrated, angry and now after 30 days of holding back her emotions, she exploded.

She grabbed the bottle of tequila and took a few gulps of the warm liquor before storming back into the living room where the guests sat. They all laughed and sipped on their beverages as she walked directly to him, never taking her eyes off of him.

“Pour your own damn shots!” She stated through gritted teeth before slamming the expensive bottle onto the coffee table cracking the glass that held drinks and coasters.

The room went completely silent as they watched her walk away stomping up the stairs and slamming the door a few seconds later.

”We should get going, I think we may have overstayed our welcome.” Jamal, his colleague said, looking over at him with a worried stare. “I’ll see you later man.” Everyone stood and shook hands before departing all at a once.

Once the large horseshoe driveway was empty he immediately turned and shot up the stairs to the owners suite. She had officially lost her damn mind.

“Veronica!” He yelled, in a tone that demanded her presence right away. His voice roared throughout the whole house, there was no way she didn’t hear him. When she failed to appear in front of him, he knew she was purposely testing his patience. He walked into their adjoining bathroom to find her at the vanity casually fixing her hair and makeup.

“Have you lost your fucking mind? I have a house full of guests and you decide to embarrass me?” He asked standing in the doorway eyeing her reflection in the mirror.

“I didn’t embarrass you like I could have.” She shot back, sending a look of anger right back to him.

He paused for a few seconds before letting out a deep breath and nodding his head. “Alright, if this is what you wanna do, it’s fine with me.”

”Fine.” She responded.

As much as he loved his wife, he hated her stubborn attitude. Her need to prove a point, her desire to be right all the time, to be the winner of some game that only she’s aware of. Usually he would be the one to fold simply because he knew his wife and she’d thrown fits like this in the past to get what she wanted but tonight she had taken it too far. He decided that for the first time in the 4 years they’d been married, she would have to swallow her pride to get what she wanted.

He walked out of the bathroom and made his way to the walk in closet. He began smirking to himself wondering how long it would take for her to do the one thing that comes rare to her, beg.

He undid his tie first and removed his dress shirt right after. He kept his white wife beater on along with his dress slacks and dress shoes. After placing his tie and shirt in their designated areas, he left the bedroom and made his way downstairs to the study, making sure to close the bedroom door behind him.

She sat for a few minutes in confusion. He knew what she wanted and by now he’d be giving her just that but something was off about tonight. She got up from the vanity and went into the bedroom looking around for her husband. He wasn’t there.

She went into the closet to see if he’d be there deciding on an outfit for morning brunch with the family but he wasn’t there either.

“He really just left me in this room by myself.” She whispered to herself in shock. She knew he hadn’t left the house because the security system would have alerted her.

She looked over at the clock on the nightstand that read 9:40 p.m. in digital white font. He was going to make her beg for it but she refused to give in, not after he made her wait for 30 days. He owed HER and he was going to be the one to give in, not the other way around.

So she decided to turn on the tv and watch reruns of her favorite reality shows until he walked through the bedroom door, shirt off and dick swinging.

Two long hours had gone by and he still hadn’t made his way back to their bedroom. She couldn’t believe he’d actually decided to sleep in one of the guest bedrooms. I mean yeah she had thrown a tantrum and it may have been a bit much but he started it. How could he not expect her to react this way after going cold turkey for so long.

“I’m over this shit.” She threw the comforter off of her body and jumped down from their tall king size bed. She walked down the hall to the guest bedroom closest to the owner's suite, only to find the bedroom empty. “So now he’s playing hide and seek, how childish.” She mumbled to herself.

She made her way to the opposite end of the hall to the second guest room to find it empty just like the one before. She tightened her satin robe out of pure frustration and trotted down the stairs. She was about to make her way to the living room when she saw a light coming from under the double doors of the study.

“So he’s working while I’m around this bitch playing cat and mouse.” She said, rolling her eyes.

She opened the doors to the study and marched right over to him, locking eyes with her husband. He looked up at her, meeting her gaze, awaiting an explanation. The two had a standoff for a few seconds but the tension in the room made it feel like hours. She was waiting for him to give in, not knowing that he had no plans to do so.

“You got something you want to say to me?” He asked in a low calm tone, never taking his eyes off of hers. He knew what he was doing. He was going to get her riled up until she really snapped. When her patience ran thin, her mouth became lethal.

”You’re not funny Aaron.” She spat leaning over the large desk that separated the two.

He continued staring at her. This time bringing a glass of Cognac to his lips.

“You owe me!” She hissed, leaning further onto the desk causing her robe to slightly slip open revealing her breasts.

He sat, remaining silent.

“It’s been 30 days, stop playing with me!” She warned, pointing her finger in his face.

He finished his Cognac before placing the glass down, his eyes still never leaving hers.

“Tell me what you want.” He commanded.

She smacked her teeth. “You know exactly wh-“ She started but was interrupted.

“You throw a tantrum in a room full of people embarrassing both me and you but now you’re too scared to tell me what you want from me?” He questioned. One thing he knew for sure about his wife was that she was far from scared. He was pushing her buttons on purpose.

“I’m not scared.” She shot back.

He stood up from his chair and slowly made his way to her side of the desk. She turned around to meet his eyes, they had yet to break this intense stare down. He stood in front of her planting his hands on the desk, right by her sides.

Their faces were so close she could smell the Cognac on his breath and that made her clit throb. She loved when he’d had a few drinks, the night would always end with her cries of pleasure. But she wasn’t so sure about this night, her tantrum had really pissed him off and he was really standing his ground.

“So say it.” He said, his voice deep and impatient.

Her breath caught in her throat at the sudden command. Aaron was usually very gentle with her. He’d treat her like she was fragile, like she was a priceless piece of art that should be handled with great care.

This Aaron was a bit dark, not in a scary way but in a way that made her regret her decision she’d made hours before. She wanted a reaction out of him but she didn’t expect this one.

‘Say it.” He repeated, this time through gritted teeth.

“I want you to fuck me.” She whispered.

“You were loud a few minutes ago, why you whispering now?” He questioned. “Say it, louder.”

She hesitated for a second, looking down at his lips. They were so soft and full, she wanted them wrapped around her clit.

“I want you to eat me til I cum and then fuck me, right here on your desk.” She said in a normal tone.

He smirked at her response simply because she truly thought she was the one calling the shots in this moment.

He used his knee to part her legs and wrapped one hand around her neck, causing her head to fall back. He snatched the belt on her robe making the thin fabric to fly open. He placed wet kisses down her neck to her shoulder before licking back up to her ear.

“You enjoy embarrassing me?” He spoke into her ear causing her to inhale sharply from the warmth of his breath.

“I wasn’t trying to.” She breathed.

He ran the tips of his fingers across her nipple, still nibbling on her ear. He knew tending to her sensitive spots at once would drive her crazy. He played with her left nipple, enjoying the feeling of its hardness in between his thumb and index finger.

“Then what were you trying to do?” His voice remained low and calm in her ear.

She was in so much bliss she couldn’t think straight. He hadn’t even fucked her yet and she was already feeling her first orgasm coming. Her first orgasm in 30 days.

Aaron had decided that they should hold out on sex for a month. It wasn’t due to any mishaps in their marriage, he just wanted to build some anticipation.

He had married a woman with a high libido and with him being the first man to ever make her orgasm, she was demanding sex from him damn near everyday. They would get breaks during that time of the month but even then she still wanted more.

”I don’t know.” She barely managed. Her body was feeling so many things at once, things she hadn’t felt in a while that all she could manage to say was “I don’t know.”

She hissed from pain as he pinched her sensitive nipples and bit her ear. He wasn’t pleased with her answer.

“I was mad at you.” She admitted , “I was just pissed but I’m not anymore.”

He gently brought her face up to meet his before saying “Well I am.”

He kissed her passionately, not leaving an ounce of emotion behind. He was animalistic. He had never been an aggressive man but tonight he decided to take his anger out on his wife, the one who had caused it. He bit her bottom lip slightly before pulling back and forcing her back to lay flat on the desk.

He wrapped his arms under her thick thighs pulling her hips to the edge of the desk. He placed kisses and bite marks on her inner thighs, the bites causing her to moan in pain and pleasure. He came face to face with her pussy, placing kisses around her lips to tease her, one of the things she hated.

She rolled her hips in anticipation hoping that one of his kisses would land right on her clit. He tightened his grip on her thighs making it hard for her to move from his hold.

“Baby please.” She begged.

