#It's quite a lot of fun writing interactions for them like this | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

abbyslovergirlxo · 6 months ago

Text

Same Damn Time

Caitlyn Kiramman x Reader x Ambessa Medarda

tw; Dom!Ambessa, Dom!Caitlyn, sub!reader, rough sex but they’re not so mean towards the end, wlw, sadism (cait/bessa), choking, slapping (everywhere lol), knife usage, blood kink??,masochism (you🫵) , crying, reader has a mouth on her and then folds (typical😒), idk why i made cait psychotic but oh well, oral, degradation, crumbs of praise lmao, ALL SEXUAL INTERACTION IS CONSENSUAL, I am not someone who writes noncon

Word count: 7.8k

… = time skip

a/n; whewww! like what can I even say, this fic is crazy asl. Like I actually think they’re gonna bring back stoning people just for this. Lowkey deserved. But I know there’s someone out there who’s gonna match my freak 😭 i had tooo much fun writing this while listening to the song, made me think of them 😩lots of tw!! so plz read that before scrolling!!! I feel like this is something you’re either really going to love or really going to hate sooo idk. Also I was literally fixated on Sevika/Ambessa and one edit drove me to madness so here we are, getting double teamed by Commander Kiramman and General Merdarda 😩 They’re both evil twins in this but Caitlyn is the more evil twin but no seriously read the tw…. anyways enough of my my rumbling, this fic is long enough lol.

Your ear shot up, body reacting involuntarily to the large grey door opening. Heavy echoing footsteps, hushed whispers, and then a closed door.

“ This is the one?”

The judgemental tone would’ve sent you spiralling, had you been anywhere else. But menacing glares and sharp words would do little for you here. The lights were dim, unfavorably so, only illuminating distinctly right above your chair that you sat in.

Their voices held unyielding authority. Everyone from topside did to be fair but something about these two gave away their status. Their faces were shielded slightly, your eyes squinting in an attempt to see who they were. That attempt was shot down, the small space of darkness they stood in protecting them.

You cursed yourself for not having been smarter that day, faster. For if you had been, you’d never know what the inside of Stillwater’s interrogation room looked like.

“ Yes, General. My enforcers found her near one of Jinx’s old hideouts. From the items that were taken from her we can safely say this one knows something. She knows Jinx. My men attempted to speak to her a couple of days ago but nothing came of it.”

You thought back to the ‘men’ who questioned you, hammered you with prompts that you refused to answer. The bruises on your back proved how badly they wanted to know but you never relented.

“ I don’t know anything.” A lie. A clear one. Both of the women ignored you, tossing back and forth bits of information. You tugged at the shiny metal cuffs, now wishing you’d taken Vi up on those lock picking lessons. I’m so fucked, you thought to yourself. The room was a bit cold and you weren’t exactly dressed for the occasion when they snatched you. So, somberly you shook a little, giving up on listening to whatever they were saying.

You weren’t going to rat. You knew that much.

Your head was hung when you heard them get closer to you. Not bothering to look up, you heard two chairs groan from being pulled, until they sat down from what you assumed.

“ Name?”

Finally you peered up. Your expression faltered for a second, not expecting the sight in front of you. Their outfits clashed and blended seamlessly all at once. One sat in an all black attire, her long blue hair hanging down. The other was engrossed in clads of gold and red.

Sitting right across from you, they both had menacing glares. Well, the glares you expected. Not quite the faces. Shamefully you imagined seeing them somewhere else, maybe in The Last Drop? The younger, sharp features and pinched eyes, looked at you with a particularly hateful look. That didn’t bother you though, she was as intimidating as the drunk men you’d fought with in the undercity. Pretty though, you thought. The other one was a different story entirely.

She was tall, you could tell from how she towered even sitting down. Something about her was elegant. But she looked dangerous. Growing up it was quite necessary to assess who you could and couldn’t take on, and the moment your eyes locked with hers, you knew. The scars on her face also gave way to what she was capable of. She was a problem, even if her stare wasn’t as heinous as the woman beside her.

“ Name?” She pressed. Her voice was calm but she didn’t look like someone who didn’t know how to raise it.

“ I don’t know anything. I don’t even know who Jinx is.”

The blue haired girl scoffed, clearly unimpressed. Her companion remained analytical of you.

“ You’re a terrible liar.” Her voice came off unforgiving and brutal. You’d be lying (again) if you said you weren’t slightly offended. But you kept a neutral face, ignoring her.

“Listen, this doesn’t have to be rough. How this goes depends entirely on you, you choose. We know you know Jinx. We know that you know something. The information you have is quite important to me,”

The older woman paused for a split second, her stare unwavering and promising. She looked over to the younger one before looking back at you.

“ to us. So we’re leaving this room with something, I can assure you that. But I can also assure you that if you help us, we will help you.”

Her voice was smooth, like wine. Well according to what people say about wine, you’d never had it. She was firm in her words, almost as if she herself knew the power behind her promise. That would’ve reassured you had it not been for the fact that she was after your fucking friends.

You looked between the two of them again, assessing the scene in front of you over and over. You were unimpressed, if you were being honest, something you hadn’t been since these cuffs first touched your wrist. Sure, you could tell they meant business but this was futile as an interrogation tactic.

Good cop, bad cop?

While the older wasn’t exactly nice, you expected a missing eye, pulled nails and burnt skin. What you weren’t expecting was two, unfortunately attractive, topside pigs to do a century old method. If anything they should’ve switched, you thought to yourself.

Maybe then they’d get somewhere.

“ Still don’t know who Jinx is or why I’m here.”

“ You’re lying, again. And protecting a known fanatic and criminal. Tell us where we can find Jinx.”

You furrowed your brows, annoyed with her insults and claims. Who is she to tell you that were lying? Well, you were of course. But regardless, the tone in the blue eyed woman before you made you unsettled.

“ I’m not lying.” You gritted out. “ I’ve been detained wrongfully. You’re wasting your time. I don’t know anything.”

“ Yes, you do.” Her voice was firm, final. You scowled at her, but it was nothing in comparison to how she looked at you. Constantly her jaw flexed, on edge and angry. But she had no right to be angry in your mind, after all you were the one chained to a table being talked at rather than talked to. Secretly you wished for the older woman to speak again, at least she wasn’t such a bitch.

“ Are they your friends? Is that it? Because I promise you that we will find Jinx, it will just be a whole lot messier without your help. I don’t mind that. But I’m sure you will.”

You fought the urge to wipe that domineering tone and look off her face. You’re never going to find Jinx! You’re nothing but a power hungry topsider who doesn’t know the first thing about friends! I’m not telling you shit. Was what you wanted to say. But instead,

“ I don’t know Jinx or whatever else you people plan on asking me. Like I said, you. are. wasting. your. time.”

You put emphasis on each word, tired of repeating yourself. But to your un-satisfaction she rolled her eyes, shaking her head.

“ Look… I shouldn’t be here. I can’t give you anything because I don’t kno—“

“ Right.” She cut you off, so obviously tired of your insistent lying, even in the short minutes. “And you’re not an undercity animal.”

“ And you’re not a topside pig.”

In all fairness it came out before you could stop it. You weren’t used to being talked to like this and keeping quiet, it almost came out of pure instinct. But if you were surprised by your words you didn’t show it one bit, a small smile almost playing on your lips.

Her nostrils flared slightly, her breathing elevating. For a moment you thought she’d explode before the other woman spoke.

“ Kiramman.”

You memorized the name, not sure if it’d be useful later once you escaped but just in case. She simply collected herself, nodding at the woman who she called ‘General’. Maybe this is where you went wrong, your natural element slipping out, your ego on its way to arriving.

“ You should learn to control yourself, ya know… during interrogations and such.”

“ Shut your mouth.” It was harsh and whispered. This is when you should’ve stopped but you didn’t.

“ You must be new, since you need a supervisor to help you.”

“ Shut it.”

“ You guys have nothing on me. You’re fucking desperate. I’m n—“

Mistakenly you were so focused on Kiramman that you hadn’t been prepared for the harsh grab of your chin. It was quick, unbelievably fast and that scared you more than anything. The strength of which she used to crush your face also attributed to the pit in your stomach.

“ You’ve chosen miserably.”

Her voice was meaner now, she talked as if you were nothing. Like you were stupid. Instantly you regretted wishing for her presence.

Embarrassingly you struggled against her trying to pry away but it was useless. She effortlessly held you there, your cheeks red with humiliation and anger. You tried to ignore the victorious face planted on Kiramman.

“ She said shut your mouth so you shouldn’t be doing anything but that.”

“ Thought you w-wanted me to talk, which one is it?”

You half expected her to break your jaw or lash out like the woman beside her. Instead she remained calm, eerily calm. Anyone with such strength and patience was someone who got what they wanted. But, you weren’t going to talk, you reminded yourself.

She pulled you closer, not without the rebellious tug from you. Silently she analyzed you, staring into your eyes painstakingly long. You squirmed and averted your gaze. She let you go with a ‘hmph’.

“ She won’t talk, not like this.”

The blue haired girl whipped her head towards her, then back to you, a blue fire blazing in her eyes. From the short time they’d been in the room it was clear the older woman held a higher position, authority oozing from her undoubtedly. But now you noticed something dark about the Kiramman that you should have picked up on before.

She was angry, unreasonably so. There was something constantly threatening to set off inside of her.

“ Everyone talks. There has to be something that’ll make her.”

The General hummed. “ I agree, but not like this. She’s loyal to them and she’s prepared for a cell if not this. She’s attempting to use our anger to distract us. She needs something else.”

The goosebumps from the cold air became accompanied by ones born from anxiety. Your mind went into a dark place, worried you’d never leave Stillwater. What if they starved you? Kept you locked in some cell as your body slowly decayed while you still lived? True fear found its way to you for the first time, the unknown overwhelming.

Kiramman seemed to hold back a sigh, instead taking a moment to actually listen to her superior's words. You couldn’t tell what she was thinking but from the firm nod she let off to the General, you knew it wasn’t in your favor. The grey haired woman stood now, making your heart race. Desperately you tugged at the chain once more, attempting to repeat your overdone line.

“ Look, I really don’t know anything.” Ignored.

The blue haired girl remained seated, leaned back slightly, watching silently as the older woman walked around the table. She walked to you with a certain prowess about her. She was taller than you’d expected, to your dismay. You refused to look at her when she was finally standing beside you, face aimed at the grey table.

You pinched your eyes waiting to be hit, choked maybe, or stabbed if they didn’t mind the mess. Your breathing raised as you tried to silently comfort yourself through whatever pain soon awaited. You held back a flinch when you felt large hands pulling at your chains.

It’ll be okay. It’ll be okay. It’ll be okay. Fuck.

*clink*

You snapped your eyes open, seeing your handcuffs now undone.

“ Stand up.”

You took in a breath, silently grateful that you hadn’t been harmed. You stood now, relieved. At least whatever they were going to do wasn’t happening in the now you thought. You looked towards the giant closed metal door, expecting your arm to be snatched as she led you to your dark cell. But to your surprise she simply spoke again.

“ On the table.”

You looked between the two of them.

You shook your head, not even at them, it just shook. No way in hell were you going to lay down on some metal table while these two psychopaths did whatever they wanted to you. You weren’t exactly happy about the bruises that already resided there, definitely not hoping for extras.

“ …No.”

You hadn’t wished to say it but you couldn’t bring yourself to willingly place your body on that table before they hurt you.

“ You misunderstand the situation. You’ve chosen already. So get on the table.”

You didn’t choose shit. That’s what you wanted to shout, to scream at them until your bones betrayed you. A million emotions rushed through your head, clenching and unclenching your hands. Instead you remained silent and unmoving, your refusal to acknowledge was saying ‘no’ in its own way.

“ Fucking impossible…”

You didn’t even have a moment to react to the words before you were pulled. A grunt left your mouth as your hair was gripped painfully. Anger coursed through you upon seeing the black uniform in your peripheral. You used your now free hands to try and pry her hands from you but she only gripped impossibly tighter, your scalp beginning to burn. She was swifter than you’d imagined she’d be, strong too, grabbing both of your hands with one, pinning them. This somehow was worse than cuffs.

“ Fucki— let me go!”

Ignored. Why did they ignore everything?

“ Where do you want her?”

Her General's eyebrows raised, but you didn’t see surprise. Not even disappointment. Content, maybe? You didn’t put it past her.

“ Let's put her on her back to start.”

She moved without question or affirmation. Irritation was clear across your face now, upset at the stinging that wasn’t letting up on your scalp. But clearly the woman behind you didn’t care, roughly forcing you onto the table. She wasn’t as tall as her companion but she was taller than you and it wasn’t an advantage on your part. The force behind her movements were unsettling, you hadn’t thought she was powerless at first glance, but her grip on you was unnerving compared to what you thought she was capable of.

The cold metal wasn’t welcoming. It felt like a million needles were puncturing your skin causing you to shudder. Your tank top strap had fallen off your shoulder amidst the struggle, close enough to slipping down making you wish your hands were free.

“ Give me her wrist.”

They swiftly transferred your hands, the Generals grip matching hers but you could tell there was more strength to be given behind it. You didn’t want to imagine her really trying to squeeze you. The cuffs you were free from moments ago encased you again, and you didn't miss the two extra notches she clicked causing your bone to shift uncomfortably with the metal. You scowled.

“ It’s too fucking tight.”

Not even a pitied glance, nothing. Ignored. Again. You shifted your wrist again, overwhelmed and upset. And this bitch is still gripping my hair, using her other hand to keep your shoulder on the table casually. So easily, and that made you feel vulnerable, helpless. And your now restrained hands weren’t helping, the slight burn making something in your throat want to creep up but you wouldn’t dare allow it, deciding to instead take it out on them.

“ Let go of my hair, you bi–”

You hissed, the stinging sensation pulsating across your cheek. It wouldn’t leave a bruise but you damn sure felt it.

“ Mind your tongue.”

The General ignored the glare you sent her straight from hell, instead taking off her jacket revealing a dark sleeveless sort of top. You couldn’t begin to imagine or decipher the detailing of it, topsiders always dressed too flashy in your opinion, too stuck up. Her arms were as big as you'd thought. Both being ridiculed with scars.

Then, another sharp crack resounded through the dark room, a quick punishing tug to your scalp. This one would unfortunately leave a bruise. You could tell. You didn’t hiss this time, too stunned, on the verge of groaning from the way she used your hair as a plaything.

“ What she said.”

Kiramman finally let go of your hair, the residue of her strength still pounding through your head. You tried to sit up but she instead used both of her hands to hold you down. With only your legs to move, you kicked but the General shut that down as soon as it started. Effortlessly she used only one hand to keep them pinned down, now looking over you and at Kiramman.

What now? You thought. Cut my skin until I fess up? Break my bones until I don’t have any? Beat me bloody while I lie on this cold table? Are they going to kill me when this is all over, when I don’t say anything? I’m going to die here, aren’t I? I’m going to die and nobody’s gonna know.

It’ll be ok. It’ll be ok. It’ll be ok. I can take it. I can take it.

Eyes suddenly squeezed shut, recited echoes of wishful thinking, a scratchy throat. You braced yourself.

“ Last chance. Tell us where we can find Jinx and I’ll send you back to your cell. Untouched.”

Your voice came out a little exasperated, anxiety and anger laced into it. You kept your eyes shut.

“ I don’t know who Jinx is so I can’t tell you that. I don’t know anything.”

Your shoulder crushed more into the table, pale hands squeezing.

“ You continue to choose stupidity, insolence. No more of that.”

Suddenly the grip on your legs were let go and you opened your eyes. She was still at the head of the table staring down at you. For a moment you considered kicking again but as if she read your mind…

“ Kick me and I will break every bone in your knee.”

Her tone wasn’t intimidating, demeaning absolutely, but not intimidating. The certainty in her voice made you throw away any ideas of using your legs. You liked your knees to say the least. You peered straight up to see an upside version of Kiramman, her long blue hair creating a shadow around her neck, her jawline distinct. Even without seeing her face, only the outline of lips and nose, the anger radiated off her body.

“ What now?”

The General looked over you, straight at her.

“ We’ll need to take her pants off for the next part.”

You and Kiramman spoke at the same time.

“ Wait, what? My pants?” “ Her pants?”

The older woman simply gave a one word reply, meant to supply both of you with a firm answer, ‘yes’.

“ Wait, wait.”

She looked down at you, eyebrows raised.

“ Do you remember something about Jinx? Something you’d like to tell us?”

You listened to the flickering sound coming from the light above you. One by one you let them pop into your head. Jinx, long blue hair and wild face as she hugged you. Vi, stuffing her favorite foodsin your face. Isha, making paper airplanes with you. For a moment you thought a tear might slip but it didn’t. You drew in a shaky breath, ignoring the sting on your wrist.

“ No. I don’t know anything. I just…”

You averted your gaze.

“ Is it going to hurt?”

A stupid question in your mind. No doubt torture hurts. But something in you needed to ask, needing some sort of certainty in what was to come.

“ That depends on you entirely. I’ll give you pain when you give me insolence. But when you give me answers, I’ll give you… ”

She suddenly ghosted a hand over your calf.

“ Relief.”

You shuddered a little, her graze unexpected. But you didn’t dare move your leg, not wanting to test what qualified as a kick to her. You didn’t want to imagine what she meant by relief, because it couldn’t mean that. It couldn’t mean that.

