#what a fucking creep Hope he dies

[tsui-no-sora]

who's being creeps?

My ex

[whydoeseveryonehavetobelesbian]

i don't know if you guys have been keeping up with the women's world cup but this past sunday spain won against england. and you would think this would be the best moment of their careers and their lives but you wanna know what happened?

the spanish football federation's president non-consensually kissed one of the players, jenni hermoso, on the mouth when they were celebrating. this grown ass man took it upon himself to ruin the celebration for ALL the women who just achieved the thing they have been preparing for all their lives, literally the peak of a football player's career, they did it and he by himself ruined it.

and i say all the women because the other players, along 58 currently inactive and ex-players, stood up for jenni hermoso and have refused to play for the team until luis rubiales publicly apologizes and renounces his spot. now the rfef says they'll take legal action against the players and jenni for lying and because they have an obligation to play for the team.

do you remember how the men's world cup celebrations went? i do, im from argentina. no one said anything to any of the players, they were treated like kings for months and they are worshipped to this day. and rightfully so! they earned it i guess. but we do see the discrepancy?

how is it that we allow as a society for one man to sexually assault a woman right after achieving the thing another group of men got ceaselessly venerated for not even a year later? what do women have to do to earn respect? win the world cup? become the pride and joy of their country?

[dullahandyke]

Sidenote I was never her biggest fan but whenever I see someone talk abt dahlia hawthorne as if she's some evil seductress who breaks hearts for fun I feel the intense urge to hit them with hammers. Fucker can you read????

[imaginedisish]

My Girl (Logan Howlett x Fem!Reader)

A/N: Hey guys!! So sorry this took so long. Here is the secret relationship/breeding kink fic. I honestly really like this one...and I hope you guys do too. Was listening to "Juna" by Clairo while writing it, but went with "My Girl" for the title. ENJOY!

Summary: You and Logan have been in a secret relationship for months, but everything comes to a head when a new mutant visits the Institute, and won't leave you alone...Logan shows him, and you, who your man is.

Warnings: 18+ MINORS DNI!!! SMUT!!! Thigh riding, Fingering, Unprotected PIV (wrap it up!), breeding kink, praise kink, possessive!Logan, jealous!Logan, unspecified/implied!Age Gap, established relationship, creepy!OC who hits on reader and doesn't lay off, minor violence, afab!/fem!reader, fluff/feelings, cursing, def some grammatical errors, I think that's it?

Word Count: 5,313 this is why it took so long also, smut right under the cut...

You remember the first time he fucked you, vividly. 

It was late at night, after a mission. You almost died in his arms. And that was what broke that thing inside him, the burden of time that he carries, that deep-seated pain that made it justifiable to stay away from you. He had held back for so long—had done his all to resist falling for you. He was screwed from the beginning, and he knew that. But he had become so terrified at the thought of losing you that he hadn’t realized it could happen all the same if he stayed away—if he forced himself to remain a friend. 

So, when he fucked you that first time, that first night, he fucked you like it’d be the last—the only time. 

“Goddammit, so fucking perfect,” he mumbled, his lips bruising yours, shoving himself deep inside—as deep as you could take him. “Needed you this whole time. Can’t live without you.”

“Logan,” you whined, his hips snapping against yours. “D-don’t stop, please.” “Never gonna stop, pretty girl,” he promised. “Can’t go back. Can’t be anywhere but here.”

For months now, you’ve been together—but nobody knows. There’s no doubt about commitment—nothing casual about the relationship in the slightest. You start and end every day in Logan’s bed. You’ve talked about running off together, getting married, and settling down. For the first time in his long life, Logan sees a future where he’s happy—genuinely happy. 

The sun peaks through the curtains. You curl yourself into Logan’s chest. His arms are wrapped around your back, holding you tight against him, even in his sleep. You listen to his breathing as the fall breeze creeps through the open window. Everything is calm and quiet in the morning, when everyone is still tucked away in their bedrooms, sound asleep. 

Logan groans, tugging you closer to him, nuzzling his face into your neck. “Go back to sleep.” His voice is heavy, laden with exhaustion. “Too early.” He kisses the spot just under your ear, and you moan involuntarily, feeling extra sensitive in the haze of the morning. He smiles softly against your neck, and kisses you again, his teeth grazing your skin. You moan louder this time, intertwining your legs with Logan’s. “Love those pretty little noises you make.”

“Feels good,” you murmur, his thigh slotting between your legs, pressing against your core. You can’t help but grind down on his thigh, rocking your hips back and forth. “Need you, Lo,” you beg. 

“You’re gonna ruin me,” Logan husks, his palms warm against your bare skin as he slips underneath your shirt—which is really his. 

He’s slow in the morning, pressing soft kisses on your bare shoulders, letting his touch linger longer than normal. He likes the peace of it all—waking up to each other, smelling you next to him, feeling the other side of his bed warm and full of you. When he fucks you, early like this, he takes his time. 

His fingertips trace the curves of your stomach, falling into your dips, gripping your flesh. Logan breathes you in, his lips softly melting into yours. “Still too early?” You mumble between soft, lazy kisses. 

“Never too early to want you,” Logan husks, dragging his thigh against your core again. “Always need you.” You can feel his erection through his boxers. “Gonna take care of my girl. Gonna make you—”

There’s a knock at the door. “Logan?” It’s Scott’s voice on the other side. He knocks again. “Logan, you in there?”

Logan tries to ignore him, his fingertips dragging down your sides, bumping into the hem of your panties as he trails wet, open-mouthed kisses down the hollow of your throat. You let out a breathy moan as Logan bites down on your pulse point. He smiles under your jaw at the soft sound, content that you can’t hold back. 

“Logan,” you whisper, running your hands up his arms, to his shoulders, your fingertips finding the nape of his neck. “He’s not gonna stop.”

Sure enough, Scott knocks again. “Logan, I know you’re in there,” he calls, banging on the door now. “Wake up. We have some tech guy on his way.” 

Logan groans into your neck. “Why do you need me, Summers?” Logan licks your collarbone teasingly, hiking your t-shirt farther up your body. 

“He’s…a mutant,” Scott explains. “He can speak with machines, computers, code—you name it, he can do it. He’s gonna fix some stuff around the mansion. Charles asked me to make sure you’re awake just in case…” Scott trails off.

Logan finishes Scott’s sentence. “In case everything goes to shit?” 

“I wasn’t going to say that,” Scott huffs, likely shaking his head on the other side of the door. “But yes. In case things don’t go as planned. I’m also looking for—"

But Logan cuts Scott off, saying your name for him. 

“Yeah, I can’t find her. Do you know where she might—”

“On a run,” Logan chimes in, and you suppress your laughter by pressing your face into his chest. “She’ll be back soon.” Logan’s arms wrap around your back, holding you against him. 

“Alright,” Scott says, shuffling, slowly stepping away from the door. “If you see her, let her know what’s going on, okay?”

“Trust me bub,” Logan husks, his fingers digging into your flesh, tickling you. “I’ll make sure she knows.” 

Scott mumbles something unintelligible as he walks down the hallway, his footsteps echoing as he disappears down the stairs. 

Logan’s lips are attached to your neck again, sucking playfully. “Where were we?” He teases, his nails grazing down your back. His palms settle on your ass, squeezing your flesh tightly in his hands. 

You moan, your chest flush with his. “Logan,” you whine. “We need to get up,” you insist, your hands pushing against Logan’s broad shoulders, your fingers digging into his muscular biceps. “Can’t stay in bed anymore.”

Logan grunts, his thigh still nudged between your legs, rocking into your core. You want him, and it’s tempting to let him take you right here, right now. But you can’t. And he knows it. He presses a chaste kiss to your lips and pulls you tightly into his chest. “Later,” he promises, his lips finding the shell of your ear. You smile at the thought. There was always a later with Logan.

You snuck out of Logan’s room, unnoticed, as always. It was still early—too early for the ruckus of a morning at the mansion to begin. You got ready for the day and slipped downstairs. You’re still shocked at just how oblivious the rest of the team is. Truly, no one knows about you and Logan. 

You’re in the kitchen now, nursing a cup of coffee, waiting for the day to start. Familiar, heavy footsteps approach, and you smile before you can even see his face. 

“Hi pretty girl,” Logan coos, standing behind you and wrapping his arms around your front. You lean into him, feeling the warmth of his chest and the strength of his heartbeat. He presses a chaste kiss to the crown of your head and walks over to the coffee pot. 

Scott enters the kitchen as Logan takes his first sip of coffee—one second earlier and he would have seen Logan holding you. “The guy is here,” Scott announces from the doorway. He looks at you and smiles. “Oh! Hey! How was your run?” He asks cheerfully. 

You almost spit out your coffee, remembering what you were actually doing this morning. “Great!” You say, doing your all to hold back your laughter. “Surprisingly relaxing.” Logan snorts and plays it off like he’s sniffling.

Scott smiles, none the wiser, and nods, cocking his head towards the hallway just outside the kitchen. “Come meet the tech guy!” He backs out of the doorway and into the hallway. Logan settles his coffee cup—which reads #1 Professor—next to yours on the counter and gives your waist a quick squeeze as you hop out of the chair. You walk shoulder to shoulder into the foyer. All the signs of your relationship are there—out in the open—and yet, still, no one seems to catch them.

You step into the foyer, and there’s Scott and the Professor by the front door, chatting with a younger man—who’s about your age. The man’s eyes find yours, and he smiles softly. “Hi there!” He calls, waving. “I’m Mark!” He strides away from Scott and the Professor and towards you. “But you can call me Techno.” He smirks and winks, extending his hand out, waiting for you to take it.

Logan grabs his hand instead, gripping it tightly, catching Mark off guard. “Wolverine,” Logan growls. “And you can’t call me Logan,” he adds, gritting his teeth. “So, you turn on computers, bub?” 

Mark grimaces, wrenching his hand from Logan’s grasp. “A little more than that,” he asserts, closing his eyes and bawling his fists. You look up as the lights flicker, and televisions turn on and off. Your cell phone rings in your pocket, and you pull it out. The screen reads: Incoming Call from Mark.

Your lips part. “How did you…” You trail off. 

Mark shrugs his shoulders nonchalantly. “My powers essentially let me communicate with electricity and tech,” he explains. You can practically hear Logan seething beside you. 

“A technopath,” Charles offers as he rolls over to join the three of you with Scott in tow. 

“Exactly,” Mark says, nodding to Charles. “Makes it easy to put my number into pretty girls’ phones.” Mark winks at you, and you press your lips into a straight line in response. 

You shake your head. “I’m not inter—”

You’re cut off by the sound of Logan’s claws unsheathing. “These,” Logan pauses, lifting his claws to Mark. “Make it real easy to hurt creeps who put their numbers into girls’ phones without asking first, bub.” 

Mark rolls his eyes, and the corners of your lips twitch up. You try to force down your smile, try to slow the rhythm of your heart. You secretly liked when Logan got possessive over you. He was inherently protective, and you’d be lying if you said it didn’t turn you on just a little. 

“Let’s stay on course,” Charles reprimands, guiding Mark to the hallway to the left with a wave of his hand. “Let me show you some of the machines I’d like you to work on.”

“It would be my pleasure, Professor Xavier,” Mark says harshly, his eyes locked on Logan as he backs away to follow Charles and Scott.

Logan lowers all but his center claw, giving Mark the middle finger as he turns around. “Don’t mind Logan,” Scott says as they disappear into a room, the door shutting behind them.

“Logan,” you whisper, now that everyone is gone. “Don’t worry,” you assure, bringing a hand to his shoulder. 

He turns to look at you. “He’s a fucking creep.”

“It’s going to be fine.”

 It is not going well, or fine.

Mark is something of a nuisance. He’s only been here for an hour, but he has already created multiple excuses to talk to you, to pull you away from whatever task is at hand. 

You’re in the middle of teaching an English class, discussing Mrs. Dalloway with a group of older students. “So, what are we to make of Clarissa and Sally’s relationship?” You ask the students, to no avail. 

This was your hardest class of the day—especially given the fact that you’re not even a decade older than most of the students. You had joined the X-Men in your early 20s, your powers having shown themselves a bit later than in most mutants, and only a few years have passed since then. Convincing the students who have been here their whole lives that you deserve to teach has been nothing short of a challenge. 

So, when Mark butts his head in on your class, annoyance burns through your body. You take a deep breath and swallow down your frustration. 

“Hey!” He chimes, his head poking through the open classroom door. “Mind if I take a look at your computer really quick?”

The class perks up, more focused on you than they were just seconds ago. You fake a smile, nodding and pushing yourself off the front of your desk so that he has space to access the computer. 

He slips behind the desk and smiles widely. “You didn’t have to move,” he remarks. “Would’ve been nice to have you close.”

You want to gag. You turn away from the students, whispering so they can’t hear. “Listen,” you chide, narrowing your eyes. “I am not interested, so could you please—”

“What are you doing in here, asshole?” Logan’s voice echoes against the walls of the classroom. For the first time all year, the class is paying incredibly close attention. “The Professor told you to check the computers in the lab down the hall.” Logan fully enters the room, striding over to Mark, his hands bawled into fists at his sides. “Beat it, bub.”

“Whatever,” Mark mutters, his head down as he exits the classroom. The bell rings, and the class stands, grabbing their things and filing out the door. 

You groan. “Please read the next twenty pages for tomorrow!” You shout over the hubbub and shuffling of students. “I know it’s a challenging novel, but I think you guys can…” The students are gone before you can finish your sentence. “Handle it.” 

Logan smiles sympathetically, closing the distance between you and him. His presence is comforting, warm, everything you’ve ever needed. He wraps his arms around your waist, pulling you into his chest. “Sorry,” he apologizes, pressing a kiss to the side of your head. “Didn’t mean to make your class harder than it is already.”

You take a deep breath, your annoyance fading away. “You helped,” you whisper. “Mark is the one who ruined things,” you insist. “He won’t leave me alone.”

Logan chuckles. “You don’t like him?” He teases. “Don’t like a guy your own age flirting with you?” He’s egging you on, trying to joke, but you can tell part of him is a bit serious. 

You shake your head. “Only like you.” You press your lips to the hollow of his throat and Logan grunts. 

He reluctantly pulls away, the palms of his hands dragging down your arms, his fingers intertwining with yours. “Gotta get to my class,” he husks, his fingers slipping, tugging longingly as he steps to the door. “Meet me after?” He asks, but he already knows the answer. You’ll be outside his classroom door before the bell rings, waiting for him.

You nod, and he smiles, his hands gripping the doorframe like some invisible magnet is pulling him away, and he’d give anything to spend another second with you. He slips down the hallway, and into his classroom. 

You spend the next thirty minutes or so grading papers, waiting for the period to end so that you can walk across the hall to Logan’s class. Another few minutes pass, and you start to collect your things, readying yourself to meet Logan. Your heart thumps in your chest at the thought, even after all the months you’ve spent together. 

You grab your bag and head to the door, closing it behind you and locking up. You cross the hall and stand outside Logan’s door. He’s teaching a younger group of kids—ten to eleven-year-olds. You would trade places with him in a heartbeat if you could. The younger students loved you. There was no question of respect, no doubt of your power. But Logan was given the class as a challenge—Charles wanted to test his patience. 

And, honestly, seeing him with the children did something to you. You loved watching the way he doted on them, carefully explaining material in a way they’d understand. He was an excellent teacher, and one day, you’re sure, he’d make an even better father. You find yourself falling into fantasy: Logan, late at night, a baby—your baby—on his chest. You can see it now—him changing a diaper, teaching the child to walk. Your heart squeezes in your chest, your eyes falling closed as you daydream about the future—your future together. 

You’re so distracted that you don’t hear Mark walk up to you—don’t feel his hand grab your shoulder.

You yelp and jump. “Oh my god,” you mumble, turning around and coming face to face with him. 

“Didn’t mean to scare you,” he says, his hand lingering for far too long on your shoulder. He finally peels away, his arms falling to his sides. He leans against the wall, trying to appear casual and cool. “What are you doing tonight?”

The bell rings before you can think of a polite way to shoo Mark away, and the students exit Logan’s classroom, happily shouting greetings in your direction. You stood outside Logan’s door every day, and the students were always excited to see you.

A few of them run up to hug you, complaining about Logan’s gruffness. When they hear Logan’s footsteps approaching the door, they bolt down the hallway, their laughter booming against the walls. 

Logan steps out into the hall, and he groans audibly when he sees Mark next to you. But Mark ignores Logan, his eyes trained on yours. “Got plans?” He asks again. 

You roll your eyes. “Dude, I’m not interested!” You groan, too irritated to pretend to be nice. Mark smirks and parts his lips, ready to persist like the creep he is.

Logan steps in front of you, his claws already out. “Listen, bub,” he growls, his claws just inches from Mark’s chest. “If you don’t fuck off and stop harassing my girl, we’re gonna have a problem.”

Mark scoffs. “My girl? What are you, her father? You can’t possibly be dating her.”

You can see the anger in Logan’s eyes, the honest rage. “Lo,” you soothe. “Don’t do it.” But you know it’s too late. His decision is already made.

Logan shoves Mark against the wall, his claws pressed against his throat. “I’m her fucking boyfriend, bub,” he grunts as Mark squirms helplessly under his hold. 

“Oh, her boyfriend?” He teases, despite the fear in his eyes. “Aren’t you too old to be a boyfriend?”

Logan shoves him harder into the wall, and Mark yelps pathetically, like a small dog. “More serious than that,” Logan asserts. “Guessing you wouldn’t know anything about that though, would you?” 

“Alright, break it up!” Scott’s voice echoes from down the hall. He runs over, Jean and the Professor by his side. Rogue and Gambit follow close behind. But Logan doesn’t budge, the tips of his claws almost digging hard enough to draw blood. 

You bring your hand to Logan’s shoulder. “He isn’t gonna hurt me,” you whisper to Logan. “I could handle him easily if he tried.” You slide your hand to the nape of his neck, trying to soothe him, to relax him. “Nothing’s going to happen, okay?” 

Logan retracts his claws and lets go of Mark, who stutters away from Logan and into the center of the hallway. “I’m getting the fuck out of here!” Mark shouts, but Logan doesn’t react. He simply intertwines his fingers with yours. 

“You okay?” He asks, his thumb brushing circles into the side of your hand. 

You arch a brow. “Are you okay?” You smile and lean into him. 

“So…” Scott trails off, interrupting. “You two are…”

“Together.” You finish his sentence, your eyes still on Logan’s. You can feel the tension in his shoulders stretch down to his hand. He’s rigid, still on edge. You know he needs to get out of here, needs to be alone with you. 

“How long has this been going on?” Scott asks, genuinely caught off guard. “Did anyone know about this?” 

You turn to the team to see heads shaking side to side—save for the Professor. “I did, of course,” Charles confesses. “But I felt it was best left a secret until the two lovebirds decided otherwise.”

Rogue shakes her head, the corners of her mouth twitching up. “I can’t believe you never told me!” 

“Told you what?” Jubilee calls from down the hall, approaching the group. She blows a bubble as she stands next to Rogue, her eyes trailing down to where your and Logan’s hands connect. Her eyes widen and her bubble bursts. “No way!” She cheers, jumping up and down. 

“Settle down,” Charles laughs, extending his hand down the hall to where Mark was just moments ago. “Scott, make sure our technopath friend makes it out the door alive.” Scott nods and heads down the hall. Charles turns to you and Logan. “As for the two of you,” he pauses, winking. “We’ll discuss more at a later point.”

You smile in understanding, and Logan squeezes your hand—another sign it’s time to go. He’s still worked up about Mark; he needs to get this out of his system, needs to relieve all the built-up tension. 

“Got something I need to take care of,” Logan says to the group, tugging you down the hallway.  

He strides through the mansion, practically yanking your arm out of your socket. “Logan,” you whisper, trying to catch his attention. You’ve never seen him like this—rage and jealousy like fire in his eyes, dripping from his pores. He leads you up the stairs and towards his bedroom, and it suddenly dawns on you what exactly he needs to take care of. 

Logan pushes the door open and slams it closed the second you’re inside. His hands are immediately on you, grabbing at the pillowy flesh of your ass, pinning you to the door. His lips find yours—hungry and rough, the wiry hairs of his beard scratching your face. He tastes you, his tongue seeking more of you as it swipes across your lower lip. You open your mouth, inviting him in, your tongue tangling with his.

Logan hoists you up without breaking the kiss, and you instinctively wrap your legs around his waist. You can feel his erection straining inside his jeans, pressing against your heat. He grinds into you as one hand slips under your top and drags up your back, holding you tightly against him. 

“Need you,” he mumbles against your lips. “Always fucking need you.” He tears you away from the door and towards the bed. He throws you onto the mattress and climbs over you, slowly, like an animal stalking its prey. “Tell me you need me, pretty girl.”

“N-need you,” you stutter as he settles on top of you, grabbing your wrists and pinning them above your head. 

“I’m not too old for you?” Logan teases, one of his hands loosening its grasp on your arm and trailing down your body, settling on the hem of your shirt. “You don’t wanna be with anyone else?” He hikes up your top, pushing it above your breasts. 

You can feel the heat pooling between your legs. “No,” you whine, arching your back as his fingertips play with the bottom of your bra. “Only wanna be with you,” you breathe as Logan slowly, teasingly pulls your bra up. “Please,” you beg, spreading your legs wider. “Want you to fuck me.” 

Logan smirks, finally tugging your bra and top over your head and casting them to the floor. “Gonna take care of you, sweetheart,” Logan soothes, palming your breasts with his free hand, rolling your nipples under his thumb. 

“Fuck,” you moan as he pinches a nipple between his thumb and forefinger. 

Logan hums, his fingertips trailing across the valley of your breasts, doing the same on the other side. Logan pinches harder, and you moan louder this time. “That’s it,” he coos, his lips finding your pulse point, sucking roughly. “Don’t be quiet, darlin’,” he demands. You whisper his name, your voice whiny and needy. “Show me how much you need me. Keep making those pretty little noises, baby.”

“Feels good,” you whimper as his hand traces down your stomach, to your hips, gathering the fabric of your skirt in his fist and yanking it up to your waist.

He chuckles darkly. “You wore this just for me?” He asks, his thumb hooking inside the waistband of your panties, pulling them down your legs. “Wanted to make it easier for me to fuck you?”

“Fuck, yes, just for you,” you pant, watching as Logan lifts himself off you, tugging his t-shirt up and over his head. He dexterously unclasps his belt buckle and throws the leather to the floor. He balances on his forearm as he unbuttons and unzips his jeans, pushing them down his thighs along with his boxers. “I’m all yours, Lo,” you promise as he presses his forehead to yours.

Logan’s hand glides down your side, slipping between your legs and finding your folds. You moan as his fingertips prod at your entrance, spreading your slick. “Fuck, all this is for me?” He pinches your clit before swiping through your folds again. “You’re soaked already, princess.” His fingertips brush your clit, tracing achingly slow circles into the bud. 

You rock your hips against Logan’s touch, searching for more friction. “Logan, need you,” you whine, squirming underneath him. “I’m yours.”

“All mine?” He whispers, his touch suddenly disappearing. You groan at the loss of contact. “Say it again, pretty girl,” he demands, guiding his cock to your folds. 

“All yours,” you answer, trying to move your hips lower to feel just an inch of him. “Please just—”

Your eyes roll into the back of your head as he slams into you, down to the hilt with one thrust. He throbs against your walls as he works you open, his hips still, his cock splitting you in two. “Fuck,” Logan grunts. “So fucking tight. Perfect little pussy. Wanna stay right here forever. Maybe I won’t even fuck you. Maybe I’ll just make you sit on my cock.”

But you need him to move, need him to take you. “Logan, f-fuck me,” you choke, trying to move your hips. His hand grips your waist, stopping you from sliding up his length. “Please, move,” you plead. 

“So impatient,” he chides, kissing you bruisingly, biting your lips. He finally pulls out and slams back in, bottoming out again. His hand slides down your waist and slips between your legs. “You gonna be a good girl and let me fuck you the way I want?” 

His hand is just above your clit, inches away from where you need him most, waiting for your answer. You nod emphatically. “Yes,” you say with pleading eyes. “Anything. You can do anything just please—oh fuck!” Logan pinches your clit and starts his machinations, swirling around the bud. He pulls out and pumps back in, setting a ruthless pace. 

His hips snap against yours, taking all of you with reckless abandon. His lips swallow your moans, consuming you, drinking you in. Of all the times he’s fucked you, it’s never been quite like this. There’s a hunger in Logan’s eyes that you’ve never seen before, an undying need you’re not sure can be satisfied. Something feels different about this time—more intense, fervent, and feverish. 