He smiled to himself before placing his tongue in between her lips. He licked slowly from her entrance all the way up to her clit, making sure his tongue hit every inch of her pussy. When he got to her clit he carefully rolled his tongue in circular motions, sucking it ever so often. He didn’t want her to come anytime soon so he thought he’d enjoy edging her.

“Ooh yes!” She moaned, placing her hand on his head. This was her way of telling him he was doing a damn good job.

“Yes daddy right there.” She moaned, indicating that her orgasm was near. Right when she could feel it build in her stomach, he’d slow down, making her come back down from ten. He done this a few times and she was becoming frustrated but that's exactly what he wanted.

“After what you did, you think I’d give it to you that early?” He asked, planting kisses up her body. He licked and sucked on her nipples one at a time. He carefully pushed two fingers into her pussy while still focused on her breasts. He pumped his fingers in and out of her, making sure to hit her G-Spot, sending her back up the orgasm ladder.

“Oooooh fuck!” She cried out. “Like that baby, just like that.” Her eyes rolled to the back of her head as she prepared to send her wetness all over his fingers.

He felt her pussy tighten around his fingers and he slowed down, stroking in and out of her at a snail's place.

“Oh my God.” She moaned. “Why are you doing this to me?” She cried out in pure frustration.

He let out a deep chuckle before pulling his fingers out and placing them in her mouth. She sucked them, moaning at the taste of her on his hands. He undid his pants with his free hand, dropping his underwear in a swift motion. She was so into sucking her juices off of his fingers, she couldn’t brace herself for the dick she hadn’t had in a month.

He slid inside of her, giving her a quick and hard thrust causing her to let out a loud moan. He paused for a few seconds, taking in the tightness of her wet pussy. It had been so long since he’d been inside her, they both needed to adjust.

“Shit.” He managed.

He pulled out of her, slapping the head of his dick onto her throbbing clit. He needed a moment to prepare himself for this ride. If he was going to give her the punishment she deserved, he'd have to last long enough to make it worth his while.

He pushed inside of her slowly, admiring the way her eyes rolled into her head. He loved the faces she made when he fucked her, she was so fucking pretty.

He lifted both of her legs up resting them on his shoulders. He held onto her full hips as he thrusted in and out of her slowly. She frowned from pleasure, lust written all over her face.

“That dick feels so fucking good.” She moaned, her eyes shut tight.

“Look at me.” He demanded.

Her eyes fluttered open landing right on his. As soon as they locked eyes he picked up the pace. He was testing her, he knew that if he quickened the strokes she'd struggle to keep her eyes open.

Just as he thought, her eyes closed and when her eyes closed he slowed down.

”Okay baby, I get it.” She moaned in a pleading tone.

“Close your eyes again and I’ll stop.” He said, looking down at her.

She fixed her eyes on him again, her eyes low and lust filled.

He picked up the pace again, rolling his hips into hers making sure to hit her spot. He wasn’t going to let her cum until she begged him.

He was fucking her into oblivion. There’s was no way he expected her to keep her eyes locked on him when he was fucking her like they would never see each other again.

“I’m sorry daddy, I swear I’m sorry.” She cried out, her eyes beginning to roll again.

“Open!” He warned.

“Please baby.” She cried again.

”Please what?” He asked, never missing a beat. He could see in her face he was hitting the right spot. It was only a matter of time before she gave him what he wanted. He bent down, bringing his face to hers, still stroking her pussy.

“I wanna cum.” She begged.

He sped up the pace staring directly into her eyes.

“Please I wanna cum.”

“Let it go baby.” He said, giving her the okay to release her treasures onto him.

“Fuck yes!” She screamed out in pure ecstasy.

He watched as her body jerked from the orgasm it was experiencing, the way her pussy increased in wetness damn near sent him over the edge but he wasn’t done with her just yet.

“That’s right baby, get all that shit.” He said into her ear, placing kisses on her neck and cheek while she came down.

She moaned, still trying to catch her breath and relax her body underneath him.

After a few more seconds, pulled out and walked backwards until he found one of the large chairs in his study.

“Come here.” He demanded, his eyes still never leaving her. He sat down, placing his arms on the rests of the chair as he watched his wife struggle to get across the room.

“My legs are a little sore.” She whined as she walked to him.

“Come. Here.” He repeated impatiently.

Finally crossing the room, she stood directly in front of him and dropped her robe.

“Sit on this dick.”

She climbed onto him, her coffee colored skin tainted in sweat, her large breasts decorated with nipple rings that complimented her large dark brown areolas, she was a sight to see. She positioned herself right above his dick and sat down slowly, staring down at her husband.

She rolled her hips into him as she looked for pleasure in his stare. All she could find was lust and a hint of anger. She didn’t know what to expect from him, he was actually fed up with her tonight.

She rode him anyway, deciding that she’d take this moment to be selfish and get her pleasures regardless of the stern look on his face. She closed her eyes and dropped her head back as she held onto him, her hands on the back of his neck for support.

“Mmmmm.” She moaned in enjoyment, her hips rolling at a steady pace as she felt the wetness from her pussy spread to her inner thighs.

He sat back and watched his wife take control. He loved that she wasn’t afraid to take full control to reach her orgasm. He appreciated the fact that she was a sensual woman and proud of it.

But he was the one calling the shots tonight. He snaked both of his hands up her body reaching for her neck, gripping her throat.

“Yes daddy.” She moaned, still caught up in her own pleasure.

Without warning he began thrusting his hips into hers, making her eyes open in surprise. He had let her have a few minutes to come down from the last climax but it was time to remind her who was really running the show.

“Yes, fuck me baby.” She cried out. She held onto his wrists as he fucked her. Her cries became louder as he continuously hit her spot with every single stroke. She looked down at him again as he brought her face to his, still stroking in and out her pussy.

“You like making me mad don’t you?”

“No.” She replied out of breath.

“You wanna embarrass me again?” He asked, his lips touching hers.

“No Daddy.” She cried, as she felt her climax coming.

The way he was fucking her, the way he was talking to her had unlocked another level of sensual satisfaction. The hold he had on her neck, the way he caressed his thumbs against her lips, his deep sultry tone of voice and spicy smell of liquor on his breath was a combination that would send another orgasm through her body.

“You cum when I tell you to.” He barked through his teeth, daring her to climax.

“I can’t hold it anymore.” She cried, a small tear of ecstasy running down her face. She came harder than the first time.

“Yes!” She screamed out, unashamed and completely out of body. Her pussy pulsated and slightly stinging from pain due to his size. He let the tear run down her face as the rest of her emotions ran down his legs. She squeezed her eyes shut as her body responded to yet another orgasm.

“I knew you’d beg me for it.” He smirked with his cocky ass attitude.

”Fuck you.” She whimpered, taking in every moment of her peak.

”I know, baby.” He said, soothing her after ruining her. He caressed her cheek as he watched her come down from yet another orgasm. He had to admit to himself that this tantrum she had thrown earlier had unlocked a different beast inside of him. He kinda liked it.

“You okay?” He asked in a calm tone, he could never fully get rid of the gentle side of him.

She nodded her head slowly then finally collapsed onto his chest still struggling to catch her breath.

“Please don’t make me wait that long again.” She said in between breaths.

“I won’t.” He kissed the top of her head and the two laid together until night became dawn.

Please excuse any mistakes! 🩵

(Y’all ate that last one up so I thought why not write another one. Thank y’all! 🥹)

#aaron pierre x black reader #aaron pierre fanfic #aaron pierre fanfiction #aaron pierre #it should be illegal to be this fine #aaron pierre x black fem reader #black fem reader #rebel ridge #terry richmond

178 notes · View notes

inthedayswhenlandswerefew · 3 days

Text

In The Gloomy Depths [Chapter 1: Amethyst]

Series summary: Five years ago, jewel mining tycoon Daemon Targaryen made a promise in order to win your hand in marriage. Now he has broken it and forced you into a voyage across the Atlantic, betraying you in increasingly horrifying ways and using your son as leverage to ensure your cooperation. You have no friends and no allies, except a destitute viola player you can't seem to get away from...

Series warnings: Language, sexual content (18+ readers only), parenthood, dolphins, death and peril, violence (including domestic violence), drinking, smoking, freezing temperatures, murder, if you don't like Titanic you won't like this fic!!! 😉

Word count: 5.2k

💜 All my writing can be found HERE! 💜

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A note goes sharp, and you swim up through colorless currents—indistinct conversation, an iron-grey draft each time the front door opens, cigar smoke like fog over the ocean—and turn to the viola player. His eyes have caught on the place where your left hand rests on the table by a glass of pear cider, still cold from the icebox, misty with condensation. Rain pours outside. Logs fracture and hiss in the fireplace. Your gown is thick velvet, indigo like the night sky, and the ruffles of your sleeve have slipped back to reveal the evidence roped around your wrist: shadows of trapped blood, rubies that sicken and turn to sapphires and amethysts.