“ How does that sound?”

“ It sounds like I have nothing else to say to you.”

She hummed. Without another word she slipped her large hands in your waistband, pulling them down to your ankles. You wanted them back the second your bare thigh touched the cold metal. A click echoed and you looked to see a blade in her hand, small in size but formidable in design. Gold snakes seemed to embroider its handle. You sucked in a harsh breath at the sight, your eyes locked on it.

Your eyes flicked up at the blue haired woman, her position now changed so that you could see her face again. Her eyes almost beamed? For the first time an expression other than anger displayed itself on her features. Now she looked almost… pleased. Excited.

It’ll be ok. It’ll be ok. I can take it. I can take it. I can take it. Hopefully.

You ignored the last words, watching as the General kept her eyes trained on your plump thighs. Opening them, she traced it right on the inside of it. Immediately you could tell it was sharp. Too sharp. It was cold against your skin, not as harsh as the table but unforgiving nonetheless. Anticipation rushed through you. Hands clenched within its restraints, the light flickering and flickering, her soft hands on your shoulder, icy metal on your skin, her hand slipping onto your thigh and then….

“ Ngnh!”

Your head pressed into the metal slightly. You’d have been embarrassed by your whimper if it wasn’t for the sudden warm drip down your thigh. Blood, you assumed. You’d been through worse but you still squirmed at the cut now adorned on your skin. She pushed down on your thigh, not fond of your squirming. Then she continued, tracing the blade across your thigh, waiting until your body finally relaxed, stopping itself from that state of bracing. And right when you did, she’d swipe a quick line across your shaky, burning legs. Always between your thighs, always.

It felt like electricity was rushing through you, it was all so overwhelming. You felt like you were being swallowed alive and they had barely done anything. The cuts burned and sent a rush of pain through your nerves and skin. Everytime you looked at Kiramman her face was becoming alive with intoxication. It’s like she couldn’t pull her eyes away, trained on the way your leg wobbled under her General’s hand, how you whimpered lowly, the light trace of blood on the expensive blade. You jolted again, particularly harder this time.

“ Relax. It's just a little cut, you're a big girl.”

It continued like this. You tried your best to stifle the whimpers coming from your mouth. The last thing you wanted was for them to hear what they were doing to you. Over and over she painted your thighs with your own crimson, and it hurt. It hurt, it did. And that's all it should be.

But your stomach kept getting that feeling. It burned, like the surface level cuts she gave you. It burned every time her calloused finger swiped across your sliced skin, collecting blood. It burned when she smiled suddenly, as if proud of her work. And it was scalding when you looked up and saw those blue eyes entranced. But it wasn’t pain. It wasn’t…anger. It was something else. Something that made you want to release that feeling in your throat, made you wish she meant something ungodly when she offered relief.

“ What's this?”

Your skin was hot to the touch now, sweaty. Trembling slightly, you looked up at her. For a moment you couldn’t begin to imagine what she was referring to until you traced her eyes. You silently prayed that it wasn’t what you thought. But from the way she asked, you knew.

“ What is it?”

Kiramman asked, curiosity clear in her voice. The older woman smirked, staring down at the wet spot in your panties.

“ It seems her body is more honest than she is. I think our little prisoner likes this. Her panties say so at least.”

Your face burned so hot that it rivaled the sun itself. You considered saying something, protesting and denying it. But what was the point? It did feel good, the burn felt good. And she had the evidence right in front of her. You couldn’t meet either of their gazes, looking to the side in shame. Kiramman laughed, the vibrations reaching you through her touch.

“ I knew it, she was whimpering like a dog. Isn’t that right?”

You shook your head, still refusing to look. But she wasn’t having it, using one of her hands to pull your chin. Even upside down, she looked menacing. She forced eye contact. Her face was rampant with mocking undertones, sadistic glares.

“ Is that why you’ve been so rude? You wanted us to give you a little pain, show you a good time? You really are pathetic.”

“ That’s not tr– n-ngh!”

A stinging pain after a quick slap to your clothed cunt made you whimper louder than anytime the blade touched you. It felt like a live wire tapping your skin, your legs snapping shut. The wet spot in your panties grew, your breathing uneven.

“ Insolence. Tell the truth.”

I can’t. You thought. Telling them that you’d enjoyed it, even a tiny bit, seemed more daunting suddenly than ratting.

“ I’m not ly– f-fuck…”

You weren’t sure if you’d ever be allowed to finish a sentence, her hand opening your legs followed by another slap coming down. Your eyes fluttered for a moment, your face squeezing with pain and pleasure. Kiramman used the hand she never removed to guide you. A smile was now on her lips, wide with genuine amusement.

“ Oh god, did you just… moan? You really are something aren’t you? Is that what it’s going to take? A few more slaps to your cunt and you’ll be blabbering? Or maybe…”

She lowered herself, close enough that her hair brushed against your face. You whined again, another unsuspecting smack from the older woman. You hadn’t even done anything, she just liked the way your panties got damper with each hit. Kiramman almost thanked her for it, relishing in hearing the noise even closer. She whispered to you.

“ If I make you cum enough times you’ll remember something. I bet you’d like that, letting a… what was it that you called me…a topside pig make your cunt cry?”

Finally, you gave way to the ache in your throat. A tear fell down your face suddenly. Another burning sensation forming in your stomach at the feeling of the General toying with the rim of your panties.

“ Please…”

It was quiet, almost matching the decibels of the wind. But you knew she’d heard it. It was obvious from how her grin widened, her eyes looking like ones of a deranged woman.

“ Please what? Please…make me cum? Please…let me go? Please fucking what?”

In this small moment of time, you almost felt like you were watching your dignity physically leave your body. You imagined telling her to let you go, that you didn’t know anything and a few cuts to your legs wasn’t going to change that. And you considered it, over and over. Then something played in your mind, a sick fantasy woven in desperation. In it, you asked her what you really wanted to. And in it they kissed you until you couldn’t breathe, made you finish until you didn’t know how to walk. You considered both. But only one of them made your core ache with desire. Your eyes were even glossier now. Suddenly you were working yourself up for a new kind of courage.

I can take it. I can take it. I can take it.

“ Make me cum please.”

“ Please who?”

I can take it.

“ Please, Kiramman.”

“ That’s it. Finally something coming out of your mouth other than horseshit. But you still need some manners…”

The grip that had left your ears ringing suddenly came back, her pale fingers peeking through your hair. She pulled your head up, forcing you to look at the General. You groaned, arms thrashing slightly, the sting of the metal never relenting.

“ I’m not the only one here. Go ahead, ask General Merdarda too.”

You gritted your teeth. This was already humiliating, and she was just reveling in it. Your legs were already spread, panties damp, dried crimson on your skin, hands bound above your stomach. You’d already asked, multiple times. And now you had to say it again, with a death-like grip on your hair and those hazel eyes peering at you, awaiting.

“ …but I already asked y—“

The slap was even stronger this time , the force of it driving your body insane. Merdarda grinned at you, even laughing a little at the noise you made. Another tear fell down your cheek but Kiramman was quick to wipe it. Right before she licked her finger.

“ But you didn’t ask me.”

If she slapped your cunt again you’d probably start grinding against the table, somehow making you look more pathetic than you do right now. So you gave in.

“ P-Please General Merdarda, will…”

I’m never speaking about this if I get out of here.

“…Will you please make me cum?”

“ Well would you look at that, that’s all you had to say little one. But what do we get in return? Surely you can’t expect us to make you cum with nothing given back.”

“ …But…I already said I don’t know anything.”

Kiramman scoffed.

“ Even after you soak your panties from a little cut, you still have the ability to lie. I’m almost impressed.”

She let your head drop back onto the table.

“ Almost.”

….

For a second you thought she’d kiss them.

At first glance it seemed so, her soft lips trailed over the red raised wounds, her nose spilling cold air on them. You reveled in it, an ember threatening to go a blaze within you. That was until she nipped at it, a hiss leaving your mouth. You couldn’t see her smile but you felt it sweeping across the throbbing skin. You cursed under your breath, the force behind her bite growing more rabid. She slapped the thigh she wasn’t ravaging, quick and harsh.

“ You like that, don’t you?”

There that voice was again, smooth and sultry. You weren’t sure if she was referencing the strike on your leg or her roaming fingers but murmured yes anyway. Yes to all of it. She had your shirt hitched up, breast exposed. Every once and awhile she’d toy with them, trace an outline around your nipple, wait and then pinch. So often though she found herself distracted, your features giving away how desperate you were.

Merdarda found enjoyment in watching your contort every time Kiramman did something to you, anything to you really. You were like a tight coiled spring, threatening to snap at any given moment. It's like every touch has you ready to risk everything. And you learned quickly they were into this a little more than you, mania clear across their faces. You were trembling, Kiramman taking advantage of how sensitive your legs were.

“ C’mere.”

You felt a little dizzy, seeing her lift her head up from between your legs. She grabbed your cuffed hands, pulling you up to meet her face. It all happened so fast and you winced from the strain in your shoulders. She was closer now and it was just now that you noticed the traces of blood on her lips. You hadn’t expected a kiss this time around, but it happened. It wasn’t gentle, if anything it felt like she was trying to cannibalize you with her tongue. Shamefully you pushed against her, sick to your stomach at how good she tasted. Hints of copper on your tastebuds, her wandering hands. She pulled back, being sure to bite your lip before doing so.

“ You taste that? It’s you.”

She dropped her eyes to your thighs, licking over her lips once more. A trance almost seemed to describe the hunger behind her stare, but you couldn’t be sure. You didn’t care either way, you just wanted her to do whatever was on her mind to you and soon.

“ fucking delicious.”

The whispered lust in her voice rivaled the reaction brought out from Medardas heavy hands.

“ You should taste her General. She’s sweeter than that filthy mouth of hers.”

Wordlessly, she captured your lips next. Her movements were more experienced, methodical and you felt as though you melted into her due to it. Ruby lipstick smeared onto you, a groan slipping from her as she made sure to taste everything you had to offer. The metallic tinge on her tongue made her pull in deeper. You whimpered, dizzy from lack of breath and insatiable roaming hands.By the time she pulled away your eyes were low, an unfocused look about you.

“ I wonder if her cunt tastes even better.”

Kiramman smiled sickly to herself, her gapped teeth giving you a warm tinge to your cheek.

“ We’ll know soon enough.”

….

Your wrist were nearly rubbed raw with all the thrashing you were doing. Time and time again you made attempts to close those abused legs of yours, in hopes of protecting your cunt. Unfortunately, Kiramman wasn’t pleased and she slapped it raw until you cried enough apologies. She mumbled something along the lines of ‘can’t be stupid and greedy’. But you somehow continued to be prove to be both, whining endlessly about the torture of her tongue. She never let up though, only unlatching from you to say obscene things or mark up your poor legs.

It seemed the pair held similar views, sick desires. Medarda would litter your neck and breast with purple marks shamelessly. She smelled of some expensive plant you’d never heard of, all you knew was that it made you whimper everytime her skin was pressed onto yours. She’d whisper siren-like words to you, etched in sin, rough kisses between them all. And yet you drank them into your ears like milk and honey.

“ You just came, didn’t you? Nasty girl.”

“ Do you remember anything now, hm?”

“ Don’t be so dramatic, keep your legs open for her.”

“ You must spread yourself open often. You’re a natural.”

“ Your cunts almost as noisy as you, dear.”

And when her tongue wasn’t making you drip onto the table, Kirammans words were just as wicked, if not more. Her posh accent was a coverup for all the nefarious things laced into it. A very, very poor coverup.

“ I said— keep. them. open. Unless you need a second pair of cuffs? … No? Then fucking listen.”

“ Go on, you can cry. I know it feels good. Yes filthy girl…just like that. ”

“ You’ve made a mess. Say you're sorry.”

“ Quit it, you can get a break when you remember something.”

“ Don’t act so sweet now— had quite a lot to say earlier. Isn’t that right?”

This was wrong, every bit of it. There was nothing exactly right about two high ranking officers of Piltover and Noxus eating you alive in the depths of Stillwater. The thought alone should send you running. It should have you drinking hot flashes of anger, leaving a bitter taste in your mouth. But it didn’t. It only made you spread your legs wider and beg shamefully for more kisses.

It all felt so good. They felt so good and a redeemable, rational part of you hated that. But every time rationality tried to sink itself into you, Commander Kiramman and General Merdarda were right there to sink into you faster. And by god, they made you feel more full than any morale.

You were so sure you were going to die before. And that thought that hadn’t been removed just yet, except now you thought you’d pass away from all the onslaught orgasms caused by the ravenous women beside and inside you.

“ a—angh! oh god…pl–please”

Kiramman held back a sly smile, seeing the way you twitched, body so sensitive. Her fingers were drenched with you, now gloveless. Initially her signature black gloves dug inside of you but the minute she tasted you she knew she didn’t want it anywhere but on her skin. Quite roughly, she had pulled three orgasms, somehow each one more intense than the last. But that wasn’t enough, not to them. Nothing was enough until those pretty lips whimpered something they could actually report back. And even then she wasn’t sure she’d want to stop.

“ Are you going to make a mess again for us?”

Pathetically, you fought back the white of your eyes before looking down at her. She couldn’t help but grip your thighs tighter at your teary face, nodding exhaustingly down at her. Medarda kept you slightly upright, your back arching into her bicep while she sucked on your breast. Honestly she hadn’t a clue how long she’d been at it but by the rate she was going you’d look a fucked out mosaic by the time they were done. She laughed to herself but you knew it was at you. And that fact only made you rut against the table more.

“ This is going to be your fourth one dear. We’re never going to leave this room if you keep being so stubborn.”

She trailed her kisses up your chest. A peck here and a peck there. The slow ascend of her affections compared to the rapid thrust of the others fingers made you bite your lip, the skin pulling between your teeth. By the time she was up to your ear you were practically panting.

“ Or is that what you want? For us to keep making you cry until you can’t anymore?”

They’d never know it and thank god for that but you almost whispered a yes.

Kiramman couldn’t hear what was spoken but she definitely felt it. You clenched around her even harder, a long mewl spilling from you. She creased her blue brows slightly as she sped up her fingers, making sure to never be gentle with that special spot, secretly itching to hear just how loud you could get whenever you came. Her counterpart was just as wanting for it out of you, a more balanced desire about her. Even in spite of the way she pulled you in for another kiss when she heard you sob, “ ‘m s-so close..”

This time Kiramman both felt and heard it, her fingers happily accepting the tight squeeze of you. She latched back onto your clit which was practically begging to be consumed again, if you asked her. Immediately you tensed, using every ounce of self restraint to not slam her cheeks with your legs. It also got devastatingly hard to keep up with Medarda’s mouth, she pressed into you like she forgot you needed air, like you only needed them. And as the coil in your belly grew and the sloppy sounds of her eating away filled the room, you did need them.

A muffled moan ricocheted into Merdarda and she invited it wholeheartedly. When she finally pulled away, you used your bound hands to grab at her hand groping you. You squeezed it the second you felt Kiramman offer a grunt inside of your cunt. She licked you like she was rabid, lost in whatever drugs your pussy clearly had laced in it. Merdarda found it all so nasty, so amusing. Seeing the renowned Caitlyn Kiramman so cruel but so feral, and you with your slick mouth gone and lips swollen, made her clench around nothing.

Even if nobody in the room spoke it, you were all enjoying this ‘interrogation’ a little too much. That manic laughter that constantly filled Kirammans head, those stupid pigtails and flashy gadgets, had even subsided for a moment. She still wanted nothing more than to rip that smile off her face, but the way the tears journeyed down your face so easily made her want something more.

Right now all she wanted was for you to cum on her face, and she nearly keeled over when she finally heard you sing that song for her. A moan that could only be replicated in the best whorehouses of Zaun left you. The pair both smiled the moment they heard you whimper what they already knew.

“ i th—‘m gonn—“

You could barely manage a single word, back practically ingraining itself in her arm the way you arched over it.

“ Let it out, make a mess.”

Your body truly was more honest than you and clearly obedient because the second she said it you did. Your self restraint abandoned you, left you on that table shaking and crying. Your bruised legs kissed her cheeks (not so gently) as she ate and thrusted at the same pace she did before, never letting up. Even with your legs shaking and around her she just drove in deeper. The pleasure slipped into overdrive making you shake your head, trying your best to pull away, use your hands, anything to make her stop. But Merdarda snatched your cuffed hands.

“ kira—kirammannn!”

Wow, that’s the only time she’s heard her last name and wanted to hear it more. But she ignored you, knowing you were begging for her to stop. By now your legs had dropped, too weak to hold up. Your whole body practically vibrated as you lost your breath. Maybe it was the burning sensation ripping through you or the cotton in your head but you stupidly turned your head to look up at Medarda.

“ help…me…gonna fu— die!”

First she looked at you, toyed with your nipple as your hands fought against hers. So pretty and so pathetic, she thought. Then looked down at Kiramman, whose eyes now opened and met hers. An amused glint was in her blue tinted stare and suddenly Medarda couldn’t think of a single reason she’d help you.

“ She’s eating child, don’t be so rude. Have some manners.”

She was looking at you when she said it, but from the mockery in her tone you knew it was meant for more than just you. And it was confirmed when a smile traced itself onto your throbbing cunt. But it quickly went away. She was eating after all.