Logan thrusts in and out of you, bottoming out with every pump, still stretching you out. His fingertips stroke your clit roughly, your walls already fluttering around him. He curses under his breath, his chest heaving against yours. 

“Look at you,” he groans, fucking into you. “So beautiful like this. Always so beautiful.” You can feel his cock twitching inside you. “Wanna make you mine, sweetheart.”

“I-I already am,” you stammer, his fingers drawing tight, rapid circles into your clit, pushing you closer to the edge. “Always gonna be yours.”

“Want more than that,” Logan grunts, his hips rocking, his pace quickening. He’s so deep inside you—hitting exactly where you need him most with every thrust. 

“Whatever you want,” you pant, your chest pressing flush to his. “It’s yours. I’m yours.”

“Yeah?” He growls at the shell of your ear. “You gonna let me fill you up? Gonna let me stuff you full of me?”

“Yes, please,” you cry out as he pumps in and out, shoving himself as deep inside as he can possibly fit. You feel so full, so complete. Nothing compares to having Logan this close, to having him be so connected to you. You’re already coming undone underneath him, falling apart. “Want you to stay inside.” And then the words fall from your lips without a second thought. But you mean it, and you want it more than anything…

“Wanna have your baby, Lo.”

Logan groans at your words, his cock throbbing with need. “Fuck, don’t tease me like that, sweetheart.” 

“N-not teasing,” you stammer. “I mean it.”

“Shit,” Logan growls, his skin slapping against yours, your words spurring him on. He’s letting himself go, letting himself plunge deep inside you, fast and hard. “Such a good girl,” he praises, his length dragging against your walls, pushing deeper still. “You gonna let me fuck a baby into you?”

“Yes!” You cry out, the fire burning in your belly spreading up to your spine, coursing through your veins. Your walls flutter around his length, squeezing him tightly.

“That’s it, pretty girl,” Logan coos, rutting into you, his hips stuttering. “Want you forever.”

You throw your head back as his fingers swirl around your clit. “You have me Lo, always gonna have me.” Your walls clench down around him, and the tension snaps. Electricity shoots up your spine as your orgasm crashes into you. It’s intense—more intense than anything you’ve ever felt. Pleasure washes over you in waves, heat blooming across your chest and up your neck.

Logan is right behind you, whispering a string of praises as he finishes inside you. “Did so fucking good for me. Always so perfect, beautiful.” His thrusts slow until he’s still inside you, but he doesn’t pull out. “Don’t wanna move, princess,” he husks, pressing a gentle kiss to your lips. 

“You don’t have to,” you say, your voice hoarse. Logan rolls you onto your side, hoisting your leg up and over his hip, keeping himself deep inside your cunt. You close your eyes, your heartbeat finally steadying, your chest still heaving in time with Logan’s. 

The silence is comfortable, calming. You listen to Logan’s breathing as he runs his hands up and down your back. “You okay?” He asks, pressing a chaste kiss to the crown of your head. 

You hum. “I’m perfect,” you mumble, burying your face into his chest. “Do you really…” You trail off, suddenly nervous to ask the only question on your mind, despite everything that just happened. 

“Yes,” Logan answers immediately. “I meant it. Wanna be a family. Wanna be with you forever.”

You melt into him, wrapping your arms around his back. You can feel his cock growing hard inside you as you move to get more comfortable. “I want that too, Lo,” you sigh. “More than anything.” You smile against him, thinking about your future, thinking about how all this started because some asshole wouldn’t leave you alone. You can’t help but giggle at the thought.

“What’s so funny?” Logan asks. You can hear the smirk in his voice. 

You look up at him. “You’re crazy, you know that?” You joke, your smile widening. “You could’ve hurt that guy.”

Logan’s smile widens too. “Just crazy about you,” he says, shrugging his shoulders. He flips you onto your back and hovers over you, his cock still deep inside you. “Should’ve kicked his ass.” You bite your lip, waiting for his next move. “You’re my girl,” he groans, sliding out of you slightly. 

“Yours,” you breathe as he thrusts back in. “All yours.”

tags: @cosmiccandydreamer @alsoprettyinpink @alastorssimp @1800-fight-me @iamburdened @chaoticweirdogeek @loganobsessed @seasonofthenerd @witch-lemon @the-occasional-artist1125 @https-murdock @afw5 @wolviesgirl @the-ruler-of-death @xtwistedchaosx @wittyjasontodd @galacticglitterglue @silversprings-mp3 @zxaera @spiderset @figsnpassionfruits @prettyseaveins @ilysmdovie12 @evasmlp @derbygracie @rammakela @honeyfewr @ricefordays-blog1 @manipulatour

[obsessivevoidkitten]

Love is a Many-Legged Thing

Yandere Squid Merman x Gender Neutral Reader CW: Noncon, tentacle noncon, light tentacle bondage, stalking, kidnapping, squid-based merman, big slimy prehensile merman dick, reader fucked senseless, merman fantasizes about receiving oral sex, general yandere behavior, delusional yandere, voyeurism, exhibitionism Word Count: 2k (Happy MerMay!!!! I really hope you all love the fic, would have been done weeks ago had the ac not died. But still 40min left of MerMay! I wrote this fast without a beta reader so please forgive any mistakes! The name Onyk is a reference to Onykia Ingens, a deap sea squid with an astoundingly long dick.)

Seaspark Aquarium was a very unique establishment. Not only did it contain the usual attractions that an aquarium housed, the tide pools, the sharks, a seemingly unending variety of colorful fish and corals and nudibranchs, but it also housed transient merfolk. The aquarium was situated on a flat outcrop of rocky land. Via submerged tubes it granted access to a huge tank to the ocean and merfolk below.

The tank was absolutely massive and had many different areas including a reef, a seaweed forest, a beach, and even a secluded sea cave. There were underwater cameras in most of the areas that live streamed what was happening on screens for the humans. Though the sea cave feed was restricted to adults only since the merfolk sometimes mated there.

The aquarium was just as much an exhibit for the merpeople as it was for the humans, they had underwater screens that allowed them to view the humans at play and at the food court. They enjoyed seeing and even communicating with their terrestrial cousins. There were several areas where humans and merpeople could talk face to face or via the cameras. Many of them visited quite frequently and made friendships with regular customers and their favorite staff members.

You had been blessed with landing a really good job at Seaspark Aquarium. Though it was entirely because you were the cousin of the curator of the establishment. You did janitorial tasks, including sometimes scraping the tanks, and occasionally you had to provide food for an exhibit. Even though interacting with animals or merfolk was not a common part of your job, there was one squid-man who had become quite friendly with you. Onyk.

Most of the squid type mermen shied away from human interaction, and really the aquarium as a whole, but not Onyk. He had always been a frequent visitor. A knowledgeable observer might even say it seemed that he had been hoping to find something there. The first few times he had gone had been out of pure curiosity about humans after hearing tales about them his entire life. But after his first couple of visits he was enthralled. Everything about the land walkers amazed him.

And then he met you and felt his heart flutter every single time he looked upon you. He frequently tried to engage you in conversation whenever he could and was always watching you, though often it was in secret. Onyk cherished your chats with him, he found you so interesting, even more so than he found other humans. He loved seeing you go about your tasks, it made him think of you cleaning his home as his mate while he went and got food for the two of you.

Of course if you had any say, that would never happen. Onyk, for some reason you couldn't quite place, creeped you out. No, it wasn't the head of tentacles he had in place of hair, nor the dark purple tentacles he had from the waist down, it wasn't his smile that showed off his dangerously sharp teeth, or his cyan blue eyes. No, it wasn't anything physical, just a weird energy he seemed to give off. Like a hungry animal hunting its prey.

You tried to be nice to Onyk, though you always tried to keep conversations brief and hurry on to other tasks that would take you out of his reach. Unfortunately he took your awkward stammers and clumsy rushing to zip away from him as you being extremely shy because you liked him. He sighed and stared at you longingly, head resting on his hands, as you rushed off once more. Clearly you were simply too embarrassed by your emotions to act rationally around him. Onyk had to find a way to get you to stop running off. As adorable as it was that you kept scampering off from your shyness you really needed to be closer to him.

Onyk had a brilliant, though simple, idea. It came to him right as you were in the middle of making another excuse to run away from him while the two of you were chatting in the beach area. He'd simply grab you. It wasn't the first thing he'd normally do, but you were just too prone to running off. It was more than obvious you needed him to make a firm and forceful first move.

"Well uh... it was nice seeing you again Onyk... but um... I gotta go check on the tide p-"

Onyk lunged at you suddenly with the speed and ferocity of lightning. He pulled you into the water and swiftly took you into the empty sea cave and sat you on the dry ground within. Yes, this would do perfectly for his purposes. It was a huge room that had an area for him to swim and enough space for you to run about and get exercise. This would make a lovely home for the two of you, he'd have to keep all the other merfolk out from now on but that wasn't an issue, they were respectful of claimed territory.

Once you caught your breath you were confused and angry at the sudden relocation.

"What the f-"

He interrupted you again, this time by pressing his hungry lips to yours in a passionate embrace. His long tongue slipped past your unsuspecting lips and explored every inch that it could reach. His saliva pooled in your mouth, claiming it. The offending muscle snaked down your throat before finally retreating as he broke the kiss, you struggled to find your breath once more.

"Heh, sorry for interrupting, I have just been waiting to kiss you for so long I couldn't hold back any longer!"

“What!? Why did you do that? Why did you bring me here!?”

“Well your shyness was making it hard for us to take things to the next step in our relationship, now you can’t let your nervousness get the better of you and make you run off!”

“Next step in our relationship? We have no relationship, you creep!”

“Don’t say that! Y-you just have the jitters because moving in is such a big step! Yeah, they’ll wear off soon I’m sure.”

“There won’t be a soon, I am going back to the beach!”

You started to head back to the water, but Onyk closed the distance between the two of you easily.

“But you can’t go! You’re just in denial and nervous, but you’ll love living with me, I promise. M-maybe I’m not moving too fast but too slow. That must be it, you must be all pent up and eager for my dick! So naughty~”

Onyk’s blush was evident even on his light blue skin. He swallowed your complaints in another deep kiss as he stood behind you and rubbed your crotch gently.

“We’ll do it in front of these cameras so everyone knows you’re mine now~”

And, indeed, the screens in the adults only section of the aquarium definitely picked up some viewers as the scene between you and Onyk unfolded.

Most mermen would have had trouble traversing land, but Onyk’s strong tentacles allowed him to maneuver easily enough. He peeled off your wet clothing and wrapped his arms tightly around your bare chest, rubbing and caressing you with greedy hands. His prehensile cock wrapped partially around your waist, held you close as it rubbed against you. At first you mistook the sensation for a tentacle before looking down and seeing it, the cock was tapered, icy blue and glowing at the tip, with the rest of it being dark purple.

Your shouts and screams were ignored as Onyk convinced himself they were just you being grumpy or maybe playing hard to get. The merman’s sharp teeth bit carefully at your tender neck as you squirmed. Most of his tentacles had wrapped around your legs, powerful suction cups firmly adhered them to you. They held you staunchly in place despite your best efforts to struggle.

The remaining two writhing appendages were busy with another task. They gently prodded and massaged your tight hole, slowly worming their way inside you. Your efforts to clench and keep them outside of you were rendered futile as they finally worked their way inside of you. They began thrusting in tandem back and forth within you, loosening you up well.

Your next attempt at protesting devolves into several lusty moans as he ministrations begin to elicit pleasure. It’s all the confirmation he needs that he has been right all along and definitely went about everything in the right way.

“Your mating sounds are so lovely,” he said as he nipped at your ear.

His tentacles suddenly withdrew from your lovingly stretched hole, leaving you involuntarily whimpering at the sudden removal.

“Awe, don’t worry, love. I have something far better to put into you~”

You snap out of it when you hear those words and feel his cock move itself from your waist and start wiggling against you in search of its target.

“What!? No, please do-oooh~ Aaah!”

When it found your entrance it deftly slithered right in. Much to your unwilling pleasure.

Onyk chuckled.

“I knew you just needed some good dick~ You feel soooo good. You were made for this!”

When you happened to look up at one of the cameras you blushed and looked down. The room that monitored the sea cave was now packed, everyone enjoying the sight. The aquarium was already at work recording with plans to put it on their website for sale.

You couldn’t help the lewd cacophony of noises that tumbled from your mouth as the thick slimy cock thrust back and forth inside of you.

“I love you. I love you. I love you. I love you. I love you. I love you. I love you. I love you. I love you!” Onyk chanted louder and louder until he slammed into you hard, filling you up with warm viscous semen at the same moment that you were shuddering from the strongest orgasm that you had ever experienced.

You were far too dazed and overstimulated to realize what was going on in that moment or what you were saying, but on autopilot you mumbled back what your brain thought it was supposed to when someone told you that they loved you.

“I l-love you too…”

Onyk was overjoyed to hear those words from his beloved human. He pulled out of you and laid down on the floor of the cave, pulling you close to him and resting your head on his chest. His webbed fingers gently caressed you as did both the tentacles that made up his "hair" and the ones below his waist. Cum slowly ebbed out of you and onto him but he didn't mind, the two of you would just get messy again the second you came to your senses. He nuzzled into your hair and gave you dozens of little kisses. Your mind was too blank and your body too exhausted to do anything but drool a bit on his chest while he cuddled you.

His head was swimming with all of the things the two of you would do together. Sharing meals, chatting, mating. He couldn’t wait to wrap his cock gently around your neck while at the same time plunging it down your throat and having that pretty mouth of yours suck it until he was feeding you his cum. Maybe the two of you could try it when you woke up.

Meanwhile onlookers on the viewing screens were putting away their cocks and slipping their fingers out of their pussies with the spectacle now over, but word soon spread and tourism was up over 300 percent! Scientists the world over were interested in documenting this rare species of merman having sexual relations with a human. Grants were given. A great raise and credit to your cousin, the curator.

It was even considered a diplomatic victory for merfolk and humans!

Everyone came to the consensus that on all fronts, but yours, it was far too beneficial and lucrative to make sure you had to permanently stay in the sea cave for the rest of your life with Onyk. At the very least they equipped the habitat with amenities like a proper bathroom, tv, video games, and human food. The sea cave area was also expanded, and you were afforded some privacy, except for most of the times that your “husband” Onyk was spilling his seed into you. That’s what people wanted to see.

[rosenclaws]

unworthy || worst!Logan x reader

summary: Even though he's in a new universe his past continues to haunt him in the form of you. You're nothing but nice but Logan can't take it, not after you died by his hands in his own universe.

warnings: reader has she/her pronouns, angst, fluff, hurt/comfort, flashbacks of blood and death. Logan gets brainwashed/manipulated in his past, emotionally unavailable Logan.

a/n: I saw that one tiktok prompt and decided to write this! I really like angst and low key might write a smutty part 2 but we will see! I hope you like it thank you!!!

It's another sleepless night for Logan. He's been having a lot of those lately. Wade's couch isn't exactly comfortable either. Everyone here treats him like a hero. Praising him for saving their universe. He scoffs at the idea. He wears the damn costume but he doesn't feel like a hero. Not after what he did.

Logan stands up from the couch, throwing off the blanket and deciding he needs some air. He grabs his jacket and leaves the apartment. The door closes loudly behind him but he can't seem to care. He fidgets with a cigar as he waits for the elevator to bring him to the ground floor.

When the cool outside air hits his face he relaxes. With a finally lit cigar, he walks around aimlessly. The sounds of his past haunt him with every passing second. Sure he may have saved this world but he is far from the hero they think he is.

"Logan? What are you doing?" He closes his eyes as he hears your voice from behind.

He glances over his shoulder to see you wrapped up in a blanket, a tired look on your face. It's early, the sun isn't even up yet and you're clearly exhausted. Yet here you are, out in the cold for him. He grunts in response, turning back around. He hears you sigh and it makes his stomach turn. He waits for you to turn around and go back inside but you don't. To his frustration you stay, you can't seem to take the damn hint.

You never have, he's tried to stay away from you. Ignore you. But you're so persistent. Stubborn. It doesn't matter how little he speaks to you or even looks at you, you don't give up. How he wishes you would. How he wishes you could understand that he needs you to stay far away from him. That just looking at you hurts. Hearing your voice is even worse. And being next to you is a knife through his heart.

It's not fair that you're here, haunting him in this universe as you did in his own. Though he thinks it might just be his punishment for everything he's done. How cruel.

"Go back to bed." He grumbles, his voice is slightly muffled by the cigar in his mouth.

"No." You say simply. Staying right next to him, looking up at the sky as the sun starts to peek out. He stares at you in disbelief. Wordlessly he stomps out his cigar and turns to leave.

"Logan, wait!" You call after him and he clenches his jaw. Why do you have to follow him? Why are you chasing him? His hurt builds until all he can feel is white hot rage.

"For fucks sake! Can't you just fuck off?" His growls. "I am sick and tired of seeing you everywhere I fucking go! So please, just take the fucking hint and leave. Me. Alone." Venom dripping with every word. He watches you shrink under his angry gaze.

Words dying on your lips as you tighten the blanket around yourself. His chest heaves as his anger starts to dissipate. He watches your eyes grow glassy and your lip quiver ever so slightly.

"I..I'm sorry." You mumble out an apology before running past him. Guilt creeps up inside of him but he doesn't let it show. It's better this way.  That's what he repeats over and over. Trying to convince himself it's true.

-

You don't understand what you've done to piss off Logan this much. To make him hate you the way he does. All you wanted was to befriend him, to help him. That's what you did with your Logan. His first friend in the X mansion all those years ago. Sure your Logan was just as untrusting and gruff at first but he learned to accept his family. He changed. Maybe it's your fault for thinking it would be the same. He's not your Logan. You have to remind yourself of that.

He looks just like him though. Talks like him, even smells like him. Your Logan yelled and had his moments but he always came back, pulling you tight and apologizing. But the anger in his eyes is something you'll never forget. He's not your Logan and he never will be. After that night you make a point to stay out of his way. Refusing Wade's dinner invitations and waiting until odd hours to leave your apartment, not wanting to even risk seeing him out in the hallways.

Eventually you ran out of excuses that Wade would accept and you were dragged back to his apartment for Mary Puppins' birthday party. At least the apartment was busy. You awkwardly stand in the corner of the room as they sing Happy Birthday. Logan and Wade are surrounded by everyone with Mary Puppins in Wade's arms. A little birthday hat on her head and somehow Wade got on on Logan's head.

As Wade gives a long, heartfelt speech about Mary and you grimace as she licks his face. Logan lets out a noise of disgust as stares at the two of them. You let out a little laugh, thinking you were being quiet enough but Logan's eyes snap to you. Nerves creeps over you as he refuses to look away. Without another word you set you cup down and leave.

Logan wanted space, so that's what you're giving him.

-

Logan watches you leave, a pang in his chest as he watches the joy fade from your face.

"God it's like watching a wet cat stare into the window of a loving home." Wade shakes his head disappointingly.

"Shut up." Logan growls.

"Hey don't get mad at me. I'm not the one who lashed out due to my inability to process my emotions." Logan raises his fist and unsheathes his claws.

Deep down he knows Wade is right, but he'll never admit it. Instead he puts his claws away and rips off the party hat. He weaves through the party guests to get to the door.

"Go get her Crocodile Dundee!" Wade shouts but Logan ignores him.

He knocks on your door but you don't answer. His heart begins to sink as he realizes that maybe he's pushed you too far. All he has to blame is himself. He's hurt you yet again. A part of him tells him to turn and leave. Just give up and accept his fate. But He waits and waits.

There's a small part of him keeping him rooted to the spot outside of your door, telling him that this time he can make it right. People trickle out of his apartment but he pays them no attention. Hours pass and still no sign of you. Still he remains determined. He closes his eyes and leans back. Ready to wait as long as it takes.

-

The morning after Wade's party sucks. You feel like shit, physically and mentally. You barely got enough sleep last night with your mind running all night. Sighing you decide the only thing that can salvage your morning is a donut. Though when you go to open your door, you're met with a very heavy resistance.

"What the?" You mumble as you push hard against the door. You hear someone swear before shuffling on the other side. When you can finally open your door all the way you see Logan standing in front of you. Was he out here all night?

"What do you want?" You ask tiredly. You're really not in the mood to deal with him right now.

"I..." Logan doesn't know where to start. How to even begin to apologize. Sighing you close your door but Logan sticks his arm out.

"Wait! Please, just, I need to say some things. You don't have to forgive me but I need to say them." Silently you open your door and let him in. He watches nervously as you make your way to your couch.

"You're dead in my world." He winces at his own bluntness.

"And I killed you." Logan paces back and forth as he tries to piece together his nightmares.

"It was supposed to be a simple mission. Recon. I don't even go on those kinds of missions but I didn't want you going alone." He squeezes his eyes shut as he remembers.

"Logan!" You scold lightly.

"Keep your hands to yourself." He smirks as he walks you up against the walls of the jet.

"You don't normally complain about where my hands go." Rolling your eyes playfully, you place a kiss on his cheek.

"Just wait till after the mission okay?" He winks and pulls you in for a kiss.

"Fine, but after this I get you all to myself."

"We walked in and everything went wrong."

Something was wrong and he knew it. Still you insisted on finishing your mission. The moment you stepped through the door he wanted to take you and run. He should have. But he acted too late. The things he saw, A wall separating the two of you. Hearing your screams for help as he couldn't get to you.

"Well well, aren't you an interesting one." He looks around for the voice but all he can see is darkness. His claws swipe at the wall as he hears your voice pleading for his help. Suddenly the wall lifted and all he could see was someone with a gun to your head. He doesn't hesitate to jump into action. Fighting with everything he's got.

"Logan!" Your scream sounds far away as he shoves his claws deep into the man's stomach.

To his confusion the world begins to melt around him. To his horror he sees you standing in front of him. Cuts and bruises on your face, not caused by the enemies, but by him.

"It's okay," You whisper. Your hands shake as you try to reach out for his face. He doesn't want to look down, knowing that if he does, he'll see his claws deep in your stomach. Slowly your body sinks to the ground. His claws retract and you cry as they leave your body. He wraps his arms around you as you grow weak in his arms.

"I'm sorry, I'm so sorry." He repeats over and over again. His hands press on your stomach and you groan in pain. There's too much blood but he doesn't care. He can fix this, he can save you.

"Logan, It's okay my love." You brush his face with your bloody hand.

"No! I can fix this! We just have to get you home yeah?" He tries to move you but you scream in pain. It's too late, you've accepted it but he can't seem to.

"Come on sweetheart, please." He pleads desperately as he brings your body closer to him.

"Please, I'm sorry."

"It's not your fault," It's getting harder to breathe but strangely you're completely at peace. Logan doesn't understand how you can be.

"I'm sorry, I love you." He doesn't let go of you, repeating that like a mantra as you die in his arms. 

"I killed you, I let whatever fucking asshole inside of my head and I killed you." He stops pacing and finally looks at you.

He blinks and it's like he's back in his nightmare. Blood on your face, a pitiful look on your face as you try and comfort him in your last moments. It makes him sick.

"I saw you everywhere I went, I let it ruin me. I became the monster you said I could never be." You reach out of him but he recoils from your touch.

"Then Wade found me and now I'm here thinking maybe I had changed but now you're fucking here. I see you every time I close my eyes and now I see you here." His claws come out in a fit of anger as he slams his hands against the arm of your couch.

"And you're so nice, too nice. You look at me just like she did and it kills me inside." His claws retract as he slowly approaches you.

"I'm sorry for hurting you, I don't deserve this. Any of this." Tears pool in your eyes as you watch the man break down right in front of you. Weighed down by the guilt of his past. Things begin to click together, why he's been so hostile towards you all this time.

"Logan, what happened isn't your fault." You say calmly. His breath hitches, you sound just like you did back then. Same tone and everything.

"If I was stronger, smarter..."

"You were tricked, it was an accident." You slowly move closer to him, worried that you'd scare him like a wounded animal.

"How can you be so kind about this?" He asks in disbelief.

"I killed you!"  His claws come out as he brings them dangerously close to your face.

"I put my claws through you, I watched you bleed out in my arms."  You gently touch his claws, moving them away from your face and bringing his hand to your chest. He resists, not wanting to touch you. Not wanting to hurt you

"I'm not her Logan. I'm here, I'm alive. You don't have to push me away." His eyes close as relents and places his hand on your heart. The steady beating grounds him back to reality. His memories slowly fade as he listens. Now only focused on you.

