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eldritch-spouse · 7 hours ago

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i-is it possible to get the full, delicious sex scene of this? uwu 'cause the idea of kalymir taking y/n frantically due to her matching his angel-killing-and-woman-in-robes-dream is so fucking hawttt https://eldritch-spouse.tumblr.com/post/769523379185319936/pinnie-pinnie-pinnie-pie-i-thought-of

[Yahoo, pain time!]

TW: NONCON; Gore; blood loss; delusional states; panic attacks; unhygienic moments; Kalymir's caps lock.

You didn't really have time to prepare.

It makes you think about how wars start, at times. How, in some circumstances, people are just outside performing their daily routines, before being subjected to unimaginable horrors at the hands of a force they'd never guess would show up.

Humans and monsters alike have always been tempted, it's natural, it's what leads to deals being established with those who aren't native to the surface. There had been rumors your city was hardly any different, and you've always thought that one day there might be consequences for the figures in power who think they can flirt with the fires- Pull the wool over the eyes of creatures who were made to deceive. Stories of high-ranking beasts unleashing punishment on those who break contracts always terrified you as a child.

There was no way to force judgement on them, their laws are different than ours, you sign and receive your goods on their terms, so any violations of protocol are also dealt with on their terms.

For all that childish fear your parents worked so hard to eventually snap out of you, they must be tearing their hairs off by now.

Because the very city you live in has angered a being so foul and tremendous that you felt the ground heat and shake before they even emerged.

Your night terrors couldn't have made this justice.

As screams rang ever closer, drowned out by belted roars and the horrid sounds of flesh being zipped apart, time seemed to slow down to a wounded crawl. You had barely the energy to breathe, forcing your head up towards the epicenter of the ruckus.

One look at him was enough to clamp your windpipe shut with terror. A sensation of vulnerability and hopelessness so nauseating that, when it finished raking down your spine, your stomach tightened into a marble and you held back your dinner.

That's no high-ranker.

That is so much more.

One of them. The embodiments, the focus points of each Ring, the demons who syphon all the sin around them like endless black holes of power. To provoke one of these things is to cast despair upon everything and everyone you've ever known.

This city will be nothing more than a corpse pile when he's done with it.

His generals -if you can call them that- spread out in a circle of gleeful gore. Smashing into crowds, letting no one escape their savagery and going as far as to toss each other people, playing volleyball with the lives of those they shame as weaklings. They seem equally as uncoordinated as they do strategic, hysteric with the freedom to cause as much death as possible yet still sharp enough to let none weasel out.

You've never seen a street get painted in red so fast.

Whatever chants and howls they emit do nothing but cause a ringing to take over your ears, buzzing into your brain. You can't even feel the tears running down your face.

You're outside of yourself in that moment. No longer a bystander in the massacre unfolding, you exist in a separate layer, watching it from above, everything muted to a much more bearable level.

Only the persistent, foggy sensation of touch keeps breaking that barrier. You try to shake it off, to ignore it, but it succeeds.

With a blink, the stench of innards and blood fills your lungs. You've become wet with crimson, things are now on fire. The force at your left ankle tugs again, some kind of gargle following, making you instinctively kick hard at whatever's grabbing you.

It was a man.

It is a man, more dead than alive, his lower body hanging but by a thread to the rest of him, so disfigured that you're sure adrenaline is the only thing powering his leaking, crushed body. When the force of your outburst makes him roll back, he heaves wordlessly, what you can only describe as a massive clot of blood pops out of his dismantled jaw. He stops moving.

And you vomit.

The shriek you let out felt like daggers through your acid-burned throat.

Louder still manage to be the cackles of the demons around, stopping to stare and taunt as if you're no more than a silly clown.

This mess, unfortunately, raises the attention of the entity you least want to think about. A spiked head bolts towards the general direction of the commotion, gluing itself to the miserable sight of you immediately.

Both of you freeze in burning time.

Where are his eyes...? A gaze of scorching intensity fixes you in place, but for the love of you, there seem to be no eyes on his gnarled face, just streaks of marred skin descending from a depraved crown of horns, and exposed teeth.

Aside from his hulking height, you can only focus on the sharp protrusions coming from his chest, the ones torn off his back and regrowing steadily, stalagmites of what you might guess to be bone. You wonder, briefly, sickly, if some of the scars on his form are from tearing these growths off.

When the rest of his body turns, when one heavy clawed foot steps forth, towards you, it must be towards you- It takes too long for you to react.

One step. Two steps. Three steps.

Something like incredulity in the way he moves, but not quite hesitation.

Then sprinting.

Even if the whole city were between you, it wouldn't feel like enough distance was established.

Your heart begins thunderously pumping blood everywhere, limbs throbbing with the energy of a lone rabbit in a wolf's den before blind instinct takes a hold of you.

You run faster than you ever have your entire life. Faster than you ever thought you'd be able to.

Frantic legs carry you through sharp debris that stab through your shoes, tripping past corpses and obstacles without landing on your face, dashing and batting everything away with no clear goal. You dare not scream, saving every bit of air for the blood cells racing in your organism.

Large wrathful demons mockingly stand aside, going as far as to cheer -Not that you can hear much with the ringing of your panicked ears- You don't need sound to feel the thump of gargantuan footsteps behind you.

Your chest tightens, physical effort making you spit like an animal when gasps become desperate inhales.

He's too fast, too large, too much- You're going to die.

A swipe of claws across your back disorients you, ripping through your shirt and leaving bleeding welts in its wake. Like a whipped horse, you can only try to run faster.

Not fast enough, however.

Maybe it's because you're in debilitating panic, maybe just because you could never physically compete with such a creature, but everything starts hurting, the muscles in your legs almost pulling wrong, slowing you down, the pain in your chest now a raging headache.

You could have never escaped the shove that throws you to the ground.

Didn't even have the energy to shield yourself.

A wave of agony spreads through your whole face when you make contact with concrete, you fear you might have broken something when blood bubbles from your nose.

" FINALLY. "

His voice barrels through your entire body. He doesn't sound one bit exhausted, not even strained, just mortifyingly excited.

The demonlord rolls you over without a crumb of resistance, your open-mouthed, panting visage weakly staring upwards.

Towering over you is death himself, you don't waste time thinking about how he'll torture you for his own amusement. You don't think at all, waiting for the first blow. Will he kick your ribs in? While he crush your face with a foot? Will he pick you up and twist you in two?

Instead, the massive monster tries to pull you up by the already torn collar of your shirt, growling when that doesn't work. He tears it off brutally, knocking out the air you'd been trying to catch. You're yanked up by the arms instead, likely because if he did that to your neck, your head would have popped clean off.

" WHY AREN'T YOU WEARING YOUR ROBES?! "

...

Robes?

A terrified mind races to understand.

You've never once come in contact with him, he's mistaking you for someone else.

The pain coursing through your arms and shoulders only allows you to grunt, not that he seems very intent in getting an actual response from you.

The Icon of Wrath looks around, easily throwing you onto something hard and vaguely chipped. You realize it must be hood of a car, perhaps a truck, from the way it squeaked upon impact.

No time is wasted as he traps you there, studying you for a pause. There's the sound of something slapping onto the ground, though you can't possibly see it from this angle. In fact, all you can see is his intimidating physique casting darkness upon you.

" THE FOOL I WAS. TO THINK YOU'D COME TO ME IN THE PERFECT CONDITIONS... "

You shiver, though it has nothing to do with temperature.

Something about the way you're being regarded screams trouble is coming. A whole new type of fear encompasses you.

" WHY HERE, OF ALL PLACES?! " A balled up fist slams so hard against the car hood that you're jostled up for a moment. " YOUR HOME IS NOT WITH THESE MAGGOTS! YOU BELONG IN WRATH, MADE AS MY TROPHY FOR THE AGE OF BLOOD I'LL BRING FORTH. "

What can your shaking mind even respond with?

" ... W... What? "

He doesn't deign your squeak of a noise worthy of attention, this rumbling sound emitting from his chest, loud and low, the rattle of a satisfied predator. All at once, he uses both hands to grab the hem of your pants, lifting your lower body when he tugs up and rends the fabric apart, easily peeling it out from under you.

Animal instinct kicks in before you even confirm the gravity of the situation, flailing and kicking with sore muscles.

The beast laughs, this racuous sound devoid of any care, amused, easily holding you down by the midsection while his dominant hand comes to rip senselessly at your shoes, your underwear, your bra. All of it goes flying back. You don't even notice the shards of glass that have stabbed into the soles of your foot.

" Stop! Stop! " The scream rips out your throat, a pathetic sob.

" YES... " He nods, confirming something to himself at the sight of your now bare body. You realize idly that he's allowing you to scratch and hit however you please, entirely unfazed.

Incredulously, disgustingly, he strokes a hand upon his dark, blood-soaked skin, then slaps a warm wet paw over your body. You don't understand what's happening until both meaty hands are caking you in blood.

There's a different quality to his breathing as he paints you in red, it becomes harsher, his chest heaves like a bull about to charge. The knowing revulsion within you causes you to jerk and attempt to weasel away, but every time you get on his nerves too much, he lifts and slams you against the car.

The third time he does that, a sting spreads across your spine, vision swimming. You decide it might not be a good idea to encourage this. It's all you can do not to shake too much while warm and sticky crimson is spread all over your form. He seems to be thinking as he does this, trying to imitate some kind of pattern, deciding the zones where you should be most covered in the gross, foul-smelling results of his slaughter.

Whose blood is this? Your neighbors'? Your friends'?

A bit of it wedges past your lips, you're glad your stomach has already flipped everything it had.

When he passes by your tits, both hands squeeze and roll too hard, catching your nipples in a sharp pinch that zings through your whole figure. Desperation has you opening your mouth to say something pointless, to plea, to cry, but all it does is whimper when you take note of the growth bulging his unique loincloth.

With neither shame nor hesitation, as soon as he notices where your gaze has fallen, the massive monster uses one hand to untie the cloth, toss it aside, revealing a length that nearly makes you feel lightheaded.

It's not just the comparative size, something he seems very eager to display, it's the barbs flaring underneath, no doubt meant to tear into any hole he claims and anchor his cock as deep as possible. The mental image of your body stretching disgustingly to accommodate it is sickening. He looks incredibly hard, you're sure that there's no give to his shaft, that it's heavy and unmanageable for most partners he attains.

Partners... As if this beast doesn't just grab people randomly like he's doing to you.

There's a snort, you realize he's studying the newfound horror on your face.

" YOU DON'T REMEMBER ME. " It's not a question. " I'LL JOG YOUR MEMORY, WHEN I RATTLE THAT FUCKING BRAIN OF YOURS- "

" H- Hu-?! "

In a blink, the Icon is blanketing you in a suffocating closeness, panting against your face as the hand that isn't pinning you by the ribcage darts to his cock and pumps aggressively. While the lurid sound haunts your ears, all you can focus on are his misaligned blade-like teeth. The bits of flesh caught between them when he no doubt bit sections out of people. A dark tongue hovers behind them, wet with drool and shimmering in excitement. His breath is far from pleasant, though there's hardly a way to escape it.

When your head turns in an attempt to abstract from the situation, he forces it back in place and hunches further to lick the mess on your ruined face. A scratchy, far too hot sensation that claims the red he previously caked you in, then bridges over your nose to collect the river that flowed from it when you fell.

The god-awful agony of that location being nudged has a scream belt out of you. Flailing legs thump uselessly against his thighs, your foot nudging his dick at some point. Fuck if he cares. All force you have goes into slapping and scratching at his head, another fruitless effort seeing as he doesn't even flinch. It gets him to stop assaulting your face, to bite your right hand instead.

It wasn't too hard. You know he has the force to tear it right off, to sever all those ligaments and tissue. All he does is give you a taste, aggravate your suffering, cackling at your shriek.

It feels like your extremity's been crushed, fingers struggling to move when a frightening numbness sets in.

Your intact hand has no direction and no goal, furiously swiping at his neck in hopes that it would get him to back away. You mostly succeed in chipping nails.

The demon groans however, apparently incensed by the effort.

" FIESTY LITTLE FUCKTOY CAN'T WAIT FOR MY COCK, CAN YOU? "

...

He's interpreting your fight in the worst way possible.

" I'LL MAKE SURE IT'S ALL YOU GET WHEN WE'RE HOME. "

Home? Home?!

As soon as your bitten hand regains some feeling, the avalanche of trepidation within you just at the implication of being taken to Hell -to this beast's dwelling- makes you swing as swiftly as you can towards his jaw. A punch that pops the fluid between your aching joints yet hardly molds his rictus.

