#stringing fate along

[blue-moon-speaks-of-echos]

Lua lay sprawled out on the bean bag chair, her tail flicking. "I'm bored."

Raven looked up at her. She was tired, black hair falling into her eyes, and she needed a break, so she relented. "How about we play a game? There's playing cards in the cabinet."

Lua perked up, grabbing the cards and crouching on the floor in front of the coffee table. She looked at Raven expectantly as they opened the deck and began to shuffle. Pale hands moved with expertise as the card were thoroughly mixed until even the most perceptive could not have tracked where they lay.

Raven set the neatly shuffled deck onto the table. "We'll each draw one, lay them down, whoever has the higher value card wins. We go until we've drawn the whole deck."

"That simple? What's the trick?" Lua drew her card and laid it down, curious. Queen of hearts.

"There is no trick. It's just luck." Raven drew their card and set it down. Seven of spades. "You hold on to those two so we can keep track of the score."

They played until the deck ran out. Slowly, Raven's weariness wore away, her eyes soft and lips turned in the ghost of a smile. Cards were drawn and placed in a steady rhythm, backdropped by Lua's triumphant squeals and giggles, as well as her disappointed hisses and boos. There was no other oddities on the table, no smell of burning strings on the corkboard as they played.

Lua ended up winning by seven rounds. "I didn't actually think I'd win."

"You got luckier than I did. That's just how it goes." Raven pat Lua's head.

"But you're so smart, and can do magic stuff, and change the future, I didn't think you needed luck. You could just win, I wouldn't complain, I just like playing."

Raven pulled her partner into her lap. "Sometimes, relying on luck is nice. Its good to take a break, to give up control." They smiled. "And I also don't mind losing.

[mitskiluvr]

“akechi doesn’t like joker!!! he tried to kill him!!! he doesn’t like him!!!” okay AND??? obviously YOU don’t understand the homoromanticism of killing the person you’re in love with … don’t make that MY problem

[appalamutte]

wow i have literally never realized how true it is that love drives you mad

[vegley]

hi guys i am pretty bored

[blue-moon-speaks-of-echos]

The parlor was low-lit, dark curtains hung along the walls, and equally dim furniture, mahogany woods and black cloths and leathers, decorated the small room. Raven sat on one couch in front of a coffee table, shuffling a deck of cards. Their partner, Lua, lay curled in a bean-bag chair, brought into the space specifically for her comfort.

Raven drew three cards and laid them out. Dissatisfied, she picked up her corkboard, strung it, burned the string, then cleaned it off and collected the cards back into the deck. Meanwhile, Lua occupied herself by sifting through the bottom drawer of a cabinet. Inside was a coin on a string, a blue gem, a notebook, a candle, and an audio tape. Interested, she grabbed the notebook and opened it up, skimming the words to see if any of the contents were interesting. Her ears twitched when her eyes found the word 'hypnosis'. Lua reached into the drawer of knick-knacks and grabbed the coin on the string, waving it in front of her face and following the pendulum motion with here eyes.

Noticing what Lua was doing, and finished with their previous activities, Raven watched for a moment before getting up and moving around to stand over her. They took the string from Lua's hands, teasing her about taking interest in hypnosis, then offering to show her how hypnosis actually worked. Knowing Raven would never hurt her, Lua's intrigue drove her to agree.

Lua came to, feeling tired. She was laying in the chair, memory of the day shrouded in a haze, as if she hadn't bothered perceiving anything for a while. Raven entered the room holding a mug that had been in the sink since the morning, pinching her cheek and talking about how good of a maid she is.

[wavesoutbeingtossed]

The "yeah I showed up at your party" chapter is also interesting because Betty / The 1 / Mirrorball / TLGAD / Invisible String / Cardigan also have a recurring theme of being misunderstood and/or punished for your choices, wanting desperately someone to see you for who you really are, never quite feeling accepted and seeking love where it might not ever be fully returned in the way you wanted or hoped...

[fire-but-ashes-too]

HIIII I NEED HELP

sooo im making a civics projects

basically we have to make a mock-campaign as if we were running for mayor in our town

its completely free and i made a powerpoint + a vision board cause why not

BUT I DONT HAVE A TITLE/NAME FOR IT AND IM NOT PRESENTING WITH "CAMPAIGN FOR MAYOR OF *MY CITY*". NOPE. ABSOLUTELY NOT. I HAVE A REPUTATION.

soooo this is the board i mentioned earlier

idk if u have any ideas?? something?? im desperate lol

[niuxita21]

Jimena! Amanda! Are you OK? Yes, we're OK. And it's thanks to you.

