#I WANT THEM ALL DEAD AT MY DOORSTEP | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

grugruel · 2 months ago

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Sleeping With the Enemy

Pairings: Silco x f!reader

MDNI/NSFW

Masterlist

Summary: You're a councillors daughter secretly working with the Eye of Zaun, fulfilling each other's needs.

Political needs, of course. It's purely business. They would never be stupid enough to start an affair . . . Unless?

Wordcount: ca 3.5k

Warnings: enemies AND lovers, hate-fucking, toxic, Silco being evil, angsty, pinv sex, rough sex, power imbalance, fighting for control, complicated feelings, twisted love, forbidden relationship, dacryphilia ish, cockwarming, blowjob, fingering, edging, overstimulation, choking, cum eating, creampie, petnames (girl, princess, devil, Sil)

AN: yet to be proofread. This might be one of my favourite works, he's insane . . . I need him.

"Let go off me," she snarls, yanking mirthlessly against the strong womans grip. "Release me Sevika, or-"

"Or what?" She cuts the girl off with a sneer, metallic fingers sinching around her bicep. Sevika holds her close enough to force the girl to stare up through her eyebrows if she wants to achieve any semblance of eye contact.

"Or she tells her precious father," the man cuts in, a nonchalant smile to his tone.

"He doesn't know I'm here," the girl snaps, defiantly locking eyes with the industrialist. Clad in shadow, he's a mere silhouette backlit by Zaun's streets. "He doesn't know anything."

Picking up a brand new cigar, he clips the end and flicks a lighter open, toying with the flame. All in due time, he's not rushing to spoil such a favored treat.

"Good," he says and gestures dismissively, signaling his trusty henchman to leave.

Sevika releases the girl with a displeased huff and slams the door behind her. The only thing she likes less than piltovians, is them wandering too far from their fabricated safety and ending up on her doorstep.

She watches the muscular woman leave, staring at the closed door in contemplation as she once again finds herself alone with the eye of Zaun.

Something clatters behind her, a lighter discarded on a desk. "You're late," he mutters, bringing the smoking cigar to his lips.

Anger begins to blaze inside her. That's it? That's all he has to say? "Six enforcers are dead," she snaps, nose scrunching. Disgusted by the mere thought of that demon's violence. "She's a loose canon, Silco. She blew them up for the hell of it."

From the dark, a red orb slips her way. He leans forward, having the rooms gloomy light illuminate his face only to throw the girl a disapproving look, barely deeming it worthy to look her in the eyes. "You forget yourself, girl."

Swallowing, she forces herself to calm down. Aggrivating such a volatile man never proved a good idea, and displaying anger against his daughter proved even worse.

Carefully, she ventures closer. Testing the waters and finding them thick as mud. The very air around him emenates danger, and her body slows down, relucant to put itself in such unpredictable environments. "You broke our deal," she announciates, finding it safer to put the blame on him rather than the blue haired demon he protects so ferociously.

"You disrupted our shipment," he repeats her ridiculous attempt. "It's simple business. Collateral," he shrugs and gestures toward her, vaguely implying the deaths should be on the girls consience. He doesn't say it outright because he doesn't need to, because he doesn't care if it hurts her feelings. Because, he doesn't care about the lost lives of a few topsiders, lives of enforcers even less. In true rebel spirit.

Massively unimpressed, he sizes her up when she places herself on the other side of the desk. Gripping the edge, the wood is tough beneath her fingers as she strains to keep herself in check. Blue and green light his back, lining the countours around his body. It softens him in some ways, as if the light hasn't completely shunned him yet.

Suddenly smirking, Silco's gaze drifts over her. Studying her tense disposition with spiteful glee as he enjoys the irony of a murderous piltovian. "Contemplating violence wont relieve you of this predicament."

"Killing you would."

"Threatening me so early in the morning?" He tsks, taking a deep drag of the cigar to then blow a ring of smoke in her direction. "Perhaps I should have approached your father instead, the councilor would've been easier to handle . . . More willing to please."

Keeping eye contact, she doesn't react, and a glint of cuiosity to sparks in his gaze. "He has nothing to do with this, and you know it," she tries again. "But Jin-"

Silco's smirk falls. "Hold your tongue, girl." Pinching the bridge of his tall nose, he releases a heavy sigh. "Lock the door," he orders, looking at her through his eyebrows.

Menacing, haunting. She could describe him with a hundred different horrific words. Yet, he doesn't scare her. They both know she's right.

Breathing relief, she does as she's told. When asking her to create a boundary between the world and this room, he shows her nothing has changed. Whatever they have remains within the confines of his office and her bedroom. It takes the edge off, and she lets the inhabiting worry slip away.

Upon her return, she softly stalks around the desk until sidled up against the short side. "Shoving clever words down my throat won't shut me up, Sil."

Rubbing his face, he looks at her through his fingers. Heavily disapproving of the nickname. "Dont tempt me," he warns. "I'll find other ways to shut you up."

She swallows, a single pulse throbs in her core. Moving around the desk, she slides a finger along it's edge and places herself infront of him, bathing her in the very same darkness that Silco finds himself in.

A small smirk flicker on his lips. But even though it dissolves, turning back into its usual serious mask, the satisfaction of the expression linger on his features.

"It cant happen again," he warns a third time, he must going soft on her. His hands move, trading the cigar for the the ability to touch her. One hand reaches for her thigh, sliding beneath her skirt. While the other reaches up, grabbing her chin to stare into her eyes. "The shipments are important." Silco applies just enough pressure on her chin to keep it stinging, just enough to understand that he didn't take the loss lightly. While the thumb beneath her skirt brushes lightly over her hipbone.

Inspite their predicaments, their relationship was business from the beginning and the majority still is. He tells her this through the contrasting touches.

She nods.

"Use your words, girl. Tell me you understand. This cant happen again."

But she won't concede, not yet. "No more attacks," she murmurs, placing her hands on his thighs. "No more deaths." The girl sinks to her knees, slowly, and making sure he keeps his gaze glued to hers. Being so close to him, she gets a whiff of his cologne. He smells of musk and wood, Smoke and whiskey. He smells of man.

They know what buttons to press when it comes to one another, and right now, she needs safety for her people in much the same way he needs independence for his. The difference laying within their methods of accomplishment. But looking at them now, it's clear they've got more in common than she's previously thought.

Silco spreads his legs further apart, welcoming her advancements. "I wonder what daddy dearest would say if he saw you now; that pretty princess of his . . . Negotiating on her knees." He slides a hand beneath hers, lacing their fingers together before leaning back in his chair to enjoy the show.

It's a small sign of fondness, one he confidently gives. Showing his inclination toward her means little, for they already know where they have each other. Unwilling to put it into words, they feel them silently.

Truth is, they enjoy the power imbalance, they enjoy the hatred their respective people share. Peculiarly, it unites them, and simultaneously fuel their polarity. They're a strange equation, two variables with a common sum.

Helping each other with free hands, they unbutton his pants. "Im sure he'd be proud of your devotion," he mocks, exhaling that infamous low chuckle.

Spitting into her hand, she reaches into his pants. "He'd share the pride with your people," she smiles and looks up at him innocently, pulling his member out. "–when they find out you're working with a councillor's daughter . . . Fucking her no less." She leans in, teasing his tip with a slow circling lick, gathering the pre-cum on her tongue. With a corner curving upward, his lips part, and there's a silent intake of breath. Brushing his hand along her cheek, he collects stray hair covering her face and gathers it at her neck, twirling it around his fingers. "Go on," he urges.

And so, she finally closes the distance and takes him in her mouth.

With a hiss, he squeezes the hand laced with his. Slender fingertips dig into the back of her hand. "Little devil," he groans, hand burrying deeper into her hair and balling into a fist, coincidentally pulling on her scalp.

Clasping her still spit-wet hand around his shaft, she strokes him, adding on to the bobbing of her head.

"Yes," he moans, reclining his head against the back of the chair. "Carry on, girl."

Im sync with her hand, she works him until he's close to squirming, trying his very best to keep a semblance of composure. Never did she think such a powerful man would tremble beneath her touch or the pressure of her lips. But here he was, his usual neat combed back hair fallen over his forehead, beads of sweat gathering on his temples.

He'd started using his hand to guide her head, helping her find the perfect path toward his climax. Chest heaving and teeth bared, he chuckles breathlessly as the squelching of their actions reach his ears. Pushing her too far, she makes half-choking noises when she takes his entire length down her throat. Causing saliva to spill out of her mouth and roll down his length.

"Sloppy," he snarls, manicured nails digging into her hand. "-used to sucking cock."

She whines from the rare usage of crude words, making her core purr. His inches twitch in her mouth, sensing how close he is. "Please me," he supresses a groan, calling her name. "Swallow."

It happens quickly. His breathing turns rapid, his hips arching as he spills into her mouth. Tasting of rich salt as she swallows.

Smirking devilishly, he catches his breath. "Thats it . . . Well done." He brushes his thumb along her index finger.

Joy trickles into her heart at the praise, but there is little room as her body is already filled to the brim by need. With heavy eyes and glistening lips, she stands up on her knees. "Kiss me," she whispers.

Unlacing their fingers, he moves to slide a thumb across her lips, gathering some of the milky seed she'd yet to swallow. "Open up, princess." He pulls on her hair to tilt her head back.

Her lips part automatically, a knife slicing through her pride at the irony of the name. Silco slips his thumb into her mouth and wipes it clean on her tongue. He watches with fascination as her lips close around the digit, volunteering to suck it off as he pulls it out. "Kiss me," she repeats.

The fingers still burried in her hair twitches at the sight. Acting on impulse, they bunch her waves, pulling her close enough for their lips to play ghost. He tilts his head to the side, bringing them impossibly closer. "Tell me you understand," he murmurs, watching her reaction as the featherlight touch tickles her lips.

Her expectations for the night and the soft shell of intimacy around them shatters, but she'll never give him the satisfaction. The kiss was a wish from her own selfish needs, but giving him what he wants without the safety she require for her people is not. "No."

With a harrowing glance, he releases her. "I have work to do, you know where the door is," Silco says, nodding toward the exit. He then runs his hand through his hair, combing it back into place.

So quickly is the mood ruined and the rush of lust diminishes, settling her nerves. Instead it is the annoyance and the anger she arrived with that begins to rebuild.

The girl scoffs. "Petty, man-child," she mumbles, keeping her voice beneath her breath. But she wants something from him too, anything. She's derserves it, it just the matter of taking it.

Then, something just clicks in her mind and an irruption takes control of her body. Narrowing her eyes in quick to non-existent contemplation, she grabs his collar and pulls him in for a kiss. It only lasts for a second before she pushes herself away and stands up, not planning to stick around to deal with the consequences.

But before she gets a chance to move too far, a hand grabs her forearm and yanks her back. "You stubborn girl," he whispers in her ear, an arm slung around her torso as Silco holds her against his chest. She feels her panties being pulled to the side, and the head of his member lining up with her core. "Bleeding your integrity dry for those imperious, self-important cretins." He teases her entrance, sliding the tip up and down her folds.

"I am one of them, or do you forget?" She snaps.

Without warning, he lowers her onto his inches, fitting them inside her like they've been molded. The girl gasps at the feeling and Silco's fingers curl, releasing a groan as his fingers rouch the fabric at her ribs. "Even now?" He adjusts the girl in his lap. "Would they deign to descend from their thrones as you? Stooping to my level, manipulating on a whim to fullfill your needs." He pulls her closer, nudging her profile with his. All the while he's got his still hard member pushed up inside her, soft walls of flesh welcoming him eagerly. "Would they still accept you when found-out, or will they throw you to the wolves as the rumours spread? When they find out Zaun's villainous crime lord is fucking Piltover's princess," he laces the words with venom, hands slipping upward. One stops at her breast to squeeze while the other clasps around her throat. "When they whisper of the ways he uses her. How he puts her on her back, makes her kneel . . . How he bends her over," he murmurs, sending shivers down her spine.

She grows dizzy, a mix of worry and pleasure clouding her senses. His words hit home, drawing her lips into a thin line. "They are still my people," she breathes, voice close to breaking, sunding more like she's trying to convince herself.

"They will be your downfall." He puts pressure on her throat. "We've made sure of that, you and I."

"No . . . Silco, that's not true."

The hand holding her breast slips beneath her skirt. "We've made our beds-" slender fingers find her clit. "And we will sleep with the consequences."

Head lulling back against his shoulder, back arching, pleasure spikes as he stimulates her thrice fold. Circling her clit while throbbing inside her, and acting catalyst is the experienced hand around her throat. It limits the bloodflow and multiplies her pleasure. "Fuck," she whimpers, hips squirming, flesh randomly spasming around him.

Silco groans at the sensation, gaining his own pleasure from the whole ordeal. But that is not his goal. "Be still," he warns.

The collossall amounts of pleasure blinds her, it grabs hold of her senses and refuses to let go. Her nerves burn and fingers curl. Its all too much, yet not enough. Tears of gather in her eyes, slowly spilling over to roll down her face. "A-almost . . ."

Silco adjusts his grip around her throat so uses his thumb to tilt her face toward him, then watches how the tears streak her makeup, leaving watered down mascara in their wake. He places his lips on her skin, kissing the tears away while enjoying their salty taste. He studies her rosy cheeks and knitted expression, memorising the small whimpers she breathes.

The girl can no longer keep still and her back prepares to arch, limbs preparing to surge with blinding hot pleasure. "Im-- mhh, I-" She mewls, and the knot releases.

. . .

Until it isn't. She feels Silco retract his hands, causing oxygen flood her brain and irritation to anchor her mind. The knot in her stumach re-ties, loosely adjusting until the pressure completely dies down. "I see callousness runs in the family," she complains, almost in pain from the sudden lack of stimulation.

Silco circles an arm around her waist. "It's essential to survive," he says and stands up, still swollen member slipping out of her. Supporting the girl as her knees wobble, she's unable to stand on her own due to the afflictions he's caused her. Turning her around, he helps her onto the desk. Chest to chest, he braces against the wood, one hand on either side of her, effectively boxing her in.

She lays a finger beneath his chin, and he looks up at her through his eyebrows. Exhaling, he moves between her thighs. Silco reaches out to her, loosely cupping her face as his thumb smears the streaked mascara. "There is no white knight," he says, pushing reality on her, weather she's willing to listen or not.

She nods. "I know." Tainted by the impure air of Zaun, branded by the touch of it's Eye. If she ever is to be saved, it must be by her own hand. Her smile is faint as her eyes fall from his.

He grabs her face and squeezes her cheeks. "Look at me," he tells her with a gravely tone. Their eyes lock. Dissappering between them, his other hand lines himself up with her core.

Taking a gamble, she grabs his tie and pulls him in, properly locking lips for the first time. Because he doesn't pull away, and neither does she. Her bottom lips begins to tremble, surprised he ever let it go this far. Their initial moment passes, evolving into seconds until they realise neither is breathing and they tear apart for much needed air, not straying far. Their lips hover, ghosting as previously. "You steal whats not your's to take."

She nudged his nose with her own. "Does survival not apply here? I never took you for a hypocrite."

His top lip twitches, and she feels him bare his teeth in a silent snarl as his fingers apply pressure to her cheeks. "How clever," he murmurs, and pushes inside her once again, catching her off guard.

They share a reflexive gasp, and as he starts to move, every thrust exchanges breaths between them. The girl's lips curve, heavily enjoying the tiny sliver of emotional intimacy he's finally giving her.

Her legs circle around his hips as he grabs her waist one handed, adding further levrage as his fingers dent her flesh. Silco starts a heavy pace and their lips reconnect, mirroring their bodies, it reflects their feelings. The kiss growing needy and rough.

"Get on your back for me," he mocks and releases her face. "Prove them right."

She bites his lip, tugging on it as she lies back against the desk and pulls him with her.

Hand suddenly free, he hooks it beneath her knee and pulls it up against his side to gai better access. Slowing down the pace, he manages to take her deeper, harder. She groans, head lulling to the side as her climax begins to build. "Dont stop." Not again.

"Look at me," he breathes, warning in his tone as he's inclined to watch her topple over the edge. Her brows knit together, but her gaze finds his. The knot closing as his thrusts begin to grow erratic.

Pleasure burns her fingers and quickens her pulse. "Close, c-" she begins, but he cuts her off with another kiss, tongue slipping between their lips to explore her mouth.

And just like that, she bursts. Traveling through her from top to toe. Silco following short thereafter. "It's alright . . . Good, girl," he whispers.

Once they've caught up with their breaths, Silco straightens out, and rearranges his clothes before helping her to her feet.

"I understand," she says, halting by the door.

He looks up from his seat but is quick to stand, slowly stalking toward her. Stopping just short of her smaller frame, he reaches behind her back to grab the door handle. "I don't control her. She is my daughter like you are your father's," he says and meets her eyes. "But I will speak to Jinx." Leaning down, he kisses her cheek, catching her off guard. Affection is newly discovered territory between them, but from him to give it so freely after battling it out is a very big surprise. But as quick as ot started, it's over. His soft expression morphing into his usual stern disposition. "Dont be late again girl," he says and opens the door.

Somehow, they've become entangled. Silently sharing affection their respective people would deem unfit. Silco wont hurt her, if he can help it. But such is nature. They'll stand on opposite sides, prioritising their own families, cities. But not without a thought of the other, wishing it could be different. It probably never will be, for such is faith and such is time. If only it could rewind.

#silco #silco arcane #silco smut #silco x reader #silco x you #silco x female reader #arcane smut #silco imagine #silco fanfiction #arcane x reader #silco fanfic

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jiminiecrickets · 12 days ago

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KILLER? I BARELY KNOW HER! FUSHIGURO TOJI / M!READER

summary. shadows of your past catch up to you – but you're the strongest, and there's nothing you can't handle.

wc. 5.5k

tags. smut | top reader, bottom toji. mentions of underage drinking. sorcerer + teacher reader, enemies-to-lovers (with extra steps), sorta sugar baby toji/rich reader, doggystyle + missionary, mentions of exhibitionism + filming, unprotected sex, brief degradation (r. receiving), brief breeding kink, implied shower sex

notes. every dark-haired male jjk character deserves a silly and illogically powerful best friend with whom they have romantic tension :3 you're him. literally.

The pleasant chime of the doorbell echoes throughout your home. You're not expecting anyone.

You know you should be careful. In fact, you shouldn't be staring at the back of the front door at all. Opening it would ruin the carefully put-together façade of the closed-curtain windows and dark rooms.

Maybe you're tired, and you forget, moving on instinct. Maybe you're bored.

Maybe you're hopeful.

The door inches open, and a man looks up from where he'd been staring listlessly at the flower-spotted bushes lining the patch of green between the entrance and the driveway. His hands are shoved into the pockets of his sweatpants, and his eyes are dark, flickering with an emotion you can't quite catch before it flutters away.

"Toji?" you say, the surprise in your voice teetering on warmth. "Hey..."

"Hey," he replies – exhales, really, something like a hum. He reaches up by his shoulder, the action too familiar for you not to stiffen, but he just rubs the back of his neck, stretching out the cricks of his body. "So. New place, huh?"

Your hand rests behind the door. He knows better than to expect it to be empty. "Old, technically. It was my first property purchase."

He tilts his head. "Yeah? When did you get it?"

"Fifteen. A birthday present for myself – a gift for surviving another year of high school. And curses, I guess. Surviving them was way worse because getting their blood in my mouth made me want to die."

He scoffs, and the raised scar over the corner of his lips shifts with his amusement. "Fifteen... And what does a teenager do with a house?"

You shrug. "Drink. Party. Pirate movies. The usual."

"Hah. Sounds like you were a fun kid." Toji scuffs the toe of his sandals against the ground absently. Then he rolls his neck and sighs. "Look, I didn't come all the way here to talk history. Long-ass way out, too, so just let me in."

Lifting an eyebrow, you give him a once-over that feels keener than it should be. "Are you here to kill me?"

"What, you think I'm here for that bounty? Who do you think I am?"

"Don't blame me. You seem very well aware of it."

"Isn't worth the effort for the price. 'Sides, you've given me more than that over the years, haven't you? I like to keep my options open, and it seems to me like it's a better investment to keep you alive."

"You talk as if you could kill me at all," you mutter, a little disdainfully, but it dissipates swiftly when Toji cracks a smirk, so familiar and entwined deeply with your favourite memories. The breeze stirs lightly, and Toji's hair ruffles, almost blue in the sunlight.

"Couldn't I? You're the one who runs away."

"Yeah, after immobilising you. Not a lot of fun to be had if you're dead as a doornail. Say – how deep are you in the jujutsu world? You must be rusty. I'd be willing to help you train."

"You'd help me kill your fellow sorcerers?" He chuckles and arches a brow. "I'll have you know I'm looking at a contract worth thirty million from a bunch of religious crazies."

"Peanuts." You wave a dismissive hand. "Now that I mention it, I'm getting complacent, too... I could use the challenge. Keep in contact with me and I'll pay you double."

"You're paying me to use my body?"

"Your words, not mine."

He holds your gaze steadily for a while, and despite his airy voice, his eyes are thoughtful. "Let's not talk business on your doorstep. Lost your manners, have you?"

Finally, your shoulders loosen, and the tension in your body vanishes. With a soft chuckle, you pull the door open further and step aside. "Don't make me regret this."

"Please," he says, slipping out of his sandals and into your home. "You never do."

Zenin. Fushiguro. The Sorcerer Killer. All of his names, all of his history, and yet, to you, he is just your baby – your Toji. It'd be embarrassing if he cared enough to be embarrassed, he thinks as you draw him into a rib-shattering hug. Instead, he feels smug.

Before that Gojo kid, there was you. It wasn't a position you were born for – like the kid was – but you trained your way up and eventually found yourself most suited for the role, all but waltzing into it – because what youth wouldn't want to be number one? It was almost gross, your selflessness and single-minded ambition, and Toji knew how that sort of mindset made the people in power feel. They commissioned him for your death at one point, after all.

It was fun. You were both so young: dancing around each other's weapons as if it was all a stage, chasing each other's clues like a couple of dogs running after a bone. Still – you were society's best, the cream of the crop, and for you to be his, of all people, was a selfish triumph he indulged in too many times to count.

His hands creep up beneath your baggy shirt as he leans up to kiss you, tongue slipping between your lips to share in the taste of some expensive whisky he can't name. He hums – a low, rumbling sound, like a tiger chuffing – as his fingers bump over thick, warm muscle.

Blood and bone. That's what you all are, when it comes down to it.

"You should wear tighter clothes," he murmurs against your lips. "Less to grab in a fight."

The backs of his thighs press into the edge of the kitchen bench, where a forgotten glass of water sits – the remnant of your half-hearted attempt at being a good host while his lips found your neck.

You huff. "A 'fight', huh? I wasn't expecting one."

"You should always expect a fight. While you're at it, always expect to lose. Stops you from being disappointed."

"Sounds pessimistic."

"That's the price we pay for being good at what we do."

"As if you pay for anything, Toji."

He chuckles. He drops the hem of your shirt before sliding his palms up your chest – what a tease – and cupping your face. His hands are warm, callused, thrumming with lifeblood. He sweeps his thumb absently over your cheek, committing every pore of your face to memory. You have the urge to pull away, look down, like a schoolboy with a crush – but Toji's hands are firm.

"C'mon, at least look me in the eye before we kick this off. You that ashamed of me?"

Startled, your gaze flicks up to his. Instead of the half-wry look you expect, he smirks and pulls you in to meet his lips. His fingers interlace loosely at the nape of your neck, caging you in place, and you have no choice but to bend to his whim.