Ba bump Ba bump Ba bump 

"I know you think you deserve the worst. But you don't. Maybe, maybe this isn't the punishment you think it is. Maybe, the universe is giving you a do over.” You two know that you're different from the ones that you loved. That no matter how much you look like each other, its never going to be the same. But the same for both of you means death, loneliness. So maybe this is a good different.

“You’ve always been too good for me.” He says.

“No, I think I’ve always been what you needed.” Logan lets go of you but he stays close.

His thumb reaches out to brush away a stray tear. He cups your face and leans in slowly. He seems reluctant to take the final leap. To truly accept that he deserves good things so you meet him half way. Tugging at his shirt you bring your lips to his.

It's soft and sweet. Like a first kiss you share on the front steps of your porch after a first date. A first kiss, a fresh start. Logan deepens the kiss, guiding you gently to the couch. His lips travel down to your neck, nipping at your skin as he mumbles apologies.

"Logan," You squeak. He sits up, worry on his face.

"Too much?" He runs his hand over where he bit.

"No, but maybe we start slower. Breakfast?" Logan almost laughs at the idea of something so domestic but a fresh start is what he wanted. It's what he's gotten and he's not going to waste it.

"Yeah, breakfast sounds good."

[br0kenangel]

𓈒ㅤׂㅤ 𓇼 ࣪ 𝐏𝐫𝐞𝐲 𓈒ㅤׂㅤ⭒⠀

Pairing: Serial Killer Aegon x Victim Reader

Summary: you just wanted to enjoy the night with your best friend and getting fucked. But what was waiting for you was much more scary than anything you had ever expected...

Warning: kidnapping, blood, abuse, unwanted touch, murder.

˚꒰♡꒱‧ Hi there! Before you read this, you should know that English is not my first language. Hope you enjoy!

Original Gif by @lady-alicent ♡

The mirror gleamed back at Y/N as she carefully applied the finishing touches to her makeup, the sleek red dress clinging to her curves in all the right ways. Her hair cascaded over her shoulders, the silky strands catching the light of the vanity. Tonight, she was going to be unstoppable. On speaker, her best friend Emily's voice filled the room, excitement buzzing between them as they planned their night out.

"Girl, I swear, tonight's the night. I will get laid" Emily laughed, the sound infectious, pulling a giggle from Y/N.

"Are you sure, though? You've been talking about this for weeks. Are you finally going to get with Tom?" Y/N teased, brushing some highlighter across her cheekbones.

"Hell yeah! I'm gonna fuck his brains out!" Emily declared dramatically, causing both of them to erupt into laughter. "But what about you? Don't think I didn't see how Oliver was staring at you last time. That man is ready to risk it all."

Y/N smirked, lining her lips with a deep crimson. "Oh, Oliver won't know what hit him tonight" she winked at herself in the mirror, confident. "By the end of this party, he's going to be begging."

Emily cackled, making another inappropriate joke that had Y/N snorting, her mascara brush shaking slightly in her hand. "God, Emily, you're gonna make me mess up my makeup."

"I cant help it, you're gonna make himー"

Suddenly, Y/N froze mid-laugh. In the corner of her eye, she caught something ーa shadow shiftingby the window, just out of her line of sight. Her heart skipped, an eerie prickle crawling up her spine.

"What's wrong?" Emily's voice came through the phone, concern creeping into her playful tone.

Y/N blinked, her eyes darting around the room. Everything was still. Quiet. The only sound was Emily's distant voice on the phone. She let out a breath, forcing smile as if it could push away the unease settling in her gut. "Nothing, I just thought I saw something."

"Probably just your nerves. You've got Oliver on the brain too much!" Emily teased, bringing the conversation back to its lightheartedness.

"Yeah, you're right," Y/N muttered, trying to shake off the strange feeling. She continued applying her makeup, but every now and then, her gaze flicked back to the window. That uneasy chill hadn't left, a quiet whisper in her mind that something wasn't quite right. But it was probably nothing.

At least, that's what she told herself.

The night was pitch black, the only light coming from the dim glow of Y/N’s headlights as they cut through the lonely, desolate road. Trees stretched out on either side, their branches twisting together to form a canopy of shadows. The once lively conversation with Emily had died down to a nervous exchange of directions as Y/N found herself completely lost in the maze of unfamiliar back roads.

"Are you sure this is the right way?" Y/N asked, her voice tight with frustration, gripping the wheel a little too hard. The GPS had stopped working a while ago, leaving her utterly reliant on Emily’s instructions.

“I swear, Y/N, it’s the right way! Just keep going straight, and you’ll see a sign soon, I promise,” Emily’s voice reassured her, though it did little to calm the rising anxiety bubbling in her chest.

Straight. That’s all she had to do. But the road seemed endless, stretching out in front of her like a void, each passing second growing thicker with unease. Y/N glanced around, her stomach flipping as the dark woods loomed over her. It felt like something was watching from the trees.

"Emily, I don’t see anything—" Y/N began, but her words were cut off in a scream as a figure suddenly appeared from the darkness, leaping in front of her car.

THUD.

The impact jolted her entire body forward, the screech of brakes cutting through the stillness as the car skidded to a halt. Y/N’s heart was racing, pounding so hard she could barely breathe. The world outside was silent again, but the deafening thud of the hit echoed in her ears, over and over.

“Y/N? Y/N! What the hell just happened?!” Emily’s voice was frantic, but Y/N barely heard her.

She stared ahead, wide-eyed, her hands trembling on the wheel. What just happened? Did I hit him? Did I just… kill someone?

Her throat was dry as she swallowed, trying to steady herself. "I… I think I hit someone. I’m not sure." Her voice was shaky, barely above a whisper.

“What?! Are you okay?! What happened?” Emily’s voice was nearly drowned out by the ringing in Y/N’s ears, her panic rising with every passing second. Y/N’s hands moved to unbuckle her seatbelt, her body feeling as if it was moving on autopilot. "I need to check. I’ll call you back."

“What? No, wait—” Y/N hung up, her mind spinning with terror as she opened the door and stepped out into the suffocating darkness. The wind was cool, but her skin prickled with cold sweat. The night was unnaturally quiet, save for the rapid beating of her heart in her ears.

Her eyes landed on the crumpled figure lying in the road just ahead, and her stomach lurched. She could barely see him in the dim light of her car’s headlights, his body twisted at an unnatural angle. Every instinct screamed for her to run, but her feet moved forward, her breath shallow.

She knelt beside the man, her hands trembling as she reached out. "Hey… Hey, are you okay?" Her voice cracked, almost pleading. She shook his shoulder gently, her breath catching in her throat. Please don’t be dead. Please, God, don’t be dead.

He didn’t respond, his body limp. Y/N’s heart plummeted. For a horrifying moment, she thought she’d killed him. I hit him, I really hit him. What if he’s dead? What if I—

But then she noticed it—his chest, rising and falling slowly. He was still breathing.

Y/N let out a shaky breath, a wave of relief crashing over her. "Oh, thank God…" she muttered, her hands moving to check for any sign of consciousness. "Hey, can you hear me? You’re gonna be okay, I’ll get you help. Just hang on."

Her voice was trembling as she stood, rushing back to the car to grab her phone. Her hands fumbled with the door handle, her pulse pounding in her ears. She had to call for help. Get him to the hospital.

But just as she reached into the car for her phone, something hard and solid slammed into the back of her head.

Pain exploded through her skull, white-hot and blinding. Her vision blurred instantly, the world spinning as her body crumpled to the ground. Her mind scrambled to make sense of what was happening, but all she could register was the unbearable, crushing pain.

She tried to blink away the darkness closing in around her, her breaths ragged and desperate, but the force of the blow had knocked her senses loose. Through the dizzy haze, she saw him—the man she had just hit, standing above her with a rock in his hand. The sickening realization crashed into her like a freight train.

It was a trap.

Her heart raced, adrenaline surging through her, but her limbs felt heavy, numb. She wanted to scream, to fight, but her vision was dimming, the pain dragging her under. The last thing she saw before everything went black was the man’s cold, emotionless face, looming over her as she slipped into the abyss.

Y/N's consciousness flickered like a dying flame, dragging her unwillingly from the void. The pain in her head was the first thing she registered-an unbearable, spliting agony that pulsed in time with her heartbeat, making her feel like her skull was about to crack open. She groaned, but the sound came out muffled, trapped behind something in her mouth. Panic started to set in as she realized she couldn't open her jaw; the taste of dirty fabric filled her mouth. A gag.

Disoriented, she blinked slowly, trying to make sense of where she was. Her vision was blurry, her surroundings a nauseating haze of darkness and shadow. Everything reeked. The stench hit her all at once- thick, putrid, suffocating. It was a mix of urine, sweat, blood, and something far more decayed. The smell clawed at the back of her throat, making her gag against the cloth. She fought back the urge to vomit, knowing it would only choke her.

Her body felt... wrong. Heavy. Aching. Every muscle was sore, every inch of her skin stung with a dull, throbbing pain. When she tried to move, she realized why: she was tied up. Her arms were bound tightly behind her back, the coarse rope biting into her wrists and cutting off circulation. Her legs were bound too, her ankles tied together so tightly she could barely wiggle her toes.

Where the hell am I? The last thing she remembered was... the man. The man she had hit. Her heart jumped into her throat, the memory rushing back to her all at once一the impact, the body on the road, the moment of relief when she realized he was still breathing. And then... then he had attacked her. Everything went black after that. And now I'm here.

Her breath quickened as she took in her surroundings. The room was small, cramped, with walls so grimy she could barely tell their original color. Blood smeared the walls in splatters and streaks, both fresh and old, the sickening reminder of whatever horrors had taken place here before. There were stains on the floor, dark, sticky patches that made her skin crawl. And then she noticed the other things一flesh, torn and hanging like trophies from hooks. Bones, carelessly strewn on the floor, cracked and splintered. She wanted to scream, but the gag silenced her, the terror building in her chest until it felt like she might suffocate on it.

But she wasn't alone.

In the dim light, she saw them-other women. At least five of them, maybe more. All of them were bound like her, gagged, naked, their bodies bruised and filthy. Some of them were barely conscious, their heads lolling weakly, while others stared at her with wide, terrified eyes. There was something about their expressions that sent ice shooting down her spine-those hollow, desperate eyes, like animals resigned to their fate.

One of them, a woman with tear-streaked cheeks and a gag so tight it had rubbed her mouth raw, met Y/N's gaze. She shook her head slowly, almost imperceptibly, her eyes full of warning. It was as if she was trying to tell her something, something Y/N didn't yet understand. Don't move. Don't fight. Don't make a sound.

But Y/N wasn't like them. She couldn't just sit here and wait to die. Fear surged through her veins, but so did adrenaline. She had to get out. I have to get out.

Slowly, carefully, she began to squirm, trying to shift her weight without making too much noise. Every movement was agonyーher wrists felt like they were being sliced open by the ropes, and her muscles screamed in protest. But she didn't stop. She couldn't. If she stayed here, she was dead.

As she inched her way toward the door, the other women watched her, their eyes filling with fresh tears, their bodies trembling as they silently begged her stop. But she couldn't stop. She had to get free. She had to.

The closer she got to the door, the more hope flickered inside her-until she fell. Her hands slipped, and her body hit the floor with a dull thud. She landed in something wet and slimy, the smell assaulting her senses immediately. It was a disgusting mix of rotting food, excrement, and something else- something thick and foul that clung to her skin and made her gag. Her stomach churned violently, the bile rising in her throat, but she swallowed it down, focusing on the door just a few feet away.

But then the door creaked open.

The sound was slow, deliberate, and it filled the room like a death knell, Y/N froze, her heart hammering in her chest, her body tensing as the dim light from the hall spilled into the room.

He stepped inside.

The man. The same man she had hit with her car. He stood in the doorway, his silhouette tall and menacing, his face twisted into a sickening grin. His eyes scanned the room, and when they landed on Y/N, his expression darkened. Rage boiled just beneath the surface of his face, twisting his features into something monstrous.

"What do we have here?" he muttered, his voice low and dangerous.

Before Y/N could even try to scramble away, he was on her. He grabbed a fistful of her hair and yanked her up, dragging her across the filthy floor as she screamed against the gag. Pain shot through her scalp, white-hot and unbearable, but the terror that gripped her heart was even worse. He was going to kill her. He was going to kill her right now.

"You stupid, stupid girl" he hissed, his voice thick with venom as he dragged her back to where she'd been. "You thought you could just leave? You thought you could escape?" He threw her down onto the cold floor, kicking her hard in the stomach for good measure.

The breath was knocked from her lungs, and for a moment, everything went dark. She gasped for air, her body convulsing in pain, but she couldn't get enough oxygen. Her vision blurred, her mind spinning with fear and panic. This is it. I'm going to die.

"You should be thankful l'm not going to punish you further;" he spat, kneeling down beside her, his breath hot and rancid against her face. "You're new. I'm feeling generous today."

Y/N's body shook uncontrollably as she lay there, too weak and terrified to move. But then, just as quickly as the anger had come, his expression changed. The rage melted away, replaced by something far more sinister. His hand, still tangled in her hair, began to stroke her scalp gently, his voice softening as if he hadn't just brutalized her.

"I'm sorry" he whispered, his tone dripping with faux concern. "I didn't mean to hurt you. You just made me so... angry. it's your fault, you know? If you hadn't tried to leave.." His fingers trailed down her neck, his touch lingering on her skin as he murmured, "You're so beautiful. So.. perfect."

"Soft," he murmured, as though admiring the texture of fabric instead of skin. He leaned in closer, inhaling deeply as he buried his face in her hair, his breath warm and sickening against her skin. "You smell so good... You're going to make the perfect doll."

Y/N's mind spun with confusion and horror. Doll? What did that mean? She wanted to scream, to thrash and fight, but her body felt like it was frozen, paralyzed by fear and exhaustion. Her tears welled up, spilling down her cheeks as she trembled beneath his touch.

Y/N's breath caught in her throat as his hand slid lower, caressing her naked body with possessive, almost reverent strokes. His fingers traced the curve of her breast, the dip of her waist, the swell of her hips. He was taking his time, savoring the touch, the control, the power. Y/N felt sick, her stomach twisting in knots as she lay there, helpless, her mind screaming for it to stop. But she couldn't Scream. She couldn't move.

"You're going to be perfect" he whispered, his lips brushing against her ear. "Just... perfect."

She wanted to disappear, to sink into the floor and never exist again. But all she could do was lie there, paralyzed by fear and disgust, as he continued to touch her. His hands roamed over her body, his breath hot and heavy against her skin. Every touch felt like fire, burning into her flesh, marking her. She could feel his excitement, his anticipation, and it made her want to vomit.

Then, suddenly, he stood up.

“Not today" he said, smiling down at her with a look of twisted affection. "Today isn't your day."

Y/N's stomach lurched as she realized what he meant. Not her day. But soon. Her tears blurred her vision, her entire body shaking uncontrollably as she tried to scream through the gag. She couldn't stop the sob that broke through, muffled but desperate.

He laughed softly, brushing her hair out of her face with a gentleness that felt like a mockery of kindness. "Shhh" he cooed, "don't cry. You'll ruin your pretty face. And I love your face."

Before she knows it, the man turned his attention to one of the other women-a blonde who had been sitting silently in the corner, her eyes wide with terror. Without a word, he grabbed her by the hair, yanking her to her feet with a sickening cruelty. The woman's body convulsed in terror, her eyes filling with tears as she let out a muffled scream behind her gag.

She struggled weakly, her limbs trembling, but it was no use. He dragged her toward the door, pulling her like a rag doll, her body limp with fear. She was looking at her. Like a lamb. Wide eyes. Begging for help. But Y/N couldn't do anything.

Y/N watched in horror as the door slammed shut behind them. The remaining women in the room sobbed softly, the sound of their crying mixing with Y/N's own frantic breaths.

Then the noise began.

The sound of metal on flesh, a sharp, wet thwack followed by a crunch that made Y/N's blood run cold. The woman's faint cries echoed through the walls, but they were quickly drowned out by the sickening sound of the ax splitting flesh and bone. The rhythm was steady, methodical, like someone chopping wood ーonly it wasn't wood. lt was human.

Y/N closed her eyes, tears streaming down her cheeks. She couldn't move. She couldn't breathe. All she could do was wait, knowing that soon... it would be her turn.

Should I make a part 2?

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

[redflagshipwriter]

Hot Ghouls in Your Area

Chapter 1

“A cult?” Jason blew out a bubble and enjoyed the disgusted face that Bruce made.

“Yes.” His voice was tight. Jason could tell that he wanted to turn back to the Batcomputer. “They’re operating in Park Row-”

“Crime Alley.”

Batman sighed and accepted the correction. “I would like to propose a joint operation.” He sounded so tired and not very optimistic.

Jason eyed up his on-again-off-again Father figure and popped his gum, thinking it over. Bruce clearly expected him to say no, fuck off, and take the information himself.

He could. There was nothing wrong with that.

“Sure, old man.” He clapped Bruce on the shoulder and finished screwing together the tool he’d brought in for maintenance. He’d had to fabricate a new part and the Red Hood didn’t exactly have the equipment for that in his two room apartment. “Thursday night alright?”

“They’ve a planned meeting on Wednesday, actually,” Bruce said, frowning slightly at him but looking soft around the eyes with confused hope. “Would that be possible? They seem to gather mid-week.”

Jason let out a sigh. “I can make it work. Ta, old man.” He made sure to toss off an especially insouciant salute as he sauntered away. Sure, he was willing to put a little effort into maintaining their relationship, but he couldn’t be too compliant. If you gave Bruce an hour of your time, he wrote you down on the schedule for an hour every day until one of you fuckin’ died in a warehouse explosion. Something like that.

He wasn’t that trusting, though. Jason took the information that Bruce emailed him and did his own legwork. He wasn’t stubborn enough to bother redoing digital work that Bruce had done or gotten from Babs. That would be a waste of his time, and he valued his time. But he scoped out the cult’s meeting place.

Of all the undignified things, it was a rented room in the community center. Jason found himself sheepishly breaking into the office to check on the reservation and poking around the room itself.

There was nothing special about it. It was a shitty room with shitty paneled walls and cheap, well-trodden grey carpet. It boasted a few too many tables, arranged in a U shape, and a whiteboard pushed up against the wall that hadn’t been cleaned off well enough to erase what he was pretty sure was a reference to their lord and savior, destroyed of worlds.

So. That was a point for Bruce’s cult thing.

He hadn’t really doubted it, if he was honest, given that this had originated in a tip from Zatanna. She had told him as a courtesy that some creep had moved their base of recruiting and operations into Gotham.

Apparently, recruitment was going pretty well. The room could seat like, twenty? Jason counted chairs and left.

He came back on Wednesday at 8pm with the Batman and an attempt at a good attitude. He probably wasn’t going to need any of the weapons on his person. They were going to check in so that this guy knew they had an eye on him and that he would be suspect number one if there was any hint of people or cats being sacrificed.

Bruce fucked off to peer in the windows, like the giant caped creep he was. Jason took the front door, nodded congenially at the old man in the office, and knocked at the room the cultists had reserved.

He could hear Bruce internally curse through the comm. It was silent, of course, but the quality of the silence changed. “Knock knock,” he called, since a literal knock hadn’t done it. He opened the door without waiting. “Just checking in, heard you’re new to town and that you tried to feed Zatanna’s shitty little cousin to the god of Death?”

The room stared at him. A whiteboard marker squeaked to a stop. He idly followed the sound to the board. A …. Huh. that looked like some kind of mystical bullshit.

“You’ve been touched by death,” said the fraud himself, a man in his fifties with a wildly pretentious robe that was wrinkled from the paper bag he’d clearly used to carry it in. He outstretched the hand that didn’t have a blue whiteboard marker in it. “You would be a perfect sacrifice to our Lord.”

“So will it be,” said about half the people there, at the same time a young woman said, “No shit?” in an impressed tone.

Jason rolled his eyes through the helmet, unintimidated by the room of weirdos standing up. The kind of people who gathered at a community center on a Wednesday night were not going to summon the God of Death. Light glinted off the window where Batman was clearly weighing the possibility of breaking glass and swinging in. Jason silently waved him off with a headshake. They weren’t to the point of property damage yet. He took a couple of steps into the room with deliberate swagger. “What a lucky guess,” he drawled. “The Red Hood has had brushes with death? No one but a legitimate prophet could possibly make such a statement.”

“I’m not a prophet,” said the man, and turned back to his white board. “I’m a devote.” He rubbed out a line with the meat of his hand and then hurriedly wrote in ‘The Red Hood’ in a tilted cursive. “The sacrifice!” he shouted, throwing his arms wide and accidentally making a big blue line through his evil little sigil or whatever it was. The elderly lady to Jason’s right opened up her bag, thrust her hand in, and came up with a fistful of -

“Salt?” Jason asked, confused and unimpressed as the silly twit threw her handful of salt at him. “Thanks, I’m better seasoned now,” he snarked. He pulled out a gun easily. “Alright, let’s get serious. I-”

The whiteboard was glowing. The blue letters were glowing green.

“What the fuck?” Jason said. The windows exploded with broken glass as Batman decided now was the time to make his entrance. He barely got to see it before something hooked unpleasantly on his body and soul and twisted it sideways.

The world was green now. Holy shit. Jason spun a circle on uneven ground and gaped. “...Egg on my face,” he said. “I’ve been sacrificed. Consider me embarrassed.” A quick check showed that his comm was useless. It was giving off a steady little eeee of static that kinda sounded like screams. Whimsical. Jason turned it off.

He wasn’t panicking yet. The void wasn’t that freaky. It was weird, sure, but there weren’t any demons or enemies. He flicked the safety off his favorite gun just in case and frowned into the darkness.

It was like he was standing under a spotlight with no light source. There was ambient lighting in all directions, but the world faded into darkness only a few dozen feet away. He took some experimental steps to determine that, yeah, the field of visibility traveled with him.

Well. Time to get moving. Jason walked. There was nothing for the first - hour, he was gonna call it an hour. He got antsy and started jogging. The green stretched on, placid and infinite in a way that was really starting to piss him off. “Hey!” Jason barked into the void. “Anyone there?”

There was an answering electronic whirr. He stopped in his tracks. Jason looked in every direction, including up, and only saw the fucking thing when it was basically on top of him.

The vehicle was probably most equivalent to a spaceship, he decided, as what was probably a 3-man craft at most parked. The top clicked. It opened from the top and someone bounded out. “Hey!” came an annoyed male voice. “What’s the deal, bud?” The stranger landed in front of Jason with crossed arms and a pissy expression. His white hair floated above his head as if he was the little fucking mermaid in the ocean.

Jason scowled, the back of his mind cataloging the other guy’s outfit as pristine and undamaged and his musculature as athletic. “What’s it to you?” he asked, defensive. He didn’t know if it was safe to give information to this guy. “I might be a little lost,” Jason conceded.

“A little lost,” the guy repeated, and then- okay, he flew in a weird little flippy circle, scowling all the while as Jason gaped. “A little lost.” He scoffed. Then he let out a sigh that made his whole body look smaller. He uncrossed his arms and ran a hand through his hair. “This is a weird question,” he said, making it sound more defensive than apologetic. “Did you uh.” He scowled, like the words were distasteful. “Look,” he tried again. “Are you delulu, or did you get caught up as the sacrificial bride? I told Frank to knock that shit off.”

Sacrificial bride. Jason felt his brain go offline for a moment. Say what now.

“Helloooo,” the… was this rando a god of death? He was impatient. He flew way up into Jason’s personal space and snapped his fingers. “Someone just smashed metal trash bins together at my grave to get my attention, basically. No, it’s more like one of those spam pop ups that says there’s hot girls in your area?” He made a gesture at Jason. “Only it’s loud. It’s ringing in my ears, and I had to come track you down. Do you think this is funny?”

“...Sacrificial bride?” Jason finally managed to croak out.

Weirdly, this made the other guy relax immediately. “Just found out, huh,” he said, sounding much more sympathetic. “Yeah, okay, we need to sort out a spiritual divorce immediately. And then you can go home and there will be no more hot girls in my area and I can get back to my ess- my work.”

Jason took a few moments of grief and confusion to accept his apparent status. “We’re married?” he said weakly.

The white haired man looked a little sheepish. “Marriage is probably not quite accurate,” he said, and Jason felt a little bit of relief before the guy continued, “It’s more like you’re my concubine?” He sounded mortified by this. “I didn’t want this!”