“ i canttt! pleasee!”

Kiramman didn’t stop until you went silent, unable to speak, inconsistent babbles of nonsense here and there. You weren’t even shaking now, just twitching and breathing like the oxygen in the room had been sucked out. When she finally got up from between your legs she couldn’t help herself and gave two quick bites. A strangle mix of a hiss and moan could be heard as you watched her stand. She lifted her fingers to your mouth, shoving them inside.

You expected her to be rough and jam them down your throat but to your surprise she simply swirled them around your mouth. Despite that voice in your head you sucked at them tiredly hoping to please them. And pleased they were. They both watched as you weakly licked her fingers clean. By the time she pulled away they both knew that previous orgasm just couldn’t be the last.

“ Do you remember anything now?”

You were fucked out, but not that fucked out.

“…no”

Thank god, they both thought in unison.

“ I guess it’s my turn then.”

…

BONUS

Kiramman walked with pure candor on her face. She heard the whispers as she walked past but she ignored them. What was the point in entertaining fools? Besides, the moment her eyes met theirs they always went silent. Always. Today hadn’t been the best day for her. Most days weren’t, hunting for that psycho and her friends wasn’t an easy job or a fun one. But she wouldn’t rather be doing anything else. Well…maybe someone else…

“ Don’t let anyone in.”

The guard nodded dutifully.

By the time she reached the room, she was already imagining her sweet song. She didn’t have to wait long to hear it in person because it was practically blasting throughout the room the moment the door opened. She closed the door behind her, smiling deviously as she placed her heavy cape onto the chair.

“ She’s even wetter today, if you can believe it.”

She laughed softly, “ Oh I can believe it. How many has she got so far?”

“ Just two. Don’t worry, you didn’t take too long.”

“ God, I know. I got caught up with that fool Salo.”

Medarda laughed now, knowing all too well how annoying he could be.

“ medardaaa”

Your toes curled, struggling to handle the two large fingers inside of you. Both were devastatingly skilled with their fingers but hers were undoubtedly bigger. Way bigger. And if the size wasn’t agonizing enough, she was hitting that spot over and over. This time your hands were free, and you used them to grip her bicep.

Suddenly your throat had a new necklace. Not a very nice one. She squeezed her free hand around your throat, speeding her fingers. Clearly she wasn’t a fan of your interruption, despite the way her cunt ached when she heard her name in such a filthy way.

“ Can’t you see us talking? And you didn’t even greet your Commander. She came all this way to see you.”

You thought you were going to pass out, the squelching sounds and sultry insults becoming distant. Your mind and body gave into her once the resisting clearly wasn’t doing anything. And you loved it. Each filthy posh coated word, lingering touch, rushed collided lips left you undone. The strength behind their hands made you want to never be without it. And for the past two weeks it continued to, leaving you right here in this room on this desk, unable to breath, only able to cry and spread your legs wider.

Medarda let go, allowing Kiramman to finally slip beside you. As much as she loved the song you offered, she wanted your lips. You gasped into her, them giving you no time to actually catch a breath between the transfer. Lightheaded, you still pushed against her, wetness dripping from your face to hers. She pulled away, licked the rogue tear from the corner of your mouth.

By the time she was looking at you, you were heaving, clasping onto her bicep instead of Medardas now. She watched with such marvel as your face contorted into those beautiful expressions, such a drastic difference from the stupid girl she interrogated. Logically she knew she couldn’t call what all of you were doing an interrogation. So she opted to saying ‘some investigating work’ the few times someone inquired about her abrupt departures. It wasn’t a complete lie, her and Medarda were investigating something every couple of days. your cunt

Her gaze traced to the brown fingers moving in and out of you, then to glisten on her General's hand and finally to your thighs. They were healing nicely. Unfortunately for her they wouldn’t leave a scar according to the doctor she took you to. She almost frowned at the thought.

But then she heard you whisper a quick, “ h-hi Kiramman…”

She smiled at you, a warm thought coming to her.

“ Hi, filthy girl.”

We’ll make sure they scar next time.

P.s. They had the officers who beat you killed 😜

1K notes · View notes

dolcecherub · 19 days ago

Text

off the record ‧͙⁺˚*･☾

♡ pairing: oscar piastri x media manager!reader

♡ tags: social media manager reader, lowkey tension, deadpan oscar, pining oscar, frustrated reader lol, happy ending, fluff

♡ yap: this was inspired by this fic here by the lovely @papayainsectorone, they wrote this dynamic so well and the smut is *chefs kiss* i was craving more build up so here's my take on it :) honestly wasn't expecting to have another fic out so soon but i'm in the writing mood, so expect maybe some smut soon lol

♡ word count: 4.6k

Being Oscar Piastri’s social media manager sounded a hell of a lot cooler on paper.

The reality? A full-time position in pure damage control and editing.

It wasn’t that Oscar was a bad guy, quite the opposite actually. He was annoyingly likable. But in an industry of personalities so polished you could see your reflections in them, Oscar was… well, Oscar. Dry-humoured, mostly straight-faced, foreign with emojis aside from the simple smiley face. Not even a golden retriever puppy in a McLaren hoodie could crack a big smile from the man.

You had tried everything and it was quite easy to say that the last few months had been hell.

You wrote him fun captions, you scheduled posts, and briefed him before interviews. And yet he would still deadpan his way through as many interactions as he possibly could, switching up your pre-written captions for three-word ones. If you were lucky, maybe he’d add a song to it.

Once, in a fatal attempt, you had practically begged Oscar to do a TikTok trend. His response?

“I’d rather crash into a barrier and get stuck in a gravel trap.”

Still, you kept at it. You filtered photos, crafted witty tweets and captions, and edited videos for TikTok, so he at least looked 20% more charming and 100% engaged. But Oscar remained the same, calm, collected, and chronically unbothered.

It drove you crazy, and some part of you was convinced Oscar found joy in riling you up, the tension spiralling between you two.

Until one day, you just…stopped.

It was after an interview in which Oscar said, “Yeah, the car was good,” followed by a few simple remarks about the overall race and the car, even though you had specifically coached him on how to highlight the team’s efforts and the new upgrades. You sat there, watching the video on your laptop, the PR director sending you questioning looks. Something in you just gave up.

If Oscar didn’t care, why should you?

This time, instead of doubling down and trying harder to fix it, you shifted gears.

You kept running the socials, kept building out the calendar, kept coordinating cross-posts with sponsors. You threw yourself into season promos for some rookies, drafted killer captions for Lando (who did, in fact, appreciate them, often adding his own flair as well). Hell, you even helped restructure the entire engagement strategy for McLaren’s YouTube account. Your inbox was still flooded, deadlines still to be met. You were still good at your job, just focusing your attention elsewhere rather than bending over backwards for Oscar.

You still gave him the essentials. Posted his podium shots with a simple caption fit for him, uploaded interview clips without the usual fun editing. You stopped chasing him for quotes and thoughts, and generally stopped fighting for moments he didn’t want to give.

And weirdly enough, it all kept going.

Oscar didn’t change, of course, the fans still adored him, his dry wit, his blank expressions, the accidental charisma of someone who didn’t try at all, or didn’t have to. People enjoyed his slightly sarcastic comments post-race, and so what if his metrics slightly dipped? It’s not like he necessarily noticed it.

You still saw him every day, still worked around him, still made space for him on the schedule, but not in your head. Not in that quiet, careful way you used to. Perhaps you had gotten too close, you reeled. No more last-minute efforts to make him sound polished, no more staying late to re-edit his posts, not when you had better things to do for people who truly cared.

And if he noticed the shift, the quiet space you left where your effort used to live, he didn’t say a word. Which, somehow, was more than enough.

✧༺♥༻∞

It was a Thursday morning, and everything had been off.

You were running late, which, truthfully, rarely happened. A sponsor call had run longer than it should’ve, your usual transportation route taking a detour you were unaware of, and your badge wouldn’t scan at the main paddock gate. By the time you finally walked through the McLaren hospitality, your hair had been haphazardly clipped up, your phone was at 3%, and your brain was somewhere between caffeine withdrawal and a full-on system crash.

You exhaled sharply, finally getting a moment to catch your breath. You pulled open the media schedule to hopefully catch up before the day truly began, your head slightly spinning as you barely noticed the figure leaning against the wall.

Oscar.

He was dressed in team gear, the orange always sitting well with his skin tone as he had a basic black ball cap on and some shorts, his bag slung over his shoulder with a hand in his pocket. He looked casual, calm.

As per usual.

His other hand held out something to you as he walked closer. A coffee cup.

You looked up at him curiously, head tilting slightly as you lowered your tablet. “What’s this?”

“Coffee,” he said simply. “Obviously.”

You eyed it, seeing your name written on the side as your jaw twitched at his tone.

“...What kind of coffee?” You asked, his eyes roaming your face.

“Extra hot. Two sugars. Oat milk and a shot of caramel.” He said like it was nothing, as if he hadn’t just recited your exact order back to you, heart stammering against your chest.

You brought your hand up, taking it from him, fingers brushing his slightly. Your jaw nearly dropped with shock. Why hadn’t he listened like this during pre-interview briefings?

It was still warm to hold, still fresh. The lid was secured the way you always preferred, double cups, the lid pressed down tight with no drips at the seam.

You searched his face for expressions, “You got this for me?” You asked, albeit a silly question.

Oscar shrugged, arms crossing against his chest, his biceps stretching the sleeves of his shirt, his eyes straying from yours. “You’re usually here earlier. Figured you didn’t have time to stop for one.” He said as if it meant nothing.

A beat passed, your heart skipping that exact beat.

You swallowed. “I didn’t.”

Another pause, your face flushing slightly.

“Thank you,” You said finally, voice far quieter than before.

He nodded, not smug, just acknowledging, as if that was the end of it. As if he hadn’t just undone a week’s worth of you convincing yourself that he didn’t notice you slipping away.

He adjusted the strap on his shoulder and added, “I wasn’t sure if it was oat or almond. Figured it was oat, you seem like it.”

You blinked, brows furrowing slightly in confusion. “Why?”

He gave you the faintest smirk, “Almond milk people always have something to prove.” He joked.

You huffed, surprised by the small, shaky breath of laughter it pulled out of you. Perhaps you did understand the population’s obsession with him.

Oscar turned to leave, no further acknowledgement, no comment on your attire or the lack of polish to your appearance this morning, no follow-up. Just the quietest moment between you two, the coffee in your hand warming your palm cozily, his smirk setting your pulse to quicken.

He didn’t look back.

Although it didn’t matter, because you were already watching him go, heart quietly pounding.

So he did notice.

Even when you thought he didn’t.

✧༺♥༻∞

A few weeks had passed, and you were getting yourself ready for the following race weekend. The past few weeks had been the same, doing more for others to keep yourself while keeping Oscar entertained with the bare minimum.

Now, it started with a headache.

Then came the chills, the sore throat, the kind of fatigue that sank into your bones like wet cement, weighing you down impossibly. You told yourself it was nothing, stress maybe, but by the time the race weekend rolled around, you couldn’t even sit up without your head spinning.

You did what you had to. You called in sick, feeling bad, although you had not done so before while working with the team.

Just one day, you told yourself. Just one race day. The team could surely handle it, you had pre-scheduled most of the posts anyway, as well as sending over any notes and ideas you had to the rest of the team to follow. And it wasn’t like Oscar would notice. He barely spoke to you when you were there anyway.

So you stayed in your hotel room, curtains drawn, laptop closed, and haphazardly thrown onto the armchair next to the bed. You had wrapped yourself in two blankets, your body settled with a chill that wouldn’t leave. You drifted in and out of sleep, vaguely aware of your phone buzzing a few times, your body far too sleepy to pay attention, let alone respond.

Around 6 p.m., there was a knock on the door.

You blinked, trying to figure out if it was in your room or a distant noise in the hall. You felt your stomach clench, mostly empty aside from a few pieces of toast from earlier in the afternoon and water.

Another knock sounded on the door. Firmer this time, followed by silence.

You dragged yourself up, wincing as the floor spun. You brushed your hair down slightly and wiped away any sleep from your eyes, your body shivering from the sudden chill after emerging from your blankets. You cracked the door open slowly, expecting the hotel staff, perhaps with a message from the team or even room service.

It was neither.

Oscar stood in front of you, simply dressed in a quarter zip and some jeans, his hair slightly tousled. He still looked calm, a medium sized brown paper bag in one hand and a plastic container in the other. You froze, so did he, though only for a second, just enough to make you think he hadn’t expected you to actually open the door.

“Hi,” you croaked, your throat aching and sore, raw from not speaking all day.

“You’ve sure seen better days, hm?,” he asked rhetorically, face deadpan.

You raised a brow, now feeling slightly embarrassed at the state he was seeing you in as you shamefully brushed your messy hair down as well as possible. “Thanks…”

“I meant it in a supportive way.”

You rolled your eyes, leaning against the doorway, suddenly feeling fairly light headed again, simply too tired to question what the hell was going on. “Why are you here?”

He shifted the bag in his hand, fixing his grip, eyes not meeting yours. “You didn’t show up today. You don’t not show up.”

You swallowed sorely, “I texted the team, told them I was sick.”

“Yeah,” he said, tone quiet, “but you didn’t text me.”

That shut you up.

Oscar cleared his throat, holding out the plastic container filled with soup. “It’s the one you always get when it’s cold, the one from the random organic store down the street. You know, the one with the weird green logo.”

Your chest tightened, his eyes trailing back up to yours.

“And I brought some ginger tea bags. And the gummy vitamins you always hoard in the media van.”

You stared at the bag in his hand, and then back up at him, his eyes dark, cheeks slightly pink, surely from being in the sun all day. “You walked across the paddock to get those?”

“They deliver. I’m not that heroic.” He joked. You knew as a matter of fact that they didn’t deliver, you had most definitely asked more than once before, but you supposed Oscar didn’t want to admit that he had done that for you.

You exhaled a half-laugh, quiet, slightly painful and unsteady.

Oscar looked at you, no smirk, no blank stare. Just something softer, eyes relaxed, something he could barely hold back.

“Can I come in?” he asked after a pause, “Just to make sure you don’t choke on soup or something.” He teased.

You stepped aside, far too tired to joke and too tired to pretend like you didn’t want to be taken care of.

He stepped in, toeing off his shoes, then settling the soup and the bag on the table tucked in the hotel corner. You crawled back into bed, body immediately collapsing into the fluffed sheets as you sniffled.

He walked around filling the room’s small kettle with some water before putting it to boil and opening up the soup container before bringing it and a spoon to the bedside table. You sleepily watched him quietly move around the room with a sense of ease, your heart aching at his actions. Hearing the kettle click, he grabbed a mug, opened up the tea bag case and popped one in before pouring in some water. Settling that beside you on the table, too, he finally glanced at you.

“Come on, sit up. At least eat some of the soup before you fall asleep,” Oscar spoke, voice soft and convincing as he settled down into the armchair next to the bed, making sure to move your laptop before sitting.

Pushing yourself up, you sat against the headboard, head spinning again. He passed you the soup, simply watching you eat as much as you could without feeling sick. Neither of you said anything, Oscar simply ensuring you were okay, passing you a napkin whenever you needed it.

Placing the empty container down on the bedside table, you wiped your sleeve across your mouth before sliding back down into bed. Oscar stood up, adjusting the blanket around your shoulders when you shifted with a wince as your eyes fluttered shut. His fingers brushed over your arm as he did, then simply brushing a few hairs off your forehead, your body shivering, not from the chill this time but rather from his touch.

“I’m fine,” you spoke, voice extremely rough but quiet.

He didn’t say anything. Just sat on the edge of the bed for a moment, hands now folded in his lap, his eyes flickering between you and the headboard as if he was doing anything to stop himself from looking at you for too long.

You were the one to break the silence, eyes still shut. “You didn’t have to come.”

“I know,” he said. You felt your breath catch for a second, mind drifting slowly to sleep.

“Thank you, Osc.” You mumbled quietly, words slurring from fatigue.

He hadn’t said anything after that. And so what if his gaze lingered a bit too long before he left that night? You would be none the wiser, head misty with sleep.

✧༺♥༻∞

Weeks later, at the start of a triple header, everything felt back to normal. Too normal. It grated your nerves more than ever.

Oscar was back to his usual self, low-effort captions, brushing off most interview questions with short answers, and ignoring half of your content ideas. After you had thought you’d made at least some progress, you found yourself rubbing your temple in frustration after he refused to film a “Pre-race ritual” TikTok a few sponsors had requested.

You found him in the garage, talking to a mechanic, most likely about race strats. If only he spoke to the media with such enthusiasm. You walked towards him angrily, your tablet hanging at your fingertips, face flushed with anger.

“Oscar, may I speak with you, please?” You asked, tone stern and straight to the point.

His brows knitted together with confusion, the mechanic patting his arm twice before walking away. He tilted his head, following behind you as you led him to a meeting room. You closed the door, setting the tablet down on the desk before turning back to face Oscar, arms crossing angrily against your chest. You leaned back against the desk, staring him down momentarily before speaking.

“Why do you make this so hard?” You huffed, voice cracking slightly. You hate that it cracked.

“Make what hard?” He asked, mirroring your body language.