You try everything. Bruising your arms, letting the pain flare through them. There's little hope in your motions by the time you curl both fists around the horns sticking out his head, yanking aimlessly.

" TEAR THEM OFF! " He demands, the want in his insufferable voice utterly transparent.

You can't.

You pull and twist and try to snap them off his skull, but the protrusions stay lodged there as a crown of morbid victory.

" BAH- THE SURFACE HAS MADE YOU WEAK. ANOTHER THING I'LL HAVE TO FIX. "

The demonlord's disappointment is palpable, though enthusiasm quickly replaces it, you can't disappoint him enough to avoid being assaulted, it seems.

His focus shifts to your nethers. You're anything but wet, though he pays no mind to it, suddenly pushing your hips apart so he can frame your pussy.

" TINY FUCKING THING. " He chuckles, observing your fear-clenched hole.

Clawed thumbs trace the rift of your entrance casually, on occasion nudging the bud above in lazy rolls. It's not as if you wish to get aroused, the amount of pressure he uses behind every motion is just inescapably stimulating. The first jolt of your hips, entirely reflexive, is rewarded with a wanton hum.

He slips a thumb inside with some resistance, then the other. You can only wince at the stretch, alarmingly aware of how those claws might slice through your vaginal walls if you shake too much. The fear causes you to tighten further, a painful feedback of sensation that appears to excite him.

A visceral hiss escapes through the gaps between your teeth when he pulls, spreading you out forcibly and mercilessly.

With no inch of lubrication to be found, a burning Hell settles and you start crying quietly again.

" I NEVER GOT A GOOD LOOK AT YOUR CUNT BEFORE... WONDER IF IT'LL FEEL BETTER! "

And that's all you get.

Hot-flashes have you sweating when his thumbs finally leave you alone. A thick tongue swings around, preparing a ball of spit that unceremoniously lashes against your genitals. You realize then that his spit is the only semblance of help you'll have to handle that torture device of a cock.

He slaps it on top of your mound, and you don't look down.

You don't want to see how much he'll hollow you out, don't want to see where it reaches, don't want to think about the weight and heat of it on top of your skin.

Your body... Your poor body. What evil did you commit to warrant this?

" I WANT YOU TO SCREECH MY NAME, THE SAME WAY YOU DID IN MY VISIONS. " He giddily reveals, dragging himself lower to line up properly. A foul maw leans to snarl in your ear. " KALYMIR. "

The sound echoes in your mind, adding to the stab of terror when the tip of his much-too-large dick prods at your entrance. You can't breathe, for a second, wondering how he thinks this is actually going to work, morbidly questioning if this is really how you'll die.

As soon as trepidation releases your lungs and the first crack of pain from his pushing arises, you babble hysterically.

" Stop! Oh God stop- I'm gonna die! "

Kalymir does pause, likely because the sound of fear must be arousing to him in some way. He's already smirking before you even say another word.

" Listen- I'll do anything, please I'll do anything, anything you want- "

" HAH. " Bold teeth get a coating of saliva, one brutish hand holding onto your neck just hard enough to silence the rest of your whining. " I WANT YOUR HOLES AROUND ME. "

Perhaps it was a small mercy that he rammed into you.

Maybe, if he was less excited, he'd have taken his sweet time pushing inside, dragging out the pain until your throat is hoarse from screaming.

All you feel is a flash of indescribable agony, vision going black and body tensing like a coil about to break. There's no direction to go and nothing comforting to hold onto as Kalymir's member carves its place within you.

This must be how vivisected bugs feel.

Writhing is all you're allowed.

Distantly, you realize you're bleeding. You can sense the way your torn body tries to lessen the pain, tries to lubricate itself, tries to contract in pulses meant to shove him out, yet only cause him to groan happily.

Every single time Kalymir throbs inside you, he presses into everything and offers a contradicting mix of feedback. There's the scorching of your poor insides begging you to remove the unwanted intrusion, and the creeping pleasure of sensitive spots being crushed into submission.

The monster himself looks vaguely out of breath, drooling openly onto your stomach while he recovers from the suffocating hold your body has around him. Kalymir cants his hips to somehow slide more of himself inside you, but there's no space left, he merely ends up sliding you back.

" LOOSEN UP ALREADY- " The Icon huffs, a note of incredible cruelty following. " OR WILL I HAVE TO FUCK YOU OPEN? "

You know those barbs aren't in use when he pulls back, and thankfully, your insides don't shred into ribbons.

There's no describing the vacant sensation of his retraction. The split second where air chills your abused hole as it tries to pitifully shrink anew, only to be rammed wide again in yet another nauseating piston.

He's too hot to handle, too rough, the mere contact of his war-hardened hide against your skin causes scratches and rashes from unrequited friction.

You wish you were wet. Maybe you are, but it's hardly enough. Only blood can periodically ease the torment of his jarring, mercilessly mechanic thursting. The truck hood bounces while he damn near crushes you to the vehicle, frantic claws finding purchase on squealing metal, perhaps mocking your own cries of pain.

The stimulus becomes too much.

No matter how hard you might want to alienate your mind from the situation, he won't let you. Kalymir's barking comments, the way he'll clumsily paw and grip at your softer sections, the press of teeth around a bare neck- It all stabs alertness into you, forces a figh or flight heave of primal panic whenever you so much as manage to vaguely dissociate.

Perhaps you instinctively can't abstract from this torment at all.

Kalymir yanks at your soul, chewing and tearing into it, all-demanding and all-consuming.

There's no escape from what's being done to you.

A confused body, unable to escape, fights for a different kind of preservation by drowning you in waves of arousal. It's unavoidable, you think through the slightly muted burning, it's predictable. You don't care to stifle the way your cries have shifted, don't try to mask twitching legs and curling toes.

You don't want this, you never wanted this, whatever is forced upon you isn't evidence that your mind has changed.

You just want it to end, really.

Ignoring your own creeping orgasm is impossible, though you try to focus on breathing evenly, shoving away his snarls of pleasure by listening to the squeak of the vehicle beneath you.

You're not too sure what you screamed when he hilted inside you in a telltale erratic grind, when you were claimed in a way so vile it chilled your bones. When it seeped out of your ruined orifice, onto the car, a pinkish hue that reminds you of sickly discharge.

The rest of it coated you, the monster grinning and huffing with pride at his work.

At this point, most of the pain you feel has become unreachable, replaced by an ambiguous throb of physical exhaustion and trauma. You cannot move, as if your limbs were made of cement and your back had rooted itself to the metal contraption beneath.

Yet your eyes still find Kalymir's face.

Inside them, burns an animal rage that creases your complexion into something borderline inhuman.

This demon will die by your hands.

Kalymir must have felt the silent, sweltering fury showering you from head to toe, releasing a delighted swoon as he picks you up like a soaked rag.

You wonder what Hell is like.

#Kalymir oc

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astralazuli · 9 months ago

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So there's that D&D class quiz going around, & I took it & was so deeply offended I got Paladin.

& so I have had conversations with both Bestie & Birdfriend about this grave insult & they both were like, "Well... They have a point?" & informed me that my desire to absorb hits meant for others & deep drive to help whenever I actually can & strong convictions make me a bit Paladin-coded.

& I am just so... Idk. It's just interesting to get glimpses of yourself from other people's POVs. To be told that my defining characteristics are protecting & healing others & being incredibly fighty about the things I care about... Especially as someone whose brain specifically fixates on whether I care enough, do enough, give enough... Yeah. It's just kinda wild.

Anyway, I'm now adjusting my self-perception to include the fact that if I were a D&D character, I would be an Oath of the Ancients Paladin & not a wizard & that actually that's okay.

#I don't Believe many things #because I prefer to stay open to new perspectives #& think that a balanced approach to life involves embracing a certain level of ambiguity in reality #but the things I do Believe in?#Oh I Believe them with all my heart.#I don't know how my belief system will change in the future #But I do know that above all else I believe in Kindness #Kindness to yourself Kindness to everyone around you Kindness to nature #The point of society is to ensure Everyone is treated well & can enjoy existence as much as possible #The point is Joy. The method is Kindness.#& if you aren't fighting for Everyone to be taken care of & respected & treated with Kindness #then I am not interested in your revolution.#If you hate the people against you more than you love the people you're fighting for?#You're missing the goddamn point.#(Please note I'm speaking of Kindness as a separate concept from Niceness.)#(Sometimes you cannot be Kind without being Not Nice to someone who is doing unkindnesses.)#(But I feel like a lot of people mistake that concept for an excuse to deny those they disagree with Kindness.)#(& my dudes you don't actually have principles if they only apply to people you like & agree with.)#There is no freedom until everyone is free includes the people you don't like.#While I am not free right now due to my various axes of oppression & the oppression others face #I'm also not gonna be free if we straight up murder & imprison the current oppressors #Trading one oppressive system for another isn't actually all that radical???#Just 'cause you think 'the right people' are being oppressed doesn't make oppressing them okay?#Like I'm a leftist because I believe Literally Everyone should be allowed to live whatever fulfilling life they want #so long they as aren't doing a damage to someone else in order to do so.#Not because I think I think the wrong people are oppressed.#Hm now that I've written this fucking essay on ethics in my tags #I am seeing Bestie & Birdfriend's points...#Birdfriend legit said that I'm the '**smacks others while screaming** BE! KIND! TO! EACH! OTHER!' type of Paladin.#I guess they were right.

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linabirb · 1 year ago

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also hi while i was talking about my ocd and anxiety during today's therapy session my therapist literally googled the wikipedia definitions of the things my brain called me to prove that it's wrong and that those thoughts don't matter

#for example my brain really likes to make me believe that i'm a hypocrite of some kind or a liar or a manipulator #and when she was talking about hypocrisy she was like #'usually people like that act nice but actually hate everyone around them but also-#believe they're better than everyone else. you don't “pretend to be nice” you're just being polite while also establishing boundaries-#and you also don't believe you're better than them your brain is just trying to protect you bc it can feel that those people are suspicious #and being nice while having your boundaries to protect yourself isn't hypocrisy it's a natural response to trauma'#and i was like '. okay'#this isn't about anyone here btw!! this is about some irl people #[ 💚 𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐚 𝐭𝐚𝐥𝐤𝐬 ]#edit: stupid tumblr got the order of the tags wrong..

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mortalityplays · 1 year ago

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I know you have all probably seen the esims for gaza posts circulating. Some of you have probably looked at them and thought maybe you should help out, but have weighed up the daunting process of signing up for something you're unfamiliar with vs. the gut-wrenching scale of the things people are going through on the ground right now, and you've put it off or questioned whether it will make enough of a difference vs. some other future kind of activism you could put that $6+ towards. I'm not calling you out or scolding you, it is natural to feel conflicted and ambivalent about the multiple calls for aid that you are seeing on social media.

but consider this: what would you do if you suddenly had to leave your home? how would you cope? how would you begin to plan where to go next, or figure out what to do to take care of yourself? most likely you would reach reflexively for your phone.

telecoms access is not a petty luxury in 2024. a loaded esim means the ability to call family members and find out where they are and whether they're safe, and whether they need anything you can provide for them. it means access to maps and regular updates on the situation unfolding around you. it means you can look up whether it's safe to drink rain water, or how to tie a type of knot you've never had to think about before, or how to treat an injury without medical supplies. it means the ability to tell people outside the situation what you are seeing, what you are feeling, what you are thinking. it is an absolutely crucial resource. and it starts at $6 for 7 days.

many many people have observed that internet access is changing the way the world understands genocide. internet access is life or death, and it is shaping modern history in front of you. and it starts at $6 for 7 days.

please, please visit gazaesims.com and spend 5 minutes and $6 to change the way this plays out for everyone.

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pearlywritings · 10 months ago

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Intimacy records

synopsis: what kinds of horny stuff they have in their phones and which is the favorite?

pairing and characters: Aventurine, Blade, Boothill, Dr Ratio, Gallagher, Gepard, Jing Yuan, Loucha, Sampo, Sunday (separately) x fem!reader

tw: SMUT, established relationship (marriage/dating), consensual recording of lovemaking, nudes, oral, lingerie, fingering, masturbation, public sex, breast play, shibari/blindfold, sex machine, creampie

word count: 4.3k+ words

Aventurine

Undoubtedly this man has a whole separate folder for intimate stuff. Of course, he demands you send him something on a daily basis - doesn’t matter if it’s a quick snap of your choice of lingerie in the morning, or recordings of touching yourself - but never enough to cum, it’s his job. Naturally he loves having reminders of you being at his mercy - thus there are also videos of you both (with primarily established consent). All that to say - he has quite the collection, so it’s really hard to pick a favorite, the most desire-arising one.