“No, no,” Jason said, meaning both that he believed it and that he needed this conversation to change directions immediately. “I- who are you?” He gestured at his– what the fuck was the other side of a concubine relationship? King was the associated word that came up, but that…

“I’m nobody, really,” said the white haired man weakly. “But I may technically be King of ghosts or whatever. The Infinite Realms.” He scratched at his face. “So… yeah.”

They stood in utterly mortified silence for a long moment before he seemed to remember something. “You can call me Danny,” he offered.

“...Call me Jason,” he said.

“Thanks, Jason,” Danny said genially. “So, uh, this is a mess, right?” He started floating away backwards. “I’m going to hunt down my mentor and advisor and get some uh- advice, I guess. Do you wanna come with? Or should I come back and check in once I’ve heard from him?”

Jason weighed up his situation, the conventional wisdom about getting in vehicles with strange men, and wondered how useless his gun was going to be in this situation. Danny had never reacted to it being pointed at him, so his guess was ‘utterly unhelpful’. He put it away. “I’d like a ride, thanks,” he said dryly.

They made some stilted conversation on the ride. Danny was clearly trying to hold back and give him no identifying information. That was fascinating, because it implied that there was something Jason could do from the human world to track Danny down. It was also reassuring because there was no reason to withhold information if he’d planned to keep Jason prisoner, so, ya know, that was a good sign.

Anyway, Jason got a lot of information from Danny.

Danny was a terrible liar and he misspoke like, all the time. Jason was pretty sure he was in the ghost equivalent of school, like college or something. He talked like someone in Jason’s age group would, so he’d probably died very recently. Maybe he had been a college student when he’d died and he just hadn’t given up on that degree yet, honestly. Jason managed to drag the conversation around to education. He got nowhere with asking about literature but he hit the jackpot with science. Danny was still babbling about a telescope when he landed the …ship outside of a wonky clocktower.

Jason took off his safety belt and froze in his tracks when Danny absently stopped him with a cool hand. Jason looked down at that hand.

“You had better stay here,” Danny said. He shook his head slightly. “Clocky doesn’t like everyone.”

He melted into the chair as if he had never wanted to get up. “Alright,” Jason said.

Danny was out of the spaceship by the time that Jason realized something was very wrong with that interaction.

He hadn’t decided to sit down. He hadn’t wanted to sit back down. Did- did he actually think it was reasonable to stay behind, or would he have argued and gone in normally?

‘...I think Danny did something.’ Suspicion swirled in his gut. Jason tried to take the safety belt off and stand up. He couldn’t. It was like his muscles wouldn’t respond to it.

Well, that was pretty fuckin’ evil. His pulse picked up in his throat. It… It was some kind of compulsion? He had to do what Danny told him to do? That was really fucked up. He was starting to feel really unsafe now. He wished he’d hung back with Bruce. He wanted someone to bring him home. And weirdly, he felt betrayed. He hardly trusted Danny, didn’t know the fucker well enough to, but he hadn’t gotten that impression off the guy–

‘It wasn’t him,’ Jason realized. ‘It was the binding ritual. Danny said it wasn’t like a marriage, it’s not equal. That’s why I did what Danny wanted me to do.’

Well. Well then. If Danny didn’t know that Jason had to follow his orders, Jason was most fucking certainly not going to spell it out for him. It was a grim calculation to make, but it seemed the safest. As it was, Danny seemed to want to get rid of him as fast as possible.

So that was it. He’d play along and get Danny to spit him back out into Gotham, a young hot divorcé free on the streets.

[charliemwrites]

Part 4 of obsessed Johnny.

(Part 3 is here!)

(CW for nonconsensual ‘sort-of’ free use and edging; and again - dubious consent. Please stay safe!!)

Johnny’s favorite pastime is playing with you. If you didn’t know better, you’d think he’s being purposefully cruel, but no. He’s just… strangely preoccupied with your body.

He spends most nights cradling you between his legs, your back to his chest, arms wrapped around you. The two of you watch tv or movies, share popcorn - sometimes he watches you play on your Switch or reads over your shoulder.

It started out almost innocent (so to speak) in the beginning. He’s a fidgety guy, you’ve known that long before this whole mess, used to smile to yourself when you cleaned up straw wrappers and clean napkins folded into odd shapes.

So you barely notice when he starts fiddling with the hems of your sweatshirt and long shirts, picking at strings or running his thumb over knit textures. When he moved to your socks, that caught your attention but never went very far - just tugging at elastic lace or rolling/unrolling the tops along your thighs.

And then one night, as the two of you are watching the latest superhero movie, he hand creeps under your panties. You jolt the instant his fingers grazes your slit, hands twitching as you debate the dangers of redirecting him.

“Something wrong, Bonnie?” he asks against your ear, genuinely curious. “Is it too loud?”

It occurs to you that he genuinely might not realize what he’s doing - that reaching for you is just a thoughtless action like folding up bits of paper.

“Your hand is in my underwear,” you explain.

A pause. “Oh, so it is.” And to your surprise, he returns to hugging you.

It happens again though, this time you’re so preoccupied trying to beat a video game level that you almost don’t notice until his middle finger glides over your clit. You suck in a breath and die instantly.

“Damn,” he mutters. “Thought you had it that time. Gonna give it another go or you done for the night.”

Stuttering, you say you’ll give it another try, almost morbidly curious about how far he’ll go. Pretty far it turns out. He toys with your clit for 15 minutes before you clear your throat and shift, feeling unbearably wet and achy.

“Oh, shite. I did it again,” he mumbles, extracting his hand and settling it on the outside of your thigh. “No wonder you keep dying.”

The next time is during an intense tv show you’ve both gotten really into. It’s distracting from the weird reality you’ve found yourself in - but not weird enough that you can ignore Johnny tapping his finger nervously over your clit. You swear your heartbeat is starting to match that rhythm - tap, tap, tap. He doesn’t get the hint when you shift this time, eyes locked on the screen as he mutters to himself.

“No way is he secretly her brother. No fuckin’ way.”

You try to ignore it. Hope it’ll end in its own time when the tension dies down. It doesn’t. He lets the next episode load automatically, babbling to you about the crazy cliffhanger.

As it opens, his fingers travel down your slit to your entrance, find the slick there and play in it. Microthrusts against your leaking hole, just wetting his fingertip before dragging it out, up to your clit, three circles, then back down again.

It’s maddening but it’s not enough. You’re biting your lip so hard you’re surprised you don’t taste blood, thighs twitching with each jolt of pleasure coursing through you.

On and on it goes, slow and absent, maddening. Literally just playing with your pussy like a fidget toy. He’s not even fully hard against your lower back! Just the normal amount of mildly turned on that having you in his lap produces.

It’s driving you into a fucking spiral. So so sensitive, so close to the edge, but never enough. You just lay there trapped against him, dripping and desperate and determined to be quiet because you don’t know what else to do now. You can’t let yourself get off to this - but you also can’t find the words to remind him to stop.

When the episode - the finally - finally ends, he pulls his hand away, already gearing up to discuss theories for the next season with you. Instead, he’s cut off as you hiccup, near tears with being denied.

“What’s wrong, hen? I didn’t think it was that bad!” he says.

“You-you were…” you can’t get the words out, give up entirely. Time to see if he really is as devoted to pleasing you as he always swears.

You crawl out of his lap, flip onto your back, and yank him down by the hair. He makes a startled noise, eyes going huge, and then whimpers as his cheek presses into your absolutely soaked panties. Even that is a cruel but unintentional tease.

“Fix it,” you near sob.

“Of course, baby, of course,” he hurries to say, wriggling into a better position. “I’m sorry, love. So sorry. Got you all spun up, huh? Didn’t mean to. You’re just so soft and-”

You whine. “Soap, shut up and lick me!”

He moans, hips jerking hard into the mattress. “Yes, ma’am.”

[gothamhappiness]

You are my heaven 3 (Bruce Wayne x f!reader)

It was supposed to be a little imagine of a dark and lonely Bruce Wayne switching place with another Bruce Wayne from a parallal universe, but I wrote more than I thought. And then you asked for more :)

My masterlist is here.

Part 1 // Part 2

Warnings: no proof reading, stressed out neglect!Bruce, mentions of dead characters, jealousy and all kind of bad feelings, language

This was Hell. It had to be a nightmare, right? It couldn’t be the reality. It couldn’t be the truth. Someone was toying with him, torturing him even. It had to be an illusion of some sort. Or maybe he was stuck in the darkest part of this mind, full of his worst fears.

No child, no wife, no Alfred, no Justice League, no good day, no good night. 

Gotham wasn’t usually funny, but this was pure punishment.

At first, Bruce thought that the worst part was how awful the business was with Wayne Enterprises; there was so much work to take care of, all the time, and no one he felt like he could trust. 

Then he realised how empty his manor was. It was dark and quiet. It was making him want to throw up because of how tight it was making his chest and stomach. He couldn’t stand this utter silence. He couldn’t stand to not be able to play the annoyed mentor with his children and the good husband to you.

Not even having Alfred was a punishment, a torture, a cruel life. How was he supposed to care about everything without Alfred? How was he supposed to stay sane without the man who raised him? How was he supposed to survive without him? 

He so deeply missed the children. He tried to find them, but they were in prison, dead or gone from Gotham: Dick was a police officer who died during a mission, Jason was in prison, Tim died in his parents' accident, Stephanie had left Gotham forever, Cassandra killed herself to not be a killer anymore, Duke died as he looked for the Joker, Damian didn’t exist.

And Barbara looked so happy, Bruce didn’t even dare going to talk to her. And when he passed by her, hoping she would talk to him, she just seemed surprised to see Bruce Wayne in her local library. All the people he knew didn’t know him anymore or weren’t there to know him or to care about him.

In some desperate attempt, he looked for Talia, but the league of assassins simply kicked his ass for having tried and reached for her. They weren’t interested in him, merely wondering how he knew about them. He almost got killed that night, but he found a way out, like he always did.

Except he didn’t seem to be able to find a way out from this Hell.

The worst part was definitely your absence. He was so used to going to bed with a pretty little wife by his side. He was so used to kissing her goodnight. He was so used to her cute little whines for five minutes more of cuddles in the morning. He was so used to having his arm around her waist wherever they went. And he missed that so much. He wanted you so badly. He needed you so badly.

Fuck, he promised himself to not ditch any more dates with you once he would be back to what reality was supposed to be. He would take such good care of you. He would make you forget about the divorce papers and not just by saying to Alfred “She had a good life here and she loves the children, so she’ll stay”. No, he would make sure you actually wanted to stay. With him. With your husband.

He needed to find you in this world. Maybe you could help him, at least to not completely go insane.

He quickly found you, and for a brief instant, he was so relieved that you seemed to know him. You clearly weren’t his wife since you didn’t even live in the manor, but thank god he hoped you were his girlfriend. But your coldness hurt him more than he would ever admit it.

“What do you want, Bruce?” you groaned when you saw him at your door

“Just wanted to check on you” the man tried to smile

“Look, I’ve already told you that I’m not interested. You creep me out, man. And it’s not because the cops won’t do anything if I call them, that you can keep going here. So please, stay away from me and stop sending me gifts that I need to send you back. We’re not a thing, and we’ll never be” you told him before closing your door.

Bruce knew he was going to lose it.

He started to try and recall what happened the night before everything changed so drastically in his life. He slowly remembered this mission with the mad scientist. He remembered the light he saw right after he was going to sleep by your side. He was feeling so weak and strange then. Something happened then.

He needed to find the man. When he did, the scientist was actually a teacher in the University of Gotham, who was talking about the possibilities of parallel universes. It was how Bruce finally understood what happened. It wasn’t his reality. It wasn't an illusion. It was another world.

For a very brief instant, he felt very bad for the version of himself who had to deal with this world and this constant loneliness. But he couldn’t care. He wanted to get back home, surrounded by his people and their attention. He was relieved in a way because now he knew how to escape from this place.

He worked hard for several months. He showed a very dark version of himself, as he was forcing the scientist to find a way to send him back. He was slowly losing himself. He needed to come back home soon, or he would start to actually kill; why would he care about crossing the lines in a world that wasn’t his? In a city that didn’t like him anyway? In a life where no one loved him?

The media were commenting on how ruthless Batman was lately. Bruce couldn’t help it. He was feeling so bad. And there was this nasty little voice inside his head telling him over and over again that “Maybe no one realised you were gone. Maybe no one wants you back. Maybe that’s why you’re still there months after. Another man is fucking your wife, another man is talking to your children and to Alfred, another man is leading WE and the Justice League. And they all don’t care. Worst, they like him better”

The scientist wasn’t obsessed with the idea of getting rid of Batman so he thought about things quite differently. He found a way to send Bruce back to his world but he didn’t switch places. So when Bruce arrived where he was supposed to be, he was quite shocked to see another him.

What was worse was that you were by his side, laughing at something the man murmured to you. His arm was wrapped around your waist. It was then that your husband noticed how round your belly was. You were pregnant. You were heavily pregnant. There was no way it was actually his child. It had to be his. Didn’t you notice it wasn’t your husband who was making love to you? Or did you want it? Him?

The sole idea was driving him crazy with pain and raw jealousy. The jealousy that the Bruce of the other world felt when he first arrived in this world, the “real” Bruce” felt it too. His life has been stolen away from him, and he needed to get it back. 

It drove him even crazier when he saw how his children acted around the stranger. How could they all seem so happy around him? He hoped that no one understood what happened. He hoped that you all thought it was him.

He didn’t know what to do though. He couldn’t come back to the manor, he couldn’t show his face, so he hid in the dark for a little while. He kept stalking all of you, getting sick in the stomach each time he saw his children or you or the Justice League with his other self. Everyone seemed to do so much better.

Or maybe it was just his paranoia and the mean voices inside his head that wanted to make him believe that you all loved this other Bruce better than him. He couldn’t stop thinking about the child you were carrying. He had wanted that too, but you never seemed ready.

And now…

Now he needed to find you.

--

Part 4

--

Taglist for all my work <3

@blublock404

@wind-canoe

Taglist for this series <3 (you’re my heaven)

@bat1212

@karakento

@kneelforloki

Thanks for the ideas <3

@motherofdragons1998

@silverklaus

@optimisticmoonunknown

@kazuko-stuff

[gutterfuuck]

ok all i can think of is super pervy & creepy incel mark w a reader who lowk knows he’s super weird and creepy with her but is like…into it. like he steals her underwear and gets off on the smell of her and she knows and is just like 🤷‍♀️😊 like maybe she finds a fucking box of her underwear under his bed while they’re hanging out and he’s like oh fuck i swear it’s not what it looks like and she’s like :0 okay but do you want another pair? 😊😊

“ and in addition to my other ask; what would be even better is a reader who is so like fucked up mentally over being into it (bc uhhh she doesn't think she should be so into her best friend being a fucking creep) and mark can tell and he's like ok so ur just a little pervert like me!— ☆ “

this is so good anon omggg—- it would also be an interesting idea to have a reader who’s kind of a bully/mean girl towards mark + he retaliates (😉) but that is a whole other concept that i am not focusing on rn haha 😅

MDNI, 18+ CONTENT

you were accustomed to it by now; mark’s calloused finger tips brushing past your neck, hands wrapping around your waist or pulling you almost into his lap at times. he was just a touchy guy, you were his best friend, he’d never look at you like that!! mark just loved playing with your hair, he was just affectionate!

you knew why his hugs would linger just for a bit too long, you weren’t stupid. that’s why you weren’t the least bit shocked when you had found out where your underwear had ran off to. you weren’t shocked, weren’t exactly disappointed either. you knew what had been going on, you damn near set him up by just leaving your clothes thrown onto his bathroom floor after you would use his shower and purposely wearing short skirts and low tops whenever you would hang out with him. you’d picked up on his behaviour for a while now, so had everyone else. everyone around you could see how often mark would touch and let you walk up the stairs first so he could see up your skirt, “well i’m not gonna look up there, you know that.” “if you fall or slip, i’ll be there to catch you, y’know?” “c’mon y/n, don’t you trust me? wouldn’t you rather me accidentally see up there?” “you already walk around my house basically naked sometimes.” he justified, eventually winning you over and getting the chance to pull out his phone while distracting you with talk, taking a video from underneath your skirt.

you’d found them when you had dropped your phone down the side of his bed, going to get it before mark could protest and offer himself to grab it, he hadn’t moved that one pair of cotton white panties, the ones he had pressed up to his nose the night before, getting off to the scent of your pussy still on them. mark almost died when his fear came to fruition, you holding up your own pair of underwear that you had left your phone for.

mark’s face turned red, hand shooting forward to grab at the pair of underwear; you snatching your hand away. “i-it isn’t what you think it is!” he shouted, your eyes locked onto his. the corners of your lips turned upwards, glancing at the panties and then back to mark, “i think these are my panties. no, i’m sure.” you spoke, mark’s hands flew to your shoulders. “they must’ve g-gotten there by accident…-you’re always here, you never know, you might’ve left them here-” he stuttered, fingers digging into your skin gently, moving up to hold your face so he could give you a look of sincerity, hoping that you would believe his lies.

“d’you want more?”

he swear he heard ringing in his ears. the world seemed to slow down, his vision blurry. did you really just say that or was he actually going crazy this time? a beat, two. “what?” he breathed out, voice quiet and getting lost somewhere on the way out. “i’m wearing pink. white polkadots, lace i think.” you wondered, fingers playing with the hem of your skirt, inching it towards your upper thighs. further, further. “wanna see?” and mark feels like he’s going to explode. he was already nodding before you had even asked him if he wanted to look at your underwear, you got off of the bed, standing in front of him and lifted your skirt up. lace, just like you had promised. crimson red trickled out of mark’s nose, dick throbbing in his pants.

he looked so disheveled, half lidded puppy eyes focused on your clothed cunt, blood slowly dripping down his nose and past his chin, red staining his shirt. “can.. c-can i…” he almost drooled, hand reaching towards your thigh, needing to hold you, needing to confirm that this was real and happening. “you’re gonna let me touch you here, yeah?” his hands stuck to your waist, pulling you closer as he moved to kneel in front of you, pressing his face into your cunt and sniffing feverishly, tongue lolling out to lick you through the cloth.

“s’good… smell so f-fuckin’ good, y/n..” he groaned, you giggled. you were so perfect for him, so fucking perfect. he slid one of his hands into his pants, wasting no time in stroking his cock, jerking himself off while he sniffed around under your skirt and put his mouth around your still covered pussy, wetting the fabric and licking up your juices as soon as they secreted from your heat and soaked into your panties that mark would definitely be keeping. your hands stroked through his hair, gasping lightly when he pulled your panties to the side and instantly began sucking harshly on your clit, rubbing circles into it with his hot tongue.

this was sooo fucked up. were you taking advantage of him? would it even matter seeing as he’s obviously been taking advantage of you, stealing your underwear while you weren’t looking? you didn’t care, neither did mark. you especially didn’t care when his fingers found their way into your warm cunt, pumping in and out while he gently grazed your sensitive bud with his teeth, your fingers tightening in his hair and your chest heaving, a low growl rumbling in the back of his throat as he held you still with both hands now, teeth biting down just right enough for it to make you almost jump backwards, a light squeal leaving your lips.

“taste so good… so wet f’me, getting my fingers all sticky..” he talked into your clit, tongue flicking back and forth. mark pulled away, looking up at you with lust glazed eyes, putting his fingers into his mouth and sucking your slick off of his digits. he turned you around, mouth open while he panted, hands spreading your asscheeks as his tongue began licking circles around your asshole, making you almost jump at the unexpected action. “j-just wanna touch you everywhere…” mark told you, tongue pushing past your tight little back opening, your ass clenching around his tongue as you nearly fell over onto your knees, mark steadying you.

you were always teasing him, always. he pulled his tongue out, pulling you down onto the floor with him, positioning you onto your back, hands attacking your zipped up jacket and almost tearing the clean off. no shirt. no bra. fuck, you’d done this on purpose. “so fucking hot…” he said before sucking on your now exposed nipples, other hand squeezing as if he had no idea on how to handle tits gently. oh, that was because he didn’t. he was inexperienced, but it wasn’t something that made you upset. no, quite the opposite, you liked it; the hungriness of it. the greediness, selfishness.

“no bra… practically naked under there…-“ he huffed tapping your leg so you would wrap your legs around his waist. he bent down to lick your cheek, smiling when you gave him a look of confusion, “p-perv..!” you joked, laughing at him. his cock strained, his cheeks went pink. “again… fuck, call me that again.” mark muttered, humping against you on the floor, trapping you in with his teeth tight on your shoulder. you complied, gasping and nodding, “pervert..”

he lost it, getting to his feet and keeping his hand on your head so you knew not to stand up along with him, his hand anchored in the back of your hair, using it to pull you forward so he could rub your face in his bulge, throwing his head back when you opened your mouth, sliding your lips up and down the side of his cock through his pants.

in reality, maybe you were the pervert. you couldn’t care less, your hot best friend was trying to force his fat cock all the way down your throat with his gorgeous face all ruined and flustered with your lacey-pink-and-white panties held up to his nose, your scent drove him fucking crazy, your own face streaking of mascara and your lipstick smudged around the corners of your lips. you were beautiful to him, his hips unrelenting with his messy thrusts. “nghh aaaahh.. so warm… ‘s this what pussy feels like too?” he asked, gripping your hair even tighter. “b-bet you’re tighter in there… in your cunt-“ he continued to let his tip bully the back of your neck, your throat bulging ever so slightly with each harsh thrust, catching a rhythm that made his balls slap against your chin. “c-callin’ me the perv… you’re all soaked and sicky down there…” your eyes watered, nails digging into the meat of this thighs, your cunt gushing. this was so wrong, you should know better than to let your best friend throat fuck you after finding out that he had been getting away with stealing your items of clothing for so long. “you’re the real pervert, hah..- you look so messy, f-fuck, i-i’m gonna cumdownyourthroat—“ he choked out, dick pulsing as his head rolled back, his vision blanking and hips stuttering, thick ropes of cum filling your mouth.

he was right, you were the perv. only a perv would swallow their best friend’s load and beg him to shoot the next one into your guts.

[loveisanimaginarydagger3000]

Kinktober (3)- Age Difference

Wanda X Reader 18+

Summary: Separated from the rest of the group, you and Wanda find the perfect opportunity in the kitchen to have some alone time.

Warnings/Tags: SMUT MDNI, Mommy Kink, Oral and fingering (W receiving), Power Bottom Wanda, Implied cheating

Kinktober Masterlist

"Uh I don't think so young lady," your aunt, Natasha, says teasingly, taking the glass of wine you just picked up out of your hand. She simply raised her eyebrow at you, taking a sip herself of the drink as she watched with fake glare.

"Oh come on Nat," you grumbled, leaning back into your seat as your aunt chuckled at you, Wanda also laughing at the display. "Surely I can have one drink ," you stare at her with your best puppy eyes, hoping that even though you're an adult she'll give into the oldest trick in the book.

"You can have a drink when you're twenty one," she says with no room for challenge in her tone, yet you decide to try anyway, what's the worst she can do? Pour it on you?

"Please, everyone else is drinking," you motion to Wanda and Vision who sit together on the couch, Maria who sits in an arm chair and to Yelena who is casually sipping her beer while on her phone, most likely texting her girlfriend Kate. "And I'm basically twenty one, It's only two months."

"Well if it's only two months, I'm sure you can wait," she takes another large sip to taunt you, smirking over the rim of the glass as you groan in annoyance at her. "Also everyone else here is at least over twenty one."

"More like over thirty," you grumble, earning a real glare this time. "Fine," pushing yourself to your feet, you start heading towards the kitchen, "I'll go get myself a drink suitable for a twenty year old." You hear a chorus of laughter and shake your head while making your way through the house.

When you arrive at the kitchen you head straight to the fridge hoping to find something to drink and take back to the group. You frown when all you can see are juice boxes and groan when you remember this is Wanda and Visions house so everything is catered for children. Mumbling a small, "Fuck it," you grab two blackcurrant juice boxes and place one on the counter top while stabbing the straw through the other. You got lost in your thoughts as you moodily drank one of the twins drinks, jumping when a pair of arms wrapped around your middle.

"Hey Detka," she whispers into your ear, body flush against your back. "Enjoying the drink?" she teases making you groan once again, turning in her hold to face her. You stare up at the older woman, admiring her features as she smiles softly at you. Your mouth opens to make a snarky remark but your voice dies down when you feel her hands drift towards your ass and face lower, her lips now ghosting yours. "How about I give you something that tastes a lot better than any drink you can have?" she rasps out, accent delicately wrapping around her words.