[theonescreencap]

ok i'm jumping ahead again bc these aren't screencaps i would post on their own but THIS IS SO INTERESTING...... ever since we first learn about raftel and how it's at "the end" of the grand line i've been wondering how no one's found it in twenty years. once again this story's ability to build on past lore in an effective way really shines

i don't have any theorycrafting to do but i wonder if they'll be able to find all four road poneglyphs without having to "do it all over again"? or if this "final saga" of the story will kinda be about that?

and i like the sound of "a journey beyond the end" it really gets across that feeling of a grand adventure and how this is something you have to REALLY WANT in order to achieve

[runekept]

gotta post it here where she can't see because I'll get embarrassed but. man. my best friend and I have been joined at the hip since high school and I still sometimes have to fight back tears when I think about her because I know everything will work out as long as we're together

[skitskatdacat63]

Yeah I feel like both sides have their reasons for why they feel that sort of way. I understand why some people are averse since it does feel like an end of an era and I’m sure I’d feel that sort of way when the time comes for alonso (even if I’m deluding myself otherwise lol). But then I feel like you should consider what it means for the driver. Would public opinion be swayed if a driver that clearly idolised the retired driver took their number? I don’t know honestly. All I’m just feeling is that I believe Gabi will do a good job and I wish him best with the number

— Penalanon (red string of fate but it’s actually the number we won the championship with)

I'm ultimately fine with him taking it, because it's not too big a deal to me, but omg can I say? I would personally NEVER attach myself to the number a former wdc had, I would feel like people would have high expectations lmao. Though maybe it'll be a good luck charm, considering how many good drivers have held the #5 at one point or another :) We don't know anyways why he's picked it yet, right? I'm curious! I am rooting for all the rookies, I'm genuinely so excited that the grid will have so many new faces, even if it is starting to feel like the end of an era lately.

On a personal level regarding numbers, I still can't believe George and I both "share" a number, what the hell. It's such a specific number! And our birthdays are the same day...am I secretly George Russell...?

[lily-bisque]

running into him years after you’d lost your virginity’s to one another

flimsy hands, awkward stares, and teeth bumping into each other in the backseat of his dad’s old beat up van. you were young, fresh faced, and so was he.

an asshole of a center for the highschool hockey team that made your heart bloom on first glance despite his aloof demeanor. and lucky for you, the indifferent salmon haired boy had his eyes set on you from the start as well.

and what was a blossoming, delinquent love affair turned stolen kisses and quiet confessions after class continued to ring deep in the recesses of your heart for years to come, something adolescent and pure to adorn it.

he'd come prepared that fateful day, and you could feel in the air that today was going to be different. he wasn’t a gentle-mouthed boy, always quick to insult and speak. but with you, he opened up a different part of himself. words and gestures reserved for just you. and even if he was your first love, you always knew there was something real there.

that was, until the… deflowering.

you don’t like to think back on it too much as it was your last encounter, fearing it shaped the course of your romance together. he was obviously just as inexperienced as you, but you’d still expected a hell of a lot more.

it was quiet, muttered apologies and winces, curses of frustration under his breath when his belt snagged, limbs bumping into leather and fabric rustling against each other.

he’d only lasted around 15 seconds before it was over.

and now, six years later at a highschool reunion, you’d prayed you wouldn’t run into that familiar brute of a man to avoid any blunders.

but he was there alright.

standing nearly seven feet over the crowd of your old classmates, drink in hand as he shoved the other in his jean pocket.

you couldn't help the stammer of your heart, seeing how grown he looked after all this time. he had tattoos decorating both arms in thick lines, and a few even lining on his face.

he looked infuriatingly good; like a piece of cake your mother made, telling you that you can't eat it but when it looks so good sitting there, you're tempted for just a taste.

it was a hot summer night, sun low and a feverous and stifling temperature to match the low pace of music. decorations were just a few speckled foldable tables at a park outside your old highschool with party favors, coolers, and a couple of grills going along with a bar.

nostalgia flittered in the air with smoke, quiet chatter as everyone caught up, picking up just where they’d left off in this small town.

you kept your head down, focused on the conversation of your old friend group as they giggled about how their jobs were going or something else you weren’t really listening to.

howbeit, it was almost inevitable, that red string of fate that tied the two of you together.

because, within moments of him spotting you in the crowd thanks to his birds eye view, you felt a couple of meaty fingers tap against your shoulder.

grimacing like you were bracing for impact, you turned around as your friends conversation stalled for a moment, watching as you greeted him.

“hey,” he gruffed out, the smallest hint of relief and melancholy swirling in his crimson irises.

“hi ‘kuna,” you whispered back, feeling like you were back in high school with that nickname he only let you call him, the smallest hint of alcohol coursing through your veins and making every hair stand on end.

noticing the awkwardness, he placed a hand on the small of your back and led you towards the bar and away from the watchful eyes and ears from your friends, not without earning a few glances from familiar faces.

“how’ve you been?” he quiered, his tone a hell of a lot deeper, huskier than you’d remembered. he’d definitely grown into himself.

“good,” you nodded, pursing your lips and stopping at the bar counter, setting your drink down, ignoring how your heart was in your throat and your eyes felt wide. “what about you?”

he cocked his head, mulling it over, before nodding again. “good.”

it’s a hick-old town, and most of the gossip you’ve already heard.

but sukuna was different in that sense. you knew he was still at his families old ranch, yet you’d never once run into him or heard a lick of gossip.

maybe that was due to you working in the city after graduation, or his reserved nature.

