#FUCKING MIXED WEIGHT WHO EVEN CAME UP WITH THIS

[gabrielsbubblegumbitch]

Yeah tell me Forbes aren't we ready for the MiXed-wEiGHt ReLAtioNshIP???

Or aren't we ready to

✨Let the women fucking live in their bodies like it's nobody's business✨

[moechies]

:¨ ·.· ¨: ୨୧ somno w toji

somno with toji never works :( he’s simply too big, and any part of him inside of you would wake you up in an instant, no matter how deep of a sleeper you are.

you proved this true the one time toji came home later than normal from a weighted job, scruffy and worn. yearning for some love from his dearest, cutest wife, jittery at the thought of your sweet lips against his own, and your soft skin pliant against his.

although worried, you had put yourself to sleep on the couch outside of your guy’s bedroom, a plated meal warmed and covered in a wrap for his hoped upon arrival. upon staggering upon the doorstep, fidgeting the key into the hole to get the lock open, he’s greeted by the soft, warm atmosphere of what hes able to call home.

his eyes set on your pliant body sprawled across the couch, body sunk into the soft pillows beneath you. your snoozy face on display due to you laid on your side, and a little knit blanket limps across your tummy. you’re wearing one of his over-sized shirts with a thin pair of panties, delicate lace and a strung bow that details the rim of it.

although originally admiring your soft body laying so peacefully, he can’t help the way his eyes divert to the sight of your chubby cunt, hugged so snugly by the crotch of your panties.

it’s adorable, honestly.

he makes his way towards you with ill intentions, dropping his belongings as he strides towards you.

soft snores reverberate through your body, paying no mind to the huge man mounting you from the side. he curses himself silently when all he can imagine is a sweet imagine of your is your fucked our face imprinted in his head, cute drooly mouth and crystalline tears painting your cute cheeks. his ears ring with your little mewls and cries of his name, little hand grappling at his much larger bicep trying your best to ask for a kiss.

he feels his cock ache and throb against your warm thigh as his mind surpasses all of these perfect moments, wasting no time before tugging at the silk embellishment of a belt, shimmying off his pants and discarding them on the ground. he hoists your soft leg onto his shoulder, shirt lifting along side it allowing him an open view to your perfect cunt, and your perfect slit. he doesn’t know what to do with himself.

although racked with guilt, head pulsing with anger at his poor self control, he can’t help but replay certain moments in his head; where you’d beg him to use you, conscious or not.

with honeydew tears rolling down your face, desperately holding the man impossibly close, mewling in his ear, ‘use me, use me, use me !” and all you ask in return is a sweet kiss on the lips. he chuckles at the thought, you, who others assume to be such a dear, gentle as a fawn, cute as a doe, the most innocent of all, compared to the version of you only toji knows. he’s utterly blessed.

his mind acts as a record, one that doesn’t stop playing, one which each and every film is of your sweet, sweet self. he’s not long into his fantasy before he finds himself mindlessly humping against your clad pussy, a thick layer of slick beginning to form from the simulation.

he lets out a mere laugh, tugging the crotch aside to be met with the prettiest sight of your worked up cunny. the sheen coat of arousal does nothing but highlight your pearly clit, and milky hole, all ready to take your favorite. your breath has labored, eyes squeezed tight, and cheeks flushed with a light rose, outcries for your dearest lover; ‘toji, toji, daddy— d . . daddy,’

his pride can’t help but swell at cute commentary unconsciously slipping from your lips; to know that even in you’re sleep, you were dreaming of him.

as his hand holds your panties aside, the other tugs his cock out from the confinements of his boxers, dragging the sloppy tip against your slit. he watches the two textures of arousal mix against eachother, his creamier pre blend into your clear slick. he can almost feel himself staring at the mess through heart-shaped lenses, obsessed with how your hole pulses around his mere cock head.

he feels your body twitch against his, leg shivering lightly, as you huff. much as if you had been awake, other than your usual whining and rushing, tugging at his much larger hips to hurry.

he finally lands above your hole, pressing lightly against the wet flesh, assuming he’s being diligent with his movements in order not to wake you. he watches as your soft cunt swallows his pudgy cock head as if it’s a right, fat lips hugging his cock head tight.

his technique doesn’t work too well.

his mere tip sits comfortably inside you when he hears you whimper loudly at his initial movement, eyelashes fluttering as you wake yourself with heavy pants. your leg attempts to retract, but he keeps a easy grip in order to keep you still. your cries grow louder, completely oblivious as to what’s happening around you in your woozy state. you flinch at the scarred hand that lays against the soft skin of your face,

“it’s jus’ me, honey. don’t fret.” toji comforts, smiling at the way your head turns to face his, brows furrowing in confusion.

“o . . owie—“ you react regarding his cock head protruding your cunny from below, “t-toji,” your hand grips at his fingers weakly, slowly adjusting to the ‘foreign’ feeling of his cock.

“mhm.. that’s right, darling girl. y’slept well?” you shake your head quickly, pouting up at the man above you. he tilts his head to the side, anticipating your explanation.

“ ‘s ‘cause you w-weren’t home. m-missed y’so much, toji.” you sniffle, tugging his arm in order to pull him closer.

“oh, poor baby.” he replies solemnly, reaching down to press a loving kiss onto your forehead. you feel him nudge himself deeper, squeaking at the unprepped stretch.

“heh.. missed you so much too, doll. y’know that?” he cups the side of your face, shallow and short thrusts of his cock. more than enough to get him off perfectly. you nod your head rapidly with shut eyes, fists clenched into little balls against your chest at the overwhelming simulation.

“y’r doin’ s’good. ‘s almost over doll, t-then i’ll put ya to sleep.”

“w-wait hnn— m gonna cum !”

he snickers at your meek whines, teasing you slightly,

“already? this pussy’s so sensitive, sweet doll.”

he knows it’s the mixture of you barely conscious, added onto the intense simulation of his cock pounding against your gummy walls over and over, but he loves the little helpless glare you shoot him, silently begging him to let you cum.

“please, please—“

“shh darlin,’ no need to beg. cum, cum f’me, doll.”

and with a couple deep strokes, his cock overwhelmed by the way your cunt pulses and squeezes around him, he cums a potent load into the depths of your womb.

he jets a milky and viscous stream of thick cum into you, seemingly never ending as he slowly rides out his high by lazily humping into your spent cunt.

his eyes can’t help but pace back and forth from your lewd expressions to the creamy mess below, watching his load spread across your chubby folds and dirty the inside of your thighs.

sweet whispers of ‘love you, love you,’ fall from the lips of the man, pressing wet kisses all over your face. you nuzzle against his face, kissing down his jaw, entertaining his needy behavior that you surely wouldn’t see for a while.

[dante-mightdie]

I desperately want butcher!simon to take me against the dingy couch in the break room, no sounds but the squeaking of the springs, my muffled moans from his hand covering my mouth, and his deep grunts as he pounds into me from behind.

just a quick little fuck in between customers, and he has to leave mid-fuck to go hand off a package of pre-ordered meat, and scares the ever loving fuck out of the guy who came in to pick it up

okay i’m gonna change this request slightly because I saw a video and it inspired something based on this ask ���

(ending updated)

c/w: nsfw content below, implications of non-con (none takes place, delivery driver assumes reader is being attacked by simon but this is not the case at all), reader is fully consenting, reader and simon are married, threats, degradation

the delivery driver had been waiting for a good ten minutes now, wondering where the pretty counter girl was who always gave him the usual package. not even that unsettling brute was there to help him so he did what he thought was the correct thing to do

operating under the assumption that someone may be hurt or in need of assistance, he walked around the counter and into the back of the butcher shop. alongside the somewhat eerie humming of the freezer coolers, all that could be heard was a repeat squeaking sound coming from the back office

but since there were no calls for help or cries of agony, the driver opened the office door as quietly as possible. the cause of the squeaking becomes evident when his eyes land on the couch in the corner of the room, where he finds the pretty counter girl and her frightening beast of a boss

there you lay, pinned against the old sofa by the crushing weight of the butcher. legs spread what seems like impossibly wide to accommodate the brutal snapping of his hips. the driver’s eyes widened at the sight before him, the rough hand clamped over your mouth and the tears slipping down your cheeks leads him to believe he’s walked in on a viscous attack

he hasn’t been spotted yet, leaving him plenty of time to do the heroic thing and rescue you from the awful man who bunched up your skirt around your hips and ravaged you like you were nothing more than one the pieces of meat hanging in the freezer

but before he can, simon slips his hand from your mouth and the driver expects his hearing to become overwhelmed with pleas to stop. however, he’s shocked to hear almost pornographic moans slip from your throat instead. your hands that originally seemed pinned down under simon’s weight are suddenly pawing wherever they can reach

your head turns to catch simon’s lips in a sloppy kiss. tongues clashing, saliva mixing with moans as he whispers nasty things against you,

“fuckin’ slag, grabbin’ m’cock whilst I’m workin’…” he grunts, slamming his hips into you harder. your hands settle on his ass, grabbing handfuls of the meaty flesh as leverage to push his cock deeper into your sobbing cunt

“couldn’t wait, could’ya? didn’t wanna wait for me to take ya to bed like a proper husband should… don’t worry, lovie. gonna give ya what you need…” he continues, looking down to watch where his mean cock stuffs itself inside your pussy. all you can do is respond in drunken babbles of ‘more’, ‘harder’, and begging him to make you cum

the driver soons realises his mistake, ducking out of the door and adjusting his suddenly swelling cock in his trousers before he’s caught by your terrifying husband

~

you come out to serve him about twenty minutes later, still looking as prim and proper as you always do. now the driver can’t help but wonder how many times you’d spoken to him after being split open by your hulking husbands cock. to be honest, he still can’t over the husband bit

before you can open your mouth to speak to him, simon appears behind you, pressed right up against your back but his glare is locked onto the man on the other side of the counter,

“go. I’ve got this one…” he mumbles in your ear before sending you off with a pat to your bottom

the driver can’t help but feel like he’s shit out of luck here. the transaction is awkward, uncomfortable and he really wishes he was dealing with you instead. at least you actually smile at him

he takes the package, ignoring the way simon purposefully tightens his grip when he tries to take it from him, making him struggle. the driver gives him an awkward smile before turning to leave the shop

“oi.” simon calls out to the driver once he’s at the door. he turns around to face the butcher who gives him a look that would make any grown man shit themselves

“if I catch ya trynna look at my bird again, you’ll find yourself behind this counter for different reasons.” he snarls, glowering at the poor man who can only nod his head before darting out the door with no intentions of picking up a delivery from your shop ever again

[robo-writing]

Okay, now I need a fic based on the session the reader and Logan has when he was slapped. Like the thought of her passing out and he still continued to fuck her? And her coming too and he’s just pumping her full of his come? Lord have mercy 😩🤤

me getting this anon while i was knee-deep in writing angst is something so funny to me, crying my eyes out then opening my inbox to see this gave me mental whiplash like you can’t believe He barely sounds human, more man than beast. The weight of him pins you into the bed, unable to move. The creaking of the bed, your weak cries, his downright animalistic grunts of pleasure as he thrusts into your tired, achy cunt—you two sound like a cheap porno, and not in a good way.

You have no one else to blame for the six foot wall of muscle that pins you to the bed, holds your hands behind your back and fucks you like he’s got something to prove. His hips meet your backside again, and again, and again—each thrust leaving your ass raw.

You don’t know how long it’s been since he’s put you on your stomach, and you don’t care to know; all you want is for him to keep going. Hell, you’re not sure Logan would stop even if you begged him.

Reduced to his animal instincts, if he’s not panting in your ear like a bitch in heat he’s mumbling the filthiest fucking words into your skin, tongue lapping at the salt that clings to it.

“Mine, mine, mine,” he groans, each word emphasized by the sound of skin slapping on skin. “My girl, mine to fuck, mine to breed.”

It genuinely hurts to breathe, but all you scratching at his arms does is spur him even further. Eventually you give up, lie back like a good little whore and let him fuck you until either you pass out or he runs out of energy.

Unsurprisingly, option A seems to happen first.

A few spots in your vision, a ringing in your ears, then nothing. An unknown time passes, and you wake up in the same spot as before, spread open and speared on Logan’s magnificent dick.

At least from what you can gather he’s a bit more put together now, still pumping himself inside your warm walls, but much less violent than he was before. You feel the familiar thrum of orgasm on the horizon, an odd sort of pleasure-pain that keeps you aware long enough to listen to your boyfriend speak.

“‘M sorry baby, fuck, just couldn’t stop,” he says, kissing up and down your spine in apology, still chasing after his own high with each word. “Feel too good, so, so good, goddamn—“

He’s stuttering, cutting himself off, unable to string together a full sentence. You chance a glance at him and fuck, he’s a goddamn mess. Sweat dripping from his brow, muscles flexing so hard you could count each vein, a rosey blush running from his face to his chest—he looks like he’s just came from hell and back. Damn near incoherent, whispering sweet nothings into your shoulder—

“Lemme come in you baby, just one more time, one more fuckin’ time—“

It’s a rhetorical question at this point; like you ever had a choice with the way his cum drips from your cunt. So full of him that each thrust pulls more out of you, only to be replaced. He’s had to have cum inside of you multiple times, the sloppy sound of it mixing with the sound of his balls slapping against your ass.

And yet, he keeps on going.

An urge to control, to keep, a need to stuff his cock inside of you and have you know exactly who it is that has your pussy creaming for him.

[orchidseason]

gratitude never felt so good ꕥ firefighter!vi x fem!reader

With your cat stranded in the tree, your heart races as you helplessly watch her struggle to find her way down. Vi, a firefighter, arrives just in time to rescue her, offering both a solution and a calming presence. As the tension between you grows, you find a way to show Vi just how thankful you are, letting your gratitude turn into something more.

warnings ꕥ word count 1k, smut, strap in v (r!receiving), vi's strap called her dick, spanking, praise/degradation (slut, good girl), grinding/making out, fluff, slight fear/anxiety (r worried over her cat),

It was a quiet afternoon when you found yourself standing in your front yard, staring up at your cat. Somehow, she had managed to climb too high in the tree and now sat there, meowing desperately. You paced back and forth, biting your lip, unsure of what to do. The tree was too tall for you to reach, and you didn’t want to risk climbing up and making things worse.

As you stared up, lost in thought, you heard the rumble of a firetruck approaching. You barely noticed it at first, but then the truck slowed and came to a stop right in front of your house. You raised an eyebrow, unsure why it had stopped there.

The driver’s side door opened, and out stepped Vi, a firefighter you’d seen around town but never spoken to. She looked at you for a beat, then glanced up at the tree.

“Your cat?” she asked, gesturing toward the branches.

You blinked, a little surprised. “Uh, yeah. She’s stuck. I’m not sure how to get her down.”

Vi assessed the situation quickly, nodding as she moved to the back of the truck and pulled out a ladder. There wasn’t much more to say—she just got to work, setting the ladder against the tree and climbing up with easy efficiency.

You watched as she carefully made her way to the top, her hands steady as she reached for your cat. Her muscles moved as she did so, your eyes darting to them. Within moments, she had the frightened animal in her arms, cradling her gently before descending the ladder.

Once back on the ground, Vi handed your cat to you, who was now much calmer, though still shaken. “She’s alright,” Vi said, brushing her hands off. “A little scared, but nothing serious.”

You took your cat back into your arms, feeling an overwhelming wave of relief wash over you. “Thank you so much,” you said, your voice a little shaky. “I didn’t know what I was going to do.”

Vi gave a small, casual shrug. “No problem. I’ve done this a few times.”

You nodded, still processing the moment. “I... really don’t know how to thank you. I was so worried about her, you know? I didn’t know if she’d fall, or get hurt, or get even more scared. I just—I'm so relieved.”

Vi looked at you for a moment, her lips curling into a subtle smile. “Well…” she said, her voice taking on a teasing edge, “if you’re looking for a way to show your gratitude…” She took a half step closer, her expression playful but with a quiet sincerity beneath it. “I can think of a few ways.”