"Stupid," you mutter against his lips, mostly to yourself. "Stop playing with my feelings, Toji – that's manipulative. You're breaking my heart here."

Rather than pulling away himself, he pushes you away, a palm flat on your chest but without any real power. It remains there as he leans back against the stone countertop. "My bad, baby. It's just funny."

"Funnier than you calling this," you gesture between your chests, "something to 'kick off' after... how many years? If you weren't all over me seconds ago, I'd think you came over for a beer and a game."

He lifts his hands in teasing surrender at your accusatory tone. "All right. We'll fuck, then. Maybe include some heavy petting for the B-roll, if you're up for it. Sound good?"

You cross your arms over your chest and muster up a suitable amount of annoyance for a glare. Toji finds it hard to take you seriously – what with your dumb jokes and ridiculous inclination towards flashy fighting – so to him, it's more of a pout. "So, you got lonely without me, huh? Yeah, nah. We're not filming ourselves."

"Hm." It's not a yes, but it's not a disagreement, either. "Why not? It'd be hot."

"I'm a teacher, Toji," you remind him, clicking your tongue when he shrugs, one hand on his hip. "I don't want that kind of thing to exist. If it got out..."

"So you are ashamed of me," he mutters. He steps forward to grab your hands when you start to protest, visibly distressed. He snickers. "Kidding, kidding. Fuck, it's fun to play with you. You don't care about the other one, then? The one from the abandoned restaurant?"

"Well—" Your breath stutters when Toji absently compares hand sizes and laces your fingers together. You watch as he aligns four of his fingers against your ring finger specifically, one at a time as if comparing again, but this time...

"Well?" he prompts, his grin broadening. His shaggy hair falls across his eyes as he tilts his head.

"Well, I don't look like I did ten years ago, and as far as I know, my face isn't in it..." All logic scatters like leaves in the wind when he looks up at you through his lashes, that playful, pretty smirk of his tugging at your heartstrings just right. It's like the years never passed. You swallow. "I-It was different," you finish lamely.

Toji's eyes flicker down to your lips. With a flick of his wrist, he twists a hand in your collar and tugs you down so that your faces are inches apart. Your chests collide roughly. He doesn't seem to care, his gaze trained on you with a heavy, smoky intensity. "Fine. If you won't let me film it, you better make it memorable. I'll decide later if it was worth coming here for."

—

Toji should have known you were serious when you pulled the bedframe about six inches out from the wall. He'd laughed at first, insulting you for such uptight behaviour regarding something as boring as walls, but you'd just dragged him to the bed with a roll of your eyes.

With how loud he was moaning, you could only be glad that he didn't find you at your apartment property.

"Toji," you breathe, your gaze trapped on the tight, firm ass ricocheting off your hips. Your grip tightens. "Toji."

"Fuuuck," he drawls as his cock throbs, prying his eyes open to narrow them at you over his shoulder. Lust has turned the usual green of them nearly black. "What?" he bites out.

"I missed you. Missed this. Fuck, baby, you're so fucking tight."

He lets out a throaty chuckle, turning back around to rest his head on his forearms. With a shift of your hips, your cock punches his prostate, over and over, and his eyes roll back briefly, a pleased groan rumbling from the depths of his stomach. His dick pulses and swings uselessly between his muscular thighs.

"M-Men are all the same," he grumbles. You click your tongue, though you don't miss the way an involuntary moan makes him stutter.

"Awful way to greet an old friend, you know. I thought you were smarter than that. Try being nicer," you slam your hips forward, making his eyes fly open with a gasp, "and you'll get what you want."

His skin prickles when you glide a warm hand up his side and come to rest it upon his shoulder, holding him down with just enough strength to make his muscles flex to fight it. Your thumb rubs little circles into the back of his neck, tracing the dips of his shoulders until you find what you're looking for. You dig into the taut muscle, making him wince.

"Stressed?" you hum, and your voice is gentle. Gentler than he deserves. "Is it money problems again?"

Something like guilt stirs in his belly, but a well-angled thrust has his thoughts unravelling. "No."

"No?"

"No," he repeats. You hum in response and don't push the matter further.

Your hand lifts from his shoulder, and already he can feel the stiffness returning. Damn those God-hands of yours. He finds himself arching back, bracing against the bed, in an effort to return your hands to their rightful place.

You hush him sweetly, pressing your chest to his back and burying your face in the crook of his neck. The angle has the shaft of your heavy cock pressed right up against his prostate and his body jolts with the fiery burn of pleasure, his knuckles turning white as he fists the sheets. "No need to chase me anymore. Not going anywhere. 'M right here, baby."

Toji manages to scoff, and his voice is steadier than he expects. "Not chasin' you, asshole."

"Yeah? Then what do you call showing up at my door as you did, unannounced?"

"Welfare check."

You roll your eyes. "I hate you."

You punctuate your sentence by yanking his hips back on your cock, the wet squelch of lube and precome making him shudder. Despite the rough treatment, a moan tumbles from his lips, and he laughs, loose and breathy.

"Fuck me like it, then," he dares, knocking his temple gently against yours.

One hand lifts to card through his hair. He groans softly as your nails scrape his scalp, but his eyes fly wide open as you grab a fistful and tug, wrenching him up to kneel. He sinks his teeth into his lower lip as you wrap your hand around his leaking cock, jerking him off at the same pace as you fuck into him – he swears he sees stars as your thumb and index finger twist roughly around his swollen tip. His cock squelches in your fist, bubbles of precome sliding down his tip and smearing across your palm.

"Fucker," he snarls, ceasing his split second of flailing to grip your hip and thigh. You'd consider it painful if you hadn't also had the pleasure of being stabbed, slashed, shot, and bitten. "Nngh – so fuckin' big—"

"Going back on our word, are we, honey?" you say slyly, twisting your fist up and down his wet cock. "Tsk, tsk, Toji... so forgetful. I'd say you're getting old."

You glide a fingernail up the line of his vein, making his hips stutter and forcing another curse to slip from his lips, and you dig the tip of your finger roughly into his leaking slit. He moans and his back arches against your hold as your throbbing cock easily slides deep into him, the harsh, rapid smack of your balls against his ass almost disorienting.

He shudders. The heat of his body pulls his skin too tight, makes his tongue heavy and clumsy. Your hands are not quite soft – years of weapons training and hand-to-hand combat would do that to someone – but they're sweet on him. Loving, nearly. Your warmth softens the rub of calluses and tough scar tissue, and Toji learns them anew.

"C'mon, baby... want you to talk to me. Love your pretty little sounds." You end the sentence in a whisper, patting his stomach with the absent sort of friendliness you had as a youth. You never shied away from touching him, rewarding him with your weight draped over his shoulders or entwining your fingers when he did something that pleased you.

That familiar feeling jolts him back to reality. He glances your way – perhaps to say something, but he doesn't remember what about – and you capture his lips with yours, tilting your head and running your tongue over his lower lip.

He keeps them sealed, airtight.

You groan into the kiss and nip at him pleadingly, because you'd have to break Toji's jaw to get him to open up – and you couldn't do that to your favourite killer. Your name falling from his lips like a prayer is too sweet to pass up on.

Eventually, with enough petting and kisses, Toji relents, if only to see you perk up like a puppy tossed a bone. He groans softly as you explore his mouth, tongue curling around his and gliding over his teeth.

Your breath is hot and sweet against his, your lips shockingly gentle despite the quick and steady pace of your hips bouncing off his ass. He jolts every time your cockhead kisses his prostate, swollen and sensitive from your unrelenting pace. His dick bobs, dark red and pulsing hotly in your palm, and he groans like an injured animal. It's almost desperate.

Your shaft drags against his slick walls, which clench with a rippling squeeze as if he's trying to milk you dry. With each hungry snap of your hips, your tip punches the breath out of his lungs. His vision blots out, and he swears he can feel your cock in his damn throat.

Without warning, and without a word, he comes, his expression going lax with pleasure as he releases thick ropes onto his stomach. It's four hard spurts and two weaker pulses, the slow, measured tugs of your wrist twisting in a way that has his thick thighs trembling.

You coo softly, and Toji's face is uncharacteristically warm. Little kisses drift their way up his shoulder and neck and he sighs softly, eyes shut and head tilted back against your shoulder. You press your palm against his chest to feel the heart thudding beneath his ribs, the rise and fall with each shallow breath.

You cup his chest and squeeze.

He cracks an eye open, disapproval furrowing his brows. In response, you grin cheekily and nip at his earlobe as you smooth your fingers through his hair – a silent apology for being so rough.

To his credit, he lets it go. Doesn't even smack you for being an ass. He does, however, clamp down punishingly around your cock when he pulls off, making you hiss at the scrape. It bobs and you shiver at the cold air.

Thoughtfully, Toji glances down at it, still hard as rock and curving upwards towards your stomach. He reaches for it.

Your eyes widen when he slips a nail under the edge of the condom. "Wh-What are you doing?"

"Don't sound so scared. I know we're both safe. Said ya missed me, right?" He grins, dark and sharp, with eyes half-lidded – almost coy. "I'll let you finish inside me. For old times' sake."

"Contract-sanctioned stalking? I thought better of you, Toji." Despite your flippant words, your breath hitches, and Toji's grin widens. He tugs the slick condom off and tosses it aside – without even tying it up, the bastard – and before you can grumble about it, he grabs your jaw, forcing you to look at him, and presses his lips to yours.

You groan softly as he parts his lips and allows you in. He shifts closer, his knee between yours, and grabs your hand. He brings it down between your bodies.

"Baby..." you whisper as he wraps your hand around your lengths, pressed together. He is hot and velvety in your palm.

"Mm." The sound is deep and content, and he blinks up at you slowly like a cat. "I know. I want it."

Then, slinging his arm loosely around your shoulders, he pulls you down with him.

You barely manage to catch yourself before crushing him, your instincts and reflexes dulled by familiarity and a dreamy languor. Not that you think he'd mind – not with that grin.

Toji spreads his knees and hooks his calves around your thighs. He guides your cock into him again, and he rumbles out a pleased moan as it buries itself hilt-deep into his slick warmth.

His head falls back against the pillows as you press your hips flush against his ass. "Ah, shit..."

"You good, baby?" you murmur, swallowing harshly as his gummy walls flutter tightly around you, as if he can lock you inside forever. Your dick twitches.

"Mmh, fuck, jus' sensitive. Move."

It's only natural that you obey.

Toji feels hotter now that you don't have the layer of plastic to contend with – hotter, wetter, hungrier. You thrust shallowly at first, but as his moans grow louder – less restrained – you allow yourself to move tip-to-base, deep and dirty the way he used to like it. Seems he still does. The rim of his puffy asshole catches on the ridge of your cockhead and his nails rake down your shoulders and back, leaving stinging raised lines in their wake.

Pride fills your chest, inflates your ego. An infamous assassin, the Sorcerer Killer, spread wide and inviting with his cheeks all flushed – he's certainly given you a thousand little deaths. You grip the meat of his ass and lift his hips off the mattress, fucking into his wet heat at a new angle that has him shouting your name.

Maybe it's because you can see his face – see all the pretty cock-drunk expressions that wash over his features – that you find yourself chasing the precipice of release embarrassingly fast. He locks his legs around your waist, thick and muscular, and you want to laugh at the absurdity of it.

Why would you ever want to leave?

"Toji," you grunt, panting softly. "'M gonna..." Your breath fans against his sweat-slick skin, making him shiver and arch into your touch. He cups the back of your neck as you nibble and suck dark bruises into his tanned skin, his lashes fluttering as you shift his thighs on your lap and leave far too many deep red hickeys printed on his skin. You even scatter a few across his collarbones and chest, and you're only pleased when he looks like he was mauled by a bear.

He pants softly, his bitten moans making your cock throb even harder. Fuck, you're so hard – the shape of your teeth printed into his skin for all to see makes you prouder than you'd ever admit. You trace the marks gently with your fingertips and Toji's chest stutters.

Gazing up at you with lidded, unfocussed eyes, he laughs, freer than he had since you met him earlier. Your heavy cock plunges into his stretched hole, again and again and again like you're trying to make him take, and your grip on one of his thighs is tight enough to leave red crescents. He grasps your face, turning it down towards him, and offers a sleazy, roguish grin, breathless. His eyes trace the cut of your cheeks, the curve of your lips.

"You look less stupid than usual. S'all you're good for, ain't it? Fucking me nice an' deep with that fat cock of yours – f-fuck. S'mine, yeah? All mine?"

You shudder and groan, bone-deep, and Toji can feel the heavy throbbing of your cock leaking inside him. The slick feeling of you against his walls builds a hot ball of arousal in his lower belly. Your chest heaves against his and your stomach tenses, familiar planes of muscle firm against his hand. Excitement roars through him like a wildfire – eager and keening.

He yanks you down for a devouring kiss as you come, catapulting off the precipice into white bliss. You gasp into it. His ass clenches around you with his own release as he moans, his soft walls stroking you and sucking you in.

He's so fucking warm, so fucking wet. His body is slick with sweat and he shoves his tongue into your mouth like a man starved. Maybe he is. You groan, low and pleased, and his thighs tighten around you like a cage, possessive in his hungry, unyielding embrace.

Spilling into him is heaven. You've died and ascended, you're certain of it. He drinks you deep, as if he was made for it, and lets his head fall back against the pillows with a less-than-steady sigh as your balls tighten and pulse hotly against his skin. Dragging it out, you grind your hips into his ass in lazy circles, huffing and puffing against his throat as if you've run a marathon. Your fingers graze his own, fluttering in a way that seems almost... uncertain.

Hah. As if you knew what that word meant. You were unshakeable, infallible. The strongest. You'd hold onto that title for as long as you could; the burden was heavy.

Rather disappointingly, you don't choose to hold his hands. They glide down his waist and hips, making him shiver, and you slowly pull out, the solid but gentle grip on his thighs never wavering. You set him down as if he was made of glass and his body twitches as thick come leaks from his stretched hole, dripping and pooling white below his ass.

He tosses a lazy arm over his eyes, bending one knee and bracing against the bed. Another hot gush of come. "Ah, f-fuck... shit. You still come like a truck..."

Your gaze, once so dark and sultry as if you were about to eat him alive, now snaps to him, wide and kind and so embarrassed that Toji can't help but crack a grin.

"Sorry, sorry! I didn't hurt you, did I?"

He rolls his eyes. "Other than the hickeys, no. Wouldn'ta minded it anyway," he adds slyly, peering out from within the shadow of his arm. "Pretty hot when you get creative."

Shuffling off of the bed with a soft chuckle, you pick up the discarded condom and toss it in the bin. You pull open the wardrobe with a flex of a wall of muscles that Toji watches keenly, spreading his knees to eye you through them. His tongue darts out to wet his lower lip.

"Y'know, I was thinking," you begin suddenly, rifling through clothes and drawers.

"You can do that?"

"Shut up. I was thinking about you – your situation."

He closes his eyes and sinks back into your bed. "When'd you have the time? Not while you were fucking me, I hope."

"Just listen, Toji." You turn around, washcloth in one hand and a pile of clothes in the other. Dark, but loose and unremarkable – as he prefers it. You toss the clothes at the bottom of the bed and disappear into the adjoining bathroom, raising your voice as the faucet squeaks on. "I was wondering if you'd wanna... you know – catch up. Or at least let me help you."

You continue, "I could find you a place in a better school zone, get you set up legitimately. Honestly, actually, you wouldn't even need to work. You could just focus on your family and I'd take care of the rest."

Toji sits up, ignoring the pinch of pain and the mess between his legs. It'll ache later, so he'll deal with it later. "What?"

"I said—"

"Yeah, yeah, heard you the first time. But why?" He lowers his voice as you return to him and begin to clean him up. He meets your eyes and his mouth takes on the beginning slant of a smirk. "My ass that good, huh? You want me to be your sugar baby?"

Heat floods your cheeks. "You're not that hot, Toji. Don't get ahead of yourself."

"Wasn't talking about my face. Still – it's not like you to beg me to go on the straight and narrow. What's with that?"

"At the risk of sounding humiliatingly sappy after sex," you sigh, sitting back and dropping the cloth aside, "I still care about you. A whole fucking lot. I only want good things for you, Toji, and I have all this excess wealth that I can't donate fast enough, so if I can change just two more lives – I'd beg for the chance."

The desire to change lives without ending others'. He can understand the sentiment.

"What would you want from me?"

For a moment, you're taken aback by the tiredness in his voice. You blink. "Nothing? Like I said, the money would just vanish into a charity otherwise. Well – maybe I'd like to be invited over on the weekends, and maybe drop off-slash-pick up itty-bitty Megumi every so often. He's that age, right? Oh – and you gotta let me into the kitchen. I make a mean lasagne. Wonder if the boy would like it..."

He snorts. "That's a lot of conditions."

"Well, I am offering to let you live like a plump and happy housewife, so..."

He's quiet for a while, his hair falling over his eyes in a way that blocks your view of his face. You toss a rolled-up towel at his head, and he catches it without looking.

He lowers the towel. "You... don't seem to care that I left you."

"No, I didn't at all care that my friend dropped off the face of the earth without warning." You cross your arms and scoff, the smile slipping from your face. "I only heard about what happened months after you vanished, and by that time, there was nothing I could do to search for you. I had too many people looking at me to dig up old underground contacts and not enough time to comb through the country myself. You could have talked to me, you know," you say, your voice softening. "I would never turn you away."

He shrugs, noncommittal. "It's like you said – too many people looking at you. Would be alarming if I came strolling up to your door, wouldn't it?"

"You did today," you point out.

"Yeah, when there's a bounty on your head. I could be killing you right now."

You scoff, though the hint of a smile flickers across your lips. "You're impossible. But fair point. Just... think it over, okay? Come find me after all this bounty business is over and done with. You know where I live."

Toji chuckles softly, and he accepts your offered hand. You lead him to the large bathroom and he threads his towel over the rod next to what must be yours. He stares longer than he should, but the sight of the two towels beside each other – his green, yours blue – forms a lump in his throat that's hard to swallow around. His heartbeat quickens.

The sound of water hitting the tiles fills the bathroom. He raises his voice over it. "Hey."

Glancing over, your arm shimmering with water droplets from where it rests against the faucet handle, you tilt your head wordlessly.

"I should be picking up the kid in a couple of hours," he explains, "at six. As far as he and the childcare know, I work a normal nine-to-five like the rest of 'em. You could go."

Your eyes widen, and you let out an endeared laugh. "Toji, Megumi doesn't know who I am. The last time we met, he was a newborn. I'm not about to give everyone a heart attack by showing up on your behalf."

"It wouldn't be on my behalf, dumbass." His tone borders between disparaging and fond. "I'd go with you."

"Wh—?" Your throat bobs harshly. The shower seems forgotten, and Toji pushes you backwards into it with a palm on your chest because he's not about to waste the water. It pours onto your head, your hair beginning to stick to your face, and it still doesn't seem to register. A smile pulls at his lips as he reaches for your body wash, scanning the label while your brain putters out and short-circuits.

You didn't expect an answer that soon.

"You heard me," he says coolly, as if this is a normal Tuesday for him. He squirts a dab of body wash onto his palm. "Isn't this what you asked for? In my opinion, it's not that fun. I get a lot of women chattin' me up while we wait. Awkward as hell since I can't be rude or they might tell their kids, and then their kids won't like Megumi... ah, it's a big deal. You being there will help. You love to talk, so you can do it for me. Good game plan, right?"

"Toji, I..."

"The fact that I'm talking more than you worries me."

"You said pick-up's at six, right?" you say suddenly, the glint in your eyes intensifying.

He arches a brow, glancing up at you. "Yeah."

"That means we have an hour." You lean in, trapping him against the glass of the shower. There's a hint of mania in your gaze, starved with a vehement zeal. "I'm gonna fuck you, now."

His eyes widen. A feral grin spreads across his face. He laughs against your throat and moans when you press your thumb roughly into one of the many hickeys littering his neck and chest. "You're crazy. Fuckin' crazy – oi."

It's disturbingly easy for you to lift him by his thighs and press him against the cool glass. His skin prickles as he grips your shoulders and mutters, his breath mingling with yours: "If you drop me, I'll kill you."

"Promise?" you ask with a breathless grin.

He crushes his lips to yours. No one else gets the privilege of taking your little deaths.

#top male reader #male reader #x top male reader #dom male reader #dom reader #toji fushiguro x male reader #jujutsu kaisen x male reader #toji fushiguro #jjk smut #jujutsu kaisen #jjk toji #toji #toji fushiguro smut

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hxlxnaaa · 1 month ago

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𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫𝐬, 𝐦𝐢𝐧𝐞

★ 𝐬𝐲𝐧𝐨𝐩𝐬𝐢𝐬: after a week of silence following the events that spiraled from your fake relationship, there's a knock at your door in the night. the sequel to wishful thinking, read part 1 here!

★ 𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐚𝐜𝐭𝐞𝐫: sylus

★ 𝐜𝐰/𝐭𝐚𝐠𝐬: some angst (happy ending), really sappy make up smut, soft sylus, kinda sub sylus if you squint, body worship, female reader

★ 𝐰𝐜: 3.1k

★ 𝐚/𝐧: woot woot part 2 is finally here, sorry for the wait!! i had envisioned this being a two-parter from the start, and i wanted to do a bit of sweet smut hehe. you'll have to pry soft and caring sylus out of my dead cold hands that man is needy and obsessed w mc :(

It had been a week.

A week of nothing, absolute silence. No calls, no texts. It slowly became as if Sylus never even existed.

It was hell at first. My feelings had come on so fast, and then just like that it was over in the blink of an eye. The game of it all, will they or won’t they find out, the lies, the fun. It was exciting, until I started to get hurt; and I wasn’t going to put my own feelings and misery aside at the expense of everyone else.

Slowly, but surely, the days got easier. I had a break from work where I could take the time to put myself back together, though the band aids didn’t heal the wounds. They just helped to ease the ache.

I started to move on. It had been a week; I was going to go back to work, and act as if none of this ever happened.

Then there was a knock at the door.

It came in the middle of the night, and I just assumed it was one of my neighbors telling me to turn my TV down, or Xavier dropping off a game he had borrowed.

When I opened it, outside in the complex's hallway stood a sopping wet Sylus, drenched from the storm outside. His silver hair was messy, sticking to his forehead, his clothes disheveled as if he had thrown them on in a rush. A look of desperation resided on his face, replacing his usual calm and smug demeanor.

Not seeing him for a week was not something out of the blue, but the big bad leader showing up at my doorstep shivering like a wet cat was. Especially after everything that happened.

My heart felt like it lurched out of my chest, and all the bandages I had tried wrapping around it came loose in one swift movement. All the healing I had done flew outside the door I had opened and stood beside Sylus, mocking me.

I almost slammed the door closed, angry at his audacity, showing up at my place in the heat of the night after not speaking to me. Angry at everything that happened. Angry, hurt.

A whisper of my name escaped his lips, and I froze. It wasn’t often he called me by my name, only addressing me with his usual pet names.

“What are you doing here?” I questioned, hesitant about this whole exchange.

He glared at me, “That’s no way to speak to someone in distress.”

Angry.

I went to shut the door in his face, pissed off and violent, but he stopped it with his hand.

“Wait, I’m sorry.” The apology felt foreign coming out of him, “Can I come in?”

The look on his face went soft, and it almost looked as if he was going to cry. Everything about this was so out of character for him, and if I wasn’t so angry, maybe I’d even feel sorry for him.

Without a word, I pulled the door back open, stepping aside for him to come in. He was obviously cold, and it seemed like was trying his hardest to keep himself together.