You hurriedly adjust your sleeve. Now the viola player’s eyes are on yours, an overcast blue and improperly direct, and something flies between you: his shock, your shame. You look away and pretend to ignore him. His horsehair bow finds its rhythm again, a tempo like a racing pulse. The quartet is playing The Wild Rover.

Daemon hasn’t noticed. He has ensnared the reporter entirely, here in O’Connell’s Bar in the heart of Galway, just across the street from Eyre Square and only a few blocks west of the Docks and the North Atlantic Ocean. The young man writes for The Irish Times and has traveled from Dublin to interview your husband, once a celebrated newcomer but soon departing and taking you with him. Five years ago a storm blew him in; now the gleam of distant treasure catches his eye and beckons him like the moon calls the tides. He has been this way all his life. You were mad to believe he’d change.

“Lord Targaryen,” the reporter says with his felt-tip pen hovering over his notebook, gazing at Daemon worshipfully, firelight dancing on both of their faces. You glance at the viola player again. He’s still watching you, and this is bad. “You’ve been described as a cowboy by numerous publications and business associates. Do you consider that a compliment?”

Daemon chuckles, smirking and imperious. He puffs on his pipe, elbows propped on the table. His eyes are a deep-set reptilian green, emeralds glinting from the mouth of a mine. Strands of dark blonde hair fall roguishly down over his forehead. “Oh, it’s a massive compliment, isn’t it? A cowboy eschews the safe and the predictable. A cowboy makes his own way in the world. My father was a duke, and now my brother is a duke, and one day my nephew will be a duke, God help us all. And so I always knew that if I wanted anything for myself, I’d have to go out and find it.”

The reporter is smiling, enraptured. He asks, already knowing the answer: “And what was it you found?”

“In the Wah Wah Mountains of Utah, we discovered red beryl.” Daemon talks with his hands, magnetic fields, incantations, spells that once worked on you. “It’s exceptionally rare and a gorgeous stone, high color saturation, not as hard as a diamond but durable enough for jewelry, essentially a blood-colored emerald. I was twenty-five years old and had just put together my first small mining expedition, and here we were sitting on the only known supply of red beryl on the planet. And it was then that I realized that there are these sorts of…natural monopolies that exist scattered across the globe, gemstones that can be found in only one location, and thus if you are the man who owns the mine…every single stone must pass through your hands before it ends up in retail establishments in London or Paris or Milan or wherever.”

“And so you took the lesson you learned from red beryl and applied it to other minerals,” the reporter says as he scribbles in his notebook.

Daemon grins, puffing on his pipe, exhaling smoke like a dragon. And how remarkable he is to have agreed to meet here in this pub like a common man, so unpretentious, so unafraid of the world’s dirt, effortless and yet untouchable, and this is why his miners love Daemon, why they will break their spines and poison their lungs for him. “We kept the Utah mine, of course, and bought up rights to thousands of acres of land surrounding it. I hired more workers. And then I investigated reports of mysterious, unnamed, brand new stones that had been stumbled upon in far-flung places, untamed by civilized men, the earth just waiting to be slit open and butchered like a fat hog. In Madagascar, we found Grandidierite, a bewitching blue-green, the Indian Ocean in miniature, crystalized form. In Tanzania, we discovered Tanzanite, halfway between an amethyst and a sapphire.”

The reporter nods to you as he says: “I believe Lady Targaryen is wearing some this evening, is she not?”

“Indeed,” Daemon replies without much interest. You touch your fingertips to your teardrop-shaped earrings and give the reporter a polite smile. You steal a glimpse of the viola player; he isn’t staring at you anymore—a blessing, a relief—but he frowns distractedly as his bow glides over the strings. “In Australia there was black opal, and in the Dominican Republic we were the first mining operation to encounter Larimar, and then…well, then I heard of Connemara marble.”

“Native to Ireland,” the reporter says proudly. “The lone quarry that’s still producing is right here in Galway.”

“So of course that intrigued me.” Daemon taps on the tabletop with his right hand, and now he is watching you, curling lips, taunting eyes. “And when I crossed the Atlantic to acquaint myself with this quarry and inquire into purchasing it, I was intrigued by the quarry owner’s daughter as well.”

His pen scratching against parchment; black rivers of ink filling up the page. “How would you describe the courtship?”

“Brief,” Daemon says, then laughs. He points to you with his smoldering pipe. “How about you, dear? How would you describe it?”

“Flattering,” you answer honestly, and the reporter makes his notes. “Daemon already had a reputation by then. A captain of industry, a staggering success story, a man who refused to rest idly on his family’s titles, which he could have easily done.” And a man who also refused to marry, rejecting Rockefellers and Morgans and Astors, duchesses and countesses, but asked your father for your hand in marriage after only a few weeks of tours of the quarry and dinners set alight with charismatic retellings of his travels. You knew the Connemara marble was part of the allure, but you took this as a common interest rather than the only thing Daemon wanted from you. Well…one of two things.

“You’ve resided in Galway ever since,” the reporter is saying to Daemon. “Barring a few trips for business. But that is about to change.”

Daemon sucks on his pipe. “I’ve received a very generous offer from Tiffany & Co. in Manhattan. They’ve been around for almost a century, did you know they supplied the Union Army with swords and surgical tools during the Civil War? Real patriots. Not afraid to get bloody. They want to expand into the sale of colored gemstones, not just diamonds and pearls and gold, the same unimaginative pieces peddled by their competitors. And after some long and arduous negotiations, Tiffany has agreed to pay a fair price for the exclusive rights to specimens originating from my mines, and I have agreed relocate to New York City for the foreseeable future to consult with them as a gemstone expert.”

“It’s my understanding that you have family in New York too, Lord Targaryen. Perhaps a reunion is part of the appeal of a move across the pond.”

“Oh, I wouldn’t assume that,” Daemon says impishly. “I haven’t seen Alicent Hightower or her children in years and years. I wouldn’t even know them if I passed them on the street.”

“Is that right?” The reporter’s pen hovers uncertainly over his notebook; he doesn’t think this is the sort of familial disharmony that should be printed in a newspaper.

“But my wife and I will have some company for the voyage,” Daemon continues. “My niece Rhaenyra and her charming husband Laenor will be joining us on Titanic. They’ve been on holiday in the Mediterranean and have several social engagements on the East Coast before they return to summer in England with my brother.”

“Viserys Targaryen, the 9th Duke of Beaufort.”

Daemon grins, not kindly at all. “One man earns a title, eight others wear it.”

The reporter shifts awkwardly in his chair. It’s not the sort of joke he’s allowed to laugh at. Changing the topic, he looks to the string quartet, which is now playing Danny Boy. The viola player’s eyes flick to you; you drink you pear cider and pretend you are unaware. “You’ll be sorely missed in Galway. But what a proper Irish sendoff you’re receiving here at O’Connell’s tonight!”

“Yes,” Daemon muses, the bit of the pipe in his mouth. “A week from now, tugboats will be hauling us out of Cork Harbor and into the Atlantic Ocean, perhaps never to return.”

You shudder as a man enters the pub and a cold draft blows through you. You are terrified of ships, tiny metal buckets at the mercy of bottomless blue, unnatural incursions into inhuman spaces. You have sailed twice before with your parents—once to Le Havre to visit Paris and again on a cruise of the Aegean—and both times you were consumed by visions of water rising up over your feet, bodies thrashing in the waves, bones turning to silt. You don’t want to cross the Atlantic. You don’t want to leave home.

“You look a bit familiar, boy,” Daemon says, and you realize he’s talking to the viola player. You startle, then are relieved to see that your husband has only a dim curiosity in the musician. The reporter has bored him, and Daemon’s eyes are wandering. He is a man of short and restless attention. You have learned this the hard way. “Have we met before?”

The viola player—early twenties, around your age, sandy blond hair and a beard trimmed close to the skin—pauses his fiddling as his three companions carry on. His accent is English, not Irish. “Well I’ve played all over Ireland, sir. All over Europe, in fact.”

“Were you by chance at the McPherson wedding back in February?”

You don’t believe he was, you think you’d remember him; but the viola player nods eagerly. “Yes sir, that was me.”