The words hung between you for a moment, the playful challenge in her tone clear. You swallowed, suddenly feeling the weight of her gaze, and managed a soft smile.

Vi’s smile deepened, her eyes flickering with a mix of amusement and something else.

Next you know she has you crying out her name, dick thrusting in and out of you at such a pace you feel otherworldly. It’s actually quite amazing how quick she reduced you to nothing. For someone who’s never explored your body before this moment, she sure was playing it like she has. You have your hands gripping the sheets below you, your back arched so impossible, and your face is shoved into the mattress. 

“A-ah… ah–vi! Vi–oh fuck–please don’t stop.” 

She squeezes your ass a bit harder, using her grip there to push and pull you on her length. A huff escapes her, a smile on her face, “how could I when you moan like such a slut?”

Her hands gripping your waist shove your hips back again and again, the wet sound mixing with your higher-pitched whimpers. She pulls out for a quick moment to flip you on her back, her broad body sliding between your thighs. Her hand angles her dick, pushing it in with a groan of her own–watching your greedy hole swallow it up. 

The position that she has you in now has you seeing stars with each thrust. The momentum at which she was going was slowly building that fire in you that you needed her to put out. She was moving at a more brutal pace, the sound almost embarrassing how it turned you on. You press a hand at her abdomen, whining, “vi… vi–too much… too fast–shit!”

She hums disapprovingly, eyes looking up to yours before pistoning her hips even faster if possible. You bite your bottom lip, eyes fluttering shut, “v-vi..vi.. Mm.”

Again. It’s her first time with your body and she knows it like the back of her hand. She has your eyes rolling—nails scratching down her back. She keeps the consistent pace, eyes darting between you and the wet mess between your thighs. 

“Fucking dammit,” she curses, forehead hanging as she fully just stares at where she keeps entering you–watching how you’re being spread open, “I can’t get enough of you.”

Your face is tilted the other way, body moving up and down on your mattress sheets. She pulls your first orgasm out of you, feeling her own body shudder after watching your own. The way you grip her back tighter, the bottom lip drops open as you grow silent–gasping every now and then. It’s beautiful, intoxicating. 

“Shit,” she curses, kissing your jaw, “please tell me you can go again.” 

You laugh. Definitely not how you planned to spend your day, but you’re not complaining.

firefighter!vi masterlist

[adispit]

Hii! Do u write for xiao ?? If u do can u do with a amab reader who is extremely sensitive during sex and gets overstimulated really easily and cries??

A Hefty Price

Xiao x bttm m! thief reader

content warnings: slight dubcon, overstimulation, reader cries, Xiao is a little ooc bc he’s irritated and pissed here, mindbroken reader (fucked into oblivion), punishment sex (?)

note: hiya I didn’t know if u wanted plot with it so I just did it, hope you enjoy 😭🫶

You always thought you could get away with it. Xiao’s warnings, his sharp glares, the low growl in his voice whenever he caught you—it had become almost a routine, something predictable. You'd brush off his words, slip through his fingers, and disappear into the night with whatever prize you'd set your eyes on.

Maybe that’s why you kept going. Deep down, you believed Xiao would be lenient with you forever. That no matter how many times he cornered you, no matter how many times he said, “This is your last chance," there would always be one more.

But tonight was different.

The moment you saw him step out from the shadows, his figure illuminated by the pale moonlight, you knew something had shifted. His eyes weren’t just filled with the usual exasperation or annoyance. There was something darker, more primal, simmering beneath the surface.

You should’ve stopped.

But instead, you smirked, brushing off the unease creeping up your spine. "What, are you here to lecture me again, Xiao?" you teased, trying to keep your voice light. "You know how this goes. I’ll be gone before you even—"

You never got to finish your sentence.

Xiao moved faster than you’d ever seen him before, closing the distance between you in an instant. One moment, you were standing, your usual bravado shielding you from the weight of his presence, and the next, you were pressed against the stone wall of Wangshu Inn, your wrists pinned above your head in a grip so tight it made you gasp.

"Xiao—" you choked, but the words were caught in your throat as you met his gaze. His golden eyes bore into yours, no longer just filled with warning, but with an animal like intensity that sent your pulse racing in a way that had nothing to do with fear—and everything to do with something far more dangerous.

"You think I’ll let this slide again?" His voice was low, rough, almost unrecognizable in its rawness. His face was mere inches from yours, his breath hot against your skin. "That I’ll keep letting you walk away like nothing happened?"

His grip tightened around your wrists, his body pressing you harder against the cold stone. The sudden, brutal force of it made your heart stutter, a flicker of panic mixing with something else you didn’t want to name. He wasn’t just angry—he was done. Done with your games, done with your teasing, and done with your refusal to take him seriously.

"You always brush off my warnings," Xiao growled, his voice so close, so filled with something dark and primal that it made your knees weak. "You think I’ll be lenient forever, that I won’t do anything to stop you."

You swallowed hard, the smirk that had once danced on your lips now completely gone. Your breath came in shallow gasps as you tried to understand what was happening. Xiao had always been intense, but this—this was different. He wasn’t holding back anymore.

"You’ve pushed me too far," he muttered, his voice low and dangerous. His hand left your wrist, sliding down to your throat in one swift, controlled motion, his thumb pressing just enough to make your breath hitch. "You think I’ll keep forgiving you? That you can keep stealing, keep defying me, without consequences?"

His eyes darkened as he leaned in closer, his lips brushing against your ear. "No more."

Your chest tightened at the finality in his tone, the weight of his words settling over you like a heavy cloak. You had always played with fire, but now, you were burning. Xiao’s restraint, his patience—it was gone, replaced by something far more wild, far more dangerous.

"I… I didn’t think—" you stammered, trying to gather your wits, but Xiao wasn’t having it.

"That’s your problem," he interrupted, his grip on your throat tightening just enough to make you still. "You never think. You believe you’re untouchable, that you can keep running from your consequences."

His fingers pressed harder against your skin, his body trapping yours completely against the wall, his eyes narrowing as he watched the realization wash over you. For the first time, you truly understood—you had gone too far. You had pushed him too far.

You opened your mouth to speak, to say something, but nothing came out. His grip on you was unyielding, his presence overwhelming. The usual playfulness you had wielded against him was gone, shattered under the weight of his fury.

His other hand slid down your side, pinning you in place with a strength that left no room for argument. You gasped, the pressure making it clear that this time, there was no escape.

"You never took me seriously," he murmured darkly, his lips brushing against your neck, sending heat coursing through you. "But I’m going to show you exactly how serious I can be."

Your breath hitched as his hand moved lower, tracing the lines of your body with a possessive touch, one that made it clear—he wasn’t playing around anymore. There was no teasing, no games. You had crossed the line, and Xiao was about to teach you the consequences of defying him.

"You’ll remember this," Xiao muttered, his voice filled with quiet dominance as he pressed you harder against the wall, his body leaving no space for resistance. "You’ll remember who you belong to."

Your heart raced, fear and something else—a darker, more dangerous thrill—mixing together as you realized just how far you had pushed him. Xiao wasn’t fucking around anymore.

And now, you were going to pay for it.

Your chest rose and fell in shallow breaths, your heart thundering against your ribs as you stared up at him, completely at his mercy. Letting out a quiet whimper at his gaze, you could feel heat pool in your core, inwardly groaning as his body pushed against yours, giving you no space to retreat or run. “Quiet, (name). Take your punishment.” He shot you a silent glare of disapproval as he fumbled clumsily at your pants.

You weren’t stupid, despite haven’t done this kind of thing before, but you knew what the Yaksha was trying to do, and was clear to your eyes. There was a flash of thought that crossed your mind that if Xiao was the one standing before you, and you weren’t pinned against a wall, you might have considered sharing your first with him.

Your body, however, was much more honest. As he freed your cock, it was already erect, as pearls of precum slid down your length, the cold night air graced your naked lower abdomen. Teeth chattering as the cold wind blew, it didn’t stop your cheeky mouth teasing him much to your regret later on, “Seems like the yaksha is quite the inexperienced one— Ah!” He gripped your dick forcefully, sending a shock of mixed sensations of pain and pleasure through your body. “You never shut up do you, mortal?” Xiao rebuked unhappily as he gingerly jerked your cock up and down, bringing about an onslaught of sheer pleasure and ecstasy that seemed to intertwine with each other.

Being a virgin yourself, it didn’t take for you to release, splattering ropes of white cum into his hand as you let out a strangled gasp. Your eyes widened as you felt Xiao's teeth graze your sensitive skin, a shudder running through your body. The combination of pleasure and discomfort had your nerves alight, every touch sparking a new wave of sensation.

"Nnh...haaah..." You whined, hips bucking involuntarily as you grinded down against the firm muscle of Xiao's thigh. The friction provided some respite, but it wasn’t enough to quell the ache building in your core.

“Stay still.” He let out a growl of frustration before biting down on your collarbone, fangs glinting in the moonlight, sunken into your sinewy skin. The bruising pain and burning pleasure felt indistinguishable as your mouth hung open with inaudible gasps escaping.

“You don’t listen,” he murmured darkly, his breath warm against the raw skin of your collarbone. His teeth released your skin, leaving the bruised, throbbing mark of his claim, the sting lingering like a brand. “You never listen.” His tongue flicked out to trace the bite, sending another wave of heat through your body.

Not intending to give you a break, his fingers thrust into your waiting hole, making you squirm and writhe, insides clenching around his fingers. “Hhn!” A gasp left your lips as you felt the fingers prodding a certain bundle of nerves, nudging it repeatedly until you was moaning incoherently. A little sob even escaped you, as your cock twitched, spurting white all over your own pelvis again. Your whole body quivered, eyes rolling to the back of your head as the stimulation didn’t cease, your breath came out in ragged gasps, each one more shallow than the last as your body trembled under his control.

The Yaksha’s name left your lips in a stutter.

The pleasure left you reeling in its wake like a tidal wave engulfing your body in full force. Tears began to decorate your eyes as you let out small hiccups and chokes from the merciless sensations that seemed to plague your fatigued body endlessly.

Xiao’s hand shifted from your ass to your chin, forcing you to look at him. His golden eyes bore into yours, sharp and unyielding. For a moment, something flickered in them—a recognition of the tears that now streamed down your face, glistening in the moonlight.

But his grip didn’t soften.

“Are you crying?” Xiao’s voice was rough, his words cutting through the haze between you. His thumb brushed against your cheek, smearing the tear across your skin. “After everything, you still don’t understand.”

“I’ll make you understand.” You let out a scream as he impaled you on his cock, the girthy length bullying his way into your insides, searing his shape into your walls. There was pain, yet most of it became pleasure as Xiao started to thrust in and out of your tightness. Inaudible, slurred cries escaped you as you hung your head low, body rocked back and forth as Xiao fucked you deep and slow. The tears kept falling, but you were helpless to stop them. Everything about this moment felt too intense, too overwhelming.

Half-sober, you muttered pleas and apologies from your hoarse throat amidst the obscene squelches of his cock kissing your walls repeatedly. “Too late.” He huffed a noncommittal sigh as he put your arms over his shoulders and carried your limp legs with his arms before driving his hips against yours with full force.

Your brain was mush at this point, barely registering anything as your overstimulated hole rapidly twitched and clenched around Xiao’s disappearing cock into your hole. Your cock let out pitiful drops of cum, if that could even be called that, as you had truly lost count on how many times you had climaxed simply from the sensation of his cock scraping against your sensitive walls.

You had truly paid a hefty price.

note: might have made him a little too intense here sry 😢 but i ran w it he’s tired w readers shit lol 😹

Reblogs are appreciated!

[roturo]

Gojo Satoru who's beginning to fall in love with his sugar baby!

read pt 1 and pt2, before continuing.

Gojo stood outside your door, the weight of every choice he'd made— or refused to make— pressing down on him. He should walk away. That's what he'd always done when things got too real, too messy. But tonight, he couldn't. Not when the thought of someone else touching you, knowing you the way he did, was driving him to the brink.

He raised his hand to knock, but before he could, the sound of muffled voices reached him. His breath hitched when he heard it: a man's voice. Deep, unfamiliar, and entirely too close to you.

His knuckles hit the door harder than intended. Once. Twice. A warning knock, sharp and unrelenting.

When you answered, you were startled, your eyes widening slightly before narrowing in frustration. You stepped into the doorway, just enough to block his view of the inside.

"Satoru," you said, your tone clipped. "What are you doing here?"

His gaze swept over you, lingering on the slight flush in your cheeks and the way your hair was a little out of place. He noticed the faint hum of music in the background, and it made his stomach churn.

"Who is he?" Gojo asked, his voice cold, biting.

You blinked, your expression hardening.

"Excuse me?"

"Don't play dumb," he snapped, his eyes narrowing. "I heard him."

You crossed your arms, leaning against the doorframe. "That's none of your business."

Gojo laughed, a low, humorless sound.

"None of my business? That's funny, coming from someone who let me fuck them like they meant something just a few weeks ago."

You flinched, but you didn't back down. "And whose fault is that, Satoru? You're the one who made it clear this wasn't real. You said it yourself-no strings, no feelings. So why do you care now?"

"I don't," he said quickly, too quickly. His jaw tightened, and he shoved his hands into his pockets, his voice dropping. "I just didn't think you'd move on so fast."

Your eyes flashed with anger. "Move on?

God, you're unbelievable." You stepped forward, poking a finger into his chest. "You don't want me, but you can't stand the idea of someone else wanting me either. Do you even hear yourself?" You know you’re repeating yourself, he always knew there was danger in the heat of your touch.

Before he could answer, the sound of footsteps approached, and Gojo's entire body went rigid. The other man appeared behind you, his figure tall and broad, his expression casual but watchful as his hand rested lightly on your shoulder.

Gojo's eyes locked on the man's hand, and something inside him snapped. "You've got to be kidding me," he muttered, his voice dripping with venom. "This guy?"

"This guy has a name," you said, your voice cutting through the tension like a blade.

"Leo. And unlike you, he actually knows how to show up."

Gojo laughed again, this time louder, harsher.

"Show up? That's your bar? Someone who shows up? Congratulations, sweetheart, you've really hit the jackpot."

"Stop it," you hissed, stepping between them. "You don't get to do this, Satoru. You don't get to come here, throw a tantrum, and act like you care. Because if you cared, you would've been here weeks ago."

"Maybe I didn't think you'd be so quick to spread your legs for someone else," he shot back, his voice low and sharp.

The slap came before you even realized you'd raised your hand. The sound echoed in the small space, and Gojo's head snapped to the side, his cheek stinging from the force.

"Get out," you said, your voice trembling with rage and something far more fragile. "Go home, Satoru. Wherever the hell that is. Just... leave me alone."

For a moment, he didn't move. He stared at you, his eyes burning with a mix of anger and something far more vulnerable. Then his gaze shifted to Leo, who stood silently behind you, his presence steady in a way Gojo's never was.

Gojo's lips curled into a bitter smirk. "Fine," he said, stepping back. "Have fun with your rebound." His words were laced with venom, but his voice cracked just enough to betray him.

He turned and walked away, the sound of the door slamming behind him echoing in his chest. As he disappeared into the night, he realized that for the first time in his life, he'd lost something he couldn't get back.

And it was his own damn fault. He saw forever so he smashed it up.

Gojo didn't go far. He stopped at the end of the hallway, leaning against the wall with a hand buried in his hair. His mind was a mess, replaying the slap, the way your voice cracked, the sight of another man standing behind you like he had any right to be there.

The image burned in his chest, feeding the fire of his jealousy until it was an inferno. He shouldn't have come. He shouldn't have cared. But he did. And that was the problem.

As much as he wanted to walk away and let pride win, his feet wouldn't move. Instead, he found himself circling back, hovering near your door like a ghost, the muffled sound of your laughter with Leo scraping against his nerves like broken glass.

He didn't knock this time. Instead, he pressed his ear to the door, straining to hear the words exchanged between you.

"Leo," your voice came softly, the warmth in it like a knife to Gojo's gut. "I'm sorry about that. I didn't expect him to-"

"It's fine," Leo said, his tone calm, reassuring. "Do you want me to stay? Just in case?"