Maybe it’s a category actually - self-made media created out of bet. Who’ll cum first? Can you keep going without tearing up from pleasure for longer than 10 minutes? Is he patient enough not to touch your sexy self, while you masturbate in front of him? Who is going to be louder this time? These kinds.

”I hope you are ready to lose,” your lover smirks, making himself comfortable between your legs. Camera floats a little, as you chuckle behind it. With a momentary adjustment, the focus is on his face again and he winks, before turning to trail a little path of kisses across your thigh. The image jumps, when he sucks on the skin, and slightly trembles as you let out a sigh. Then it’s firm, as Aventurine wraps his arms around your thighs, his nose teasingly rubbing against your clit. Suddenly there is a lick, then your breath hitches…. And then he buries his mouth into your pussy. It doesn’t take much time for the image to begin shaking wildly, almost matching your debauched noises. There is squelching, there are award-winning male moans, muffled by your heat, soon there is a hand, your hand, reaching down and grabbing his hair. Phone strangely angles, hardly supported by just one hand, until it falls camera down onto the sheets. After that, there are just delicious screams of yours, chanting the name of your lover and begging him to stop, while he doesn’t listen, taking his reward for yet another win.

Yeah, he proved you can’t keep the camera focused while he is eating you out in that one. It’s truly a pity, that more than a half of what was going on, didn’t get recorded in image. Maybe next time you'll do better - oh... That's actually not a bad idea at all… Looks like you are in for another bet.

Blade

His situation is… quite peculiar. First of all, he has so little care for his own phone outside using it to get info for the mission, to the point ANYONE from the Stellaron Hunters can just take it and do whatever with it (Silver Wolf and Kafka practice it a lot). Even your relationship doesn’t change it much, he messages you rarely and quite shortly, preferring to save the conversation for personal interaction.

However recently, Kafka has been putting a plan into action - the first step of which was banning everyone from getting into his phone (herself excluded). Then she’d start sending her colleague an occasional picture of a set of lingerie she’s oh so sure would look wonderful on you. Blade never answers, but he doesn’t tell her off either, and by the snooping she knows that the pictures get bookmarked, the links for the shops she attaches are visited, and sums of money are being spent.

Oh, and by checking the chat… She knows you get them delivered. Does she text you to shower you with compliments? She does. At first it was a little embarrassing and you asked Blade if he could, maybe, pay better attention to his phone??? But soon, when your lover started showing the telltale signs of jealousy... It became pretty hot (plus praise from THE Kafka? Ego-boosting).

Blade doesn’t voice it, but more than seeing you all pretty for him, he loves seeing you ruined for him, and doesn’t complain when you ask him to take a picture with your phone of whatever part of you, focusing on the marks, or the torn crotch of your panties, or something alike… There are times when he would text you with a simple ‘send me pictures with torn stockings’ or ‘yesterday. open nipples bra. now’ , because he knows you have them, and you deliver, because you know he loves them.

Has his favorites:

Depicts your thighs, bitten and opened wide, while the black panties are pushed aside to let two thick, scar-covered fingers dive into your pussy.

Your body after one of the sessions - bra roughly pushed down under the mark-covered breasts, panties missing, one stocking still on the leg, but with multiple holes in it, and the other tying your wrists above your head.

A small video you insisted on recording of the man tugging onto your garter belt whenever he wanted your hips to push towards his thrust, threatening for the thin elastic material to snap.

Even though he doesn’t save them, he knows how to get an easy access to them, so for Blade it works quite fine (and Kafka’s plan does too, making Blade look less intimacy-repulsed and spicing up your relationship).

Boothill

A cyborg, whose only human part of the body is the head, and sex life… How can this be possible?

Oh, trust me, it can. Sure, his bodily reaction differs, but he still is excited to get nudes from you, finally able to express through the text what he really thinks with that foul mouth of his. A voice recording of you dirty talking to him? Awesome. A video? You can bet his engine is overheating and vents are whirring.

But in all honesty, the ones he truly loves and returns to are the recordings of him doing stuff to you. Call him self-conscious, it’s not like he can bite back with a swear, but the reminder that he can bring you pleasure even now is sometimes necessary.

The lights are intimately dimmed, not enough to bring the room into utter darkness. Two bodies are lying almost intertwined with your back turned to the camera. The metal arm of your lover has sneaked under your side and around your waist, fingers digging into the plush glob of your ass, tugging on it, to further the spread which is created by your leg thrown over his hip. Your pussy is perfectly presented to the camera, puffy and slick, with two gray plated fingers massaging it. Digits slide up and down your labia, occasionally staying on the clit, to rub tight circles on it and elicit some sweet moans out of you, only to return to their previous ministrations, dipping the tips juuust a little bit into the quivering hole. Your back arches and body deliciously shivers from the contrast of his cool and your heat, and you softly whine, when he releases your ass cheek to give it a spank and then grab it again, unwilling to let the sight of your cunt escape his phone’s camera. You whimper something, muffled by his chest, but he remembers by heart what you were begging for. ‘Please, put your mouth on me.’ He will, in a minute, but right now he pushes both fingers to the second knuckle in, making you jolt in his hold, but not letting you go anywhere.

It’s captivating, how his inhuman digits disappear and reappear with every thrust he makes; slick-covered they look shiny, as if you polished them, and the cyborg shudders, imagining your tongue running around them. That’s one dangerous video, he may just give in to his want to see you and abandon the mission he was assigned to…

Dr Veritas Ratio

Unsurprisingly, Veritas’ phone doesn’t contain that much stuff in general. Maybe some downloaded articles, notes to put down later, if he doesn’t have a piece of paper at the moment, and very few pictures, mainly of his writings on the chalkboard. Don’t be discouraged though, of course he has pictures of you. Some selfies you took after “borrowing” his phone and ones he doesn’t have a heart to delete (but he will scoff at you, should you decide to tease him), and some very well-thought images he took on his own accord - he needs reference for when he decides to let his mind rest from research and focus on sculpting.

And one might think that such a reserved and cold man will not entertain storing anything explicit on his phone. Well, he indeed does not have any pictures and videos saved - if he wants, he can either find what you sent him via your chat or just demand your assistance. However… There is something that strangely became his way of concentrating when doing his research…

”Oh! Mh- *thrust* Veri- ohmygod! *thrust*”

“Wait- Aaah! I can’t! I’m sore! MmmmMMM!” “No, you can and you will. Now hold still, I can’t eat you out if you keep thrashing around.” “Oh Aeons!”

*Slick sounds of you going down on him, gurgling and choking on his girth, occasionally gasping to catch your breath, only to have his cock buried in your throat again*

“Baaaby… I miss you so much… Can I come to your office? I promise to be good… Just need to cockwarm you - nothing else I swear. Let me keep you company pleeease. Imagine how nicely it'd be to have your cock buried in my pussy, while you are working… Need to help you with stress-relief, it's gonna feel so-so good.”

“Oh fuck, o-oh, love, I'm cumming, I'm cumming, I’mcumMIN-” “Ngh, s-so…tight…” “Aaaaaaah~!”

“Veritas Ratio, if you come home in ten minutes, I will give you a nice massage and then ride you damn cock, till the only thing you can think about is not your work, but me. If you fail to do so though… I wonder if my threat to use some toys instead will work. Just know that your wife is very mad. And horny.”

It doesn't matter if the audio was taken while you were intimate or it was something you sent to him and he saved - he thoroughly enjoys everything your voice has to offer to him. And if instead of concentrated it accidentally makes him horny - he'll just play the next one, while undoing his pants.

Gallagher

Oh, this man is a menace. And a huge ass-lover. His gallery is full of pictures of your booty: clothed, just panty-clad or bare. There are shots with your body clearly being bent, ass up and back covered in his load. Videos of him fucking you from behind, with cock sliding in and out of your pussy? Obviously. Recordings of it jiggling as he spanks you? Would’ve been strange if they weren’t there.

However, in that vast collection of his, there is a video that’s most peculiar - one might say scandalous. It was one of those nights when he took over the bar for Siobhan and you came over at some point, all enticing and so sexy in that little dress of yours… He could not resist taking you right there once the establishment was closed. And it got on security camera...

Moans so loud, that they are reaching the recording device, are still of the delicious kind. Your back is arched over the bar counter, arms lifted and wrists tied by none other but Gallagher’s wine-red tie, and held by his own hand for good measure. The front of your dress is pushed down, revealing your pretty breasts, jiggling with every thrust of the man’s hips, and the hem of it has ridden up, baring your stomach and mark-covered thighs. Your lover is barely unclothed, pants and boxers pushed down just enough to free his cock and the tie, obviously, missing. The hand that is not holding your wrists, is grabbing onto your leg, under the knee, lifting it for a better angle, and showing off a lewd detail - your black lace panties hanging on your shin. You are looking positively debauched, and he is no better, groaning and cursing, with an occasional exceptionally rough trust that makes you scream and whine. There are teeth-gritted ‘slut’s and huskily chuckled ‘bad girl’s with your pleading ‘sir’s and ‘Gal’s, all of that deliciously seasoned with the clapping of the wet skin colliding. But nothing beats the moment of you cumming, depicted by no less than three cameras from all of the hottest angles…

Of course this footage was ‘confiscated’ by him with some dumb excuse for Siobhan (he doubts she believed it, given the knowing look and shit-eating grin she gave him), with all traces destroyed except just one copy thoroughly hidden on his phone. He thinks you two should repeat that - this time, however, he’d love to bend you over the counter with your back facing him…

Gepard Landau

Gepard would die if someone took his phone and got into his gallery. Poor man has to change the password weekly to throw Serval off his case (she was only teasing, but that made her brother paranoid). There is a reason for such behavior - while he is way too sweet and gentlemanly to suggest making sexy pics or, Supreme Guardian forgive, videos, he can't help but to be too whipped for you.

This man dutifully saves every single photo and video of yours - nudes included.

You don't send them very often - you don't want to kill your darling husband. But sometimes the yearning is unbearable, and there is a suffocating need to show Gepard what he is missing while away on duty (you always leave a warning message though, so he could check it while alone and undisturbed).

No matter how red and embarrassed he gets, the man timidly admits that he enjoys this kind of attention. He is not beyond the earthly pleasures - he too has a favorite theme, that recently became more present in what you send him…

At first you looked so absolutely cute and domestic with his huge sweater on, the one you personally knitted for him - the beginning of the video didn’t look all that different from the photos you sent him just minutes before. But soon it becomes clear why you asked if he was alone, because once you position the phone and climb onto the bed, your full attire gets revealed. White stockings are replacing your usual home pants, and as your fingers grab the hem of the sweater and tug it up, the white panties from a matching set start peaking. The view is both pure and alluring, with the way your legs are spreading wide, and the sweater being pushed further up, baring your braless breasts. The hem gets secured between your teeth and both hands teasingly run down your sides, index fingers drawing circles around the tits, before squeezing them; as one remains right there, the other slowly slides down your stomach, disappearing under the hem of those flimsy panties. Imagination paints wild images - every next is hotter than the previous, and only your muffled moans of his name and rapidly rising chest are indicators of how good you feel with fingers pushing in and out of your pussy. And that damn sweater… You are not taking it off.

The Captain of the Silvermane Guards has one guilty pleasure - you, wearing his clothes. Domesticity, longing, finding comfort in something of his touches his heart and heightens his love and desire for you, almost making him consider taking a regular day off.

Jing Yuan

This man literally worships the ground his wife is walking on, so OF COURSE he wants to have as many pictures and videos of you as possible. It gets so boring and lonely when he is at work, after all. But don’t be fooled by his sweet and innocent smile, there are not only cute shots of you both or just you, he has sexy stuff too.

Man is obsessed with your chest. It’s his favorite pillow (thus so many pictures of him snuggling his face right between your breasts), his best stress-relief (photos and short videos of his big veiny hands cupping and squeezing your girls, with an occasional swipe of the thumbs over the erect nipples), his favorite place to leave marks on (no one can see them under the clothes, but just one tug of his finger on your collar and he is met with a delicious sight. Plus the photos he asks to send occasionally).

Loves, loves, loves, purchasing lingerie for you and when you demonstrate your bra-clad tits. He immediately wants them in his face, but there is the phone screen keeping him away.

But oh does he love recordings of playing with them.

Your body is steadily bouncing on your husband’s lap, creating a beautiful melody of skin slapping against skin. There is an occasional peak of his thick cock, covered in your juices, that immediately disappears again, undoubtedly swallowed by your pussy. One strong arm is wrapped around your waist, supporting you, while the other hand is palming at your left breast. The right one has fallen victim to his eager mouth, lips wrapped around the nipple, sucking on it tenderly, tongue toying with the overstimulated nub. His eyes are half-lidded when he looks up at you, moaning around your breast, when you tug on his luscious locks, trying to push him away, to give you a small rest. He is drawing back indeed, planting a soft kiss to the valley between the jiggling globes, and you sigh in relief, deceived by his affectionate action. Only for you back to arch and mouth hang in a loud moan, when Jing Yuan brings your other breast to his awaiting tongue, dropping both hands to your hips to aid you in speeding up your riding, sensing your nearing orgasm.