"What about Vision?" you murmur, losing yourself in her darkening green eyes.

"He's too busy telling the others a work story," she slowly turns the two of you around, her now leaning against the marble countertop of her kitchen. "So?" one hand cups your jaw, tilting your face upwards to look at her better, "Do you want to make Mommy feel good?"

You lean forward to capture her lips, groaning at the lingering taste of alcohol on her lips and move your hands to hold her waist. You feel her tongue slide over your bottom lip, not hesitating to part your lips to allow her tongue to slide in and dominate your mouth. You groan into the kiss when her hands move up your body, one resting casually on your neck.

"We don't have time to play Detka," she murmurs between kisses before pulling back, "Be a good girl for Mommy and kneel." You practically drop to your knees at her sultry voice, staring up at her with lust-filled eyes as your hands slowly creep up her legs. When you reach the hem of her skirt you stop, the silent question in your eyes answered when she nods and threads a hand through your hair. Swiftly, you lift the skirt so your head can meet her core and groan quietly to yourself when you see she's not wearing any panties, her arousal dripping from her.

"Fuck Mommy, you're so beautiful," you mutter while place a few kisses on her thighs before leaning forwards to lick a stripe up her core.

"Shit Detka," she moans quietly, hands gripping the countertop till her knuckles start to bleed white. "Do you know how turned on Mommy was when she saw you earlier?" her voice breathy as she tries to control her volume, your tongue swirling over her clit not helping her stay quiet. "I was so tempted to drag you into the bathroom and have you on your knees like now, fucking me with that perfect little mouth of yours." You groan into her pussy at her words, one of your hands raising to her core so you could tease her entrance with your fingers. At the same time, you suck hard on her clit and thrust a finger into her, one of her hands clamping over her mouth to muffle the moan that erupted from the back of her throat. "That's it Detka, you're making Mommy feel so good," she praises quickly before placing her hand back over her mouth as you curl your finger inside her.

Your tongue continues to swirl around her clit as you add another finger into her, thrusting both digits into her mercilessly as you're addicted to the sound of the muffled moans echoing around the room.

"You taste so good Mommy," you murmur before pulling your fingers out, earning a low groan in response before a choked moan when you thrust your tongue into her. You relentlessly thrust it into her while your fingers go to her clit, circling it in time with the way you curl your tongue inside her to have her legs shake slightly as she supports herself with the countertop.

" God Detka, " she groans out, "Right there, fuck I'm gonna come." You feel her clench around your tongue, legs trembling by your head as her orgasm washes over her. You moan into her when you feel her cum coat your tongue and help her ride out her aftershocks by slowly circling her clit. Her hands gently push you away when she gets too sensitive, you sitting back on your feet as you look up at her with a dazed smile, her arousal all over your mouth. She pulls you up by the collar of your shirt and crashes her lips to yours, moaning into your mouth at the taste of herself. "Good girl," she praises one last time before she lets you clean your face off with a washcloth and tidies her appearance up.

"How's the drink coming along?" Natasha says while Maria wraps her arm around her middle, both of them holding empty wine glasses as they stroll into the kitchen. They pause in their tracks when they see you with a straw in your mouth, your hand holding the other juice box as you finished the first, while your cheeks seemingly flushed with embarrassment.

"Oh my god!" Maria exclaimed while Natasha burst out into laughter, placing down her glass so she wouldn't drop it. You scowled as they started to tease you for drinking a child's drink, defending yourself as best you could but to no avail. You grumbled under your breath before turning your gaze to Wanda who had a soft smile that lessened your bad mood.

You made your way out of the kitchen to avoid any more teasing but stopped at the door of the living room when Wanda grabbed your hand.

"Meet me later for your reward, you were such a good girl for Mommy."

[perfinn]

you're out of touch, i'm out of time

aegon ii targaryen x reader

wc: 3.3k

summary: you have a tendency to pick up strays, but when you pick up the king of westeros (who was supposed to have died hundreds of years ago), things begin to get a little complicated

cw: NSFW, f!reader, aegon being a creep (shocker), aegon being deeply pathetic (also shocker), aegon is drunk or possibly hung over, attempted sex (aegon begs for a handjob but doesn't get one)

read on ao3, divider by saradika

You’ve always been too nice. You’re aware of this unfortunate fact, though you staunchly refuse to admit it’s a weakness. Has this trait left you without necessities from time to time because you gave them to someone who needed them more? Yes, but you sleep better at night knowing that that homeless girl had sturdy new shoes, even if you had to walk home barefoot. You can always handle a bit of discomfort if it means improving someone’s day marginally. It’s not as though you’re without any sense of self preservation– you know when to say no, or when to walk away. When someone is out for their own self interest, or just plain dangerous. 

You’re smart about it. Mostly. Sometimes, though, your sympathy gene takes over, and you approach the danger because you feel there’s more beneath the surface. So far, it hasn’t put you in any troubling positions. Still, first time for everything. And as you stand on the edge of the pavement, toes of your shoes swinging down into the gutter as you sway back and forth, you wonder if you’re about to break your successful streak.

There’s a man in the busy city street, raving and desperately trying to get someone’s attention. Usually, he’s the type you’d regretfully ignore for your own safety, but he seems different. He doesn’t seem like the usual King’s Landing crackheads. He’s dressed too nice, for starters. Strange, yes, but still nice. In fact, it looks to be better quality than anything you own. And he’s young– which isn't uncommon in this situation, but it always makes your heart ache when they’re young. 

He looks desperate, terrified, and as another person ducks their head and walks past him, you feel yourself moving toward him. You don't know why. Maybe because you know if you leave now, you’ll not sleep tonight for the sheer guilt of passing him by. He spots you making your way over and turns to you, seeming to hope against hope that you’re going to acknowledge him. 

“Hi,” you say in a calm, even voice. It's a tone you’ve gotten quite good at. You’re not professionally trained by any means, but these things generally come with the territory. “Let's get you out of the road, okay? You could get hurt.”

“What the fuck are those things?” He demands of you as a car stops to let you take him across. You wave your thanks to the driver, who looks mildly disgruntled, and take the young man gently by the arms to get him onto the pavement. “Where are the horses?”

You know he must be confused, so you’re gentle with him. “There's no horses,” you say, still holding his arms as he finally looks away from the disappearing car and into your eyes. He looks so deeply afraid, but you notice he does take a moment to look you over. You let him, trying to see the best in him and hoping it's just curiosity. It doesn't matter right now anyway, you tell yourself. “Are you okay?”

“No!” He snaps. “Course I’m not bloody okay! Where am I?!”

“You’re in King’s Landing,” you say. “Let's get you somewhere quiet, okay? Are you hungry?”

“This,” he laughs in disbelief, looking around. “Is not King’s Landing, I know what King’s Landing looks like!”

“Okay,” you nod. “I believe you. Let's go sit down, I’ll buy you something to eat.”

The man looks at you with what you think is an offended scowl, but the offer of food does seem to intrigue him. “And wine?”

“No,” you say, and he deflates. 

He scratches at his chin, but nods in agreement. “Yes, fine.”

You smile, a bit of relief easing the worry in your ribs. Sometimes people won't cooperate, or they’ll turn you away when you say you won't buy them booze or give them money outright. This young man seems to be content enough without wine, so you wave your hand and lead him down the road toward the nearest fast food joint. 

He follows behind you, panicked eyes still looking around as though he's never seen the world before. It's not wonder, but something close to anger, indignation maybe. You make it to a diner you like, opening the door for him. He's clearly astounded by the ugly cacophony of colours inside, but you can't blame him. You don't come here for the aesthetics. 

“Go sit down?” You tell him gently, framing it like a suggestion as you point to your favourite booth. He scowls, but does as bid. 

The teen behind the counter takes little notice of your strange company. It's King’s Landing, he's probably seen something ten times as strange already today. Once you’ve paid, you join your new stray, sitting down across from him and folding your hands on the table. 

“So, what's your name?” You ask him, and he looks away from the bustling street outside the window to stare at you in what you assume is disbelief. 

“What’s my name?” He echoes, leaning slightly over the table. “Are you serious?”

You blink. That’s… not a question anyone’s ever been mad at you for. You learned quickly which questions to steer clear of to avoid pissing people off.

He scoffs, leaning back in his seat and tapping a dirtied fingernail against the peeling surface of the table. “Aegon,” he says, almost experimentally. Like he's testing the waters. 

You nod politely, and tell him yours.

He stares at you. “Nothing? Aegon? You’ve not heard the name Aegon?”

“Well, of course I have,” you say, confused smile pulling at your lips. “It's a common enough name. I think I knew a guy in school named Aegon–”

“You have been to school?” Aegon asks, eyebrows shooting up and a laugh spilling from his mouth. He leans back, dragging his hands over his clammy face. “Have I been drugged?!”

You’d put serious money on that being a resounding yes. 

“This is crazy,” he says, leaning forward again. He says your name slowly, glancing around before his eyes land on you. “Can you tell me what's going on?”

You bite your lip, thankful when the cashier calls out your order number. You rush to get up and get it, fearing you may be way out of your depth this time. He talks like he’s never seen the world before, and his comment about you having gone to school… none of it makes any sense. You’ve never even had the thought of dropping someone off with someone who’s better equipped to handle problems of this magnitude, but Aegon has you really considering it. When you return with the tray of food and set it down, Aegon has the specials menu in hand and is squinting at it. 

“I got you what I usually get,” you say, setting the tray down and placing his wrapped burger in front of him, leaving the fries on the tray. “Aegon, I want to help you, but I’m at a bit of a loss.”

“That certainly makes two of us,” Aegon says, unwrapping the burger curiously. “What meat is this?”

“It’s beef,” you tell him, unwrapping your own. He watches as you take a bite of yours, and he nods as though in satisfaction before taking a hefty bite of his. “Aegon, I want to understand what’s going on in your head. Can you just…”

You’re not sure how to say it, really. It’s invasive, and you don’t want him to feel like you believe he’s crazy, or lying.

“What’s your deal?”

He chews slowly on his burger, eyeing you suspiciously. “My deal,” he echoes, lips turned down in a scowl. “Is that I’m the King of Westeros.”

You nod slowly, biting into your burger so you don’t have to answer right away. You hope if you stay silent long enough, he’ll feel compelled to keep talking. 

“King Aegon,” he says slowly, like you’re the deluded one. “Aegon Targaryen, Second of His Name, Protector of the Realm, all the rest. Are you serious?”

You swallow your mouthful and nod. You’re not particularly well versed in history, but the titles ring a bell. It’s some sort of messiah complex, you’d wager. Trying your best not to seem dismissive, you pull out your phone. “Let me see,” you say. 

“What’s that?” He asks, leaning forward and trying to snatch it from you. You move it out of his way, yelping softly in contrition. 

“My phone!” You say. “I’m just looking you up, Aegon.”

“You’re what?” He says, looking horrified. “Give me that!”

“Dude, no! Let me just–” You stand up from your seat to be out of his reach, hurriedly typing the name he’d told you into the search bar. “Look, I know the name Targaryen, that’s the Conqueror's name!”

“Yes! Aegon the Conqueror!” He cries. “You’re finally making sense!”

“What? No, I mean Daenerys!”

“Who!?”

“Aegon, sit back down!” You snap, and he pauses in his pursuit of your phone, stunned into silence by your firm tone. Slowly, he returns to his seat, picking up a fry to eat it. 

“Only because I want to,” he says childishly. 

You frown at him, shaking your head before looking back at your phone as it pulls up the results for your search. 

‘Aegon II Targaryen, also known as Aegon the Elder, was the sixth Targaryen king to sit the Iron Throne, succeeding his father, Viserys I Targaryen, as Lord of the Seven Kingdoms.’

The search pulls up a picture as well, one of those terribly done paintings from the dark ages. It’s hard to say whether the Aegon in front of you looks much like the one in the painting, but he does have the same pale blonde hair and violet eyes. He’s a lot more pathetic than the portrait, too. He has the qualities of a wet cat, and you hate that it’s somewhat endearing. When you keep scrolling, you find a painting that can’t have been contemporary. This is a more detailed portrait, likely from half a century ago, where Aegon is covered in burns and lies dead in a carriage. 

You look up, meeting the wary eyes of the confused but un-burned man before you, and slowly sit back down. You know that he isn’t actually the king from nearly a millennium ago, but there’s an uncanny quality about him that makes you want to doubt the logical truth. His clothes, for one. You don’t know many homeless guys with such fine embroidery on their clothes. And there’s his features… you know them to be Valyrian, but rarely does anyone still pop up with the stark blond and violet irises. You remember well enough from your high school history classes that the Targaryen dynasty had those features.

“What does your little brick do?”

You blink, looking down at it and pulling up the contemporary portrait – part of you tells you not to show him the other. He scowls at it, but nods. “Seven hells, that’s not flattering. Where did you get this miniature? You have this and yet claim not to know me? What game do you play?”

You sigh. He truly doesn’t understand, does he? 

“Aegon, what year do you think it is?”

He rears back and regards you with more suspicion. “129 AC,” he says.

“And what were you doing before this?” 

“I will not tell you that,” he says. “You’re one of Rhaenyra’s spies, aren’t you?”

“I don’t know who Rhaenyra is,” you say softly. “I’m sorry, Aegon, I’m not a history buff.”

“History–” He stops, and goes deathly silent for a long moment, as though the whole situation is finally processing for him. You wonder if it’s the stench of wine that hangs off him explains his slow processing. “What year do you think it is?”

You tell him the year, even tack today’s date on for him. He stares are you, and you can see his brain buffering yet again. 

“Seven hells,” he murmurs. You find you share a similar sentiment. 

He picks up his burger and begins to eat it slowly. He’s silent for a long while, eyes seeming far away as he contemplates. You try not to stare at him, but it's no easy task. 

“This is going to sound crazy,” he says after a long while. “But I believe I may have travelled… through time.”

“I’d say so, yeah,” you respond. At this point, it's the only explanation. You’d usually say something about eliminating all the impossible options, but that just doesn't work here. Time travel is impossible, or it should be. And it's possible Aegon is just suffering from a deeply intense messiah complex. But that doesn't seem right. Your instincts haven't led you wrong before, you’re not about to ignore them now. 

“What am I going to do?” asks Aegon.

You want to tell him you’re going to try to find a way to get him back to his own time, but you’re struck once more with the image of him burned and twisted, dead in a carriage. How can you send him back to his fate knowing his grisly end?

You take in the man in front of you, this historical figure you’d never heard of until five minutes ago, and bite your lip. “We’ll figure it out,” you promise him. “You… can stay with me until we do.”

That’s probably dumb, and you’ll probably regret it. But not more than you would regret leaving him out on the streets.

“I suppose,” sighs Aegon like he’s spoiled for choice. You get up to ask for a bag for your food, glancing back as Aegon chews sadly on his burger. 

You get Aegon back to your place, and he wanders into the flat ahead of you. You watch him go with a soft huff, rolling your eyes. If everything else hadn’t convinced you, his attitude is proof positive that he’s from the past. He has all the entitlement of a prince and none of the consideration of those around him that modern men have (sometimes) gained. 

Your flat isn't much, two bedrooms and mostly paid for by your university. You had a flatmate for a time, but their sudden withdrawal left you without anyone and the school doesn’t seem to have noticed. Aegon can stay in the empty room until you figure him out. 

Aegon’s standing in your living room, staring in wonder at the decor you’ve collected over the course of your degree, at your television, maybe he’s just looking at all of it. He’s turning in a slow circle, eyes narrowed. 

“This is very nice for a commoner. Very strange, but it is not… disgusting.” He pauses in his assessing, looking between you and the ridiculous tapestry you purchased one night after far too many drinks. “Who is this man?”

“Oh, he’s this guy from a movie,” you say, not really processing that he won’t understand what a movie is. He stands there, dumbstruck, while you go to put your leftover food in the fridge. 

“A what?”

“Just… don’t worry about it. There’s going to be a lot for you to take in, but with any luck you won’t be here too long.” You come back over to him, taking him in. He looks out of place standing here in his king’s threads. “Let me get you something to wear.”

“There’s nothing wrong with this,” he says, shifting and taking in your clothes. “Where is your father? Your husband?”

“My father is in my hometown, and I don’t have a husband.”

“You live without a man?” He eyes you suspiciously. “A whore?”

“Okay,” you say, gently grabbing him by the shoulders and walking him over to the sofa. “Sit here, I have some men’s clothes lying around. Do not move.”

Aegon huffs, rolling his eyes and sitting back with folded arms. You wonder, as you go into your room to find something for him, if he’s heard the word ‘no’ very much in his life. It wouldn’t seem that way, but sometimes the way he reacts to you telling him off leaves you thinking otherwise. He’s a bigger mystery than you’ve ever faced, but something tells you he’s worth it.

You emerge after a while to see him flicking through the book you’d left on your coffee table, frowning. He looks up when you enter, setting the book down. “Your home is peculiar,” he informs you. 

“I know,” you say, handing him the soft clothes you’d found. “Student housing is kind of a lottery. You can get changed in the spare room, if you want. I’m going to go shower. If you get hungry, your leftovers are in that big white box there, okay?”

“Yes, yes, whatever.” 

You watch him enter the near-empty bedroom and shut the door, heaving a heavy sigh before you go off to your own room. You don't shower. Instead, you pull out your computer and set out to learn all that you possibly can about Aegon. 

What you learn twists your stomach into knots so tight you feel that they would trap the nausea that grips your throat from escaping. Aegon was no saint, no, but what you find is that his life is steeped in tragedy. If he believes himself to be king now but remains unburned by his cousin’s dragon, he must be near the end of his life; but the worst of his troubles have yet to begin. 

It is strange to think of the pathetic and bratty man in your flat as growing into the role of a king, if one could say he ever did. He seems nothing but a lost young man, unloved but for the power he afforded his Hightower family. 

The reports on him are so extensive and exhaustive that an hour has passed before you realise you haven’t been disturbed. You get up from your desk, wondering if Aegon has somehow wandered out of your flat and back onto the street.

When you open the door, you’re greeted by the sight of your kitchen cabinets strewn open, and your cheap bottle of vodka now empty on the counter. Aegon is sprawled on your sofa, cradling a novelty ceramic beer mug you won in a pub quiz in your first year. 

“Seven hells,” you mumble, going over to him and snatching the cup from him to be met with his whining protests. You sniff the cup, nose scrunching in disgust at the acetone-y smell. “Not even a mixer…”

Aegon looks up at you, trying to reach for the cup and whining your name. At least he changed into the sweats. The King’s Landing University jumper rather suits him, actually. 

“Please,” he says, looking even more closely akin to a wet cat. He seems on the verge of tears. “You’re pretty, do you know?”

“I’ve heard,” you say, setting the cup down on the coffee table and turning to him.

He grabs your wrist, tugging you closer with surprising strength considering how sloshed he is. “You’re so pretty,” he whispers. He almost sings your name. “Will you get me off?”

“Wh- Aegon!” You snap, tearing your wrist away. “No!”

“Please! Just your hand, you’ve got such soft hands!”

“Aegon,” you hiss. “No. You’re drunk. Even if I wanted to, that wouldn't be okay. You don't know what you're saying.”

Aegon pouts at you, falling back against the sofa and letting out a soft hiccup. “That doesn't make sense.”

“Maybe not in your time,” you say, grabbing him a blanket and laying it over him. “Gods- just- just try to get some sleep, okay? We’ll talk in the morning when you're fully sober.”

“I’ll die before that,” he says, snuggling up to the soft blanket with a ridiculous cartoon of a wolf on it. Another of your decor purchases you thought would be hilarious in the moment. You grab his cup and pour what’s left of the vodka into the sink before gathering up your remaining bottles and vowing to take them to the cabinet in your room with a lock. 

“Maybe. But if you vomit on my carpet, you’ll be paying the cleaning bill, your grace.”

[ghoularaki]

wouldst thou like to live deliciously?

↠  summary: After the late priest had died of mysterious circumstances, Father Getou had replaced him. With the new priest’s presence, a sickness and missing students followed. You weren’t fooled by his pleasant smiles, attempting to keep your distance, but what Father Getou desired, he obtained.

↠  word count: 10,232

↠ pairing: geto suguru x reader

↠ genre/warnings: smut, angst, vampire/dark academia au, DARK CONTENT, yandere, power imbalance, catholism, blasphemy, teacher (?)/student (reader is 19), priest! geto, blood. NSFW (NONCON, blood play, corruption kink, knife play, biting, orgasm denial, loss of virginity, fuck or die, geto is a creep)

↠ a/n: i literally know nothing about catholic schools and you can tell by this fic lmao. this is for @semisgroupie​ taboo collab!! hope you enjoy the fic <33

You had been the one to find the former priest dead. Being one of the few students that stayed in the summer, the smell fermented in the humid air. Decay was a scent you could never forget. 

You hadn't meant to find him, but there was an itch in your nose you couldn't ignore. Down the corridor to where the priest slept and no students were allowed, your mary janes pattered against the creaking floorboards. The door opened with ease, the lock not in use.

There on his bed was his rotting body, festering faster in the August heat. You stared blankly as the head nun frantically escorted you out. She had covered your eyes with her wrinkly, soft hands as if it would shield you from the horror you already saw. 

"Don't speak of this," she warned.

You heeded. There was no point in gossiping about an old priest dying of old age. Or at least, you assumed that was the cause.

When school and your senior year started a week later, all the students were informed of the priest's death. Shock rocked the school as no details were given of his death, just that he had passed in his sleep. You dared not speak of how his eyes were wide open.

“Students, everyone say hello to Father Getou.” 

A nun about a few years older than the whole classroom walks into disrupting the history lesson. A man well over six feet came in toe with the young woman. He surely didn’t have the typical look of a priest. His hair was an inky black that flowed down to mid-back. Deep blue plugs stretched his ear lobes wide enough to be noticeable but not off putting. Despite his build, he was light on his feet.

You sat in the back of the classroom, but even from the distance separating you both, your pores raised. A sly look was present on his visage that reminded you of a fox. His slim eyes the same hue as his plugs scanned the room until they met yours. Your face remained blank in response to which he gave a close-eyed smile. 

He broke the contact first as he surveyed the other students in the room. You turned your focus to your friend, Megumi, in hopes he also sensed something amiss in the air. The man only had his cheek squished against his hand, bored with the introduction. Of course, he was of no help. 

Megumi was the longest and really only friend you had in this forsaken school. The fellow senior was the only one that tolerated your abrasive and mischievous attitude. If you were lucky, sometimes he would join you in your antics, but usually he was your impulse control. 

After the quick introduction, Father Getou left the room with the same grace he came in with. Before he left the doorway, he locked gazes with you once again, something you couldn’t describe twinkling in those onyx eyes. Whatever it was, the feeling of being acutely aware of the back of your neck didn’t leave. Try as you may, no matter how much you rubbed your nape, the sensation wouldn’t leave. “Are you okay?” Megumi questioned, his eyebrow quirked up.

“Yeah, I’m fine.”

He shrugged away your bland response and turned back to the nun teaching. The rest of the class dragged on slower than before, if that was even possible. At this point, you abandoned trying to pay attention to whatever bullshit history they spun to fit in the bible, gazing out the window. The leaves had yet to brown and decay like the later priest. 

The bell ringing had pulled you from your soon to be spiraling thoughts. Sighing in relief, you stuff your barely used notebook into your bag. You waited for Megumi to pack his own materials, ready to take the much needed break on the roof.

“Y/n, come here,” the nun beckoned. 

What did I do this time?

Seeing the look on your face, she rolled her eyes and called you over with her hand as one does a dog. “Just get over here.”

“Yes, Sister?” The question on the tip of your tongue.

“You didn’t do anything… this time,” she answered as if reading your thoughts, “Father Getou would just like to talk to you in his office.”

“Why?” You placed your hand on your hip, already on the defensive.

“Stop being so insolent and go.”

Waving your hand as you walked you snarked, “fine, fine. I’m going.”

As she muttered under her breath, you ignored her as you walked down the halls bustling with other students to the Father’s office. The path to the room was one that was familiar to you, by now you wouldn’t be surprised if your footprints were welded into the hardwood floors. The school was old, but prestigious. Despite the way the worn wood creaks, it was a dark, squeaky clean mahogany. The rich cherry color crept three-fourths up the wall until it merged with ivory. Sunlight seeped in from the long, gothic style windows. If you weren’t dropped off here as a punishment, you would have admired the buildings more. 