Gojo's jaw clenched so hard it hurt. He could picture it-Leo staying the night, slipping into your bed, touching you like he belonged there. It was unbearable.

His hand hovered over the doorknob, the shared key in his pocket burning like a brand. He shouldn't. He couldn't. But before he could stop himself, the door creaked open.

The room went silent.

You turned first, eyes wide in disbelief as Gojo stepped inside, his figure towering, his presence suffocating. Leo stood beside the couch, his posture tensing as Gojo's icy blue eyes flicked to him, then back to you.

"What the hell are you doing?" you demanded, your voice shaking with a mix of anger and disbelief.

"Didn't realize we were locking doors now," Gojo said coolly, his gaze settling on Leo. "I thought I still had a key."

Leo raised an eyebrow, his expression unbothered but his stance steady. "You need to leave man. You're not welcome here."

Gojo ignored him, his attention fixed solely on you. "Is this really what you want?" he asked, his voice deceptively calm. "A guy who'll just stand here while someone else walks into his girl's apartment?"

Your mouth fell open in shock, anger flashing in your eyes. "Don't you dare call me your girl. You lost the right to say that the second you decided I wasn't enough for you."

Something in Gojo's expression cracked, the cool facade slipping for a moment. "You were always enough," he said, his voice low.

"That's the problem."

The words hung heavy in the air, and for a split second, the tension shifted. His vulnerability shone through, raw and unfiltered, and you could see it—the part of him he always hid, the part that hurt just as much as you did.

But Leo stepped forward, his hand on your arm. "You don't have to listen to this," he said softly, his presence grounding you.

Gojo's gaze dropped to where Leo touched you, his fists clenching at his sides. "Get your hand off her," he said, his voice low and dangerous— this dude clearly didn’t know a shit about him.

The dopamine races through his brain, his hand so calloused from his power, his eyes softly trace hearts on you face behind the black obscure glasses— and you could see it from a mile away, it’s a perfect case for your certain skill set.

He had a halo of the highest grade, "Or what?" Leo challenged, his calm exterior finally cracking.

You stepped between them, your hands outstretched. "Stop.” you shouted, your voice breaking. "Both of you, just stop"

Gojo froze, his chest heaving with barely contained rage. His eyes locked on yours, and for the first time, he looked small. Lost.

"You don't want him," he said, his voice soft but urgent, like a plea. "You don't. He can't give you what I can."

"And what's that?" you shot back, tears brimming in your eyes. "More pain? More nights wondering where you are, who you're with? I'm done, Satoru. I'm done waiting for you to figure out how to care about me."

"You think I don't care?" he asked, stepping closer, his voice trembling. "You think I don't hate myself for every second I spent away from you? For every time I chose someone else over you because I was too scared of What you meant to me?"

Your breath hitched, the tears spilling over now. "Then why didn't you stay?"

Gojo stood there, his knuckles white as they clenched into fists. The heat of your words— the finality in them-wrapped around his chest like a vice. He was losing you, and the worst part? He knew it was his fault.

"You think I didn't want to stay?" he asked, his voice low and bitter. "I wanted to, but I-" He cut himself off, his gaze darting to Leo like he couldn't bear to finish the thought with him in the room.

"You what, Satoru?" you demanded, stepping closer, your voice trembling with raw emotion. "You wanted to, but you chose not to. Every. single. time."

The sound of your voice triggered a memory, one he couldn't push away.

"Say it," you'd whispered, your breath warm against his neck. Your fingers tangled in his hair as he pinned you beneath him on your bed, your bodies tangled in the sheets. "Tell me I mean something to you."

Gojo's laugh had been low and soft, almost tender. "You're trouble, that's what you are," he'd said, brushing his lips against your collarbone. But he hadn't answered—not the way you wanted him to. Instead, he'd kissed you, slow and deep, swallowing the words he couldn't say.

He shook his head, forcing himself back to the present. "You don't get it," he said, his voice cracking. "I wasn't enough for you. I'm still not. You deserve someone better than me."

"You don't get to decide that," you snapped, your voice shaking with fury. "You don't get to break me and then act like it's for my own good."

The weight of your words hit him like a punch, but he didn't back down. "I was protecting you!" he shouted, his frustration spilling over.

You let out a bitter laugh, shaking your head.

"Protecting me? Is that what you call it?” You know you can handle a dangerous man. “Leaving me alone in bed while you text other women? Making me feel like I was just another name on your list?"

You'd been straddling him on the couch, the glow of the city lights filtering through the windows. His hands gripped your waist, his lips devouring yours like he was starving. "You're addictive," he'd murmured, his voice husky. "You're going to ruin me."

"Then let me," you'd whispered back, your forehead resting against his. For a moment, his eyes had softened, his walls crumbling just enough for you to see the man underneath the bravado. But by morning, he was gone, leaving only a note and the faint scent of his cologne.

"I never wanted to hurt you," Gojo said now, his voice softer, like he was trying to reach the part of you that still might care. "But I didn't know how to keep you without losing myself."

You swallowed hard, the rawness in his voice tugging at something deep inside you. But before you could respond, Leo stepped forward, placing a hand on your back. The touch was steady, grounding, and it pulled you back to the present with a disgust, not because of the memory, but because it wasn’t the touch you desired.

"She doesn't need this, man," Leo said, his voice calm but firm. "You've done enough."

Gojo's eyes snapped to Leo, his anger flaring again. "And what exactly do you think you are to her?" he asked, his tone sharp and biting. "Some knight in shining armor? You don't know her like I do."

"Don't hide from me," he'd said one night, his fingers trailing down your bare spine as you lay together in the dark. "You're beautiful, and you don't even see it. It drives me insane." His lips had brushed against your shoulder, his breath warm as he whispered, "Let me show you."

And he had-slowly, reverently-his hands mapping every inch of your body like he was memorizing you. In those moments, he'd been yours entirely. But they never lasted.

"She's not yours anymore," Leo said, his voice cutting through the silence like a blade. "And maybe she never was."

He looked at you, his eyes pleading. "Tell him he's wrong," he said, his voice barely above a whisper. "Tell him it wasn't all fake. That it wasn't just some... convenience."

You opened your mouth to respond, but the words wouldn't come. Because it hadn't been fake-not for you. But how could you say that now, when he'd already torn you apart?

Gojo stepped closer, his presence overwhelming. "Do you remember that night at the lookout?" he asked, his voice desperate now. "When you told me you'd never felt that way about anyone else? You meant it. I know you did." Handcuffed to the spell you were under, for just one hour of sunshine.

You'd been sitting on the hood of his car, the city lights stretching out below you.

He'd stood between your legs, his hands on either side of your face, his expression uncharacteristically serious. "You're dangerous," he'd said, his voice low. "You make me want things I shouldn't want."

Months of labor, locks and ceilings— In the shade of how he was feeling..

"Like what?" you'd asked, your voice barely above a whisper.

"Like keeping you," he'd replied, his forehead resting against yours. "Like staying."

You took a shaky breath, your eyes meeting his. "I can't do this anymore, Satoru," you said, your voice breaking. "I can't keep hoping you'll stay when you never do."

Gojo's face crumpled, his mask shattering completely. He reached for you, but Leo stepped between you, his stance protective.

"She said enough," Leo said firmly. "It's time for you to leave."

For a moment, Gojo looked like he might fight back, his hands trembling at his sides.

But then he took a step back, his shoulders slumping.

"This isn't over," he said, his voice hoarse.

"I'll prove to you that I can be better. That I can be what you want.”

[rafecameronssl4t]

Loyalties || Rafe Cameron x fem!reader

Summary: You meant it when you told Rafe you'd do anything to help him get the gun back from the pogues, anything. Even if it meant Rafe questioning your loyalties to him.

Warnings: mention of cheating, swearing, angst, mention of gun

Word count: 1,286

A/n: nfl!rafe x dcc!reader coming next 👀

MASTERLIST

divider by @h-aewo

“Rafe!” you call out, exasperation evident in your voice as he slams your car door shut with a resounding thud. A loud sigh escapes your lips, the sound a mix of frustration and concern. “Just talk to me!”

Determined, you hurry to catch up with your boyfriend, trailing him as he walks up the stairs to his room. Each step feels heavier with the weight of your confusion and worry. As you finally reach his room, Rafe is already inside, the door closing firmly behind you.

He stands there with his hands tangled in his hair, his chest rising and falling rapidly as he struggles to catch his breath. You remain by the door, watching him with a mix of confusion and concern,

“I don’t understand, I did what you told me to do, Rafe!” you exclaim, your eyes tracking his restless pacing around the room. “I got the gun!” You sit on the edge of his bed, your eyebrows knitted together in confusion and worry. “Talk to me, please,” you plead, your voice trembling slightly as he continues to face away from you.

After a few tense seconds, Rafe exhales deeply, the sound heavy with frustration and pent-up emotion. Slowly, he turns to face you, his expression stern and unreadable. “I didn’t ask you to fucking sleep with him, did I?” he spits out, his voice laced with anger. You open your mouth to respond, but words fail you. “How did you know—” you begin, but Rafe cuts you off abruptly.

“—with the way JJ runs his fuckin’ mouth, it wasn’t that hard,” he snaps, his eyes flashing with betrayal. “I told you to get the gun—” Rafe begins but you interrupt,“—which I did—” but Rafe’s anger only intensifies.

“I didn’t tell you to have sex with that freakin’ pogue!” he fumes, his voice rising in frustration. “You told me to do whatever it took to get the gun—” you retort, trying to make him understand. Rafe scoffs, disbelief etched on his face. “So you’re telling me he didn’t want to drink? Or-or get high?”

“Yes! I know it’s hard to believe because it’s JJ, but no matter how much I offered, he insisted on staying sober,” you argue back, your voice firm but strained. Rafe rolls his eyes at you, "I can't with you, that's fucked up y/n!"

You stay quiet for a moment, fully grasping the depth of his hurt. "Baby, you know it meant nothing," you say softly, your voice tinged with desperation as you sit beside him on the bed. "My loyalties are with you, always."

You reach out, gently pushing back a stray piece of hair that has fallen onto his forehead, hoping to convey your sincerity. "Haven't I made it obvious by now?" you add, your eyes searching his for any sign of understanding. Rafe's expression softens slightly as he sighs deeply.

He knew he couldn't stay mad at you for too long. Over time, you had shown your loyalty to him in countless ways, standing by him through thick and thin. His anger begins to dissipate as he recalls the moments where you had proven your devotion.

~

“Stay in the car,” you say firmly, unbuckling your seatbelt and glancing at Rafe. He sighs, muttering a reluctant “yeah” as you step out of his truck. The heavy door thuds shut behind you, and you take a moment to steady your breath before facing JJ.

“Look who came runnin’ back to me,” JJ smirks, arms open wide in an exaggerated welcome as he strides towards you with a swagger in his step. His playful demeanor does nothing to ease your tension; instead, it ignites a flicker of irritation.

You scoff at his theatrics, crossing your arms defensively. “You’re an actual kid, y’know that right?” you snap, your frustration evident in every word. The sharpness of your tone is meant to cut through his bravado, to make him understand the seriousness of the situation.

JJ’s smirk only widens, his eyes glinting with a mix of amusement and challenge. “Always so serious,” he retorts, but there’s an edge to his voice now. He steps closer, his gaze locking onto yours, the air thick with unspoken tension

Behind you, you can hear the faint creak of Rafe lowering the window just enough to listen in on the conversation. His presence, even if not visible, is a silent reminder of the precarious balance you’re trying to maintain.

JJ’s smile falters slightly as his eyes flick behind you, trying to peer through the tinted windows of Rafe’s car. “Who’s in the car?” he questions, squinting in a futile attempt to see inside.

It takes all of Rafe’s self-control not to leap out and confront JJ. His knuckles turn white from gripping the steering wheel so tightly. “Use your brain, buddy. Who do you think?” you retort, your voice dripping with sarcasm as you cross your arms tighter against your chest.

JJ’s eyes narrow as he meets your gaze again. “Look, what are you even doing here? I don’t really wanna see you right now,” he says, annoyance clear in his tone. The casual dismissal stings, but you keep your composure, pursing your lips to suppress a retort.

“Do you think I wanna be here right now?” you counter, your voice rising slightly with each word. The frustration and anger you’ve been bottling up are starting to seep through. JJ shrugs nonchalantly, the movement a stark contrast to the storm brewing inside you.

“I don’t know, Princess. You tell me,” he sneers, and you feel your temper flare even higher. “Do not call me that,” you say through gritted teeth, stepping closer to him. “Why the fuck would you tell him, JJ?” you demand sternly, your eyes boring into his.

JJ shrugs again, a hint of defiance in his stance. “Did you not think your boyfriend deserved to know?” he throws you a pointed look, and you feel your hands ball into fists at your sides. “That was something I was going to tell him myself, not you,” you exasperate, glaring at him. JJ rolls his eyes, dismissive, as if your words mean nothing.

The tension between you is palpable, a heavy silence hanging in the air. Just as you turn to walk away, JJ speaks up again. “Did you find what you were looking for?” he calls out, his expression unreadable, referring to the gun you took from him. “What?” you turn back to face him, confusion and anger mixing in your gaze.

JJ rolls his tongue against his cheek, looking to the side before making eye contact. “I said, did you find what you’re looking for.” Your lips part in disbelief before you storm over to him, jabbing a finger into his chest.

“JJ, unlike me, I did it because Rafe asked me to. But you,” you poke him harder, “you had sex with a kook, your enemy’s girlfriend. How do you think that would go down with your friends, huh? What’s your excuse then?” JJ looks taken aback, momentarily speechless. His bravado falters for just a second, enough to show that your words have hit their mark.

“Yeah, that’s what I thought,” you chuckle bitterly. “Don’t talk to me, and don’t even look at me.” You spin on your heel and march back to Rafe’s car, your heart pounding with a mix of anger and adrenaline. You can feel JJ’s eyes on your back, but you don’t turn around.

As you reach the car, you take a deep breath, trying to calm yourself before opening the door and sliding back into the seat. Rafe’s gaze meets yours, a mix of concern and anger in his eyes. “Everything okay?” he asks, his voice low and tense. You nod, exhaling slowly. “Yeah, let’s just get out of here,” you say, buckling your seatbelt and glancing at JJ one last time before Rafe pulls away,

[madschiavelique]

miguel must have some severe neck pain due him being 6’9 and needing to bend to speak with everyone. so i suggest reader to lay him on his back and ride the shit out of his face till his neck is properly straightened and he is drunk dumb on your juices 😇

oMG anon you're a genius !?!? this is SO creative i'm kissing ur brain

summary : you ride miguel's face until it fixes his neck

content warning : SMUT (18+) minors dni, oral sex (reader receiving), miguel eats you out, overstimulation, no use of Y/N, fem!reader, miguel is pussy drunk word count : 888

Miguel's days always seemed to end with a particularly unpleasant muscle ache forming in the back of his neck. The cause and sole reason for this? His height.

It's quite simple, Miguel was huge, 6'9 to be exact, and few people in the Spider Society were anywhere near his height nor width.

He lowered his neck to look at everyone, feeling like a tower trying to talk to passers-by in the street. He couldn't shake off this feeling, but he was always standing up, rare were the moments of his day where he was sitting anywhere.

One minute he was talking to a smaller spider, making him bend his head to maintain conversation politely enough. In another, he had to whisper to discuss confidential matters in public, making him bend the rest of his body as well. And now he'd just come back from a meeting where he'd spent most of his time talking to members smaller than himself.

And he'd already tried so many things to fix his situation: putting essential oil on the back of his neck and massaging it until he relaxed, putting a hot water bottle under his pillow when he was lying on his bed, or even putting on a neck brace, even though he felt profoundly ridiculous when he was wearing it and kept it on just for when he was in his quarters. He'd even asked you to massage the back of his neck at times, but you weren't always available to help him with that.