“Don’t sit on the couch, you’re wet.” Maybe I was being mean, maybe he was undeserving of my anger, maybe letting him in was a mistake. I sighed, “Sylus, why are you here?”

“You’ve been ignoring me.” His words were hard, and his stare was piercing. Normally I would feel uncomfortable under his gaze, but the exasperation I felt from his words outweighed that.

I scoffed, “I’ve been ignoring you? You haven’t reached out, what was there to ignore?”

“You’ve been ignoring me, you’ve been pulling back. I know you know I’m not stupid, kitten.”

He was right, he wasn’t stupid. When I started pulling away, he started pushing harder, and I could tell he knew I was almost done.

“Okay?” I crossed my arms, avoiding his eyes, “Then you started ignoring me. We’re even.”

“No.” He shot out, taking a step towards me, “That’s not how that works. I was waiting for anything from you, but it never came.”

“What did I do? What did I do wrong?” Sylus tilted his head forward, and I started to finally feel guilty. All of this was so different for him, when Sylus was upset he became mean, aggressive. He put up walls, started fights. For him to be so…pitiful, where was all of this coming from?

“I don’t understand what you mean-” He cut me off with a forced laugh, “You don’t understand? I don’t know how much more obvious I can be, sweetie.”

“Okay,” He paused, “I love you.”

My heart stopped. For a second, the world stopped spinning. It’s like everything, all at once, came to a halt with Sylus’ confession.

“You…love me?” The words tasted bitter on my tongue. This was not how this was supposed to go. I loved him, that’s why I had to stop all of this, so it didn’t continue. It couldn’t continue. He cannot love me back.

“Why else do you think I threw myself into all of that? Why do you think I didn’t want anybody else to do it? Because I was bored? I have plenty of other things to do in my spare time.” His voice was hoarse, almost pleading for me to understand.

“Sylus, I-”

“For a second, I thought you loved me too.” Sylus sounded desperate, “But then you pulled back. You disappeared.”

He grabbed my hands, “Tell me, sweetie, what did I do wrong?”

“You love me.” I whispered, “That’s what you did wrong.”

Sylus let go, taking a step back. He ran his hand through his hair, a sorry attempt to pull himself back together, “I apologize,” He said, “I misunderstood this then.”

I looked at him, his appearance disordered and disheartened. The once prideful and arrogant man was now broken down to nothing but a shell of himself, and I realized the cause of that was me. Sylus was never one to back down from a fight, yet here he was throwing up a white flag.

He went to leave, turning his back to me. Turning his back to whatever was happening, breaking the character I had come to know. Going down without a fight. This broken man wasn’t Sylus.

“I love you too.” The words came out rushed, in a hurry to stop him. Announcing my own declaration of love wasn’t something I had intended to do, planning to keep it inside for all of eternity, letting the poisonous feeling bubble inside until it ate me alive.

Sylus stopped in his tracks.

“Then why is this wrong?” He didn’t turn back around to face me, and I wasn’t sure I wanted him to. I’d crumble and fall if I saw his eyes.

“It would never work,” I let it all out, everything I had been holding in for so long, all the insecurities I had collected regarding any kind of relationship I could have with Sylus. “I’m a hunter, and you’re the head of Onychinus. We’re in two different worlds, living such different lives, it’s doomed. All of this is doomed.”

“Do you really think I care?”

His fingers suddenly gripped my chin with a possessive hold, as if he thought I might run off again. Trying to pull myself away, his grip tightened on my face, as well as the hold he had on my heart.

“It doesn’t matter if you care or not,” I gave him a weak glare, trying to scare him off, “don’t be selfish, Sylus. We’ll both just get hurt.”

Sylus lips twitched downwards, “I think you should allow yourself to be selfish for once.” His grasp left my face, “Do what you please.”

We stood in silence for a second, and I set my gaze upon the floor to avoid his stare, his red eyes penetrating my soul.

“What are you thinking?” He finally asked. I hesitated, not exactly sure what the right answer really was. I could continue to fight this feeling, or jump into the water.

“I’m scared.” I confessed, “I don’t want to get hurt. I can’t go through all of that, all of the heartache when things go wrong.”

“Now why do you think I would ever let that happen, sweetie?”

Sylus grabbed my hand, placing it against his heart, “This beats for you, I live for you.” I felt the quick, erratic rhythm of his heartbeat under my fingers, “I never stop missing you when you’re not around, every second you’re not beside me is misery.”

“I'll love you until my last breath, and even in the heavens too.” He pulls my hand up, placing a kiss against my palm, “I will never let anything happen to you, I could never live with myself if I hurt you.”

He kisses the back of my hand, my wrist, all the way up my arm to my collarbone, “I will do anything to make this work - if this falls apart, I’ll just put it back together. I need you by my side.”

I feel his soft breathing against the crook of my neck, and goosebumps rise on my skin. I want to fall into him, let myself become loose in his embrace and learn to trust his promises.

“But if you don’t want it, just say that.” Sylus presses one last kiss to the skin of my neck, “Tell me you don’t want this and I’ll leave through that door, and I won’t bother you again.”

“Sylus…” I can only manage a whisper of his name. Everything else gets caught in my throat, my mind a tangled mess of emotions.

His face is inches from mine, and he quickly gives me an amused smile, “That's not a no.”

Before I can respond, even think of something to say, he captures my lips with his own. The strong smell of his cologne mixed with the taste of his mouth against mine makes me dizzy. The room and everything in it has suddenly become so warm, and my skin feels as if it’s been lit on fire.

Sylus pushes my body up against the wall behind us, hands trailing up my curves, grabbing at anything he can. His fingers embed themselves in my hips, waist, thighs, trying to pull me any closer.

“I’ll ask you again, sweetie,” He pulls away and I’m left standing there breathless with an unwavering grip on his (still) damp sweater, “do you want me to stop?”

I tangle my fingers in his wet hair, bringing his face back down to mine.

“No.” I whisper against Sylus’ lips, before crashing mine against his feverishly. Every feeling I had for him, everything I had suppressed, all of it was going into this kiss. He groaned into my mouth, his hold on me becoming tighter.

It all made perfect sense; The way our lips moved in sync, how our bodies fit perfectly together, our minds addicted to the thoughts of one another. We were, to put it simply, made for this. Our souls intertwined with ease as we found solace and safety in each other. All of the fear I had been plagued with dissipated with the consolation of Sylus’ body against mine. I was no longer scared of this not working, all I cared about was him.

After all, even a broken clock is right twice a day.

With one swift movement Sylus lifted me off my feet and cradled me with ease, maneuvering around my apartment as if it was his own.

Before I could even register I was in my bedroom, I was pinned against the mattress in the safe confine of his arms.

“Please,” His breathing was ragged, “let me show you how well I can treat you, let me touch you how you deserve.”

I lean up and kiss him between his furrowed brows, and he takes the opportunity to dive for my neck.

“Please.” Sylus repeats again. His eyes are practically begging. I give him a nod.

Stripping me of my shirt, he places gentle kisses down my torso down to the waistband of my shorts. Goosebumps rise on my skin from the cold air mixed with his gentle touch. His rough, calloused hands hold my hips like glass, a finger slowly pulling my shorts off my legs. A hiss of air leaves his lungs when Sylus sits back to take me in.

“Fuck.” He whispers, “You have no idea how long I’ve waited for... Thought about having you like this.”

I give him a sheepish smile, “Is it worth the wait?”

His adams apple bobs in his throat as he swallows whatever words were going to leave his lips, running his hands up my thighs and waist. Sylus’ eyes travel up my figure, almost as if memorizing every dip and curve of my body.

“Every single second was worth it.” His voice was soft, “You’re perfect.”

Sylus leans down, pressing his lips to the bone where my hips and pelvis meet. He picks my leg up, lightly lifting it over his shoulder, resting his head on the inside of my thigh and looking up at me through his eyelashes.

He looks angelic, pure almost, glowing in the moonlight that spills through the window. His dominant, hard-bitten and arrogant exterior had disintegrated into nothing but his surrender as he lay open and bare for me in between my legs. All the walls I knew Sylus to have crumbled and fell, his only goal to show me that I’m loved; serving to please.

The tip of one of his fingers slides up my slit, and my breath catches in my throat. Sylus pauses, “Is this okay?”

“More than okay.” I confirm.

He quickly discards the cloth separating him from the heat in between my thighs, placing a gentle kiss to the place that craves him the most.

A moan escapes me as his lips latch onto my clit. My hands weave themselves through his hair, “Oh God, Sy- Do that again-”

Sylus groans into my core, worshiping the sex and heart that weeps for him, and only him. I twitch my hips towards his face, my mind reeling with the feeling that emits from his mouth.

“Yes-” He pushes a finger into me, easing the ache deep inside, “Be greedy, kitten, use me as you wish.”

I can only manage whimpers of his name, my brain incoherent and high on his mouth and touch as his tongue and fingers work magic. Tugging on the silver strands that grace his pretty head, the moan that leaves him vibrates against me, and I think for a second I might be done for.

“Mm, Sylus, wait-”

“That’s it, sweetie. Getting close?” His fingers curl up inside me and I shake my head, not wanting to finish so soon, “No, I-”

He pulls back and sits up as soon as the word leaves me, and I almost sob at the loss of contact. Sylus’ eyes scan my face with concern, and I pull him back down on top of me. His chest heaving against mine, he plants a kiss to the corner of my eye, “I thought I-”

“Not yet, fuck me.” Cutting him off, I push my body up against his.

“Of course, kitten,” Within seconds his pants and briefs were discarded somewhere in the room, my thighs instinctively wrapping around his hips, “who am I to deny you?”

His hard length pressed up against my entrance, the desperation making me crazy.

“Sylus, please-” I tried to push my hips forward, longing for more. He cupped my cheek, pressing a gentle kiss to my forehead, inching deeper agonizingly slow, “Patience, sweetie. I don’t want to hurt you.”

“You won’t!” Despite my reassurance, Sylus’ eyes were still filled with worry. Using my legs that were wrapped around him, I yanked his hips forward and with one fell swoop he was to the hilt inside.

Spasming around him at the sudden fullness, I sunk my teeth into his collarbone to stifle a scream. I could feel myself gripping him like a vice, his moaning and panting in my ear a sweet confirmation.

“I told you I could do it.” I lapped at the broken skin where I had bitten.

Sylus laughed lowly against my lips, “I didn’t mean to doubt you, kitten.”

The movement of his hips were rhythmic, every thrust sending me deeper into a spiral of love and pleasure. My thoughts were nothing but static, only focusing on the beautiful man in front of me and how good he was capable of making me feel.

His own moans were strangled, groaning praises and muttering sweet nothings into my ear. Sylus thrusted deeply into me, tightly holding my hand as if he thought I and this moment were going to disappear. His eyes would snap open and flutter closed with every movement, relishing in the feeling of our bodies together.

My skin was electric, fireworks setting off in every corner of my being. My mind spun with the addictive feeling and taste of Sylus’ sweet lips on mine, his fingers digging into my hips.

He and I together were not doomed, though us being apart was. We were magnetic, velcro, sworn to be together. We were aligned in ways I wasn’t sure was even possible.

“Tell me again that you love me,” Sylus trapped my head in between his arms, “tell me that this is okay and you want it.” His eyes were misty, his voice hoarse.

“I love you.” I mewled as his thrusts were getting faster, harder.

“I can be good for you, I’ll take care of you, please just let me be yours. Please be mine, let me have this.”

The familiar feeling rose inside, and I knew I was close, “Yes, Sy- I’m all yours.”

“I love you, I love you, I love- Fuck-” His hips snapped against mine at a pace that had me seeing stars, “My girl, you’re my girl. Mine-”

His girl.

I came undone with a loud moan of Sylus’ name, scratching my fingers sharply down his back, arching myself deep against him. His hips stuttered against mine, reaching his own high. Wrapping each other in our arms, trying to pull one another any impossibly closer. So close our souls could touch.

I didn’t just want Sylus, no, I needed him. It wasn’t until I found him that I discovered the large, empty sorrowful space that resided in my life. A space that I was always too scared to confront, a space that he fit into so perfectly.

Some force in this massive universe decided to pair me with him, to make me his, and I was tired of being scared and ignoring it.

“I love you, Sylus.”

(divider by cafekitsune)

tag list!! ty all for the support <3

@crowskitten22 @peacedreamer14 @phantom-101 @evilldentists @ionlypartiallyslay @fealy @sellelqvz @huachengnism @mandysfanfics @shiorihoshino @sinnamon-bunn @knifep-rty @l0bulariia @knifep-rty @yoyach @ononpetitecroissant @syluslittlecrows @beewilko @unbetirtlt @sylus-crow

#sylus x reader #sylus x you #sylus x y/n #love and deepspace sylus #sylus #l&ds sylus #lnds sylus #lads sylus #lnds #lnds smut #lnds fluff #lnds angst #sylus love and deepspace #sylus smut #sylus fluff #sylus x mc #love and deep space

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imsofreakingtired · 23 days ago

Note

barges through the wall like the kool-aid man

Buy Sevika flowers.

Please. Please she probably never received a beautiful bouquet before and I desperately yearn for soft hours with Sevika

SHE SO DESERVES FLOWERS I AGREE I AGREE

i will take good care of you

content warning(s): none

"and all the quiet nights you bear seal them up with care no one needs to know they're there for i will hold them for you."

~~~

** set post canon, Councilor!Sevika x reader. because oh my god i cannot accept that she’s all alone in there **

~~~

You stand in the doorway. Sevika hasn’t seen you yet.

She is at her desk, the way she is every night. The desk of rich Noxian wood, inlaid with swirling patterns of gold. The desk came with the apartment, which came with the seat at the Council, which came with a new kind of fight that you had to watch Sevika go through day after day.

The battles were won, the losses counted, the blood spilled and cities destroyed and rebuilt. Ambessa was dead. Hextech destroyed. The sister cities were forced to reconcile in the face of the realization that they had come very, very close to the end of the world.

Piltover is quiet at night. Nothing like the undercity, where you would hear fights breaking out on the streets every hour of the day, drunks wailing from filthy doorsteps, dogs howling in the alleyways. No; Piltover was like a slumbering golden beast.

And your Sevika, the new leader of the underdogs, the voice of the city the two of you had grown up in—the city that never slept. If Piltover was the idle lion, Zaun was the hungry wolf. You see the hunger still in your wife’s eyes. You see how she charges into every debate, every argument at the Council Table the same way she charged into battle years ago. Every reform, every proposal she makes, is met with a near unanimous opposition. A mandate that would have taken half a day to pass from a Piltover Counselor took weeks when it came from the Zaunite Counselor.

Sevika has hung up the arm Jinx had made for her on the wall behind her desk, and it gleams in the lamplight like a trophy. Still she hasn’t noticed you—she is poring over the files on her desk, the endless paperwork awaiting her every night seeming to have no end.

You want to take her in your hands tenderly, you want to crush the burdens she carries into an insignificant ball. You want to tell her to rest. But you've learned Sevika didn't like words that have no meaning: she cannot rest, and you and Sevika both know this.

So you show it through actions.

You walk up to her, standing behind her. She glances up briefly.

“How was the academy today?”

“Fine,” you say. “The pupils learn fast.”

“Hm.” She is preoccupied with the paperwork. You rest your hands on her shoulders and find them tight with tension. Your fingers knead her muscles, their strength making her groan involuntarily.

“You work too hard.”

She laughs dryly. Her prosthetic arm is off—the new one she bought from the Piltover mechanic, a simple and elegant arm of light gold, no weaponry assets. She’s still wearing the formal cape, and from where you’re standing she looks smaller and wearier than you remember.

“Come to bed,” you say, massaging the tension out of her neck. You feel her relax at your touch, the muscles softening beneath her warm skin.

“In a minute.”

“Not in a minute. Now.”

“You go ahead, baby.” She sighs. “I have to get this done.”

You never feel so helpless as in moments like these, when she seemed to be trapped between one duty and another, when it felt like the world expected your wife to be everywhere at once, doing everything at the same time.

You don’t know how to ease her load. There just seemed to be no end to it. You try to think of the last time you saw her smile, really smile, and find you can’t remember.

You look around her office. The walls are plain, devoid of paintings. Besides Jinx’s mechanical arm on the wall, there isn’t much to relieve the somber atmosphere.

“Sevika,” you say suddenly, “what are your favorite flowers?”

“Flowers?” she repeats in an absent tone, looking over a text on trade policy. “I don’t know. I don’t think much about flowers.”

A pause, and she looks up at you, as if surprised to see your question was serious.

“I remember picking moonflowers when I was small,” she says.

“Moonflowers?”

“Yeah, the pale blue ones that grew near the mines. The only things that could survive in that air. More weeds than anything.” She shrugs. “I remember picking one a day to give to my mom when she came back from work. She never threw them away, even after they wilted. Then one day she didn’t come home at all.”

You squeeze her shoulder. Her mother had died in a cave-in at the mines when she was young. You had lost your own parents to the same kind of accident.

Sevika looks at you, amusement in her eyes. “I don’t remember the last time we ever talked about something like flowers.”

~~~

The next day you ask your academy supervisor permission to take off work early. Since you have no afternoon classes anyway, the permission is granted. You walk briskly down to the marketplace and go into the florist’s shop.

When you ask the leopard vastaya man at the counter for a bouquet of moonflowers, he shakes his head. “Those are just weeds from the undercity. I don’t sell them in bouquets. You can buy a full bouquet including them as decoration.”

“I want only the moonflowers. You can take them out of every bouquet and gather them together, I’ll pay however much it costs.”

He looks at you as if you’re crazy, but he sets to work. You leave the shop fifteen minutes later with a bunch of moonflowers in gleaming wax paper tied with a ribbon. They are beautiful with notes of gray, and in flashes they hold the same color as Sevika’s eyes. They look like hope. They look like Zaun.

When Sevika comes home that night you present them to her with a tentative smile. All day you’ve angled them this way and that in her office, changing the vase twice to try to find the right look. You’re not sure if she would even like the gift, or if she would find it painful.

Sevika stares at you. “What’s this?”

“Moonflowers,” you say dumbly. Both of you can clearly see that. You can’t read her expression, and you start to feel nervous. “I just wanted…I wanted to make you feel lighter.”

Lighter. Happier. You want to give her the world. You want to give her the moon, the stars, the warmth of your very soul. You want to show her she is not alone in this fight.

Sevika takes the flowers and buries her nose in them, eyes closed. Then she looks up at you. “They’re beautiful,” she says, her voice husky.

Sevika sees her childhood in their petals. She sees the hope in the heart of the little girl inside her. She sees the wrinkles of her mother’s tired smile. She sees the bright eyes of young Zaunite children.

“Sevika,” you say, worried, “Sevika, are you crying?”

She wipes roughly at her eyes, giving you a smile as genuine as sunlight. “No, darling. Thank you.”

~~~

note: ah...this was meant to be fluff but it turned out angstier than i intended... i can still call it fluff if it involves flowers right...?

thank you @demothers-empty-blog for the req :)

#sevika #sevika arcane #sevika x reader #sevika x you #sevika imagine #sevika fanfic #(i have 12 pages of latin due tomorrow morning what am i doing with my life.)#arcane sevika #song: i will by mitski

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moonlight-prose · 5 months ago

Text

WONDERING WHY

a/n: this is for the logan promptober hosted by the lovely @silverskyeline! i'm not gonna do the whole list cause i would stress myself out to an insane degree. but a few caught my eye. so i've thrown together some small fics for the man himself in the hopes of scattering them throughout october. this is also late one day cause of well me having a shitty time in life rn. but i hope y'all enjoy!

logan promptober: day six - cowboy

summary: loving logan howlett felt like loving a ghost. he returned when the moon hung low in the sky and his time gave way for freedom. but when you needed him most, he arrived on your doorstep with the promise of giving you exactly what you want.

word count: 3.5k+

pairing: cowboy!old man!logan x f!reader

warnings: EXPLICIT SO MDNI IT'S 18+ ONLY, romance, love, angst, longing, pining, they're obsessed with each other, filthy kissing, p in v sex, rough sex, spit, choking (sorta), calling the pussy her/she, he's an old man who fucks insanely well, feral old man logan.

Pale moonlight brushed across the Earth with strokes of paint. Stars were sprinkled along the night sky, glimmering in darkness as you leaned against the doorway of your home. The lantern flame flickered with each waft of cool air that breezed past you. Pooling inside where a fire cracked and sparked—offering enough warmth to keep you sated for the remainder of time.

At least until he returned home.

You listened for the familiar clop of hooves, the click of his tongue guiding the horse where to go. Hoping that eventually he’d turn the bend in the dirt road and find his way back to the safety of your shared bed.

This was a routine you knew well—one you found solace in as the days grew short and sunlight became sparse. In summer he often returned when the clock struck midnight; the weariness of a long day spent riding through towns and hunting with others was normal. If a little grueling. Although you never complained. You knew who he was when you met him—understood the ups and downs of what this relationship would be.

Logan wasn’t anything if true to his word right at the start. I’m not gonna be here every day sugar, but I’ll be here when you need me.

Eventually you’d have to blow out the lantern and amble back indoors. Calling it quits on yet another night spent alone. He didn’t like it when you were out past a certain time—raiders and hunters alike were more than willing to break in without remorse. Especially if they didn’t know who resided inside, who shared your bed on nights like tonight.

“I need you,” you sighed, shutting your eyes to the sight of an empty road.

They were empty words of hope strung together to make a wish on whatever star caught your eye. Rarely did they work. Although some nights you wondered if magic twined with your solemn prayer—summoning the man you so desperately wanted. It was wishful thinking, a well full of reverie you continuously drank from. Although maybe it was the poison that would one day cause you to drop dead. Maybe…Logan was a figment of all that you could never have.

He might not even exist.

Your eyes fluttered open, glancing up at the sky with anticipation of a falling star. The echo of hooves along dirt drew your attention from your nightly ritual—curiosity pulling you close and whispering promises of giving you everything you wanted. It was probably a stranger. Someone looking for an easy place to spend the night. Logan always told you to say no with a shotgun in your hands, and your body tensed in preparation to grab for the gun propped near the doorway.

Relief flooded your veins at the sight of a familiar dark brown leather coat, his hat tipped low enough to hide the eyes that loomed beneath—glinting with a darkness you'd only seen once or twice in your time together. Calloused and scarred hands gripped loosley at the reins as the horse trotted up the path—finding it's way home with ease.

There was a pull between the two of you. Insatiable and feral and strong enough to have him searching for you the second he drew closer to the house. Hazel eyes fatigued by the long trip back locked onto your form. Plush skin and curves hidden beneath layers of a dress you had yet to strip off.

You would leave that to him, knowing how much he enjoyed tugging at the strings of your corset—undoing the buttons to set you free.

"Gonna catch your fuckin' death," he muttered, his boots hitting the ground with a dull thud. You relished the sound, unable to stop your smile.

"I was waiting for you."

He huffed, wrapped the reins around the wooden fence he built steadily over the years—the leather bag on his saddle now strapped over his wide shoulder. "Shouldn't be waitin' on a man like me sugar."

"You always say that."

"And I'm always right."

"Would you prefer I wait on someone else?" you inquired, a challenge glinting in your eyes.

He bit back a growl, hand settling on your hip to drag you to the edge of the front step as he stepped to the one below. "Are you tryin' to tell me somethin'?"

The possession in his eyes made your heart race, your fingers digging into the soft leather permeated by the scent of cigars smoked in various saloons. He felt familiar, a home you didn't know could exist within another person. The house you two built resided in his heart; the missing piece you searched for on nights spent without him. But now you had it in your grasp—fitting it back into place with a sigh of bliss.