You whistled, hands clasped behind your back as you took your time. Thick heels clicked against the floor and you paid no mind to the disturbance you were sure causing. Whoever this new priest was, you didn’t get a good feeling about him.

Despite your dilly-dallying, Father Getou’s office door stood before you. Peering up, you see the previous Father’s plaque was already replaced. That was fast. You tilted your head at the gold sheet. 

You reached up to knock on the door, but before your knuckles could hit the wood a “come in,” called from the other side. He must have seen your shadow from beneath the door. How particular. 

Pushing the door open, you spied Father Getou sitting at the desk, taking up the whole room. He sat there with his face resting on intertwined hands. His face was pulled into a sickly sweet, closed lip smile. Even in his all black attire except the white collar binding him to his oath to God, nothing seemed holy about him. A wolf amongst sheep. When will he shed his wool?

“Don’t just stand there,” he summoned you over. 

You were cautious as you stepped further into the den. Nothing about the office had changed besides who now resides inside it. Each wall was the same, no pictures were taken down as the previous priest never cared for material things. You could assume Father Getou was the same way. 

The chair that was the same cherry hue as the rest of the wood around you was just as familial as the walk here. Making yourself as comfortable as you possibly could in the uncushioned seat, sitting here was punishment on your poor ass. You slouched into the chair and kept your hands on your lap. Your eyes stared right into his, not breaking the connection. He simply grinned wider. 

You shifted, your mission to make him uncomfortable flipped onto you, “why am I here?”

Father Getou leaned back and placed his hands onto the desk, crossed. The image of such reformity. That same overly pleasant look was on his face. “Nothing bad, I swear. I’m just hoping to get to know all my new students, nothing more.”

His words were innocent enough, you didn’t get why you were called first. It's not like you were the oldest student in the school, simply the second oldest. Megumi was the oldest as he also stayed back a grade. It had less to do with being a nuisance: he was homeschooled so he didn’t have enough credit to be the grade he was supposed to be in. 

Father Getou bent down to pull out a file from a drawer in the desk. You weren’t even surprised that your file was kept so close on-hand. He flipped the manila folder open with a swish. From the yellowed paper sat your information from birthdate to height all the way to your records. “Ah, it says here Ms. L/n that you have quite the record. Tendency to ignore instructions, skip out of class and not participate during prayer, just to name a few things. Quite the problem child I have on my hands,” his words slithered in your ears. His tone was almost playful like your behavior was a joke between the two of you. 

“I don’t know what you want me to say to that.” Your words were honest. You weren’t going to lie or even defend yourself.

“It also says,” he continues, completely ignoring you, “that your parents placed you here two years ago, your first junior year. My, were you even more rambunctious than you are now.” He glanced up at you, eyes lit up as you silently seethed in your seat. You don’t see how this needed to be read out to you.

Gracefully he closed the file. Father Getou placed his hand over the file and leaned over the desk, back to being closer to you. 

“We will be seeing each other a lot more in the future, my problem child.”

You grimaced at the less than savory pet name. “May I go now?”

He raised a brow.

“Father?” 

“Yes, of course. Run along.”

You couldn’t have left that damned office faster.

“Did you hear that Hina collapsed?” One girl murmured.

The one beside her, her eyebrows pinched and peaked in the center, “yeah, I was in her class when all of a sudden she fainted! And get this, blood was pouring out her nose, too.”

The girl shuttered and rubbed her arms almost hugging herself, “God this is giving me the chills. This is the third girl to pass out this week! I hope I don’t catch what they have, God willing--”

“Ahem!” Before the girls could finish gossiping a nun came barrelling towards them, “don’t you girls have places to be?” “Sorry sister.” They scampered off, tails between their legs.

You stood on top of one of the high window sills along with Megumi. Up above the rest of the school, you giggled at the scolding the younger girls received. Your partner in crime elbowed you. “Don’t be mean.” Rolling your eyes, you quipped, “I’m not being mean, ‘gumi.”

He feigns throwing up at the nickname and you giggled harder in response. It was an atrocious shortening of his name and you loved torturing him with it. 

“And you two! Get down from there,” the same nun shouted.

“Uh oh, busted.” You grabbed Megumi’s hand and jumped down from your perch. 

Hand in hand, Megumi pulled you away from the seething Sister down the hall and out a side door. Out from there you guys run towards your usual spot. Skipping now, you race in front of Megumi. Turning to look behind you, fingers still clasped together, a rare smile graced Megumi’s lips. 

“Fuck!” You shouted as you ran straight into a solid mass. Falling on your ass at the force, Megumi tumbled with you.

Rubbing your nose, you looked up to see Father Getou standing in front of you. A smile on his face as he tilted his head at your position. You were quick to smooth out your skirt, almost conscious of how you look. 

His already large frame towered over you, like you were a mere ant to be stepped on by a careless child. Megumi who had fallen with you groaned in pain. In the scuffle, your hands were separated. As Father Getou offered his own palm to help you up, your hand oddly felt empty. Dismissing his gesture, you got up on your own. Though as you swung your leg to your side to lift up, your legs gave up from under you. 

Confused, you glanced back up, Father Getou still had a smile but his cheek twitched. Bending down, he grabbed your upper arm, gentle but firm. “Please be careful,” he spoke in the air around the three of you, but he breached the space only between you two, “it’s rather rude to refuse help from someone who so nicely offers it.”

You grimaced at his hot breath on your neck. Ripping your arm from his grasp, you turned to Megumi who got up from his own. Taking the hint, Father Getou took a step back, but his eyes stayed to you. 

“Come on, let's go,” you said to Megumi and forced his body away from the priest. Keeping a hand on Megumi’s back, your head pivoted around to take one last glance. There, Father Getou’s smile was gone as he gave you a dead-eyed look, almost full of contempt before he slapped a simper back on.

His eyes were so full of soft rage they seemingly gleamed red for a moment. 

Days bled into weeks as the weather grew colder. By now, the leaves had dried and died, decorating the frost-bitten ground with their carcasses. Leaves crunched under your worn mary-janes. The school grounds were barren as everyone was either in class, leaving the church completely empty. This was the only time you truly had time to yourself. You rounded the corner of the back of the church. Bending down, you rummaged through the bush where you hid your cigarettes. 

“Aha!” you rejoiced in a whisper, finally grasping the crumpled box.

Reaching further into the bush as it rustled, you also grasp your lighter. You used to keep it on you, but the nuns had patted you down when some idiot lit the trash in the cafeteria on fire. Of course it got blamed on you and not the other students (most likely the boys) being idiots. You weren’t a pyromaniac, you just wanted to smoke in peace. 

Stretching back up, you turned towards the church to combat the wind. Pulling a cigarette from the pack, you tucked the box under your arm. Placing the tan filter in between your lips, you cupped your hand at the end of the cigarette, sparking the lighter to life. 

“Come on,” you muttered, eyes going cross-eyed from glaring at the damn lighter. 

Finally the fire caught. You inhaled the nicotine, the headache you previously had wiped away. Sighing in relief, you tossed the lighter back into the bush. Spinning around to face away from the church to gaze in the woods that surrounded the area, a screech left your lungs. 

Not even two meters away from you stood Father Getou, hands behind his back like usual.

“Fuck!” you seethed and quickly ripped the cigarette from your mouth onto the ground. You were quick to stomp it out and kick into a different bush that wasn’t where your lighter was. The box still tucked under your arm, you grasp it and hide it behind your back. 

Father Getou watched as you scrambled, silent as he closed the distance easily. Like he did a few weeks ago, he crowded your space, making you crane your neck to remain eye contact. His hands pull themselves from behind his back, one wrapping around you to pry the cigarette box from your shaking hands. As he pulled his hand back, he mockingly shook it in front of your face. 

“These are mine now.”

You only glared back, pissed but there really wasn’t anything you could do now. Father Getou put the carton in the pockets of his robes. Despite taking the offending item, he still perpetrated the air around you. 

“Don’t let this happen again,” he leaned his head down to nose against your neck, “it ruins your smell.”

You flinched back at his odd words. “We will see about that,” you responded to the first thing, ignoring his weird statement.

At that, Father Getou stood up straight, “I suppose we will, my dear trouble child.” 

Taking that as his cue, he left you stranded behind the church, the smell of nicotine still clinging. Getting over the icky sensation Father Getou leaves, ire festered in your lungs. That was your last pack for this month, it was incredibly difficult to sneak out into town. 

Sure he was gone by now, you leave the church to stomp your way back into the main grounds. Time had barely passed as there was still no one outside. The wind whistled and shivers went down your spine so you wrapped your cardigan closer to you. Warmth barely came from the action. An eerie inkling ticked at the nape of your neck. Just like when you first met Father Getou, you rubbed the skin, hating how unseen eyes bored into you. 

Quickening your pace, you barrel through the school doors. From there the halls were just as empty. You could hear a faint cough that plagued the grounds. For the past month, students have been dropping like flies. More and more have been visiting the infirmary with flu-like symptoms before collapsing. There have been dozens of students now that have not come back to class. You were all told that the parents took them home until they felt better, but you knew that was bullshit.

It was only October. 

You pushed the thought from your head and continued to your destination. You climbed the winding stairway to the right that led to the boys dorms. Technically you weren’t allowed to go there, but what the nuns don’t know won’t kill them and no one was going to snitch. 

Slamming the door open to the common room, you spied Megumi and Yuuji, another senior, deep in conversation.

“The fucker stole my cigarettes!”

Both jumped at your shrill voice so absorbed in what they were talking about.

“Who?” Megumi asked. 

“Did a nun finally catch you?” Yuuji laughed. He always bet on when--not if--you were going to be caught.

Walking over to the two, you smack Yuuji upside the head, “no, asshole. Father Getou took them.”

Yuuji rubbed his head, muttering about how you had an arm on you. You ignored him as you jumped over the back of the couch to sit between the two. As you got comfortable, you crossed your arms and pouted. 

“Take them back then,” Megumi said flippantly, rolling his eyes at your pout.

You perked up, “that’s a good idea.” His face instantly deadpanned, “I was joking.”

“And well, I’m not.”

The oldest of you three sighed, raising a brow at you, “How are you even going to get into his office?”

An evil grin graced your lips, tightening your crossed arms. “I have my ways.”

Plan set in motion, you actually attended the rest of your classes. You didn’t need a nun on your ass as well. Classes usually ended at three o’clock so you would only have to wait until dinner was served at six o’clock. During that time Father Getou would offer a prayer before the meal. The prayer would be no longer than 5 minutes as well as the  time for him to get back to his office since he never ate with the rest of the staff and students. So you had to be fast. 

Time seemed to drag on as you waited for the clock to strike three. Before dinner, you needed to grab a set of keys as the priest never left his office unattended to. You would have to steal from the janitor as he was the only one with keys to all the doors in the school. 

It was quite easy to steal from him as this wasn’t the first time you swiped his keys. The man was incredibly absent-minded and you felt almost bad for abusing that character flaw. 

Three rings of the grandfather clock indicated the exact time you were waiting for. 

“Finally,” you mumbled.

Shoving your unused notebook and pens into your bag, you raced out of the room. You waved bye to the nun who rolled her eyes at you. She loved you. 

The bustle of other students in the wide halls nearly suffocated you. It was hard to see over the bodies swarming you. Everyone was as anticipating down time as you were, racing to get to whatever hangout spot they chose. 

“Y/n!” A voice called from amongst the crowd.

Going on your tip-toes you tried to peer over everyone to see who was called you.

“Over here, idiot!”

Turning your head to the right, Yuuji was standing on the windowsill, waving his hand like crazy. Smiling, you push your way through the gaggle to make it to the pink haired man. 

Grasping his hand that he offered, he uprooted you onto the ledge with him. Sure you were stable, he let you go. 

“You still going through with your plan?”

“Of course I am.” “Wouldn’t it just be easier to buy a new pack?” He tilted his head to look more at you.

“Maybe, but I want my shit back.” “Ah!” he quipped, finger pointing up before directing it at you, “this isn’t about your addiction, this is a matter of pride.”

You grabbed his digit and bent it backwards until he yelped, “don’t act smart, Yuuji.”

“I am wounded, in two ways!” Yuuji rubbed his finger dramatically to emphasize his words. 

Ignoring him, you spied the janitor and therefore the keys attached to his dull grey jumpsuit. You could only hope at some point he would put them down so you didn’t have to actually steal them off his body. 

As the bodies dispersed, you hopped down from your perch, Yuuji following. The janitor mosied his way down the hallways into one of the bathrooms. He put a sign that he was cleaning so no girls felt uncomfortable seeing him in there. You hated how sweet he was, it made it hard to steal from him.

Ignoring the sign, you followed him in. The door was left open so you didn’t have to worry about the creaking sound. Yuuji stood guard outside the bathroom in case. The janitor took off his keys, hating how the giant circle of metal hit his leg as he cleaned. He placed them on his cart at the front of the bathroom. 

The bathrooms in the school were oddly designed. The room was shaped like an L. Entering there was a row of 5 rows of bathroom stalls and parallel to it was two big mirrors with a table attached to the wall, spanning the length of said wall. Around the corner was where two sinks were. Even at the sink closest to the door, you would have stepped away to see who entered. 

Counting all your lucky stars, the janitor started with the sinks. Knowing it wouldn't take more than a couple moments to clean, you rapidly tip-toed to the cart, sure not to let your heels touch the ground. As quiet as possible you dipped over to where the keys were placed. You knew exactly what key was used for the priest’s office. It was how you found the late priest’s body in the first place. 

The key was a deep bronze, a cross carved into it that was almost worn down by now. The metal was probably as ancient as the school. Your fingers delicately pulled the keyring apart, keeping the keys on the flat surface. As the thin metal parted like a split lip, you tugged key after key to reach the one you wanted. Unfortunately it was in the middle of the line. 

Footsteps that weren’t yours had you pause. Glancing from over the cart, you eyed the bend of the room. You stopped breathing. Seconds passed by. The janitor didn’t emerge from the other side. Sagging in relief, you rapidly take the keys off until you reach the bronze. Biting your lip, you twirled it in your fingers so it fell into your palm. Pocketing your prize, you shoved the rest of the keys back onto the ring forgoing the order. 

Mission completed, you raced out of the bathroom. The janitor left the section of the toilets just as you left. Heart pounding, you grabbed Yuuji and speed walked the opposite way of the bathroom. 

“Did you get it?” 

You shushed him and kept going until you guys entered a different hallway. Collapsing against the wall, you peered back down the hall you left anticipating an angry janitor demanding his key back. After a few seconds of pure silence, you rested your head on the wall and closed your lids. 

“So?” Yuuji questioned eagerly.

Smirking, you opened your eyes and went into your cardigan pocket. Pinching the key between your fingers, you dangled it in front of his face. 

“Holy shit!” He laughed. 

“I told you I could do it,” your tone was smug. 

Yuuji bumped shoulders with you, giddy, “Now you just have to get past Father Getou. I swear that dude has eyes on the back of his head or literally everywhere. He always knows what’s going on. It’s annoying,” Yuuji pouted.

“If I’m quick enough during dinner then I won’t have to deal with his creepy sixth sense of telling when we are up to something.”

“I’ll sneak some food for you,” Yuuji offered.

“Nah I will be back before then. Gotta be in and out or else it will raise suspicion.”

“Well if you can steal a key from someone right under their nose, I’m sure this will be a piece of cake.”

Locking arms with you, you two make your way back to the common room, “Don’t you know it.”

Your leg bobbed up and down as you glared at the clock on the wall in the boy’s common room. This was like watching water boil. For everything to go according to plan, you had to reach his office right at six and not a second earlier or later. Everything would fall out of place if you ended up caught before you could even make it into the office. 

“Staring at it won’t make it go faster,” Megumi spoke.

“Shut up.”

“I still can’t believe you decided to go through with this,” he lectured, “I was joking. If you wanted cigarettes so bad, I could buy some for you.”

Still not looking at him, you wave your hand like he was a pestering fly, “it isn’t about cigarettes, it's about--”

“--them being yours,” he cut you off and finished your sentence, “yeah yeah, I still think it’s stupid.”

Before Megumi could finish his scolding, the clock struck five-fifty-six. 

“I gotta go!” You sprung from the couch and raced towards the door.

You heard him muttering under his breath to which you took no offense to. Megumi was always the more responsible of you two. 

Your body slammed against the door, swinging it loose and almost hitting an underclassmen. 

“I’m sorry!” You called as you brushed past them.

They simply kept walking, probably used to you. The colors of the building flew around you, your feet carrying you down the stairs. Repetitive clicking against the wood was satisfying to your ears as you jumped from the bottom three. You stumbled a little but were quick to gain your footing. 

Rounding the hallway in which Father Getou resided, you waited and hid behind the wall. Peeking your head out, you saw him leave his office with a turn of his own key. He continued down the other end of the hall to make it to the cafeteria. Though, he stopped. Your breath caught in your throat. 

As he turned his head, you shot back behind the wall. Finding purchase in the wall, your hands by your hips. You stilled your inhale. The sound of his footsteps pattering further away brought air back into your lungs. Letting out a stuttering exhale, you peeked from the wall again, Father Getou was truly gone. 

The deep chime of the grandfather struck six times. Affirmed that he was giving thanks to the food, you ran to the door. Taking the key from your pocket, you jammed it into the door knob. You fumbled with shaking hands. Sweat caked your palms as the key finally went in. Twisting it, the lock unlatched with a click. Taking no time to celebrate the mini victory, the door opened and closed with vigor. Putting the key back in your pocket, you raced to behind his desk. 

Crouching down you started at the left side, the first drawer was completely empty. Slamming it closed, you went down to the second to meet with the same result, no cigarettes. You opened the bottom most drawer only to find paperwork and a bible. Seething, you made your way to the right side this time starting with the bottom drawer. This one didn’t unfasten at all. Biting the inside of your cheek, you left it as it is. It must be the drawer where student files are in. You unhinged the second drawer only to be met with something strange. 

In the desk was Hina’s necklace. One of the first students to fall ill, you hadn’t seen her since September. You weren’t close with her in any way, but it was often she fiddled with the silver teddy bear charm. The clasp was broken. 

Completely perplexed, you take the necklace and shut the drawer. You try not to dwell on it as you were on limited time so you opened the last drawer only to be met with nothing. Stressed, you pulled at your hair. 

The sound of the door shutting had your pupils blown wide. Peeling your hands from your hair, you slowly look over the desk to see Father Getou standing in the only feasible exit in the room. Seeing you saw him, the priest turned the lock with a resounding click.

Adrenaline pumping, you shot up from your crouched position. Completely trapped in a room with Father Getou was foreboding and your legs quivered. You never felt this scared of any of the staff in the school.

His posture was full of leisure and amusement. Fancy dress shoes pittered against the floor as he made his way over to you.

“It hasn’t even been a day and you already gave into temptation.”

Like a wraith, the priest walked around the desk until he had you completely against the furniture. The edge dug into your lower back as you gripped the same edge. His nose was mere centimeters. 

Swallowing, you refused to give into his intimidating tactics and taunts, “isn’t one of the commandments to not steal? I’m only here to take back what is mine.”

“I wasn’t stealing, only relieving you of sin.”

“As if we all don’t sin, some way or another,” You scoffed at the notion. He wasn’t relieving anything, only toying with you

“Yes but some of us repent.”

Your lip twitched, “Hypocritic.”

“Heretic,” he gives a side smile, like you two were playing a game. 

The room shrunk as he brushed his nose to yours. Your nails dug into the wood. What would crack first, your nail bed or the wood. You hoped the wood so you would leave evidence you were in here.

The priest’s hand reached for you and you flinched back. The hand stopped and redirected its journey from your face to your hair. Placing the palm on your head, it engulfed you. If he so desired, he could crush your skull like a grape. 

Gently he stroked the hair that grew from your roots. As he stared at you with such a soft gaze, you felt yourself give in to his affections. Your eyelids slipped closed as you leaned into his palm like a touch starved kitten. 

“There you go my sweet girl.”

His voice pulled you out. Gripping his wrist, you wrench from him like skin melted together. Open your lids, you glowered at him. 

“Get away from me.”

Sighing, Father Getou followed your wishes and stepped away with hands raised. Keeping your leer on him, you walked backwards until your back hit the door. With trembling fingers you twisted the lock open, freeing you. 

Father Getou put his hands behind his back once more, visage blank. You ripped the door open and high tailed from the strange priest. Those blasted cigarettes were long forgotten. Instead Hina’s necklace was heavy as the earth in your pocket.

Six more students were put into hospice later that night. 

Next to Spring, Winter was your least favorite season. The snow was pretty, but the holiday season was the bane of your existence. The past three years you had no one to celebrate with along with the arrival of your birthday. At this point you had stopped acknowledging it. Since you and Megumi were only a week apart in age, you focused more on making it about him. Megumi could relate to being dumped into this school with no contact of family.

Apparently it wasn’t even his father that dropped him off, but a family friend he lived with since he was five years old. He doesn’t even remember his dad besides vague memories. You wish you could say the same. 

December came and went, January had crept up. So here you sat shivering in the church as mass was in session. You were slouched down in your seat, completely uninterested in what the head nun was blabbering about. By now, the bible was ingrained and singed into your brain. Instead of ridges it was wrinkled with the word of God. 

You huffed out a laugh, you were sure they would have loved that. No thoughts, only God. Megumi eyed you from where he leaned his forearms on the pew in front of him, fingers interlocked. He also didn’t care for prayer but he was damn good at pretending. 

“Ms. L/n,” a voice seethed. 

To the left of you was a nun, looking like she swallowed a whole lemon. Her arms were crossed like yours, but out of contempt and not boredom. 

“This is the last time I am going to tell you to sit properly.”

“I am cold,” you bit back, irritated. For some reason they decided to keep the doors open. 

The nun’s nostrils flared, “go to Father Getou.”

You thought you were cold now, but the sound of his name sent ice into your blood, “but--!”

“Go,” she barked. She stomped away to where you assumed she was going to phone Father Getou that you were going to pay him a visit.

Wanting to get this done and over with, you get up from your seat and take the walk of shame out of the church. Some students watched as you left mass and others kept to their prayer. Though who eyed you, half were curious and others jealous. Maybe if they showed how bored they were, they could follow you out. If only.

Taking the path less traveled, funnily enough, to Father Getou’s office. Since that night months ago, you had avoided him like the plague. Since finding Hina’s necklace, you grew even more wary of him. You could handle a touchy priest, but the words left unsaid of why her broken necklace was in his drawers had you nervous. 

Faster than you would have liked, you stood before his office door. Knocking, you waited for him to beckon you in. 

“Enter.”

Abandon hope, ye who enter here, you joked in your head. It didn’t make you feel any better. 

Opening the gateway, Father Getou was at his desk, ignoring you as you walked in and took a seat in front of the writing table without any instructions. He kept writing on the documents in front of him. Sneakily you tilted your head up to get a better look at what the paperwork was about. From what you could read it was a parent worried about their child’s whereabouts. Before you could read more, Father Getou slid it away from your view.

“So I got a call that you weren’t participating in mass.”

Tapping your foot, apathetic to having had this conversation hundreds of times before. Instead Father Getou it was the late priest whose tone was kind and full of pity compared to smugness. 

“You can say that.” 

The morning sun spilled into the room from behind him. A halo of light surrounded him likened to an angel. As if.

Knowing he wasn’t going to get anywhere with you, he got up from his seat and walked behind you. 

On edge, you try to get up, “what are you--”

"My child, do you even believe in God?" He placed his hands on your shoulders, forcing you in your seat. 

"N-not particularly," you answered, suspicious of his intentions.

He bent at the waist, leaning into your ear. His form swallowed yours. You were like a butterfly pinned to a board. Every stroke of his strong, heavy hands, broke the fragile wings. Your spine crumbled like the membrane.

The longer in his presence, the harder to resist the pull of his touches. Like a drug addict he was the syrupy call of just one more hit. 

“How about you?” You slurred.

“What about me,” Father Getou rested his chin upon your head. Bathing you in. 

Lulled by his melody, you continued, “Are you a believer?”

“Don’t ask questions you don’t want the answer to.”

Your body slacks, but your hand hitting the side of the chair broke you out of whatever trance he put you in. Rolling your shoulders, you sprung up, hoping his teeth hit each other. Unfortunately, he released you before he sustained an injury. 

Whipping around, you glowered, “You’re weird.”

His face fell, “you wound me.”