It was then, as he was returning once again to his quarters where you were staying, complaining and massaging his neck from his long day, that you came up with a little idea. You told him what you had in mind, and he raised an eyebrow, his interest piqued.

And that's how you found yourself on top of him, his head on the mattress revelling in your cunt while his face was pressed against your thighs. His saliva mixed with the succulent juices you were spilling for him dripped down his cheeks, and you were breathless.

"Miguel," you protested, "please-" your breath was ragged, your thighs trembling around his face, "it's too much."

Four, Miguel had given you four orgasms in this position alone by now, returning each time, never, oh never, tiring of your taste and warmth. At first you'd ridden him proudly, your pelvis undulating fluidly against his mouth and clutching your fingers in his hair. But now it was he who held your pelvis, preventing you from withdrawing from him as your own hands rested on his.

He seemed unstoppable, but on your side, every sensation seemed to be heightened tenfold as his fingers ran gently over your thigh sending an extra wave of heat through your lower belly. He was parting your folds with his toungue, fucking you with it relentlessly.

"Once more, por favor, nena," he mumbled, the sensation of his voice vibrating against you like that sending electric shocks through your body, a cry escaping you as you tilted your head to the side, disorientated, hoping you'd even be able to stand until your next orgasm.

You were always worried that you'd suffocate him, that your whole weight resting on his face would make him choke or that your thighs pressing against his cheeks would hurt, but to be honest, that's all Miguel wanted.

He wanted to cram himself between your thighs, you crushing him made him feel light after all, so he gripped your thighs and hips, holding you firmly against him as he nestled himself further against you.

He was drunk on you, drunk on your essence, your skin that he could grip, and he was proud to make you come so many times. Your weight was pressing down on his head superbly, and he didn't care if he ended up smothered under you.

His tongue worked wonders, his lips sometimes sucking on your clit, wrapping it in saliva and then kissing it afterwards. Sometimes you could even feel him graze your flesh with the tip of his fang. He hardened his tongue, stretching it out to penetrate you as far as he could, kissing your lips from time to time, and all these gestures again began to tighten the knot that had formed in your lower stomach.

"Miguel-" you whimpered, feeling as if all the words you wanted to say were going to come out pre-chewed and unintelligible.

Your fingers snaked through his hair, gripping it hard to anchor yourself, and he let out a moan against your pussy that vibrated through your entire being. He was pulling the strings of your body and you were singing for him.

The orgasm swept through you and fireworks went off inside you like a supernova, your whole body shaking as your moan rippled through your throat. You suddenly folded in half like a wilting flower, jolting as Miguel laid you back against him, stroking your hair and gently kissing your forehead as he whispered soft, tender words of praise.

However, your suggestion had indeed worked, because just after this pleasant experience, there was no longer any pain in the back of his neck. And from now on, when the accumulation of pain and aches began to make him feel too exhausted, he knew what he had to do.

[greengoblinswifey]

Blessed Are The Tempted—Father Charlie Mayhew x Fem!Reader

summary— after partially denouncing your faith, you decide to make one last trip to see if you could feel a connection to it and God. all you left feeling was your new God’s cum deep inside you. based on this request.

warnings— sacrilege, blasphemy, father kink, daddy kink, Charlie being praised/referred to as God, objectification, ass slapping, mentions of bruises and welts, choking, face slapping, hair pulling, face fucking, fingering, spitting degrading kink, unprotected sex, creampie, breeding kink.

a/n— took a break from being depressed over finals to write this! working on the other requests so enjoy this while i take my time <3

The night was heavy, and your heels clicked loudly as you walked toward the church. Clad in a black skirt and a long black coat covering your bare skin underneath, your goth aesthetic stood out against the backdrop of the ancient stone structure. The heels you wore were intricately designed, each one featuring a subtle cross etched into the side—a nod to the symbolism that had always intrigued you, even if you’d long since stopped believing.

As you approached the church, you noticed how still the world felt. There was something almost reverent about the emptiness, the silence that wrapped itself around the tall, pointed spires. You hadn’t been here in ages. The heavy wooden door creaked as you pushed it open, the scent of incense lingering in the air, mixed with something else, something familiar.

You had called earlier, and the voice on the other end had been low, almost too smooth—Charlie. It stirred something in you, a curiosity, a feeling you hadn’t realized you missed. That’s why you were here now—one last chance to feel something, anything, before you walked away forever.

As you stepped inside, the cool air embraced you. You walked down the aisle, your heels making soft but deliberate sounds on the stone floor. Every step felt deliberate, as if you were walking toward a decision you hadn’t fully made yet.

And then you saw him. Father Charlie, standing at the altar, watching you with an intensity that made your breath catch. His eyes followed you as you walked closer, and you could feel the weight of his gaze—the same way you could feel the weight of everything that had led you here tonight.

“You came,” he said, his voice smooth, but with an edge of something else you couldn’t place. There was no judgment in his tone, just an acknowledgment of your presence, and something about that made you feel strangely seen.

“I did,” you said, standing just a few feet away from him now. The silence between you was heavy, but it was comfortable, as if you both knew there was something unspoken between you—something that neither of you were quite ready to voice.

You couldn’t ignore the way his eyes lingered on your attire, how they traced the lines of your outfit, the crosses that hung from your neck. His gaze softened just slightly, and for a moment, you saw the human side of the man who had been your confessor.

“I didn’t expect you to come back,” he admitted quietly, taking a step closer. His voice lowered as if he didn’t want to disturb the sacred silence of the church. “What made you change your mind?”

You hesitated for a moment, looking up at him through your lashes, feeling the pull of something you couldn’t quite name.

“I wanted to feel something,” you admitted, your voice barely above a whisper, but he heard it. His eyes flashed with something—maybe understanding, maybe surprise.

He nodded slowly and for a moment, you both stood there, suspended in time. Then, as if pulling back from the edge of something, he stepped away, but not before giving you one last look—one that left a mark on you, something you couldn’t shake off.

“Whatever you need, it’s here,” he said quietly, his voice almost a promise.

You weren’t sure if you believed him, but for now, you didn’t have to.

The church was quiet, except for the soft rustling of the pages as Father Charlie read aloud from the Bible. His voice echoed through the empty pews, each word heavy with the weight of ancient teachings. Your all-black attire, with its gothic undertones, felt almost out of place here, yet you couldn’t shake the feeling that this place, this moment, was meant to answer something inside you.

Father Charlie’s voice broke through your thoughts. “Blessed are the pure in heart, for they shall see God,” he read, his eyes drifting up to meet yours. There was a tension in the air, an almost unspoken connection that lingered between you.

You tilted your head, stepping forward into the dim light. “Temptation,” you said softly, your voice playful yet tinged with a hint of challenge. “So, blessed are the pure, huh? What about those who are tempted? Are they blessed too? Or is that only for the pure?”

He faltered, his gaze dropping slightly as he shifted uncomfortably. You could see the internal battle in his eyes, but he said nothing.

The silence hung heavy between you as you stepped closer. “You preach about purity and grace, but what does it really mean?” you continued. “Does the flesh have no place in this kingdom you speak of? Or is it something man-made to make us feel something?” Your voice had dropped, the edge now sharp and questioning.

Father Charlie didn’t answer. His eyes were focused on the Bible in his hands, his knuckles white from gripping it too tightly. He was struggling—his faith, his beliefs, they all seemed to waver under your gaze. And that realization hit you hard. There was nothing here for you. The words he spoke, the symbols of faith, they meant little to you now. They were just constructs, meant to give people a sense of purpose, but you felt nothing.

A hollow laugh escaped your lips, and you shook your head. “You’re pathetic,” you muttered under your breath, your gaze moving past him. “This is all just a game, a way to make people feel like they’re in control when they’re not. You should know that.”

Father Charlie’s jaw clenched, his breath catching in his throat. “Not in the house of God,” he said, his voice low, filled with a mix of anger and frustration.

You took a step forward, your black coat sweeping around you as you moved. You could feel the tension building, the confrontation nearing its peak. You caught his gaze again, daring him to say more. “House of who?” you whispered, a smirk tugging at the corner of your lips. “What is He going to do about it?”

The space between you seemed to stretch, and in that moment, you knew. The boundary he had drawn, the one he believed in so firmly, meant nothing to you. You had turned away from it long ago, and now, it seemed almost laughable that he still clung to it.

The silence was thick, and for a moment, you both simply stood there, facing each other. You didn’t need this place, nor the beliefs that it offered. Father Charlie seemed to sense that, his expression darkening as the tension between you only deepened. But you no longer cared. You had found your truth, and it didn’t belong here. Not in this church, not in this faith. It made what you craved to do all the more daunting.

Slowly, with his eyes on you, you pulled your coat, revealing your bare skin underneath, your nipples only covered by a chain. The rosary hanging around your neck was a stark contrast to the sinful act you’d just committed.

In a blur of frustration and fury, he grabbed you by the hair, pulling you down to your knees on the cold marble floor. His voice was sharp as he demanded, “Confess. Beg for forgiveness for your blasphemy and sexual immorality.”

But you only smirked up at him, defiant. “Pathetic,” you muttered, the word cutting through the air like a blade.

His fingers tightened in your curls, and his face was a mixture of conflict and control. “You’re playing with fire,” he warned, his voice a low growl. “Repent, or you’ll burn.”

“I don’t have time for your fairytales, I’ll be doing no such thing, Father,” you chuckled, looking up at him with big doe eyes, “but I’d bet having a holy man like you all over me would make me holy too.”

“I rebuke the spirit of Jezebel inside you,” he bellowed.

You laughed, voice thick with mockery, “fuck it out of me, make me holy, Father.”

That was it, Father Charlie had enough. He grabbed you by the curls, pulling you to the sacred chair he would sit in during the sermons you’d come to for just five minutes max. He plopped down, frantically fumbling with his pants and belt.

“I only hope God will forgive me for what I’m about to do—no, He will. Blessed are the tempted,” he muttered, looking to the cross above him.

Your eyes panned to how hard and thick he was. But you knew you could take him, you’d show him just how good temptation felt. You’d have him crawling back for more. He was already aching for you, though the battle within himself did not waver.

The priest groaned as he shoved you onto his leaking cock, immediately hitting the back of your throat and making you gag. “That’s right bitch, gag on it. This is what you wanted. This is what you get for being a temptress,” he groaned.

You moaned, doing your best to drag your tongue along his shaft as he used your hair to glide along it. He was not going easy on you, you knew he was trying to break you. Little did he know, you couldn’t be broken, this was what you wanted.

He moved you to his balls, looking down at you with dark eyes as you took the sacks into your mouth then continued your assault on his shaft. As he went back to fucking your throat, you made sure your eyes were on him so he could see how he had you. Eyes teary, black mascara running down your cheeks, salvia and pre cum running down your chin and onto your boobs. You were completely at his mercy.

“Disgusting whore,” he moaned, as you spat onto his cock then glided your tongue over every inch of him, “y-you’re really enjoying this.”

“Mm— tell me more, tell me I’m your dirty bitch,” you pleaded.

“Fuck, you’re my dirty bitch, you’re my cock sucking bitch,” he gasped, bucking his hips as he was practically down your throat.

You suctioned your lips around him tightly, feeling the way he throbbed under the touch of your soft hands squeezing his balls. They tightened as he tipped his head back, staring up at the cross and you could feel how close he was.

“Cum for me daddy,” you moaned, bobbing your head as your dark eyes pierced into at him.

“Fucking hell,” he gasped at the nickname you gave him.

He couldn’t hold back even if he tried, as you deep throated him, his warm seed spurted down your throat, his cock throbbing. He held you down onto him, your nose touching his pubic hair as you savored the taste of the holy man’s cum you had just swallowed.

No amount of post nut clarity could prevent him from aching for more. As he stared down at you on your knees for him, he knew he needed more. This wasn’t sinful—blessed were the tempted. Right?

You shrugged off your coat and the jewelry covering your nipples and pulled down your skirt, heat rippling through your body as Charlie’s eyes raked over your figure. Left in only your thigh high stockings and your cross heels, you sat on Charlie’s lap, your back facing him.

His hand instinctively went to wrap around your throat, while the other groped you, roughly. “I should have you stoned to death for what you’re doing to me,” he murmured.

“Then I’ll see you in hell when your time comes,” you retorted.

Your wit didn’t last long as you felt two of his fingers plunge into you, and his hand tightened around your throat.

“Yes daddy, finger fuck me in front of the altar,” you moaned.

His hand snapped across your cheek, causing your head to whip to the side. “You’re enjoying this too much.”

You squirmed against him, feeling how his fingers stretched your walls. The sound of your wet pussy shamelessly filled the church causing pure desire to swell inside you. You were defiling this sacred space and this sacred man, the thought made your pussy even wetter.

“Look at you, look at what you’re forcing me to do to you,” Charlie sneered into your ear.

“If that’s what you tell yourself,” you chucked, earning another slap across the face.

“Fucking whore, your pussy is leaking all over the chair,” he uttered.

His thumb circled your clit roughly as his other fingers curled inside you, toying with the spongy spot that had you screaming his title.

“Fuck— Father. Faster, harder, make me cum,” you moaned, your head dropping to his shoulder.

His fingers thrusted into you faster and his hand gripped your neck so tight, you couldn’t breathe. “Take it bitch, this is what you wanted. This is what whores like you get.”

His efforts became too much and your body arched in his lap as your orgasm came crashing down. Your fluids spurted from your pussy, coating the floor the congregation would kneel on to pray. Charlie continued rubbing your clit, drawing every sound and every drop of your cum out of you.

“That’s a good little whore, that’s all you’re good for, being used like you’re nothing,” he cooed.

He brought his shaky fingers up to his lips, sucking your juices. “How can a slut like you taste like Heaven?”

“It’s my blessing and your curse.”

Charlie held your body against him as he stood from the chair then he laid you down, shoving your face into the floor while your upper body was still pressed against him. He sat back down, slightly leaning over as he admired your body in an uncomfortable position all for his pleasure.

“I don’t care if you’re in pain, you’re going to take whatever I give you and you’re going to praise me like I’m your God,” he bellowed, “you’ve denounced Catholicism and now you will worship me.”

His grip on your hips was bruising, surely to leave dark bruises when he was finished with you. A gasp left your lips as he slammed into you, pulling you onto his cock at the same time.

“Thank you Father, I— I worship you and praise you for everything you do to me,” you moaned.

You felt his cock throb inside you at your words. Hell would definitely be his resting place. You held up your body by your hands as Charlie slid in and out of you like an animal. He slapped your ass, welts slowly beginning to form as he moaned at the sight of his shaft being covered in your cream.

“That feels so good daddy, please. Hit me again, I’m just your servant, a vessel for you to use and fuck,” you cried.

“That’s right bitch, you’re nothing. You.are.nothing,” he growled, each word emphasized by a hard thrust into you and slaps on your ass.

You did your best to bounce on his cock as you felt the lingering stings from his hand coming down on you.

“Your ass looks so much better getting all marked up from my hand,” he chuckled, his hips snapping to meet you even faster.

All you could do was moan, your pussy fluttering around his length from how wrong it was to have him defile you in his church.

“Daddy, I— I’m gonna cum,” you cried, “please let me cum, oh God, my God, please let me cum.”

“Cum all over your God’s cock,” he muttered, his hand coming down on your ass with a stinging smack.

You shuddered underneath him, your pussy twitching as your orgasm overtook you. He reached under, rubbing circles on your clit as you squirmed and thanked him for giving you permission to cum.

As soon as you came down from your high, he pulled you up by your curls and shoved you into the seat to take his position.

“Spread your fucking legs whore, I know it’s what you do best.”

Who were you to disobey your God? You spread your legs for him, each hanging over the arm of the chair and he watched in awe as your fluids glistened on your pussy, leaking to your asshole and your thigh highs smeared.

His hand slipped around your throat and he thrusted into you harshly, giving you no time to adjust to his size in this new position. You cried out, struggling to breathe and take his assault on you.

“Shut the fuck up, this is what you wanted, you’re an object and a whore, so you will be treated as such,” he groaned, squeezing your throat tighter.