Maybe next time you should try recording him making you cum by playing with your chest only… Ah, just the thought makes his cock swell.

Loucha

As much as Loucha enjoys your company and more often than not allows you to accompany him in his journeys, there are times when he can’t take you with him. Which means he leaves for weeks, or sometimes a couple of months, going through the days without a single touch from you. Before getting into a relationship with you, he could survive without intimacy just fine, but now, since he knows the taste of affection and being spoiled by you, it’s getting hard.

That’s when recordings on his phone come in handy, especially when there is no opportunity of a video call to indulge. And there is one he most frequently returns to…

Your chest is rising and falling, pretty breasts with perky nipples brought together by a wrap of a rope. Red and purple marks bloom on your skin akin flowers, some fresh, some from days before. Sweat shines on your hot skin, indicating just for how long the blonde has been torturing you with pleasure and denial. There is a small shake of the video, as your lover is establishing his phone, having just started the recording, and softly making you aware of how good you look - you wouldn’t know with that blindfold covering your eyes. Once the angle is perfect - capturing your arms, tied above the head, the arch of your back and thighs pushed together for stimulation, the man is joining you on the bed. It is cock-hardening, how you lift your head to find his lips, when you sense him leaning down, needily allowing him to indulge in a kiss before the game of orgasm denial continues. His hand meanwhile is creeping down your body, starting with caressing your cheek, fingers sliding down your neck, over the swell of your breast, thumb pushing against the nipple, eliciting a moan out of you right into his mouth, and then palm splaying on your stomach, traveling even lower, before it disappears between your thighs.

Loucha is a man of foreplay. There is nothing more satisfying to him, than indulging into your body before sinking his cock into your warmth. He loves making you squirm, completely at his mercy, drawing you right to the edge, and then denying you the sweet release, just to make you yearn, just to stretch the process out.

Sampo Koski

Sampo is nasty and that is not a secret. I am sure, if you were up for it, he’d suggest filming porn just for the giggles (and extra cash, come on, you both are fucking hot). There are teasing nudes and intimate videos, and it’s not a rare occasion of either of you texting the other with some found porn with a caption ‘let’s try it?’ and you do, frequently recording the process to compare later, and claiming that your performance is better.

However, sometimes it tends to not go according to the script (not like you usually have one). Sampo is chaotic and it’s not hard to lose focus with a lover like him, and these exact moments are Koski’s favorite. Despite being a Masked Fool, during these times he himself looks so sincere, it’s as unnerving, as it is exciting. Rewatching such videos and seeing how you mirror the look in his eyes, giggle with him, even crack a joke, all without ruining the mood - makes him believe he’s found his soulmate (and if you did film porn with him, he’d never share this level of intimacy with your viewers, it solely belongs to you two).

You are giggling, shaking your head with a wide smile, all the while lying on your stomach between his toned mark-covered thighs and leisurely fisting his hard, leaking cock with an angrily red tip.

‘Sampo, please, be a little serious, we are trying to be sexy here.’

‘We are sexy! What’s not hot in shaping my and your pubic hairs into the lips?? They could kiss, when we fuck!’

‘You are unbelievable,’ you snort, trying to save the last bits of your composure, and leaning forward to mouth at his tight balls. This makes your lover pornographically (how ironic) moan, throwing his head back.

‘Mmm, yes, right there~ Oooh… If am soooo unbelievable, it must mean I am dreamy? How about I bring you to a Penacony, to a Dreamscape? I bet in your dream I’d be as good in bed as I am in reality.’

Your resolve snaps and you burst out laughing, letting go of his sack and pressing your face to his thigh, shaking, dropping the hand from around his cock. Sampo whines.

‘Come ooooon, I was so close!’

‘Shu-ah-ha-t-ah-uh-p,’ you manage through your laughter. The man pouts, but the gaze of mint green is summer-warm as he is looking down at your trembling form. Your voice is pretty, your cackles are pretty, and oh damn he is laughing too.

And these are just the first few minutes of the last video, the thing has a duration of half an hour, so, obviously, you didn’t stop there. That’s what Sampo Koski loves - no matter how cringe you become, it’s never a reason to stop the whole process. If anything it’s something to spark an even longer and intimacy-filled one.

Sunday

Keeping personal stuff on his phone is quite dangerous, given Sunday’s position. That’s why he owns two phones - his work one, and one to mainly contact you, his sister, and a small circle of the most trusted people. He is extremely good at handling the owning of two separate devices, never mistaking one for another, that people are often convinced he has only one.

But it’s his personal cellphone that interests us. Oh, does he have a whole collection of photos and videos of you, one folder in particular hidden just for good measure. Sunday is a collected and regal man, yet it doesn’t mean he has a hard time enjoying your teasing. Quite contrary, sometimes he welcomes it, loving the photos you send him from an outing, shopping for clothes, or better yet, lingerie, sending him multiple shots of different sets and asking him which he loves most, and which he’d like to see on you tonight.

There are videos too, especially when he’s been extremely busy, and you are oh so needy, sending him short recordings of touching yourself, sighing out his name, begging him to come and help you. However, there is one he particularly likes…

Big silicone cock is being pushed in and out by the machine he purchased for you to quell your need when your husband can’t be there for you. You are on your stomach, with hips slightly raised and pushed backwards, chasing the toy, and he can see the perfect outline of your pussy, outer lips swollen and puffy, covered in a sticky substance, opening and constricting in attempts to accommodate the girth. Your moans are sweet, so-so sweet, hitting a high pitch, when the dildo falls out and a thick glob of cum substitute escapes your pussy. And then another, and another, messing your thighs even more, ruining the towel underneath you. Yet you don’t stop, reaching behind, and pushing the tip back into your tight warmth, making the toy pick its pace again. It’s squelching, it’s so dirty, but it’s so hard to look away. You give yourself creampie, after creampie, sometimes stopping to collect the substance and push it inside with your digits, fingering, moaning and whining for your husband, wishing it’s his cum sploshing between your walls, breeding you.

Yes, it’s his favorite, almost 4-minute video. Ever the neat freak, he can’t deny you look heavenly when ruined, on an equally ruined bed, begging for his attention and semen. You have to forget about the machine for some time, however, because since then Sunday has been truly devoted to breeding you.

10K notes · View notes

strang3lov3 · 3 months ago

Text

Bedridden

If you had cough syrup, you’d use that to put his ass to sleep. But you don’t, so you decide to utilize a different technique, one that always successfully incapacitates a man. 🍆💦❤️‍🔥

Joel is sick and refuses to rest, so you knock him out the best way you know how. (5.4k)

Tags - smut, lotsa sexual tension, blow jobs, pussy pronouns, teasing, fingering, unprotected piv, riding the sick old man’s cock, creampie, non-graphic descriptions of being sick. JOEL DOES THE DAD SNEEZE. coughing, fevers. That’s all. Joel is stubborn and grumpy while you take care of his old as fuck ass. Arguing with the old man, forcing the old man to bathe, forcing the old man to eat and drink, forcing a thermometer in the old man’s mouth. Joel bitching you out the whole time. Joel is kind of exactly like Dennis in IASIP when the gang gets quarantined. Fic Help - My usuals! @beefrobeefcal, your unhinged comments on the doc were the best part. and @endlessthxxghts thank you for your help <3 A/N - Heyyyyyyy. I promised this fic yesterday and then didn’t deliver. Sorry. It just needed to marinate in the doc a little longer or something. It’s been a bullshit ass few days and I’m,,,,handling it. Anyway, I’ve been sick as balls so that’s how this fic came about. Everybody wash your hands 🧼

There’s a fine point late in the year, right after summer turns to fall. You can fall asleep with the window over your bed cracked open just an inch to let the crisp, cool air blow over your face as you cocoon yourself in blankets. In the mornings you wake to that same breeze and the birds chirping, though less and less as they fly south for the upcoming winter.

Not this morning, though. This morning, you’re awoken by a chesty, hacking cough coming from outside your window. You sigh as you get out of bed and push the curtains away from the window to get a better look at what the hell is going on out there.

And it’s just your neighbor, Joel. You should have guessed it’d be him, you heard his earth shattering, deafening sneeze the other day when you waved to him as you walked by his house. Joel waved back at you with the same hand he sneezed into. Ew.

Everyone’s getting sick lately, it goes around quickly in Jackson. Always does - it starts with the kids and works its way through the community, and a good four to six weeks are filled with endless sneezing and coughing and mucus.

Joel’s coughing up his lungs as he rakes up the leaves in your yard, a job he’s seemingly assigned himself, because you sure as shit didn’t ask him to do this. He has a habit of taking on your chores and home maintenance out of his own frustration.

You pull a robe over your pajamas and slide on a pair of slippers, then leave out of the front door to greet Joel. “Good morning, Joel.”

Joel clears his throat. “S’actually noon, lazy ass. ‘Bout time ya woke up.”

“Wanna tell me what you’re doing?”

“Exactly what it looks like.” He sniffles and wipes his nose on his sleeve. Gross. “M’workin’.”

“Yeah, I see that. But you sound sick.”

Joel ignores the accusation, “Your yard looks like shit, by the way,” he says. “Wouldn’t kill ya to rake once in a while. ‘Stead of makin’ me do it.”

“You choose to do this. I don’t make you do anything,” you argue, rolling your eyes. It’s funny, though. Joel’s turning into the caricature of the old man angrily shaking his fist at kids playing on his lawn. All crotchety and pissed off about nothing. You step closer to him and wrap your hand around the handle of the rake, pulling it towards yourself. “Besides, Mother Nature put those leaves there for a reason,” you add.

“Sure, smartass. For you to ignore and for me to clean up. Now, give it,” Joel tugs the rake back. Whatever. You let him. Joel rakes more of your leaves into the pile he’s created, then doubles over in another coughing fit. You rub your palm on his back, patting him gently. He’s sweating through his flannel. “Oh, Christ. Fuck me.”

“Joel, you look awful.”

You help him stand up, “You’re a terrible flirt, darlin’,” Joel replies dryly. But he knows you’re not wrong. He saw in the mirror how pale he looked this morning, the dark circles around his eyes.

“Oh, shut up.” You press the back of your hand against Joel’s forehead, all sweaty and warm. “You’re burning up, Joel. You’re sick.”

“I am not sick,” Joel protests through another cough. “I’m fine. How ‘bout you worry ‘bout yourself ‘stead of fussin’ over me.”

“You’re hacking up a lung in my yard. I’ll worry about you all I want, thank you.”

In response, Joel grumbles something you can’t quite make out. You roll your eyes and take the rake from him, dropping it on the grass. “My rake,” Joel murmurs, annoyed and defeated. With your work clearly cut out for you, you take his hand and lead him into your house. “Aw, hell. What’re you doin’ to me.”

“Taking care of you,” you reply.

“Didn’t sign up for this bullshit,” Joel complains. “I don’t need takin’ care of.”

Oh, he’s a peach. Most men, when sick, are total babies - pathetically crying about their headaches and stomachaches to women who deal with the same symptoms on a monthly basis. It’s charming, truly. But not Joel, though. In his stubbornness, Joel refuses to ever admit when he’s sick, like he’s got something to prove. Can never let himself be taken care of, because that’s his job - to take care of others. Always has been.

Once inside, you have Joel take off his boots, then usher him to the bathroom with a hand on his back, his flannel damp with sweat. “Sit.” You reach for Joel’s shoulders and push him down, forcing him onto the lidded toilet. You crouch down at the bathtub and plug the drain with the stopper, then turn the water on - not too hot, not too cold. “Yeah, this is good. This’ll make you feel so much better.”

“Oh, c’mon. Turn off the damn water. I’m not takin’ a bath.”

“You are, too.”

“Am not.”

“Joel,” you bite. Joel parrots your name back in the same threatening tone.

“We’re breaking that fever one way or another, Joel. So you bathe yourself, or I’ll do it.”

Joel cocks an eyebrow. “Oh, will ya, now?”

You go quiet, no retort to his comment. Heat rises to your cheeks and you focus on the bathtub filling with water to avoid Joel’s taunting gaze. After a long enough silence passes, Joel changes the subject. “I don’t have any clean clothes, y’know.”

“Then I’ll grab you some from your house,” you mumble.