“Ah! That was a fine night. Excellent duck. Wasn’t the duck good, dear?” But Daemon only half-listens for your response. He has turned back to the reporter and is recounting how he and his expedition hacked through the jungles of Tanzania to reach the location of suspected gemstone deposits, how they endured attacks from crocodiles and chimpanzees and burned up from fevers.

“Please excuse me for a moment,” you say as you rise from the table. The reporter scrambles to his feet to stand as decorum demands.

“Yes yes,” Daemon replies abruptly, not looking at you, then continues his stories.

You escape from the pub through the front door and stand beneath the awning just out of the rain, watching the reflections of streetlights glow in puddles like stars. Across the street in Eyre Square, a public park established in 1710, shadows of ash trees rock in the wind. With trembling fingers, you fumble a Kerry Blue and your cigarette holder out of your black handbag, then realize you don’t have a lighter. Someone else always does that part for you. You sigh and stare out into the rain, taking deep breaths of Irish night, early April, cold and wet and green, the only air you know how to take painlessly into your lungs, blood, bones, the dark damp earth that built you. You cannot imagine living amongst metal skyscrapers and rumbling automobiles instead of verdant rolling hills dotted with sheep.

You hear the pub door open, and you assume it is one of the waiters or perhaps Rush—Edward Rushton, Daemon’s valet and bodyguard, ever-watchful and unwaveringly stern—bringing you the black mink coat you left inside. But to your horror, it is the viola player, carrying his instrument by its neck. You gape at him as rain continues to fall.

“Hi,” he says.

You are clutching your handbag, a cigarette and holder still tucked between your fingers. “What are you doing?”

“I just…I was…uh…” He spots the cigarette. “Oh, do you need a lighter? I have one, hold on…” He begins rooting around in the pockets of his olive green tweed jacket.

“No, I don’t need a lighter,” you snap, glancing anxiously at the door. “I need you to go back inside.”

“Wait a minute, I wanted to—”

“Why are you speaking to me?” Your eyes are wide and petrified, your voice is a sharp whisper. No musician has ever addressed you beyond pleasantries: Good morning, good afternoon, good evening, thank you ma’am, my pleasure ma’am. “What’s wrong with you?”

“Look, I came out here because…I just wanted to ask…” He struggles to find the words. His eyes fall to your left wrist, now fully obscured by the ruffles of your sleeve, then return to your face. “Are you okay?”

“What?”

“Do you…you know…do you need some kind of help or something?”

It’s improper, it’s unthinkable, it’s dangerous. “You’re deranged,” you say as you breeze past him towards the door. “You’ve clearly escaped from an asylum somewhere. I wish you all the best in your recovery.”

He does not grab you—that would be absurd—but he does get between you and the front door of the pub. “Wait, please, I’m sorry, I’m not trying to be rude or to overstep or anything, I’m trying to see if there’s anything I can do—”

“You will make it worse for me,” you hiss, and only then does the viola player go quiet and let you pass. You shove by him into O’Connell’s Bar.

Back at the table, Daemon and the reporter are engrossed in conversation. When you rejoin them, neither of the men take any notice of you beyond the reporter’s momentary rise to his feet. After a minute or two, the viola player returns to the quartet and slips seamlessly into the song they’re playing, Star of the County Down. You gaze into your pear cider, determined not to glance at him even once.

Daemon is saying as the reporter jots franticly: “I am reminded of something I read once in a French fashion critic’s guide from the 1870s. In the gloomy depths of the mineral world, stars are concealed that rival in their beauty those of the firmament. The fresh splendors of dawn, the sun’s incandescent rays, the magnificent sunsets, the brilliant colors of the rainbow, all are found enclosed in a morsel of pure carbon or in the center of a stone. Not everyone can see the potential, not everyone has the skill or the willpower to move the earth and free the treasures trapped beneath. But I found stars no one else knew existed. And my work isn’t finished yet.”

~~~~~~~~~~

At home in Lough Cutra Castle, your family’s estate since 1817, your parents are asleep and Fern is waiting up for you and Daemon, yawning into the back of her hand to try to hide it. She is your maid but she was hired by Daemon, and she scurries around the property like a mouse, eternally picking up toys and articles of clothing and papers that have slid off of tables, head bowed, footsteps so light you often don’t realize she’s walked into a room until she’s spoken.

“Care for some tea, my lady?” Fern asks as she takes your mink coat. Daemon goes directly to his study; you watch him leave with some feeling you couldn’t name, loss, relief, loneliness, resignation.

“No, thank you, Fern. I’m exhausted. Is Draco upstairs?”

“He is,” she says, but with hesitation, as if she is sending you into the lion’s den. You know what that means. You climb the staircase and find him in his bedroom sound asleep, four years old, surrounded by an army of teddy bears. Bears are his favorite animal; he likes the way they roar and brandish their teeth. He is named after the crest of Daemon’s family; Draco is the Latin word for dragon. His hair is white-blonde, a Targaryen trait. As they age it fades to an ordinary sand-like color, and by the time they are middle-aged—Daemon is forty, nearly two decades older than you are—their hair is a blonde so dark it’s almost brunette.

You stand in the doorway watching Draco for a long time. When you think of him, this is the image that comes to mind: your son across a room, or a lawn, or a garden, and you lurking on the periphery, longing to be a part of his existence, feeling so palpably unneeded. Already, he is becoming a stranger. He thinks it’s funny when Daemon insults people and breaks things. He stomps his little feet when he doesn’t get his way and rips flowers from the garden, tosses rocks through the windows of the greenhouse, hurls sticks at hissing geese.

“He’s asleep,” Dagmar says as if she’s scolding you. You whirl to see her behind you in the hall, glowering with those icy Nordic eyes, her hair grey and twisted into a tight bun, her face angular and cold-blooded. Legend has it that Saint Patrick expelled all the snakes from Ireland; you think he must have missed one.

“Yes, I can see that.”

“You’ll wake him.”

“I certainly won’t.”

“A boy that age needs his rest.” And this is how Dagmar has been since Draco was born: You can’t hold a baby like that, you can’t feed a baby like that, you can’t play with a baby like that, never showing you how to do things but only alienating you further and further until you looped around on some hopelessly remote orbit like Neptune circles the sun.

“Yes. Like I said, I won’t disturb him.”

But she does not leave; she only scowls at you with her bony arms crossed over her chest. She is ancient; she was Viserys and Daemon’s governess when they were boys, and your husband wrote to her immediately after Draco was born. She idolizes Daemon. The three of them are a family unto themselves, sardonic and spiteful and fiercely loyal, an oath you can’t figure out how to break. She wins this battle, as she’s won them all. It is not a war but an insurgency, a perpetual struggle for independence, sabotages and hunger strikes that amount to nothing. You retreat from Draco’s doorway and go to find Daemon in his study, bent low over his desk and sketching designs for jewelry men will buy for their wives, sisters, mothers, daughters, mistresses.

He glances over at you impatiently. “What is it?”

“You promised I’d never have to leave Ireland.”

Daemon shrugs, smiling wryly. “And yet…”

“Draco and I could stay here,” you say, as if this has not already occurred to him.

“And people would say my house is not in order. How am I to command the respect of American businessmen when my own wife does not obey me?”

You are desperate. “Half the year,” you plead. “I’ll spend winters in Manhattan and summers here.”

“Absolutely not.”

“What if I won’t go?”

“I don’t see how you’d accomplish that,” Daemon says, as if he’s already bored of this conversation. “You could throw yourself over the ship’s railing and into the Atlantic Ocean, I suppose. But that’s the only way you’re not ending up in New York.”

“You don’t even really want me there,” you reply, your voice quivering. “You don’t care where I am or what I do. Lots of men live separately from their wives, you can as well.” And even now—horribly, humiliatingly—you want him to contradict you, to swear that he does care, that he wants you, that he loves you in the sick brutal way he knows how.

Daemon picks up the dagger he keeps on his desk and uses it as a letter opener to unseal a piece of correspondence from one of his many mines, left in the care of managers just as your father’s Connemara marble quarry soon will be. The hilt is made of gold and has seven small gemstones imbedded in it, one on top of the other: amethyst, tiger’s eye, black opal, emerald, ruby, bloodstone, sapphire. “You know,” Daemon says offhandedly as he skims the letter. “Draco is getting old enough for boarding school.”

“What?” You are shellshocked; it takes a moment for you to sputter a reply. “He’s…he’s four, Daemon. He can’t read more than a handful of words. He just learned how to write his own name.”

“I was only five when my father sent me away.”

“And you turned out to be so normal.”

“No,” Daemon says, a blade-sharp warning, his eyes burning into yours, ruthless green fire. He aims the point of his dagger at you. “I turned out to be extraordinary.”

Draco. Draco sent away. If I lose him now, I’ll lose him forever. He’ll never know me. He’ll never love me. “Please let me have a few more years with him.”

“Sure. In New York.”

“I’ll go,” you surrender. “Fine, fine, I understand. I’ll go. No more complaints.”

“Good.” He sets down his dagger and the letter and resumes his sketching. You’ve been dismissed, but you can’t look away from him: cunning hands that won’t touch you, blood that runs hot enough to scald.

What is this feeling, this hunger, this hatred, all gnarled up together, dark earth glimmering with flecks of jewel-tone light, constellations of subterranean stars? He has hurt you, but he has given you pleasure too, this man who is so impossible to know, to predict, the only man who has ever been inside you. It’s not that you want him, not exactly; you want what he can give you, and the cold truth is that if it’s not him it’s not anyone, never again for as long as he lives. You’ve never craved another body, another soul. If you ever took a lover, you believe Daemon would kill you.

He grins, mocking and cruel. And you are transported back to your wedding night, still euphoric and flushed and panting on the bed as Daemon sighed and got up to go to the washroom, the satisfaction and the shame, the inescapable sense that you have disappointed him. “Did you only come here to be vexing and disobedient, or did you have something else in mind?”

“No,” you say softly, turning away, leaving him with his drawings of rocks stolen from distant corners of the world.

At breakfast the next morning—Fern cracking Draco’s soft-boiled egg and feeding him careful spoonfuls, Dagmar reading aloud to him from The Three Billy Goats Gruff, giving him smiles radiant with warmth you’ve never received from her—you sip tea and spread butter over your soda bread, gazing listlessly at the mist that hangs cool and heavy beyond the windows. Daemon is at the quarry already. You are suddenly acutely aware of the absence of music.

“Hey, lassie?” your father says as your mother tries to coax him into eating his full Irish breakfast: fried eggs, bacon, beans, mushrooms, tomatoes, white pudding.

You look to him, clearing the fog from your skull. “Yes, Daddy.”

“I saw the luggage. Where are you going?”

You keep telling him, but he doesn’t remember; he was becoming forgetful five years ago but now he can’t work at all, can barely even carry conversations. You had a brother who died in infancy and a sister who was taken at eight years old by convulsions. You are the only child left, and there are no other evident heirs to the quarry. This must have been something that occurred to Daemon when he met you, seventeen and overwhelmed by the black magic of him. He had seemed like the right choice: dashing, capable, from an illustrious family, a man who could take charge of the quarry as your father’s health continued to fail.

“Daddy, I told you. We’re going to Manhattan.”

He is stunned, grief-stricken. “What? That far?”

“Yes, on Titanic. It’s the largest ship ever built.”

“Who the hell cares about the ship?” your father says. “When will you be back?”

Never. You and your mother exchange a heartsick glance. She tries to be strong for him; she tries not to show you that her world is ending as you and Draco are taken across the ocean like gemstones mined and smuggled away for cutting. “Soon, Daddy,” you lie. He won’t remember anyway. “We’ll be back really soon.”

And then again ten minutes later, and then again after a half hour, and then again at lunchtime:

Where are you going?

When will you be back?