“This!” You said waving your arms around for emphasis. “Your image, your career. I bust my ass trying to make you look even remotely engaged in sponsorships and media day, and yet you act like you’re allergic to enthusiasm.” You ramble exasperatedly, catching your breath before you continue. “And then- then you go and do these little things, like buying me coffee or taking care of me when I’m sick. I’m not stupid Oscar, I know you’re not oblivious. You notice things, you care. But you pretend like you don’t and it’s… infuriating.”

He was quiet, not blinking, eyes still holding your gaze. He walked closer, rubbing a frustrated hand over his face before returning to his crossed-arm position, just now closer to you. Your heart pounded at his proximity.

The silence between you was heavy, suffocating almost.

“I don’t let people see it because once they do, they expect more. They expect a reaction every time a little blip happens. And I’m not good at more.”

You stared up at him, lips parted slightly.

“I didn’t grow up under the impression of needing to be liked.” He spoke, eyes searching yours. “I wanted to drive. I wanted to win. But now, I’ve got people picking apart every expression, every quote, hell everything I don’t say. And you-you come into my life like this force to be reckoned with. You clean up my messes, making me look far better than I am. And it terrifies me.” He admitted truthfully.

He exhaled as though he hadn’t meant to say that last part, but it was too late now.

“You make me want to try. Even though I don’t know how. And I hate that I let you do everything alone, I’m sorry I don’t cooperate more. I hate that I don’t say thank you when I should. I hate that I barely show what I feel because I’m scared that once I do, it’ll matter too much. That people will always want that, and I won’t be able to deliver.” Oscar spoke frantically.

Your breath caught, heart aching for being mean to him originally. “Oscar…”

He continued, “I noticed when you stopped trying so hard,” He admitted, voice softer as he took a step closer. “And it scared the shit out of me because I thought that meant you were done. That I had pushed you too far. And if I lost you…I don’t know what I’d do.”

And for the first time, you felt as though Oscar hadn’t just meant in terms of work.

You stood still, heart hammering against your ribs.

He stepped forward once more, practically caging you against the desk and himself.

“I brought you coffee because I know you can barely function without it in the morning. I remember your order because you complained about the barista using a shot of vanilla instead of caramel once. I remember you like it extra hot because it keeps your hands warm while you’re out. I brought you soup because I know you hate being alone when you’re sick. I pay attention, even if I don’t always know what to say, but I do care, okay? Far more than I’ve let on.” He expressed, eyes fluttering across your face. “Maybe more than I should.” He confessed quietly, cheeks lightly flushing.

You stared at him, awestruck. The boy who never flinched on track, now looking completely exposed.

You reached a hand towards him, pulling them away from his chest and placing them next to you on the desk, his body leaning slightly forward.

And in a quiet, breaking voice, you said, “Then say it, tell me.” You plead.

His eyes didn’t leave yours.

“I care about you,” his voice hoarse with emotion. “Not just because you make my life easier, even if I don’t make yours any easier,” he joked with a sarcastic huff before continuing. “Not just because you’re brilliant at your job. Because I care about you. And I think I’ve been falling for you since the day you yelled at me for skipping media day.”

The silence returned, your body flushing at the confession and your breath hitched slightly.

“You make me want to be better. Not just for the press. For you. Because when you’re around, I don’t feel like some machine for the media to chew up and spit out. I feel like maybe I’m someone worth showing up for.” He confessed, arms encaging you against the desk as his head leaned down slightly.

Then quieter, “I know I’ve been difficult. I don’t say enough, but I’m saying it now. I care, I care about you. I want you here. Not because you fix things, but because I love having you around.” He reiterated, you felt as though you hadn’t spoken in ages, none of the right words coming to mind.

Your throat tightened.

And suddenly, the frustration, the exhaustion, the weeks worth of wondering if he even noticed you slipping away, all cracked away and spilled into something else.

A knock on the door interrupted your moment as you broke away. He took a step back, head whipping towards the door as your breath caught up to you.

Work awaited you.

✧༺♥༻∞

Days had passed, the paddock was winding down for the night.

You had migrated from your desk to one of the couches in the corner of the hospitality unit, half-heartedly editing clips from Oscar’s earlier media rounds to hopefully post the following morning. Your headphones sat around your neck, untouched. The screen glowed, but your eyes glazed over somewhere between the third and fourth timestamp.

You hadn’t talked about the confession since it happened, but your mind kept drifting back to him. The look on his face and the way his voice sounded.

You’d both gone back to work like professionals. He gave more thoughtful answers during interviews. You polished his media presence like always, job slightly easier nowadays. But under every interaction with him sat this new charged silence, one that said something happened and neither of you had figured out what it meant yet.

Then came a quiet knock from the doorframe.

Oscar.

He wasn’t in race gear anymore, not even team gear, just a hoodie, slightly damp at the sleeves, his hair tousled from his post-session shower. He looked…normal, cozy if you would. Not a headline, or a race statistic, or a social media puzzle for people to pick apart.

Just him.

“You busy?” He asked, walking closer anyway.

“A little,” you blinked, watching him intently.

He stepped closer, sitting on the couch across from you, silent for a moment, before wordlessly placing a bag on the table between you, sliding it towards you.

Your brows furrowed curiously, “What is this?”

“Some takeout, I figured you hadn’t eaten in a while since most places on the track are closed by now. It’s the fried rice you like and some of those weird seaweed chips you eat when you’re stressed.” He explained, cheeks flushing slightly pink.

You paused, still in awe of the fact that he noticed. “You remembered.” you spoke, leaning forward to untie the bag and pulling out the bag of chips, a soft smile crossing your face.

He didn’t look at you, eyes wandering the room. “It wasn’t hard.”

Your chest tightened.

You pushed your laptop aside, slowly looking at him. There was something in the way his shoulders tensed, the slight crease in his brow. As though he was trying to say something without saying it too fast, or too wrong.

“Oscar-”

“I keep thinking about what you said. About how you care and how I didn’t give you anything back.” He swallowed thickly. Your breath caught but you stayed quiet.

He looked up at you then, and for once he didn’t look guarded or sarcastic. He looked nervous.

“I kept thinking if I acted like I didn’t need anyone, I couldn’t lose anything. But I think maybe I lost a little bit of you already, and fuck, I don’t want to keep doing that.”

You felt your eyes sting unexpectedly as you blinked quickly.

“I don’t expect you to fix me up or stay just because I suddenly decided to show up. But I meant it all. I care. About all of it, about you. I was worried if I said the wrong thing, I’d ruin the only good thing I actually gave a shit about.”

“I’ve been trying to show it,” he went on, voice tighter now. “In the ways I can, but I don’t know if it’s enough. And it’s driving me fucking insane wondering if I’ve missed my chance”

Your heart beat a little too loudly in your chest.

He ran a stressed hand through his hair, “I keep thinking about how close I could’ve been to losing you. It’s not just about work, it never has been.” His eyes met yours, raw and serious. “It’s you. I don’t want to go through another race weekend without knowing if you’re mine. If this thing between us is real or if I’ve just been imagining it.”

The room went still.

You stood slowly, every nerve in your body on fire, the air between you wound so tight it could snap.

“You didn’t miss your chance,” you said, your voice barely a breath. You walked towards him, now standing next to him sat on the couch, within arm’s reach.

A pause, his jaw clenching as though something had finally broken.

He reached for you, pulling you closer with a hand on your waist as he stood up. Oscar towered over you now, arms snaking around you comfortably as your hands came up to rest on his chest.

He leaned down, breath fanning your face as his nose nudged yours. Then, he kissed you. Lips landing on yours like they had waited months.

Tension bled out of both of you like a flood. His mouth was warm and searching, far too much restraint pent up as his teeth gnashed teasingly against your bottom lip. You stood slightly on your tiptoes to reach him better, a hand sliding up from his chest into his hair, tugging lightly as he groaned.

It was far from perfect, you stumbled slightly unbalanced as his hands shook against your hip, but it was real. Honest and a little desperate. You slid your tongue against Oscar’s lip, his own poking out to meet yours. He licked into your mouth, hand tightening against your hip as you whined.

You pulled back slightly, nose still pressed against his breathlessly, his forehead resting against yours.

“I’ve wanted to do that since my second week on the job,” You admitted, lips curling into a smile.

He huffed a soft laugh. “Took me that long to stop pretending I didn’t”

You smiled, brushing your fingers along the curve of his neck, lightly scratching the hair at the nape of his neck as he shivered. “So what now?”

“Now I stop pretending, full stop.” He spoke, no hesitation. “And I get to flirt with my media manager.” He joked, a small smirk settling on his face.

You giggled softly, feeling the weight of that promise, simple and sincere, You leaned into him, body warming at his words.

“Let me take you home,” He spoke softly, mouth near your ear as he whispered as if trying to keep it a secret between you two.

You shuddered at his words, biting your lip before facing him again. You nodded slowly at him, eyes lighting with excitement. He smiled at you sweetly, placing another small kiss on your lips before letting you go to pack up.

Everything seemed to be exactly where it was meant to be, and you felt your heart settle happily at how the night turned out.

✧༺♥༻∞

469 notes · View notes

letters-to-lgbt-kids · 12 days ago

Text

My dear lgbt+ kids,

Someone requested „unhinged life advice“ and I will try my best to provide some - but firstly, and at the risk of sounding like a buzzkill, I need to say something very annoying:

A lot of the things that’ll make you feel happier and make your life better are - frustratingly - very, very hinged. They’re just the things you expect them to be: try to eat at least some veggies, fruit and fiber. Try to drink enough water. Go to bed early enough to get eight hours of sleep. Try to move your body, for example by taking walks or exercising. Avoid alcoholic drinks (altogether if possible but at least in excess). Quit smoking. Try to do at least some things in your free time that are not just passive consumption of content and instead challenge your brain, like learning a language or doing puzzles or writing short stories. Try to have at least some pleasant social interactions, ideally even in person.

These pieces of advice aren’t fun. They also aren’t easy. I think we are so fascinated by the concept of „unhinged life advice“ because we are tired. We hope for something easier, for a magic quick fix, for a „this one little thing changed everything“ - while in reality building new habits needs patience and determination and time.

So, I think the best pieces of „unhinged life advice“ are the ones that help to build these habits! I’ll share some of them. I’ll also throw in some pieces of advice that are just unhinged in the sense of „weirdly specific“ (since that’s another possible interpretation).

Without further ado:

If putting chicken nuggets in a salad makes you actually eat a salad you otherwise would never eat, then chicken nuggets are a healthy choice.

If you struggle with eating fruit because the texture is so unpredictable, try frozen fruit (eaten straight out of the freezer). Frozen fruit has a predictable texture!

If frozen fruit hurts your tummy or you don’t like that texture, either, here are some more ideas: make smoothies, or purée fruit and mix it into yoghurt, or purée fruit and add it to tomato sauce (sounds weird but a little sweetness can work great in tomato sauce), or bake fruit into muffins (if you cut them up very finely or blend them into the dough, they are often barely noticeable)

Moving your body doesn’t have to look like exercise. Going on a walk (maybe to look for pretty stones on the sidewalks? or even just to get a coffee!) counts! Dancing to your favorite song (even alone in your room) counts too! Crawling on the floor like a dog (just for the silliness of it, which is also great for your brain) also counts!

Sleep rituals can help a lot and they don’t need to be fancy! Just do the same thing before you go to bed and over time your brain will associate it with getting sleepy and calm down once you do it. This could be something like making a cup of chamomile tea, listening to soft piano music, praying or meditating, writing down one thing you’re grateful for etc., but also something whimsy like saying good night to your favorite plushie!

A great way to get some steps in and also challenge your brain is to go to museums. If you feel like you are not the museum type because you don’t „get“ art, try this little trick: just don’t try to get it. Don’t focus on finding the meaning or find hidden symbolism for now. Instead, just try to find three things you like about the art piece. This doesn’t have to be anything smart or deep. It can be something like „I like the blue color the artist used“ or „I like how fluffy the clouds look“. This approach will help you relax and actually learn to appreciate the art… which is what you need to do in order to allow your brain to look for meanings

There’s probably at least one vegetable you think you hate but you really just hate the way your mom prepares them (no offense to your mom). It can be a fun challenge to revisit some foods you decided you hate as a kid and to see if that’s still true.

Allow yourself to be bored. „I need to look at two screens simultaneously at all times to avoid a thought from occurring“ is not as funny in real life as it sounds as a meme. Your brain needs to be bored sometimes. Your thoughts need to wander sometimes. If that’s hard, then start by just doing certain things more intentionally: do not watch YouTube while eating. Just eat. Do not scroll through TikTok while on the toilet. Just poop. Your brain will reward you for actually getting some time to sort through and process stuff. Even if it’s just while pooping.

Allow yourself to gameify those boring adult tasks if that works for you. Pretend to be on a cooking show while chopping onions. Sing a silly song about laundry while doing laundry. Beat your own record for speed-cleaning. Give those dishes a nice pool party in your sink.

Reading of all kinds still counts as reading. Yes, it can be a rewarding challenge to finally finish that bestselling novel that is totally outside of your genres or interests, or that classic piece of literature that everyone should know. But if it’s too overwhelming and kinda stops you from reading altogether, then just put it aside and read something that’s actually fun for now! It can be a graphic novel or a children’s book or fanfiction or Wikipedia articles, too.

Make lists. I may be biased because I love lists and make lists for everything (I even have a list categorizing all my lists…) but lists can be such a great tool! Any task becomes much more satisfying when you can cross it off a list.

When people say things like „someone should empty the dishwasher“ or „we should take out the trash today“, they often mean „I want you to empty the dishwasher“ or „I want you to take out the trash“. They’re not even being confusing on purpose or playing mind games, they just assume that wording it so indirectly is nicer and more polite.

If you safely can, then go to Pride events (and queer spaces in general) in small towns or rural areas! They’re often the ones who need support the most. And since they’re smaller, they can also be more accessible (in terms of less noise, less crowded etc.)

I don’t think this one is rooted in science but I’m a big fan of having little comfort items. Just little „emotional support trinkets“ or lucky charms you can carry with you and look at or fidget with when you get nervous. Of course it’s important to not fall into overconsumption with that (impulsively purchasing lots of items you then do not end up actually using or even just purchasing them for the thrill of purchasing), but, if done intentionally (only picking a limited number of items that you actually form an emotional attachment and assign personal meaning to), I believe it can be a simple way to boost happy feelings. It can also work well as your own little „secret“ Pride item! If you don’t feel safe or comfortable wearing rainbow accessories but want something to affirm your identity for yourself, it can be a great idea to assign your own meaning to something totally random. Good way to train your creativity too!

With all my love,

Your Tumblr Dad

#lgbt #lgbt+

427 notes · View notes

tossawary · 1 year ago

Text

That "even if you're writing a non-canon pairing in fanfiction, you have to respect that these characters will probably still care on a basic level about their original love interest" post was inspired by a lot of things. But foremost inspired by any "Fullmetal Alchemist" fanfiction that tries to convince me that Edward Elric doesn't actually like Winry Rockbell at all.

Like, uh, no. Ed would die for Winry, so jot that down. Even if you're writing an AU where one or both of them are gay, which is fun and fine, Ed and Winry are ride or die for each other. They've known each other for so long. They trust each other so much. When they're arguing with each other or annoying the other, it's because THEY CARE. This is basic characterization for them.

I was amusing myself by thinking about an AU in which Ed's romantic interest is someone like Ling Yao, in which there's some dangerous situation where Ed has to choose between saving Winry (his sister figure in this AU) and saving Ling. I was immediately like, "Oh, he would FOR SURE pick Winry in most scenarios. Sorry, Ling." Which would suck for Ed, because he hates failing to save anyone, but is also funny to think about with Ling specifically, because I think that Ling would actually respect this decision more.

Unlike Winry, Ling is a combatant with bodyguards, and so can be trusted to handle himself in dangerous situations. (Which obviously does not make Ling a BETTER love interest for Ed than Winry, Winry doesn't need to be good at fighting, it's just a different skillset.) Ling is also a leader, someone who wants to be an emperor someday, and I think he has opinions on loyalty. Despite feeling grateful to be saved, I think Ling might think quite poorly of Ed choosing him (a relative stranger, even if he is a legit snack) over Winry (functionally a member of Ed's family / clan, a skilled specialist who is necessary to Ed's own combat capabilities), because Ed sure as shit wouldn't be considering future political advantages with Xing here, so it would be choosing a new love over family / a loyal friend. Depending on the scenario (it all depends on the specific situation for all of these cases), I also think that Ling might choose to save someone like Lan Fan or even Mei Chang over Ed in a lot of situations, especially because Ed would HATE IT SO MUCH if Ling knowingly sacrificed anyone for his sake.

Non-canon pairings and their AUs are interesting to me partially for how they interact with the existing canonical relationships and how they negotiate with canonical motivations. For some characters, romantic relationships are just not as important as familial ones or their own goals. Obviously, for Edward Elric, (depending on the specific situation at hand, of course) he's going to choose Alphonse over nearly anyone else.