You wanted to be obedient and so, you spread your legs even wider, giving him free rein to tear your pussy apart.

“T-thank you Father, thank you for fucking me,” you stammered.

He moaned, watching his thick cock disappear inside you and seeing the outline of himself moving in your belly.

“Only your God can be this deep inside you, slut,” he laughed in mockery.

He pressed his forehead against yours, your breaths mingling as he pounded into you harshly. The sound of shameless skin slapping filled the church and you could already feel the coil in your abdomen tighten.

“Shit, I can feel your wet pussy tightening around me, beg me to cum,” he muttered, still fucking into you, “beg your God to cum.”

“Please daddy, please God, I just want to be a good slut for you, please let me cum,” you begged, your eyes pleading.

He slapped the heavy tip on your clit and that was all it took for your juices to begin squirting all over him as your orgasm came down upon you. Your pussy twitched and he leaned down, sucking as you squirted then squeezed your jaw open to spit it into your mouth.

“Swallow it like a good slut.” You did as you were instructed to then stuck out your tongue, revealing to Charlie that you could be an obedient servant for him.

His hand was tangled in your curls again as he dragged you, pulling you off the chair and taking your position.

“Ride me. Ride my cock and show me how much you worship me,” he demanded.

Eager to please, you straddled him, making sure your legs were on either side of the chair, your heels clinking against it as you left your pussy at the mercy of his cock.

His hand snaked around your throat, gripping harshly as you slowly sank onto him. The new position made you feel as though he would rip you apart but you dared not to say anything. You just wanted to show him how obedient you could be to your God.

You lifted your body, gliding roughly up and down his cock while he thrusted up into you, increasing your pleasure.

“I love your cock, oh God, I love it so much, it’s so perfect, you’re so perfect,” you whimpered, as he continuously slammed into your cervix and the sweet spot inside you all at once.

“That’s it bitch, I’m your perfect God, all for you to worship and be used by.”

Your head fell forward on his shoulder, your pussy still grinding and bouncing on him but he pushed you back and slapped you hard across the cheek.

“You’re going to look at your God while he fucks you, keep your fucking head up,” he growled.

“Yes daddy, anything for you,” you croaked out.

Your heart and pussy fluttered as he smiled at you, his rough pace not faltering as he met your bounces with harsh thrusts. With his hand still around your neck, he leaned down, swirling his tongue around your hardened nipples. You arched into him, grinding on his cock and giving your clit the attention it ached for as he continued increasing your pleasure.

You could feel how Charlie throbbed and twitched inside you, he was just as close as you were.

“Daddy, please cum with me, please breed me,” you begged, “let’s make the anti-christ.”

Charlie’s jaw fell agape at your filthy words, breathy moans leaving his lips and he pounded into you hard, chasing his orgasm.

Your pace faltered but his didn’t and you cried out as you pussy creamed and squirted all over his cock. His orgasm followed and he held you down onto him, ropes of his warm load spurting deep inside you, surely to impregnate you and create the anti-christ you so desperately wanted to mother.

His forehead pressed against yours and you stared into each other’s eyes as you came.

“Thank you Father, thank you God for using me.”

[moonlight-prose]

RIGHT WHERE YOU LEFT ME

➛ 03. BRIDGE OVER TROUBLED WATER

a/n: we are getting down to the nitty and gritty of this man's pain. and he's finally starting to the accept the fact that he has to talk about what happened to him. honestly out of all the chapters this one might be my favorite. solely for the soft vibes i tried to shove into what is already a very angsty story. also somehow wade weaseled his way further into this chapter than i intended him to. so enjoy the humor i've tried to add throughout. (i am reposting this since it didn't show up in the tags yesterday.)

summary: to open up was like taking a knife to a steel door. he never saw the use in letting someone in. but dinner spent in your company and conversations over wine and whiskey is where things begin to take a turn.

word count: 8.3k+ (i don't even know how tf that happened.)

pairing: logan howlett x f!reader

warnings: partially explicit scene, angst by the bucket load, vulnerable and emotional logan, grief, trauma, heartache, fluff, domestic vibes, alcohol consumption, wade breaking the fourth wall, wade being a shit wingman, the beginnings of something more.

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Blood poured over his hands and soaked into the ground below. The warmth of it coated his senses, dug into the grooves and lines of his palms. He swore he felt it down to his bones. Now permanently mixed with a version of him long forgotten—the man who used to smile.

Their shouts of pain rendered him immobile. Useless to help them, useless to save their lives. Useless. Useless. Useless. He fought against the restraints, the invisible shackles put there by his own hands. Whether to stop him from going or to keep him from harm—he'd never know—but he battled regardless. With a snarl, he felt them snap, his claws sliding free in all their familiarity. A weapon of destruction unable to be used for salvation.

When he began to run he felt it. The piercing echo of her. The power she emanated as they took her life, brought her to the brink of death. He felt her voice punch through his chest—puncturing him in his heart. She screamed his name with her final breath. Called out for his help; for him to save them all.

He could almost see her in his mind, the horror that befell a school of such powerful people. And he loathed himself for breathing. For living after they were taken so quickly from him.

His family. His home.

What once existed would no longer return. That alone broke him further than their deaths. The knowledge that his world—his universe—would be without their heroes. So much of their worth had been given to humanity. Only to be stripped of their lives within the blink of an eye.

And he couldn't save them. He could barely stand on his own two feet without stumbling.

"Logan!" The scream split along his skull, rupturing veins that healed far too quickly for his liking.

What the fuck was the point of his abilities if he couldn't put them to use? If he couldn't do the one thing they counted on him for.

Their blood stuck to him, burrowing into skin that would never scar. He'd never have proof of the wounds that rested along his heart. Forever damned to carry the weight of his own failure—the guilt that ate him alive. For what? To tell the story he could barely stomach himself? What was his life to the lives of those who meant so much more?

Why did he have to fucking live?

He stood on the doorstep. Death stained the walls, pierced the air with its pungent copper tang. He keeled over at the bushes, all the alcohol he'd consumed expelling itself from his body at the sight. His family was dead. His family was dead and he couldn't join them. He couldn't fucking die.

What once felt like a gift—eternity to find these people who loved him—now rang true with the only word that could make sense. Curse. His curse.

"No," he gasped, eyes bleary with tears as he scrambled to his feet and sprinted through the broken down door.

His claws came free, expecting a fight. Only to be met with silence. An eerie echo of nothing.

No laughter, no life, no chatter of students.

Nothing.

The breath ripped from his lungs as a blaring horn spilled in through the apartment's open window. In an attempt to get some cool air, he pushed the couch closer to what airflow there was. The only downside was hearing everything as he slept. Each little noise and loud mouthed fucker as they wandered the rather empty street. He wanted to leave—move to a better spot where humanity was sparse—but the pull of you across the street kept him there.

"Fuck," he grunted, eyes blinking away the nightmare that tore at his psyche.

The bottle of whiskey underneath the kitchen cabinet called his name. Offering a respite against the horrors he couldn't run from. And with a pained groan, he stumbled towards it—grabbing his coffee mug from the counter. The amber liquid felt bitter against the back of his throat. A familiar burn he welcomed.

He may not be able to stay injured, but this he could have. The darkness at the end of the bottle. The silence he found in collapsing drunk against the couch.

The streetlight outside lit the area filled with trash and the few people sleeping in darkened alleys. If he listened hard enough he could hear their heartbeats. Smell the pungent scent of the city as it seeped through the window. He could feel the thrum of New York beneath his feet—unfamiliar in its nature but home nonetheless.

The sight of a light flicking on grasped his attention—a glimpse of you staggering to the kitchen for a glass of water clear through your window. You should really get curtains, or blinds. He'd help install them for you. But then he'd never get this again. A small insight into your life, a peek into what he left behind a day ago.

Your lips against his still seared through his body—your moans and want for more left him breathless. And he had to go and fuck it up. Just as he did with everything in his life. He ruined the good. Corrupted the innocent.

Doing the same to you felt unfathomable—painful.

But how could he stop?

When you were catching his gaze in the window. Your glass of water was forgotten and the blanket dropped to the leather chair behind you. He left the bottle on the floor by the couch, his empty mug beside it as you grabbed for something. Logan yearned to hear your voice. To apologize for how he left things. But saying sorry never came easy and he found that keeping you at a distance was much safer than what he actually wanted.

The ringing on his phone broke his penetrating gaze. He reached for it quickly, pressing it to his ear as you brought your phone to yours. A breath was all that echoed through the small speaker—soft and warm. He swore he could feel it against his cheek. Hear the echo of your heart pounding beneath his.

"Can't sleep?" you uttered, finally putting his mind at ease. He exhaled a deep breath—hearing it fill your ears as warmth trailed down your spine.

"Nightmares."

You watched him stand still as stone. His fingers gripped the phone for assurance. A sense of stability from a past that had already cracked him in half. The sorrow in his eyes practically bled through the streets. Lapping at your feet like the waves on a shore. And in an act so unlike yourself, you took a step forward. You stood in his grief and offered to drag him to the sand—gave him hope that this world might treat him differently.

Logan wouldn't save himself because he believed he deserved it.

He'd save himself because he knew you deserved a better man.

"Do they happen often?"

The soft echo of your voice tinged with sleep set his mind at ease. For the first time that night he felt himself breathe properly. He could taste the sweetness in the air, the heat that clung to his skin held traces of you when you started to open your window.

Leaving you at your door suddenly felt like the stupidest decision he'd ever made. But the fear is what kept him at a safe distance. He couldn't hurt you here in this shitty apartment. He couldn't destroy what good you held in your heart standing here at an open window.

"Every night," he rasped. His hand clenched, the bones of his knuckles shifting as silver began to peek through the pierced skin.

He knew you could see it. He heard your heart speed up through the phone. And with a ragged sigh, he retracted them forcefully—hiding the beast within to present you with the man beyond.

"You don't have to hide them from me." If you turned, you'd see the punctures in your door you tried to hide with duct tape. The claws that came free because of your touch—your kiss.

They should have scared you.

Logan almost wished they had.

"You don't want to see that part of me honey," he muttered, watching as you stood closer to the ledge—your hand pressed to the chipped wood. "It's not all sunshine and rainbows."

You laughed and he felt it down his spine. "No. I think that's only in Wade's mind."

"Don't say that fucker's name please," he groaned. "Not while I have you here."

"Did I touch a nerve? Wolverine?"

Your smile deepened, mischief practically dripping from your words. Yet Logan couldn't help fixating on the way his title sounded off your tongue. The hero name he loathed for so long suddenly made his heart flip. He gripped the phone tight enough until he heard a faint crackling sound—his body going taut at the thought of you saying it under different circumstances.

Moving past the subject was all he could do. All he wanted to do.

"Why are you up bub?"

You sighed, leaning against the window frame. "Restless. Too much energy from the day."

"Not too much moving in the archives huh?"

"I'll have you know I walk constantly. It's a very demanding job."

He snorted. "Down to the end of the bookshelves and back?"

"Shut up." Your laughter echoed across the street and it nearly startled him how normal he felt. How human. "I can guarantee my job is a lot more work than yours."

"You're right. Saving the universe is nothin' when it comes to books."

"I'm going to hang up."

"Don't. I'll stop." Despite his serious tone, he didn't try to stop the chuckle you felt strike against your heart. The husk of its deep nature.

The memory of his touch still rang clear in your mind. How his lips molded against yours, his body firm and hot beneath your touch. You weren't restless because of work. In fact you felt the pain in your feet begin to spread up your calves the longer you stood there. You couldn't sleep because of him. Too busy replaying that moment to find time in your schedule to sleep.

"Logan." His gaze fell serious at the soft murmur of his name. "Tell me about your dream."

He bit back the urge to push you away, to claim he was fine. That nothing happened and acknowledging it wouldn't save him from himself. But that's not what you were trying to accomplish, and he knew that. He could see it clearly in front of his face. But he was a man hardened by the nature of silence—of ignoring his pain until it eventually withered and died inside him.

Changing that wasn't a battle he'd win tonight. Nor tomorrow.

He sighed, seeing how you fought back a yawn. "Not tonight honey."

"Why–"

"I will." Your breath echoed loudly in his head. He wished he could feel it. "I'll tell you everything. Just not tonight."

Your finger traced the silhouette of him against the glass. "When?"

"I don't know." He imagined your touch was against his skin, pictured how you'd trace the lines of his muscles. How you'd lick along his veins for a taste of him on your tongue. "Tell me about your day."

"That's boring," you groaned.

"Not to me bub. I like history." He smiled. "I used to teach it."

"Fuck off. Did you really?" You perked up within seconds, eyes alight as they were the other night. And Logan felt himself get dragged in a bit deeper. He knew he was fucked the second he saw you, but now...there was no stopping the inevitability of you. "I guess I learn something new every day. James."

He growled, low and hungry—pleasure filling his stomach. "Don't start somethin' you can't finish honey."

Silence filled the air and Logan felt the doubt pull at his nerves. He watched you lean into the glass, your scent filtering through the warm air. Sharp and heady. Darker than your usual honeyed sweetness; the taste of it spread along his tongue—shivers rolling down his back. You wanted him. No fuck that.

You needed him.

"And if I want to," you breathed, trepidation and hope overlapping in your words. "Finish this."

He bared his teeth in a grin that felt feral—as if he could taste your flesh. "We will," he stated with such severity. A promise lined in truth for once. "Now go on. Tell me about your day."

He awoke to the sounds of clashing pots and pans being tossed on the stove—the incessant beep of the coffee machine blaring off every thin wall. And Wade singing loudly—and horribly—to some fucking pop song from the eighties Logan would learn the name of against his will. He groaned, slamming his head back against the couch in the hopes that this was all a dream.

If he wished hard enough maybe he'd wake up to silence.

Or to you.

"Good morning peanut!" Wade's voice shouted, another bang sounding off behind him. "I've got coffee, Canadian bacon, and the final answer for what came first—the chicken or the egg."

Logan longed to stab himself in the skull. This quick healing factor became a fucking pain in the ass at the worst of times. He staggered into the kitchen, immediately wishing he'd drank the entire bottle of whiskey last night at the sight of Wade in a pair of white underwear and nothing else.

"What the fuck." He shut his eyes, reaching blindly for a mug and the coffee pot.

"Yeah..." Wade slammed the pan on the stove, a now broken yolk spilling over the edge. "Laundry day and Al called dibs on the top load. Just call me Risky Business."

Logan's sigh was ragged, beyond exhausted as he gulped down the first dose of searing coffee. "He wore a shirt in that fucking movie."

"Lookie here! Someone is up to date on their Tom Cruise movies. Don't tell me you're a Top Gun fan honey badger because I have some fucking news for you. We topped them for highest grossing movie of all time." Wade smiled as the destroyed egg slid onto a chipped plate. "Financially topped. Personally, I don't think scientology allows Tom Cruise to fuck anymore."

"I'm not listenin' to your fuckin' bullshit," he grunted, pouring another cup.

The charred egg was slid his way. "Aren't you gonna ask me?"

"Ask you what?"

Talking this early in the morning made the veins in his throat strain—his grip on the mug nearly cracking the porcelain. In times like this Logan felt the overwhelming need to throw his roommate out the fucking window.

If only to get thirty seconds of hearing him scream on the way down.

"What came first."

He moved to make another pot of coffee, ignoring the chatter that fell from Wade's mouth. In order to even feel coherent enough to make sense of it, he'd need four more cups. Or enough to bathe in if the morning didn't calm down. The sun blinded him as he turned to glance out the window; the air stale and hot choked his senses. He'd never felt this overstimulated before—this out of place.

"You look like you've seen better days in a horror movie. Up having late night phone sex?" Wade grinned and leaned across the counter—his head in his hand and love in his eyes. "Tell me about it, stud? Tell me more, tell me more. Did you get very far?"

"Oh god," Logan groaned, slamming the coffee pot back into place. "Can you shut the fuck up for once? I'm begging you."

"Did you beg her?"

His claws pressed to Wade's smug face—blood spilling against his cheek. "I will cut your fuckin' mouth off."