The picture of peace finally pressed itself to your soul, caressing a part of your love that left each time he mounted his horse—the promise of coming home on the tip of his tongue.

"I haven't found someone else yet, but I very well could-"

The rumble in his chest was layered with everything he'd never say with words. "Try it," he growled. "And I'll have to make a fuckin' graveyard out back."

Heat pooled rapidly into your stomach, elation fluttering through your heart. You knew an animal hid in the depths of his chest. Feral with claws and teeth that snapped at the thought of someone taking what was his. You'd never belong to someone else. You'd never want to. The echo of his words seared into your mind, a vow of forever etched into each vowel and consonant.

He was home. He was here. He was real.

"There's no one else," you murmured, leaning your forehead against his—lips brushing against his with each soft admission. "There could never be anyone else."

All that would go unspoken, all neither of you could say.

I love you. I'll love you forever. Whatever this is…it will only end when we're buried six feet under.

"Good," he replied gruffly. "Now give your old man a proper fuckin' welcome."

The smile you wore deepened as his warm hand cupped your cheek. His skin was dry from the leather and a few cuts were scattered here and there, but nothing could resemble this. The blooming heat that spread across your chest like the roots of an ancient tree. He held you with a tenderness that might have shocked you at first—the fear of harming you burning hot in his stomach.

But this was how he always touched you. With a love that couldn't be replaced. A promise soldified in the lines of his palm, fate driven and earthly bound, and yours forevermore.

Finding his lips beneath his hat, you let go of the breath held deep in your lungs. The taste of his cigars spread on your tongue. A familiar morsel of home you gravitated towards. Later in the evening—when you were both lethargic and naked and covered in all sorts of fluids—he'd puff on a brand new cigar. Giving you taste with lazy kisses and smiles traded in the dark of night.

"Missed you Logan," you mumbled, tongue sliding against his with a breathy moan. "I always miss you."

He chuckled, deep enough to vibrate against your chest—his hands sliding down to grip your waist. "You wanna show me how much?"

"You'd like that huh." Smiling into the kiss, you felt his teeth dig into your lips. He sucked it with a groan, fingers digging harshly into the layers of fabric.

"Mhm." His breath was harsh against your cheek, each kiss filled with a need to ravage what belonged to him. To prove he still held space in your heart. "Missed you every fuckin' day sugar."

You laughed, toying with the hair at the base of his skull—curling your fingers around it to tug him back. The moan he rewarded you with made saliva pool in your mouth. His eyes watched you, dazed with want, mouth parted and swollen from your kisses. And you burned the image of him in your mind.

"You wanna show me how much baby?" you breathed, brushing your lips to his with a teasing laugh.

A biting growl ripped from his throat. "Get inside before I take you out here."

"There's an idea."

The harsh slap to your hip dragged a peal of laughter out of your chest. Stumbling back, your hands yanking the hat off his heat and working the jacket down his arms, you kissed him as if you'd never get the chance to again. Wet and spit slicked. Until your teeth clashed together and his tongue was halfway down your throat. Each moan that dripped from his mouth into yours felt like a fucking reward.

A blissful reminder that you weren't alone; he stood before you, frenzied and aching to feel your skin on his.

Logan couldn't figure out how he wound up in this haven. A home, a lover that stole his breath with each look, and forever right on the horizon. Years spent alone only offered the promise of torment, of a life overflowing with an endless amount of pain.

But for some unknown reason, the sun that used to sear his skin now stood before him lighting the pathway home. The brilliance of you blinded him—warmed every cold aspect that resided in the depths of his chest. Yet he'd rather spend the rest of his life in your fierce heat than suffer in the biting cold again.

Oh how lucky he felt just getting the chance to burn.

Desire simmered sharply in the base of your stomach the further you got into the house—his teeth biting down to the column of your throat, fingers toying with the laces of your corest. He devoured you like a sweet thing to be had. A treat he rarely got to partake in tasting. And fuck if he wasn't going to take his time. You clawed at his shirt, pulling it up and off his body with a hoarse shout of glee—nails piercing the flesh of his shoulders as he yanked your leg around his hip.

He practically dragged you to the small bedroom, tearing off the clothing as he went with harsh snarls of want. You'd worry about mending the fabric later in the morning. Or perhaps the day after that. Given how you could feel the heft of his cock through his pants, pressing to your stomach with each small shift of your body.

"On the bed." The command was punctuated with a slap to your ass—a sharp bite against the skin of your collarbone drew a soft moan to the surface.

He tugged the front of your corset down, dropping to the ground with the remainder of your skirts. Baring yourself to Logan with a smile, you felt the emptiness slip down onto the wood of the bedroom floor. Expelling from your body with each panted breath and soft carress. He turned you inside out with the smallest of actions—the barest of touches.

The time he spent alone and wrapped in thoughts of you became all he lived off of. Your memory turned into the reason he stayed alive.

Unlike so much of his life he now held an answer to why he dragged himself home. Why he forced himself to keep going.

"Lemme see her." His hand wrapped around your leg, pulling open your thighs for him to catch a glimpse of what lay between.

You'd been dripping since he arrived. A sticky wet mess that begged for his attention. Logan salivated at the sight, his eyes zeroing in on the way you glistened for him. On any other night he'd sit you on his face in a quick attempt at gaining the close proximity he longed for when he was gone. Tonight served for a different want—a biting need that dug its teeth into his skin.

"She missed me huh," he mumbled, thumb sliding through your wet folds.

You moaned, breathy and restless. "She did baby."

"'M gonna give her what she needs."

"Logan," you sighed, hand outstretched for him to take. "Need you close."

Every nerve lit like a fuse when he gifted you with a full smile. "I will sugar. Lemme just look at ya first huh?"

With a nod you let your legs spread apart, arms draped above your head. The sight of you stole his breath, but you didn't fare any better. His skin scattered with scars you kissed a thousand times over still rendered you incapable of speaking. Hell you weren't even sure you'd taken a breath since he walked through the door.

Though his body was worn and his hair was graying, you couldn't deny he remained the most beautiful man you ever set your eyes on.

"Like what you're lookin' at?"

Your grin was lazy, eyes overflowing with a language Logan once thought he'd never learn yet now could be considered fluent in. Love.

"I really do," you whispered, sharing the secret with him. The words rarely spoken were shouted at the top of your lungs in each loving praise.

He shook them off when you first met him. Claimed they were false words to make yourself feel better about loving an animal who walked and talked like a human. Although, over time he allowed them to sink into his skin, bathe over his broken and weary soul.

They held him together like a ribbon tied through his soul, placed neatly in a bow on his heart.

His hand was swift in undoing his belt, pushing the remainder of his clothes off to join yours heaped on the floor. And you drank in the sight of the man you adored climbing over your body with a hungry gaze. Your heart flipped, grip sliding along his back as you welcomed him in between your legs—the heavy weight of his cock a warm press against your thigh.

"Welcome home." The smile melded into the kiss he placed on your lips, tongue sliding in the curve along your teeth, to taste every bit of you he could reach.

Bucking your hips into his, you dug your nails into his lower back in the hopes that he'd move. He swallowed your whine, spit trailing down your chin when he pulled back to catch his breath. Moving slowly never worked for you—entirely used to the man who broke you with the intent of putting you back together—and right now was no exception. The torment of not having him tore at your heart, put a splinter in the longing simply to crack you in two even further.

"Hold still," he grunted, his hand shoving your hips back onto the bed. "Movin' so fuckin' much I'm gonna have to tie you down."

Your gasp was wet—needy. "Please. Fuck please-"

"Right." His other hand slid up your torso to rest against the base of your throat—thumb running along the smooth skin that covered your racing pulse. "I forgot who you are, sugar. You'd like that huh?"

Teeth tore at your bottom lip, eyes glazed and pupils blown wide the longer he held you there. Anticipation fried your nerves with each second that passed. But Logan wasn't a cruel man. He knew what you ached for—what you'd give up everything for. The closeness of the man you loved; a chance to have his body, heart, and soul.

Gripping himself, he tapped his cock against your clit, sliding through your slick with a stunted moan. A smile bloomed across his lips at your responding moan—fire streaking down your spine, curling along your limbs. He could drive you to madness and yet you'd thank him each time.

You would be grateful for anything he gave you.

"Don't get quiet on me now." His lips trailed along your cheek as he notched himself at your entrance. "Go on and sing for me sweetheart."

He sunk in with a smooth thrust, stretching you with slickened pain and a hoarse moan against the shell of your ear. And you forgot how to breathe. The pinch of pain quickly dampened with the roll of his hips—the head of his cock pressing snugly against your walls. This is what you missed, what your body screamed for.

The potent euphoria that drowned you under its vicious waves.

"So tight," he grunted. "Guess she really did miss me."

"Logan-" Your head tipped back into the pillows, a loud moan breaking the silence that curled over your bodies like a blanket.

"There she is." Pulling back slightly, he slammed back into you, nearly shoving you up the bed. "My pretty little songbird."

Nothing held you back from the sounds he drew out of your mouth. Each one louder than the last. Until the room was filled with a symphony of your combined pleasure, the vulgar echo of skin slapping against skin and your slick dripping down onto the bed, became all you could think about.

He thrived off it. The sight of you whittled down to nothing but a needy mess, begging for a small hint of his love. Maybe that made him an old man far too fucking dirty to be with someone as prescious at you. But he'd let the guilt eat him alive later. He'd worry about stealing your youth out from under you in the afterglow of feeling you cum.

A harsh thrust that struck against the sensitive spongy part of your walls had your knees clamping around his hips—your fingers scratching at his back to get him to slow down. You needed a chance to breathe, to regain some sense. Logan merely smiled, his fingers tightening around your throat to drag your head up. His lips slotting against yours in a messy kiss.

"Where do ya think you're goin'?" he growled, repeating the move with a bitten out groan. "Thought you wanted me to fuck you. Now you're running?"

"T-Too much-"

The angle changed sharply and suddenly he was no longer grinding into you but fucking right on that spot. A sharp sob of his name only added fuel to the quickly forming flame, quickening his movements until you felt your entire body begin to grow taut.

Slick smeared on the inside of your thighs, sticky and warm and loud enough to make you dizzy each time you heard it. He panted into your mouth, using the hold on your throat as leverage to fuck you back onto his cock.

Logan didn't love softly. He couldn't. Brutality was all he was capable of giving you and like the sweetest angel you took it with a smile. You let him use you up until his name was all you could comprehend. The heady scent of his sweat filled your senses, the salty tang of his skin spread along your tongue as you bit into his shoulder—your teeth marring his already marked skin.

Eventually it would turn purple, fading quicker than usual, but he'd wear it with pride. His own trophy after tearing you apart beneath him.

"Gonna cum?" he asked, mouthing at your breast, moaning at the taste of your skin. "I can feel it."

You nodded frantically, body going taut with each slap of his hips on yours. "C-Can I?"

"So fuckin' polite," he groaned, sucking on your nipple before letting it loose with a pop. Spit dripping down to your stomach. "'Course you can sugar."

Tugging at his hair, you felt the tremble in your thighs spread to the rest of your body. His other hand slipped between your bodies, thumbing at your throbbing clit with a soft moan, dragging you right to the edge of a cliff. A sharp grind of his hips broke the dam within you, flooding you with a mind numbing bliss that scorched your skin.

You cried his name until your throat went raw, tears spilling hotly down your cheeks that he licked up with a smile. The fluttering of your walls dragged a hoarse shout from his chest, his teeth clamping down onto any part of he could reach. He followed you instantly, shoving his cock deep enough to hurt as he filled you with enough cum to spill out.

The echo of your breaths resounded off the wooden walls, his hand dipping down to smear his cum along the inside of your thighs. Coating you in his essence; claiming you with his scent that burned the inside of his nose.

"I did you know," you mumbled, kissing the newly formed bruise on his skin. "Miss you."

He sighed, his forehead dropping to yours. "I know sugar. I missed you too."

"Will you stay this time?"

A grin pulled at the corners of his lips, hips rolling into yours to pull another weak moan from those pretty lips he longed to kiss. "As long as ya want me."

The hesitancy clamped around your heart, filling your stomach with anxiety. You wanted to beg him to never leave again, to spend each moment in the safety of this house. But Logan had always been a ramblin man. He'd never stay in one place too long. Even if eventually he found his way back here, back in the safety of your home.

"Forever?" you breathed, eyes glistening with unshed tears.

Logan's heart twisted at the sight. "Yeah sugar," he replied, dipping down to drag his lips along yours. "I like the sound of that.”

#logan howlett x f!reader #logan howlett x reader #logan howlett x you #logan howlett x y/n #logan howlett smut #logan howlett #my writing #logan promptober

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pressureplus · 6 months ago

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I actually have this request in my head for a while now... but I'm not sure if you be up to do it so thank to let me know if you will do it or not. Fem! Reader who is happily married and live together with Sebastian (when he still human). Until, Sebastian was arrested and sentence to dead. Reader found no long after his dead that she was pregnant. Years later, Sebastian manage to escape Hadal Blacksite probably very injured in the process. He was soon spotted by the kid that look similar to his human self (the kid probably be now close to be a teenager now), as the kid call up their mother. Sebastian was shocked to see his wife come to view.

I'm looking 👀

Love this dramatic shit, I'm SO here for it!

I'm going to be referring to your son as S/N, so y'all can name your boy yourselves! (I'm real interested in the stuff you might choose, so if you wanna put them in the replies, I'd love to see your baby names!)

Smaller Hands

Pairing: Sebastian Solace x Fem!Reader

Au: [Unnamed]

Warnings: Mentions of Pregnancy, an Absent Father, injury, and Imprisonment

◞꒷◟ ͜ ͜ ◞ྀི◟୨୧◞ྀི◟ ͜ ͜ ◞꒷◟◞꒷◟ ͜ ͜ ◞ྀི◟୨୧◞ྀི◟ ͜ ͜ ◞꒷◟

He had been running a very long time before he got to where he was now.

Escaping the Blacksite was only the beginning of his long, long journey home. He had wrestled himself from the depths of the deep ocean and fought his way all the way up to the light far, far above him.

Breaking through the surface of the water had provided him with a hope he never thought he'd see truly grow into something he could really hold. Sunlight and open air and a horizon that stretched endlessly in every direction... Sebastian hadn't known freedom in over 10 years, but there it was.

The way the natural light caught the glint of his wedding ring had him already tearing through the water with a grin, energy back in his tired body. It certainly wasn't his original ring, no, that one wouldn't fit on his new, much larger hand anymore, but the replacement that he got so he could wear a ring on his hand and not just as a pendant was enough of a visual reminder of his love, sending him treading the water the way this body was made to do. He had to get to his wife.

He had to see his Y/N again. That's always what his efforts were for.

It was days before he even reached a beach, and weeks of dragging himself through the shadows and the alleyways, keeping himself out of sight. He would squint at road maps and try to figure out how he was going to get himself home, not very well able to get on the public transport or drive himself there with a body like this. He had to be more than a little creative with how he was going to cross the countless miles between his lover and himself if he wanted to make it there at all. He'd spend his seemingly endless days hopping trains and swimming rivers just to close the distance faster, like it may wash away the last decade he's had to go without her.

Sebastian could only hope she waited for him, though those chances were next to none. She had been there the day he was 'executed', watching him get taken back to the chair that was supposed to put his story to its end. She has every right and reason to think he died that day, and he could never be angry or upset if she decided she still needed to be held the way his other hands used to hold her... Would these hands even fit her anymore? They'd outgrown his first ring... Would they be too big to hold hers anymore? The painful thought was a reoccurring one, and it plagued every dream he had in the moments he would manage to rest.

He's nearing his old cottage now, beaten and scarred from the long trip home, more than a little bit tired and definitely hungry. He's barely going to make it if he manages to get to the doorstep at all, but more thankful than ever he'd made his home with her outside of the city and out into the woods so he might have a moment to his thoughts. He could very well find her with another man, or he could find a completely new family, or even find nothing but flowers and trees- The life that he made with her could be all but ashes on a breeze that swept this place years ago. She could be a memory and this could all be for nothing just as easily as anything else. He wouldn't even have a right to be angry... He wouldn't even feel a right to cry if she's decided to move on.

"SNAKE MAN! SNAKE MAN!!!"

He's shaken from his pondering by an unfamiliar voice, a starry eyed child fumbling out of the bushes like a little animal.

He nearly panics and flees before the brave, feral little boy reaches out for his hand and looks up at him like something right out of a story book- Which, he supposed may be fair given the way that he looks now.

"Are you a forest monster!? Do you grant wishes and eat people and stuff?!" It's clear the boy doesn't know fear, young and small still, with new eyes... But familiar ones.

Sebastian's heart drops into his stomach when he begins to recognize the thick, dark hair and deep brown eyes. This boy is the spitting image of the way he looked when he was around 10 or 11... It's like he's been pulled right from Sebastian's old childhood photos.

Too dumbfounded to speak, Sebastian stands there, every muscle in his body tense while his eyes flick around the boy's face trying to figure out how this could be.

"S/N! What are you doing talking to strangers, you were supposed to be at least playing in the yard and not the woods before the sun started setting." Y/N rounds the trees with a stubborn look on her face and immediately freezes when her gaze meets Sebastian's.

The air is knocked out of the both of them, leaving them only able to stare, and he notes the way she's remained nearly the same as the day that he was forced to leave her behind. Like a flower that never wilts, she stands as beautiful and as amazing as she was when he had first met her. Frozen with an expression he can't place, she makes no motion to do anything at all. The larger man acts first at the realization she must be frightened of him, going to put his two unheld hands up and open his mouth to explain himself-

"You said not to talk to strangers, this is CLEARLY a forest monster." Little S/N beats both of them to the punch and confirms to Sebastian all at once that his attitude is as strong in his blood as that unruly dark hair is.

"Heed your mother, would you? I could very well eat you." Sebastian ushers the child forward with a playful threat, the boy in reference pouting and looking back up at him.

"Come on, I'm only out a little bit late! It's not dark yet! Monsters only eat people in the dark." The boy argues, unfamiliar with the idea of real danger, it seems, but certain of himself the way only children really can be.

"Sebastian I can't believe it... Is it you? Am I losing my mind?" Putting the scolding and corrections on her son's statements off for a better time, Y/N looks up at the mutated form of her lover, hoping she might be right. When Y/N speaks, it's soft and uncertain, a hand going to rest on her child's shoulder so as not to lose him while she's distracted.

"You recognize me?" His heart practically jumps into his throat and he struggles to cope with how quickly she's guessed it was him.

"If not for the way one soul knows another, then for your voice and... Our ring." Unafraid just as well, she walks right up to the towering creature and brings her hand up to the necklace it's strung onto around his neck.

"Am I too late?" Sebastian asks, still scared.

"You're late, but never too much. You had better come home now though." She gets firm near the end and he laughs, melting.

"Awe that's no fair! I'm in trouble for being a few minutes late and he gets to be gone forever!" The boy whines and Y/N seems to laugh when she ruffles his hair.

"You can be out of trouble because it's a special day. Now, let's go home and get you to bed." Y/N's eyes stray back up to her husband, the fondness that was there in those beautiful eyes he fell in love with was something that had grown blurry and hard to recall until now. The way her gaze rested on him so softly brought him back like he'd never left in the first place.

"I think I have some things to talk about with your monster, here." She smiles at him and goes to slide her hand into his, the cold feeling against his palm of her own ring -the matching one to his from the promise that they'd made at that altar a long time ago- made him feel warm again, and made him feel alive.

"Yes, I've got a lot of things I've been waiting to tell her for these years we've spent apart."

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clementine-thedestroyer · 10 days ago

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What about Raccoon! reader and bear! price. I think that would be a funny play on the usual prey hybrid reader.

Like this trash panda keeps leaving berries and cool junk outside Prices cave. He doesn't think the trash is as nice as you do but when he finally catches you and you have to try and explain Raccoon courting to him, he gets to decide if he wants to accept your offering or not!

(idk anything about Raccoon courtship btw I made that up💀)

I’m obsessed. I love this so much.

Maybe you’re bringing him what, in your eyes, isn’t even trash. Anything shiny, soft, or remotely interesting will catch your interest- one man’s trash is another man’s treasure and all that- and of course you want to share your greatest treasures with him.

So you start brining him your best finds as little gifts. The first thing you bring to him is an old disco ball ornament meant to dangle from a rearview mirror (it’s got a few of the reflective tiles missing, but they’re no great loss).

The second gift you bring is one of the reflective, crinkly cat toys that looks like little balls of tinsel (shiny and crinkly!!), and the third gift is a section of shiny copper pipe you found about to be thrown out.

You bring him other, smaller gifts too- those were just your favorites. You bring him some of the little minnows you snatch from the creek’s shallow banks and every pretty rock that catches your eye. If you don’t mind bugs, maybe you even bring him a butterfly with pretty wings or a shiny beetle to enjoy.

And all the while, John is convinced someone is fucking with him. Why is there a pile of 3 flopping, still alive and actively suffocating minnows in front of his den? What’s he even supposed to do with them? Eat them? They’re not even half the size of his pinky finger. Unsure of what to do, he ends up picking them up and taking them back to the water, perplexed by the situation.

But as more and more “surprises” of the like show up, he’s only getting more and more confused. Within a month, he’s found piles of junk in front of his send and he’s had to escort multiple sets of minnows and even a few frogs back to the stream. What’s he supposed to make of all this? What possible reason could someone have for leaving a broken pencil for him to find. Was there some sort of message?? Was that metal pipe supposed to be a threat???

So eventually he gets tired of being messed with and has a stakeout, hiding back in the underbrush and watching the entrance to his den as night falls, hoping to catch the perpetrator in the act.

He falls asleep on watch, only waking up at the sound of light, cautious footsteps near the entrance of his den.

He doesn’t hesitate. He knows this must be who’s been messing with him for the past few weeks.

He shoots out of the bushes, tackling you to the ground and ignoring your shrieks and squawks of protest as he wrestles you onto you back, pinning your arms down and glaring down at you.

“Alright. Jigs up. You had your fun messing around with me, but I’m tired of waking up to crap or half dead animals on my doorstep. Time to fess up.” He growls, looking at where he has your wrists pinned, noticing the mangled, bent metal fork in your hand.

Yep. It’s definitely been you.

“Christ.” He grumbles, plucking the fork from your hand, inspecting the twisted metal. “What the hell even is this? Where do you find this crap?? How much effort have you been putting into messing with me?”

“You don’t like it?” You say, your voice cracking.

John looks down at you, taking in the look of hurt in your eyes and the small, light grey and almost oval shaped ears sticking up from the top of your head.

He sighs, resigning himself. Of course you were a raccoon hybrid. He should’ve realized he was being courted… just the gifts and offerings of food didn’t quite line up with what he considered to be typical courting gifts.

He releases your wrists, sitting back on his heels to take his weight off you and taking a deep breath in.

“No… it’s… it’s fine. I love it…. Why don’t you come on inside.”

(Then like a week later after the two of you talk it out and he starts courting you back he just asks why the fish always had to be alive when you left them there and you just told him to prove that they were fresh)

#asks #anon asks #I litterally never get asks they make me so happy and want to literally explode #john price #hybrid!au #john price x reader #john price x y/n #john price x you #Bear hybrid!Price #raccoon hybrid!reader

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wwandaslover · 5 months ago

Text

STRANGERS | W.M

Pairing: Wanda Maximoff x F! Reader

Warnings: A bit angsty, swearing, fighting, short little fic bc I’ve been gone too long

Summary: Wanda’s trying to get her boys back and Doctor Strange comes to you for help, trying to get you to kill your ex wife. Wanda’s not happy that you’re in the way.