Getting up from the chair, you round it to keep eye contact. Despite his towering frame, you tempted the beast. “You’re weird,” you repeated, “and I am not fooled by you. Whatever it is, keep it away from me.”

And like before, you walk out with your gaze locked onto his. 

As the flowers bloomed through the March frost, over seventy students have fallen ill and three-fourths of those students were sent home to recover. Fear swept through the whole student body, terrified they were the next to fall sick. 

Contempt filled you as you sat in the infirmary. Those that are the newest patients got to stay in the nurse’s office while the others were sent to the gymnasium that was now turned into a makeshift hospital. There was only one nurse and her assistant. Both were stretched thin as the students rapidly got sicker. Impuissance filled you as you offered your help.

The student who laid in the bed coughed into their elbow as you wiped a cool cloth across her forehead. The antibiotics she had taken offered no solace so you tried your best to keep her fever down and soothe the aches. 

She started coughing more violently, hunching over herself in pain. As she started gasping for air, terror struck you.

“I-I’ll get the nurse.”

You hurried out of the room and down the hall to where she was attending other students in the gym. Moonlight along with the soft glow of the lanterns spread through the halls. Running down the corridor, a faint groan reached your ears. Your feet skidded as you halted to a stop. 

There, a couple feet from you was a door not latched all the way. Curious and worried, you crept up to the door. More sounds of pain spilled from the room. Now concerned, you looked through the crack of the door.

Slapping your hand over your mouth to cover your gasp, your eyes bulged. Father Getou had one nurse in a pretty compromising position if you only took a quick glance. His own palm swallowed her whole lower face and his head was pressed against her neck. But as you looked closer, her eyes were unfocused and brimmed with tears that spilled over. Father Getou was kissing sweet nothings into her skin, but was feasting upon the flesh. Blood poured out from the wound of his teeth. His free arm was wrapped around her waist to keep her colding body from falling with a thud.

The nun had been one of the people that had been ill the past few days. Now seeing the display in front of you, it had been Father Getou. It had been him all along. Why he had Hina’s necklace made more sense. 

Seeing enough, you walked backwards from the scene and raced down the hallway far away from him. Your mind raced as you thought of where to go. He must have heard your feet skittering away from the door. 

“Y/n,” his voice cooed from behind you.

Paralyzed, you dare not turn around. Similar to a child scared of the monster under their bed, you wanted to hide under your blanket. If you didn’t see it, it wouldn’t see you. 

The slurping sounds of him licking his chops likened to a famished dog disgusted you. 

“Don’t be like that, we can talk about this,” he whined. 

“Fuck you, you can talk to the police.” 

Ready to run towards the nearest phone that was in the nurse’s office, the priest appeared in front of you. Gasping you stumbled backwards. Even in his raven hued attire, the blood from the nun was soaked deep and dripped from his chin. He tried to crowd you like he typically did. 

“Let's see who’s faster, you or me. So run, little lamb, because my fun isn’t over yet.”

A blood-curdling scream blossomed from your chest, praying someone will come. Father Getou’s eyes widened, he rushed to shut you up but it was too late. Out from the woodwork came multiple nuns and students. Your eyes curled into a smug expression as the others saw Father Getou drenched in blood and trying to silence you. 

He didn’t take too kindly to you not playing how he wanted. “You will regret this.”

“Get away from her!” The head nun cried as she came to your aid.

As she pulled you behind her, Father Getou was swifter. Red sprayed from the nun’s throat. Another scream left you as you watched her head lull back and her body flop onto the floorboards. The tougher of the crowd tried to hold Father Getou down, but he slaughtered them as well. The others ran away in fear, rightfully so. 

The hallway was now painted a morbid maroon. His irises that bled into the same color as the walls, locked onto yours. Not taking your chances you ran away as death followed. 

Screams billowed, surrounding you as you tried to find places to hide and where Megumi was. The only place you could think was the roof but if he found a way in, you would be screwed. By now everyone had heard the cries and started to run away as well. The halls were filled with students panicking. You turned a corner to see it was already a blood bath. 

Tripping backwards, you went left instead, slipping on the blood caking the bottom of your shoes. Collapsing on the front entrance doors, you sprinted across the courtyard to the church. Heaving, you forced yourself forward. Maybe, just maybe, you could warn whoever was in the pews to hide and survive. 

Your bloodied feet trample over the budding daisies. The sweet white stained a sour red. You barreled through the closed doors. The few in the church were startled at your sudden appearance. You almost cried in relief to see Megumi among the horde. 

“Everyone, hide!” You begged.

Though instead of listening, they all strayed further from you. Your eyebrows pinched as you went back to the door and shut it and looked for something to jam it closed. 

“What is going on?” Megumi asked.

Wiping the blood off your face from the head nun, your eyes bobbled, “it’s Father Getou. Help me with this.”

Your words only left him with more questions. Before he could ask once more a slam against the church doors caused a scream to leave. 

“Fuck this,” you muttered. 

Grabbing Megumi’s hand, you pulled him towards the confession booth. Shoving him in, you followed and shut it. 

“What are you doing?” Megumi barked.

You covered his mouth and shook your head. This time the doors crashed loose. Megumi was about to open the confession booth but you grasped his uniform shirt, staining his white shirt like the daisies. 

Screams quickly followed the open doors. For the first time in your life, you prayed. For yourself, but also for those being slaughtered like pigs. Father Getou murdered the students who thought they were safe under the eyes of God. The gurgles that accompanied the screeches were proof that God didn’t care. 

From between the four leaf clover pattern of the booth, you watched Father Getou bite and rip out the throat of a freshman girl. Megumi covered your eyes as he watched the same as you. Placing a hand to muffle your sniffles, you clenched your eyes despite the shield. 

A thud resounded through the church. An emptiness echoed as nothing else was heard. The silence billowed as there was no one else needed to be executed. Only droplets reverb-ed through the air. 

Father Getou takes a huge inhale before speaking, “Even with all the blood in this room, I can still smell yours and your stupid fucking pet dog.”

His dress shoes painted in blood, pattered against the soaked floorboards who drank up the life essence. 

“Vampire hunters always reeked of mutt and it's astounding that the smell runs in the family,” Father Getou continued, walking around the room, “that’s right, Megumi, your father was a vampire hunter. He gave you up so you wouldn’t walk his same path. If he only knew his son stumbled right into what he tried to protect him from. Do you think he would like his son’s head delivered in a box or a bag?”

His words trailed off into a manic laugh. 

Even with hands over your ears, you can still hear the muffled sound of his voice. Opening your eyes, you peeled Megumi’s hand from your upper face. Looking up at him with a sincere expression, you glanced at Megumi and then at the door. 

Your closest and only friend shook his head at what you are insinuating. He was not going to do whatever you thought he was. Bringing yourself to his neck, you whispered, “go to the back door.”

Mimicking you, he breathed a short, “no.”

“Trust me.”

Father Getou wanted you from what you could tell and you were going to do whatever you could to make sure Megumi survived. Peering through the veil of the confession booth, Father Getou paced down the pews to locate your exact location. As he idly walked as far from the backdoor as possible, you tumbled out of the box. 

You breaked for the open church doors, half in hope to escape and to give Megumi as much time as possible. Slipping on the blood all over the ground, you scrambled towards the doors, the setting sun painted everything pink. 

Screaming as Father Getou grasped your hair, you lost your footing. You scrambled to get away but he dragged your through the liquid roses, covering you both in blood. Forgoing your cardigan earlier today, the warmth seeped in your white dress shirt. He tugged you down the aisle like a wayward bride. 

“Get off me!” You screeched. Your hands clutched on the one in your head, ripping strands from your scalp. 

Hearing your screams, Megumi abandoned his mission for the backdoor. His focus bounced around the room to find whatever he could to get the vampire off of you. Spying the silver candle piece, he swiped it. 

White knuckling the candle display, he sprinted full force at Father Getou, ready to strike him in the heart from behind. As he closed in, Father Getou’s hand shot out and gripped him by the neck. Megumi let out an ugly choking noise.

Pivoting his gaze to Megumi, he lifts him off the ground until his toes barely touch the ground. Megumi kicked his feet as he tried to pry the hand from his throat. Father Getou’s laughed at his measly attempt to kill him.

The vampire veiled as a priest dropped you. Before you could crawl away, he placed a foot on your back, keeping you right where he wanted. His free hand now clutched onto Megumi’s hair. Wrenching the man to him, he pulled his hand away from Megumi’s neck. Twisting a fist into his shirt, Father Getou ripped Megumi’s head back and dug his teeth into the younger man’s neck. 

Father Getou grimaced at the taste of his blood; hunter’s blood was always bitter.

Another scream tore through your larynx. Megumi’s eyes went wide as Father Getou pried him open. Satisfied with the wound, he dropped Megumi’s body. He collapsed like a discarded doll. Your fingernails broke as you tried to escape the vampire’s foot to slow Megumi’s bleeding. 

He bent down and heaved you over his shoulder. You thrashed and screamed, doing all you could to get to Megumi. Your efforts were met with indifference as the vampire carried you to the altar. Standing behind it like he did during mass, he dropped you on your stomach onto the table. Refusing to give up, you crawled away to Megumi who was slumped on the floor doing his best to stay alive. He clutched his own torn throat. 

Father Getou tugged you back to him by your ankle. Your nails bored into the wood, the blood on the altar made it easier to tug you to his front. Your legs hung off the side. He draped his body over yours, tugging your head up by your hair.

You were forced to see the mess before you. There were nine bodies scattered through the pews and floors. And in the middle of the aisle was Megumi, flickering in and out. 

"Look at what we created."

"I had nothing to do with this!" You barked and struggled once more.

He dug his hips into yours. You stilled at his cock that strained through his robes. 

"Oh but you did. The second you crawled your way into my brain it was an itch I had to scratch."

"It was you! I didn't murder anyone, It was you," your voice cracked.

“Yes but your curiosity did. You just had to not mind your business and now everyone is slaughtered like lambs. I wanted to be merciful: you forced my hand.”

You could only hiccup and sob as you see your best friend attempt to save his own life. His eyelids fluttered like monarch wings. “Please!” you strained, praying that your words get through to him.

Pushing you further into the altar, Father Getou placed his hands on your hips. The warmth of his palms stroke up to your waist and pinch and prod the fat there. He bucked up, loving how you feel under him. 

You wiggled, refusing to make this easy for him. He huffed in frustration and flipped you over. Sprawled out, he takes purchase in between your spread thighs. His own mass kept you from shutting your legs. 

“Knock it off,” he fumed. 

He flipped your skirt up to spy your daisy white panties. With that, he pulled down your thigh highs that were as black as his own hair. He hummed at your skin as if he unwrapped a present.

The vampire brought a leg up as he arched over, mouthing your inner thigh. His lips were soft and sticky with strawberry jam blood. Poking his tongue out, he trailed the appendage up until it met with your groin. 

“Don’t you want to be wanted,” he said between kisses. 

“I hate you, I hate you,” you babbled, tilting your head up.

An upside down Megumi had gone limp but his eyes still dully watch you. He was dying.

Spying your attention was on something else, Father Getou tutted.

He breathed into your inner thigh, “what if i make us a deal.” “W-what?” Never in your life did you feel so powerless. If you must make the deal with a devil, you will. 

“Be mine. Don’t struggle or refuse and I will save your little friend.”

“What's the catch?”

“No catch.” “Promise?” You naively begged, you didn’t have much but you weren’t going to blindly agree. “Cross my heart,” he smirked with sly eyes glancing up from your leg,a long finger traced an X where his heart should be.

You shakily nodded. 

With glee, he bit into your leg at last. Binding you both in blood. You screamed at the intrusion.

The flesh cracked like an egg, your blood the yolk. He took big gulps of your very liquid as if he was drinking the sweetest of syrup. From being upside down to keep your eye on Megumi and how he drained you of all your worth, rainbow glowing lights danced in your irises. Having his fill, Father Getou took a break and licked up the wound. From there the blood instantly coagulated. He didn’t part from your legs as he went back up to where your pussy was still covered. Forgoing the blood on his mouth, he kissed your clit. Your legs jumped at the sensation. 

“Sensitive,” he mocked with a laugh. 

Dizzy from the blood loss, you were rendered pliant as he pulled your knees up to your chest. The hands under your knees, one dragged its way down so his thumb can stroke up and down your slit. You whined, not used to other fingers pleasing you. 

Impatient, Father Getou took the altar knife to the right of you. Teasingly, he uses the tip of it to dance from the bottom of your slit to the top. You laid so very still, terrified of him slipping. Ending your torture--or rather his--he tucked the knife under the band of your panties and ripped upwards. He went to the other side to repeat the action. The cut fabric fell away to show your pussy to the beast before you. The knife cluttered somewhere on the floor, too far for you to grab. Reaching down, he pulled the panties from under you so you were completely bare. 

Leaning over you, his hair curtained around you so all you saw was him him him. With the same hand, he brought two fingers to your slit like he did the knife. Free of the fabric you felt how his finger pads swirled the swollen skin. You whimpered at how he explored your cunny. 

“My little lamb, still so pure.” His tone was gravelly, savory how you were untouched.

“Pervert,” you muttered, still out of it from the blood loss.

He hummed, “still coherent enough to be bratty. Let's change that.”

That was your only warning before his fingers breached your hole. All the air was punched out of you as you got accustomed to his appendages. You were not wet enough and his fingers were so much longer and thicker than yours. Your hands scrambled to find purchase in something. Your own fingers curled into the sash on the altar. The shimmery gold corrupted by your drenched hands. 

Father Getou gazed at your face as he started a fast rhythm. You had no time to think as he pounded his fingers into your virgin pussy. Crying out, your back arched and withered as he easily found the spongy spot inside you.

He coaxed moans from you. You tried to bite your lip to stifle the noises, humiliated that you were being fingerfucked as Megumi was dying meters away from you. 

His hand gripped your thigh harder as you squirmed more, not to get away but from the pleasure. You were almost there but your neglected clit begged for attention. Though you refused to beg for anything from him.

As if sensing what you craved, his hand on your thigh slipped down so his thumb swirled patterns into your bundle of nerves. Clenching your eyes closed, you moaned out to the room. Just as you were about to cum, Father Getou stopped his fingers and pinched your clit. You screeched at the pain. Your head shot up in confusion and agony. 

“Did you think it was that easy, little lamb?” 

Tears bubbled up, hating yourself and him for wanting more. Surrounded by dead bodies, all you could think about was reaching your climax? He was polluting your mind.

Hovering over you, he brushed his nose to yours. “Whatever you want, you shall receive, so beg. Beg me, my lamb, and I will give you what you desire.”

Tilting your head down, you saw Megumi. Your brows furrowed, knowing the faster he got what he wanted, the faster he would help your best friend. 

“Please,” you mumbled, glancing at the door.

His fingers that were deep inside you, grasped your face to bring your focus to him again, “care to repeat that?”

“Please fuck me,” you pleaded. 

Closing the gap, Father Getou slotted his lips to yours. He sighed into your mouth, content to conquer every bit of you. 

Pulling away, he spoke, “as you wish.” 

He flipped open his robes and tugged down his pants. His cock flopped out from its confinement. The appendage was well above average and the tip was an angry red with pre-cum drooling out. A wet spot had formed on his own pants, anticipating this moment. 

The vampire brought his cock to your slightly stretched hole. He tapped the head against your clit and you yelped still sensitive from his torture. Whether he grew bored with teasing you or he was getting impatient, he dragged his dick back to your opening. Without warning, he bullied his way inside you.

You screamed at the stretch. Your walls burned as his cock carved its way deep in your walls. 

“F-fuck,” he stuttered.

He pushed until his hips were flush to yours, dick to the hilt. Not letting you adjust to the size, he pulled his cock back to slam into you once more. 

Crying, your gaze stayed unfocused on the ceiling above you. The roof was painted with scriptures of God and angels. Even in the house of God you were left abandoned. 

Engulfing you, Father Getou, brought his head to your neck. His sharp fangs tickled the unmarked skin, so much more fragile than the other flesh. 

“Please, god, I’m so sorry,” you begged, glaring at the cherubs that left you all to rot. “Oh now do you believe in god, my little lamb?” he sighed into your ear, “unfortunately for you, the only god here is me.”

His hips pistoned at the same rhythm, doing all he could to chase his release. Despite his desire to come, he wanted to stay wrapped in your hot, wet walls for the rest of his life. You were everything he dreamed of and more. And here you were, under him, mouth agape from the cries and whimpers. 

Gripping into you to the point the meat of your thighs were bruised. He left his mark on all of you until the only thing left of you was him. You were his to taint and corrupt beyond recognition. He would ruin you until the only creature on this earth who would love you was him. 

Wanting your walls to clench down on him, he returned to your clit. His thumb circled it with the right amount of firm pressure. Even as you begged for more, he kept the same pace. You were almost there and he yanked you to your release by breaking the flesh of your neck, right under your ear. 

You came with a high pitched moan. Withering, your loose leg wrapped around his hip, your body betraying you to bring him closer. 

Father Getou laughed, giddy. He followed soon after, smooshing his hips to yours so you were filled to the brim of his hot cum. Slumping on top of you, he let go of your thighs as you pulled from him. 

“Save him,” your tone was dead and so was your stare.

“Hush, we have all the time in the world.”

Sobbing, you tucked your hands under you to push against his chest, “you promised.”

Your fists started to pound against his pectorals, becoming more hysterical as he hadn’t moved.

“You promised, you promised, you promised!” You screeched until the capillaries in your sclera burst.

Having had enough of your tantrum, Father Getou released himself of you and pulled his softened cock from your walls. Tucking himself back into his pants, he left you on the altar, broken.

“Quit your whining, you imprudent child.”

Flipping yourself on your stomach, you watched as he walked to Megumi’s still body. Sobs still wracked through your body even as the vampire crouched down to the man. Father Getou sliced his wrist apart with his own teeth and poured the blood into Megumi’s mouth. 

You waited with baited breath as Megumi swallowed the rosy syrup. His eyelids batted open once more and you slumped on the table. 

Father Getou stretched back up and licked his wound shut. “I fulfilled my promise. It is your turn.”

He climbed up the stairs to the altar. Twilight shrouded him in shadow. Knowing he could easily take back Megumi’s life as he gave it, you stayed pliant. Offering his hand, palm faced the angels on the ceiling that gossiped of how this time, you took his help.  

@tokyometronetwork​

[almostempty]

Maladaptive Coping Mechanisms 

Part 2

Pairing: Javier Peñal x f!reader

Summary: Looking for an escape from a horrible day, you take a sexy stranger home from the bar. 

Warnings: smut, pwp, dom reader/sub jav undertones, switch reader/ switch javi undertones, oral sex, piv sex, AU unprotected sex has no risks bc it's fictional, pwp but some feelings involved, pet names, dick & pussy pronouns,

Notes: still practicing, would love feedback, constructive criticism, or delusional inspiration <3

thanks to @miss-oranje-disco-dancer for your thoughts on part 1, i hope this part lives up to the first, and to @gothcsz for encouragement, and the kind anon who asked for part 2

WC: 5.3K

AO3: here

Part 1: here

Masterlist: Here

It hurts gasping to catch your breath. Lungs filled with water. Eyes shut so tight a dull headache starts behind them. Every second feels like an hour. In your empty room, alone in your bed. Drowning. Sweat cooling and drying on your skin as the airconditioner hums. A sticky, wet pool of come between your legs. Damp, sweaty sheets. Great, add them to the laundry pile and everything else from your life you’d like to toss out the window. And over what? A man you said ten words to before your smile and fingers digging into his bicep begged him to fuck you? 

When you open your eyes, you can still see his staring back at you deep, warm brown. A new mirage to haunt your mundane existence. You can still hear his baritone voice scratching your ears. You blink and blink, but it doesn’t fade. Javier is standing before you. No shirt on, jeans unbuttoned. Sweat on his golden chest still casting an ethereal shine. He’s holding a fresh glass of water. Your dehydrated body salivates. He’s not a mirage in a desert, though. His shirt is still on your floor with yours. 

You scowl at him, drawing a confused look from him. 

“Something wrong, cariño?” he asks pointedly. 

“No.” 

He sets the water down but doesn’t move closer. He gives you a look. Like he knows your ‘no’ was bullshit. How would he know? He doesn’t know you. Irritation creeps in, replacing the suffocating emptiness. He places a hand softly on your thigh. Gentle so you don’t bolt and run into the street to get hit by an unsuspecting driver in the dark, unable to see you until their headlights flood your eyes and reflect. 

“Thought you’d left,” you answer quietly but honestly. You don’t know him. Why do you care if he thinks you look pathetic? 

“That fast? Without a shirt?” 

You shrug. 

“You want me gone?” He asks, revealing nothing about his own desires. Stoic and frozen to avoid bias. 

“No,” you shake your head, grab the water, swallowing and swallowing. It's so cold it hurts. You hope it never runs out. He can’t see who you really are if you’re hiding behind a glass. Despite your wishes, the glass runs dry. Javi takes it from you and sets it down. 

You look at the man in front of you with sober eyes. He’s incredibly handsome. Without being fueled by blind rage, alcohol, or a contagious horny fever, you aren’t quite as confident. In fact, you suddenly feel overcome with vulnerability. A cord of insecurity wraps around your throat, constricting. You reach for another cigarette to escape the sensation, but Javi intercepts. He takes your hand in his, pulling you towards him until he gets you out of bed and standing before him. He pulls you towards his broad frame and holds you tightly. Pressed against him, chest to chest, you listen to his deep, slow breathing. Skin to skin, he co-regulates you like a baby, fragile in his arms. 

You fight against it. Feeling pathetic. Unable to bare your fangs. Unable to slash with your claws and push him away. He holds you too tight. A heavy lump in your throat renders you unable to speak. Too raw. You’re lost at sea. Circling a whirlpool of dark thoughts. You wait for his rejection. An excuse. A line. A wink and a slap on the ass. A reason to stop fighting and drown. You shouldn’t care if he leaves or ruminate on what he says. He was a distraction. A hot, talented, unforgettable distraction. Another cigarette to burn down to your fingertips and discard in the pile of ash. 

As if, once again, he could hear your hurricane of thoughts bellowing and howling for your attention, Javi shushes you. 

“Quiet.” He runs his fingers up and down your spine. A little light shimmers behind your ribcage. His touch is soothing, and his voice is grounding as he hums into your ear about how soft your skin is. You inhale, your face pressed against his body. He’s spicy, earthy, and smoky. You bite and lick at the flesh you can reach. A barely there noise rumbles in his throat, only for you, only for the ear flush against him, flesh and blood. 

“Shhhh,” he murmurs, “enough.” The light in your chest flickers again. It’s dim, but still, it could guide someone through the dark forest of viscera in your chest cavity to your heart. You shudder. Letting someone follow that beacon through the labyrinth to your jagged, glowing soul? No. What if they see the ugly shape, naked and scarred and bruised? What if they know what you need? What if they give it to you altruistically. 

A stony scowl sets in place. Corners of your mouth weighed down and brows drawn tight. You break out of his hold. Rough and harsh against the warmth between your bodies. 

“How do you know?” You demand an answer. 

“Know what?” 

“Why are you shushing me?” 

“Too loud up here,” he taps the pad of his finger to your temple. A fissure streaking down your stone barricade.

“How do you know?” 

“You have tells.” 

“You don’t know me like that,” you jab a finger at his chest. Hostile and baiting. 

“I’m observant,” he says like it’s a reasonable explanation, unperturbed by your bristling. You stare at him expectantly, waiting for more. Might as well cross your arms and tap your foot. Observant? What the fuck does that mean? 

His hands flex at his sides, his mouth twitches, and then he rolls his shoulders, staying loose and relaxed. Like some thought just rolled through his whole body. “I’m not a good guy,” he says like it’s a fact. Not a threat or self-deprecating. Neutral. 

“But, I know what I’m good at,” he continues, “you clench your jaw, start breathing shallowly, and your eyes–” 

“Got it. I’m a walking billboard,” you cut him off sharply. 

“No.”

You stare back at his face. Unreadable. You wonder what his tells are. 

“I’m observant,” he repeats. You raise an eyebrow at him. “And,” he pauses, “I may have some special training and experience.” 

“In …observing?” 

“Something like that.” 

“What are you Javi? A PI? Secret agent man? FBI?”

“DEA.” 

“DEA?” 

“Formerly.” 

“Formerly? Did you get fired? Caught on the take? Testing the product?” 

He snorts at you. You cracked a smile out of him. It softens you. A playful ease reemerging.  

“Retired.” 