"I just wanna know why you're waiting so long to give her the Hugh Jackman."

"The what?" he growled, heat blistering against his face.

"Ya know." The crude gesture to his groin had him digging his claws directly into Wade's cheek. But even then he mumbled around the metal piercing his skin. "The package. The full shebang. Rock her like a hurricane—or whatever the fuck that German band was talking about. Cause I sure know she's aching for it."

"Don't fucking talk about her like that."

Wade smiled until his cheek sliced down to his mouth. The sight was disgusting enough for Logan to forgo wanting breakfast. And lunch. And dinner at that.

"You don't believe me! HA! Let me tell you, you're pretty but there's nothing going on up there." A tap on Logan's forehead forced the claws to sink just a bit deeper. "That sweet angel across the street is ready to save that horse and ride you instead cowboy. All. Night. Long."

"You don't know what you're talking about." Yet even as he said the words he felt the lie stick to the back of his throat.

Last night's conversation was proof enough that Wade was telling the truth. Even Logan could fucking see what was right in front of him. Someone beautiful, someone smart. Someone...he wasn't worthy of. If he combined all those factors he only came up with one conclusion. The longer he stayed away from you, the better you'd wind up being.

The safer you'd stay if he wasn't constantly shoving his way into your life.

The loud sigh from Wade's healing mouth shoved another wave of guilt into Logan's stomach. "Look. Ignore it all you want, but sooner or later you're gonna wind up with only your hand for some company and she'll find someone who actually wants to be with her."

Wade was right. For once.

What Logan didn't expect was the anger he felt at the visual of you finding someone else. The rage that nearly overwhelmed him. That's how it should be. You with someone better, a man who actually gave you a chance at a relationship. One that wasn't doomed from the very start. He let the thought simmer, chewed on it for as long as he could.

And not a minute later came to the answer he'd been looking for.

Logan would rip apart any other man without hesitation if they came into your life.

This wasn't a fling. He'd known that on his Earth and knew it now. He clawed his way out of a grave once to get back to you. And he would do it again and again and again. As many times as it took to make sure he got a glimpse of your smile, felt the love in your touch.

"Grab your shit we've got somewhere to be," he grumbled, shoving the burned egg in his mouth and washing it down with fresh black coffee to kill the taste.

"Yes! Now there's the Wolverine I know." Wade shouted, pumping his fist in the air. Logan couldn't tell if he was being vulgar or not. 

"Let's go bang your girl!" A snarl ripped through his throat, blood splattering on his bare chest as he pinned Wade to the wall—his claws embedded in the man's heart. "Or you bang her and I quietly stay at home with the window open to serenade you two with the sensual sounds of Marvin Gaye."

He grinned, eyes flashing over Logan's shoulder. "Directly from Sam Wilson's playlist if you know what I'm getting at Marvel fuckers."

On days where people were stuck at work and students infiltrated the library above, you found the solace of the archives to be everything you needed. For an hour you'd been placing books in their correct spots, labeling boxes to be housed somewhere new, and theorizing where you went wrong the other night when Logan left.

You didn't want to let the disappointment get to you. Nor should you. The phone conversation last night clarified enough for you to know him leaving wasn't your fault. It wasn't due to your kiss or even because he didn't want to be there. He simply hadn't healed from what his world did to him. Whatever Wade mentioned to you in a ramble of semi-seriousness gave you enough of a picture to know what that might have been.

No matter how much you wanted to help him; to make him see that you weren't scared of what he had to give. This wasn't your war.

Logan made sure you understood that.

That still didn't stop the swell of dismay at his actions. The belief that you weren't good enough to hear his story began to eat you alive the longer he pushed it off. Each comment came tinged with pain you'd never be privy to. Agony he wanted to endure alone.

You would give him the space he needed—the time that was required in order to heal from wounds you couldn't see. They were there. Dug into the shape of his heart—carved into the metal of his bones—but Logan wouldn't allow you to bear witness to that. To a broken side of a man who wanted to be better. If only he knew he didn't have to be for you to ache for him.

The thought of him alone left your heart twisting in your chest and stomach fluttering.

You slid another book into the correct spot, silence echoing like a void that went on for miles. Only for the ring of your phone to shatter it like glass. You scrambled for the device in your purse, breath filling your lungs at the sight of his name as it flashed across your screen. 

Maybe this made you seem desperate—a type of clingy that would make any other man run. You couldn't find it in yourself to give a shit.

"Logan," you said—his name leaving your mouth in a breathy manner you regret within moments.

"Oh shit girl you've got it bad."

The pounding of your heart jumped at the loud echo of Wade's voice blasting through the small speaker. "Wade?"

"The one and holy." To say you were perplexed felt like an understatement. But before you could spill the millions of questions on your tongue, Wade kept going. "Hey! What kind of wood do you prefer?"

A loud rumble of an engine blared in the background—killing your ears. "What?"

"Oh right fuck me. Silly question. There's twelve thousand words already written about what type of wood you prefer." He laughed as the sound came again. "I'm talking the tree kind. Got a preference for scents?"

"She's not gonna be able to smell it you dumb fuck!" Logan shouted. You heard an audible screech before a loud rustle had you pulling the phone from your ear with a groan. "Honey?"

You smiled, walking towards the part of the room that didn't echo with your voice. "I'm scared to ask what you guys are doing today."

"Oh," he chuckled. You wished he'd bought a better phone, longing to see each expression that crossed his face. "I owe you a door."

That kiss reemerged in your memory once more. Burning through your body in quick rapid strokes. As if Logan was fanning the flames of something stronger—a fire that you wouldn't be able to control. You imagined what he looked like at this moment, if he still wore the exhausted look of grief from last night. Or if he'd covered it with a mask of annoyance due to Wade.

"I can just call the building manager to fix it." You put it on your list of things to do today already, but the idea of seeing Logan again was too tempting to pass up.

He huffed, falling silent. Wade's voice shouting about the Lorax became all you heard for a brief moment—Logan no doubt figuring out what he could say to fix this. The glimpse of him last night had set your teeth on edge in a way you'd never experienced before. You felt you could sink your canines into the tension and rip it to shreds with ease.

"Where I come from it's only right to fix what I broke."

What he broke.

This wasn't about the door. You could see it clearly in the pained way he spoke his words—each one more clear than the last. Leaving you in a rush with no fucking explanation left him worried that you weren't going to be around if he kept pushing you away. You were something good—a light he sought in the darkness he found himself in—and messing up this chance wasn't going to happen twice.

He'd done this before. He pushed those he loved away.

Doing the same with you only made his chest echo with the hollow emptiness that he'd grown tired of feeling.

"You can fix my door under one condition," you said, effectively breaking the silence.

"Anythin'."

The flutter in your chest felt lethal when he spoke to you like this; open and willing to bend where you wanted him to go. A man had never given you this before. The attention, the knowledge that he wanted all of you. Not just sex, or meaningless conversations. He wanted every piece you were open to sharing—every dark crevice and thought you felt embarrassed about.

You only wished he'd understand you wanted the exact same thing from him.

"Dinner. My place. Seven p.m."

Fuck what you wouldn't give to see his smile as he let out a sigh of relief. "I won't be late."

You smiled, worrying your lip between your teeth—that familiar gooey warmth now back in your chest. "You better not be."

"I've got great timing honey. Got nothin' to worry about."

Bullshit. You nearly said it, but a loud shuffle and a few bitten off curse words—mainly growled on Logan's end—cut your conversation short. A triumphant laugh you could only figure to be Wade's pierced your eardrum as the phone was unwillingly handed off once again.

"I just want to let you know I've got money on whether or not he nails you tonight. So don't let me down cupcake."

"You're betting on this?" you exclaimed, loud enough to hear your voice bounce off the walls and echo back to where your supervisor was no doubt sitting.

"Of course. I'm not one to turn down the sleazy art of gambling." He sighed wistfully. You'd never wanted to punch someone more in this moment; suddenly aware that this is how Logan must feel every day of his life. "Besides if you heard the sounds that came out of our shower this afternoon. Oh ho ho. Something tells me that he was letting off some Steam Boat Willy to the thought of his late night phone buddy."

Disgust at Wade's words was rapidly overshadowed by the thought of Logan in the shower. Naked and desperate to find some release after your conversation last night. To say you hadn't pictured what he'd look like hard and aching from your touch would be a lie. But actually knowing that's what happened left you winded.

Your chest heaved as your body grew warm—the image of him with his hand around his cock, his head thrown back in pleasure, almost made your knees give out.

"Your thinkin' about it huh?" The overconfidence in Wade's voice snapped you back to reality within seconds.

"Shut up."

"Got ya red handed angel."

With a roll of your eyes, you made to head back to your work—Wade's words only served to fluster you more than you wanted. "Don't piss him off too much okay Wilson?"

His laughter nearly appeased you as the piercing sound of a saw went off again. The both of them must have ventured to a warehouse to find materials. You wanted to confirm your thoughts when Wade did it for you. As if he could hear you loud and clear.

"Who knew our man had lumberjack experience?" He sighed dreamily, a shout of what you guessed was Logan saying fuck off filtering through. "God it's like watching X-Men Origins Wolverine. Back when his hair screamed Staying Alive and I went by the name Billy Butcherson."

A cough from behind you gave enough notice that you had in fact been caught by your boss—her glare burning through the back of your skull. The short break you were allotted passed five minutes ago. Normally you'd be fighting your way to the end of the day. Today though...you felt that delicious bite of excitement at knowing you'd be spending tonight with Logan.

"I've got to go. But Wade..."

"Yeah?"

"Take a picture for me will you?"

"Already done. Got my phone set to burst. Which is what Logan's gonna do tonight instead of tainting our shower walls–" Logan's roar of I'll fuckin' kill you came seconds before you heard a thwack overlapped with Wade's high shriek. 

The line went dead instantly.

The elevator wasn't moving fast enough for your liking—each flash of a floor passed sent another wave of nerves through your body. Work dragged on longer than you expected. And the groceries you picked up on the way didn't feel like enough to make a meal grand enough for a night like tonight. You tried to destress by saying he wasn't expecting much. This wasn't even a date.

That is until you realized...that's exactly what this was.

A date that felt long overdue.

You hadn't known Logan long enough to pursue a relationship as deep as this, but that's where things got fuzzy. He knew you. Or a version of you that felt entirely different to the person you were now. And maybe that's where the security that this would last came through. The knowledge that no matter what happened, Logan was in this for the long haul.

This wasn't temporary.

A creak of the doors opening didn't deter you from digging through your mountain of thoughts. Each one more worrisome than the last. You should be terrified that this was it. The future had already been written and Logan was at the end of the road. That alone would be reason enough to turn tail and run.

Then you turned the corner leading directly down your hallway.

Logan stood leaning against the wall, a lit cigar in his mouth, smoke trailing past his lips, and a heavy wooden door placed directly beside him. A toolbox that looked to have seen better days sat by his feet. A bouquet of honeysuckle and peonies placed directly on top—wrapped in brown paper with a yellow and blue bow.

Whatever fear might have lingered in your body dissipated when his gaze found yours and his lips pulled into a smile.

"You're early," you said—desperate to catch your breath. The scent of his cigar lingered on your senses, mixing with the leather of his jacket.

Suddenly Wade's words from earlier felt a lot more real than you expected. He showed up dressed casually. Jeans, flannel, the familiar dog tags strung around his neck. Yet whatever transpired the night before came rushing back with the promise of more.

This was a date. But whether it would lead to something else you'd leave entirely up to him.

"I told ya I had great timing honey."

Heat trailed down your body where his eyes followed. "I didn't believe you."

"I know."

The claw marks on your door brought a flustered smile to your face. As if to say you were okay with them staying. You wanted them to stay. Logan's eyes darkened at the sight, a flash of something worse taking hold of his mind as you pushed it open.

You longed for him to tell you the truth. He wouldn't either way. But the hope still remained—lingering on the edges of your heart.

"Easy enough to fix," he muttered, reaching for his tools—the bouquet of flowers gripped tightly in his large palm.

"I didn't know what exactly to get." He stood in your living room, eyes trained on the window. Finally he was on the other side—in your home—and yet he found he didn't belong here. "Do you have a preference?"

He sucked in another drag from the cigar before pulling it free—stamping it out on his palm as you watched. A heady wanton look crossed your features. You doused it quickly in favor of unpacking the groceries. He made sure to store it away for a later time. One that didn't feel dragged by the weight of his own thoughts.

"I'm not picky."

You nodded. "Feel free to use whatever's useful. I don't have tools though."

"I came prepared bub." He lifted the box with a smile and suddenly recalled that he bought you flowers. Much to Wade's annoying comments about this being a first date. Logan wouldn't push you in any direction you felt uncomfortable going towards. But in an irritating turn of events, Wade was right. Twice. "These are for you."

The smile on your face was worth every dollar and excruciating minute spent picking out what went with what. He reminded himself to thank Wade. Even if it left a bitter taste in his mouth.

"They're beautiful." The delicate white lay atop pink flowers that filled your senses. An aroma you'd never known could work so well together. "Why these?"

A touch of crimson began to tint the tops of his ears as he let out a breath. "They're uh..." He coughed. "The day we met I said somethin' kinda awkward."

"I smelled different."

"Yeah." Logan wanted to bury himself six feet under at the teasing glint in your eyes. "That's how you smell. To me. Like honey and flowers."

There had to be an explanation for the way your heart split down the center—as if to offer him one half. To give him a part of yourself that once didn't belong to him. But that's where you were wrong. Even in a different universe, he would find you. You were once everything to him; the person he'd go through hell for. That fact never changed. Even if you did.

You wanted to spill every emotion, every truth about how your heart already longed for him in ways that left you reeling. But Logan wasn't a man to speak longer than he had to. And before you finally gained the courage to open your mouth, he was stepping back into the hallway. His hands busy with a project and mind eons away.

Dinner was simple to cook knowing he'd eat whatever you made. Pasta, some wine, and an old bottle of whiskey a friend of yours bought sat on the table as he put the final touches on the door. You'd spent the time at the stove combing over every word spoken. Every minute touch and fleeting look. As he worked effortlessly on setting your new door in place.

A dark honeyed wood with grooves throughout that almost resembled the small panes of a window. The quality was stunning. Beyond anything you'd seen before.

You wanted to prod and ask where he learned to do this. But the sight of him slightly sweaty, flannel tossed into his toolbox, and arms on display when he carried the door to its spot, left you dazed. Each movement caused the muscles beneath his skin to ripple—face screwed in a look of concentration while the sound of the drill echoed off the hallway walls.

For a moment you forgot dinner was cooking as you practically ogled his form. That familiar flame burned through your body when his gaze met yours and a smile crossed his lips.

Logan could feel your eyes on him—the aching burn of your gaze now seared into the bare skin of his arms and shoulders. And he fought himself to keep going. To ignore your now heady scent—the way your heart sped up with each shift of his body—and finish what he started. If he was being honest, which he rarely was with himself, he put on a show for you.

You liked him.

He just wanted to reaffirm that fact once in a while.

The smell of slightly burnt garlic had him biting back a smile as you rushed to fix what his distraction caused. His ego swelled. Heart pumping with a sense of pride the second he caught you flustered with your head bowed in the kitchen.

"Smells delicious honey," he said, testing the lock on the door a few times until he felt satisfied with his work.

"It's not much." You popped open the two types of alcohol, pouring a generous helping of wine in your glass. He fixed himself his own whiskey. "Something my sister taught me when I was in college. She believed if there was nothing else to cook, pasta was always the correct answer."

"Smart woman."

You pushed the plate his way and caught the grin he hid at the small act of domesticity. What began as a nerve-wracking date became an insight into what your future with him might look like. Dinner at a tiny kitchen table, his jacket draped over one chair, the scent of flowers twining together with the faint traces of his cigar.

A life that felt perfect enough to keep forever.

"I hope you know Wade's betting on tonight," you said, pouring another glass of wine.