#tossawary fma #edward elric #winry rockbell #ling yao #edwinry #edling

2K notes · View notes

loganficsonly · 2 months ago

Note

Logan smut where y/n and logan are basically insomniacs and hang out together in each others rooms in the middle of the night until one night they decide to break some tension👀 I’m talking friends to lovers and some rough kinky stuff

can't sleep love

trilogy!logan x f!reader, 5k WARNINGS/TAGS: SMUT MINORS PLEASE DO NOT INTERACT!!!, alcohol consumption, spanking, piv, creampie, public sex, mentions of reader's hair, friends to fuck-buddies to lovers (?), reader hasn't done it in a while, reader is a teacher with unspecified powers, slight grumpy x sunshine themes as i am wont to do... it's a reflex at this point, slight corruption?? like it's not even a kink lmao it's just FREAKYYY, a lot of logan's pov as usual, not proofread we die like senator kelly AUTHOR'S NOTE: you cooked with this ask, anon. i had to tweak it a little, hope you don't mind. also lowkey tipsy while writing this ehe

He didn’t realize this when he first got to the mansion. The moment he wasn’t snarling at every extended hand, he could see things more clearly.

Ororo’s generosity and compassion. The unseen temper under Jean’s skin. How Scott is harder on himself than he is on others.

And then there’s you.

How everyone likes you. The softness in your gaze, the general ease about you, as if you weren’t also a mutant that people cast away. As if you never got hurt.

You are the opposite of him, and that’s what makes things awkward.

His face is nearly locked in a permanent scowl, while you smile at people effortlessly. Breeziness to his petulance. Clean cut to his rough edges. He feels like he shouldn’t be around you at all—like stepping into a prairie with bloodied boots on, afraid of crushing the daisies under his step and turning them red.

But proximity means he can’t not acknowledge you. What started out as polite nods in the hallway and short small talk when exchanging classrooms shifted into something more genuine.

As he finds safety within the mansion walls, he lowers his own.

When exactly you became friends, he’s not quite sure. That would be akin to asking him on which day of the month spring turns to summer. You make it seem so natural, friendly as you are. Always warm—not the kind that is cloying or irritating, but one that’s ready to oblige, whether it’s sharing a pot of coffee for breakfast or staring off into the distance in the backyard.

Or training together, despite knowing you’d instantly have your back against the mat in a physical no-powers spar against him. God, you were so game, and he remembers how fun it was—something he hasn’t had in a long time.

How the two of you laughed, yours louder than his, when an easy maneuver from him caused you to miss him and fall. He got you to yield multiple times after that first blunder, but you put up better fights with each round.

In the end, though, he got you breathless, sweat dripping down your brow. You were flushed.

“You got me,” you said with a smile, your tone airy and tired as you pushed your hair back. That was when he realized the color of your cheeks, and wished that he’d given you that rosy blush some other way.

…Okay, maybe he doesn’t know when exactly you became friends.

But that February day he trained with you, he realized he was looking at you the way friends didn’t.

You can’t sleep.

Resigning yourself to this fact, you sit up in bed. The past two hours or so of lying in it—counting sheep, doing breathing exercises, visualizing a still lake in the middle of nowhere—is evidence that tonight is going to be a restless one.

Trying not to be annoyed (that’s only going to make it harder to fall asleep), you slip out of your bedroom, not bothering to change out of your old T-shirt and shorts.

It’s warm, you think to yourself as you walk silently in the hallway. May is around the corner, but it feels like the temperature is hiking up more than it should for spring, especially at night. Maybe a glass of ice cold water is what you need. The thought of it makes you aware of the dryness of your throat.

A glow at the end of the hallway where the kitchen is. Someone’s up, too. You can feel your heart rate picking up as a little voice in your head hopes to find a certain someone who’s prone to being awake at this hour…

“Hey Logan,” you call, alerting him of your presence. His back is towards you, but you don’t need to know it’s him. You’re acquainted with how he fills up that gray tank top. He turns to look, not appearing the slightest bit surprised, heightened senses probably alerting him way before you arrived.

“Hey,” he replies, voice low and quiet, “why’re you up?”

You move next to him, trying to get a glass from the top shelf. “Just can’t sleep.”

“Join the club,” he says, sipping on his drink.

Narrow eyes look at him while you fill your glass with water. He doesn’t reek, but there’s a sharp scent in the air. “Is that alcohol?”

A rogue smile from behind the rim. “Depends. You gonna snitch?”

You laugh quietly, shaking your head as you take a seat at the island, staring into a bowl of tropical fruits. This man and his contrabands.

“Not if you share your stash with me.”

He slides up to sit across the way. “Getting naughty, aren’tcha?”

You give him an unimpressed look that has him smirking, as if he won something. Gaze softening, your eyes roam his face, catching the paleness of his face and the slight dimness in his eyes. He looks tired.

“Another nightmare?” You venture quietly, not wanting to cross a line.

Logan’s expression hardens—you can tell from his jaw—and for a second you think he’s going to brush it off, or worse, leave.

A small nod as he downs more of the stuff in his opaque mug. You press your lips into a thin line, relieved he isn’t evading but displeased at the truth.

Having to helplessly hear your friend down the hall groaning in nightly terror is akin to torture. The Professor did a great job working on restoring his memories, and so did recent events at Alkali Lake, but the nightmares seem to remain. A stubborn remnant of the past.

When you first confronted him about it, he sternly demanded you to leave him be, fearing a replay of what he accidentally did to Rogue. You remember how terrified he was at the accident.

“They’re not as bad now,” Logan's murmur cut the silence. He’s not meeting your gaze. You nod, quietly acknowledging his words, not knowing what else to do.

You choose to place your hand over his, thumb stroking his knuckles. He feels a touch too cold.

Something flashes in his eyes. You don’t catch it, preoccupied with unmarred skin where claws would come out. He has nice hands.

“You gonna go back to sleep?” He asks.

Your answer is a noncommittal shrug as you make eye contact again. “You?”

His answer is a grunt. Something to the effect of unlikely, according to your Logan dictionary—a language you learned when he started opening up to you.

A string of words bubble in your throat. Maybe it’s a stroke of loneliness, but you think it’s mostly because it’s him who’s sitting in front of you.

It's him you want to spend time with.

“Want to hang out?”

Hazel eyes on yours make you feel more awake than ever. What you're asking is certainly pushing the boundaries of your relationship: keeping each other company past midnight, fresh off a bout of bad dreams and sleeplessness. You're not just being friendly to a colleague anymore.

When he doesn’t answer immediately, you add, not wanting to scare him away.

“You don’t have to talk about it. Your nightmare, I mean.”

He gets up. Your eyes are glued on his figure as he circles the island, and you’re still not sure what he’s doing until he gestures with his chin for you to come with, mug of alcohol still in hand. Biting the inside of your cheek, you follow.

That was the first time. The two of you sat on the living room couches for a while before Jones wandered in. The very young technopath is often sleepless as well. In this school for Gifted Youngsters, you’re not the only night owls around.

He had the cheek to ask if the two of you were having some kind of secret rendezvous.

“Who taught you that word?” Logan retorted, but the two of you dispersed anyway, feeling strangely like trespassers in the presence of little Jones as he flicked through the television channels silently.

You seek refuge in the backyard, but after a while, the bugs got much too annoying. The balcony wasn’t that much of a difference.

That’s how you ended up in his room for the first time.

It was very simple on his part. “Want to go to my room?" He asked. Equally simple for you to say yes.

And that’s how he ended up in your room the next night.

The night after that, you're in his room again.

The two of you seek solace in each other’s quarters, escaping sleeplessness by talking to each other. Despite being in private, the conversation is hushed, like you’re afraid somebody could hear. Once there’s nothing left to talk about, you’d say good night and return to your rooms.

He occasionally brings his poison into these meet-ups, sharing some with you, until eventually he keeps part of his stash in your room.

“You’re complicit now,” he teased.

It started out with the two of you sitting on the rug next to the bed, head tipped against the plush surface as you talk about all sorts of nonsense except for the reason you’re awake. Now, the two of you are comfortable enough to be in each other’s beds—platonically, of course.

Logan recalls the night you gave up being on the floor. You climbed into his bed, sitting languidly with your head propped above your hand like you were some kind of painting.

“Do you mind?” You asked that night, citing the need for relief in your back. He shook his head, eyes darkening at the sight of you on his bedsheets.

The things you wear to go to sleep. Lord, help him. As summer begins to inch closer, Logan notices how your pajamas begin to shrink. T-shirts become tank tops. Shorts turned into short shorts, your legs on full display. Logan remembers a time you opened the door to your room, wearing a baby blue pair that looked so soft and a tank top that betrays the curves of your chest—he felt his mouth water.

It’s damn near impossible to separate the comfort of your company from the carnal want in his adamantium bones. He doesn’t mean to defile your so-far-wholesome nightly conversations, but he can’t help it. And he has a feeling that you’re not entirely oblivious to the tension, either, what with the way he catches your gaze dropping to his exposed biceps every now and then.

Like tonight. You’re sipping on some Tennessee whiskey from his stash, lovely eyes dropping to his hand enclosed over a mug before expertly meeting his hazel ones in the low light of your room.

Maybe you don’t realize you’re looking at him. Maybe you do, and you don’t realize he’s fully aware of your gaze.

Either way, it’s taking a lot not to pull you into him and take a bite out of you.

He fights the urge with every fiber of decency in him. Yes, he’s the Wolverine, animal mutation intertwined with his own DNA, but he wouldn’t be here if not for your shared trust and vulnerability. You’re probably his closest friend at the Institute. Maybe ever, a little voice whispers.

Tonight, the two of you are in bed. Your bed, to be precise. He’s come to memorize the scent of you, all the notes of it, and even after paying many visits to this sacred place, he still finds it intoxicating. You started playing a boozy version of ‘never have I ever’ about ten minutes ago, despite his initial complaints—the two of you have long drained deep conversations and are left with the dregs, it seems.

He doesn’t like the game, but credits it for what it’s worth. It lets him see glimpses of you he hasn’t seen before, while making you drink with stupid statements like “never have I ever worn a dress”.

“Your turn,” he says. He’s lying next to you, stealing a glance at you while you look up at the ceiling.

You hum, thinking. A sentence brews in your head. Hopefully this one wouldn’t be too weird? The two of you ventured quickly into sexual territory almost as soon as the game started, but it was mostly trying to get each other to drink with cheap shots.

You try to think of something less… risqué, but it’s too late. The thought is stuck.

He looks at you expectantly. You look into your cup. It’s nearly empty, but you feel strangely sober. You gather your voice—the last thing you want is to sound pathetic.

“Never have I ever… had an orgasm by someone other than myself.”

He’s supposed to drink, but you delivered that semi-truck of a sentence with the stability of a weatherman declaring all sun and shine for the entire week.

When you look over at him, he looks almost mad that you’re afraid you’d offended him somehow.

“You should drink—”

“No one’s ever made you come?”

The weight of his question hit you, and the way he worded it makes you flush a little. Was it too weird to say that after all, in a ‘never have I ever’? You shake your head as a wordless answer.

“Jesus, what kind of assholes did you hook up with?” He asks, face contorting, eyes glued to yours. You stop breathing for the second you see a simmering anger. He really was mad.

“I… didn’t hook up a lot,” you offer tentatively, though you aren’t lying. Life was largely unpredictable, especially as a mutant. Exploring your sexuality with another person becomes a privilege, a luxury that was fundamentally inaccessible when it’s already difficult to find people to trust. By the time you arrived at Xavier’s, your time was devoted to serving and educating others.

There is a single moment of quiet as you see Logan appearing to calm down, though the intensity of his stare doesn’t let up.

In a smooth movement, he places his cup by the nightstand before taking yours out of your hands, doing the same, not breaking eye contact. You don’t exactly know how he got on top of you, his large palm on your jaw making sure you look up at him. Darkening eyes flicker down to your lips, a thumb pressing down and parting them ever so slightly. Your heart nearly stops.

“Want me to show you?” He asks, voice deep as he hovers over you. He can’t stop himself. How could he, when he knows he can take you to heights unimaginable—when he wants to, so badly? The things he wants to do to you, the thoughts that plague him as a sinful substitute to his nightmares, they all flash in his mind’s eye for half a second.

His sense of control frays to a single thread.

You look up at him with half-lidded eyes. The hazy warmth clouding you might be just the whiskey’s doing, but that's a lie. This is something else that’s been brewing for a while. Perhaps since that time in the kitchen when you put your hand on top of his.

Perhaps even before that.

Steeling yourself, you nod at his question. He groans, lips against your ear. That alone makes you shiver.

“Ah—”

He says your name sternly. “Words. Tell me you want this.”

He doesn’t part, can't. He takes your earlobe in his mouth. You let out a soft moan.

“Logan, want you…”

It’s enough for him to snap, his lips pulling away from your ear before crashing against yours in a wild kiss. Your breath hitches, hands flying to his shoulders as he devours you, teeth almost clashing in a storm of desperation. You’re dizzy as he latches onto your neck, hands traversing your body like he’ll die if he doesn’t feel you.

To a certain degree he feels like he’ll die either way. The outline of your chest over your light tank top, the plump flesh of your thighs, they’ve occupied too much of his mind for him to act like this is just some other conquest. With every brush of his hand against your skin, he stokes the primal part of him, the beast purring, pleased but wanting more.

Meanwhile, a fog takes over you, lowers your inhibitions as Logan continues to touch and grope, moving you against some pillows until you’re sitting up slightly. A quiet noise escapes you when you feel his teeth sink into your neck, leaving the first of many marks as a hand moves up under your tank top. Dancing past ribs, reaching your chest.

“Oh, God,” you sigh as calloused fingers pinch your nipple. Pulling. Circling. He growls against your skin, letting go so he can watch the outline of his hand under the fabric of your top.

“When was the last time someone touched you, sweetheart?”

You look back at him, the nickname making your head spin as you attempt to find the right answer.

“I don’t know, a while,” you pant.

“Yeah, can tell,” he rasps as he paws at your shirt. “Need to take this off.”

When he does, you shiver, both at the initial hit of cool air on your skin as well as the way he stares at your bare, heaving chest. He’s studying you, the way your nipples harden as he brushes a finger against it. His other hand keeps yours above your head, a loose grip on both your wrists.

“So fucking pretty…” He murmurs, sitting between your legs as he watches your face while his fingers toy with your chest. The measured movements are nearly criminal. You bite your lip, trying not to make so much noise at this dead of night, but it’s hard when he’s looking at you like a man starved.

Like he’s wanted this for a while.

He lets go of your wrists to prop himself up over you, lips descending to your collarbone, then sternum. Then, slowly, as if to give you space to say no, his warm breath is over your chest, and your hands are flying to his shoulders. A wordless response, telling him you want this just as much.

His eyes are already pinned on your face when he latches his mouth to your nipple. A sound of pleasure escapes you.

“Ha-ah—Logan,” you pant, unable to take your eyes off him.

Tongue works on a hardened peak, sucking and nibbling with just an edge of roughness to distract from the hand snaking down your body while his mouth switches to your other breast. Your eyes widen, feeling him cup you through your shorts before fingers easily find their way in, circling your dampening panties.

A hum around your nipple when his hand is fully underneath your shorts. You arch, eyelids fluttering close as his thumb brush against your clothed clit.

“God, you’re so wet, sweetheart. For me, hmm?" He leaves a languid stroke over the gusset of your underwear, groaning at the feel of your cunt, the way the fabric sticking to your flesh accentuating the shape of you.

It doesn’t take long till he has you completely naked under him, sleeping clothes forgotten somewhere on the bedroom floor while he’s two fingers deep in your pussy, his other hand on your thigh, keeping you open. You cling onto his back as he pumps steadily into you, drinking in every single shift in your expression.

When he hits a spongy spot in you, somewhere your fingers could never reach, you cry out, forgetting your attempts to maintain the quiet of the night.

He grins.

“You like it here, pretty?”

His thick digits move in and out of you more fervently, eager to exploit your sensitive spots. He knows he’s doing a good job because your responses are becoming less verbal, unintelligible noises escaping you, eyes glossed over as they stare into his.

You’re slipping into an abyss of pleasure, the wet sounds of your juices as his fingers plunge into your core making it impossible for you to think. How did you get here? What were you doing before this? Do you really care, when Logan is whispering filthy things against your ear, your slick coating his fingers, dripping down his hand?

“You hear that?” A loud squelch as he sinks in. “That’s your pussy making that sound. Taking my fingers so damn well, sweetheart.”

Electricity zaps down your spine as he brushes a different spot, making your eyes nearly roll back. He watches, stills, then drives into it again.

Your hand flies to your mouth to muffle the cry that you can’t help but let out as he exploits your body, but his other hand shoots out quickly, caging your wrist by the side of your head.

“Don't hide those noises,” he groans. “Wanna hear you when you come. You’re close, huh?”

“P-please—”

Hips begin to buck, a soft stream of noises escaping you as he plunges his fingers faster. Your heavy breathing tangles with his as you feel the knot in your belly threatening to unravel. Fingers try to warn him of your impending release, digging crescent moons onto his back that disappear as soon as they form.

When you come, it’s a silent scream. He watches you climax, admiring the way your body shivers and spasms, quietly growling at the sensation of your cunt squeezing him in. His ego preens, basking in the fact that he is the first man to make you orgasm.

His fingers are soaked when he pulls them out, dripping on the sheets, and he makes sure that you’re watching when he sticks them in his mouth.

One lick. They emerge clean.

“Tastes so good,” he growls, and before long his face is between your legs, hands pushing them open for him.

He makes you come on his tongue once before putting his cock in you.

The sight of it makes your stomach churn. There’s a reason he acts so cocky, and the reason is the thing he’s pushing into your core, girthy and veiny and ready. He looks down, unable to take his eyes off the debauched scene of your cunt swallowing him whole.