“Mm,” Joel grunts. “Got an answer for everything, don’tcha?”

You glare. Joel glares too. You fold your arms across your chest and raise your eyebrows at him. You are not losing this battle.

Joel sighs in defeat. “Alright, go on an’ get, then. I’ll take the fuckin’ bath if it’ll get me fifteen minutes away from you obsessin’ over me. There. Happy?”

“Happy.”

You leave Joel in the bathroom to bathe himself, closing the door behind you. Still wearing nothing but pajamas and a robe, you change quickly into a hoodie and jeans, then leave through your front door for the second time.

Joel’s house is right next to yours, so it’s not a long walk. Mentally, you’re kicking yourself for your stupid threat to bathe Joel. The way he responded to it, ‘Oh, will ya?’ and how bashful that made you, the embarrassment written all over your face in big, black, permanent marker. Your crush on the older man is obvious, and Joel, never the gentleman, will jump at any opportunity to make you squirm. Like when he catches your eyes lingering on him for a little too long, he’ll tease you for it. “S’rude to stare, y’know,” he’ll taunt, always with that stupid fucking grin on his face. Smile lines framing his cheeks, crows feet handsomely peeking at the corners of his eyes. You really need to stop setting yourself up for these things.

Once in Joel’s house, you head upstairs for his bedroom and rifle through his dresser drawers for some comfy clothes. You pick out a pair of plaid boxers, some gray sweatpants, and a navy waffle-knit henley. You bunch up his clothes and inhale, Joel’s natural smell still lingering in the clothes, even washed.

In his kitchen, you notice some vegetables sitting out on his countertops. Carrots, potatoes, onions. You grab those too, then check the fridge for leftover chicken or turkey or something. He usually has some, and usually brings it to you after he’s had his fill. “This is for you, trouble. Cause y’don’t eat enough,” he’ll gruff. “Would you like me to heat it up for ya?” And whether you say yes or no, he always does. It seems to make him happy or fulfill him somehow, so you let him take care of you like that. If only he’d let you return the favor.

Bingo. There’s chicken in old Tupperware right on the top shelf, and yesterday’s date written in Joel’s terrible handwriting from an old, dried up Sharpie. You take that too, then go back home.

You leave Joel’s food you stole on the kitchen table and stop at your linen closet for a fresh towel. You knock on the bathroom door, “Joel?”

“Yeah, darlin’.”

“I have your clothes. And a towel.”

“Good. I need those,” Joel says. “C’mon in, then.”

You open the door, averting your eyes from Joel’s naked body in the bathtub. “Relax. M’not gonna let you see somethin’ you ain’t ‘sposed to.” He’s got his hands covering his manhood, the rest of himself on display - toned biceps, veined forearms. His belly is pillowy and hairy and his legs look so long, all bare like this. His toes peeking out of the soapy bathwater. You set the towel and his clothes down on the toilet, stealing an even longer look at him when you think he doesn’t notice. “I see ya snoopin’, trouble. Wanna take a picture?”

You roll your eyes and ignore the offer, turning your attention to Joel but keeping your eyes focused on his face. His hair is slicked back, and his grays pop out against the rest of his dark hair, little ringlet curls at his neck. The asshole is criminally handsome.

“Are you feeling better?”

“I feel fine. Like I’ve felt all day,” Joel lies. His body betrays him instantly when another cough wracks through him.

“Right. Well, you smell better, at least.”

Joel rolls his eyes, “Nice one, sweetheart. Thanks. Now scram, so I can get dressed.”

You leave the bathroom, shutting the door behind yourself again. You can hear the sound of the bathtub draining and Joel getting out of the tub as you stop at the linen closet again, this time grabbing some queen sized sheets and pillowcases.

In your living room, you pull some cushions off of your sofa and pull out the built-in bed, then dress it with the sheets and an old floral quilt. You cover your own pillows in the pillowcases, then fluff them nicely and set them up for Joel, who’s leaving the bathroom now, combing his hair back.

“Stole your comb,” he says, tossing it for you to catch. He stops in the living room and looks at the pull-out bed that you made up, the corners of the sheets tucked in and everything. “The hell’s all this?”

“Exactly what it looks like,” You mock his words from earlier. “Your bed.”

“You’re bein’ ridiculous. I ain’t even sick.”

You ignore Joel and point to the bed. “Get in.”

Joel rolls his eyes but gets in the bed anyway, springs squeaking under his weight. “M’not gettin’ in this bed ‘cause I’m sick or ‘cause you’re makin’ me. Just feel like sittin’.”

“Sure, Joel,” you sigh. “How much water have you had today?”

“Plenty.”

“How much is plenty?”

“It’s enough,” he snaps impatiently. You leave him just for a second to fill a glass with some water, then bring it to him. Joel pushes the glass away, “I said I’ve had enough.”

“I’ll decide what’s enough, now here–” you put the glass into his hand, “Drink.”

Joel drinks the entirety of the glass, glaring at you the entire time. Good god, if looks could fucking kill. The cool water soothes his scratchy, sore throat, but Joel won’t tell you that. “You’re a tyrant, sweetheart,” he tells you, voice raspy and low. What he doesn’t tell you, however, is that if the shoe were on the other foot and you were the sick one right now, he'd be just as overbearing over your health. Probably worse.

You pout mockingly at Joel as you take his glass. “Stay here. Don’t get up.”

You get up from the bed to go into the kitchen and begin preparing a soup for Joel to soothe his aching throat. You start by dicing onions, then chopping some carrots. You toss them in a large pot with some butter, letting the vegetables soften. You’ve even got some leftover bread you made yesterday, so you turn on your oven to heat it up. You can hear Joel getting restless, tossing and turning in the less than comfortable bed. Probably should have turned on a movie for him, left him a book or something to occupy his restless mind. “You okay?”

“M’fine. Mind your business.”

You open Joel’s Tupperware and chop up his chicken into little bits. When you look up, Joel’s out of bed. You scoff. He’s forcing open your window, grunting as it squeaks. “Joel, what did I tell you? Get your ass back in that bed.”

“Relax, would ya? M’tryin’ to get some air in here.” Joel successfully forces the window open, and cool air blows into your tediously warmed home. “House is a fuckin’ oven.”

“Yeah, well, that’s probably your fever talking, dumbass. Put my window down.”

“I really outta fix this window for ya. Ain’t good to leave it like this. I’ll get my tools an’ I–”

You march across the kitchen and into the living room, knife in hand and using it to point to the bed. “Joel.”

“You scare me,” Joel mumbles, raising his arms in surrender. He closes the sticky window for you, then you march him back to the pullout. Before Joel lays down, he glances in the kitchen at what you’ve been cooking. He heard the sounds of you chopping, but with his nose all congested he can’t smell enough to hazard a guess as to what you’ve been making. Joel narrows his eyes at the stolen Tupperware on your table, the carrots and onion peels to the side, and recognizes it all as his. “Is that my…?”

“Just lay down, Joel.”

“Did you take that from my fridge?”

“I did.”

You’re completely shameless about this, there’s not even a half-assed attempt at lying your way out, and Joel’s beside himself. “You stole from me, you little–” You urge Joel into bed, fluffing the pillows behind him as you ignore his tantrum. “You are unbelievable. I could throttle you, you know that?”

“Go ahead, Joel,” you challenge. A slight breeze could knock this sick old man down to his knees. You tuck Joel into the sheets, then adjust the quilt over him again. And this time before leaving him, you grab an old book of word searches in a basket under an end table. “Here.” You toss it to him along with a dull pencil. That should keep him busy.

Back in the kitchen, you’re still working on Joel’s soup. It’s bubbling away on the stove, and you’ve just finished making egg noodles to make the dish a little heartier. Something to stick to his ribs. It hits you then, that you don’t hear sniffling or coughing. Joel’s gone quiet, suspiciously so.

And lo and be-fucking-hold, Joel’s up again. This time, with tools. Tools that you don’t have, tools that he must have snuck out and grabbed from his home at some point. “Joel!”

“There,” Joel says, moving your window up and down seamlessly. “Window’s fixed.”

“How many times do I have to say it?”

“How about you try a ‘thank you’, huh?” Joel shoots back.

You shoo him back to bed. You slice a bit of warm bread, then ladle some soup into a bowl and bring it to him with a spoon. “Eat,” you tell him.

Joel eats a spoonful, and it’s written all over his face how much he enjoys it, the warm broth relieving his sore throat. “So what’d you poison it with, huh?”

“Oh, you’re such a dick.”

Joel smiles, only teasing. “M’sorry. S’just that you shouldn’t be doin’ all this for me, s’all.” Joel squeezes your knee comfortingly. “Thank you. I mean it, darlin’.” He’ll let you feed him, but no more than that. You’re too sweet for your own good. “S’good soup.”

“I’m glad you like it, you asshole.” You smile too, and push some of Joel’s hair out of his face. He finishes his bowl of soup, even has a second one. You take his bowl away and wash it at the sink.

“Should let me do that,” Joel says, following you into the kitchen. “Ain’t that how it works? One cooks, the other cleans.” Joel bumps you to the side and takes the soapy dish from your hands.

“Maybe another time,” you offer, attempting to take back the bowl. “Don’t want your germs on my dinnerware.” But Joel holds on tight, so you let him wash the dish. Since he wants to die on this hill. So you dry your hands, then feel his forehead once again. You frown, displeased that the bath didn’t work at curbing his fever at all. He’s still burning up. “I’ll be right back.”

You go to your bathroom and open the cabinet vanity, where you have an old Walgreens thermometer, the paint all smudged off. You wash it with soap and water in the sink, then return to Joel. Amazingly, you find him in the bed doing his word search puzzle, and you didn’t even have to tell him to go lay down this time.

The bed creaks under you as you sit down next to him. You put his book down, “Open,” you tell him, thermometer in hand.

“Oh, c’mon now,” Joel complains. “Get that thermometer outta my face.”

You shake your head no, and tug on Joel's chin so that he opens his mouth. You place the thermometer under his tongue and he closes his lips around it, staring daggers at you the entire time thermometer reads his temperature.

He’s so handsome. Big, sparkling brown eyes underneath brows knit together in irritation. Pouting lips. Age looks good on him, perfectly both softens and enhances his rougher edges.

The thermometer beeps. You read the temperature, 102.3°F. Why Joel’s even upright with a fever like this is a mystery, but that’s men for you. Fucking idiots. “That’s a hell of a fever you’re running, Joel.”

“You’re full’a shit. Gimme that.” Joel sniffles and snatches the thermometer from you to read the number for himself. He shrugs. “S’old. Probably faulty. Can’t trust it.” Joel covers his mouth with his elbow and coughs loudly.

“You’re old and faulty too, Joel. Look at you.” You offer him a handkerchief to wipe his nose. “You’re falling apart.”

Joel scowls at you before blowing his nose. You leave him once more, this time to bring him a cool, damp rag. You press it against his forehead, and Joel closes his eyes. “Does that feel nice?”

“No. Quit that.”

But Joel’s body betrays him. He’s sighing in relief, and his tensed muscles loosen. His breathing, while still shallow, has slowed as much as it can, soft belly rising and falling with steady breaths.

“Are you falling asleep?”

“No, I’m not. M’not tired,” Joel argues. He tries adjusting the now lukewarm rag, warmed by his body heat.

“You should sleep.”

“Nah.”

You take the damp rag off of Joel’s forehead and flip it so that the cooler side soothes his hot, feverish skin. “You know, Joel, I think this is why god made women. To take care of stupid, sick men like you.”

“Hm. Could be so. But I think he sent you to me as a punishment of sorts.”

“Is that so? A punishment?”

“S’right. An’ some day, you’ll fool some poor man into marryin’ you and he’ll have to put up with this same shit the rest of his life. I don’t envy that sorry bastard one bit.”

“Oh, I know,” you coo, wiping away a droplet of water that rolls down his temple. “You tell me all about it, Joel. Tell me how terrible it is.”

“Oh, I intend to.” Joel continues his tirade, bitching and moaning about how you're doing too much, that none of this is necessary. ‘Quit fussin’ over me’ and so on.

You know that after this, Joel will try to leave you, go home and fiddle with things in his home that aren’t broken - or worse yet, he’ll tinker with the things in yours that he deems in need of fixing. Squeaky door, creaky floor panels. You listen to his slight wheezing, his sniffling, his voice all raspy and broken. He really does need to rest, the poor man.

If you had cough syrup, you’d use that to put his ass to sleep. But you don’t, so you decide to utilize a different technique, one that always successfully incapacitates a man.