You had been living your life as peacefully as you could ever since Thanos. You quit using magic, you moved across the country to Oregon. It was lonely.. but it was calm. You appreciated no longer having to put yourself under such immense stress, no longer fighting people and aliens, no longer worrying about stupid diets, no longer constantly feeling like you were going to die. It was amazing to be alone despite how boring it was.

You had heard about Westview from the news not long after moving to Oregon, and though it worried you to hear that Wanda was getting to such a horrible point, you couldn’t get involved and part of you didn’t want to. You and Wanda did not end on good terms, Wanda broke your heart. You were staying out of all of that shit, you were finally getting your well deserved lull.

It grew harder to not try and help Wanda the more you heard about her, you were constantly worrying about her wellbeing. Then to your luck, Doctor Strange showed up at your doorstep asking for help and disrupting your peace, telling you he had gone to Wanda and found out she’d been corrupted by the Darkhold, trying to kill America Chavez to go to her sons in another universe. It took him very little time to convince you to help.

He needed your help since you were one of the most powerful magic wielders, yet still not anywhere near Wanda’s level. Despite being stronger than you, Wanda couldn’t absorb your magic when used on her or it could kill her, you were a Green Witch. You wielded earthly magic while Wanda wielded chaos magic, and Strange wanted you to trick her into trying to absorb your magic.

You refused to kill the woman you had loved so dearly, instead you promised to help her. You wanted her to be happy and no longer hurt so much, despite how much you hated her for what she did to you.

Standing at Kamar Taj, seeing the dead bodies of sorcerers lying on the ground after Wanda used her magic to kill them all, seeing her walk over them like nothing.. it hurt you to see her now a shell of the woman she once was. Wanda stared at you with an icy glare as she stepped closer, annoyed that you were blocking her path to America.

Wanda laughed dryly “Of course, you’re the one they bring to stop me.”

You took a deep breath, swallowing thickly. Part of you wanted to hug her and the other wanted to punch her as hard as possible. You spoke calmly, “Wanda, I’m here to help you end this madness. I don’t want to fight you.”

Wanda hummed “I’m sure you don’t. You’d rather not die, I’m sure.”

You scoffed softly “I doubt you want to either.”

Wanda sighed in annoyance “You’re right, what I want is my sons. Now get out of my way.” She began stepping closer and you used your powers to push her back.

Wanda snarled and threw blasts of energy at you which you managed to dodge by a hair. Wanda lunged at you and grabbed you by the throat, squeezing your airways shut. You gasped and coughed, gripping her wrist, your eyes wide and full of shock. You kicked her harshly and Wanda instinctively let go.

Wanda stumbled back and shouted at you, “You little bitch, get out of my way!”

You coughed into your arm, glaring at her. Once your throat hurt a little less you shouted back, your voice slightly hoarse “Fuck you! You’re the one acting like a bitch!”

Wanda scoffed “You sound like a petulant child.”

You rolled your eyes at that, annoyed by Wanda’s comments “I have no idea how I put up with you for half a decade.”

Wanda raised a brow “You never complained about me when we were together, so I must’ve been alright.” Wanda pushed you aside and began walking inside the temple.

You caught her wrist and tried to pull her back but it didn’t quite work how you wanted it to, instead she simply dragged you along with her. After a few seconds Wanda looked back at you in annoyance. “Wh- are you seriously not going to let go of me? You know I’m just going to keep dragging you with me.”

You shrugged and tightened your grip on her wrist, trying to plant your feet on the ground but they simply slid over the stones as she dragged you. You got irritated by how your efforts fell flat, so you opted for tackling her. The two of you fell together and Wanda shouted, looking up at you “What the fuck is wrong with you?!”

You couldn’t help but laugh as you held her down and Wanda was distraught by the sweet sound. It had been a long time since you laughed like that around her. Wanda swallowed thickly and tried to speak angrily, but sounded more nervous than anything, “Quit laughing! What’s so funny?”

You shook your head, still laughing softly at the situation. “This is all so stupid..”

Wanda’s jaw clenched and she quickly became angry again, mad that you had called it all stupid when she was struggling “I’m trying to get my sons back, how is that stupid?”

You furrowed your eyebrows, your laughter dying out. “I’m not saying that you losing your kids is stupid, I’m saying us fighting is stupid. I also think you’re stupid for believing this’ll work, for believing those boys would just accept you as their mother when they already have one. I mean seriously, you can’t truly believe that they’ll immediately love you, or ever love you for that matter. This won’t go your way.”

Wanda roughly pushed you off and stood up, glaring down at you “Stay out of my way. I don’t want to hurt you.” She began walking away but you used your powers to throw her back to the ground, walking over to her.

“You are not killing that innocent girl! You have no right! She’s just a child, she doesn’t deserve to die, or to go through any of this! Think of how terrified she is!” You yelled at her, angered by her lack of humanity and remorse.

“I need my boys, you don’t understand! You aren’t going to stop me!” Wanda sat up and yelled back, her eyes tearing up. She didn’t want to kill anyone, or hurt anyone.. she just needed her boys.

You stared down at her, wide eyed and in disbelief of how she was acting. “Wanda, you can still have a family in this universe!”

Wanda scoffed and stood up, stepping closer to you “And how on earth would I do that? I lost Vision, I lost my boys, I lost everything!”

Your heart ached when Wanda brought up Vision but not you. You were her first love, and apparently the least important. You ignored your own feelings and spoke, “There’s still someone out there in the world for you, somebody you can love and have a family with.”

Wanda shook her head, wiping away her tears away with a scoff. “I don’t want anybody else, I don’t want other children. I can’t just replace Vision and my boys.”

God, you wanted to strangle her for acting like this. You wanted to be understanding, but she was making it so much harder than it needed to be.

You snapped at her “I’m trying to help you find happiness somewhere in this universe instead of giving up on a life here and ruining a different version of yourself’s life, so quit acting like a fucking idiot!”

Wanda stared at you with widened eyes, surprised that you had actually gotten angry at her. You were usually not the type to get mad, but when you did it was always hard to ignore.

Wanda muttered “Calm down, there’s no need to get so-“

You cut her off by yelling at her “You’re so goddamn selfish! You are condescending, controlling, possessive, overly protective, you are so infuriating and yet here I am trying to help you all because I care about you, and I still love you, but I also fucking hate you at the same time!”

Wanda sputtered slightly, her eyes still wide. Her expression was a mix of concern and shock, concerned because you were so upset, and shocked by what you had just said. You still loved her after four years of being apart.

“Are you serious?” Wanda scoffed. It had been years, you had to be over her. She didn’t want you to keep loving her, especially not after what she had done both to you and other people. She wasn’t a good person and you were.

You scoffed back, mocking her “Yes, obviously, I’m being serious. Can you quit being such a dick now?”

Wanda hated that you were still in love with her, she wanted you to move on and she wanted to move on as well. No matter how much she loved Vision he couldn’t fill the hole in her heart from leaving you. She didn’t feel worthy of your love, or your help, not after what she did. How she left you so heartbroken and then she just went and got together with Vision. She felt horrible for what she had done to you back then, and she felt horrible for leaving you again now, knowing she should immediately go back to you and mend your broken relationship, she could experience happiness for the first time in months, but she wouldn’t.

Wanda thought for a moment and decided to just ignore the whole situation, turning away and continuing to walk. “I’m going to get my boys back.” she muttered.

You watched her with now tearful eyes, your jaw clenched and your breathing turning shaky. You were done trying to help her. You shouted after her, “I’m going to finish this whether you come out dead or alive, Wanda!”

Wanda’s heart hurt from your words, but she kept walking. She still felt great love for you, but she needed Tommy and Billy. She needed them more than she needed anything else, even you. You knew that, and watching her disappear into the temple made your heart squeeze in your chest, you knew you had lost her but you weren’t going to give up on saving America from Wanda.

a decent amount of people have asked for part two and I kinda have an idea for part two, soo, go to my requests and ask to be put on the tag list, or ask in the comments.

#wlw #gxg #lesbian #wlw post #wanda maximoff x reader #wanda maximoff x female reader #wanda maximoff x fem reader #wanda mcu #wanda x reader #mommy wanda #wanda marvel #wlw angst #wwandaslover

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reidology13 · 4 months ago

Text

we could make it better (breaking every habit)

Spencer Reid x fem ex-famous!reader

Summary: After Spencer overcomes his addiction, he seeks out the company and forgiveness of an old flame. cw: talk of addiction, a little sad? mostly fluffy though a/n: technically a part 2 of my fic based off making the bed by olivia rodrigo, but it can definitely be read as a oneshot. maybe they are a bit unhealthy, but they're cute and that's all that matters. also this was so incredibly delayed cause my phone drowned so I'm posting this from my dad's computer

Part 1

They say time heals all wounds, and standing at the door of his past mistake, Spencer hoped it had healed hers the way it had his. It had taken him too long to find her, for his pride to break down enough to ask Garcia to search for her. A few years ago it would have been all too easy, a few years ago she was on the cover of every magazine. Now she was the public's favourite conspiracy theory, the biggest where did she go? post made on some website full of self important nobodies.

Where did she go? A small house in a small town, a few hours from D.C, just close enough that Spencer had gotten in his car without a second thought the moment he had her address. Maybe it was a slight invasion of privacy, but Spencer had seen much more of her than the house she lived in.

As he lifted his fist to knock, doubt crept in for the first time since the beginning of his endeavour. Was he right to apologise, to show up at the doorstep of the person he hurt worse than anyone else in his life, and say sorry? Sorry. ‘Sorry’ was a puny word that could never hope to mean anything compared to what he had done, how he had used her. But it would have to do, because he had not come all that way to turn back at the flashing neon sign that said ‘CLOSURE’.

Knock, knock, knock. Was three knocks not enough? Knock. God four was too many and the last one had been so separate from the others it was clearly an afterthought that she would think was weird before she even knew it was him on the other side of-

“Spencer?” The door opened, just enough for her face to be visible through the small opening. She was so much more beautiful than he remembered, although he really didn’t remember much from back then.

“I’m sorry.” Well that was one way to get to the point. He smacked himself internally, scolding himself for being so stupid and inconsiderate, not even saying hello or asking her how she was doing.

“Do you wanna come in? You look like you need to sit down.” She pulled the door open, stepping back to let him in, and Spencer froze. She was allowing him into her home, her space, he who had squeezed her dry, used her up and tossed her aside when he didn’t need her anymore.

Unsure what else to do, Spencer found himself sitting on her couch, the awkward tension between them palpable as he sat silently in regret of every decision he had made in the last week.

“So,” She prompted, gesturing vaguely in his direction, “How are you?”

“Good, yeah, better. You?” He looked around the room, trying to find something that would tell him anything about her life, about her. She was a stranger, really, a stranger that used to be someone he knew. He wanted to know who she was then, on that day, in her house sitting across from him.

“I’m good too. You look better.” He knew what she meant – he didn’t look high out of his mind. The far wall of the room was covered in framed pictures of her and what he assumed were her family and friends. Some were from her childhood, some were taken in front of the very house he was sitting in.

What surprised Spencer were the photos, though few and far between, where he made an appearance. The Fourth of July party, a bright, sunny photo full of smiling faces. The poor quality of the picture did nothing to disguise the bags under his eyes, nor the dead look in hers. Her birthday, a photo of her blowing out the candles on her cake, blurred from his shaky grip on the camera.

“I don’t remember that one.” He pointed to a picture of the two of them, a dark photo that he nearly hadn’t recognised as himself. The ability to not remember had been his favourite thing back then, now the haze left him with a pit in his stomach.

“Makes sense, you were… you were bad. It was taken right near the end.”

“I am sorry, really.” Neither of them spoke after that, the silence a warm blanket rather than a thick smog. The apology wrapped around them in a warm embrace, they did not choke on it.

She moved first, after what felt like the most peaceful eternity, slipping her hand around his, holding it in the space between them. He looked down at their joined hands, his gaze slowly drifting up until it landed on the soft smile spread across her face.

“I missed you.” She squeezed his hand gently, although it felt like she squeezed his heart instead, “I missed you from the moment I met you. It’s nice to get you back.”

“I missed you too.” He didn’t know how to explain the way it had taken him a month to get sober enough that reality hit and he realised what he’d lost. At least, he didn’t know how to explain it without having to actually say something about his addiction. He’d always been good at avoiding the topic, skirting around it with suggestions and subtle confirmations. The word ‘addiction’ made him feel weak, like he’d been defeated. He’d talked about his problem once, in a room full of people who had been through the same thing, and even then he hadn’t been able to say it.

“You’re so strong, Spencer. You’ve come so far.” It was like she could read his mind, see every fear that haunted him and soothe it accordingly.

“So are you, I mean, you got out of everything.” His eyes dropped to his lap in shame of everything that he hadn’t noticed, all of the obvious signs of just how not okay she had been. All that she must have been going through, that he had been too far from reality to know existed, even when it was staring him in the face.

“You say that like you didn’t.” It was a simple sentiment, but maybe that was what hit him like a freight train. It wasn’t some mantra he’d heard hundreds of times, or a complicated conversation with his friends where they tried to talk to him without saying anything that actually mattered.

He got out of it.

“You’re perfect, you know that right?” The way he looked at her in that moment could only be described as reverential, she was the brightest star in a sky that he had never truly seen before.

“No I’m not.” The way she said it like a definite fact made Spencer’s heart start to crack, “Do you know why I have those pictures up?”

Spencer shook his head, “Tell me,” he said the words under his breath, as if they were surrounded by people in the empty room, “I’m not going to find you any less perfect.”

“Hope. I could never get the thought out of my head that you would come back.” She shook her head, gaze locked on the ground like she couldn’t bear to look at him as she spoke. “It was stupid, and then you actually did, and that’s stupid all over again.”

“You’re even more perfect than I thought.” Spencer laughed, tears pricking in the corners of his eyes, happy and sad and something he couldn’t put a name to. She was still holding his hand, he realised, and he used that information to interlace their fingers, placing their joined hands in his spare palm.

“I’m stupid and lucky, that’s what I am.” She snorted, a smile tugging at the corners of her lips.

“No, not stupid.” Spencer drew circles with his thumb on her palm as he spoke, “Lucky, maybe.”

“We’re gonna have to talk about this, us, you know that.”

“Eventually, yes. Not right now.”

“Not right now.” She confirmed, nodding slowly. They were both there, and that would have to be enough, at least for the moment.

#criminal minds #spencer reid #dr spencer reid #criminal minds x reader #criminal minds fanfiction #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid one shot #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid criminal minds #doctor spencer reid #criminal minds fic #criminal minds one shot #criminal minds angst #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid fanfic #criminal minds fluff #criminal minds spencer reid #criminal minds hurt/comfort #Spotify

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sunshineangel0 · 24 hours ago

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-baking, because murder is wrong. ✩‧

pairing- lee felix x reader summary- After a frustrating day, you show up at Felix’s apartment in the middle of the night, demanding a baking session before you do something illegal. genre- fluff, comedy, best friends to lovers word count- 1.6k warnings- mentions of stress/frustration (but no heavy angst), excessive fluff and best friends-to-lovers tension (your heart may combust), mild swearing (a few curses here and there), lots of playful banter and teasing ! not proof read (sorry for spelling mistakes etc.)

2:03 AM – Felix’s Apartment

Felix was enveloped in a deep, restful slumber when his phone began to vibrate aggressively against the wooden surface of his nightstand. At first, he ignored it, burrowing deeper under his blanket. Then it buzzed again. And again. And again. With a groggy sigh, he finally reached for it, squinting at the screen.

Y/N🦋: I’m outside.

Y/N🦋: Open the door before I commit arson.

With a resigned sigh, Felix dragged himself out of bed. The clock on his nightstand blinked 2:17 AM in glaring red digits. Of course. This wasn’t the first time you'd turned up at his doorstep in the dead of night, exuding an unmistakable air of barely contained chaos.

Felix shuffled to the door, rubbing the remnants of sleep from his eyes. As he unlocked it, he was greeted by the sight of you, swathed in an oversized hoodie that dwarfed your frame, your hair tousled as if you’d run a marathon through a windstorm. In your arms, you clutched a bag of flour with the intensity of someone holding a weapon, ready for battle.

“…Do I even want to ask?” he muttered, his voice a mix of amusement and resignation.

You pushed past him, your footsteps echoing off the wooden floor as you marched into the apartment. "I need to bake before I do something illegal," you declared, your tone a storm cloud ready to burst.

Felix just shook his head, closing the door with a soft click. He was completely unfazed, accustomed to your nocturnal baking escapades as an antidote to whatever madness the world had thrown your way.

Felix leaned casually against the kitchen counter, his eyes following your every move as you aggressively swept ingredients from the cupboard and plunked them onto the table with a loud clatter. "So," he drawled, the corners of his mouth twitching with amusement, "who's got you all riled up this time?"

You slammed a hefty bag of sugar onto the counter, sending a small cloud of white dust into the air. "My boss is an idiot," you snapped, the frustration evident in the sharpness of your voice.

Felix nodded slowly, his expression one of feigned seriousness. "Mhm."

"And my coworkers are absolutely useless," you continued, grabbing a carton of eggs and placing it beside the flour with a thud.

"Right," Felix said, his tone encouraging you to vent more.

You threw your hands up in exasperation, your voice rising with each word. "And I swear, if one more person tells me to 'just calm down,' I'm going to start throwing hands."

Felix couldn't suppress his grin any longer and reached for a mixing bowl, his eyes twinkling with mischief. "Alright. Let’s rage bake," he said, ready to join in the therapeutic chaos.

It started innocently enough, with the kitchen bathed in the warm glow of the afternoon sun. Felix stood at the counter, meticulously measuring flour with a slight furrow of concentration on his brow. Meanwhile, you were beside him, whisking the batter with a fierce determination, your movements a blur of energy.

Then—

“You know you’re supposed to gently fold in the butter, right?” Felix teased, a playful smirk tugging at the corners of his lips as he glanced over at you.

You shot him a glare, eyebrows raised in defiance. “Do I look like I care about technique right now?” you retorted, the whisk still clutched tightly in your hand.

Felix snorted, a chuckle escaping as he shook his head, amusement dancing in his eyes. “You’re dangerous,” he remarked, feigning a look of mock terror.

Then, before he could react—

You scooped up a handful of flour and flicked it at him, watching as a cloud of white powder puffed into the air, settling on his shirt.

Felix froze, his eyes wide with surprise as he processed the sudden attack. You broke into a wide grin, feeling a rush of triumph.

“…Oh, you’re done for,” he murmured, a playful threat in his voice.

With that, he grabbed a fistful of flour and launched it at you, a burst of powdery chaos swirling around you both. You gasped, ducking and weaving just in time to avoid the white storm. “You little—” you began, laughter bubbling up uncontrollably.

Chaos erupted in the small kitchen. Flour flew through the air like snow in a blizzard, sugar spilled across the countertop, and Felix danced around your attacks with surprising agility, a grin never leaving his face. You were mid-throw, about to hurl another handful, when Felix lunged forward. With a swift motion, he wrapped his arms around your waist, lifting you momentarily off the ground and spinning you away from the counter.

The two of you crashed gently against the fridge, laughter ringing out as you both tried to catch your breath, the world around you dusted in white. Felix’s face was only inches from yours, his eyes locked onto yours, a soft smile playing on his lips.

And suddenly—

You weren’t thinking about your boss, whose endless demands had been weighing on you. You weren’t thinking about your awful day, filled with stress and frustration. You were just thinking about him, the warmth of his presence and the laughter you shared, and nothing else seemed to matter.

The way his eyes crinkled when he laughed reminded you of the sun peeking through clouds on a dreary day. His hands lingered on your waist, warm and reassuring, as if they belonged there. His smile softened, just slightly, as he looked at you, the corners of his lips curling gently upward. Your heart skipped a beat, a fluttering sensation that you couldn't quite control.

And before you could stop yourself, the words tumbled out of your mouth—"…You look good like this."

Felix blinked, surprise flickering in his eyes, before a playful smirk spread across his face. "Covered in flour?" he teased, gesturing to the white dusting on his shirt.

You laughed, a light, airy sound that filled the kitchen, and nudged his chest with the back of your hand. “No, I mean—” You hesitated, your gaze dropping to the floor as you tried to gather the courage that seemed to have slipped away.

Felix tilted his head, his eyes gentle and encouraging. Then, in a quieter voice, he urged, “Say it.”

You swallowed hard, feeling the weight of the moment pressing down on you. This was dangerous territory, a line you had both been dancing around for months. But maybe, just maybe, you were tired of pretending. So you exhaled, your voice barely above a whisper, the words escaping your lips—"…I mean, I like you, dumbass."

Felix froze, his expression momentarily unreadable. Your stomach plummeted like a stone in a pond. Oh. Oh no. What if you had ruined everything between you?

But then, Felix's lips curved into a genuine grin, not teasing or smug, but soft and sincere, as if he had been waiting for this moment all along. Without a trace of hesitation, he said, “I like you too.”

Your breath caught in your throat, hope bubbling up inside you. “Yeah?” you asked, barely daring to believe it.

Felix chuckled, a deep, rich sound, and reached up to gently brush a smudge of flour from your cheek. “Yeah,” he confirmed, his eyes twinkling with warmth.

And then, slowly, sweetly, he leaned in and kissed you. It was a kiss that enveloped you like a warm embrace, tender and unhurried. It felt like all those late-night baking sessions had finally revealed their true purpose, like this was more than just a distraction. It felt like he was exactly where he wanted to be, and so were you.

You perched on the edge of the marble counter, your legs swinging idly back and forth, while Felix meticulously swept up the scattered flour that covered the kitchen like a fresh layer of snow. The remnants of your late-night baking escapade were everywhere—flour dusted the floor, bits of dough clung to the edges of the wooden table, and a sweet aroma lingered in the air.

“…So, technically, I still never got my revenge,” you mused, watching Felix’s careful movements as he wiped the counter with a damp cloth, his brow furrowed in concentration.

Felix paused, glancing up at you with an exasperated yet amused look. “I think you had enough fun throwing flour at me,” he retorted, brushing some lingering white powder from his dark hair.

You flashed a mischievous grin, the memory of your playful battle fresh in your mind. “Maybe.”

Then, as the moment softened, your voice did too, turning almost contemplative. “But I feel better.”

Felix’s stern expression melted away, replaced by a gentle warmth. He reached out, his fingers lightly tapping your knee, a silent acknowledgment of the bond you shared. “That’s why I let you wake me up at 2 AM,” he murmured, his voice a low, soothing rumble that made your heart skip a beat.

You rolled your eyes playfully, feeling the flutter of your pulse quicken, and hopped off the counter, landing softly on the cool tile floor. “Come on,” you said, tugging at the sleeve of his floured shirt with a gentle insistence. “Cookies are done.”

Felix grinned widely, his eyes sparkling with a mix of affection and amusement, and allowed you to lead him toward the oven. Together, you both sank onto the floor, the warmth from the freshly baked cookies seeping through the plates in your hands. Sharing the sweet treats and exchanging shy, stolen glances, you couldn’t help but think—

Maybe baking really was better than murder. Especially when it meant discovering a love that felt as warm and comforting as the cookies you shared.