“Oh, fuck,” he sputters, feeling your plush walls suck him in, voice wavering just a touch. “So fucking tight.”

You mewl, gripping his biceps as his hands hold onto your hips, making sure you stay still. It’s a little while until he’s all the way in. You feel so incredibly full, as if he’s up against your stomach, big and pulsing with heat. It’s overwhelming. Almost painful. Would be, if he didn’t prepare you as much—considering how long it’s been for you, it’s a wonder he even fit.

“Does it hurt?”

“No, just need to… get used to you,” you whisper, hands on his shoulders.

He looks down at you, eyes boring into yours. His jaw is set with restraint, face contorted with pleasure as he feels you cling to him. Chest heaving, you take deep breaths. Not long after, the immense stretch of his cock stirs a want within you, enough for you to tell him.

“Can you move?” You ask softly. He lets out a strained laugh.

“Can I?” He growls. “Been dying to, baby.”

The first time he pulls away slightly, only to slide back into your heat, the two of you moan.

“Oh my God,” you gasp, the friction making your head tip back. His eyes flash with wanton determination, arms by the sides of your head, bracing before he moves his hips. Slowly at first, thrusts shallow.

Your hands snake up his arms, caressing his shoulders and moving down to his chest. His heart is hammering under your palm, the very pulse that you feel in your core from his thick length. He gradually moves out of you more before sheathing all the way back in.

It’s like he’s trying to get you to memorize the shape of him.

And you do—your body does, cunt swallowing him easily. He looks down where you’re joined, licking his lips at the way you’re absolutely drenching him.

“More?” He asks, slightly breathless. You nod.

He shifts. You move your arms to wrap around his neck, anticipation coiling at the bottom of your gut.

Then he fucks you, slow but harder at first, faster and wilder afterwards, pounding your brains out. You’re a moaning mess, fingers scratching down his back. He thrusts, filling you up completely to make you a vessel for only pleasure—pleasure he’s giving you. Sounds of flesh slapping against flesh echo in the room, a constant staccato over his grunts and your whines.

You come with a gasp of his name not long after he places your legs on his shoulders, plundering the deepest parts of you. He follows soon after, hot spurts of release on your stomach, oozing out of him almost endlessly. It slowly drips down to your mound, as if marking you his.

A sight he’s not going to forget anytime soon.

If Charles so much as brushes your minds with his powers, the two of you would be fired on the spot for indecency.

That first time did nothing to quench your shared hunger. It worsened it. And not just because the two of you always had the best sleep after sex.

Both he and you find it difficult to exercise restraint. It was mainly you who tried, wanting to be decent in an environment filled with children, but you soon gave up thanks to his diligent temptations. You don’t understand how a simple look from him can be so full of explicit promises.

As for Logan, he thoroughly enjoys stripping you of your steadfast propriety with every visit he pays to your bedroom, taking you in all of the ways he imagines. He thanks whatever God is out there for the fact that there are empty rooms between your quarters and the next occupied one, and that no one gets to hear the beautiful cries that escape you. Your little “ah, yes,”es and “Logan, please”s are for him alone.

It’s dangerous, is what it is. You occupy every nook and cranny of his brain like some kind of drug. Smoking his cigar in the backyard of the mansion between classes, his mind easily turns to you.

In particular, the bounce of your breasts as you rode him, face red and thoroughly fucked out, a bit of drool escaping the side of your lips as his large hands on your waist helped you move up and down his cock.

“Logan, so big,” you whimpered, head lolling to one side. He called you his good girl then for taking him so well, one hand moving to tuck your hair behind your ear.

He grunts, feeling the obvious discomfort in his jeans. Seven minutes to kill that boner before his next class.

Neither of you remember how it began, but your surreptitious activities spilled outside the privacy of the night and into broad daylight. He starts to take you in the mornings, too, gentle and slow, basking in how husky your voice sounds after a night of doing the same deed. How could you resist, when you wake up in his arms under the sheets, warm and comfortable?

And then it slowly seeps outside of the bedroom.

The brush of his hand down your arm when you pass each other in the hallway. Your lips innocently pressed against his knuckle. A kiss that’s a second too long.

Seemingly chaste encounters quickly turn into wicked ones.

Once, most of the children are out for a day of sports under a blue sky. Logan dragged you into an empty classroom and bent you over the teacher’s desk, hand shoved up your sundress. He pulled your lace panties to one side, making you wet with his fingers.

“Look so good like this,” he rasped into your ear as he finally took you from behind, a hand against your mouth to muffle your moans, smearing your lip gloss, the other gripping the flesh of your ass. A resounding smack and a moan follows—yours, as you feel your skin burn pleasurably from his hand.

At this point you’ve been doing it so much that you started taking the pill—something he’s eternally grateful for, because it lets him spill his cum inside of you, filling you up to the brim. He loved watching it leak out of you, only to use his finger to push it back in, plugging you full before pulling your panties up.

“Want you to think of me all day, pretty,” he pressed a kiss on your temple as you slowed down your breathing, “want you to remember who’s got you filled up. Whose cum is it inside you, princess?”

“Yours, Logan,” you mewled weakly in response, knees shaking.

It’s not like the others don’t know that there’s something between the two of you—they just don’t know the extent of it. How much of your bodies are intertwined.

How he owns you, and you him.

Evidenced by the way you still talk like you used to. Yes, most of the talking has been replaced with fucking, but sentiments of friendship remain. It remains in the way he’ll save coffee from the pot for you in the morning, in the way you’ll sit with him in the backyard and stare into the distance.

Things you did in the very beginning.

And when he catches a glimpse of you in the hallway after class, saying something to your students that makes them laugh out loud, a different feeling emerges in his chest. It’s tight, like a string wrapped around his heart and pulled taut for a second or two. A feeling that makes him weak in the knees.

A feeling he knows can be spelled out with four letters.

He exhales a shaky breath, feet frozen in place with realization, though it’s not a surprise.

If anything, it feels like it’s been there the entire time, waiting for the right moment to ensnare his reality with the finality of it. As his gaze softens, watching you give high-fives to your younger students, he knows there’s no escape.

What started as a cure to one condition is turning into another of a much deadlier caliber.

This one, he doesn’t mind being sick with.

Maybe he’ll tell you tonight, before bed.

i spent so long working on this it's not even funnyyy lol

#logan x reader #logan howlett x reader #wolverine x reader #wolverine #x men #wolverine smut #logan howlett smut #logan howlett fanfiction #wolverine x you #logan howlett x you #request done

344 notes · View notes

thatrabidwolf · 6 months ago

Text

hey so a little while ago I decided this would be a fun thing to make, and now 3 days and many, many hours later, I have it complete, and I would like to share it! So, here is:

Questions to ask yourself when creating / studying / writing about, etc a culture (fantasy or real)

I absolutely love creating my own fantasy worlds, and recently I have been looking at advice on how to do it better, but none of the posts I’ve found are quite thorough enough for me. So, I decided it would be fun to make my own list of what questions you should ask yourself when making a fantasy culture!!

This will certainly not be all-encompassing, and I am by no means an expert on any of this, but I have tried my best with the knowledge I have. Think of this as a jumping off point!

I will always refer to the culture you are making/studying/writing about etc as ‘your culture’. I do not mean the culture you are literally from.

Religion and beliefs

Note- even if your culture has no god or religion, some questions will still apply. Additionally, a culture does not need a religion.

How does your culture believe the world/them/nature/etc has been created? (E.g. the Dreamtime, the days in which God made earth, etc)

Is your cultures religion poly or mono theistic?

What does your culture believe is holy or good, religion wise? How does this affect people who do not fit that standard? How do people try to reach this standard?

How does your culture worship? Do they have rituals or ceremonies? Why do they do this, in their eyes?

How does your culture think of its God(s)? Are they afraid? Reverent? Are they less than (the) God(s), or equal (I have never heard of non-Gods being viewed as better than (the) God(s), but hey, why not?)? Are they perhaps being protected or cared for by their God(s)?

What is your cultures view of death and the dead? What do they believe happens after death? How does their mortality affect this? (I.e. are creatures that live longer less afraid of death and hell?)

Are there any people who can be closer to their God(s), or servants of God(s)? (I.e. priests, monarchs, monks, nuns, etc)

How do religious people view non- religious people, or people who follow other religions? (and vice versa)

Are there multiple religions or belief systems in your world? How do they interact?

Why do people believe what they do? (Have they met the gods? Who made their religion?)

How does religion help or harm the people who follow it (And even the people who don’t believe it)? Are people aware of these issues?

How does religion affect things like art, language, routines, clothing, food, etc? (E.g. hijabs and modest clothing, prayer times that cause people to wake up earlier, cursing.) do religious ‘uniforms’ exist? (E.g. a priests outfit) who wears them?

How does one pray, or service a God?

If someone in your culture wanted something from (the) God(s), what would they do to get it? (I.e. what could they do for the god so their request is answered?)

Farming and Agriculture

Note- most stationary settlements will farm, but not all cultures will be stationary. If your culture is not stationary, this may not apply.

Who farms, and where? (The who is very important. Are they willingly in this field (pun unintended), or have they been forced into it? Are they paid? How much? Are the conditions good?)

Does your culture have aid from animals or machinery when farming? How are they aided?

What do they farm, and how? (I highly recommend researching farming methods, if only because it can be really cool!)

Does your culture farm everything it eats/needs, or do they import and export things? If they import and export, what are their main imports and exports? Who do they trade with?

How important is farming and trading in your culture? How does it’s importance affect those living there?

What foods are not farmed, or not as common? Why?

What ingredients are most common? What are they used in? (Note- the answer to that second question is going to be ‘a lot’. Don’t just make one dish with the most common ingredients. Make a bunch!)

Other materials

Note- if the answer to any of these questions is no, then you must consider what the alternative is. If they don’t have clay, what is their crockery (if they have it) made of? If they don’t have metal, what are their weapons made of? Also, a culture does not, by any means, need all or any of this. This is just an example.

Does your culture have access to sand (and, by extension, glass)? Where is it? How is it transported?

Does your culture have access to stone and metals? And again, who mines for this? How is it transported?

Does your culture have access to clean water? How is it transported?

Does your culture have access to wood and fire? If not, how are their environments heated and/or lit? (Do they burn another substance?)

Does your culture have access to paper and ink? If not, what do they write with? (If they write at all)

Does your culture have access to electricity?

Does your culture have access to clay and porcelain? And do they have glaze or paint for their clay?

Does your culture have access to candles?

Does your culture have access to string, ropes and twine?

Does your culture have access to leather, animal skins and/or furs, horse hair, feathers, scales, ivory, and other such materials? Could they perhaps have similar animal materials from fictional creatures? (E.g. dragon scale suits from the how to train your dragon series)

Does your culture have access to plastic?

Does your culture have access to materials most (if not all) human cultures do not have? How could you play around with this? What could these materials be used for? (E.g. an underwater society could use shark teeth as daggers, a society in space might trap stars in lanterns for lighting, etc. be creative!!!)

Food

Note- I have not included drinks here, but most of these questions will also apply to them.

What proteins/vegetables/fruit/grains/dairy does your culture eat, and how much do they have access to? What portions do they eat? (Note- this is directly affected by the availability of certain foods, not simply personal preference of those living in that area. What is your climate, and what animals and plants live and grow there?)

What flavours are enjoyed by your culture? (Note- salty cuisine may be indicative of having to keep food fresh for a long time, sugar may be inaccessible in certain areas, etc. consider why you have chosen what you have chosen.)

How is food stored? (Important! If they don’t have fridges, how do they keep their milk and eggs from going bad while transporting it? Is all their food fresh? Is it canned or non-perishable? What areas will have lower quality food, and why?)

if food travels a long while, it may be worse quality. Keep in mind where the food is coming from

What foods are easily accessible for all classes? What foods are not?

What foods are eaten by upper classes? What foods are eaten by lower class? How will each class view the foods eaten by the opposite class?

What foods are considered a treat? (Keep in mind; someone (potentially in a lower class) may consider a food that someone else eats often to be a treat.)

How do some cultures view other cultures cuisine?

Is your culture aware they need a balanced diet? Do they have one?

Where is food bought? From whom is it bought? (I.e. are there markets and salespeople? What do markets or shopping districts look like?)

How much do people eat? How many meals do they have? How big are those meals?

What would someone eat as a snack? What would they eat if they just needed a lot of energy and had barely any time/money/resources?

Do restaurants exist? Would the food in them be entirely authentic to your culture, or would they serve other cuisine? What would a restaurant look like? How many are there, and how often do people go to them?

Housing and architecture

What do houses look like? What are they made of? How are they made?

Are there homeless people? How are they treated by society? How are they treated by the government/monarchy/whatever your system of ruling is?

How are areas organised? (E.g. is there separation between more and less expensive neighbourhoods? Where are the shops, and such things?) (note- bad planning=bad quality of life, and more time to plan=better planning. Why is it organised the way it is? Is the planning amazing because one dude got free rein to make a city (like Canberra) or is it horrible because it was rushed?)

What rooms do houses often have? Do they have rooms at all? How many rooms do they have?

What does furniture look like? What is it made of? What types of furniture exist?

How are spaces decorated? Are they decorated at all? How does personal preference affect this? (Does your culture decorate with paintings, mosaics, tapestries, etc? Do they grow plants up the walls to fill empty space?)

If permanent structures are not a thing, what do the people in your culture use as shelter?

How are houses heated and/or cooled?

Plumbing. Does your culture have hot water? Does your culture have clean water? How? Do they use wells, or do they have pipes and aqueducts? Do they have to drink wine/ some other drink because it’s easier? Please don’t just assume they’ll have easy access to water.

PLUMBING. How do bathrooms work? Where does sewage go? (Do they have toilet paper?)

How are areas lit? Without electricity, lighting is a big issue. How much can the people in your culture see when the sun goes down?

If one does not own a home, can they rent one? Do apartment blocks exist? Do hotels and motels exist?

Transportation

Does tourism exist in your culture? How do locals feel about tourists? Why do tourists come?

Do people leave the place they live often? Will they know much (or anything) about other towns, cities, countries, etc?

How fast is each means of transportation? How far will they have to go? (How long will a letter take to send?)

For each means of transportation you must be able to answer: how common is it? How accessible is it? What is the overall view on it? When is it used, and when is it not?

How do vehicles move? (Do they have an engine? Are they pulled by an animal? Do they have oars? Are they steam-powered?)

What does each means of transportation look like? What are they made of? Where are they made?

What is required for the upkeep of each means of transportation?

How does the terrain affect travel?

Are there paths to walk or drive upon? What are they made of? How are they made? Do they require maintenance? Do they get maintenance?

How does the weather affect travel? (Especially water travel)

How is cargo protected from water damage?

Public transport! Do they have it? What is it? Where does it go, and what are its limitations? How many people can it take to a place? If someone never takes public transport anywhere, how will they act if they have to take it somewhere? How would someone who does take it act?

How are letters sent? Why is it done this way? How long does this take?

Weather and climate

What are the seasons? (You can make them up! You can have more than 4! You can be creative! Make a season where meteors are falling all day every day, if you want! Have fun with it!)

What is the weather during each season? (Does it snow? Do leaves fall from trees in autumn?)

Generally, what is the temperature during each season?

How humid is it?

How does the weather affect clothing?

What methods do people in your culture have to manage the weather or protect themselves from it? (E.g. covering oneself in mud to avoid sunburn and mosquitoes, hibernation, etc)

This isn’t all weather, but how often do natural disasters occur? Are there are many active volcanoes? Are tsunamis common? Do flash floods occur a lot?

What is peoples view on the weather in their area? (keep in mind that oftentimes people get very sick of the weather they are used to, and find other weather more interesting.)

Education

Who has access to an education, and who does not?

How much would an education cost?

What is learnt in schools? What does the curriculum focus on, and what does it miss out on? What subjects are there? Can it be harmful at all? (E.g. teach misinformation)

Do University and similar education options exist?

What would a school look like?

How strict are the rules in schools?

Who has access to literature, and is able to learn to read? Who is not?

Are there schools for children with disabilities? Are they good?

If someone cannot have an education, what will they do instead? What work can they do?

Who teaches children? Are they paid? How much?

When do children leave school? (I.e. at what age?)

Does homeschooling or other education options exist?

What emphasis is put on an education? If someone did not go to school, how would they be treated? Alternatively, if someone that people thought should not go to school (e.g. women, in some places and time periods) did, how would they be treated?

Language

Does sign language exist? How many people know it? If those in your culture do not have hands in the same way most humans will have, try to think of other ways they could sign! (I.e. flashes of colour like a chameleon or octopus)(Note; if you intend to have sign mentioned a lot in a story, it might be best to have an idea of what some signs may look like)

Does written language exist? Who learns it? Does illiteracy negatively impact a person?

Does spoken language exist?

Does telepathic communication exist? How does it work? (Keep in mind- thoughts are not always perfect, fully formed sentences. They may not even be words at all! How does this affect telepathic communication?)

Are there any other means of communication? (E.g. text to speech, body language, expressions) what are the limits of these, and how does that affect those that communicate using it?

What is the dominant means of communication? What is the dominant language? Is there a globally used language? What is it? Why is that one the globally used language?

Are there multiple languages? How do they interact? Are they similar?