~~~~~~~~~~

Titanic is not a ship but a wonder of the world, unbreakable like the pyramids, towering like the Colossus of Rhodes, beckoning seafaring travelers like the Lighthouse of Alexandria. It is too large to dock in Cork Harbor, and so two tenders—named, quite appropriately, Ireland and America—are used to shuttle the passengers to the anchored goliath waiting to carry you across the ocean. Aboard, a five-piece string ensemble greets the first-class passengers with The Sunny South, and beaming stewards distribute flutes of champagne, liquid gold freckled with bubbles of trapped air. The men are chucking and shaking Captain Smith’s hand and the women are sighing with soft, feminine awe at the soaring funnels and the sprawling Promenade Deck, steel overlaid with yellow pine and teak, and you stare vacuously back at the shadow of the shore, speaking to no one, noticed by no one, alone in a wonderstruck crowd on a cloud-covered, warm afternoon, April 11th, 1912.

Rush is giving bellboys instructions for the luggage to be taken to your rooms. Daemon disappears with Rhaenyra to inspect the accommodations, their steps swift and careless, laughing like children, Rhaenyra’s blonde hair—yellow jasper, yellow jade—streaming out behind her, her gown a shallow-water bluish-green like the Grandidierite Daemon found in Madagascar. Fern skitters after them to unpack the bags when they arrive in the staterooms and offer to make tea. Laenor, wearing a deep and dignified shade of blue, immediately makes the acquaintance of several Parisian passengers and sets about to stroll the deck with them, smoking their pipes and remarking on the ingenuity of the ship’s design, planning to enjoy the Turkish Baths together this evening. Draco is getting tired and ill-tempered; Dagmar merrily whisks him off to see the Grand Staircase and distract him until the rooms are ready.

Meandering, rudderless, you walk to the deck railing and look down into the water as the ship weighs anchor, unmooring itself from Ireland, stealing you away forever. Trying to distract yourself from weeping—tears burn in your eyes like a stoked furnace—you pretend to adjust your earrings. You wear amethysts to match your gown, dark mauve, a color not long ago only owned by royalty. One of the musicians has appeared to soothe your maladies, desperate terror and melancholy he perhaps mistakes for seasickness. But no, it’s not one of the men from the ensemble that welcomed you aboard; he is not wearing a pristine black suit but a pale green tweed waistcoat and unceremonious plaid trousers. He isn’t a crewmember of Titanic at all. He’s the viola player from Galway.

You jolt away from him, spinning around to ensure no one from Daemon’s party has reappeared to witness this. Then you whisper furiously: “What are you doing here?!”

The viola player stops fiddling and holds his instrument by its neck. His answer is amiable and innocent. “Playing viola.”

“No, why are you on this ship?!”

He shrugs, smiling, his hair blowing in the wind as the tugboats pull Titanic out to sea. “Heard it was the biggest one ever built, unsinkable, extravagant beyond compare. Seemed like something I’d like to experience given the opportunity.”

“You followed me,” you say flatly.

He winks, resting an elbow on the railing. His teeth are small and white; there are lines from the sun around his eyes.

“You overheard our arrangements at O’Connell’s Bar and bought a ticket for yourself? Crossed Ireland, travelled south to Cork, all to stalk me like some lunatic? A nautical Jack the Ripper?”

“Well…I wouldn’t say I bought a ticket.” He is playful, teasing you. “I found one.”

“How did you manage to by pure happenstance find a ticket for Titanic’s maiden voyage?”

“I ran into an aspiring passenger at a pub in Cork,” the viola player explains. “A very nice man, his name was Fergal. Unfortunately for poor Fergal, when the time came to board the tenders, he was…indisposed, and I found myself in possession of his third-class ticket. A strange coincidence!”

“Indisposed?” you say, squinting suspiciously.

“Perhaps he had a few too many pints in celebration and passed out somewhere. Perhaps he got lost on his way to the harbor. Or perhaps he was locked in the pub’s storage room and therefore unable to make it to the tenders in time to sail blissfully away on his trans-Atlantic journey. Who could say for sure?”

“So you stole a ticket.”

“I think that’s a cynical way to put it.”

You are incredulous. “How would you put it?”

“Fortune brought me a ticket. The stars aligned, the saints were looking out for me.”

“If you hold a third-class ticket, you are on the wrong deck of the ship.”

“Shh!” He holds a finger to his lips. “No one knows that, I just wander around playing songs for the rich people and they assume I’m supposed to be here.”

“You have to stay away from me,” you plead, staring out over the ocean. “Daemon can’t see us talking, he can’t know you followed me from Galway, he can’t find out that you saw…” The bruise, the evidence, the betrayal of you not keeping his secrets.

“Relax, I’m not here for you,” the viola player says, and of course he is lying. “I have family in New York City. I left home and haven’t been back in years, and I think now’s a good time for a visit.”

You roll your eyes. “Yeah. Okay.”

He grins, slow and mischievous, and you are alarmed to realize some part of you wants to smile too. “You know what?”

“What,” you offer resentfully.

“I think you want me to be here for you.”

You turn away from the railing to make your escape. “I want you to leave me alone.”

“I’ll think about it,” the viola player quips. And when you glance back at him from the end of the Promenade Deck, ocean wind tearing your hair out of its pins and salt stinging on your skin, he’s still watching you.