You were settled next to him on the couch, dinner resting full and warm in your stomachs. The alcohol tasted sweeter on your tongue compared to an hour ago. He lounged with his legs spread, glass balanced in one hand. A lazy look of satisfaction in his hazel eyes.

Logan had never felt this comfortable. Soothed by the scent of you beside him, the whiskey on his tongue, and the sight of you with your legs curled beneath you. The red wine made you smile more, laugh easier. He noticed how you bloomed before him, light shimmering between small jokes and half assed teases.

All his life he wondered what home would truly feel like. What would having a place be? And this...you beside him with an endless night stretched before you, gave him the answer.

Home felt like you.

He groaned, head falling against the back of your couch. "He's a lucky fucker with that can't die bullshit. What's the bet?"

Your eyes dragged to the door—tracing the carved marks as his hand hesitated to settle on your thigh. "That you'd and I quote nail me."

"What?" he spit.

The laugh that bubbled to the surface echoed with the heady effects of too much wine. "I hate to break it to Wade. But I don't have sex on the first date."

Logan's lips turned up, hand finally against the bare skin of your leg. Your skirt fanned around your lap, covering your soft skin that lay beneath. "So this is a date huh?"

"Yeah." He tugged you closer. "At least I think it is."

"I think so too."

Unconsciously, you toyed with the chain of his dog tags, catching a glimpse of the worn letters of his name. Any other time you'd push the questions away. You would claim that tonight wasn't the right time. After all this felt good, right in ways nothing had before. But the wine made you loose lipped. Braver than the other times you pushed past the line he drew deep in the sand.

Except this time...he started the conversation.

"You asked about my nightmares last night."

Your eyes caught his, fingers stilling against his chest. "I know you don't want to talk about it."

He shook his head with a deep exhale he felt down to his stomach. "If this is what I think it is. What we're startin' here. Then you should know what you're getting into honey."

"I know what I'm getting into–"

"No. You don't." He sat up straighter, tugging you close until your legs lay over his lap. "You don't know what happened to me. What I did..." He sucked in air as his heart began to twist. The cold wash of anxiety suddenly brighter than a few minutes earlier. "What I couldn't do."

The pain in his eyes chipped off a piece of your heart. Oh how you longed to give it to him.

Cupping his cheek, you felt the scratch of his beard against your skin. "Logan. You're not a bad man."

"Yeah bub. I am," he barked in a half laugh meant to discourage you from seeing his grief.

That's what this was. The full spectrum of his emotions scared the shit out of him more than any villain he fought. More than the thought of dying alone one day. The moment you saw them for yourself, he knew you'd run. He almost expected it. Which is why he'd taken so long—put it off each time the curiosity lingered in your gaze longer than he liked.

He told himself you didn't need to know.

It was better this way.

Tonight proved that all those reasons—all those excuses—stood no chance when it came to you.

"I don't believe that," you whispered, your other hand curling around his dog tags.

"Gotta remember I'm not him. I'm not the hero and never have been." When you looked at him like that—eyes wide and lips turned down—he felt the full weight of the words he was about to say out loud. Words he hadn't spoken since Laura met him by the fire way back in the Void.

Somehow saying it to the other Logan's daughter felt easier. As if he couldn't disappoint her anymore than he had. She'd been there at his death, watched him struggle to protect her, and loved him in spite of all that. She called him Dad and spoke over his grave with a smile. Knowing full well he'd never come back to life, he'd never find his way back to her.

Laura wasn't his kid and yet...he knew she'd understand.

But saying it all to you…

He wasn't sure he'd survive it if you never understood.

"The X-Men in my world weren't as respected as the ones in yours. We were heroes, but the humans. God they fuckin' hated us." His eyes burned with each memory that came rushing back. A river that threatened to drown him. "And I always had to be an asshole. I didn't know what home felt like—what...family felt like. So when I got it, I pushed it away."

"Oh, Logan–"

"No, let me...let me finish honey." He gripped the glass until he heard a crack—his eyes dazed and mind lost to a different time. The night that would later become his ghost. "So I left and did the only thing I was fuckin' good at. I drank until I couldn't feel anythin' anymore. And the humans decided they'd had enough of the X-Men."

Grief struck your heart straight down the center. Tears spilled down your cheeks at the sight of him so broken—so raw from a time that would never leave him. You finally knew why Wade never explained it to you.

This wasn't his story to tell. Not his past to share.

"I came home and they were–" His fingers dug into the skin of your thigh in an attempt to ground himself. Claws slipping free as he struggled to get the final words out—the truth of why he pushed you away. Why he should keep pushing you away. "They were dead."

You pressed yourself against his side, lips against his temple as he silently bit back the emotions he refused to set free. What would become of him once they were finally out? He couldn't risk hurting you because of it.

"They called for me." His breath was ragged, voice thick with tears that never fell. "Jean. Charles. I heard them die in my head. But I was too fuckin' drunk to save them. I got home and all of them were...Jesus. The humans called us mutants vicious, but I'd never seen anythin' like this."

The worst part crawled up his spine with a chill that had his claws coming free. "And you. You survived due to your gifts. Apparently you hid in the future—snapped there without even realizing it. But by the time you returned they were dead and no matter how many times you tried to go back, you couldn't." He raised his head, eyes red and glassy. "You tried to kill me that night. I couldn't blame you for it cause I wanted to die."

"That's not me."

He shook his head. "I know, but you have to know why it happened. I couldn't protect you honey. I couldn't protect any of them."

"The humans did this. Not you." You dragged his face to yours, forcing him to see the sincerity in your eyes—the fire that burned no matter the variant. "You did not kill your family Logan. Don't take their shame."

"It's easy for you to say that bub. You weren't there." He felt your touch mark against his skin and fuck how he wished it would leave a scar. "I'm not the fuckin' hero. I'm the man who fucked it all up because he was too proud for his own good. I need you to see that."

Your gaze hardened. "Why?"

"So you know what you're gettin–"

"Bullshit," you demanded. "I know exactly what I'm getting into Logan. I knew the second I met you. So don't do that. Don't push me away." The press of his forehead to yours leveled the pain and allowed him to breathe. "I'm here to stay. Whether you want me or not."

He grinned, tears finally falling as your lips found his. You breathed life back into his chest, made his heart worth beating again. For all that time he damned himself, loathed the reflection in the mirror, he never thought he'd get this. The soft press of your kiss, the bitter tang of wine on your tongue as his hand gripped your hip—his claws retreating back into his body.

"Trust me. I want you," he mumbled against salt stained lips and broken smiles. "I'll always want you."

"Then it's a good thing I want you too."

That familiar flicker of sparks still existed in the air, begging for more. But you were content to stay here. Kissing him over and over again in order to embed the sensation in your mind.

"Thank you for telling me," you sighed, fingers curling into his hair to drag his lips back to yours.

The thud of his heart ran through his whole body. "Can I show you somethin'?"

You nodded, pulling away as he dug into his pocket. As much as he longed to keep kissing you, to spend all night right there on that couch. He knew there'd be time for that. A night where you were both unburdened by the weight of a past that defined who you were. Tonight was not that night.

The picture was old, burned slightly at the edges and crinkled, but he handed it over with a grin. A group photo like the one stored in the archives at your job. Only this time you recognized two faces among the small team of people in yellow suits. You were smiling with an arm around Logan's waist, your face pressed against his chest.

The sight of his smile—wide and unfiltered—made your heart leap. But the blue aura that seemed to wrap around your body is what gave you pause.

"The blue..."

"Your powers." He pointed to the way it ended at your hands, seeming to stem directly from your chest. "Turning them off wasn't really a thing you could do. Somethin' about time being a constant flow of energy. Charles always explained it better."

Thousands of questions came to mind. All of them pertaining to the powers and the team and more specifically him. He sunk into the couch with a sigh, his eyes hazy with a different kind of need. An ache that no doubt begged him each night. Sleep. Rest without any nightmares, free of the shackles he'd placed on himself.

So you stood, nearly startling him when you did. Nothing had to be said about your intentions, or why you held out your hand for him to take. He simply followed. Each step heavier than the last. The kitchen could be cleaned tomorrow, the bottles put away later. You couldn't find it in yourself to care when his hand was in yours and he smiled at you as if you'd hung the moon in the sky.

"Thought you said Wade was losin' tonight honey?"

You laughed, pushing the flannel from his shoulders as you led him to your bed. "He is. We're just sleeping."

There was no mistaking the doubt in his eyes, the trepidation of his nightmares. "I might hurt you."

"No you won't." Drawing his hand up to your mouth, you lay a kiss along his knuckles. "I trust you Logan."

"You shouldn't." His breath was a shuddered exhale at the sight of you pulling your dress up and over your body.

"Well too bad," you replied, tugging the covers back while he pulled off his shirt—leaving his boots by the door. "You don't scare me Wolverine."

"Wolverine huh?" Crawling into bed with you was easy. Though the mattress sunk under the weight of his bones, you still let him tug you closer—his arms wrapped around your bare waist. "It was James the other night."

"Careful," you said. "Or I'll start calling you Howlett."

A growl rumbled in his chest, his teeth nipping at the bare skin of your shoulder as you laughed. And suddenly he remembered what it was like to live. To want more than just the bottom of a bottle and a peaceful night's sleep. He could recall nights like this in the past. A different you curled up against his body—the love resonating in how you clung to him.

It all slammed into him at once.

Although tonight he didn't push it away. He kept you close, his nose burrowed in your hair, and welcomed the gentle tug of a few hours rest.

Tonight—for the first time—he slept.

Without nightmares.

[sleepymmn]

I drink your blood.. and feast on your flesh

im going crazy they let me out of my enclosure

warning: pervert, panty sniffing, blood play, pussy eating, period mention, pregnancy mentions, breeding kink, praise, pain play, biting (vampire)

synopsis: you always wondered if your vampire boyfriend would devour you while on your period, and he does.. but not in the way youd think

your vampire boyfriend knew before you even did that your period was near, and he was sweet enough to try and avoid you. not because he’s a bloodthirsty vampire who can’t handle himself around dead blood cells, no.

its because he’s a pervert.. and a smart one at that

his hand hurts from how long hes been stroking his cock. the tip red and weeping pre-cum as his thumb runs over the mix just how you do it, he wants to go down there, but his brain knew he would lunge at you until you were bulging with his cum mixed with your blood

and now hes hard again

you on the other hand are on the couch in your shared house, heating pad over you stomach and a weighted plush over it that he got you to try and satiate the demon inside you. you knew about your boyfriends vampiric nature and figured he would get hungry when youre on your period

and then your brain went to another idea

the idea of your boyfriend, fangs out, digging into your pussy until there was no more blood left for him to steal from you, the way he looks up at you with those cold eyes as he sends you to another dimension with his tongue

ya, you were going up those stairs

the noises you heard were straight up filth, squelching noises and loud moans were a symphony to you.. until you heard him speak

“pretty pussy needing me… i.. cant..!”

his whimpers were down right pathetic, prompting you to knock on the door. the noises came to an instant halt as if he pretends hes not there. you open the door and you see a sight that is so dirty

your boyfriend was sniffing your used underwear from yesterday, jerking his cock for the nth time seeing from the cum stains on the bed

youve never been so wet

“darling! i-… its not! oh god- darling i swear- its not…”

you shush his whimpers, taking your panties back, noting the brief pull you left as he tried to keep them. crawling into his lap, you whispered into his ear about how you want him to take his fill

it has very different meanings for the two of you and you soon learn that, very soon

loud plaps! could be heard throughout the whole house. your legs on his shoulders, his cock hellbent on jamming into your insides and painting your walls white.

“fuck darling! pussy keeps tightenin’ on me. want me to fill you ya? mark ya and breed you until you have our kid? ya? how many you want? ill give em to you just- fuck!- keep sucking me in- please!”

hes too far gone now, his fangs tracing onto your shoulder, threatening to bite you the way you wanted.

his hair clings to his forehead, large hands holding onto your body to push and pull you to his rhythm. you thought he was gonna eat you out and dip, but this was so much better than you thought

“gonna fill you up, you wont have to worry about me panicking about your little period- mmh!- gonna make this tummy swell with my cum”

his words tickled your ear, making your body shiver and back arch, which made his dick reach deeper. your stomach was tightening, threatening to make you see stars

he seems to have noticed by the clench, his thrusts getting faster, his nails raking up your torso, his cock stopping its movement, much to your dismay. his nose sniffing at your neck

right before lifting his body up and biting into his hand, watching the crimson blood drip onto your body. a raw, carnal growl emerges from his before he goes back to sniffing your neck, his cock pistoning in and out of you even faster than before

“youre so fucking perfect, dripping with blood. youre too pretty to eat, youre so pretty- fuck!- need you darling i need you- please!”

the coil inside you snaps and you swear you were sent to heaven from how brutal that orgasm was, his pleads- yearning for you to cum before he did, what a gentleman

when you come back, you notice small pricks of pain all over your body, noting the spots as you see 2 dots on every spot, each a little bite mark from your beloved boyfriend

the one still thrusting inside, tears welling with how good he feels

“fuck! gonna cum! darling im gonna cum inside ok? thats ok right? youll let me cum inside this perfect pussy?”

you swear to god you heard him hiss and whimper, his body flush against yours as he finally cums. cock pulsing as it tried to mend itself in your cunt

it takes a hot minute for him to come down from cloud 9, but when he does, hes fighting demons to not pull out, until you ask

“i hope you dont think im done darling”

he smiles at you, sleepily going between your legs, swiping his tongue to get a taste of the mixture of his cum, your cum, and the blood you thought he would fein over like a drug

“vampires cant survive off period blood darling, its dead blood cells”

he laughs airily, going back to making out with your cunt. you have to admit, the sight of cum and blood mixed on his chin when he looks up at you and gives you that smile

it makes you want to go for another round

CHOSO, gojo, TANAKA, bokuto, kuroo, DENKI, sero, L, rei, BACHIRA, KAISER, lucifer, LEVIATHAN + ur favs

im ovulating good god i need a vampire to DEVOUR ME

anyways goodnight ily all!!

[sosasturns]

handlin business - c. sturniolo

the low hum of the range rover's engine filled the empty lot, headlights casting long shadows against the rusted shipping containers. chris sat in the driver's seat, one hand draped casually over the steering wheel while the other scrolled through his phone. you, seated in the passenger seat, pulled at the hem of your hoodie, the oversized essentials fabric swallowing you up in the dim light.

"how much longer?" you murmured, glancing out the tinted window at the dark stretch of concrete.

chris didn't answer right away, his thumb tapping out a reply to some unread text. finally, he slid his phone into his lap, his profile sharp as he looked past you, eyes narrowing on the figure stepping out of a black sedan a few feet away.

"not long. stay in the car," he said firmly, voice low. you rolled your eyes but didn't argue, watching as he pushed open the door and stepped out, his black nike tech blending into the shadows.

jay was already waiting, a slim, wiry figure leaning against his car with the nonchalant air of someone who thought he was untouchable.

"bout time," chris said, walking up, his hands in his pockets.

"traffic," jay replied with a smirk, straightening up as he reached into the backseat to pull out a black duffle bag.

you leaned forward in your seat, straining to hear their conversation through the cracked window. chris's posture was relaxed, but there was something about the way his shoulders squared up that made your stomach tighten.

jay unzipped the bag, holding it open for chris to inspect. even from the car, you caught the metallic glint of what was inside.

everything seemed fine at first-until it wasn't. you couldn't hear exactly what jay said, but whatever it was had chris stiffening, his head tilting slightly as if to say, you wanna run that by me again?

your hand went to the door handle instinctively, ignoring the warning echoing in your head: stay in the car.

by the time you stepped out, chris had shifted his stance, one hand brushing the waistband of his pants where you knew his glock sat snug. he didn't pull it—he didn't need to. the action alone was enough to make jay pause, his hands going up slightly.

"the fuck are you doin' out here?" chris snapped, his voice sharp as he turned to see you standing a few feet away, arms crossed.

"you looked tense," you said simply, your tone laced with a mix of concern and defiance.

jay's eyes flicked between the two of you, a smirk curling at his lips. "this your girl?"

chris didn't answer. instead, he took a step closer to jay, the weight of his presence enough to wipe the smirk clean off his face.