©sunshineangel0 𖹭 if you liked this work, please consider reblogging, commenting or liking! xoxo franzi 💋

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theresattrpgforthat · 3 months ago

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Mint Plays Games: Changelings, Trauma & Gaming

Over the course of October and November, I returned to one of my favourite ttrpgs of all time with @thydungeongal and my girlfriend: Changeling the Lost. About once or twice a year, I get the itch to run the 1st edition of this lovely, lore-heavy game, and every year I come away from it thinking about its potential. This is meant to be a quick break-down of my latest Changeling session, as well as a reflection on the parts of Changeling that really touch my heart.

The Game.

This game happened over three sessions, involving a character creation session, and two sessions of play. We had one character who was a Darkling Gravewright - folks who dealt with the dead in their time in Faerie (and can also see ghosts), and another who was a Fairest Flamesiren, whose entire deal is about burning bright, but also burning out quickly.

I decided to give these girls a murder mystery, with a mortal body found just outside a gate to a Goblin Market, and a missing changeling to track down. We’d talked about themes of grief and addiction prior to my planning stage, so I figured dealing with both a death and a place that offers your wildest dreams (for a price) might be a good place to start.

I don’t like planning out specific plot beats in my games, so instead I tried designing the Market like an adventure location, with various vendors to tempt the players with their wares, while dotting the landscape with NPCs in various states of distress. I figured the Changelings would pick something that resonated with them, and we could go from there. This process also generated a few different villainous characters who could be responsible for the murder, which I’m glad I did, because as usual, what the players decide to do always falls outside the bounds of what the GM plans for.

The story ended up being about saving a kidnapped changeling from a hungry Fae, and bluffing through a group of Privateers (read: mercenaries) and bringing the victim to safety. However, they didn't escape completely unscathed - coming face to face with a True Fae caused a cascade of terrible memories coming back to visit one of our characters right after she thought she'd made it to safety.

Our session was an introduction to the world and lore of Changeling, and I feel like I did a pretty good job on that front. On the other hand, I felt like it was just the tip of the iceberg when it comes to the things I think Changeling can be about.

The Potential

When it comes to the World of Darkness in general, I think Changeling: the Lost has a relatively sleek amount of lore regarding the various Courts, Seemings, and faerie characters. Each Changeling’s durance can be typified, but ultimately what they went through can be up to the player who designs them, and the Hedge is limitless in its weird and strange creatures, which gives the GM license to create all kinds of goblins and monsters to fit what they want their game to be about - and the players aren’t really expected to know what’s going on in there anyways. Most Freehold history exists in rumour, because talking too openly about it feels like you’re inviting the Fae to your front doorstep, and in the same way, the true nature of the Fae is left up to rumour and superstition, allowing your group to decide what they really are, or leave their nature forever a mystery.

That being said, the toys that you can play with are still more numerous than anything that you can fit into any one campaign, even if you’re playing that campaign for 4+ years. You can very easily play Changeling as a magical urban fantasy game (and I’ve done this fairly regularly with my group), but C:tL also has a lot of poignant themes that can delve into themes about trauma, addiction, and mental health.

Disclaimer: CtL is not always graceful in the way it represents mental health. There are antagonists presented in the books that come across as “madmen”, some pretty gross Merits you can take that can feel bad to play at most tables, and characters that have lost what makes them human, becoming threats to the players. However, I think that the Clarity system does have some interesting ideas in it that, if treated with care, can still provide some interesting depth to the game.

Clarity

Clarity is meant to be a measure of how well your character can tell truth from Fiction - a high enough Clarity score, and you can sniff out a Fae even if they’re trying to hide themselves; a low enough Clarity Score, and you have a hard time differentiating colour and smell, and might even start seeing an overlay of your Durance infiltrating your weekly grocery trip.

Your Changeling moves up in Clarity if they’re able to keep a stable life with elements that help you ground yourself and give you a sense of identity - and mechanically, once you spend Experience points. Your Changeling moves down in Clarity when they suffer “sins” - moments that disrupt that hard-won stability. This sins could be something we’d consider morally fraught, such as stealing, assaulting someone, or murder - but they could also be significant life changes, like losing your job, buying a house, losing a friend or getting married. You also always suffer a Clarity sin when you come in contact with a reminder of your durance - particularly a True Fae.

The higher your Clarity score is, the harder it is to keep yourself there. Smaller and smaller things can trigger a Breaking point, like going a day without human contact, starting a new college course, or using a Faerie token. Furthermore, the lower your Clarity score, the more difficult it is for you to tell truth from fiction - think of the scenes in Mockingjay where Peeta has to ask Katniss “real or not real” and try to trust her answers.

It doesn’t help that so many pieces of the Changeling experience after getting out of the Hedge seems designed to Fuck You Up - like the doppelgänger that’s been living your life ever since you left, or the fact that mortals can’t seem to notice the ways that Faerie has changed you: you can feel the horns on your head, but all they touch is a well-coiffed hairstyle. In many ways it feels like your whole experience with Faerie is invisible - and you’re fairly certain that even if you told a mortal the truth, they’d never believe you. If they did believe you, they would never treat you the same again.

I like this system because it doesn't really measure how "good" or "bad" your character is - instead it's a representation of how your lived experiences can often trigger symptoms even if others get lucky enough to survive those events with their mental health intact. I'm not a bit fan of derangements - but I think dropping in Clarity is an excellent time to ask characters about pieces of their time in Faerie that haunt them, and perhaps saddle them with Frailties instead - what personal rules do you have to follow in order to navigate the world when you have a hard time telling friend from foe?

Other Themes & Metaphors

The Fae themselves are also exquisite boogeymen, mercurial abusers without the familiar human emotions that we might feel more equipped to understand. They act on their whims and follow their appetites - and while real-life abusers often have very human reasons for being that way, we need not feel such compunctions from the Fae.

We might have to feel some compunctions about their right-hand Loyalists however, changelings who have agreed to work for their Fae Masters in exchange for some semblance of freedom. These are enablers: giving the Fae a step into the mortal realm and throwing mortals and other Lost under the bus, just so the True Fae won't turn their abuses back onto them.

Much of the ethos of the seasonal courts in the first edition has to do with different strategies for preventing a day where you find yourself back under your abuser’s control. Do you pretend that everything is fine, because they won’t recognize their victims if they’re happy? Make yourself physically stronger so you can tell yourself that you’ll win next time? Amass magic rituals in the hopes that learning just the right order of steps will keep you safe? Or do you make yourself as un-interesting as possible in the hopes that they give up on you for other prey? (Yes, I think the Winter Court could totally be all about grey-rocking).

On top of that, the Changelings that your characters embody (and interact with) are far from perfect. They have vices, fears and trauma responses that pull and push them into a dance of backstabbing, power-grabbing politics, full of seeking the upper hand and possibly even selling out their fellows in a gambit meant to keep the Fae focused on someone other than them. (A political game or LARP with these themes in mind feels so juicy to me.)

Next is the metaphors of power and/or addiction. The higher your Wyrd is, the more Glamour you can hold, and the more powerful your magic is. At the same time, the more Glamour you can hold, the more you need to hold it: what starts as a fun magical resource can grow into an addiction, if you lean into it hard enough. Sure, your Contracts become easier to activate and you can Incite Bedlam if you get powerful enough, but are you willing to chance withdrawal if you can’t get your daily fix of goblin fruit? How much are you willing to play with human emotions in order to get that sweet sweet taste of anger or grief?

Then there’s the seeming-specific traumas. Beasts struggle with wondering whether they can be human after giving in to animal instinct; Darklings fell into Faerie because they crossed an invisible or moral line and have had to make morally questionable decisions in order to survive. Elementals are used to being treated as part of the scenery, moulded to fit the whims of their captors; Fairest are constantly pressured to be the prettiest or the best with the threat of terrible terrible things should they fail. Ogres have undergone terrible physical hardships, including physical mistreatment and deprivation, while Wizened have been told time and time again that they are only worth something if they are useful. Stepping out of Faerie doesn’t magically “fix” any of these complexes, and as a result each Seeming has to wrestle with stereotypes even amongst their own: if you need someone murdered, go to a Darkling, If you need something made, go to a Wizened. If you need a hot piece of ass, a Fairest is sure to oblige - right?

Lastly, there's the Fetch: a copy of yourself that was made to replace you when the Fae took you away. This other-you is often so much better or so much worse than the person they used to be - they can act as a foil to your character, haunting you or making your life difficult, reminding you of who you used to be, or never letting others forget how badly you may have screwed up. In Changeling society, killing your Fetch is at the very least a regrettably convenient way of tying up loose ends, and at the most, a rite of passage. But it's also a surefire way to risk losing Clarity. Kind of a catch-22 situation, isn't it?

My Experience So Far

Past Changeling sessions I’ve run have included NPCs getting kidnapped by misguided friends, stumbling across characters who were at an all-time Clarity low, trying to save other Changelings from their Faerie kidnappers, cannibals, Fetches, and antagonists who are set out to betray one or more factions of the Freehold that is supposed to protect them. It’s always bits and pieces of what feels like a bigger picture.

On the one hand, I think that's to be expected. There's so much in this game, and I doubt that any campaign can really dig in to all of its systems and complexities. On the other hand, I’m not sure if I’ve been able to really dig into the themes of Changeling: the Lost in the way that I’d really love to be able to do.

The subject matter can be so close to real struggles, that I’m nervous about making those struggles too bare-faced at my local table. Gas-lighting, torture, hallucinations, drug abuse and cannibalism are so very easy to drop into a Changeling game, but are also so very easy to hit uncomfortable moments for someone who's unprepared.

At the same time, I think that playing a game like Changeling with a high-trust table that uses robust safety features has so many interesting stories that can give power to players, even if the setting is technically a horror one. I’ve been having conversations with @psychhound about a lot of the themes that folks try to explore in ttrpgs, especially in response to this post he commented on back in April. To summarize that conversation: TTRPGs are a great way for folks to tackle personal struggles and traumas from a safe place, in ways that can give them a cathartic experience or that can give them a fresh sense of identity. Changeling has been a significant part of those discussions.

I came to Changeling: the Lost as a fairly new GM the first time I picked it up, and the more I learn about Safety Tools and a culture of care, the closer I feel to getting to that game that lives in my head that lured me into TTRPGS in the first place. Every time I come back to It, I think I'm closer to pulling together a Changeling game that sinks its teeth into the themes I’m interested in and hit some of the grime beneath all that glitter. So every time I come back to it, I’m going to create funky little goblins and design weird Fae bars and take the characters’ memories and ask them why they hurt - figuring out how I can twist the knife just enough to peel back the glamour, without opening any wounds that we’re trying to keep closed.

#tabletop games #indie ttrpgs #changeling the lost #mint plays games #mint speaks #world of darkness

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imaluvsj7 · 8 days ago

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✿ ─── TOUCH OF EUPHORIA : 이희승

SYNOPSIS : where 𝒽𝑒𝑒seung is desperate man

PAIRING : 𝓁ee 𝒽𝑒𝑒seung x gn 𝓇eader ; GENRE : friends 𝓉𝑜 lovers, 𝒻luff, yearning & 𝒹esperation ; WC : 1338

───── 【 𝒾mas’ note 】 ❍ :: getting hang of writing again so sorry this is kinda rusty, I've tried making gn this time so really sorry if you find specific gender mentioned anywhere. please leave fbs & ENJOY READING!!

WARNINGS : english is not my first language, reader loves to banter, hee is a loser trapped in a hot body — desperate and yearning, hee calls reader angel, lots of fluffy & they kiss!!!! a little bit of rusty writing.

DISCLAIMER : This is a work of fiction. Unless otherwise indicated, all the names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents in this book are either the product of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

“Visiting my house early in the morning with your pajamas still on isn't how i expected you to show up heeseung especially the following day of your confession,” you stand near your door looking at him with adoration with a teasing tone hidden behind your grin.

Heeseung stood in front of your doorsteps with his typical pajamas a white loose tank top and grey trousers, bedhead messy locks with some tousled strands tucked in places — showing he has tried to fix his hair on the way, his bambi eyes showing daze and their usual sparkle. (click to read more)

Yet his unsettling feet and palms showed his feelings — a mix of joy, excitement, a depth of overwhelmingly and maybe slightly anxious gaze which he couldn't hide and somewhat feeling euphoric.

“I woke up and went to directly check my phone then I saw your response to my confession and I couldn't control myself but I promise I have brushed my teeth and washed my face,” he explains hastily trying to assure you he has cleaned himself enough to show up.

You try to suppress your laugh but he was too adorable to control, looking at you chuckling he blushed profusely as his ears turned crimson red and warm.

Soon calming down you speak — “so heeseung did you feel satisfied with my response.” “You said you will reply in person….. uh- so do you reciprocate my feelings?” he stutters out his question.

“Is this why you came rushing?” you ask with a playful tone subsiding your laugh. “Please angel, just answer my question. I need to know your response in person,” he said, carrying a whiny tone and emphasizing his plea.

“Okay gosh but first come inside you goofball.”

─────═━ •❃• ━═─────

You both walk into the living room and sit on the couch, “you want anything to drink cause it's early morning you haven't had breakfast or something.” “No please let's just talk,” he pleads desperately.

God you are weak for men who yearn pathetically, it drives you insane. You want to scream in a pillow at his adorable yet desperate state.

“Okay okay let's talk,” you gesture at him to continue speaking. “I couldn't keep my feelings hidden anymore angel, so Jay pushed me to confess and I didn't have the guts to do it infront of your face so I preferred to text instead.”

“To be honest I said that because confessing on text is a chicken move and I wasn't fond of it so I told you to confront me in person for my response.” “Yeah that I understood after Sunoo and Jungwon smacked my head when I told them before leaving, I'm really sorry that was very cowardly and lame of me.”

“It's okay bambi boy you're forgiven since you're so adorable but now I'm waiting for you to repeat the same thing you know.”

“Stop teasing me — he groans, maybe more like whining with his lips forming a pout — okay now just listen to me and don't speak please or I might get nervous, “you're nervous” – angel please let me complete.

I have had feelings for you for three years right after we became friends, I couldn't control them. Whenever you grab my arm I feel a jolt of electricity running through my body, when you come over to take care of me when I'm sick I feel captivated by your presence, when you laugh at my silly jokes I feel an intense wave of euphoria, I feel butterflies in my stomach when I go to bed after we hangout. I cannot stop myself blushing and smiling, at this point all my friends know and make fun of me. I don't care if I sound desperate or pathetic. I just want you to know how I feel so please tell me how you feel or I might go insane.”

“Gosh bambi boy you make me want to squish the life out of you. I have feelings for you too, you idiot, it was pretty clear to everyone except for you bimbo. Why do you think I always agreed to hangout and spend time with you and laugh at your silly jokes because I love you dummy.”

You expected him to jump or maybe laugh or just react with some sort of excitement but rather his eyes are glossy showing his vulnerability and his big grin speaks for his happiness.

“Say something now you idiot,” “I will start crying you-you love me- you said those words.” He stands up abruptly startling you as he grabs you in a tight hug pulling you up from the couch and his feet softly bouncing in excitement showing his eagerness.

“Okay you stupid let's sit…. oh god bambi boy,” you laugh at his excitement as he stumbles and you both crash on the couch. “Sorry oh god that was embarrassing I couldn't help oh this is real,” he giggles still joyful from the adrenaline rush.

He shifts, getting both of you comfortable laying down on the couch and you both stay quiet for a few minutes covered in a comforting silence.

“You know you haven't said those words yet,” “I haven't what – how can I be so stupid oh my god I love you angel, so much and it keeps growing everyday, every minute and every second.”

“You know you're definitely desperate and corny but lucky for me I like my man yearning for me.” He laughs at your sassy words while nuzzling his face in your hair and it follows with a soft warm touch of his lips making you go still and your body feeling euphoric.

He turns your head into his direction as he inches himself close to your face, his warm breath hitting your lips as he whispers “Can I?” — nodding your head you give him consent.

He soon leans forward, your bodies pressed together and your lips meeting his and you can feel the taste of shared breath along with his natural scent consuming your brain making it foggy.

Jolts of electricity pass in your system sending a tingling sensation across your cloudy brain and your palms turn clammy. The feeling of euphoria crawling in your heart making loud thuds. Your lips part slightly as he slips his tongue inside making you grasp his tank top in a tight fist.

Your usual confidential facade falling off as your face flushes warmth turning your ears crimson red. Eyes closed with your one hand travelling from his hair to his nape and his one hand locking your lips in place while the other holds your waist with fingers caressing your skin.

Your heart blooms with a rush of contentedness and a warmth you couldn't despair — the feeling so new yet so exciting making you feel gleeful. The lack of oxygen forcing you both to slowly part away, he leaves a last peck on your puckered lips.

Taking your time to stabilize your breathing you start feeling shy and exposed but the way Heeseung grins widely with adoration shining in his bambi eyes, his hands holding yours with his fingers caressing your knuckles assuring you.

Guessing your vulnerability he pulls you to him hugging you closes, pressing his torso against yours. Nuzzling his chin against your head he tilts his head a little to give your forehead a loving peck soon returning to its position.

After somewhat ten minutes of comforting silence he spoke up “Just so you know I'm your boyfriend now and you're my girlfriend but Jay told me girls feel loved and special when we ask them out on a nice date so give me one day.”

Receiving no response he pulls away a little to find you in a peaceful slumber, his loving gaze admiring your peaceful self — when you aren't teasing him or being cheeky.

Returning to his position he closes his eyes drifting away in his dreamland except this time it wasn't him admiring you from afar rather holding your hand while walking on a beach with your ring finger shining with a gold ring reflecting the sunlight.

💌 ─── NOTE : editing my taglist so please tell me if you wanna be added in my perm taglist.

˙ . ꒷ 🍥 masterlist daily click . 𖦹˙—

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fairyysoup · 2 months ago

Text

sever the blight

(steve's version) (repost)

pairing(s): werewolf!steve harrington x fem!aristocrat!reader

summary: Steve is your bodyguard. You are engaged to another man. It all seems very cut and dry until a fatal accident traps you alone with him on a full moon.

word count: 11.2k

cw: explicit, smut, monsterfucking!!!, loss of virginity, graphic depictions of violence, blood, gore, minor character death, animal death, horror elements, dark themes, historical au, fairy tale au, some sort of historical fantasy period, idk which one you tell me, forbidden romance, mutual pining, possessive behavior, misogynistic views on sex and marriage, animalistic behavior, marking, scenting, knotting, breeding kink, werewolf transformation, werewolf bites, again steve is a werewolf the reader is fucking a werewolf and all that entails, dead dove: do not eat

a/n: hiiiii this was originally posted in two separate parts, but as it was actually meant to be a one-shot when I started writing it, i've reposted it as one here. I'm sorry lol

ALL MY WORKS ARE 18+ MINORS DNI

"Fear and flee the wolf; for, worst of all, the wolf may be more than he seems." -Angela Carter, The Company of Wolves

“Please, don’t do this.”

The hum of crickets at twilight surrounds you as you step out of the inn, into warm summer air. The soft muslin of your underskirts turn heavy with the humidity, as you watch your governess, Miss Fontaine, charge ahead toward the carriage. Already prepared for your departure, the driver twitches his thumbs in anticipation.

You watch her turn to face the only other member of your traveling party with a perturbed sigh. “And lose more time? If we ride through the night we can make Kensworth by morning.”

You feel a heat on the back of your neck before you turn to see him emerge from the shadows, the deep green of his coat highlighting the little bit of jade in his hazel eyes. Steven. Steve. The huntsman. Your guard. You don’t know much about him, aside from that he’s from this region. He’d made his living as a huntsman before your father, favoring Steve for his discretion and propriety, hired him as a personal bodyguard. Your very own knight in shining armor, if you wanted to be romantic about it.

He’s the only man you’ve ever met who manages to make you nervous while simultaneously making you feel invariably safe. Like, as long as he’s around, you know that nothing will dare to hurt you. And nothing will make your heart race beneath your bodice quite the same as he does.

Still, months of his protection haven’t taught you anything about who he is, and it seems like he wants it that way. You know only the things that you’ve picked up by being around him- he prefers ale over wine, fiddles with his hair when he’s nervous, and he enjoys doing people favors. He has a goofy sense of humor. He’s kind, and gentle when he speaks.

Unless he’s arguing with your domineering governess. Like now, for instance.

“You don’t know these woods like I do,” he insists, his voice unnaturally low, nearly a growl as he looms over you on the doorstep of the inn. He stands too close to you, his eyes burning fire as he peers at Miss Fontaine, and then down at you, making your hands shake behind your skirts. His tone softens, “My lady, listen to me and wait for the night. Let the moon wane before we leave.”

You open and close your mouth, looking from Steve to Miss Fontaine. To his obvious annoyance, your governess is already shaking her head at you before he finishes talking. God, you wish you knew what to say to assuage them both. But, ultimately, the choice isn’t up to you. It never is.

“I can’t spare the time. The Duke will already be upset that I’m arriving late to my own wedding.” The words feel flat in your mouth, like a script written by someone else. Truly, you’re running late as it is, days late, all because an avalanche laid waste to the only route out of town, keeping you at your latest stop and delaying your journey beyond repair.

“Your fiancé won’t be happy to know you’re putting yourself at risk to make up for lost time.” Steve spits the word fiancé like a curse, like he’d rather not acknowledge the man’s existence at all. You let it slide; after all, you’re not particularly taken with the idea, either.

You haven’t met him- your fiancé. You know him even less than you know your faithful bodyguard. You only know his face from a painting you were gifted, and his name- not from any sort of correspondence, mind you, but because the betrothal is a big deal, considering he’s a duke. And that would make you, of a sort, a future duchess. Or so Miss Fontaine keeps reminding you.

She raises one petulant eyebrow, now, at your protector. “You’d have us force the Duke to wait at the altar?”

Steve’s eyes darken. “If he cares for the lady at all, he’ll be relieved to know that you did the pragmatic thing and waited to travel-”

“Don’t lecture me about pragmatism-”

“I’m trying to protect her!”

“Protect her, then!” Short of stamping your foot, there’s nothing you can do but stand by as they argue back and forth. “That is your job. Not presuming to call orders. You are a guard, not an advisor.”

Steve glowers at her, his big eyes glinting dangerously in the lamplight from the carriage. “You don’t know-”

“But you do, correct?” You stare up at Steve with wide eyes, while he cocks his head, looking at Miss Fontaine as if trying to find the best and fastest way to get rid of her. She snaps, “I’d expect a huntsman to know a thing or two about traveling in the woods at night.”

She doesn’t wait for his reply. She lifts her skirts and steps into the carriage without waiting for the driver’s hand, all but slamming the door behind her. That’s the end of that.

You move to follow her, but a hand brushes your own, behind your back. You nearly jump out of your own skin at the touch- your blood boils, and your stays grow heavy on your chest as your breath quickens. You rapidly turn to face him, before Miss Fontaine can look out the carriage window.

“Steven-”

“Miss, please, just listen to me.”

You’re struck by how soft Steve’s voice is when directed at you, compared to his snarling at Miss Fontaine. His hazel eyes are enough to make you melt, searching your face for understanding.

“The things that happen in these woods, on a full moon, it’s-” he drops his gaze to your clasped hands, and for a moment, you think he’s going to reach out and grab them. But he simply takes a deep breath, the red flush on his cheeks brightening as he looks back up to your face. His voice drops in register, so that only you can hear him say, “Please, honey, I’m begging- talk some sense to your governess. Going out there tonight, when the moon is full… it’s too dangerous. Believe me. Trust me.”

You take the opportunity to gaze up at him openly, like you’ve wanted to for all the months you’ve known him, but never got the chance to. It occurs to you to correct him on his impropriety, and to remind him that you’re betrothed. To a duke that you don’t want to marry.