Are there linguistic differences within a single language (I.e. Auslan having multiple signs for ‘eat’ depending on where you are)? (spoiler alert: there will and probably should be)

How are people with smaller vocabulary/more difficulty talking treated? Why do they have less linguistic ability?

With knowledge of your cultures beliefs and ideas, try to think of the symbolism that your culture might use. (E.g. If someone wrote a poem about how their lover is the dirt, would that mean their lover is unimportant and to be trodden over, or does it mean their lover is the home of growth and life, the thing that supports us all? What do things in your culture symbolise, and why?) Try to think of an object/place/plant/anything culturally important that someone could use to symbolise 1) their lover 2) the family members they love 3) someone they hate 4) a close friend

How is cursing treated? Is it commonplace?

And, just for fun; how would people insult each other? Come up with an insult in your culture! (My fictional world often uses ‘unnatural’ as an insult, as they worship nature)

Class and power

Who is ‘in charge’? (E.g. A monarch, a council of lords, a government, etc)

If the person (or people) in charge leave their position (they are overthrown, their presidency ends, they die, they step down, etc) who takes over? How is a new ruler chosen?

How does the person in power rule? What do they have control over, and what do they not?

What gives power? (Wealth, Magical ability, strength, etc) how would someone gain power? Can they gain power?

How is/are the person/people in power viewed by both lower and upper classes?

Is there a large class divide?

How do the lower classes view the upper classes, and vice versa?

What can someone in power do to lose or gain respect? Do they know this?

What is the currency? (It could be coins and metals, but it does not have to be.) Does everyone use the currency, or just upper class peoples? Is there a currency at all? If someone is not paid with money, how else are they paid? (Land or housing, perhaps?)

How much do upper class people know about lower classes lives, and vice versa? How does this affect relationships between the two? Does the ruler know what lower class lives are like?

Do servants, butlers, etc, exist? Who has them? Are they treated well? Do they live in the house they serve?

How are staff/employees treated? How good is their pay? How much time can they have off work?

What is the cost of living? Can many people afford it?

Law

I’m fairly sure this one is obvious, but: what are the laws?

Are there any things that are illegal that perhaps shouldn’t be? (E.g. being queer being illegal in some areas)

Are there any things that are legal that perhaps shouldn’t be? (E.g. my own fictional world having murder be legal as long as the victim is under 10 years old.)

What is the punishment for breaking the law?

How does age impact punishment?

What is the treatment towards the law and it’s enforcers?

Who enforces the law?

What is the view on vigilantes?

How can the law and its enforcers be unfair? (Is it less harsh on more wealthy people, is it likely to harm minorities, etc)

What is the trial process? Is there one?

Is there a death penalty?

And if there is no finite law: what rules are generally accepted, and what is the punishment for breaking them?

War and combat

are children taught how to fight from a young age? Why?

What weapons and armour are used? What are the restrictions surrounding them? How can they hurt/protect a person? What is the upkeep required for them?

How is a war started? Who calls for a war to happen?

How does war affect the world, and those in the warring countries?

How does war affect the economy and trading?

What combat styles are popular?

What is the view of war from the view of civilians, those fighting, and those in power?

How is the army or those who can fight organised? Do they have sufficient training?

Who fights in a war, and why? Are they or their family compensated? Is it for honour? Who doesn’t fight? Why?

Is your culture particularly prone to war? Why or why not?

How are refugees in or from your culture treated?

Prejudice

which groups are oppressed? What is the reason for it? What do the oppressors say the reason is?

Which groups are oppressors?

Are the oppressed groups in most of our modern cultures treated badly in your culture? (E.g. people of colour, queer people, disabled people, neurodivergent people, people who follow certain religions) are there any other oppressed groups? (E.g. people with magic)

How does prejudice affect oppressed groups? Are they hurt? Killed? What micro-aggressions are present?

How do oppressed groups fight back? Can they fight back?

How do oppressed groups try to blend in/ hide their minority identity? Can they do so?

Art

Who does art? Is it only those with the money to do it, or does everyone have access to it? And even if everyone can do art, who does and doesn’t?

What forms of art exist/are most popular? (Don’t be afraid to make something up! Fantasy types of art would be so cool)

What materials is art done with?

What type of art is most widespread? How does its popularity affect the culture? (E.g. in my fantasy culture, glassblowing and stained glass are very popular art forms, so I am sure to mention it more often than, say, pottery, and to be creative with what is made of glass)

Is art present even in everyday objects like paintings on the bowls you’d eat dinner on or detailed carvings in one’s bed frame, or is it very separate from non-art items? How can it’s prevalence help build the world or descriptions of said world?

Is art used for ceremonies or religious purposes? How?

How does your culture view art? Is it seen as important? Pointless? A fun little meaningless hobby?

What is art used to convey? (Can it protest bad ruling, share one’s life experiences, depict stories, worship (the) God(s)?)

Fashion and beauty

Do sumptuary laws exist? Why? What are they?

How is clothing washed? How often is it washed? Who washes it? Where does it dry?

Who makes clothing?

Are fabrics often dyed or painted? What colours are they dyed or painted in? What patterns are painted? What are they dyed with? (Note: this will often impact cost. If someone does not have much money, they may not have brightly dyed fabrics, depending on the accessibility of dye)

What styles of clothing are popular? What styles are more expensive, and why?

What fabrics are used? (Cotton, linen, wool, silk, velvet, etc) are there other fabrics or clothing materials you can imagine? (E.g. the spider silk clothing from Gregor the Overlander, or the dresses made of salt in ‘The Siren’)

How many items of clothing do people often have?

Do makeup and wigs exist? What are they made from? What styles are popular? Who wears them, and when, or for what? Are they gendered?

Does plastic surgery exist? And if your culture has no plastic, can a similar procedure be done with magic?

What are the beauty standards, and why are those considered beautiful? (E.g. being fat being the beauty standard in the past as it meant one had wealth) Are there prominent figures that affect this? (E.g. celebrities, popular artists work)

How do people treat immodesty and nudity? What parts of the body cannot be shown? Do these rules differ depending on who you are? (E.g. my fantasy world allows those with magic to show more skin, as that way you can see the physical manifestations of their magic easier)

How many layers of clothing are common, and what are those layers and their purposes? (This is affected often by temperature, or a desire for volume in clothing.)

What underwear is worn? (Optional)

What do shoes look like? What types of shoes are there? How many pairs would people own?

Is clothing and beauty gendered? (It doesn’t have to be!)

How does where someone lives affect their clothing? (E.g. a person living on a farm isn’t exactly going to wear ballgowns everywhere.)

What hairstyles are popular? Why? Who are they popular with?

What perfumes/colognes/scents are popular? Why? How are such scents made?

I don’t have another place to put hygiene questions, so they’re going here. How often do people in your culture bathe and brush their teeth? What do they bathe with? (I.e. do they have baths, and warm water to fill them? Or do they have to just towel themselves off every once in a while?) do they have soap? How would someone be treated if they did not bathe, or if they did not smell pleasant?

How is class shown in accessories or clothing?

Sex and Romance

Does marriage, or a similar legal, religious or romantic ceremony exist? What are the traditions surrounding it?

How would someone in your culture court/flirt with another?

What is considered romantic in your culture? (E.g. Is there a certain flower used to convey romantic love? Would a kiss on the cheek be seen as more romantic than a kiss on the lips? Would there be specific romantic pet-names for a partner?) Why is this considered romantic?

What importance or weight is placed upon marriage, romance, sex, having kids, etc, in your culture? Is it entirely unimportant and optional, or is it seen as absolutely vital for everyone? Why is this importance or lack thereof present? How would a greater or lesser importance impact the culture and those in it? (E.g. In my fictional world, romance is seen as entirely optional and even unimportant or unlikely, and so people can be extremely close, and even do traditionally romantic things without others thinking they are anything but friends.)

How are gay, aromantic and/or asexual and polyamorous people treated in your culture? Why?

Is sex taboo in your culture? Is it more taboo for certain people? (E.g. would it be more frowned upon for a woman to speak about sex than a man? Why?)

How is pornography, sex toys, kinks and fetishes, STD’s and STI’s, sexual pleasure/ desire, and sexual discussions treated in your culture? Why are they treated this way?

Leisure

Note- it is easy, when writing fantasy, to forget that people have downtime. But in reality, people do stupid, weird things when they’re bored. People play games and goof around. Don’t forget this, as it really helps flesh out a world!

what sports exist in your culture? What is the ‘culture’ surrounding these sports? Do people get competitive over teams they like? Who plays the sport? Are there professional sports players, and if so, how do they get that status? How do people watch sports, and learn the rules?

If a child is bored with nothing to do, where will they go? Is there a library around? Is there a playground, or a relatively empty street they can kick a ball around? And the same sort of questions for all ages. Where do adults go when they’re bored? (Bars? Restaurants? Friends houses?) what about teenagers? Young adults?

What other games are there? Try to come up with at least three. 1) a game you can play without any materials, and in any place (something like rock-paper-scissors or eye-spy, but ✨fantasy version✨) 2) something you’d need the fantasy equivalent of a pack of cards and a minute or so of rules explaining. (Like Uno or blackjack, or some board games) 3) something more in-depth that takes a few hours or so. (Like DND, magic the gathering, monopoly, perhaps, etc etc)

What other hobbies can people take up? Do the people in your culture know how to sew? Are they super into taxidermy? What are very common hobbies (like watching TV or reading) and what are the less or not-at-all common ones? (Like spending 7 hours writing this godforsaken list because it’s extremely fun) How are these hobbies viewed by people who don’t do it?

And if those in your culture don’t have hours of downtime, think about what parts of their day they might use as rest. Perhaps if a woman is forced to sew and clean all day, she’ll do it with other women so she can gossip and talk to them. No one can work all day every day without any sort of rest or fun.

Performances! Does your culture have operas? Dances that tell stories? Comedic performances? Do the performers travel, or do they stay in one place, like at a theatre? Do these performances cost money? Who will have watched one? Who watches them frequently? Who doesn’t have the time/money for them?

Do drugs and alcohol exist? What is the culture surrounding them? (Do people do them just for fun, in social situations, etc?) are there addicts, and how are they treated? What do drugs and alcohol do to the people in your culture? And if not drugs and alcohol, are there other substances one can use in place of them?

A few questions that fit nowhere else:

Do people have pets? What pets do they have? Do the pets serve a purpose (like wolves and cats to hunt, dogs to pull a sled, goats for milk etc?)? What is the general treatment towards pets?

Who takes care of very young children (below school age)? Is it a parent or an outside carer (Like a daycare)?

Are there other holidays or special days unrelated to religion? Are birthdays celebrated? New years? How are they celebrated?

Feel free to add more!!!

#It’s not huge but I think this is expansive enough to post #writing #Fantasy #fantasy authors #writers of tumblr #writeblr #worldbuilding #worldbuilding tips #writing advice #writing tips #creative writing #writers on tumblr #writers

438 notes · View notes

biscuitdolly · 8 months ago

Text

୨ৎ absolute necessities .ᐟ

if you're trying to glow up, get healthier, etc, these are the very basics that you absolutely NEED to follow!

01, WATER .ᐟ

Staying hydrated is crucial for your health and wellbeing. While the recommended daily intake is 8 cups of water, you can gradually increase your consumption over a few weeks if that seems too overwhelming. Drinking enough water provides numerous benefits, from clearing skin and flushing out waste, to boosting exercise performance and supporting weight loss. Despite being the very essence that sustains life, water is often underappreciated.

02, FOOD .ᐟ

I used to skip breakfast, thinking it would help me lose weight. However, studies show that those who eat breakfast tend to lose more weight and keep it off longer. The truth is, food is incredibly important. It's best to regulate your eating habits by consuming at least 3 meals per day, even if they're only small portions. Some food is better than no food. If you want to go on a diet, that's fine! but make sure you research healthy dieting methods. At a minimum, eat one serving of fruits and vegetables daily, and try to increase that to five servings per day if possible. Proper nutrition is key for your overall health.

03, HOBBIES .ᐟ

i have this previous post regarding hobbies you could try! It's so important to find fun activities that you genuinely enjoy and look forward to doing. Hobbies add fun to your life and pose as a nice break from technology and the stress of work and school. They also greatly improve symptoms of depression and anxiety. You could do some physical activity, such as a sport you like, or something more calm and creative, like painting or writing.

04, SLEEP .ᐟ

a lot of people struggle to fall asleep at a decent time. Try getting ready for bed early. Personally, I tend to take off my make up and do my skincare immediately after i come home for school/work so i don't have to worry about it before bed.

Technology is probably your sleeping schedule's worst enemy, as the blue light from the screen keeps your brain awake, so try to pause screen-related activities at least an hour before bed. Also, try not to snack 2 - 4 hours before you go to sleep. This is because lying down makes it harder for your body to digest food, which can result in sleeplessness.

Forcing yourself to go to bed super early isn't helpful either. Like I've mentioned in my other points, take things slow and gradual!

05, SOCIALIZATION .ᐟ

Engaging in simple social interactions, such as conversing with family, seeing friends, or greeting people on the street, is incredibly important. Isolating yourself in your room all day accomplishes nothing.

There was a time when I dreaded spending time with friends, convinced I lacked the energy or mood. However, once I forced myself to make plans, I realized how much I genuinely enjoyed their company. Other people are what make life truly worthwhile. So why not reach out to a friend right now and invite them to hang out tomorrow?

06, ACTIVITY .ᐟ

you don't need an exercise routine if you don't want one, but simple physical activity is still a daily necessity! At least 30 minutes is recommended. Personally, i most enjoy plugging in my headphones and going on a walk around my neighbourhood for an hour or two.

07, SELF TALK .ᐟ

Arguably one of my most important points, quit the self-deprecating talk. You never realize how much it affects you until you quit it. Yes, you can absolutely get that assessment done. Yes, you are a likable and amazing person. Just keep affirming and reminding yourself that you are worthy, and you will attract so many good things. Trust me, it will help you so much in the long run.

904 notes · View notes

lunarsilver · 8 months ago

Text

What are their kinks?

18+, minors do not interact

A tarot reading regarding your (sexual) partner - your current one (asking about their permission would be in good taste), or next one, or the most important one, or your future spouse... Whatever you prefer.

Pictures are from Perfect Blue.

REMEMBER

I’m not a doctor, a psychiatrist, a therapist nor a psychologist. Divination will never replace meetings with them.

It’s a general reading, so not everything will resonate.

If you can’t choose between two piles, probably both of them have some messages for you. You can also not identify with any of them, and that’s okay, too.

Readings can help you make a decision, but they shouldn’t be the main reason for making it.

1 ~ 2

3 ~ 4

PILE 1

The Hanged Man R - Knight of Wands - Five of Swords - Back of the Deck: Ten of Cups R

What popped in my mind when looking at the Hanged Man in reverse is that your person may like light bondage and/or pleasant to the touch fabrics. Some sensual undergarments, maybe. Moreover, the character on the card in this position brings a person having an orgasm to my mind, with their head thrown back and the general body position, which makes me think your person may like to look at their partner when they climax. I also feel like they may like to be in control; they don’t enjoy “hanging down”, doing nothing, being passive. When it comes to Knight of Wands, the meaning is pretty clear. They love experimenting. They most likely have high libido and treat sex like an adventure. Next, when I looked at Five of Wands, it came to my mind they can be into people crying, like when someone cries a little from overstimulation, for example (the card shows an eye, and it looks like a teardrop runs from it). They may also be into SM or makeup sex, as the card is often about disagreement, conflicts, winning at all costs, or defeat. For some, they may be even into CNC, though this obviously is a pretty specific kink. Lastly, there is a bottle of vodka on the Ten of Cups card (in this position of the card it is turned upside down, as if something was about to be poured from it), so they can like going at it while drunk. The card may suggest your person finds non-traditional relationships appealing. For some, the card is about how this person is into these different things I mentioned but doesn’t really act on it. As a last note, I think that for quite a lot of you, this is ONS or FWB. There’s also a chance your person can be kinda self-centered when it comes to sex. That won’t be the case for everyone, obviously, but I’m writing it down. Overall, this person looks like someone who likes having fun with sex and experimenting, and most likely is rather dominant.

PILE 2

The Devil R - The Empress - Knave of Wands - Back of the Deck: The Magician

So many Major Arcana, as well as many female/feminine-presenting characters. It makes me think that, first, they fantasize about this wonderful, life-changing sex, and second, they either are very into femininity or like to lean into it themselves. I also feel like I have a lot of queer people here, especially sapphics. And if they aren’t a woman, your person still either presents feminine (and they do so out of their own choice, as a form of expression) or they wish they could. Cross-dressing may be a kink of some here, I think. There is at least one guy here (bonus points if cis and straight) who would love to be called a princess or a babygirl lol. I don’t know, I get pretty light, positive, maybe even a little playful vibes from this pile. Like, there are some himbos here, or people who hope for something good, and there’s something pure about the way they see the world. But okay, let’s stay on topic! This person of yours for sure wants to release limiting beliefs and rules, they want to experiment with sex and have fun, the Devil in reverse says it all. The Empress is all about feeling powerful in one’s femininity, and it’s either about them wanting to feel like a princess or queen or about having a partner like this. Your person is a Knave of Wands, looking with a smile into the future, free-spirited and having so many ideas they aren’t sure where to start. The Magician at the back says they manifest all this and are ready to try the whole new world that opens up to them. For most of you, this person isn’t really experienced, or maybe they were always vanilla until recently. Your person here isn’t as dirty as some other piles, they’re most likely still in the phase of finding out what exactly they like, but oh, they’ll have fun with it.