“how’s the city life?” he asked, as if reading your mind.

you let out a gentle chuckle, soft and airy, something he had forgotten the sound of after all this time. “it’s a lot,” you stated honestly, toying with the stem of your glass. “but i like it.”

he hummed, leaning an arm against the bar and giving you a once-over. “you look real nice.”

the smile that made its way to your heated cheeks was nothing short of genuine. “could say the same for you.”

and after nearly an hour of catching up with inappropriate nudges and yearning gazes, you found yourself straddling him in that same beat up van you had just years before, only now it seemed he done some real repairs on it.

it was sleek red with brand new leather seats, black rims and a new dashboard. it was nothing like the old car you were so used to seeing outside your bedroom window whenever he'd pick you up before school.

his mouth was latched to your throat, trailing love bite after love bite, thighs rubbing against the fabric of his blue jeans, your hands clutching at his lumberjack-style flannel for some semblance of grounding.

but his large hands were everywhere, feeling you up and committing everything to memory as if he failed miserably the first time. cupping the mounds on your chest, gripping the plush underside of your thighs, caressing your nape with each passionate kiss.

“missed this," he huffed, squeezing your hip and you let out a whine, tossing your head back and placing your hand against the window. after all those years of chopping wood or wrangling cattle, his muscles were what he had to show for it. he was insanely ripped.

you hummed, then moved your fingers to skim through his hair, gyrating your pelvis against his hip.

that earned an impatient growl from him, bunching your sundress in his hands and sliding your now-damp panties to the side. his finger pad teased your entrance, collecting the pooling slick, before pushing it's way in.

you shuddered in his grasp, feeling how he slipped so easily inside of you, evidence of how easily he turned you on, and began working you open. he then pushed another digit in to create scissoring motions that had you spinning.

in your sukuna-induced trance, you missed the smug grin he had on his face as he watched you work your way towards unraveling yourself on his hand.

grinding your hips onto his palm, he pulled your waist down to match his thrusts of his curling fingers up and into you, rubbing that tender spot over and over that you began to whine out heady moans of his name.

"s'kuna," you whimpered, biting your lip and not even caring about the way you made his car rock in your old high school parking lot.

"missed you, too," he sighed out finding that sweet spot on your collarbone and biting down as the tips of his long fingers prodded your cervix.

before you had the chance to reach your peak, he pulled out, leaving you empty and throbbing. he slipped his fingers into his mouth and made a lewd scene of cleaning it up, not letting a drop go to waste.

you could only watch, maw slack as something coiled in your gut, forming a taut knot only he could undo.

leaning back, he brushed a strand of tresses behind your ear and admired your flushed state. "just as beautiful as i remember," he hummed, eyeing you carefully.

you placed a hand against the tent in his pants, palming him with a pressure that had him biting his lip. "and what do you remember?" you teased, fingers working at his belt buckle.

he grinned, watching you work to free his shaft, which was a hell of a lot larger than you remember. the girth had your mind spinning. "remember how much of a brat i was to fuck things up with you."

that had you glancing up and tilting your head, an adorable look he catalogued in his mind years ago. "you're not talking about..." you questioned, trailing off and wondering if he remembered your first time the same but his unfaltering expression was evidence enough. "we were just kids. we didn't know what the hell we were doing," you reassured, leaning forward to cup a cheek. you never blamed him for it.

he still has no idea how he let you get away.

but he'd be damned if he let it happen again.

"let me take care of you," he grunted, eyebrows crinkling with an impatience, as if he'd waited years to correct an error.

your gaze softened, before leaning forward to press a kiss against the seam of his lips. "well. if you can, this'll make up for the first."

[sunskisser]

bucky barnes who doesn’t trust unless it comes to you. whose eyes soften at the sight of you, because his heart knows that it’s okay to let his guard down. he believed the world always had its claws out to get him, until he fell straight into your gentle arms. he tells you the word love meant nothing to him until you came along.

bucky barnes who would live for you. the winter soldier would kill for anyone, the white wolf would die for anyone, but bucky would live for you. he’s never believed in fate, but if it wasn't destiny that brought you to him, he doesn’t know what it was. he thinks maybe it was all worth it, the trauma and the scars and the pain, if it all lead up to the moment when you told him i love you.

bucky barnes who searches for you even in nightmares, screams your name till his lungs burn with self-hatred. you’re his safe space, his home. he’s drawn back to wakefulness as soon as he feels your touch, the gentleness of your breath on his skin like an aching balm to his wounds. he’ll never stop apologising for the burden that comes with his affection, yet he won’t ever stop loving you.

bucky barnes who thinks of hurting you as no less than a sin. who believes even pulling out a single strand of your hair is a hundred times worse than every murder committed as the winter soldier. because what’s a few dozen people in comparison to his whole universe?

bucky barnes who wakes up a little earlier in the morning; not to see the sun rise, but to watch the soft rays dapple your face. he thinks you look angelic, the golden hue painting you in so much beauty that he feels blessed; wonders if he ought to start praying to gods he never once believed in.

bucky barnes who tells you he loves you more times than he can count. whose voice is hardened from years of tortured, ragged cries; but the word doll tumbles out of his lips like soft petals when he looks at you. he knows seven different tongues, and is fluent in every single one. he claims that none of them have the words to describe how you make him feel.

bucky barnes who kisses like a hungry dog, like there’s an ache in his soul that can only be filled by the feeling of your lips on his, skin to skin. he believes the sole purpose of his metal arm is to pin you to the wall. roughness is the only form of love he’s ever known.

bucky barnes who buys you everything you talk about in passing, who takes you out wherever your heart yearns to go, who kisses your knuckles with the softest touch of his lips. he inhales when you exhale at night to make space for the rise of your chest. he only ever holds your hand with his non-metal one so as to not hurt you. he traces your features while you sleep. he loves you with the full force of the word, because you’re his girl.

bucky barnes who could never unlove you, would never want to. even if the strings of his soul were tied to another, he would cut them off and run straight to you.