You don’t correct him. Instead, you whisper, “I trust you, honey.” And when he blinks, his lashes kissing his cheeks like you so desperately want to, you add, “But you and I both know that if anyone actually listened to me, we wouldn’t be traveling at all. I’m sorry, Mr. Harrington. My hands are tied.”

Steve swallows, and you swear he looks like he’s going to cry, or do something desperate like drag you back inside with him. But he just nods, and when you turn to climb into the carriage, he nearly pushes the driver aside to offer you his hand, instead.

Your mind lingers on the touch of his hand even after you’ve settled into your seat, your fingers smoothing over your tingling palm distractedly. You watch through the window as Steve’s trousers tighten across his thighs when he mounts his horse. He gives the driver a furious look as the carriage kicks off.

And Miss Fontaine glares at you when you pretend you weren’t staring at the young huntsman.

“The Duke will be pleased to know that you’re doing everything you can to reach the destination promptly.”

You sigh, your elbow resting heavily against the windowsill of the carriage. The Duke, the Duke. Your future husband already has his clutches wrapped around you, squeezing until you can feel your ribs cracking and blood spilling from your mouth. Miss Fontaine seems to have no qualms about singing his praises for the entire duration of your midnight commute, and there is nothing you can do to stop it. You’ve never been able to sleep while traveling, the rocking of the carriage jostling you awake no matter how hard you try.

Your eyes fix outside, on the white mare keeping stride with the carriage. Steve’s face is partially lamplit from the lanterns beside the driver’s seat, a deep furrow to his brow as he stares off into the dark. He worries his bottom lip with his teeth, lost in thought.

You’d kill to know what’s going on inside his head. There have been times when you’ve thought of asking him what he thinks about this marriage- it’s entirely out of his place to voice his opinion, of course, but nights spent with him standing guard outside your bedchamber have made you curious. What he’s thinking, what he’s feeling, when your future is being decided for you. When you’re helpless to stop any of it, and the only thing he’s able to do is throw himself in front of any physical danger coming your way.

Your curiosity doesn’t form in a void, you know. You aren’t completely blind to his affections. Steve is protective of you to the point of possessiveness, always hovering close, intimidating anyone who so much as looks your way. Would-be suitors were chased off by your guard’s heavy, unblinking stare before the Duke wrote to your parents and asked for your hand. You think the only reason this marriage is happening at all is because your fiancé never had to be subject to Steve’s frightening scrutiny.

You don’t miss the way Steve brightens whenever you’re around, either. The way he smiles and indulges your conversation whenever he’s afforded it, going out of his way to make you laugh. Presenting you with bouquets of your favorite flowers, just because he saw them in the garden and knew you’d love them. He’s so sweet to you, and to no one else. At least, not in the same way. Not in a way that makes you doubt his affection for you, however subtle.

You wonder if he doubts your affection for him. You wonder if he can see it as easily as he can see a fawn meandering through the trees, in the path of one of his arrows. You’ve thought about it so often that it’s kept you up at night, when there’s no distraction that comes to make the thoughts of him disappear. When all you have are your own hands, and the knowledge of his presence just on the other side of your chamber door. If he listens very closely, Steve may be able to hear the wetness of your fingers as they slide between your legs, while you pretend that they’re his.

You wonder if he has heard it; there have been a few times when you weren’t certain, when he wouldn’t meet your eye in the morning after a particularly strong orgasm made you whimper a little too loudly. Maybe he knows, and he’s just more proper than you have the decency to be anymore.

But Steve couldn’t know about your dreams, when you’ve shut your eyes and fallen asleep - ones where your unconscious mind doesn’t fail to give you the closeness you crave from him. Ones where his forehead rests against yours lovingly, his breath ghosting across your lips as he rocks the bed with his thrusts. You aren’t making much noise in these dreams, but why would you, when the noises that he’s making are more beautiful than any you could come out with?

And what a pretty thing you are, whimpering Steve’s name as your hand scratches along the mattress to keep you anchored, the fingers of your other hand threaded in his hair, relief flooding your soul at being able to feel it in your grasp. You shiver, either from the intimacy of it or from the caresses of his tongue against your pulse, but it doesn’t make an ounce of a difference when you come apart on his cock, your head tilted back and exposing the column of your throat for his mouth as you thrash against him.

When his hips stutter, when he pulls you against his chest as the heat of his release blooms deep in your core, it’s with a groan of your true name onto your own tongue, to make sure you know how he’s made himself in the bed of your body. “You are mine now. My lady, not his. Never his.”

Waking from those dreams, after a while, hurts more than the idea of having them in the first place. Because you step out of your bedchamber to find Steve standing guard, smiling at you politely, properly, as the arbitrary rules that keep you apart dictate he should, and the cycle starts anew.

“Are you even listening?”

Your attention snaps back to Miss Fontaine, and her pinched, stony face. You were not, your mind tending to wander to him at the worst times. “I’m sorry?”

Miss Fontaine tsks, and you already know what’s coming. You take a deep breath in. “How do you expect to please a husband when you can’t even listen to me for more than a minute? Stop slouching, child.”

You straighten your spine even as you seethe. You’re a lady when it suits them to burden you with responsibility, and then you’re a child to be ordered around when you don’t please them. “I’m not a child.”

“Quite right, and you’re nearly too old to be a debutante. You’re well on your way to becoming a spinster if you don’t behave. Lord knows the Duke has his work cut out for him.”

It takes all your strength not to roll your eyes. Of course, you should be thankful that you’re being sold off like cattle to the highest bidder. No, the only bidder. It just so happens that he’s a higher ranking aristocrat than you. And, as Miss Fontaine loves to remind you, you should count yourself lucky that anyone showed interest in you at all.

Never mind that you could never have the one that matters most to you. He has to stand by and watch it happen.

Poor, stupid thing. You always want what you can’t have, don’t you?

You’re snapped out of your thoughts by the carriage lurching to a stop, the calls of ‘whoa!’ from the driver reaching you through the carved wood of the cabin. Miss Fontaine sighs and moves to open the window latch before Steve’s hand slams down abruptly on the glass.

“Stay,” he snarls at her, his eyes seeming to glow from the inside with a reflective green. Your breath stutters in your chest when he looks at you. The reflective pale green of a nocturnal creature seems to encompass his pupils for just a moment. “Don’t leave the carriage.”

You watch him dismount his horse. You’re craning your neck to try to keep your eye on him out the window, when Miss Fontaine grumbles, “That boy needs to learn some manner-”

You gasp loudly when something lurches the carriage sideways. You grab onto the edge of the seat as it lurches again, keeping your balance as the carriage threatens to topple. Miss Fontaine shrieks, thrown sideways towards the door.

You hear the cries of the driver, just past the wooden walls of the cabin, and you don’t have to have much imagination to conclude what’s happening to him. Your heart plummets, immediately thinking of Steve, out there doing who knows what, with whatever it is that’s making the noise.

“What on earth-” Miss Fontaine grabs onto the door handle as soon as you hear an infernal growling coming from outside.

“Don’t leave the carriage!” You yell, just as she throws open the door to do exactly that.

With one final jolt, the carriage flips.

Breathe in. Breathe out. When you open your eyes, you don’t know how much time has passed, if any at all. You think you may have fainted in the commotion- your head doesn’t feel hurt, but your hip has been bruised. It smarts as you try to push yourself up, where your legs are crushed up against the wall of the carriage. Groggily, you turn your head, and scream.

Miss Fontaine’s unblinking, glassy eyes stare lifelessly back at you. Half of her body has been crushed beneath the toppled carriage, having fallen as she tried to leave the carriage. Blood oozes slowly from her hairline, down across her cooling forehead.

Heaving unmeasured breaths, you raise your hand and push her face away from you. Her head bobs limply to the other side. You don’t want her staring at you still, in death, with that judgemental sneer etched on her face.

With a sob stuck in your throat, you turn your head and stare up at the window above you in the capsized carriage. You manage to sit up and unlatch the door above you, throwing it open like a trap door. Heaving yourself up through the opening is another challenge- even though your summer dress is comparatively light, pulling your skirts upwards and over the edge is difficult, and you end up barrel-rolling out of the opening more than anything.

You come crashing down on the opposite side of the carriage wall, the wheels bracketing you where you sit. The lanterns on the driver’s end have broken, oil pooling and creating a fire that’s rapidly growing the longer it sits. Beside you, Miss Fontaine’s legs stick out comically from beneath the structure like a pair of sticks. You reach over and throw her skirts back over them. For propriety, of course.

You hear rustling off to your left. Scrambling along the ground, dirt and pebbles press into your palms and scrape your knees. You peek around the carriage wheel to see what the cause of the commotion is.

In a ditch beside the road, Steve is wrestling with a… well. In the darkness it’s hard to make it out, but it’s some sort of wild cat. A cougar or a mountain lion, by the looks of it, and monstrously huge. No wonder why the carriage toppled; it has your guard pinned, dwarfing him and trying hard to bite at his throat.

You go to scream to draw the cat’s attention away from Steve, but before you can, Steve already has the cat by the jaws. His two big hands wrap around the wild cat’s upper and lower teeth, prying them open before they can bite down.

And he keeps prying, until the damned thing’s head rips apart in his hands.

You shriek. You can’t wrap your head around all the blood, pouring across his chest and face. Two pieces of a fleshy, gorey skull drop from his hands as he pushes himself up and flings the dead creature off of him. It flops limply to the ground, a pool of blood spilling from the torn remains of its head.

Steve stands tall, hulking and godly against the backdrop of night, and in the flickering light of the growing fire from the carriage, the blood on his mouth and chest glints wet and dark against his tan skin. You don’t know what happened to his riding coat- his white blouse is pasted to his skin, torn in places and gaping at the collar.

You remain, frozen in place, half-cowering behind the overturned carriage. The fire creeps ever closer to you, but you can’t find it in you to move.

You’re glad that he’s okay. At least, you think he is. He’s moving quickly and doesn’t seem to be injured, just… mad. His teeth look a lot sharper than they were before when he bares them. Your heart thuds in your chest, your hands clutching desperately at the corner of the carriage, and the most off-putting part of it all is that you’re not sure that it’s because you’re scared.

He could never scare you. Not your Steve.

“Steven?” Your voice sounds too small, high and girlish in your throat when you want to pretend that you’re being brave. That you’re unaffected by any of this. That you’re not… relieved that Miss Fontaine is unable to voice her disdain of everything you do, and of him.

The guilt you feel at that revelation is outweighed by the instant comfort of Steve’s eyes on you.

He lumbers toward you, eerily quiet and agile for how big he looks, how much of a beating he’d obviously taken. Dripping with blood that isn’t his, flesh from the creature he’d torn apart with his bare hands still clinging to his forearms and clothes.

“My lady, are you hurt?” He crouches before you with his palms upturned, allowing you to keep the carriage between you, as if you’re a prey animal capable of being frightened off.

“No.” Your battered hip throbs like it knows your lie and plans to expose it. “The driver-?”

“His wounds were too deep,” Steve says apprehensively, as if he’s worried he’ll scare you now. “Your governess?”

“Dead.” The word slams out of your throat and falls hard into the air between you. Steve’s brow furrows in a reluctant show of grief. Perhaps you should feel aggrieved as well, but as you search yourself for a show of tears, nothing comes. You don’t know why- perhaps from the shock of it. You weren’t particularly fond of your governess, but you never thought she’d die beside you. “The carriage… she didn’t listen to you.”

He couldn’t stop the scoff falling from his mouth if he tried. “Of course not.”

In the aftermath, everything is too quiet. There are no crickets chirping, no huffs of horses waiting to get on with the journey. The oil fire crackles dangerously behind you, but you’re too busy staring at him to care.

Your Steve. Your bodyguard, your huntsman, who can rip a wild animal in half with his bare hands. The light of the fire flickers in his eyes, a hint of that reflective green still glowing behind his pupils. You open your mouth to ask him about it, but before you can, he shuts his eyes and winces.

“I should go,” he grits out through clenched teeth, shaking his head roughly as if trying to rid himself of his thoughts- whatever they may be. “I should- I should go get help-”

“Are you- have you been hurt?”

“No- I-” he pauses distractedly, looking down at his hands. He clenches them quickly into fists, swallowing against a dry throat as he gets impossibly more agitated. “Not hurt, exactly… I shouldn’t- I need to go-”

“Steve,” you implore, and he whips his head up to give you a startled look when you lay your hand on his shoulder. You don’t know if it’s because of your touch, or if it’s because you didn’t call him Steven, as you usually have under the watchful eye of others. His skin burns feverishly through the thin linen of his blouse. “My god, you’re burning up-”

He flinches away like he’s frightened of your hand on him. “I’m not, I’m fine-”

“You are not fine-”

“You can’t come with me,” Steve snarls, his bloody hands wrapping around your wrists in a vise-like grip. You gasp when you feel his sharp nails dig into your skin, and he instantly softens- both his grip, and his expression. His beautiful eyes bore into yours with a new kind of urgency. “You need to stay here, with the carriage. And I- I’ll find someone-”

“You really think that’s wise?” you ask, staring levelly at him while he blinks dazedly down at your hands. His own completely encircle your wrists, his fingernails far longer and sharper than they ought to be.

You suck in a sharp breath when you see them, but you pull your eyes back to his face and ask him, “Do you really want to leave me alone here? After everything that’s happened?”

Steve’s chest puffs up with the ragged breath he takes, and his hands tighten possessively around your wrists. “No.”

“Right,” you say gently, twisting your wrists so that he loosens his hold. Your hands slip down into his, sticky blood transferring onto your skin all the way. You hardly feel it, with how badly his hands burn to the touch. “We stay together, now. Who knows how many more wildcats there might be?”

“I don’t think it’s them you need to worry about. I’m…” Steve trails off, staring into your eyes. Underneath the rage and the frustration he obviously has, he looks scared.

“You’re what, Steve?” You tilt your head, probably looking much coyer than you feel, with your heart beating loud in your chest. You try your best to be soothing, to be gentle with him even though you’ve seen how strong and violent he’s capable of being- you feel it drying on your own hands.

“I’m going to protect you. I would sooner kill anything that comes near you than see you harmed.” Steve clenches his jaw, his face contorting into a grimace. “My lady.”

“I know you will, honey.” Your thumb traces a little circle around the sharp tip of one of his pointed claws, glinting dangerously in the moonlight. Even if you can’t quite explain how, you know what they imply about your huntsman.

And yet, you like everything about them.

In the darkness, wild things stir. Every crackle of the leaves, every snap of a twig beyond the trees makes you jump. Your eyes search in the dark for the cause, and see nothing.

“What’s that?” you whisper, a frantic edge to your voice.

The forest quiets around you, until all you can hear is Steve’s breath against your ear.

“You have nothing to fear, my lady. Nothing in these woods will harm you while I’m here.” Still, your bodyguard’s hand on your waist tightens, pulling you further against the impossibly warm body beside you. The boldness of his touch makes you shiver.

You want to tell yourself that that’s true, but the longer you walk, the more it becomes clear that Steve is not doing well. The arm that isn’t wrapped around you clutches protectively across his middle, as though he’s trying to apply pressure to some unseen wound. Every so often, he hisses and doubles over in pain- and when you dig your heels into the ground and say, “Steven, you need to rest,” he snaps back, “No, I do not.”

You bicker like an old married couple until you inevitably throw your hands up in defeat. He’s not going to stop trailing through the woods, and you can’t stop him, nor will you turn back and leave him. You trust that he knows where he’s going, because he’s intimately familiar with this forest.

In spite of your frustration with him, you still cling to him, and he still holds you close. His body heat still burns you to your core. There’s a gaping hole within you that he needs to fill, if only he’d allow himself.

If your fiancé has coiled around you to squeeze your life from you, you think that Steve has managed to burrow deep into your chest, to keep you alive and warm. You’d like it if he stays there forever- even if he eats your heart in the process.

In the corner of your eye, you see Steve’s head tilt up, surveying the moon peeking out from behind the clouds. “We have two hours to get back to Havensfield.”

“What happens in two hours?”

Steve’s eyes flicker upwards again. Piercing green reflecting the light, shining like two iridescent jewels. You wonder if that’s why they’re hazel during the daylight. “The moon peaks in the sky.”

Your hand tightens where it rests on his waist, and you swear he gasps. “And then?”

Steve is quiet. His breathing is hard and labored as he stares directly forward. His skin shines with perspiration and blood from the creature that he killed in self defense. Though he’d wiped it from his face, it’s still fresh on his collar and chest, saturating his ripped blouse. You haven’t shown any disgust over it, merely acceptance, with your small hand curled around his damp sleeve. Your fingertips dig into his forearm and make him wince, considering how his mind is honing in on every small touch of your body to his.

You’re a lot easier to read than you think you are. Steve knows that you can tell what he is- to some extent, at least. You know that there’s some sort of transformation taking place, but you don’t seem to understand the real gravity of it. You don't seem scared about it.

That’s what worries Steve the most. You should be scared of him. You shouldn’t be holding onto him like you are, knowing what the raging animal writhing just below his skin wants to do to you. He wants to tell you to run; but then you won’t know where to go, and every beast loves a chase. It’s only a matter of time before his human faculties give out and his primal urges take over.

Sometimes Steve can manage to give into it, when he isn’t stressed. When there’s no real fear, aside from needing to be away from people for a few hours. Usually, by this time, he is alone in the trees, able to tear his clothes off and let his beast control him for however long it takes before the moon hits its peak. And then…

“How much do you know about lycanthropes?”

Steve sounds a lot calmer than he is. There’s a surging in his head, a mad rush to just let go. Stop fighting it. It’ll only be more painful if you do.

“Wolf-men?” There’s a smirk on your lips that makes the human part of him want to kiss the living daylights out of you. “Only what they tell you as a child. They look like men, but they’re not. Their life span is seven years, and if you burn their clothes it makes them stay a wolf forever. They can only be killed with silver. Once they get a taste for flesh, they eat nothing else.”

“Old wives’ tales,” he grunts. Mostly. “The clothes don’t make a difference. And we live just as long as any normal person.”

You blink at him. “We?”

“C’mon, sweetheart,” Steve murmurs as another wave of pain slices through his gut, making him stagger. He loses his grip on you, collapsing clumsily to his knees as he rasps, “You’re smarter than that.”

“Steve!” Your hands wrap around his biceps as he gasps, and there’s a battle raging within him- to fling you away or to tackle you to the ground. He finds a midway point between the two where he pushes himself backwards to cling to the trunk of a tree.

“You need to get to town.” He doesn’t wait for you to object. He points a shaking hand in the direction of town. The sight of his own clawed finger aloft in the air makes him flush in embarrassment. You shouldn’t have to see him like this. “If you keep going straight through the trees you’ll reach Havensfield within the hour.”

“I’m not going,” you argue. He heaves a sigh through his nose, and you actually do stomp your foot this time. “Damn it, Steve, I’m not leaving you here!”

“You have to!” He shouts, pushing himself up to stand against the tree as he does. He looks defeated, agonized as he gazes at you pleadingly. “If you stay, you have no idea what I’ll do to you.”

“Will you kill me?”

“No.” He says it so quickly, he doesn’t even have to think about it. Because, you realize, he already has.

“Then I’m staying,” you tell him firmly. Steve opens his mouth to argue with you, and you shake your head at him. “That’s it, Steve. I’m staying here, and I’m not going.”

His voice cracks as he says, “I can’t fight it, honey.”

“Is that why it’s hurting you?” You ask him as it occurs to you. “Because you’re… you’re fighting it?”

Steve trembles when you touch him, a gentle hand on his arm that sends shivers up his spine. He nods. “It’s easier when I don’t.”

“Then don’t.”

He swallows loudly. “It’s- you don’t know what you’re asking-”

“Explain it to me,” you tell him quietly, as soothingly as you can. “Will it- is it not you? Is it something else that takes over? Is it going to harm you-”

“No,” Steve shakes his head vehemently, blinking fast. He’s sorting through his thoughts, finding it harder to cling to anything other than base desire the longer this goes on. “It’s… it’s me. I’m always here, always present. But the part of me that acts on morality is gone. There are no morals. I just act on impulse, for a while. And then… I transform. Physically.”

You nod slowly. “And that’s what happens at midnight.”

“That’s what happens,” he says, and cringes in pain. “Now you see why I didn’t want- why you should have stayed through the night. I would have- I’d be alone. I’d be back by morning. I always am.”

Your heart feels heavy with how much it aches for him. You recall the months that Steve has been employed by your father, and how he had conveniently been absent the night of the full moon. And you had never noticed, never made any sort of connection. There had never been anything to make you suspicious.

But after every night he was gone, he was always there in the morning. Punctual as anything, you could set a clock by him. You could open the door, and where once was a lady’s maid sitting outside your bedchamber, there would be Steve, holding a bouquet of flowers for you with an apologetic smile. You couldn’t place what the apology was for until now.

“Does my father know?”

“Only that I needed the night,” Steve says, panting. “Nothing more.”

“Did Miss Fontaine know?”

He laughs, and it sounds feeble in his chest. “You think she would have let me near you if she did?”

Your lips quirk up at the edges. “You’ve been keeping your tracks covered, Mr. Harrington.”

“Just trying to be careful.” Steve chuckles, sounding strained as his nails dig into the bark of the tree he clings to. “Always have to be careful with you, you have no idea…”

“And you’re afraid,” you inquire, “that if you act on your impulses, you’ll… hurt me?”

“Hurt you?” he echoes. The mere notion of it wounds him- he’s sure he looks offended when he faces you. “No, I’d sooner die. Harm you, yes. Defile you, absolutely. You’d be a wreck when I'm finished with you.”

Your face burns as you watch him double over again, clutching onto the tree like it’s his lifeline, and the sight of him in so much pain hurts you more than anything. More than the loss of your governess, and more than the invisible hold your fiancé has on you. “Stop fighting it.”

“I won’t- my lady, if I don’t try to fight it, I’ll-” Steve squeezes his eyes shut, resting his forehead against the trunk of the tree with a pathetic whimper. He murmurs weakly, “I can’t sacrifice your virtue for my own comfort.”

“My virtue?” You tilt your head with a teasing smile. “I’m not nearly as virtuous as I seem.”

“Yes, you love to test my will.” Steve’s dark eyes lock on yours as he turns his head. There’s a flash of warning in them. “It must be one of your favorite hobbies. My hearing is much better than you think.”

You stare at each other heavily. Shallow breaths get stuck in your throat, now that he’s confirmed what you expected all along. He heard you all those times, standing guard on the other side of the door as you lay alone in your room and touched yourself to the thought of him. The knowledge sets a blaze alight within you.

He knows. He knows, he knows, he knows.

So, you’re at an impasse. He won’t set aside his chivalry. You won’t leave him here alone. All that’s left is to push and pull at each other until one of you gives, and you’ll be damned if it’s going to be you.

Steven: your huntsman, your bodyguard, your… lover. All these can be true if you just let it be.

You have nowhere left to go. No one else you want to turn to. If you make it to the town you’ll simply be foisted off to your fiancé, or returned to your parents, who will then turn around and give you over to the Duke. All roads lead to him, an inescapable fate that you’d been wishing for a chance to get away from.

So, you make a snap decision without considering the consequences- but really, what’s there to consider? This is the death of your previous life, one way or another.

“What are you doing?” Steve asks, even though he knows the answer, as he watches you begin to remove the pins that hold the bodice of your dress shut.

“I’m testing your will,” you tell him flatly.

“You can’t, you’re- you’re engaged.”

“You expect me to believe you really care about that?” Your linen bodice slides off of your shoulders to the ground, revealing your stays and the sleeves of your chemise. “Or am I so undesirable that you can’t bear the thought of seeing me naked?”