He’s a man of few words, it seems. His walls have a strong foundation. You scrutinize his face and body swiftly and blatantly. 

“You either have some freakish age-defying genetics, or the DEA retirement age is earlier than I thought,” you muse, earning a little huff of air that sounds like a stifled laugh from him. 

“Chose an early retirement; resigned.” Something else is on the edge of his tongue. It doesn’t formulate. 

“Did you like it?” You ask with sincerity. He blinks. Unprepared for that question. Shit, was that the wrong thing to ask? You notice the lines in his face. He runs his thumb across his bottom lip in thought. You wonder if that’s one of his tells. It’s kind of a slutty one, you think to yourself, suppressing a smile as you focus on his mouth. His lips. Soft and plush. The way they fit against yours– 

“I don’t think so,” he decides, “maybe early on.” 

You smile up at him, “s’good that you’re out of it then,” you say with an assertive nod. 

He nods back with a deep exhale. Release. Like he’s letting go of something, but his eyes seem unfocused now. Another tell? Maybe you need special training to know. He seems far away in his head. Withdrawing. No, you want him to stay present with you. You liked how it felt when he appeared connected. Here. With you. You liked his confidence. The chemistry egged you on like you both were in on a secret. You think you might know how to bring him back. Plus, he needs it, you decide. You aren’t done with him, and he hasn’t disappeared completely. You readjust internally. More. You’re still smiling, but with an edge he hasn’t caught yet. 

“Hey, Javi?” You purr. 

“Hmm?” Still faraway. 

You pick up one of his hands in both of yours and kiss each finger. Watching his face. Looking for the light behind his eyes. The tactile sensation draws it out like a stagelight, he’s fixed on your mouth. The size of your hands around his. The hunger in your eyes when you look through your lashes at him. 

“What else are you good at?” You drop your voice. Your demons chitter and flap around the room. Maybe they’re chasing his. You drag his fingers down your body. Slowly. Both your heads droop, chin to chest, watching the private show. Just for you, except it’s for him. Between your breasts, down your soft belly. Lower and lower. Breathing your shared hot air. All you can hear is the fan in the airconditioner and your pulse. Time weighted down by the tension. You pause. His hand is heavy, dead weight in yours, letting you have him. You reverse, tracing back up, the same path, until you’re about to kiss his fingers again, but instead you wrap your lips around one and suck. 

“Fuck,” his eyes widen briefly, and his jaw hangs slack. You pull off his finger wetly. Alluring. You don’t have to act. The expression forming on his face brings out your devious seductress. Smiling, wide. You bite your lip, toning it down. Batting your lashes at him. You’re like an image from a dream he’s been having since he was a teenager. He hopes he doesn’t wake up from it. 

“Javi?”

“Yes.” 

“What else are you good at?” you repeat. Tolerant of his lapse in responding. For now. 

The switch flicks. He regains autonomous control of his limbs. Hands curl around your form, until one rests along the back of your neck, fingers slid into the hair at the base of your skull. The other wedges between your legs. Hot against the sticky mess you’d been forcing yourself to ignore since he first got out of your bed. He’s here, back. 

“Good at making a mess of this pretty little pussy.” 

“Mmm,” you agree. His voice unlocks something ravenous. 

“Good at making you come wrapped around these fingers,” he slips and swirls them through the mess between your legs. Obscene. 

“Mmm.”

“Good at filling you with this cock until you forget how to say anything ‘cept for ‘please, Javi’,” he declares as his other hand wraps yours around his growing length. 

“Yes.” 

“Good at giving you something to feel,” he continues on. He is no longer a man of few words; he’s not a laconic lover. A filthy little devil dances on his tongue. He’s a willing vessel. Tugging at your hair and slipping through your folds. 

You giggle airily, and he pauses his running list of sex skills, waiting for an explanation. What could possibly be funny to you right now. 

“Giving me something to feel,” you slip between another giggle. “Right now,” you pull at his wrist, “I feel like we could use a shower before we keep going. We’re messy.” 

He laughs with you, and you adore how his eyes crinkle when he smiles wide. 

You wash each other in the shower with care. Roles reversed from the cab of his truck, you sternly demand he behaves in the shower, citing an unreliable hot water tank. It’s hard to resist fooling around covered in soap, but he holds up his hands in surrender. He promises to behave. But his cock refuses. It pokes and prods at your soft belly and lower back. Teasing. Begging to be scolded for disobeying. Protesting in opposition to Javier’s earnest affection. He’s gentle washing your back. Vulnerable letting you wash his. It’s rejuvenating. He cleared your mind earlier, and gave you something to feel, with care and attention. You commit yourself to returning the favor. You’ll give him a break from whatever led him to brooding on a barstool. 

You have a feeling he doesn’t give up control very often. He’s such an attentive listener, though. He’ll do great, you decide. 

He knows something has changed. Wretched observant thing he is. 

You are busy thinking, but you don’t have the same look on your face as you did at the bar or when he came back to your bedroom after getting more water. Your mind is racing, but with vigor. It radiates through the hot steam. A sparkle in your eye. Fluid movement. As if it were all premeditated, you dry off and direct him. 

He’s bewitched by the riddle of you. Bold and quick witted, but raw and honest. It’s easy to notice when you’re lost in your head, but he can’t predict you. Time speeds up and slows down in your presence. Like he was knocked out cold, face to pavement. Then thrown in the backseat of a speeding car, but it’s on a cross country trip. When he makes eye contact with you in the rearview mirror from the backseat it’s unnerving. Is he your hostage? Were you the getaway driver? 

You catch him drifting away. Naked and wet in your too bright bathroom, exposed like he’s on an operating table under the bright fluorescent lights. You watch as he towels off on autopilot. 

He realizes he wants to stay longer, not because he knows the broken look from your face earlier, but because something else already stitches you together. You’re peculiar. Direct. Expressive. His speed. Some unspoken understanding, resolute and vibrant. Cutting through the void of the unknown. Real. He can read when you disappaer, but he can’t predict you. 

Javi shakes his head to himself, lost in this train of thought. You’ve known her for a few hours. A couple drinks, sex, and a shower, he reminds himself. He also knows how you taste and how you feel wrapped around his cock, whining please, and that thought fans the flames. 

Enough. You decide. He needs this. 

He smells fresh and sweet from your body wash as you lead him back to your bedroom. He pulls your back into his damp chest, running his hands along your body and nearly purring in your ear. Good.

You whip around and take a step back, surprising him. He hesitates. You’re analyzing. Calculating. Your eyes drag over his body. His big brown eyes and kiss-swollen lips register that you pulled away from him. His hands flex like a predator, ready to grab and pull you back to him, but restrained. His cock reaches out towards you unabashedly, shouting for your attention. 

You can’t help but feel the smile you feel pulling at the corners of your mouth. 

“Javi?”

“Yes?”

“Are you good at following orders?”

“Nope.” 

You laugh, surprised by his quick honesty. 

“Kind of oxymoronic,” you ponder. 

“How?” 

“Well, now I don’t know if you should earn my favor for answering honestly or if I should prepare a punishment if you’re going to misbehave.”

Something flickers across his face. He swallows it. 

“Let me try again.” You move closer and cup his cheek in your palm like he did to you when you first sat on your bed for him. You look into his eyes and speak softly, “You gave me what I needed earlier. Made me feel so good I forgot everything else.” He waits for you to continue, but you feel his chest puff with pride. “I’d like to give you what you need now, Javi.” He swallows again. You wondered if he’d have a quip for that, but he looks so serious. Focused. 

“But first, I need to know if you’ll be good for me, Javi. Can you do that? Can you be good for me?” 

You feel him melt slightly, into your palm, nearly imperceptible the weight shifting into your hold. 

More. The wildfire within you is lit. Blazing. 

“Yes,” he nearly whispers. A flush of heat crawls up his chest. 

“Can you follow my orders?” 

“Yes, mi reina,” he said, consenting. That’s new. 

“Mmm,” you purr at him. 

“Does your pretty cock know that?” 

He blinks with a thin veil of confusion at you. Uncertain. 

“Yes,” he confirms. 

“Look at me,” you order. 

You sink to your knees in front of him. You ego does flips in your stomach. He looms over you, but you hold the reins. You pepper little kitten licks up the underside of his shaft, holding his eye contact and pausing. You rest your soft cheek against his thigh. He’s tense. Waiting to know the rules. 

“Does he look greedy to you?” You study the precome weeping from the head of his cock inches from your face. 

“No, mi reina.” 

“No?”

You avoid his crying erection and impishly toy with his balls. Lazily, you kiss and lick and suckle at them for your own enjoyment. And when you stop, you feel the weight of his gaze, and his unanswered questions, the payback. 

“So good for me watching and not touching,” you praise. “But, baby, look. He’s drooling like a rabid dog.”

You swipe up a trail of the glistening fluid with precision, doing nothing to relieve him. He swallows tightly, his body buzzing with tension like a livewire. He finds it easy to dole out pleasure, direct his energy towards someone else, drown in unraveling a woman’s desires. But your knowing look at him is unnerving. Rattling his bravado. You move with precision, intensely. 

“Tell me, Javi,” you peer up at his face, “do you have a greedy cock?” 

You’re going to ruin him. 

“Yes,” he relents through an exhale. You’ve found it. Kept locked in a cage. Leashed in the dark. How did you find it? Did he lead you there? 

You tilt your head at him. 

“Yes, mi reina,” he adds. 

“Say it for me, baby,” you push. 

He takes a shallow breath. You grin at him like a Cheshire Cat. 

“I have a greedy cock, mi reina, a greedy disobedient cock.” Unlocked, you pocket the key. You’ve unleashed something within him. His feels a swirl of sick pleasure twisting in his core. 

“Yes,” you exclaim with a bright look that gives him a rush. He wants to keep making you look like that. 

“You can touch.” You reward him. Too easy. 

He reaches for you, and you swat at his hand. 

“No, baby, you can touch your greedy cock, not me.” 

A whiny little groan comes out of him, prickling with need. 

“Slowly,” you add, watching as he obeys. His hand pumps slowly. You can’t resist. Holding out your tongue, you move close enough that his rosy head taps against your wet tongue just long enough to get a taste. You hum. Pleased with his obedience and the taste of him. 

“Fuck,” he whispers, closing his eyes tightly. 

“Your eyes stay on me, though,” you remind him gently, with leniency for his current state of executive functioning. 

“Would you like to know a secret?” You tease as you stand up and lean into his ear. 

“Yes,” he pants. Breathy and gravelly. Delight coats your expression, you 

“I like your big greedy cock,” you lilt. 

A soft whine is pulled from his throat. You frown dramatically at him. Causing him to pause his tense strokes and his brow to furrow. You love the intoxicating feeling of having him at your mercy. 

“But you already knew that,” you admonish, shaking your head at him. 

“Already knew that,” he repeats. You’re not sure he could tell you what he just agreed to know. 

“Not a very good secret then, I guess,” you think aloud. You’re light and lucid, bouncing around him as he’s anchored in the quicksand of your spell. 

“But do you know,” circling behind him, you press your soft tits into his back, and you continue to rasp towards his ear, “how wet my pussy is now? Just from the idea of taking your cock down my throat? She’s about to drip down my legs.” 

“Fuck,” he pants again and stops moving. You feel like the sun. You urge him to turn towards you as you crawl onto your bed and lay in the center. His eyes flick all over you, wanting to see everything. 

He’s fighting to figure out where to lock his eyes. It feels euphoric to see how openly aroused he is by you. 

“Did you know that?” You repeat. 

“No.” 

“S’what I thought,” you reposition yourself, “you wanna see for yourself?” 

“Yes,” he answers rapidly. Eager. 

You show him. Parting your legs to display the evidence. So wet and tender for him. 

You’re locked in a timeloop. When you see his eyes flood with lust, and his body tenses, your desire swells in your core, flooding your glossy folds. When he sees your glistening sex fluttering and pulsing, it nearly brings him to his knees. A horny sisyphian wet dream. Turning each other on. But, crucially, you know how to break free. 

“You wanna taste?” You ask. 

“Yes, please.” Good manners. 

He starts to move towards you, and you press him back. 

“No, baby, lay right here, and I’ll give you a taste.” 

He’s obedient. Settling next to you. For a moment, he has the urge to drag you by the hips to sit on his face. To take you for himself, no games. But then he hears your sweet voice praising him and feels overcome with a dizzying sense of validation. 

“So perfect, baby, look at you,” you continue showering him with adoration. You’re mesmerizing with your sweet scent, wet lips, and your glassy eyes. Too good for him. He doesn’t deserve your attention like this. 

You see the crease between his brows as he starts to overthink. Enough. You bite sharply at his nipple, and he yelps and gapes at you. You straddle his waist and give him a stern look. 

“Stay here with me, Javi,” you order, ”don’t disappear in there.” You tap a finger lightly against his temple. He nods. 

You hover over him and slip his swollen head through your folds, easily coating his length. He shudders and groans. So openly vocal and responsive to you. That’s good. I like to hear you, baby. You use him as you please, like a toy circling your clit. But it’s everything about him that saturates you in pleasure. 

“Feel so fucking good,” you praise before pulling back and shifting down between his legs. 

You lick and suck your arousal off of him. Loud and messy. You climb towards his face. “Open,” you place your hand under his jaw, “taste,” you murmur before feeding your tongue into his mouth. Kissing hungrily he lets out desperate, deep groans. Relaxing into your movements he simply accepts what you give and lets you feel his uninhibited reactions. 

He finds you vexing and tantalizing. Letting him touch and taste, but not directly. He’d have half a mind to argue with you—despite having tormented you just the same—but how you light up and laugh when you best him fills him with a more profound desire. He likes how you look when you’re in charge. He likes that he just has to keep up. He likes being all consumed by the present moment, so caught up in you he can’t think about anything else. 

You break away, seemingly satisfied with his participation thus far. You’re ethereal and glowing above him. 

You slide down and return to your retribution. Teasing by lightly drawing your fingers around his leaking cock as it lies against his lower abdomen. You revel in delight over his muscles tensing and flexing, and he huffs impatiently as you increase the intensity of your vengeance. You trace the same outline with your tongue; you use his moves from earlier, breathing warm and cool air over his length and watching it twitch. 

You stare up at him as you run the flat of your tongue from his balls up to his tip. He looks wrecked, staring back at you, and you feel powerful, holding his attention.  

He catches the flash of a smirk before you slip your mouth around his tip and nearly overwhelm him with the warm slip of your tongue and the pressure of your mouth wrapped around him. 

“Fuck,” he rasps. 

You don’t let up, swiftly taking him further down. You focus on breathing and working him into the back of your throat, then back to just the tip. Your saliva drips and coats him as your hands work in time with your bobbing head. It’s messy, and the noises are pornographic as you pour your enthusiasm onto him. He’s cursing and groaning while you continue on, and you can’t take the sight of him anymore. You pull off him and crawl up the bed on your hands and knees. You sit up and pick up one of his hands. 

“Javi, I have a problem,”

“Shit, what?” 

“When your cock is in my mouth, my pussy gets jealous. She’s too empty,” before he can respond, you drag his hand through your obscenely wet folds. 

“Fuck,” he chokes out. It must be his favorite word. 

“Mhmm,” you agree. 

“Use me,” he says in a hoarse voice. 

“I intend to,” you reply. 

And you do. You ride him with an unrestrained vigor. You start bouncing up and down, tossing your head back to give him a little show. You drive him into a frenzy as you freely describe how good he makes you feel. And when he looks wholly fucked out, you taunt him for looking so pleased when his body is yours to use. 

When he breaks, you feel his hands caress your body greedily. He squeezes at your hips, and he gapes with stars in his eyes at your tits perfectly filling his hands. He gropes at your ass and digs his fingers into your plush skin, pulling you down harder onto him with each bounce.

You consider how you might torture him further for touching without asking, but decide you just need to see him come undone. A single thought crosses your mind like a brilliant marquee on an empty boulevard.

He remains happy to obey as you instruct him to swap positions. 

“You’re going to keep fucking me hard and deep while I come on your cock,” you order as you trail your hand down to your clit to your liking. 

“Yes,” he agrees. “Come. Come on my cock.” He chants raggedly as you do. Your orgasm ripples across your body until the oversensitivity hits, and you press your hand into Javi’s chest. He pauses, hovering over you. You breathe as you come down and observe the exertion written across his features. 

“Again,” you state, and he slides back into you. “I need it now, Javi,” you continue. “I need you to come. Fill me up. Just like you promised.” 

You can’t get there with him again fast enough, but don’t need to. You just want to feel him deep inside you, releasing everything he’s got. And he’s more than willing to follow orders. He thrusts into you deeply until his hips jerk, and you can feel him pulsing inside of you as he comes. 

“Please, take it.” You make out in between words that he smothers in your skin.  

When he collapses on top of you, and your fingers rake through his hair, it’s as if he turns to liquid, and your soul absorbs him up. 

You hum contentedly at him and push until he rolls off. 

You order him to stay in bed before you’re off to clean up, bring him a towel, and of course, refill water glasses for both of you. As you walk into the kitchen, you see the flashing light on your answering machine. You didn’t notice it when you got home earlier, but it reminds you of the reality of the night. You know it’s a scathing message from your ex for walking away hours ago. 

You feel a thread of annoyance, but it doesn’t escalate as you return to your bedroom. 

Javi is where you left him and watches you with a funny look in his eyes as you carry on about your tasks until you return to his side. He likes seeing you move about your space, naked and unhurried. How insistint you are about taking care of him, it feels natural. 

“What?” you grill him for staring. 

“Nothing, nothing,” he assuages, raising his hands in defense. 

You like how he looks in your bed with his dewy skin and mussed hair. 

“Seems like you can be good at following orders,” you note.  

“Depends on who’s doing the ordering, I guess” he shrugs, and you roll your eyes. 

You offer him a cigarette and notice the time on the clock on your nightstand. 

“It’s late,” you state, and he nods, taking a long drag. 

“Stay,” you suggest, hoping it doesn’t sound needy. 

“That an order, mi reina?” 

You didn’t expect to hear that endearment outside of sex. It makes you float. 

“Yes.” 

“Good.”

He’s there. In the morning when you wake up. Taking up too much space in your bed, sprawled on his stomach. Trapping you under a heavy arm. Snoring hot air into your shoulder. His body is a furnace, the sheet balled up towards your feet, leaving his bare skin exposed to the morning light. His smooth back and the curve of his ass are candid and honest next to you. You figured he would’ve disappeared before you woke up. Like a cryptid. You thought you’d be searching for any trace that he was real. Fortunately, you are surrounded by evidence. He is real, and unguarded. And somehow weighing your whole body down with just one arm. You squirm trying to check the time and he stirs. You still. 

“Morning,” he grumbles. Of course his morning voice is sexier than you could’ve imagined. 

“Morning.” 

He peels his arm from your skin, releasing you. Free to stretch you reveal the ache in your shoulders from sleeping in that position with a groan. The room smells like sweat and sex, with faint notes of your shampoo and his aftershave lingering on your pillows. You instantly miss his touch, despite the fact that you were overheating from his warmth. You wait for a clue. What happens next? He was supposed to be temporary. A high you chased. Just a distraction, help you avoid reality and your emotions. But you like having him spread out on your mattress in the morning. You’d like to hear more of his voice. 

He flips onto his back and scoops you under his arm. Oh. Head on his chest. You hear the strong beat of his heart in his chest. You might as well try. 

“You want–” “Can I–” 

You both laugh, your head bumping into his chest. You urge him to go first. Reveal his hand. 

“Can I take you to breakfast?” he asks, “maybe after another shower,” he adds considering whatever fluids are still pasted to his skin. 

You couldn’t have resisted the smile spreading on your face if you’d been warned ahead of time. You know he feels it pressed against his skin. 

“I was going to offer to make coffee, but that does sound better.” 

“Good.”

“Plus, I could use a ride back to my car. It’s still outside the bar.” 

“A ride, hm?” His voice melts over the top of your head. You’re not listening to the words. Floating in a cloud. Just the baritone of his voice keeping you in the air. “C’mere, I’ve got a ride for you, cariño,” he growls into your hair before pulling you all the way on top of him. You shake with airy laughter, sitting up. Your laugh lights up his eyes. He looks at you like he wants more. 

It’s enough. 

[willownwisp]

ree's leon valentine's day advent <3

hi everyone. <3 as the leon kennedy fluff truther, i'm making an advent for valentine's day because pookie deserves so much love! everyday, i'll be posting a fic ranging from nsfw/sfw fluff for babu leon, i'll be putting out the scenarios and snippets below if y'all are interested. author's note: i've been meaning to put this out like a week ago when i finally figured out the problem w my account as to why tumblr wasn't letting me reply to comments :( but sadly, college got me so head empty. anyway, i've already got 2 days worth of fics already finished so i hope y'all can give me a read. <3

FEBRUARY 8 𖹭 nice legs, daisy dukes. (vendetta!leon x fem!reader) Leon feels like a creep, fuck that. He definitely looks like a creep. Thirty-six year old in all of his 5'11 glory standing outside his girlfriend's college leant against his Ducati like a dick, carrying a box of those, instagrammable pastries you always like to look at. It doesn't hurt to be sweet. Not when you walk — run, at the sight of him in your preppy mini dress, highlighting those long, long legs. Nothing is sweeter, especially when it's wrapped around him.

FEBRUARY 9 𖹭 starry skies, blue eyes. (re4r!leon x fem!reader) Stars dot stygian skies, the night is young, the moon is high. Leon's heart soars with your every laughter. The way your eyes close and your nose scrunches. God he was so in love with you, he could forgive the fact that the tent should have been up hours ago before night. You swear you remember your knots from your wide-eyed Girl Scout days, and he swears these silly moments with you are what makes life bearable.

FEBRUARY 10 𖹭 cold woes. (re4r!leon x fem!reader) Leon S. Kennedy. The apple of his instructors' eyes (and yours), he's a top graduate in the Police Academy for fuck's sake. He's decimated hordes of zombies in his first day as a rookie cop. Endured military training in the middle of nowhere, he's saved the President's daughter. He doesn't get sick. Only that he does catch a cold at the expense of prioritizing you, his clumsy girlfriend, who forgot to wear a jacket on a camping trip, offering his warm clothes to you. He doesn't regret it, he likes taking care of you, but there's something adorable about your sheepish apologies as you wait on him. He could get used to being babied. FEBRUARY 11 𖹭 love on me. (di!leon x fem!reader) As much as Leon loves the sun, the beaches, the tropics. Oh what he would give to become a beach bum in his next life instead of being smacked by bioweapons day in, night out, and being a good bitch to good ol' U.S of A. Unfortunately, after the events of Alcatraz, maybe he's had enough of the sea for now. He gives himself a pat on the back, takes out a chunk of his savings to go to Japan because you've been eyeing it. You said you were interested in the food, culture, and sights. So why in the world were you dragging him to a love hotel? FEBRUARY 12 𖹭 fill up your cup. (re6!leon x fem!reader) He feels himself spiraling recently, turning to the bottle because a glass is never troubled by his woes. He breaks them of course, can't help it, seems like his life is doomed to him breaking in the end. Fragments of glass scatters on the floor, vodka spills on the floor splashes it around like his grief because his body can only take so much. You arrive as he tries to pick them up, attempts to pick himself up. You whisper assurance, he doesn't deserve it. The way you look at him ardently, the gentleness that is your existence. You empty out his pain, and fill it with love. FEBRUARY 13 𖹭 the thrill, the love. (damnation!leon x fem!reader) He wills his old Yamaha to go faster. Your dainty arms clinging to him, the softness of your touch as his speed breaks the sound barrier. What started as mere curiosity turns into rituals. Secrets that only the both of you know. He knocks on your door at midnight, drives you around town. He scolds you every time your arm breaks free, throwing them to the wind. You don't care, you love the thrill, you love him. Leon admits that there is something alluring to the thrill of the chase. Perhaps that's why he's spent his years chasing Ada, but with you it was different. FEBRUARY 14 𖹭 kiss it better. (di!leon x fem!reader) Leon is a man full of stories, his pain, his peace, his fears, his needs. There is more to him than just being a formidable weapon against bioterrorism. He never was a weapon, just a flesh and blood human, and in his mortality there are scars. Deep within him, and littered in his skin. You kiss the faded slash on his hand, he tells you how he'd got it from when Ashley Graham had tried to stab him under the influence of the plaga. You kiss it again, and what he doesn't tell you is the wave of warmth that washes his entire being, it tugs on his very soul. You kiss the scars because it's there, because it's him, and in his reverie, he thinks you truly are his person.