You remove the damp rag from Joel’s head and set it on the coffee table behind you. Joel’s eyes are shut as he takes shallow breaths, and you trace lazy patterns on his stomach, inching your way down, down, until you’re rubbing his warm bulge, feeling him stiffen beneath your touch. “Goddamnit, what the hell are you doin’ t’me, now?” Joel groans. He takes your wrist and squeezes it gently in his grip.

“Nothing, Joel,” you answer innocently.

“Bullshit, it’s - you’re - oh, fuck.” Joel bucks into your palm. You slide your hand beneath his sweatpants to touch his bare cock, amused at how Joel decided against wearing boxers today. “You’re killin’ me, sweetheart. You gotta, you can’t–”

“Shhh,” you hush him. You drag your nails through his patch of coarse hair, playing with those long and wiry hairs. You palm his cock again, half hard and growing harder by the second. Before this goes further, you tug his sweatpants down his thighs. “Lift up for me, Joel.”

Joel lifts his hips and you tug his sweats down the rest of the way, then continue touching him. You spit into your hand and pump him from top to bottom, taking special care to gently massage his balls when you reach the base of his cock. “Ohh, darlin’. Oh lord.”

Joel’s stiffened to full length now. You kiss the tip of his cock, all the way down his shaft before licking your way back up, one long, fat stripe. You swirl your tongue around the head and dip your head, teasing him with it as you bob your head up and down, taking more and more of him down your throat with each pass.

Joel moans, his sick voice breaking a little. He keeps a heavy hand on your bobbing hand and wonders what the hell he did to deserve this from you. He should have stopped fighting his sickness long ago if this is what was in the cards for him.

Realization dawns on Joel. It all makes sense, why you’re sucking him off at this particular moment. You’re trying to put him to bed, you goddamn deviant. “You’re trouble,” he accuses. “I know exactly what you’re doin’.”

“Hmm?” You turn your head to Joel, his cock still in your mouth. You bounce it against your inner cheek, and Joel groans at the lewd image of his cockhead bulging in your mouth.

“Yeah,” Joel says. “And let me - oh, fuck-” You drop your head low, taking all of him into your mouth. So deep that your nose is buried in his pubic hair. “Let me tell ya, darlin’, what you’re doin - it ain’t gonna work on me.”

You pull off of his cock with a pop. “It won’t?”

Joel shakes his head. “Mm-mm. You’re wastin’ your time.”

“Oh. Well, I should stop, then.”

You begin to pull off of his cock, but Joel forces you back down. “Nah, you don’t have t - you gotta give it your best shot, right?”

You smile with Joel’s cock in your mouth. What a fucking guy. You pull off of him only momentarily, garnering a protesting groan spilling from his lips. You take off your shirt and unbutton your pants. “Lemme help you with that, c’mere, darlin’,” Joel says, pulling your pants and panties down your legs. He unclasps your bra next, then sheds his own clothing.

You take him right back into your mouth, hollowing your cheeks as you suck his length. This time, though, you play with your pussy. As you move up and down Joel’s shaft, you slip through your folds, dipping down to your wet hole to gather your arousal on your fingertips. You circle your clit a couple of times, then push your fingers in and out of your pussy.

“You fuckin’ yourself on your fingers, sweetheart?”

“Mm-hm,” you hum, mouth stuffed full of Joel’s cock.

Joel pulls your hand away and replaces your fingers with his own, much thicker and longer ones. “Let me,” he says. “S’my job. Shouldn’t have t’do that to yourself, ‘less you wanna. Or if I say so.”

Joel spreads your thighs wider. He moves his pointer and middle fingers up and down, exploring your slick, velvety pussy. He sucks those two fingers and then his thumb and rubs tight circles around the sensitive nub, all swollen and wet with your arousal. You moan at the action, the vibration of your voice traveling right down his shaft and to his balls. He bucks himself into your mouth.

Joel inserts his middle and ring fingers into your pussy, pumping in and out slowly before curling them upward, stroking right where you need him to. “Got a nice fuckin’ pussy,” he purrs with his hoarse, gravelly voice. You pulse around his fingers, and Joel admires the way your tight hole hugs him as he moves in and out of you. “She’s makin’ such a mess, drippin’ all over me.”

You twist your fist up and down Joel’s shaft as you suck him, working him closer and closer to the edge. Joel’s content with this, the prospect of coming down your throat and fucking you with his fingers. But you have a different idea, and when his balls are tightening and his shaft is twitching, his breathing quickening, you pull off of him.

Joel groans in frustration, but his anger is quickly eased when you straddle his hips. You reach between your legs for his cock and stroke it, dragging the tip through your folds, up and down, up and down, dipping it in and out of yourself to tease him. “You’re fightin’ dirty.”

Joel’s exercised enough self control today and doesn’t let you tease him for long. He puts both of his large, weathered, and masculine hands on your waist and pulls you right down on his cock, the initial penetration causing a stretch so intense you see stars for a second. “Oh god, Joel,” you moan, clutching his shoulders.

“I know, I know,” Joel whispers, rubbing your back. “You good, sweetheart? You need a minute?”

“Just - just a second.”

“Take your time. Know it’s a lot, you’ll get used to it.”

Joel gives you a second, then inches you up and down on his cock to get you adjusted to the sensation of being so full of him. Soon enough, the ache dissipates and is replaced with pleasure, nothing but pure pleasure. You rest against his hot body, rocking your hips to grind against his pubic bone.

You know that by the way he bucked his hips into your mouth, how he pulled you down on his cock, how even now he moves you, that he’ll tire himself out. Your plan was simply to make him come to knock him out, but this - this works too. Exhaust his body, get yourself off in the process. Killing two birds with one stone.

Joel fucks you harder now, hands on your ass to move you up and down on his cock. He bends his legs at the knee for more leverage, bouncing you on his lap. “That’s it, sweetheart,” he grunts. He moves you so that your chest is right above his face, and one at a time, sucks your nipples into his mouth, teeth lightly grazing them.

You hold onto Joel’s broad shoulders to steady yourself, looking down at him as he fucks himself into you. He’s so handsome, cheeks and chest all flushed red, a sheen of sweat glittering at his hairline, his graying curls damp. Joel’s eyebrows are knit together as he fucks you, tracing your curves with his gaze. He pulls you against his chest as he ruts against you, his scruff scratching your skin so deliciously. “Takin’ me so good. Look so pretty on my cock like this.”

You move at his will. Joel’s underneath you, rocking himself in and out of your dripping, tight pussy. His thrusts are getting sloppy, hips stuttering in a non-rhythm as he pushes himself inside you over and over. He must be getting close now.

“Up, sweetheart. Lean back f’me.”

You peel yourself off of Joel’s middle, all slick with his sweat. Joel spits into his hand and presses the calloused pads of his fingertips against your clit. You roll your hips against him, savoring that much-needed friction against your clit.

“Like that, darlin’. Jus’ like that. Fuck yourself on my cock,” Joel says, rubbing your sensitive bud with tight circles. “Gonna watch you come all over me.”

“Yeah,” you moan, “Wanna come for you.”

Joel loves you like this. Your face contorted in pleasure, mouth agape, body quivering and twitching on top of him. He steadily massages your wet, swollen clit and wears a crooked smile when he feels your cunt start to pulse around him. And you think you’re pulling one over on him, but look at you, all fucked out and delirious. You’ll probably crash after this, and Joel will go right back to fixing up your house. There’s a door hinge that’s been squeaking…

“Oh my - Joel, I’m - I’m gonna -”

“Know you are, sweetheart. Let me have it,” he groans, voice all broken and hoarse. “Come all over my cock, darlin’. Let go f’me.”

That hot, sticky pleasure in your gut begins to intensify rapidly. You go quiet just before it happens, then let out a long, whimpering moan when your orgasm takes over your body. You shudder and jerk as Joel fucks you through your release, and once you’ve ridden it out, Joel pulls you tight against his chest.

While you come down from your high, Joel frantically fucks you, slamming his hips against yours as he chases his own climax, balls tightening and his belly filling with warmth. “Oh, goddamn. Fuck, fuck, fuck,” Joel pants as he comes, painting your insides with his hot seed, the warmth of his release and the pulsing of his cock so satisfying.

Coming down from his orgasm, a wave of exhaustion hits Joel. He finds himself unable to move, unable to open his heavy eyelids. He might’ve been wrong, because napping away the rest of the afternoon doesn’t sound quite so bad, now.

You pull your body off of Joel’s and he lets out a sighing grunt when his softening cock slides out of your body, the mess he created with you spilling all over his lap. You grab that washrag you held against his forehead and clean him up and then yourself, then get up to dispose of it.

Joel grabs you by the arm, his grip weak. “Don’t you go anywhere, trouble,” he grumbles.

“But I’ve gotta take care of this, Joel,” you protest.

“Deal with it later. Just -” Joel yawns and pulls you down and holds you tight against his chest, as tight as he can, anyway. “Jus’ stay with me a minute.”

Joel’s eyes are still shut, and his breathing becomes slow and rhythmic. It’s laughable how quickly sleep is taking over his sick, exhausted body, having used what little life he had in himself to fuck you stupid. Like that last burst of energy from a dying star. “I thought you weren’t tired,” you tease.

Joel sniffles. “M’not.”

“Mhm. Sure.”

“Just checkin’ my eyelids for holes.”

You push some curls out of Joel’s face and hold your palm against his cheek, still hot with his fever. He’s so peaceful looking like this, plump lips pouting as he breathes through his mouth. You bring your face close to his and close the gap by pressing a little kiss against his lips.

“What’re you kissin’ me for, hm?”

“I want to,” you reply, kissing him again.

“Gonna get yourself sick,” Joel murmurs groggily, eyes still closed. “Which means in a couple days, I get to do all this right back to you. S'payback, darlin’.”

You chuckle. And in just a few short seconds, Joel’s snoring lightly, dead to the world.

If you enjoyed, please please please reblog with thoughts or comment or hop in my inbox! Your kind words go farther than you know in keeping me motivated to write 💕

#joel miller x reader #joel miller x reader smut #joel miller/reader #joel miller x you #joel miller one shot #joel miller fic #grumpy joel #joel miller tlou #joel miller fanfic #joel miller smut #Joel miller #pedro pascal characters #tlou #tlou smut #the last of us #Joel tlou #tlou Joel

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gothgoblinbabe · 5 months ago

Text

She Wolf

A/N: I said I was gonna get this done and it took me way too long and has an absurd word count but I am incapable of holding in word vomit! Inspired by She Wolf by Shakira cause idc its GOOD and it got me thinking' so here it is. Also you don't have to listen to the song as you read but I think It's fun!

Summary: You've got a crush on your best friend and he's a bit of a dick. He regrets it and tries to apologize but you're already trying to push yourself to move on any way you can, even if it's in some shady club you'd never been to before.

Warnings: MDNI 18+, swearing, Logan's kind of an asshole for a minute, Possessive/jealous!Logan, unprotected sex (wrap it before you tap it), friends to lovers cause that's my fave, fem reader, mutant reader, unnamed creepy guy (?) aaaand Logan absolutely has a pain kink. I think that's it but if there's any I missed please let me know!

Word Count: 7K (im so sorry but I'm not though)

divider credit here

“Are you ever gonna tell him?”

You looked up from your desk towards Ororo’s voice, sighing and taking your glasses off your nose.

“God, I don’t know, ‘ro. I don’t think I should. It’s just going to end with me being humiliated and him never wanting to even be in the same room as me again.”

You’d had a crush on Logan Howlett since the day you first walked through the doors of the mansion six months ago. You’d probably be considered best friends by now with how much time you’d spend together, doing jack shit around the mansion on your days off. Just about everyone could tell he had a soft spot for you and that you had one for him. Logan was a classic ‘tough guy’, constantly trying to hide his kind nature with a hard exterior, but it took only a couple weeks for you to crack that barrier. You weren’t exactly a seemingly ‘soft’ type either.

You’d spent the majority of your life before you joined the X-men hoping from couch to couch and hitching rides with strangers, not really having a destination or a place to call home. You’d been dropped off at a church when you were fourteen, around the time you started to turn every full moon. Your parents couldn’t live with having to chain their mutant daughter in their basement once a month, and so they dropped you where they thought you’d find some ‘help’. You’d been passed from foster home to foster home till you were eighteen, each one passing you up the moment they realized you were not like them. It was always a slip of the mask, something setting you off to make you so enraged your eyes gleam yellow and your sharp canines make an unfortunate appearance. You took off the second you could and being on the road came with its fair share of creeps; men with terrible intentions looking for opportunities. You’d never wanted to hurt anyone - truly - but when cornered by a creep, it was hard to think anyone would miss them. A couple of local newspapers caught on, debating where the wolf that tore men to shreds had gone. You weren’t an animal. You just had teeth like one.