As you begin untying your skirts, Steve growls, “Stop it.”

“Or what?” Your overskirt falls to the ground, your petticoat standing out stark white against the backdrop of the forest. “It’s not like there’s anyone here to make me. Except for you.”

“You don’t know what you’re asking for-”

“Oh, but I do.” You grin at him as your soft muslin petticoat flutters to the ground, and you stand before him in nothing but your undergarments. Stocking-clad legs disappear beneath your linen chemise, your stays pushing your breasts up and over your neckline with each passing breath. You watch Steve’s eyes predictably fall to them, wide with hunger. “Tick tock, Mr. Harrington. We have two hours, and I can’t undo these stays by mysel- OOMF-”

The wind knocks out of your lungs as you fall back onto the damp earth, pinned beneath an enormous body and held tight by sharp claws. You instinctively wriggle beneath him, but Steve’s large hands hold yours fast against the ground over your head.

A whimper leaves your throat, echoing the ones he’d been hearing all along from just beyond your door. You stare up into his eyes and they’re dark, no longer glowing but eclipsed by black pupils that seem to grow bigger as he watches you squirm beneath him. His face is so close, his breath tickles your skin, and you try to hold still even though every muscle in your body is screaming at you to roll your hips up into his.

“You are such. A fucking. Brat. You- you don’t know how much I have to hold myself back with you. If I don’t, I’ll destroy you. Do you understand?” His voice is at such a low register that it practically rumbles from his chest directly into yours, vibrating in your ribs. Your heart pounds, your thighs clamping down tight on either side of his hips because you don’t want him to move away. “I’m sworn to protect you. I’m trying to do the right thing.”

Between your legs, your muscles tense and release like they’re searching for something to grip onto. “So protect me,” you whisper. “Do us both a favor. Don’t let me go to him. Make me yours.”

He shakes his head, and his nose bumps against yours. “That wouldn’t be protecting you. They’d kill us.”

“Not if we’re already dead. They’ll never find us, they’ll think we died in the crash, or- or…” Frustrated, your hips squirm up against his, and he hisses when you brush the tent in his trousers. “Be selfish for once. Do what you will to me, Steve. Damn it, I want you to…”

You trail off, because Steve is already dipping his head to breathe in your scent, just along your pulse point. A gasp hitches in your throat as he moves downward, his lips dragging gently over the soft skin. The vibration of your moan rumbles against his mouth.

“This… this is a bad idea,” he mumbles, but his mind is already going fuzzy, reason becoming harder to grasp while instinct and desire takes over. He can feel himself drooling onto your skin. Your heaving chest becomes wet with his saliva the longer he lingers over it, mesmerized by the feel of your warmth on his lips.

“Do it. Take me, Steve,” you whine, lifting your leg until the linen of your chemise falls back to reveal soft skin, your inner thigh brushing his hip. “I want you. Please. Please, please.”

The scent of your arousal fills the air, earthy and sweet, and Steve’s will flounders and dissipates. There’s nothing that can stop him now. He’s done for. He sinks his claws into the quilting and linen at your chest, and he rips through your stays without warning.

A rush of breath fills your lungs at the sudden jolt of your stays snapping apart, and turns into a weak noise the moment his wet mouth closes over your exposed nipple. The warm summer night air hangs humid around you, making your skin stickier, sweatier. Steve inhales the natural perfume of your body, more powerful of an aphrodisiac than he’s ever experienced.

“You’re so soft,” Steve croons when you mewl at the scratch of his pointed canines. “My sweet girl, never had anyone kiss you like this, have you?”

“N-no, Steve.” You choke on your breath, your eyes rolling back in your skull as his large hand cups your breast and his claws prick at your skin. The pain and pleasure combine into an entirely new, indescribable feeling that swells beneath your ribs. “Only you.”

His tongue drags over your chest, tasting, savoring the exposed flesh that no one else has dared to touch. The feeling is warm and sweet, melted gold that drips through your skin down to the bone. “Is this what you wanted?”

“I- yes.” You give a muffled mewl in return when he sinks his teeth in, leaving an indent over your heart in the shape of his mouth. “God- you have such sharp teeth.”

“All the better to eat you with,” Steve rasps in reply, his breath fanning over your damp skin and making you struggle against his hold. He releases your wrists, claws digging into the earth instead as he moves down your body. “Always make such pretty sounds f’me- you don’t have to hide them now, you know. I want to hear them. Wanna hear what I do to you.”

Your hands lift to sink into his hair. Feather-soft locks spill over your knuckles, and it’s so tempting to just grab them and pull when he bites again, like he might try to leave a permanent mark there on your ribs for you to come back to later. You don’t think you’d mind it if he did. A possessive part of you wants him to leave his mark on you, so that no one else can doubt who you belong to.

Your hips lurch up to collide with his stomach. There’s nothing there to give you the friction you want, just a solid, hot body that in itself is an entirely new and erotic experience for you. If he notices how flustered it makes you, he doesn’t show it. He just keeps mouthing over your skin, your ribs and your stomach tenderized with love bites that ache the longer he lingers on them.

“I wanted this, too,” Steve says now, while his hands drift over the plane of your stomach and grab the tattered scraps of your clothes to rip them further. A perfect line splits down the weave of the fabric until you’re laid entirely bare before him. “You’ve no idea- whenever I hear you, whenever you taunt me. Want to tear you apart.”

His nose dips over your navel, down to the matted curls that he’s dreamed of, shrouding your sex and wet with your arousal. He breathes in deep. His mind is unable to sort through the waves of desire spinning through it, washing over him in burning rivulets that coalesce deep in his core.

Spit dribbles from his parted lips down to the folds of your pussy, making you flinch as the hot liquid drips across your sensitive flesh. Your hips buck, your cunt pulsing hotly in earnest for him to touch you, but he won’t. Or, he hasn’t. He’s lingering there with his nose pressed to your pubic bone, breathing in long, deep gulps of air that rattle in his throat. Pheromones and sex filling his lungs, clouding his mind.

“What’re you- oh.” Your lashes flutter as he nuzzles his head against your stomach, and slowly drags his cheek over your pelvis, your hip, your thigh. He nudges the top of your stockings with his nose, pulling the fabric back to reach more of your skin. You don’t even think he’s paying attention to the effect that it has on you. He’s somewhere else, lost in his own world as he marks you with his scent. Your cheeks burn at the thought.

“You’re mine now. Mine,” Steve states roughly, nipping at your inner thigh with his teeth as he echoes your dreams of him- the ones you’re sure he couldn’t know, unless being a lycanthrope also constitutes being a psychic. It makes you shudder. “You belong to me, yeah? It’s just you and me from now on. You and me.”

“Yours, Steve,” you repeat, and it makes your head spin. Your fingers sift through his hair, your bloodstained hands mirroring his own against your thighs in the dark. “I’ve always been yours.”

The warm brush of his tongue between your legs is enough to make you jump. Your moan sounds too loud, even to your own ears- so many nights you spent quietly whimpering into your own palm, and now you can’t be bothered to quiet the howl that breaks out of your throat. He takes to your cunt with long, wide strokes that practically burn with their heat.

“Oh- oh, Stevie, I-” you gasp when he growls against you, the vibration shocking you like lightning. “That’s so good.”

Some things you simply can’t replicate with your fingers, and the feeling of Steve’s mouth on you is one of them. He’s messy, drenching you in his saliva, and he’s wild, his tongue broad enough to somehow reach every bit of you.

You open your eyes long enough to glimpse his, and they’re black as the night around you, seeming to get darker the further he indulges his impulses. He squints, as though he’s teasing you, daring you to do something to make him stop.

“Don’t stop,” you whimper softly, letting your head fall back onto the damp earth.

It’s sinful, this feeling of flesh on flesh that should never rightfully meet. Everything is swollen and wet, relaxed and yet drawn so tight you could snap apart. Steve’s enormous hands grip into the fat at the top of your thighs, holding you apart no matter how much your legs try to close around his head. The wool of your stockings scrape blindly along his back when your feet kick and squirm, your calves thrown over his broad shoulders.

His tongue touches your clit, and you jolt. He hadn’t really been focusing on it, more interested in getting as much of your taste in his mouth as possible. But now he zeroes in on it, his tongue going hard and then soft, lapping over it in a soft back-and-forth. You chase him with your hips, riding his tongue and adding an extra layer of pleasure to what’s overloading your mind.

And there’s nothing in his head but primal lust, and the strength to take what he pleases. He wants everything that you can give. But Steve knows, back in the recesses of his mind where his morality has retreated to, that he’s still holding himself back. That he’s madly in love with you, so even the most animalistic part of him wants to taste every part of you, stake a claim to you, even if it means he has to take his time.

So, he licks long and slow through your folds, and you keen up towards the stars because nothing in this world feels quite like it. And it’s the most wretched and awful thing, the pride that swells in his chest when you cum, with your back arched and loud cries falling from your lips. Cries of Steve’s name.

You taste like heaven. He’d stay between your legs for eternity just to have you on his tongue. He comes up panting, mumbling praises that can hardly be made out over the purring in his throat.

“God, you’re lovely,” he says, climbing up your body and marking it with his dripping mouth. Steve aches for you- it’s not enough, not even close to what he wants to do to you. “So agreeable for me. Sweet little lamb. I’m going to fucking ruin you.”

A feeble whimper catches in your throat while your nails scratch at the fabric against his shoulders. Here you lay, completely naked for him, and he hasn’t even removed the tattered remains of his blouse. You don’t have it in you to ask him to, you just tear at the thin linen like it’ll magically disappear on its own.

He dips his head and lets you grip it in your fists, pulling the torn garment off so you can throw it as far away as you can. Steve’s skin burns to the touch, his freckled shoulders searing your fingers when you grab for him. The pelt of hair on his chest tickles your stomach, and you instinctively press further into him, wrapping your arms around his torso when his mouth reaches your throat.

You cling to him, shaking like a leaf. He warms you better than any fire could, laying his weight upon you. Your hands creep lower, stroking down the length of his spine to feel him shudder, his teeth grazing your pulse. He groans when your fingers dance across his lower back and beneath the waist of his trousers.

“Ohhhh god, I wanna do everything with you. Please.” You plant kisses along the side of his face, “God, I’m in love with you. I’m so in love with you, Steve, I-”

Steve turns his head and catches your lips with his, his tongue dipping into your mouth to taste you there, too. It’s a slow kiss, sensual, tender rather than fiery and rabid. You chase him when he pulls back to say, “I’m in love with you too, sweet girl. I’ll give you what you want.”

“I’m tired of waiting, Stevie,” you urge him gently, coaxing his trousers down over the curve of his ass. He snarls when you squeeze at the exposed flesh, his hips snapping forward to ram blindly into yours, his teeth nipping at your jaw. You’re becoming accustomed to the feeling of them on your skin. It delights you. “Let me have you or let me die, but do it now.”

Steve rears back, his bright white grin flashing in the moonlight. He stares you down with big eyes, glowing like cinders while he undresses himself indelicately- he tears through the buttons at his waist, rather than taking the time to undo them properly. Your eyes trace the stripe of hair running down the middle of his stomach, widening into the unruly patch that surrounds his cock.

A moment’s hesitation strikes into your limbs; you don’t see how it could possibly fit inside you. Steve is big all over, and you don’t know if it’s just a trick of the magic on this night or if he’s always like this, a permanent reflection of the beast within him. But his cock curves up toward his navel, thicker at the base than anywhere else, glistening velvety flesh appearing incredibly massive in the dark and blue moonglow. In spite of everything, your cunt pulses. Your body knows better than you, now.

You widen your legs for him.

You satisfy yourself that your work is done, it’ll take no more well-placed temptation and pleading to get him to use you how he wants- how you both want. Maybe in the morning he’ll regret it, when he has the mind to be a gentleman again, but you know with a thrill in the pit of your stomach that you won’t.

Steve’s clawed hands dig selfishly into your thighs, the points of them breaking the skin, and you yelp as he yanks you into his lap. Bent backwards over the thick, hairy expanses of his own thighs, your shoulders crush dead leaves on the ground.

“Feel that, sweet thing?” He asks, his voice resonating deep in his chest as the length of his cock drags heavily through your folds, the same path that his tongue had taken. You feel your pussy lips part around him. His cock gathers up the slickness of your arousal, his swollen head catching on your clit as he does. The lewd, sticky noise of it has your blood rushing hot beneath your skin. Your cunt pulses in warning, like you might cum just from this.

He hums deep within his chest. “Such a good girl, so wet for me. So desperate for my cock.”

The stretch sears when he enters you. You thrash in his hold, your hands clawing at the damp soil beneath you, but all you do is push him further in. Beyond the fullness, the pulsating ache and the pain of the intrusion, he hits something deep within you that makes you cry out, your muscles locking down tight around him.

“There you go, that’s it,” Steve coos, but there’s nothing gentle in his voice. He doesn’t know how to be sweet anymore. He rocks back and then pulls you down against his hips again, making you repeat that same feral cry. “Now you know how it feels to have a monster inside you.”

You don’t know how many minutes he spends there, just taking in your warmth and your wetness, tighter than sin as he rolls his hips. The sting soon fades into an aching pleasure that has you relishing the slow drag of his cock as it slides out of you and back in. It meets its end with the flush press of his hip bones to yours.

There’s a deep roiling in your gut that makes you keen loudly into the night, the sounds coming from your mouth entirely less than human. You find yourself meeting his thrusts with a desperate rock of your own hips, chasing that stirring within you.

“S-stevie-” you whine, your muddy hand reaching forward and clamping around his hairy forearm as he rolls his cock into you with a wild growl. You don’t really know what you were about to say- all rational thought escapes you when he picks up speed.

Steve chuckles above you, his dark eyes raptly watching your face as you lose more of your composure. He watches your jaw go slack, your brows tilted up in quiet desperation. Even if you can’t articulate it, he knows. “Feeling good, sweetheart?”

Your body feels like it’s on fire and he’s no better, scorching you from the inside out. Each push of his cock hits sharp heaven inside you, something you didn’t even know was possible and yet you craved it all the same.

“Mmm- I know you do,” he purrs, far too soft and quiet for the way that he’s fucking you, hard and fast, jolting you across the ground. He runs his nails slowly across your sensitive skin, letting your nipples catch on them with just enough pressure to make you squeal.

You gasp when he snatches you by the waist and yanks you up into his lap in one easy move. A loud moan punches from your lungs when he sits you fully down onto his cock. You take all of it at once, every last pulsating inch, while his mouth hovers a hair’s breadth away from yours.

Steve groans when he kisses you, soft lips to offset his sharp teeth, his strong arms pulling you against his body. The hair on his chest scrapes against your sensitive nipples, making you whimper into his mouth.

Your hands settle onto his shoulders, squeezing the hard muscle when you instinctively rock your hips against his. On shaky legs, you pick yourself up and roll your hips back down, delighting in the deep growl that comes from his chest.

“There you go- such a good fucking girl, ridin’ me like that.” A wide grin splits his handsome face as he guides you against him, his hands draped over your ass to drag you closer. “Just can’t help yourself, can you? Just wanna be full of me, is that it?”

Beyond able to answer him properly, you just nod. Your cunt throbs, tightening around him as you try to draw back- he groans so pretty, you slam yourself down onto him in desperation.

“FUCK!” He snarls rabidly, gripping you by the back of the neck. Steve gives in, jerking his hips to fuck up into you as hard as he can. Your head drops back, cradled by the curve of his forefinger and thumb as you cry out into the trees. His mouth finds your throat, bitten raw but still so pristine- more than the beast in him likes it to be.

He sucks hard on your pulse point, and you clamp down around his cock even harder. There’s a resounding wet noise kicking up from where you meet, loud and slick as it echoes between your sweaty bodies. With a broken noise in your throat, your weak hands squeeze at his shoulders for something to stabilize yourself with.

“Baby,” he warns, “you’re gonna make me cum if you keep-”

“I want it.” You don’t even let him finish his sentence, you’re so worked up. Your hips keep moving, desperately chasing your release even when his hands are tightening on you so hard they make you whine. “Give it to me, Stevie, please.”

You two create a vicious cycle- the harder you bring yourself down on him, the harder and faster he fucks up into you in retaliation. Your orgasm is so close that you can practically taste it. You don’t know which one of you is going to break first, but you know it’ll be devastating.

“M’gonna give it to you- shit- gonna fill this pretty pussy, you’ll be dripping my cum for days.” He curses furiously, a loud moan cutting from his lungs. His hair hangs over his eyes as he stares up into your face. A muscle in his jaw jumps. “Gonna fuck you so full of my kids, you’ll be so round- gonna give you my babies-”

You sob his name, drowning between the legs as your pussy clenches down around him. God, you don’t want it to end, but you can already feel it rearing up within you. You have to bite your lip against that simmering, violent ecstasy that’s welling up deep inside of you. His forehead drops to your shoulder.

“Fffffuck- M’gonna make you mine,” he pants into your skin again, his tongue laving across your pulse. This time, there’s an added weight to his words. “Want that, hm? Wanna be with me forever? Just like me?”

“Yes, Steve,” you cry, clinging onto him as you grind down on his cock, searing pleasure kicking up inside you at the thought. Your pussy pulses, and you give him a garbled noise of warning.

He nuzzles your jaw, and kisses you so sweetly beneath your ear that you think you imagine it. “It’ll hurt. Just for a minute. And then we can be together…”

Then, two things happen at once. Steve’s teeth sink into your shoulder hard, harder than he has yet. And that mounting ecstasy unleashes all its fury within you.

You cum screaming, from the pleasure tearing through you, and the pain only seeming to build into it- wild, animalistic sounds coming from your own throat. Your blood is in Steve’s mouth, your flesh torn against his teeth. He’s released something into your body that writhes and squirms, just below the surface. Just like what lives in him.

You claw at his back- your nails aren’t nearly as sharp as his, but you still manage to raise welts as your spasming cunt drenches his cock. It burns you alive. It eats away at you until there’s nothing left of you or your soul- just the feeble part of your brain that loves and feels him.

There’s a swelling deep within you, an anguished cry against your torn skin that you hardly register as his before you feel him cum, his cock pulsing hard within you. Steve presses up into you, slow and easy, holding you there against his hips with all the strength in his adrenaline pumped body.

Your head is spinning. You feel dizzy, and even then you can tell when you’re stuffed to the brim, the swelling becoming an overwhelming stretch again. You whimper into his neck, hoping that the inquisitive noise will convey your question, because you don’t trust yourself to be able to come up with the words to articulate it.

“Fuck- this is going to take a minute-” he groans when you squirm, his hands trying to hold you still. “It’s- it’s meant to keep you there- keep my cum in you.”

You harumph against his skin, your eyes rolling back into your head. You’re still twitching, still pulsing from the aftershocks of your orgasm. Even though the swelling of the knot at the base of his cock is bordering on overstimulating, you relish the closeness that it forces you to have with him now. That he has to stay here, inside you. That he has to hold you for a while, as his body readjusts to normalcy.

As you accept that there’s no going back now.

“I want to say that I’m sorry,” Steve murmurs, his voice rough and gravelly, still fussing over the bite on your shoulder. He runs his tongue over it- not necessarily trying to be erotic, but you think anything he does to your body comes off that way now. “But I wouldn’t mean it if I did.”

You hiss a little as the wound stings. “I’m not sorry.”

“You can’t get married to the Duke now, you know.” Steve pauses. “And, I suppose you can’t go back to your family either, so… I think it’s time you meet mine. Now that we’re mated.”

That makes you smile, a half-giggle falling from your lips. That’s probably as close to a proposal of marriage as you could hope for, right now. Your eyes fall shut, the slow stroking of his tongue over your wound and the strong heat of his body lulling you. “Am I gonna turn tonight?”

“No.” He shakes his head, nuzzling his nose against your neck. “Next month. It has to take, first. Get into your veins, make you suffer. Just the good stuff.”

“But you…”

“I’ve got an hour,” he says, and you feel him tilt his head up toward the sky.

You hum sleepily, letting yourself relax in his arms. They’re covered in more hair than they had been before- pretty much all of him is. Wherever it grows, it’s getting thicker and denser the closer it gets to midnight. “Stay with me.”

“I’ll be here,” Steve assures you, soothing your skin with kisses. “I’ll always be here. Forever.”

Things lose their clarity, your surroundings slowly slip away with your consciousness. You fall asleep against him, soothed by his warmth and the pace of his breath on your neck.

At some point, well after midnight, you rouse sleepily to find yourself curled up on a heap of torn clothes, between the paws of an enormous, brown-haired wolf.

You wake in the morning at the impact of a pile of cloth hitting you squarely in the chest.

You startle, coming up with a screech. Steve’s arm is around you- strong, muscular, and a lot less covered in hair than it had been the last time you’d seen it. He makes an inquisitive noise and sits up, naked as the day he was born, with leaves sticking out of his hair. He resembles Shakespeare’s Puck- streaked with dirt and grime, a bit of blood still matted in his chest hair, but the morning sun creates a golden halo around his head.

“Morning, lovebirds.”

You don’t know what comes over you at the sound of the strange man’s voice, but you scramble so quickly that you practically barrel roll over Steve’s body. He grunts and moves to grab you, but you’re already plopping down on the other side of him and using his body as a shield.

Steve blinks hard against the white light of morning, and squints at the strange man who had thrown a stack of folded clothes at you. “Eddie?”

“In the flesh.” The man stands proudly, clad in a mishmash of old and new, very new, clothes. His dark hair hangs loose and unkempt around his face, which smiles prettily at Steve with a pair of enormous, pointed canines.

“What’re you doing here?”

Eddie snorts. “Did you somehow forget that we turn in these woods, too?” He shakes his head, tutting condescendingly. “Stevie boy, you’ve been away from home for too long.”

“No, I-” Steve stops. “Where’s Robin?”

“Still getting dressed. Which you should do, too. Glad I’m the one who found you, there’s some kind of uproar about the Duke of Hargrove’s lady-love going missing, and- oh. Wait.” Eddie crouches, his eyes peering over Steve’s shoulder at you. He grins in a way that tells you he already knows the answer when he asks, “That couldn’t have been you, could it?”

“Eddie, watch it,” Steve growls territorially, throwing his hand backwards as if to shield you further from him.

The man- Eddie- chuckles, and stands. “Well, I figured you’d want to introduce us. Seeing as how that pretty mark on her shoulder tells me she’s, ah…” he twirls his finger, clad in a large, silver ring in the air, “a part of the pack, now.”

Steve huffs a sigh, and lifts his hand. “My lady, allow me to introduce you to Edward Munson.” Eddie bows dramatically, smirking at you as Steve says, “He’s a member of my family.”

“The best member.”

“Debatable.”

“Wait-” you start, sitting up further, your gaze still trained on Eddie’s hand, and the ring he wears. “Is that… Miss Fontaine’s ring?”

Eddie pauses. “Oh, was that your carriage back there?”

Steve snarls, moving to jump up. You yank him back into place to shield your naked body as he growls, “Eddie I’m going to fucking kill you-”

You’re not that far ahead yet. “Does that mean the thing about silver killing us is an old wive’s tale, too?”

Eddie and Steve both pause, and look at you blankly. Then, Eddie laughs- a bone-deep, guttural laugh that sounds like a wolf’s howl.

“Better watch out, Harrington, she’s way quicker on the uptake than you were,” he chuckles. “She’s gonna fit right in.”

#steve harrington #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington x you #steve harrington x y/n #werewolf!steve harrington #stranger things #steve harrington fanfic #roses*

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