[moonlight-prose]

a request, if i may, of praising old man logan as he filfthly eats you out and it makes him combust the more you praise him? okay running away again

speak of her over my grave and watch how she brings me back to life

a/n: look at him taking off his glasses in absolute shock of this ask- no okay does old man logan have a praise kink? i would raise it higher and say every version of logan has a massive praise kink. this is a man who wants to know he's doing good in life. his love language is acts of service so he might get to hear a pretty thank you. also i'm not sorry for how feral this got. i have no explanation.

summary: he knew he loved you when your words begin to piece his heart back together. he knew he loved you when he flourishes at your praise. he knew he loved you when nothing in this world could matter but the sound of your voice telling him you love him too.

word count: 3k+

pairing: old man!logan x f!reader

warnings: EXPLICIT SO MINORS DNI, oral (f receiving), praise kink, logan is obsessed, dirty talk via reader, he is so pretty when he blushes, manhandling, cumplay, cumeating, overstimulation, crying, he's needy in this one, angst, tortured soul of an old man, reverence, religious trauma + greek mythology hints.

He can feel the strings of fate pull tight around his broken heart. In a failed attempt to draw him back together. To piece together an organ that barely beat for him anymore. He might have felt it once, before it broke. Before it gnarled itself like the branches of a dying tree, one half twisting away from the other in a desperate attempt of survival.

He deemed it a useless part of his body until you came along. You with your smile that held enough cloying sweetness to choke him as he stood helpless. Silently begging for you to say his name. To bring him back to life.

Whatever horrors that plagued his mind—endless nightmares that promised nothing but anguish—suddenly came crashing to a halt at the sight of you. So pretty in your denim jeans and velvet top. An angel seated in the center of a bar that held more filth than you deserved to be near. Logan couldn’t fathom that luck struck him this hard.

Not when death had already claimed his soul; notched yet another tally in the endless wall of people that came before.

He felt the dirt pack under his nails as he clawed his way out of the grave he put himself in. Years spent alone—a man lost to the ravages of time—had turned him bitter. With rough edges and biting words that stung far more than he intended. How could he believe he deserved to live after he contributed so much to the endless pool of blood that tainted his soul? How was he allowed such softness after biting off bits of brutality his whole life?

Logan was pretty sure he survived on borrowed time that had already run out. He could feel death breathe down his neck as the days went on. A reminder that what little of his life remained would be spent suffering. And he found that accepting it was easier than battling against the will of God, or whoever toyed with his lifeline.

It was far easier to die than find a reason to live.

Until you said his name.

Softly. Sweetly. Reverence wrapped in a tight grasp of need.

You brought him back from the edge—took his hand and refused to take no for an answer. You and the safety of your touch; the promise in your kiss. You dragged him into a life he didn’t earn; one that almost tasted too sweet—too sour.

After near a decade of being buried beneath the dirt, he felt himself collapse above ground and suck in his first real gasp of fresh air. Alive, once more. Hell spit him out with a vow of love and who was he to argue against it.

His fingers dug into your plush thighs, tugging them open to see what lay between. He marveled at their softness, eyes wide and awestruck at the sight of you spread beneath him. You practically glowed in the dim light of the bedside table. Yellow, musty, yet angelic when it caressed your body with its heavenly touch.

He wondered if this was real life; your nails digging sharply into his shoulders gave him the answer.

"Logan," you sighed, voice high with need.

The strings pulled taught. A vice like hold that drew him to you.

Maybe that's what this unutterable feeling was. The gnawing pit at the bottom of his heart. A greed he'd never indulged before—too afraid of what it might ask for next. He wasn't a man who asked for much. Rather someone that found himself far too content with nothing. But tonight he found his lips forming the words of a false prayer that his mother taught him as a child.

Hail the angel in his bed. Hail every good fucking thing you brought into his life.

His teeth sunk into your thigh, body jolting at your responding moan. Fingers dug into his hair, tugging at the mussed locks with a high pitched whine. You were a needy little thing, but Logan found he desperately wanted to be needed.

He smiled laving his tongue over the tender spot, working his way up to where you dripped for him.

So slick. So perfect.

Saliva filled his mouth. "What do ya want baby?"

Your chest heaved; he could feel the heat of your body under his palms. "Your m-mouth Logan."

His eyes trailed along your brow covered in a sheen of sweat. The room was thick with the humid air of the outside world. But that didn't deter him from craving your skin near his. The pressure of your thighs around his head a welcome weight. If he sunk his teeth in where the curve of your leg met your hip he knew he could draw out that soft choking noise he longed to hear on days spent driving alone.