#aegon x reader #aegon targaryen x reader #aegon ii #aegon ii x y/n #aegon ii targaryen x reader #aegon ii x you #aegon ii fanfic #aegon targaryen x you #aegon ii targaryen #aegon targaryen ii #aegon targaryen

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catyo90 · 1 day

Text

I already lost you once...

Warning: Logan x F!Reader (Smut) Minors DNI)

In your universe, your Logan was taken from you, not his life, but his memories. He was made to forget who you were by Stryker, one bullet was all it look for him to forget everything about you. And you were tortured every night and day by it. The moment you tried to fix it, to get the life you had with him back for good. The TVA erased you. Took your home, friends, family and lover away with no way of getting out.

That was years ago. You wondered through the void all alone, sometimes running into variants. In that time you never stopped trying to get back to him, that was until you found out your Logan was long since dead, when you met Laura, she was from the same universe as you. She told you everything and offered you to join her and a small band of others to survive in this cruel world.

What choice did you have, little did you know that one day. You would get your chance to see him again.

You woke up grabbing your long black cloak with a matched pair of dark green tube top and army pants, you looked at yourself in the broken mirror, the cold dogs tags you held onto for a moment before leaving. You walked out over hearing Gambit speaking to someone about drinking his whiskey. You sighed as you stood in the doorway, you froze in place as you saw a Deadpool variant looking over to you with curiosity.

"Whoa, and who is this fem fetal who looks like a early 2000s spice girl, which one are you? Oh oh let me guess, Foxy Spice, no wait that doesn't work, oh.." His voice faded as you looked past him, after so long you almost couldn't believe it.

"Logan...?"

His eyes widened a bit as he turned around, and he looked like he had seen a ghost, hell in his world you were, along with everyone else. Everyone was silent, even Deadpool was for once was quiet as he had both hands on his face realizing the look you both shared as you walked up to Logan.

"Y/n..."

You looked into his eyes and saw in them nothing but pain and anguish. The sight of you being alive and well was almost too much for him. And the sound of your name coming off his lips made you shiver. it had been so long since you heard your name said like that.

'I'm a little surprised you know me..." He stepped a little closer as you spoke seeing the same dog tags he wore in his early years. He never would give those away lightly. He knew what you meant to him in your universe. You looked over your shoulder at the others and whispered to Logan.

"We will speak later..." you looked up at him as he nodded in agreement. But before you stepped away you felt him grab your wrist for a moment, you saw his fingers wrap around to touch your pulse. He just needed to know you were actually here and alive and not a damn illusion or hallucination. He let your wrist go as you walked over to Gambit and spoke with him for a moment. Wade snuck in and whispered to Logan.

"If you were waiting for the opportune time to finally get some action in the last 200 years of your life...that was it."

"Will you shut the hell up?!"

"Never. For I am Marvel Jesus and my words are holy."

Logan rolled his eyes as he took another bottle of whiskey as he listened to the made up plan Wade made half assed. As he leaned against the wall chugging down the bottle his eyes couldn't help but wonder to you, and neither could you. Both your glances would met causing you to blush and him to smirk to himself knowing all too well the effect he was having on you.

After the plan was formed and the sun was beginning to set, Blade and gambit decided to have a few drinks together as Elektra was sharpening her twin blades as she watched Laura practicing on the dummies with her own blades. You on the other hand were looking around for Logan, you closed your eyes using your seismic sense, you could see the vibrations in everyone movements and could differ who was who from the the difference is each one, not even Wade was able to surprise you as he popped out form behind leaning a arm against the doorway.

"You looking for a certain beast."

"More like I already found him. Wade. Can I ask you a question about him?"

"Yes, he likes the rough play."

"How do you...never mind..."

'Oh come now child, all confessions to the Marvel Jesus shall be heard."

"Why is he with you?"

Wade was silent as he looked around like he could get stabbed any moment. He moved you into the hall and spoke carefully.

"In his world he's the fucking worst, like everyone died, but now he's here trying to fix it with me cause I made an educated wish. He knows how to save people. And we need him."

"An educated wish?"

"yeah yeah I know. but listen... he spoke of you, and how the last thing he saw that made him loss all hope was seeing you dead in his arms. In my world he was the definition of a hero, and now...we are gonna fucking fix everything."

You sighed. You sensed this Logan was different, but to know you had died in his world. You looked up at Wade and smiled.

"In my world, he died long ago, but Laura told me everything that happened, how he lost so much, the pain of losing all those he loved. Rose, Kayla, Jean, Atsuko, But no matter what, he kept fighting. Every time he uses those claws he feels physical pain, but every night he is haunted by nightmares. I'm sure this Logan faced many pains like mine. But his eyes were the same. The same eyes I fell in love with."

"Jeez, you sound like a poet now, well why don't you go find him and give him a ballad he will never forget."

"I think he got enough fun time with you in that car, from what Laura says, there was clearly some fun times going on there."

"I never kiss and tell honey." Wade said as heard a whistle seeing Gambit motioning him over for a drink. You smirked as Blade groaned as Wade walked up to them saying how he was gonna show them a good time. Whatever inuendo he meant by that.

You looked outside and saw at the campfire near the car, both Logan and Laura were speaking to each other, you smiled at the sight as you walked over and saw Laura look at you and smiled as she placed a hand on Logan's shoulder. He looked at her and nodded to her as he looked back at the fire in front of him. You flipped your cloak over the log and sat beside him as he offered you the bottle of whiskey for a sip but you declined.

"Not a hard liquor kind of girl."

He smirked as he remembered, it had been so long since he had spoken to you, to see you again after so long. It was almost unnerving for him, but he still was for once is his miserable long life, glad to see you again.

"You wanted to talk earlier. I'm gonna assume you have questions?" He said as he threw the empty bottle toward the fire.

"I only wanted to ask how you knew me in your world, but Wade seems to have painted a uneasy but clear picture for me."

Logan gave a sharp eyed glance at Wade as he groaned in annoyance. He looked at you and glanced down at the dog tags you wore around your neck.

"I gave those to you, I mean I personally didn't but your version...fuck you know what I talking about right?"

"it's alright Logan, from what I can tell you and me were both together in both universes, but fate decided, we didn't belong."

"Fate has nothing to do with it."

"You don't believe in it?"

"No I don't, my version of you died and your version of me died. We got the short end of the stick but look at both of us now. No one gets the chance to see their loved ones again...this is all because of that asshole." He smirked pointing over his shoulder to Wade.

"Better not let him hear you, he'll never stop talking about it then."

You both chuckled at the horrifying thought, it had been a long time since you laughed, hell since you felt any joy at all. After all this time you were finally given the chance to see him again, to hear his voice. You looked at him and brought a hand up to his.

"Can I hold your hand?"

He said nothing as he held out his hand as you took off the gloves he was wearing and held your hand in his. The everlasting scars on his hands from his claws slightly showed, even with a healing factor as great as his you come see them. His hand warm to the touch and slightly rough, no doubt from all the fighting and hard labor he did in the past. You closed your eyes as your seismic sense could feel the metal underneath, it was there you could see all the wounds he took, his adamantium skeleton though healed to others, you saw micro fractures everywhere. Every break and every cut he suffered. Clear as day.

You had your hand roam up his muscular arm causing you to blush a little as you saw a familiar break in his bone. It matched exactly to how your Logan got it.

"This was from Sabertooth. Your brother. He came after you one night and had me by the throat trying to hold leverage over you. You fought him and in-between all the cuts and gashes, he managed to break your arm....and that when I used my powers on him. And in so doing...I hurt you as well.

You remembered how your seismic sense caused the metal bones in his body to vibrate and caused pain for him as each bone hit the other. You were still trying to control your powers at this point, but you remembered feeling awful after Sabertooth fled.

Logan looked at you and saw the matching scar along your neck. The same one his version had.

"I remember that night...but if I recall, or at least with my version of you. The night had a lot of exercise and no sleep."

You looked at him and laughed to yourself. He wasn't wrong

"Yeah it was...sorry this is just so...surreal." you said letting go of his hand but he still left the gloves off. You smirked at him as you took off your cloak, the heat from the fire was making you warm. Or at least you thought in that moment. You looked over at the others and saw they were retiring for the night. Wade of course gave you a wink as he blew a kiss to Logan as he helped a very drunk Gambit into the base. Both sights causing you to laugh to yourself. Logan looked at you with small smile.

You smirked as you looked at him once more this time give him a curious look.

"So...I have to ask. Am I...anything like your version. I'm sure we had some differences but I am curious."

He said nothing as he looked at you bring a hand to move a loose stand away from your face as he spoke.

"No matter what universe...your perfect."