Knowing you couldn’t lurk in town much longer, you’d hitchhiked your way to a camp occupied with people like you; lost with no place to call home. It was there that you’d met a couple of mutants who told you about Charles Xavier and the place that seemed completely unreal until you set your eyes on it. That felt like a lifetime ago by now.

“I think you're underestimating how he feels about you,” Ororo said, bringing you back to reality. She was sat on the edge of your bed, flipping through one of your magazines as you worked at your computer to try and make a lesson plan for the coming week.

“I think you’re overestimating how he feels about me,” you let out a short laugh, shaking your head.

Just as she was about to retort, you both heard someone shout your names from the hallway. You looked at each other curiously and left the room, hearing shouting again.

“Are you guys gonna play Monopoly with us or what?”

You both giggled and made your way downstairs towards Scott’s voice. Him, Jean, Marie, Bobby and Logan were all sat in the living room, the game already set up on the coffee table. Bobby and Marie were picking out their game pieces, assigning everyone else to their own piece.

“Okay, Logan, you’re gonna be the dog,” Marie smiled, dropping the little metal piece into the palm of his hand.

He was definitely not as amused, “why do I have to be a damn dog?”

Ignoring him, she handed another piece out to Jean, “you’re the thimble.”

She then handed the boat to Scott, the top hat to you, and the iron to Ororo. You all began the game after Scott painstakingly over-explained the rules and how to play.

It was a good bit into the game that you all became distracted with conversation, eventually leaving the board game untouched. The topic of compatibility came up somehow, the conversation focused on the joy of Bobby and Marie.

“I think anyone would be lucky to have what you guys have,” Ororo smiled, shifting her gaze between the two of them.

“And what we have, obviously,” Scott joked, hanging his arm around Jean.

“Gross,” Logan chimed in, taking a sip of the beer he’d hidden in the back of the fridge.

“I think someone is jealous,” Ororo said in a singsong voice, poking his arm.

“Of having someone hang on me all the time? No, thanks,” he scoffed.

As stupid as it was, it made you a little sad to hear he had no interest in even entertaining the idea. It wasn’t a surprise, but still a disappointment nonetheless.

Ororo brought up your name and your eyes went huge, silently begging her to keep her mouth shut.

“You don’t seem to mind her hanging on you all the time. I think you’d be cute together,” she said, smiling mischievously at you. Scott and Jean agreed and you had never wanted to smash your head into a coffee table as much as you did in that moment.

“Nah, definitely not my type of girl.”

It was just seven words, out quick without a second thought, and yet it felt like you’d been punched in the gut. You couldn’t take your eyes off the monopoly board on the table, avoiding everyone’s gaze.

Definitely not my type of girl.

“I think I should head to bed, it’s getting late,” you mumbled, keeping your head down to hide your blushed face as you got up from the couch and practically ran out of the room and up the stairs.

“What the hell was that?” Scott scolded Logan the moment you were out of sight.

“That was so mean,” Ororo chimes in, backhanding him on the arm.

“I didn’t mean to be,” Logan said nervously , shrugging his shoulders, “…do you think she’s mad at me?”

“Probably more hurt than mad,” Jean said honestly.

“Shit,” he sighed, putting his beer down to rub his face with his hands, “what do I say?”

“Not that,” Marie replied, “why did you even say that anyway? You could’ve just said no.”

“I think you like her and you’re being mean so that she wont like you back because you’re afraid,” Ororo said after a moment of silence.

Logan sat quiet for a moment, his hands still over his face.

“Am I that easy to read?” His voice was muffled through his hands.

The rest of them couldn’t help exchanging knowing smiles.

“So you finally admit it,huh? You’ve got a crush,” Scott teased.

Logan moved his hands from his eyes to glare daggers at him, “you shut your fucking mouth or I’ll shove that monopoly board where the sun doesn’t shine.”

“I think that’s a yes,” Jean whispered to her boyfriend.

“Talk to her when you see her tomorrow. We’re not going to let you hurt her feelings just because you can’t accept your own,” Ororo advised, lightly patting him on the shoulder.

“Do you think she’s even gonna talk to me?”

“Only one way to find out.”

───────♡──────────────♡───────

Logan tried to catch up with you the next day, always seeing you as you were leaving a room he was entering or passing by and even then, you ignored his calls of your name.

It was a little after dinner now and because it was a weekend, a couple of kids were up playing the PlayStation in the living room. Bobby and Marie sat with them, taking turns with the controllers.

Logan entered the room after about three laps around the mansion, mentioning your name to the both of them.

“Have you guys seen her? I’ve been trying to talk to her all day, she keeps running from me.”

“Can’t really blame her,” Bobby muttered, his eyes never leaving the TV screen as he button smashed.

“She’s in her room,” Marie answered before Logan could come up with a retort, “she went up before dinner, said she wasn’t hungry.”

He groaned, running a hand through his hair, “she’s skipping dinner now too, great.”

“Go talk to her!” She insisted, shooing him away with a wave of her hand.

He made his way to the stairs and up to your bedroom, knocking lightly on your door. Hearing nothing, he knocked again, a little harder. Still, nothing.

“You can’t avoid me forever, you know. I wanna talk about yesterday, I was a dick.”

Silence. Now he was a little worried. He tentatively grabbed the doorknob and turned, cracking it open a bit.

Your bed was made, your desk was neatly organized and you were nowhere to be seen. He noticed your purse was gone from the usual spot you’d leave it in and your closet was open, a couple garments and some shoes strewn about on the floor. It looked like you’d gotten dressed and dipped. He figured maybe Ororo or Jean might know where you were, leaving your room and looking for them instead. He found them shortly after, huddled in the kitchen. Again, he asked if either of them knew where you were.

“She’s in her room, she went up before dinner,” Ororo answered.

“No, she’s not. And her purse is gone.”

Both women turned to each other with the same worried expression.

───────♡──────────────♡───────

Having tried your cellphone about thirteen times from just about everybody’s phones, they all decided they had to tell Charles. He used his ability to connect with every mutant on the planet to try and locate you, visualizing with his eyes closed. Everyone stood in his study, anxiously awaiting his conclusion. After a moment of silence, he started to silently chuckle to himself.

“What’s so funny?” Logan asked immediately, crossing his arms and furrowing his eyebrows.

“I’m afraid you all have your work cut out for you,” he replied, finally opening his eyes.

“So, where is she?” Ororo asked, worry in her voice.

“There is a club called The Nightcrawler - “ Charles began to explain, but Logan interjected impatiently.

“Club? What, like a book club?” He nearly scoffed. There was no way you were at some sleazy nightclub in the city. You were a homebody and an introvert, neither of which made clubbing enjoyable.

“Maybe we should just let her have fun,” Jean began to say, but Logan was already halfway out the door.

Uncharacteristically, you found yourself dressed to the nines in the middle of a dance floor full of people. You’d spent a while trying outfits in your room, searching for something you could actually wear out that wasn’t sweatpants and a hoodie. You’d settled on a halter top that tied at your neck and in the back and a pair of ridiculously tight pants that you’d bought forever ago and never had the guts to wear. You ended up standing in front of the mirror, choosing a pair of very cute but very uncomfortable shoes and looking over the outfit. If you weren’t Logan’s ‘type of girl’, you sure as hell were somebody’s. Trying to get yourself out there may be the best solution to forgetting the heart-crushing infatuation you had with your best friend who would never see you as anything more.

“I feel ridiculous,” you chuckled to yourself, turning in the mirror to see the back of your outfit. You did look good, just super out of your comfort zone. You grabbed your bag and ended up slipping out when everyone was eating dinner. That’s how you ended up where you were, pushing your way through the crowd of people with a drink in your hand. You passed the raised lounge area and felt a hand on your shoulder, making you turn suddenly.

“Hey, you wanna dance?”

He was tall, leaning down a little to shout over the music. He was pretty good looking but didn’t look like Logan in the slightest, which you realized was exactly the point of going out tonight. He was dressed nice and smelled like expensive cologne.

“Sure, why not?”

As you abandoned your half finished drink on a table and let him pull you a little further into him, a familiar song started to thump through the speakers.

“I love this song!” You exclaimed, letting the nameless guy rest his hands on your hips.

S.O.S., she's in disguise

There's a she wolf in disguise

Coming out, coming out, coming out

“Ironic,” you muttered under the music.

───────♡──────────────♡───────

Logan walked ahead of Ororo, Jean and Scott, his long legs taking him much further at a much faster pace.

“Logan, slow down!” Ororo called out, jogging a bit to catch up with him.

“What if she didn’t even want to be there? What if some guy dragged her there?”

“Oh,” Jean laughed, “ I see. You’re jealous.”

“No.”

“Yup.”

“Nope.”

“So you’d be fine if we walked in there and she is with a guy?”

Logan slowed his pace as they approached the entrance, “sure, whatever,” feigned disdain in his voice.

The second the door opened, the bass of the music was overwhelming. It was dim, save for a few colorful lights projecting around the room. The four of them were squished together near the door, trying to pick you out in a sea of moving people.

“This is gonna be like finding a needle in a haystack,” Scott shouted.

“Not necessarily,” Ororo replied, a smug smile on her face.

“What?” Logan furrowed his eyebrows.

She pointed across the room and he followed her gaze.

There's a she wolf in the closet

Open up and set it free

There's a she wolf in your closet

Let it out so it can breathe

You didn’t even look like you. He’d never seen you in anything that showed that much skin or any clothes that even hugged you like that, for that matter.

And you were with a guy.

Sitting across a bar, staring right at her prey

It's going well so far, she's gonna get her way

“So, what did we tell you?” Jean shouted, waving her hand in front of his glaring eyes.

“Just some kid,” he replied dismissively, turning to her, “doesn’t mean anything anyway.”

“You sure?” Scott nudged his shoulder, making Logan look towards you again.

That kid had his hands up the sides of your top with his head craned down to kiss your neck, your back to his chest. You were giggling, playfully smacking his arm. Truthfully, you thought the attention was nice for a change. After trying so hard for too long to get Logan to notice you, it felt good to have someone pay attention to you in that way.

Not looking for cute little divos or rich city guys

I just want to enjoy

By having a very good time

And behave very bad in the arms of a boy

You felt his hands squeeze your hips a little harder, enough for his nails to dig into your skin. Out of instinct, you felt your canine teeth start to poke against your lower lip. You tried in vain to tug his hands from you, only making him tighten his grip.

The switch in demeanor was obvious even from across the dark room, your smile turning into a grimace that bared your sharp teeth. You yanked the sleeves of his jacket to make him finally let go, turning around while he still had his arms ghosted around you.

S.O.S., she's in disguise

“Touch me like that again, you son of a bitch, and I will rip you to fucking shreds.”

You gathered fistfuls of his shirt, bringing him down to eye level so he could see your snarling teeth and gleaming eyes as a hint that you weren’t bluffing.

There's a she wolf in disguise

Coming out, coming out, coming out

Before anyone could even tell him to stay put, Logan had already disappeared into the crowd of people.

“God damn it,” Scott huffed, following Jean and Ororo when they went after him.

“Logan!” Jean yelled, trying to grab his jacket to slow him and only having him slip out of her grip.

There's a she wolf in the closet

Let it out so it can breathe

“Shit, I’m kinda into the fangs. What, you gonna bite me?” He was whispering in your ear, your hands still on his shirt. Before you could do something you were going to regret, you felt someone tug your upper arm and pull you away from him.

“Come on,” Logan snapped, “we’re leaving.”

“What the hell are you doing here? What do you mean we?” You yelled back. You didn’t want to stay anywhere near that guy but you weren’t ready to leave either and sure as hell not with Logan dragging you out like an angry parent.

“Hey, she doesn’t really look like she wants to leave with you, man,” the other guy interjected, keeping a grip on you by looping his fingers through one of the belt loops on your pants.

“Yeah? She doesn’t want to stay with you either, jackass,” Logan moved his hand from your arm to hold your hand instead, “she’s not interested.”

What the hell had gotten into him? You felt like you were in the middle of a tug of war with two dogs.

“No one’s gonna fucking ask what I want, right?” You tried to complain, neither of them hearing you.

“Your little doggy girlfriend here was just about to take care of me. You mad about it?” The other guy laughed and you nearly lunged at him, Logan’s hand tugging you back. He intended to pull you away so he could get to him first, but Scott, Jean and Ororo jumped in just in time.

“Alright - enough, enough, we’re leaving!” Jean yelled, pushing you all towards the door, Logan dragging you the whole way. When you finally were out in the cool evening air, you angrily yanked your hand from his.

“What are you guys doing here?” You asked, turning to Logan, “and what the fuck was that?”