If he had his way he'd crawl into you to seek your serenity straight from the source. He'd never divulge about the ache that chewed him up on the inside, but Logan wondered if you knew. Could you tell how much he craved you? How much he couldn't live without you.

When your glittering eyes met his, the resolve he spent years building cracked like glass. You peered into him as if he was a stained glass window. A god you were more than happy to worship.

"You want me to lick this pretty pussy?" Fuck, he sounded drunk off your taste already.

His mouth hovered over your throbbing clit, your scent now filling his senses. Overwhelming him with what he wanted most. But he needed to hear it. The lilt of your begging; the soft echo of your need that washed over him like soothing river water.

He couldn't live without it.

"Yes," you sobbed, thigh twitching.

The string sliced his heart open, blood pooling onto the white bed sheets. Oh what a sweet death your love made. Oh...what a bittersweet way to go.

He'd die right now if you asked him to. Hand over his heart on a silver platter if you so wished it. Maybe that made him far too gone for his own good, but Logan couldn't remember a time in his life where he got this. Safety. The hope of love burning far too bright and far too hot for him to fly near it.

Yet there he was. Icarus happily soaring in your sun like glow.

"I got ya honey," he murmured. "Gonna take care of what's mine."

You nodded frantically—tears welling up in your eyes. "You take care of me Logan."

The breath in his chest stuttered, eyes dark as the words fell past your swollen lips. He wanted to explain why his cock twitched against his stomach. Why he now leaked into the sheet with heavy panted breaths. But every time he came up short with the words needed to form an answer.

"Yeah I do sweetheart," he breathed. "Don't I?"

"Uh-huh."

"Take care of what belongs to me."

There was no warning when his hands dragged you closer with a rough tug, mouth closing over your clit with a desperate suck. A cry wrenched from your mouth, sparks sharply traveling down your spine. He licked through your slick with a growl. Hands an unbreakable press against your thighs.

The sight of your body bowed, mouth open for small gasped breaths that never came, snapped something in his mind. He was an old man. Well past his years. But the taste of your pussy along his tongue brought back a ferocity he often tamped down in his younger age. He felt the feral want claw at his chest, and answered it with a broken snarl.

Swallowing down every drop you gave him, he plunged his tongue into your entrance, thrusting messily until a smear of your shiny slick began to coat his mouth. It covered his cheeks and clung to the hair of his beard. He'd clean it out later, taste you on his tongue until he was aching for another go. But for now he was preoccupied with the way you cried for him.

"Oh fuck!" Your thighs trembled over his shoulders, hips canting down to drag yourself along his tongue. "So good."

He shuddered, eyes rolling back at the sound of your praise. You caught it within seconds, lips pulling into a breathless smile that left him gasping for air. His teeth nipped at your thigh briefly as his hips ground into the mattress below.

"You like that baby?" you breathed, thumb smearing your own slick against his cheek.

Something hot washed over his body. A needy sick and twisted ache that he'd never indulged in before. He wanted to be a good man to you; longed to be needed. And fuck if you didn't give him everything.

You were his walking wet dream. His future handed off and wrapped in a neat little bow.

"L-Love your tongue Logan-" A high gasp tore from your throat when he dived back in. Slurping at your clit with a heady moan as you dragged him closer. "Taking care of me so well."

His hips canted down into the bed, fucking his cock along the warmth of his stomach, as you gushed into his mouth again. Eyes zeroed in on your face, pupils dilated as he growled into your flesh. You no longer could see the man you loved, but the feral side he tamped down during the day. The animal he longed to release in your presence.

"Fuck I'm gonna cum."

His arms looped around your thighs and with a sharp yank, he had his face buried deep enough to suffocate himself. You sobbed an incoherent version of his name. Nails clawed at his shoulders, but Logan could feel the pulse of your clit under his tongue.

He sucked it into his mouth with a grunt, rolling it along his tongue as you trembled with the oncoming shocks of an orgasm that threatened to destroy you.

Tears dripped down your cheeks and Logan felt the satisfying part of his heart begin to stitch itself back together. The strings were tight enough to numb his pain. To quell the flare of agony.

That used to be all he knew, all he counted on most days. When there was nothing left and he'd propped the shovel in the dirt—his grave open and waiting—he stumbled right into your arms. He found his reason for living.

Heat curled around his spine as you shook with the impending orgasm—the stimulation on your clit practically debilitating. He grunted into your soaked flesh, eyes narrowed as he chased the release that pulled his stomach taut. But this wasn't for him to indulge in; this wasn't his pleasure.

So with a throaty moan you felt reverberate along your body, he scraped his teeth along your clit and watched as your body went stiff.

"Logan!" you cried, fingers scrambling for purchase on any part of him you could reach.

You gushed into his awaiting mouth, praises of it's so good, you're so good falling upon his ears like the whimpered prayers of a devout worshiper thanking your god.

"Taste so fuckin' good," he mumbled, drunk on what you gave him.