"y’got what i came for or not?" chris asked, his tone steady but dangerous.

jay swallowed, nodding quickly. "yeah, yeah, it's all here. clean, like you asked."

chris reached out, grabbing the bag with one hand, his other still hovering close to his waistband as he gave jay a look that said ‘don't make me regret this.’

"count it," you murmured from behind him, earning a sharp glance from chris.

"she always this mouthy?" jay asked, chuckling as he rubbed the scruff on his chin.

"watch y’self," chris said, his voice low and cold. you bit back a smirk as chris opened the bag, rifling through its contents with a practiced eye. satisfied, he zipped it up and tossed it over his shoulder.

"we out," he said to you, turning back toward the car. jay opened his mouth to say something else, but one look from chris had him thinking better of it.

as you followed chris back to the range rover, he grabbed your waist, pulling you close.

"what part of stay in the car didn't you understand?" he asked, his voice a quiet growl.

"the part where i saw your jaw clench like you were two seconds from airing this bitch out," you shot back, shrugging as you slid into the passenger seat.

chris huffed out a laugh, shaking his head as he started the car. "hard-headed ass," he muttered, glancing over at you.

you buckled your seatbelt, leaning back as the range rover rolled onto the main road. "we getting food? chilli's is right down the road."

chris glanced over, one hand resting on the wheel. "chilli's?" he repeated, eyebrows raised.

"yeah, chilli's. a triple dipper sound’ real good right now," you said, trying to keep a straight face.

he let out a short laugh, shaking his head. "you don't listen, you stress me the fuck out, and now y’want chilli's?" he said, lips curving into a smirk. "runnin’ my pockets, man."

“problem?” you smirked back, crossing your arms. "u-turn this bitch around, i’ll go ask your fr—”

the car halts to a sudden stop at the green light, your words making chris look over at you with a raise of his brow.

"lil’ girl," he said, a playful warning in his tone, but the smile tugging at his mouth told you he didn't mean it. his hand reaching to wrap around the back of your neck. “keep playin’ with me ‘n watch where it get’ you.”

you could only smile, your eyes searching over his face with amusement.

“lights green,” you murmur, smirking as he lets out a low hum, his eyes narrowing. his hand slowly loosening on your neck though he still kept it there.

brrrrrrrrrrrrt. the sound of someone honking their car horn drawled out making chris eyes advert yours and calmly shift to the rear view.

pressing his hand down onto the steering wheel, he honked back, his foot resting on the break like he wasn’t holding up traffic.

“chris,” you murmur, letting out a small breath of a laugh as you knew how petty he could get with road rage. “go.”

he smirked, watching the traffic light switch to yellow as more cars began to honk from behind.

“i’m good,” he replied, resting his hand on his lap as he looked ahead.

“i’ll give you head.” you counteroffer, a smirk tugging on your lips as you watch him turn his gaze back towards you, his foot pressing down heavy on the gas, making the car drive forward.

running the red light, the engine purring as he zoomed down the road. his hand steady on the wheel as his other shuffled on his lap, undoing his belt.

you scoff, unbuckling your seatbelt as he motioned you closer with his hand in a beckoning motion. “now?” you questioned teasingly, looking him up and down, though you were very much with it.

“hell yeah now, girl…” he scoffed, smirking. “better put in work for that triple dipper.”

@ sosasturns

sosas 💬’s : another addition to the shoota!chris n bottle girl!reader au! want more? sound off in my inbox! requests r open

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[likearhinestonecowgirl]

Jason Todd Headcanons

Jason who will move you- whether it be placing a big hand on the small of your back to usher you through a busy crowd, or you're in his way, maybe in the kitchen rambling about something you saw on the news. He will wordlessly pick you up, tired and lethargic with bruised knuckles from the night before, and sit you on the counter. He mumbles something, makes a grunt to let you know to keep talking while one hand smooths up and down the inside of your thigh and the other opens the drawer you were blocking.

Jason who is obviously a theater kid- but if this is living with Bruce, moonlighting as Robin Jason, he'd be discrete. He'd say he needs the class as his obligatory elective and didn't take pottery because he doesn't like getting his hands dirty (lie). He'd sit near the back of the theater, but he'd listen intently, and every poetry assignment he'd turn in would be a work of fucking god. Every project, the teacher would ask him to perform instead of doing the alternative (some paper or poem) and maybe, just maybe, he'll say yes if he's comfortable enough.

Jason who hides food around his apartment and safehouses. Non-perishable, like trail mix, granola bars, little ziplocks of cereal. Dick had cut that habit, made Jason comfortable enough to understand he'll never have to worry, he'll never have to fend for himself by himself. Rising from the lazarus pit as an animated corpse turned everything on its head. The neurotic habits came back. If you're close enough, if he spends enough time at your place, it's likely you'll eventually find a baggie of chex mix sitting on top of your fridge.

Jason who is a barb. I'm not explaining this one, he just is. An honorary member of gag city 🫡

Jason who always has a pack of Marlboro menthols on him. Alternatively, when his lungs are feeling extra gross and he decides he wants to quit, he'll start on zyns again (cool mint ofc). There's usually a zyn tower on his bedside table, teetering right beside the glock 47 he most definitely should put in his gun safe but never will, no matter how many times you tell him

"Jason, what if someone comes in and grabs it?"

"No one-"

"What if it falls and goes off?"

"That won't happen."

Before you can get another word his, large hands turn you to face him, practically suffocated you against his chest, one hand on the back of your head while the other dips low and follows the curve of your spine.

"No one in the world is safer than you right now."

Jason who is extremely invested in TLC (specifically 1,000 pound sisters) and never wastes a chance to tell you how shocked and proud he is of Tammy for finally losing weight- even if she's still a bitch

Jason who loves to buy you things. Usually not too crazy, more like stupid little keychains and stuffed animals to build the militia in your room. But he thinks of you all the time and he can picture the look on your face when he comes back with another stupid surprise. Next thing he knows he's got a turtle or dragon or cat stuffed safely in the inside pocket of his jacket while he threatens a few men with his fists.

"They just gave it to me for free." He shrugs, holding a loving grin as he watches you beam over the fuzzy thing in your hands.

But when your face contorts in something accusatory, he holds his breath.

"What?"

"Were you wearing that?" You look over his costume, the Red Hood, the guns hardly concealed on his sides.

"Yea, why?"

"Dude, you robbed them."

Jason who loves to buy you things, who hardly goes out of his way to hide when he comes into some money (obviously by violent means- but who cares when he's gunning down men who sell drugs to kids. Minor casualty). He'd show up with a purse that's ten times your rent, a bracelet the blinds you when it's under direct light, a dress that he knows you have no place fancy enough to wear it to. If you start to ask questions, he'll distract by any means necessary, like standing behind you to slowly untie your sweatpants or unbutton your jeans, inch off your clothing and let his fingertips dip low so you can really feel the old callouses and scars he knows you love so much, before carefully dressing you in whatever nice thing he'd bought.

******i hardly proofread this sos sorry for the typos if they're there lol lmk if i should make more

[lucysarah-c]

“It’s the only extra shirt I got here,” Levi’s voice returned to its natural stiffness as he handed her a V-neck long sleeve grey t-shirt.

“Thanks,” she said with a shy smile while accepting it. Levi nodded as he drank from his canteen. Once she was dressed, he offered her some water, which she accepted.

Exhaustion washed over them as they lay down. His eyes focused on the ceiling, his arms bent behind his head. She lay on her side, watching him.

“What?” Levi's fierce eyes looked askance at her as she admired his side profile.

Her humming negative reply was all he got at first, and then, “Was it… was it enough for you?”

He turned his head to his left. “I came, didn’t I?”

His bluntness was sometimes a blessing and sometimes not. She pouted at the idea. “But… we didn’t…”

“I said we wouldn’t,” Levi quickly picked up the meaning behind her lack of conviction and rushed to reply. “Besides, even if you wanted to, I wouldn’t have gotten my dick in. You’re in your fertile days.”

The knowledge of that affirmation eluded her completely, to the point that she didn’t even know what to inquire about first. She also felt extremely tired as she scooted closer to his frame. Levi took the hint and embraced her with one arm as she rested her head on his chest.

Humming again, this time affirmatively, she somehow understood his point. .. she believed.

“That’s scary…” she whispered after a few minutes, and his attention returned to her.

“What?”

“I don’t know if I’ll do it,” the words had no meaning to Levi, who was trying hard to follow her train of thought as she rambled. “I feel my legs tremble.”

Silence, as if she could hear the gears of his head working to comprehend. “What the fuck are you talking about?”

“About jumping,” she said casually.

“Huh?” he insisted, slightly raising up to hover over his left arm to have a better look at her face.

They were both confused—him because he didn’t even fathom what she was talking about, and her because she couldn’t believe that someone as street-smart as Levi didn’t know about it.

“That…” she started her explanation, slightly ashamed like a kid afraid of answering a classroom question wrong. First confidently, then doubts sank in. “That you have to jump ten times after it, so… so you don’t get pregnant?”

Confusion, then realization. Levi’s frowning face as he tried to process what she had just said turned into his normal stoic one, and then he bit his bottom lip. His chest began to shake as he inhaled rapidly through his nose. He began to chuckle, and when his weight fell back onto the mat, he was loudly laughing.

Her disbelief at seeing him genuinely laugh for the first time was mixed with offense. ‘What’s so damn funny?’

Levi kept trying to control his reaction, stopping momentarily, but then he remembered it and laughed again. Covering his eyes with his forearm, he insisted on forming a sentence, but it was just too hilarious somehow.

“Let me get this straight,” he chuckled, “you thought that jumping ten times, not nine, it has to be ten, would magically prevent you from getting pregnant?”

At this point, she was heavily offended. “Well yes!” Her enthusiastic affirmation only made him more entertained.

“That’s the dumbest shit I’ve ever heard,” his declaration between chuckles made her pout heavily at him, feeling the embarrassment quickly washing over her. “If it was that simple, brat, I wouldn’t have been born.”

His hand ran through his features as he calmed down, slightly shaking his head with closed eyes as he processed the idea. “God, how fucking bad are surface bastards that women have the energy to be jumping around after getting fucked?”

“Well, that was my question! Because I’m tired!” she complained loudly, feeling she finally had a fair point in this conversation.

To her surprise, Levi rolled to his side and grabbed her face. Her resistance due to her petty anger was pointless because he easily held her. Both hands on each side of her head, he then planted a kiss on her forehead.

“You’re so fucking stupid,” his whisper was fully covered in a thin layer of tenderness.

The pout on her features didn’t cease as his fingers ran down the side of her face; it felt insulting that he was looking at her with such appreciation after laughing in her face. His knuckles caressed her cheekbone so gently.

“Who told you that shit?”

“The girls in the barracks always talk about it,” she confessed, hoping that common knowledge among her companions would erase her ignorance.

“I’ll pull out and we’ll count days, that’s what we will do,” Levi explained.

Probably my favourite scene ever from Holy Ground.

Link to my masterlist and my other works if you feel like checking them out.

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[sisyphus-hye]

Love is Nothing

A/N- Cruel femdom Wony

Wonyoung had always been the more dominant one in the relationship, but she had never thought to take it this far. Wonyoung knew deep down she was always out of her boyfriend, Thomas' league. He was a rich, shy, kind-hearted, and nerdy guy. In contrast, Wonyoung was the life of the party, confident, and a queen that could control his life with just the point of a finger. She knew she could do anything and he would still be by her side.

One evening, after a particularly nasty argument, she decided to push the boundaries. She knew he was feeling insecure, and she figured that a little degradation might knock him down a peg. So, she began to belittle him, saying things that she knew would sting, watching the color drain from his face as each word sank in. "You know something Thomas? You're so weak," she sneered, her eyes gleaming with a sadistic satisfaction. "I could have any man I want, and yet here you are, groveling at my feet."

Wonyoung starts to mock her boyfriend's crying, which only makes Thomas shrink further into himself. She saunters closer, her heels clicking against the hardwood floor, a cruel smirk playing on her lips as she reaches down to grab his chin, forcing him to look up at her. "You're pathetic," she whispers, her voice dripping with disdain. "But you know what? I think it's time I change things around here."

With a sudden jolt of strength, she yanks him to his feet and pushes him against the nearest wall. The impact echoes through the room, and Thomas' eyes go wide with shock and fear. He tries to protest, but she's already got her hand over his mouth, her grip so tight that he can feel the imprint of her fingers against his skin. "You know the IVE members all make fun of you, right? They laugh at how nerdy you are, how you let me walk all over you," she says, her voice a mix of sweetness and spite. "They know I'm with you, not out of love, but only because all that money you have."

Thomas' eyes fill with tears, his heart racing as she releases his mouth. He gasps for air, but before he can respond, she's speaking again. "But you know what they don't know? That you're not just a pushover. You're my little toy, and I can play with you however I like." She runs her other hand down his chest, the tips of her nails barely grazing his skin, leaving a trail of goosebumps in their wake. "How about you get on your fucking knees for me?"

Thomas' knees buckle under the weight of her words and the force of her push. He hits the floor hard, his glasses clattering beneath him. The cold floor feels like ice under his knees, a stark contrast to the heat rising in his cheeks. He looks up at her, eyes pleading, but she only laughs. "That's more like it," she says, her voice a mix of mockery and lust.

Wonyoung looks down on Thomas like the bitch that he is, "I've been meaning to tell you something," she says with a smirk, "You remember that world tour we had? Well on the stop in Atlanta I had a stop at a Hawks basketball game. That's where I met these two nice black gentlemen who came with me back to my hotel room, and you know what they did to me?" She laughs, watching the horror spread across Thomas' face as he tries to piece together the story. "They treated me like a whore. They completely dominated me, used me, and filled me with their seed. And guess what? I liked it."

Thomas' eyes widened, and his mouth went dry. He couldn't believe what he was hearing. "You…you cheated on me?" he stammers.

Wonyoung laughs, a high-pitched sound that sends chills down his spine. "Oh, Thomas. It wasn't just once. And they weren't just anyone. They were our hired security guards for the rest of the toor, and they knew exactly how to handle a bitch like me." She leans down, her breath hot on his face, her words a cruel taunt. "Every single day and night they had access to my skinny, hot body. While you were texting me and calling me like a lost child telling me you missed me and how you couldn't wait for me to be safe on tour, I was in the hotel room, backstage, or even in some bathroom getting tossed around."

But Wonyoung isn't done. She presses her heels harder against his cock and balls, watching with amusement as he tries to stifle a whimper. Thomas' body feels like it's been hit by a wave of nausea, and he's not sure if it's from the pain in his groin or the betrayal in his heart. "You're so pathetic," she says, her voice dripping with disdain. "You can't even satisfy me with this tiny thing." The emotional and physical pain making him feel even more emasculated. "You know what they had that you don't?" she asks, her voice a low purr. "They had the confidence and the size to satisfy me. Anything they wanted, I gave it to them. They wanted my pussy, they had it. They wanted my ass, they had that too. And when they were done with me, they didn't bother to clean me up. They left me a sticky mess until I got my energy back to clean myself up. Hell, they fucked me so good one night I had to get Gaeul to lick me clean."

Thomas' mind reels as he tries to process her words. He's always felt inadequate compared to the men Wonyoung talked about from her past, but to hear her speak so openly about her infidelity and her preferences for other men is like a knife twisting in his gut. "But…but I thought we had something special," he whispers, his voice barely audible.

"That's you're problem there. You're not a thinker Thomas. You're a doer. And right now, I want you to do something for me," Wonyoung says, her voice dripping with malice. She reaches down and grabs his tie, pulling him closer so that their faces are mere inches apart. "Tonight, I'm going to an industry party tonight with Yujin and our company is counting on her and I to entertain these disgust, old, rich men so that they'll invest in IVE's next comeback. I'm bringing Yujin back with me and when we get home, I want you to clean us up. You're going to lick us both clean of their filth. You got it, my little bitch boy?" She says with a sadistic smile.