PILE 3

The Fool - The Lovers R - Queen of Pentacles R - Back of the Deck: Nine of Wands

The Fool in this deck is so flamboyant that I instantly thought “Someone’s into twinks” lol. The Fool in the card winks, looks as if he were sending a kiss to the viewer, and dances confidently, proud of his body. The Fool is the card of new beginnings, of having the power of freedom to experience the world. The Lovers in reverse look to me like people hugging and cuddling while lying on the ground, on grass. Actually, all the cards show some place outside (aside from one card, which has a one-color background), and especially with the way The Lovers look here for me, I think your person may like the idea of outdoor sex. Moreover, because the card is reversed, your person may fantasize about having many suitors and having the ability to choose - or to not choose at all. The card also suggests imbalance, so your person can be into sexual power dynamics where one person is stronger than the other - so some BDSM dynamics, or some other role play. Moving on, we have the reversed Queen of Pentacles. The card presents a woman with long, glorious hair in bold but sensual attire. Actually, with the way The Fool and Queen of Pentacles look in this deck, I believe your person may find it hot when someone has revealing clothing or some nice undergarments. I think it’s sexy for them when not everything is visible or visible well, they find it tempting and alluring. With the reversed Queen of Pentacles, I think they are into independent people who know their value. Nine of Wands suggest they want to do it long. They also want something to be left after the experience: either just fatigue, or bite marks, or bruises, or red traces (think slapping someone’s ass, either with a hand or a toy, like a paddle). And now that I think about it, for quite many of you this is about a (sexual) relationship they would like. The reversed Lovers in the center describes the power-dynamic, and The Fool and the reversed Queen of Pentacles show what kind of lovers we talk about. There’s this Queen of Pentacles who has seen some shit, and despite that, or maybe especially because of that, they find something very alluring about the Fool being an enthusiastic, confident novice. The character of Queen of Pentacles actually looks older than The Fool. Your person may like age-gaps, or like to call someone/be called “mommy” (other variants of the name, based on the gender of people involved, are also possible, of course, “mommy” simply is the strongest here). Think about which description you fit more (either in life or just in bed) - The Fool or the reversed Queen of Pentacles. Your person is the other one.

PILE 4

The World - Nine of Swords - Four of Cups - Back of the Deck: King of Wands

The World is pretty straightforward here - they fantasize about this perfect sex, which is an almost spiritual experience; one that brings the feeling of completion, of being happy. For some reason I also think about this kind of sex where you extend the experience, having long, calm pleasure (like a person with vulva sitting on the dick of another person and just squeezing and relaxing their muscles, maybe sometimes moving a few times, just to keep it hard - that’s just an example, of course). Tantric sex. Next, with these Nine of Swords, I think your person likes the idea of someone dreaming about them or not being able to sleep because they think about them (maybe because they’re touching while thinking about your person), they find it hot. Your person may really love the idea of someone finding them so attractive, they get anxious or shy about it. The image also shows handcuffs, so maybe your person is into that. This card in the deck I used for the reading looks happier and more peaceful than its most traditional imagery, and when I look at it, I’m thinking about some romantic gestures like giving flowers. Color-wise, this card and The World both are pink and purple, and have this peaceful vibe about them. It kinda looks like the person portrayed in Nine of Swords dreams about this fantastic sex life, but they’re just lying alone in their bed. On the back we have King of Wands, which represents a passionate lover, and a good one at that. Not just good. Exceptional. For some of you, this is who your person aspires to be, but I think that for more of you, your person fantasizes about someone like this. Your person gives me the vibe of someone who dreams big; they’re into these romantic, maybe a little obsessive scenarios. Of course, it is still just a scenario they like to think about, it doesn’t mean they want to actually be with someone obsessive. Overall, I think that for most of you, this person is more on the submissive side, and they like all these classic scenarios from romance/romantasy/smut books or fics. Another thing for most of you which I see, is that your person probably doesn't have a lot of experience, but they definitely think about sex and romance, and hope for a chance to experience them.

#divination #pick a picture #pick a card #pick a card reading #cartomancy #general reading #tarot reading #free tarot reading #pick a pile #18+ mdni #mdni #18+ tarot #tarot 18+#tarot community #future spouse tarot #future spouse

456 notes · View notes

antidesire · 11 months ago

Text

specialize in havin' fun. antidesire

disclaimer, 18+ only. f!reader x logan howlett, logan is ancient so obvi age gap? idk who this is for, what am i doing? think im the dick-sucking writer, i seem to always write about it. no established relationship, reader and logan fool around but reader is head over heels for him. this is just porn, I didn't intend to write logan so rough I think I went off the rails. roughness, a lil non-con??? forcefulness, oral m! receiving, boot.. fucking >:), saliva, desperate!reader, pet names, hair pulling, I haven't written in so long I forgot how to tag, lmk if I miss anything, sorry this is garbage babe.

reblogging, interacting and sending feedback is always much appreciated, requests are open !! ♡

logan's boots hit the stony pavement with a thud, leg swinging over the body of his motorcycle, propping it up diligently. what a fucking day, with a sharp inhale, he tried to shrug off any lingering thoughts that were worming around his brain.

your apartment was a humble and homely one, sure, sometimes the water would either scald you or, leave you falling on your ass when it blasted you with an ice-cold wake-up call, but you had decent neighbours, ones that didn't pry, or make a lot of noise, lot's of privacy, logan liked that, though he'd put up with anything for a night with you.

though this habit of leaving your door unlatched because you expected him, was something he didn't want to put up with, had he not taught you better?

"told you not to do that.." logan mummers under his breath, lord knows any fucker that tried to creep into the naively sweet girl's apartment, is one dead fucker.

pushing the door open, he was greeted with the familiar warmth of the living room, a chiffon scarf with tassels draped over the lamp on the tableside, drenching the room in tranquillity, candlelight flickering to compliment the dimly lit ambiance, he almost slammed the front door shut, as though the outside would taint it if it got too long of a look.

like a domino effect, just the click of the door scrambled you to your feet, tripping over the blanket thrown over your shoulders, "logan!" your hush whisper sounded just as excited as every other time he walked through the door, as though it was a script you followed.

"hey bab- ouh," logan huffed out, your head smacking against his chest first, your arms following in quick succession, squeezing tightly around his chest, "one day you're gonna give yourself a concussion doin' that."

muffled laughs vibrated against his chest. when you breathed in you could smell the gasoline on his clothing, and that cologne he wore, smelt earthy, woody, and a little citrus too.

impatient as always when it came to overtaking all your senses with the man you were enamored with, your fingers find the bulkiest part of logan's arms, not nearly enough length on them to get close to fully engulfing the meaty muscle of them, you squeezed and forced them both around your upper waist, encouraging him to hold you tighter, you wanted to feel light-headed with him.

if you could see the soppy smile that stretched on his face, eyes wrinkled with delight, you would've pounced further on him, "how do you do it?" your head raised at his question, chin digging uncomfortably into his sternum, he continues, "exist when i'm not here for you to love up on me?" logan's fingers tapped up your back, under the shirt of his you were adorned in, the blanket you had over you, long forgotten about.

your cheeks puffed out and lips parted, but only an exhale left them. you quickly shook your head, only nudging into him for more comfort.

“c’mere,” it was quite comical because any closer would’ve been impossible, though you craved it, with a push under your chin, logan leaned down, and without another beat he pushed his lips to yours, his thumb, followed by a trickling of his fingers trailing downwards along your neck, resting his grip mindfully there, as though the kiss hadn’t dazed you enough.

hoo boy, you were easy.

logan had years on him- years was an understatement, and you, this doe-eyed girl, hopelessly head over heels to please him, it was dangerous, logan felt guilty, soiling such a deer.

it was perverse.

it was perverse when he first rammed into you and you choked out the cutest little sob he had ever heard, eyes flooding with fat tears, he had tensed himself, so much restraint it took out of him to even think about pulling out after all the effort it took to push his cock inside you, you’d noticed and in a bit of a panic, “no- nonono.” your legs raised up and around his hips, the heels of your feet pushing against his back, “keep— hngh, stay, can do it.. i can do it.” your breath was so unsteady, “please.” and who was he to deny such a brave girl?

and now when he felt your lips part, trying to sloppily catch up with his own, fingers fumbling awkwardly at the lower hem of his raggedy white tank top, it was perverse.

it didn’t have to go like this every time, but it did, it got out of control, and fast, every single damn time.

logan's beard was dark, mostly, with little flecks of grey if you looked close enough. it scratched your pretty face deliciously when you pushed up further into the kiss, your hands exposing his tanned midriff, wandering upward to his chest, covered in coarse hair, you squeezed his flesh under your greedy fingertips every time you grazed over his waist.

the last thing logan would ever tell you to do was slow down, as much as he reveled in control, seeing you like this, your thoughts at the back of your mind, all action and no consequence, just what feels good, it was euphoric for him.

his nose prodded against yours as his tongue invaded your mouth, the sound of wet lips smacking and breaths hitching, you only let up when a sharp twinge of pain jolted at your scalp, logan's grip from your neck had moved up toward your hair, a bunched handful that arched your body delightfully against his own.

just sometimes, he'd have to nod you in a direction, when you got all fuzzy in the head for him you would've been feeling up on him with your tongue down his throat until your knee's buckled- just a little nod.

with another tug, you let logan maneuver you to the floor, not so gracefully when your knees thudded against the wood, but you didn't flinch, making quick work of his leather belt, the thing was heavy, a big brass oval buckle being the obstacle between him being down your throat already.

logan ever so kindly helped when he tugged the rest of the belt through the loops, it clattering to the ground beside his boots, next came the pop of his button and a quick push of the zipper downwards, flickering his eyes to where you were sitting, knees squashed underneath you, palms on each side of his thighs, and big pupils ghosting over his fingers.

"look at me baby." his thumb prodded at your bottom lip, inviting it to slip past and rest on your tongue, your eyes blinking up at logan, and your head tilting a little when your fingers scrunched the denim of his jeans.

his thumb pushed against your tongue and his finger hooked under your chin, pulling you into him until your cheek smushed into his abdomen and he retracted his hand, pushing his strained cock against your mouth.

you darted your tongue out and felt the texture of his briefs against it, eager fingers nudging the elastic down just enough to get him out of the fabric, barely letting his cock twitch as it met the air, a line of open-mouthed kisses trailing from the underside of his cock, hazily trailing the vein your tongue searched for, the one that leads straight up to his tip.

“s’like you’re drunk when you get like this,” logan hums, his grip on your hair was loose now, you made the prettiest distraction he’d ever laid eyes on, his thighs clenched and he twitched against your mouth again, already shallowly fucking up against your lips, “you remember last time? gotta take it easy, baby.”

last time, was partly logan’s fault, far too carried away in the warmth and slippery slick of your mouth that he had forgotten how big he was, and how small you were, how small your mouth was, it was an easy mistake when you always took anything he threw at you so sweetly, even if it ended with you gagging so uncontrollably, you almost threw up, oops.

your skin warmed out of humiliation at the gentle reminder, hastily leaning up on your knees, either of your legs sprawled out beside you when you reached up to hook both of your fingers in either side of his belt loops on his jeans, a steady handle now you opened your sticky-glossed lips and pushed the tip of his cock into your mouth, that familiar ache in your jaw not tearing down your confidence, but fuck, he was big and thick.

he tasted salty and he felt heavy in your mouth when you shoved more of him past your lips, shocks of hot lust pulsing straight between your legs whenever you heard the man above you even so much as sigh.

here he was, not even five footsteps into the room, with his pretty little thing kneeling before him as though he was a deity you praised, and devoted yourself to, in truth further condemning yourself with a life of sin, much to the both of your pleasures.

your head bobbed, and every so often you'd pull your head upward and curl your tongue around the red-hot tip of him, decorating him with sticky kisses, before he got a little too riled and there came that pulse of pain in your scalp again.

"that's very cute," the mewl that sounded in your throat was buried as soon as he pushed on the back of your head, and stuffed his cock down your throat, "i said take it fucking easy, but don't push your luck sweetheart."

your eyes almost bulged when you felt the tip of his boot nudge in between your legs, awkwardly bouncing until you feel it slip underneath you, flush against your aching warmth, "ffu-" you choked out, a stray fat tear trickling down your puffed out cheeks, mixing in the mess of saliva that pushes past your lips when logan keeps fucking up into your mouth.

"sshush, shsh." he coos out, his fingers that were previously tangled into your hair moving to your cheek, wiping at your sweet little tear, "I got you, baby, relax." his voice was as smooth as honey, and you took a second to still yourself, unclenching your jaw, as much as you could whilst he was rammed into your throat impatiently, exhaling out of your nose and hollowing your cheeks, taking a stronger grip on the hoops of his belt, for your own sanity because the way he tilted the tip of his boot up against your pussy was wickedly evil.

the thin layer of your short shorts did little to help you, you'd spoiled them as soon as his lips meshed with yours earlier.

another inhale,

exhale,

you managed to slide your mouth down much more fluidly this time, even tugging him flush against you, until the hairs at the base of him tickled your nose, you tried your best to pay no attention to the way logan had his boot in between your legs, no, no attention to the way your hips had a mind of their own, swaying against the hard material, your clit bumping deliciously every time you breathed him in, and raised your head and letting it fall in a rhythm.

the sounds that parted from logan's lips were otherworldly, his timbre was guttural and he got increasingly vocal, "fuhhck, mm," logan's brow bone had wrinkled, bliss evident, even in the way his head tilts to watch more darling little tears push past your eyes, "wish you'd greet me like this every day, ah, ah!" he hissed out, the muscles in his thighs tensing when you jolt him forward by the loops in his denim jeans, and he hits the back of your damn throat, and you take it.

cocky, that’s what you were being, and he loved every single drop of it, “gonna be a good little girl, make me cum, mm? yeah?” logan hums, feeling you squeeze his legs in approval.

good little girl,

if there were any three words to put together to make you putty in logan howlett’s hands, it was those.

your little sobs were more evident every time you lifted your head to pay some sweet attention to his tip, collecting the dribbles of sticky precum at the tip of him, rutting yourself against his boot which didn’t fly by logan’s head- no matter how enamored he was with his dick down your throat, “desperate for me to ruin every single bit of you, have a little more respect for yourself sweetheart.” he chuckled out, cruel.

if you weren’t so full of him, your senses screaming loganloganlogan, you would’ve said something, you would’ve scowled at least.

“you’re so pretty like this, let me fuck your throat yeah? you want that?” it wasn’t a question, logan’s rough hands settled on either side of your head and not missing a beat, he was thrusting into your mouth, forcefully, and hard.

his grip was stable, far too strong for you to do anything, anything but your arms flailing and clawing up at his chest, even tearing a hole in his white undershirt that bunched up under his arms.

too much. your brain screeched in panic, but your body betrayed you, helplessly fucking yourself against his boot with your thighs squashed on either side, and holy fuck, you were cumming, your puffy clit rubbing perfectly, and the lack of air did something so euphoric, it was all so wrong, but it could only be right when your body pulsed with pleasure so overwhelmingly you could do nothing but trust him, and let those fat crocodile tears stream down your face.

“sh-shit, did you just cum?” he laughs, he fucking laughs, “ahnngn, that’s so sexy.” logan was losing it, his fingertips pressed into the plush of your cheeks, hips getting sloppy as he neared his high.

one, two, three more thrusts, stuffing himself into your mouth and he is cumming for what feels like an eternity, hot and sticky fluid gushing into your mouth and spilling past your lips, dripping onto your thighs.

he lets up and eases out of your mouth when he squeezes the rest of his spend onto your tongue, gesturing with a nod of his head, “there’s my sweet girl.” you swallow, and it hurts, the strain in your throat, in your jaw, between your legs, every inch of you feels used.

“thank you, lo.” you barely scratch out, knees trembling when you lean up, nuzzling your face against his abdomen, your arms clasping around his waist for comfort, his stomach gleamed with sweat and saliva too, somehow.

logan lifted you to your feet in a swift motion, one of his hands under your arms as the other tucked his dick back into his briefs, getting you to the couch, wrapping that previously forgotten about blanket around you, “i’m gonna run us a bath, you stay here.” his lips pressed a kiss so delicately to your forehead that you felt it almost regenerate your entire body.

“can you stay for a second longer?” your voice was small, unstable.

“m’ not leaving.” logan finds it endearing, honestly a little heartbreaking, “you can’t walk and your shoulders are up to your ears sweet, lemme get a bath going,” he explains, more reassuringly but you still grumble.

he sighs at that, you barely even recognize you are horizontal after what feels like a long blink, one of logan’s arms snugly under your knees whilst the other held your upper back, and he walked onwards to the bathroom, “you remind me of a little lamb like this.” he observed, and laid another sweet kiss, this time to your lips, and your stomach churned in delight, he reassured you once again, just for tonight,

“don’t worry, i’m not leaving yet.”

#logan howlett x reader #logan howlett smut #logan howlett x you #logan x reader #logan smut #wolverine x you #wolverine smut #wolverine x reader #xmen smut #logan howlett

662 notes · View notes