He didn't care that you were jolting with each pass of his tongue along your pussy. He didn't care that you were shocked with overstimulation, small broken cries of his name muffled by the press of your thighs against his ears. He licked at you until he couldn't breathe. Buried his tongue into your twitching entrance and sucked out your cum with a happy hum.

"P-Please." You tugged at his hair, pulling him off you with a sob. "I-I can't anymore Logan."

"'M not fuckin' finished," he said, eyes glazed and face coated in your slick.

You made a mess of his face. The light catching along where you spilled into his mouth and along his throat. And still he wanted more. He'd spend hours between your thighs, burning your skin with his beard, if it meant he could divulge in your sweetness.

"It hurts-"

A grunt rumbled in his chest, his arms tugging you back even as your feet kicked along his back. "Just one more honey. Yeah?"

You shook your head. "B-But-"

"Thought you said it was good."

"It is."

"Then lemme be good for you." He wanted to tell you that the world went quiet between your thighs. That all his grief, all his pain, lessened when you sobbed his name.

He wanted to show you the string that looped his heart to yours—the only thing keeping him alive—and thank you for bringing him back from the dead. But words weren't his forte. Violence had become the only tenderness he knew and you didn't deserve the rough edges of an old man. You should have more.

But when you let him touch you like this—caress your skin and lick between your folds—he felt as if he was a man who finally was worthy of someone as precious as you. He could pretend he didn't bear the brunt of a fucked up soul.

The weight on his chest lifted when your tear filled gaze met his and you nodded. Small, barely there, but it was enough for him to seal his mouth back over you with a ragged moan. Your body shook as his tongue slid through the seam of your pussy. The tip nudging against your clit—careful to draw the pleasure from your body slowly.

He didn't want to give you pain. His heart wouldn't survive that. But he was a broken man; someone who begged for more even as his teeth sunk into what was already given.

You were his meal. His sacrament in the midnight hours until dawn broke across the darkened sky. You were the other half of his soul.

How could he not indulge in your sweetened tang until his tongue went stiff?

"I love you," you sighed, eyes rolled back when he sucked at your pussy, a wet low moan echoing in the air. "My p-perfect husband."

The cold press of his wedding band against your thigh drove him over the edge. You weren't officially married. Didn't have the backyard wedding with a preacher to match. But Logan had placed a ring on your finger near a year ago, sliding one over his own with the vow of forever cemented in his words.

Even if that didn't mean much in the eyes of a god who abandoned him near a century ago.

"Oh-"

Your head tipped back, mouth dropping open as his fingers dipped into your wet heat. Thrusting lazily until he found the spongey patch along your walls—driving the pad of his middle finger into it with a needy moan.

He knew it wouldn't take long for you to fly off the edge of a second release. That didn't make watching you climb to that peak any less satisfying. The sight appeased his soul. It gave him a chance to breathe; let him know that after so much bad—after so much pain—he could do something good. He could bring you to the edge of pleasure and drag you over again and again.

He could finally be the man you believed he was.

Not the animal they created.

"C'mon," he muttered. Eyes fixed on the shape of your breasts as your body curved off the bed. Hips dragging along his face with a stunted cry.

A wail bounced off the walls, piercing his eardrums with the symphony of your cries. His fingers rapidly pumped into you with a squelch that had heat burning his cheeks—lips pulling your throbbing clit into his mouth as you broke. The climax slammed into you; battering your already swollen pussy.

Logan could feel his cock swell at the sight.

"Fuckin' perfect," he grunted, teeth bared as he clambered to his knees and wrapped his fist soaked in your slick around his leaking cock. "'M gonna cum sweetheart."

Your eyes fluttered open, fingers digging into his thigh. "Please. Wanna see it baby. Look so pretty when you cum Logan."

His chest tightened, body shaking while you watched in rapture as he fucked his fist rapidly. He wouldn't fucking last, could feel the burning consume his body, but something held him back. The string around his heart yanked him away from the edge, tearing a cry from his throat when his frustration peaked.

You could see it—the glimmer of need in his dark eyes. This wasn't the first time he longed for your words. It certainly wouldn't be the last.

So you spread your legs and sat up slowly—arms wrapping around his shoulders to bring his lips down to yours. A soft moan was muffled by your mouth; the peak of his release within reach. He could practically feel the tips of his fingers graze it.

"Cover my pussy baby," you mumbled into his mouth. "Be good for me and mark what's yours."

The growl came from the very bottom of his chest when he finally came. Your name was a bitten out snarl pressed to your mouth in an open mouth kiss as he spurted over his knuckles. He pumped his cock to milk every drop; eyes fixed on the way it covered the swollen lips of your pussy. Dripping down to your entrance that fluttered at the sight of his sweaty and crimson tinged face.

"I fuckin' love ya honey," he murmured, hand cupping your chin to drag your lips back to his. "Best thing that's happened in my life is you."

You smiled, thumbs pressing to his cheeks. "Love you too Logan."

Clutching you close, he felt the string go loose. The breath finally rushing back into his lungs at the sight of your eyes glowing with the kind of light that brought him back to the first day The night he met you in that shitty bar—alcohol the only thing on his mind until he saw you.

The night you spoke his name over his covered grave and dragged him back to life with a smile.