You blushed hard as watched him move his hand away for a moment. He fingers flexed with want, he knew it had been...well forever since he felt any affection. But this ...this was different.

"I suppose we should get some rest, after all, it will be a long fight." You said standing up for a moment before looking at him.

But Logan didn't move, something you sensed in him was causing him to stay put as he looked at the fire and then turned to you. You saw him look away from you for a moment, you sat back down and leaned your head closer to him.

"Are you alri-" your words were cut off when you felt his hand grab a hold of your chin and his lips met yours. A thousand sparks seem to go on at once, your eyes closed as you wrapped your arms around his neck instinctively. It had been so long...so long since you had been kissed by him. You felt his other hand grip the back of your head becoming lost in your hair. You felt a small twinge of pain on yours lips as you knew they would be sore if it continued. He stopped himself catching his breath as he opened his eyes to look at you with a small bit of regret in his eyes.

"Logan..."

"I can't. It feels wrong. Like we are cheating...on each other."

You looked away for a moment. He wasn't entirely wrong. But you when you looked up at him you knew that what you were feeling was only for him. You sighed as you brought both hands to either side of his face making his breathing heighten as well as his want that you could in-between both of you.

"Logan, I love you. No matter what universe, no matter what version of us. I know across the entire multiverse. I only love you. No other." You gave a kind smile as you kissed his cheeks and then brought the kids to his lips as you brought your arms around his neck.

The defense in his body shattered in that instance. His arms wrapped around you tightly as he kissed you back harder and rougher. Even a small growl escaped his throat. Every kiss he gave felt divine as he paused for a moment looking around. You were about to inquire but before you could he grabbed you hand and led you away from fire, leading you into the woods. He stopped when he couldn't hear or smell the others and turned to look at you.

"Did we have to go so far?"

"I'm not letting that walking pain in the ass interrupt us." He said as he pulled you against his body. But still giving you a chance to turn him down.

You smirked as you grabbed a hold of his x men uniform with both hands, pulling him in close to you and kissed him. For a few moments, Logan didn't react. He felt himself quickly start to feel faint. This wasn't what he had expected you to do, but it certainly wasn't unwelcome.

His thoughts wondered to how long he had wanted this. It felt like eons since he felt this way for anyone. After everything that happened to him, he barely dared to hope. But now, with the feeling of your soft lips on his... they were so soft. His mind couldn't help too imagine how that luscious mouth of yours would feel elsewhere. He would give anything to know. Every moment your lips met his, you sensed his whole body tensing up. You expected him to quickly push you away and perhaps admonish the both of you for going too far. You then felt him move. You broke the kiss and started to let go of his suit, when to your surprise, you felt him wrap his arms around you and pull you in tightly, bringing your mouth back up to his for more.

He kissed you deeply, his lips quickly parted yours, giving you one passionate kiss after another. Despite the roughness of his skin, the ever so slight growth of facial hair brushing against your own, his lips were surprisingly soft even given his outer appearance and gruff personality.

Though the two of you should have been quiet, you soon found yourselves moaning softly into each other's mouths. Feeling a bit faint, you wrapped your arms around his neck for support as you felt you were starting to lose strength in your legs. He in turn held you closer to him, though it wasn't enough for him. The woods started to become filled with the sounds of deep breaths and lips parting and meeting again.

Before you knew it, you felt a nearby tree hit your back. With his mouth still on yours, he pushed himself up against you. He reached down, took your left leg and placed it around his waist. Causing you to moan in loud volume but you couldn't care.

With your arms still around his neck, he soon had you pinned to the tree looking down at you with lust filled eyes. The both of you should have been listening for any rogue variants or maybe any other unknown dangers but the only sounds that filled your ears were the erotic sounds that the two of you were making together

With you hanging onto him for dear life, his hands were free to do as he saw fit. One was busy holding your leg up, the other was braced against the tree.. His thoughts wandered to the string cords on your clothes. They wandered further, imagining what garments might be underneath.

He brought his hand down against your back kissing you even harder and rougher

You wouldn't have noticed if you had not suddenly felt the sweet sensation of his leather gloved hand starting to caress your tender neck.

"Fuck..." He said. You whimpered lightly as you felt him glide his fingers along your skin. All the times you had imagined him caressing you came to the forefront, making you forget everything else.

While keeping one arm around his neck, you took his hand in yours. He started to wonderif it was too much. That concern soon vanished the moment he felt you place his hand on your breast.

“Keep going.”

Logan let his hand wander up and down. Your own free hand wandered over his chest, over the hero suit and even the thin clothes that he wore underneath. Reaching further down to his waist, your fingers found his belt, which you attempted to do with one hand, but no luck.

Still your want to please him grew as you brought your hand back down to his waist. You couldn't get the belt loose, but you definitely could manage to get your hand inside his trousers. He moaned louder than ever before as he felt your hand venture down his navel and towards his very hard cock. The closer you got, the more his breath shortened. He was beyond eager to feel you take him in your hand.

The moment he felt you grasp him, he broke the kiss, gasping deeply as he felt your soft hand move up and down the length of him. It had been so long since someone had pleasured him like this, he almost came undone right there and then.

He buried his face in your neck, kissing you up, down and across, becoming more and more aroused hearing you moan just for him. His breathed deepened as he felt you continue to work his length in such a pleasurable way.

Logan was doing his best to center his thoughts, but with you pinned between him and the tree, it was all but impossible. He grabbed your waist and pulled you closer. As you looked up at him you realized how his gaze was focused on your face. He eyes filled with what looked to be lust and sorrow. He kissed you deeply, slipping his tongue into your mouth as his thumb stroked your cheek. He pulled away after a moment and looked at you with eyes full of adoration. “I missed you, Y/N.” he whispered before pulling you into another kiss.

You knew what he meant, you both had missed this feeling after so long. It was the one good thing you both felt in many years. In this moment being different versions didn't matter.

You reached your hands to his belt and undid it quickly looking him deep in the eyes. as you wrapped your palm around his now hard member. You squeezed and jerked on him while kissing him with tongue.

Logan growled into the kiss as you started to jerk him off. Every few seconds he would purr before returning to kiss your lips. He missed you so much that just a bit of your touch made him rock hard.

You gently pushed him down onto the ground, trying to be careful to not hurt him. The soft grass giving you both some comfort and the cool air making both of you feel a rush of excitement. You tugged his pants down and pumped his shaft few times before taking him in your mouth.

Logan gasped and looked down on you. “Fuck, Y/N.” He moaned quietly before moving his hand into your hair to gain some of the control over your movement. He bucked his hips to push himself deeper into your throat, he was desperate for any feeling.

You pulled him out of your mouth to lick the vein along the side. You sucked the tip before sucking it back into you mouth and bobbing head quickly back and forth making a popping noise as you catch your breath. Your free hand gripped at his other hand causing you to intertwine each other hands as you deep-throated him.

“Fuck.” He gasped and rolled his head back into the lush grass. You felt him grab your hair and your head down closer, pushing his cock as deep as possible. He emptied himself into your throat and sighed loudly. “I forgot how much I missed the feel of your mouth around me.” He teased you.

“Logan” you said as you slipped out of your pants and panties and straddled his bearded face. “If you’ll be a good boy, you’ll get the grand prize,” you informed.

Logan growled lowly as he removed the rest of his suit. You smiled as he wrapped his arms around your hips, pulling you down to place gently kisses on your clit and lips. First, he played with you by sucking your lips gently before pushing just the tip of his tongue past your lips. Soon he started to eat you at like a hungry beast.

“Oh...fuck. Logan ahhhh.,” your head rolled back as the pleasure was already unbearable. You'd wanted this after so long. You craved him and his touch, he was spinning your head round. You bucked your hips quickly trying to get more friction while you reached your hand back to jerk over his yet hard again member.

Just when you thought the pleasure was at its peak you suddenly felt him pressing his face to your heat, pushing his tongue deeper into you. One of his hand moved from your hip to your entrance. You saw as he looked up at you before he started pushing two fingers into you. Now he was eating you out while fingering you.

“Fuck oh my god,” you grunted feeling your eyes rolling into the back of your head as you continued to try your best jerking harder at his cock. Soon, you got felt a wave of euphoria as you came on his face. He adjusted so he could lean upward as he brought you down to kiss his lips, you tasted your wetness on them. He wrapped his arms around you causing you to straddle his lap as he guided his cock right to your entrance, he looked at you once more before the pleasurable pain you felt causing you both to moan as his cock entered, he growled.

"Fucking hell, you pussy is sucking me in so hard."