[blue-moon-speaks-of-echos]

(NSFW, nb/w)

"It'll rain in a bit. Let's stay in bed."

Raven turned and looked at Lua, who had her face stuffed in a pillow. She smiled and raised an eyebrow. "How would you know if it was going to rain?"

"Cause I'm too sleepy to wake up. We don't have anything to do today. Stay in bed with me." Her head was tilted back just enough to leave her mouth unobstructed, though the words were still muffled by her grogginess. Raven got up and went to the window, separating the blinds enough to peek outside. The sky was heavy and gray, so she returned to bed, scooping Lua up in her arms and letting her lay back into them.

"I guess I can't say no to you." Raven buried their face between Lua's ear, taking a deep breath of the scent of her hair. Warmth crept into her face as her sleepy partner's tail brushed over her thighs. "Such a pretty kitty, but so lazy."

Lua's tail flicked as she smiled and purred. "It just means more cuddles."

With Lua against them, Raven grabbed their corkboard and red string. "Lets see... Agatha was being a bitch two days ago, when she nearly slammed a trolley into my car at the grocery store. I'm thinking her drainage could back up and break, making her poor flowers drown. What do you think?" She was already unspooling a length of string.

"Is Agatha the one who started growing roses? Everyone knows they have thorns and it makes her flowerbed uncomfortable. I like the rest of the flowers, but maybe kill the roses?" Lua snuggled into Raven's neck.

"You shouldn't be rolling in flowerbeds anyway, but sure." Raven started stringing the board in an intricate pattern. when she was done, she clipped the end, and burned the string off the board with a match. After dipping the ashes into the bin, They started unspooling more string, spending a while altering the fortunes of their neighbors. The pitter patter of rain began to sound against the walls and roof. Lua stretched. Raven sighed. "We can't stay in bed all day."

"Sure we can, we just stay here while and listen to the rain and take a nap." She snuggled closer to Raven, who just rolled their eyes.

With a smirk, Raven unspooled more string, then started lining the corkboard. Lua started feeling hot as the string burned away, and she started feeling more awake and needy. She spun around and pushed Raven down, pinning their arms. Raven was still smirking as their eyes met Lua's. "I guess you don't need to spend all day in bed anymore."

"Shut it, slut." Lua unceremoniously ripped off their lacy bra, followed by her own panties to reveal her swollen cock. She turned so her hips were over Raven's face, her tip pressed against their lips. "Forget what I said don't shut it. Stuff it, or I will."

Even if Raven had wanted to comply, rather than her normal teasing, Lua was too horny and impatient, slamming herself into their mouth. Raven let out a half-giggle/half-gag, and Lua started thrusting. "You better not get any of my cum on my fur."

Arms pinned by Lua's legs, Raven lay there, amused as her throat was thoroughly punished. They made a mental note of the results of inflicting so much lust on the feline femme. Ever the manipulator, they squirmed is falsified discomfort, doing so in a way that lightly bucked her hips. They knew it wouldn't make Lua stop, and they weren't interested in that result. Instead, the catgirl smirked, hooking her fingers into the enchantress' lace panties and pulled them off. Raven gagged a little as Lua's fingers brushed their slick pussy.

"Hurry up, slut. I can't spend all day on your throat, no matter how good it feels. I'm close so just. Make. Me. Cum." As she growled out the last word, Lua thrust her hips harder, exploding deep in Raven's mouth. She left her dick sheathed in their throat while she grabbed the corkboard. Raven was stilled trapped, but after a few moments, she could smell the burning string, and then again a few moments later. Lua turned back so she was face to face with Raven and dragged her to the top of the bed, propping her up against the headboard. "Get ready for round two."

The catgirl thrust herself hard1 into Raven's cunt, making them moan in pleasure. They had been waiting for this, and they were also intrigued as to what fate Lua inflicted on them. The headboard creaked and shook as Raven was pounded into it again and again, but not even the force of the lust driven Lua could break it. She grabbed her partner's breasts, and started sucking on them greedily. Then sweet milk started flowing over Lua's tongue.

"That's new." Raven let out a lighthearted giggle between moans. "What was the other thing you did?

"Quiet." The command was muffled by the fact Raven's bruising nipples were firmly held in the feline femme's mouth. She squeezed them a few times as she drank a seemingly endless amount out of them, only stopping when she was satisfied. Not finished fucking, she threw Raven facedown and continued slamming their hips together. She gave the round ass under her heavy handed spanks until the flesh was bright red, then growled in her partner's ear. "Want to apologize?"

"I would never." Raven's eyes were closed and she had a smile on her face, enjoying the thick piece of meat pounding deep into her vagina. Lua took that as an invitation to pick up her pace. An orgasm broke from Raven's pussy, making them relax and shiver. Feeling them go limp under her, Lua bottomed out inside her, growling as she came.

Finally drained of energy, Lua slumped back down. Raven turned over carefully, keeping Lua inside her as they took her in their arms. "All done?"

Lua nodded, licking stray drops of milk from their breasts while she snuggled into them. "You're gonna make such a good mommy."

"Oh? What makes you so sure I'll be a mommy?"

Lua didn't answer with words, just flicking her tail towards the corkboard and red string.

"I see. No point in arguing with fate then." They pressed their lips to the top of Lua's head, closing their eyes. Perhaps the two of them could spend all day in bed after all.

[yanderenightmare]

♡ TW: nsfw, dubcon, yandere, omegaverse, forced/accidental bonding, subjugation

♡ part one

♡ fem reader

Once you wake up in the morning, you feel… changed.

Your body feels full—as though you’d indulged too much last night—heavy and sticky and sore all over. There’s a strange taste in your mouth—sweet, somewhat salty, and metallic. Geez, you’re head’s pounding—how much did you drink last night? No, this feels different from a hangover—more full-bodied than that—a withdrawal of some kind or another. You must have done more at the party than drink, and yet, you can’t remember having stayed there all that long. No, you left with someone. That’s right. You went with… that overgrown Omega.

Oh no.

“Good morning, sleepyhead!”

He comes in only wearing a pair of snug boxers—body stacked with brawn, not a single hint of Omega-like softness aside from his tousled bed hair. There’s a big toothy smile on his face—eyes are creased in cheer while carrying an overfull breakfast tray. You know you’re hungry, and yet you can’t bring yourself to feel anything but sick to your stomach by the horrid sight of his flaunted neck, decorated by a gory ring of your bitemark.

No. No, no, no, no, no! Fuck! “Tell me that’s not what I think it is…”

He laughs lightly with an awkward smile, apologetically scratching the back of his neck while balancing the tray in the other hand. “I’m afraid so…”

The world stops spinning, and for a moment, you think it might actually never start up again. Your throat snares, and you think you might throw up. How the fuck could this happen?

He sets the tray down next to you, then himself. The whole bed takes waves upon his weight. You remain still—eyes unrest and mouth hung.

“Hey, I know this might not be what we had planned, but…” he starts.

But you don’t let him finish before declaring, “I’ll take full responsibility.”

There’s nothing else to do, you think. The red string of fate has tied the two of you together. It’s sealed.

“There is no going back now.”

His face expresses shock, but if you’d taken a closer look, he’d probably not be able to hide it—the overwhelming sensation of victory. Oh, bless your Alpha pride. He knew you would say that.

He smiles softly. “I’m in your care then.”

It’s a work in progress after that—slow in the beginning, but that’s to be expected. You never pegged yourself to be the type who got caught up in the unmendable mistakes of a one-night stand, but then here you were—mated with a stranger, moving into his apartment because it’s bigger and closer to work, sharing the same bed and eating the same meals and helping each other through one another’s ruts and heats.

He's still no closer to being your type. In fact, he’s the total opposite—too giant to give you even a semblance worth of superiority over him. A couple of days ago, when he’d been searching for the remote in the couch you were lying on, he’d taken to pick you up instead of just asking you to move. It was completely humiliating. He’s so brazen, and it’s starting to become clear he’s doing it all on purpose!

He doesn’t get fussy when you state your claim of being the one on top—no, but what he does instead is somehow worse, going along with it with snide praise, grinning up at you, his big hands weighing heavy on your haunches as you roll them, calling you his good girl. It seems to humor him how it angers you—chuckling behind your hands as you layer them both atop his mouth, growling at him to “Shut up!”

No, he doesn’t mind letting you take charge. He rather enjoys the view of watching you ride—working so hard to appease him while he rests pretty and admires your body—all soft edges and plush curves. You tire quickly, though—poor thing, why don’t you leave the rest to him?

You had rejected it the first few times he’d offered. Your bruised pride simply wouldn’t have it—you’d rather you both stop than let him finish you off. But a couple more nights and you’d quicker come around than either of you expected—perhaps worn down by his constant nagging or simply fed up with your own failure—you let him assist by bouncing you on his lap.

You wouldn’t admit it to his face, never, but you’d enjoyed it far more than you could have ever thought…

Thankfully, your face in and of its own glory told him all he needed to know. It didn’t take long before he’d taken full advantage of it, nor for you to begin allowing it without being asked. Soon you were letting him fuck you against the wall, making the entire room shake—wall creaking and shelves rattling, pictures falling down. You hold your tongue and hold on tightly, arms and legs wrapped around him—moaning sweetly right by his ear. Fuck, you even bite him again.

As time passed, you came around to indulging more and more of his antics. Letting him fuck you from behind—hard and heavy and deep—thrusting into you while grappling your waist. You even go down on all fours when he does it—digging your claws into the sheets.

Lying belly-up beneath him still makes you feel nervous—and slightly ashamed—almost convinced something’s wrong with you for liking it. And yet you can’t help it. You know any other Omega wouldn’t fuck you like this. They wouldn’t have the stamina, the drive, or the desire. Not like him, who does it all like it’s his nature even when it shouldn’t be.

Guess you’re both freaks.

♡ BNHA – Deku, Kirishima, Hawks, Amajiki ♡ JJK – Gojo, Geto ♡ HQ – Kuro, Oikawa, Miya twins, Tendou ♡ BLLK – Reo, Nagi, Bachira, Isagi ♡ DS – Doma ♡ WB – Suo, Togame

♡ FEM x M INSERT masterlist ♡ GN x M INSERT masterlist