He smiled and gladly kissed you as he started to buck his hips into you while gripping hard onto one of your breasts. You knew in the morning there would be marks, he started kissing and biting your neck as his fingers played with your hardened nipple as he slammed into even harder.

Your entrance convulsed when his cock twitched against it. It was needy for anything, gaping and closing on repeat. He chuckled as he felt it.

“Just like that Logan...fuck...ah...make me cum...around your sweet cock,” you moaned into his ear as your nails dug into his shoulders causing red marks to appear making him growl in both pain and pleasure as he moved his lips away before biting at your lips and kissing you even harder than before. You bucked your hips for him as well, his cock was spreading your inner walls more and more with every thrust.

Logan purred as his hand traveled to your clit to rub gently circles there. His thrusts became deeper and faster. You cried out when you engulfed all of him and his face snuggled into the crook of your neck to bring you comfort. An embarrassing, dragged out whine slipped past your lips as you took more of his thick girth.

"God, yes, yes, yes!,” You suddenly felt your back hit the ground as his well toned muscled body towered over you as you threw your head back in an outburst of pleasure that overwhelmed your body. Cold shivers ran down your spine. He took both your leg and placed them above his hips, his hand traveled to your clit to continue his fun while he fucked into you even harder and rougher than before.

You watched the way your hole eagerly swallowed his cock from below. It was fast and passionate as he finally fucked you onto his cock, groaning lowly into your ear.

It was easy for him to lift you due to his strength, he would undeniably be able to snap you in half if he really wanted to. A few more pumps, then he muttered.

"Sorry if you wanted to keep it this way." He followed you as he pulled you up onto all fours, his muscled arm wrapped tightly around your waist. Using his forearm for support, a tortuous pull out occurred once again before he snapped your hips together.

You choked out a moan as you pulled your hips back in response. He inhaled sharply and continued rocking his hips with yours. His girth blissfully stretched you out, his cock rubbing against that one spot. His torso emitted heat and as much as it left you in a blissful daze, his reckless hips provided a merciless pounding, the studs gliding against your walls only added more pressure and need to arch your back.

"Y/n...fuck your so tight."

Despite the heat, the overwhelming pleasure, the man behind you, it all just wasn't enough. You wanted to rake your fingers through his thick hair and tug, watch his beautifully flushed face and blazed eyes, run your hands all over his chiseled body.

So, you whimpered and grabbed the arm securing you. "I wanna see you—" A harsh thrust had you biting back a moan and interrupting a thought-out yet simple phrase, that took so much time to piece together when all you had was Logan's name and dick carved into your mind.

A grunt was let out into your ear, a moment later, his hips melded with yours and his thrusting halted. He loosened his grip on you and you rolled over to face him, your hands latching onto his hair in an instant as you brought him closer. A humiliating cry fucked out of your throat. You threw your hands to his back as a reflex.

The veins along his chest and neck stand out, head lifting slightly off the ground as his fingers grip tighter at your chest, his cheeks flush red and his lips part again as he growls deep, guttural sounds. Then, you feel his dick inside you pulse, his strong hips lock into yours as he spasms and spills, his cum hot and thick as you continue to move. He throws his head back again then, jaw dropped as he moans, his eyes squeezed shut and body trembling in time with the spurts of his seed within you.

Oh, my sweet—" You almost purr, trailing your hands along his forearms, still rocking your hips slightly as you come into his space, lips trailing along the curve of his jaw. He leaned his head down to you placing his forehead against yours taking deep breathes

"You're gorgeous."

You blush profusely as he chuckles, his hands sliding down to your ass, you press kisses against the underside of his chin until he finally tilts his head down and allows your mouth to cover his. You kiss him languidly, dipping your tongue between his lips, breathing each other's air, feeling his fingers squeeze at your pillowy flesh as he eventually lifts his legs and uses the bit of leverage to thrust his still hard cock slowly in and out. Your whole body shutters beneath him, feeling his cum begin to overflow, sliding wet down the backs of your thighs, and you shiver.

"You haven't come." He mumbles against your lips.

You smooth your hands up over his cheeks, forehead and all the way up to his hair, lifting from your lover's lips to smile slyly up at him.

"Would you hate me if I asked you to keep going?"

Logan groans, his hands shifting down to your hips. his length shifting inside you and you gasp as you're pressed harder into the grass, your legs winding around his hips.

"After 200 years...you may be the death of me."

"Death by fucking too much? There are worse ways to go." You hum happily as the he takes your hands in his and stretches your arms above your head to pin them down against the ground, his weight crushing you, forcing his cock deeper inside. You whimper and your eyes roll, toes curling at how entirely full you feel.

"A—ah, fuck—?"

His grip tightens around your hands and he pulls his hips back until he's almost the entire way out before he slams his sensitive cock back into your pussy. You feel his cum pushing out of you, pushing deeper inside you, each movement causing his entire body to shudder and tremble as he fights through his overstimulation to please you. You reward him with unabashed sounds of satisfaction, your heels digging into the backs of his thighs to urge him on, your hips bucking up to meet his thrusts. Knowing all too well the want to not get caught left your minds from the start.

Logan lowers himself, his entire body encompassing yours with its size as he rocks his hips into you, his dick twitching within your clenching walls, loud, almost pained sounds of unbelievable pleasure muffled against your neck as he feels you unravel around him. You reach your peak, it hits you hard, you turn your face into the crook of his neck as mouth opens in a soundless scream of euphoria.

You don't know when it happens, but all at once somewhere in the middle of your moaning, Logan makes a wounded noise and you're flooded once again with seed, delirious and writhing beneath him as you take it. You hear the sound of his claws unsheathed as his hips trust more and more until he's empty and your completely full.

He finally releases your hands and slumps on top of you, careful not to completely crush you underneath him, but curling into you and holding tight. You throw your arms around him, breathing erratic as you pulse through your climax, threading your fingers through his hair and clutching him to your body as you feel his smile against your collarbone.

No words are said as the scent of sex and sweat permeates around the two of you. Both of you holding each other for some time, enjoying the post orgasmic bliss. Lips meet meld into lazy kisses, noses pressed against each other. Both of you share breath as you kiss, too exhausted to pull apart.

HIs muscular arms envelope your body, cradling you protectively. Together relishing in the feeling of the rise and fall of the the others chest, both familiar and new.

You feel your eyes flutter closed, easing into Logan's warm embrace.

The next time your eyes open, the sun almost over the horizon. You look around to see Logan is no where in sight. You wondering where he could have gotten to, you sat up looking over toward the sound of the others at the base.

The sound of the others reaches the small woods, conversation just barely too far off to be made out. You see Logan walking into the clearing with a large bucket of warm water and a wash rag with him.

"Logan...are you-"

Before you can speak he takes one of your hands and begins to press the warm damp fabric against your skin. His motion is slow and purposeful. You couldn't help but sigh. Your Logan was always surpassing your expectations of a lover. Here he was, it may not be your Logan caring for you, but in a way you couldn’t have dreamt of asking this from him.

He looks at you seeing a hint of tenderness in your eyes. Soon your guided to twist to face away from him, his strong arms pressing the warm cloth against your sore muscles and long healed scars.

You moaned sighs at the sensation, he takes care to clean every surface of your body. His eyes are focused, consumed wholly in this act of love. You watch him. Adoration and love builds up in your chest at the ways his eyebrows crease and his eyes focus.

You turn your body back to face him, both of you shareing a longing look. He sees into your very person, and you into his. His eyes drift between your legs, and worry enters his mind.

“I - lost myself in the moment. I shouldn't have done that.”

You placed an affectionate hand over your lower belly with a subtle smile.

“Don't worry Logan, I'm not upset. It felt good in the moment." He moves in closer as you lie back down against the grass, spreading her legs for him. You feel the warm rag against you, the touch isn’t sexual, But rather filled with the same love and care it had pressed into her skin just a moment before.

"I don’t regret it at all.” You say as you pull him to lay beside you.

"Do you?" You asked as you felt your heart beat quicken. With a sigh and a smile he combs out your hair with his fingers, moving the loose strands of hair away from your face.

"Never."

You relaxed as you felt him melting in your arms, content beyond all measure, whispering words of love and devotion in your ear.

"We should probably head back soon, otherwise Wade may find us."

"If he does he can fuck off." Logan said pulling you in closer as you chuckled to yourself. You smiled up at him as you brought your head against his chest, a few more hours would be alright, at least for now.

#logan howlett x reader #deadpool and wolverine #wolverine x reader #wolverine smut #smut under cut #minors dni #enjoy

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