“What was that? You’re welcome - “

“I didn’t ask you to come save me - from what, having a good time?”

“Oh, yeah, it looked like you were having a lot of fun,” he scoffed, “he had you by the hip so hard he probably left a bruise.”

He instinctively reached his hand out to check and you swatted it away, “Don’t - Don’t touch me!”

None of them had ever heard you sound so pissed off and you’d definitely never snapped at Logan like that before.

You took a deep breath and reached down to slip off your shoes, leaving you barefoot on the concrete.

“I’m sorry,” you apologized to the rest of them,” but why are you guys here?”

“You left without saying anything, we couldn’t find you and we wanted to be sure you were safe,” Ororo sighed, hugging you in relief, “we’re so glad you’re okay.”

You hugged her back.

“I just - I wanted to disappear for a while,” you explained apologetically, avoiding Jean and Scott’s gaze.

“Do you know how stupid it was to run off and not tell anyone where you were going?” Logan scolded you, but Jean clicked her tongue at him.

“Shut it! Enough from you! You’ve done enough damage control!”

The ride home was almost silent, your tired body slumped in the backseat between Scott and Jean, until Ororo spoke from the front passenger seat.

“Honey, I don’t mean this in a bad way, but,” she paused, thinking over her words, “what were you gonna do to that guy if we hadn’t stopped you?”

You understood what she meant immediately.

“What, you think I was going to kill him?” you asked, crossing your arms and leaning forward in your seat, “I wasn’t. I don’t do that unless I have to and you know even then I hate doing it.”

“I know…so, what were you doing with a guy like him anyway?” she asked, trying to move on from the question that had clearly made you upset, “he seemed kinda shady.”

Logan was gripping the steering wheel so hard that his knuckles were white, dreading the answer.

You shrugged your shoulders, staring at the synthetic fabric of your pants.

“Liked the attention, I guess,” you answered honestly, kind of hoping you could throw anyone off the idea of you being interested in Logan, “it’s been awhile since a guy has liked me like that.”

“He only wanted one thing from you anyway,” he scoffed from the front seat. Ororo glared at him, about to tell him to mind his business before you stopped her.

“And I can’t want it either?”

That shut everybody up and Ororo turned to him again, a look on her face that said ‘you asked, you got the answer’.

You tried to bolt to your room when you all got home but Logan was quick to follow, catching up with you to stand in your path in the hallway outside of your bedroom.

“What’s going on with you?”

“Leave me be.”

You tried to dodge around him but he stuck his arm out.

“Logan.”

He raised his eyebrows, waiting for you to continue speaking.

“Move.”

“I’m not leaving you alone until you tell me what’s going on with you. You don’t disappear like that, ever. And I wanna talk to you about last night - “

“There’s nothing to talk about. Goodnight,” you huffed, ducking under his arm and opening your door.

“I care about you, you know, I was worried,” he began to explain.

You tried to slam the door in his face but he stuck his foot out, jamming his boot between the door and the doorframe. You let go in defeat and turned away, gathering your pajamas as if he wasn’t in the room.

“Yeah? Why?,” you scoffed, trying with everything in you to bite your tongue but failing miserably, “I’m not your type of girl. What’s there to worry about?”

Logan’s face fell. He pushed the door closed behind him.

“Is that what this is about? That’s why you went out?”

“Why do you care?”

You still had your back to him, furiously shuffling through clothing in your dresser.

“Stop.”

You felt his hands on your arms as he came up behind you, paralyzing you in your spot.

You let him turn you around gently, almost chest to chest.

“I didn’t mean that.”

“You don’t have to lie to spare my feelings -“

“I’m not.”

He leaned back a little to force you to look him in the eye.

“I only said that - listen, I only said that because - “ Logan paused, biting his lip till it nearly bled, but you shook your head and slipped by him again.

“Please, don’t treat me like I’m stupid, Logan.”

You sounded so exasperated, tears forming in your eyes when you turned your back to him.

“Fuck,” he sighed, “I only said that because I didn’t want you to like me.”

You wiped the tear that rolled down your cheek and turned back to him, a confused expression on your face.

“It worked, are you happy?”

“No, I’m not - “

“Well, guess it backfired. Get out of my room.”

You were face to face again, keeping your mouth in a tight line so your lip wouldn’t quiver. It felt stupid to cry in front of him, but you couldn’t really help it once it started.

“Oh, god, please, don’t cry,” he begged, leaning down and actually bringing a hand up to your face to wipe away a tear that rolled down your cheek. You wanted to smack it away, tell him again to just get the hell out , but you couldn’t.

“Why would you do that?” You mumbled out quietly, finally letting the overwhelming feeling of sadness cancel out any rage you had for him. You couldn’t look him in the eye again, concentrating on the throw rug you were standing on.

“I’m so sorry, princess, I am. I’m really fucking stupid,” he huffed.

You were surprised by the softness of his voice and finally tore your eyes from the floor. He’d called you that before, but usually in a teasing way. This time it sounded endearing, like a plea of your name.

“And what happened there, at the club? ‘She’s not interested’, what was that about?” You continued.

He sighed, still trying to figure out what exactly it was that he wanted to say. He realized there probably wasn’t much of a way to beat around the bush and he groaned, closing his eyes as he stood in front of you to make spilling his guts a little less agonizing.

“I like you - like you a lot, and I was an asshole because I figured if you hated me, you couldn’t like me back and it would save you the trouble.”

Hearing no response, he finally opened his eyes to see you still standing in the same spot, your lips parted.

“Save me the trouble of what?”

You were confused, your eyes narrowed as if you were angry.

“I don’t know…having to deal with me, I guess. I - I’ve never felt the way I feel about you for anyone else and it scares the shit out of me.”

You could hear him swallow hard, his eyes looking everywhere around the room except at you.

“And earlier, when we picked you up,” he continued, “I acted like that because I was jealous, alright? Can’t stand to see some asshole on you like that, and you were dressed all nice and - I don’t know.”

You’d never heard him sound so nervous in all the time you’d known him.

“You are my type of girl,” he finally choked out, “only type of girl I’d ever want.”

All you could do was inhale sharply, his words echoing in your mind.

“It’s alright if you hate me, I can’t say I really blame you. Fuck, I’m sorry.”

He began to walk out, convinced he’d fucked up beyond repair.

“Logan.”

Your voice stopped his hand from turning your doorknob and he turned back to you.

No longer crying, you tentatively stepped forward a bit, nervously playing with the front hem of your top.

“You’re not something to deal with, you know,” you muttered, letting your hair fall in front of your face.

You supposed this was the point where it was your turn to explain.

“I’ve liked you for a long time, Logan, probably since the day I walked in here and I just - I think I wanted someone to distract me so I wouldn’t wallow in self pity because you didn’t want me.”

“You were trying to get over me,” he realized aloud, a small smile on his face to hide the hurt, “I deserved that.”

After a moment of tense silence, he spoke again.

“Did it work?”

His voice was low and soft, a tone you’d rarely heard him speak with.

You pursed your lips and finally lifted your head, taking a deep breath.

“No. I don’t think it was ever going to, either,” you laughed a little, “when that guy asked me to dance, the first thing I thought of was that he didn’t look anything like you.”

Your voice trailed off a little at the end, a little embarrassed to confess that even if Logan had already flat out told you he was interested in you.

Without another word, he came close enough to reach for your hands and gently intertwine your fingers with his. He cleared his throat, nervously chewing his bottom lip before he spoke.

“Can I kiss you?”

You must have had this dream a million times over, waking up night after night and feeling so empty because none of it was real. But now, with his hands in yours, it was very real.

You eagerly pressed your lips to his, not wanting to waste another second. His lips were soft and you were encompassed in the scent of his body wash and cologne, smelling of pine and cedar wood. You brought your hands up to play with his hair at the back of his head. Logan moved his arms to wrap around your waist, pulling you further into him.

When you finally pulled away from each other, you were both smiling like idiots.

“We should’ve done that much sooner,” you giggled.

“Agreed.”

His fingers traced small circles on the exposed skin of your back, making you shiver.

He kissed you again, this time with much more intensity. It wasn’t long before your tongues were in each other's mouths and you both had fumbled yourselves over to the end of your bed.

“Wanted you for so long,” he mumbled between kissing your neck and jaw, his hands still sliding up and down your back, “I was so stupid.”

“We both were,” you giggled a little, cut short into a moan when he licked your neck all the way from your collarbone to under your ear.

“L-Logan,” you gasped, unable to hide your blushing face.

He hummed into your neck, bringing his mouth to your ear, “Can I show you how sorry I am? Let me make it up to you.”

His voice made the hair on the back of your neck stand up and you let him pull you onto him to straddle his lap, lost in the feeling of his hands on you.

“Mmm, uh-huh,” you hummed, mouth hung open as he sucked light marks into your neck.

“You have to use your words, pretty girl,” he brought his head up to rest his forehead against yours. He cupped your jaw tenderly, almost as if you’d disappear if he let go.

Before you could answer, he moved his hands to drag your hips over his, grunting when he felt the pressure.

“Y-yes, yeah - please,” you choked out between moans, tugging his hair harder every time he pushed and pulled your hips.

“Please what, baby?”

“You - you can make it up to me,” you groaned into his neck.

He effortlessly lifted you by your thighs and laid you with your back to the bed. You untucked his white t-shirt from his jeans as he crawled over you, desperate to get your hands underneath it. You lightly scratched your nails along his back, making him groan into your ear. He kissed down your neck to the center of your chest, gently slipping his fingers under the hem of your top and around the back.

“Can I take this off you, baby?”

You were already sitting up before he could finish his sentence, reaching to try and untie the knot at the back of your neck.

“Eager, huh?”, he chuckled, “let me, sweetheart.”

He wrapped his arms around your lower back to tug at the knot, feeling it come loose in his hands. He snaked his hands up to the back of your neck, doing the same to the tied strings there. When it came loose, the only thing holding the piece of fabric to you was his hands at the back of your neck. He let it slip from his fingers, a smirk on his face when it fell completely.

You threw the garment somewhere to the floor and tugged on the collar of his t-shirt, bringing him down with you as laid back again and pressed your lips to his. He pulled back for a moment to yank his shirt off and immediately return his mouth to yours, making his way down to your neck. He brought both his hands to your chest and swept his thumbs over your hard nipples, eventually bringing his lips to them and sucking.

“Ah - Logan,” you whined, making him smile against your skin.

“I like it when you say my name, pretty girl,” he mumbled, dragging his fingers down your sides and hooking them into the waistband of your pants. He kissed all the way down to your hips, moving himself to lay on his stomach with his head between your thighs.

Before he could ask you if it was alright to rid you of them, you were already unbuttoning your pants and pushing them down your hips and thighs. He took them off the rest of the way for you and you kicked your panties off with them.

He hooked his arms around your thighs to pull you closer, licking his lips and resting his cheek on the inside of your thigh.

“I thought about you a lot, you know - like this,” he huffed, his warm breath fanning over your pussy.

You had your hands in his hair already, swiping fallen strands of hair out of his face.

“I thought about you like this, too,” you admitted, sighing as he started to plant kisses right above where you wanted him the most.

“Yeah?”

His teasing voice brought goosebumps to your skin and you nodded, gasping when you finally felt his lips graze your clit.

“This what you think about when you fuck yourself?” He mumbled into you, the vibration of his voice making you tighten your grip in his hair. He growled like an animal, trying to push you even further into his mouth by the grip on your thighs.

You were trying to choke out an answer, distracted by the wet sounds of him messily eating you out.

“Y - ah, yes, yeah - not as good as the real thing, though.”

He laughed with his mouth still attached to you and you tightened your thighs around his head, keeping him in place.

He could have spent hours with his mouth to your cunt, practically fucking you with his tongue while you whined his name.

A knock on your door sounded through the room, the both of you freezing in place.

“Hey, I just wanted to check on you. Are you feeling okay?”

It was Scott.

You grimaced, thankful at the very least that your door was locked, but Logan had a terribly smug smirk on his face.

“Y-yeah, I’m alright, just - just tired,” you managed to choke out, stuttering when you felt two of his fingers slip into you effortlessly.

“You sure?”

You sighed, hating and loving Logan at the same time for what he was doing.

“Yup, th-thank you, m’ jus’ gonna go to bed.”

Scott responded with a goodnight and you groaned in relief when you heard him walk away.

Logan was curling his fingers inside of you, still lapping at your pussy and letting you use your grip on his hair to angle his head however you wanted him. You felt the pressure in your lower stomach rise and you tried to warn him, tugging on the hair on the back of his head.

“Logan, I’m - “

“C’mon, pretty girl, c’mon.”

His encouragement sent you over the edge, euphoria blooming from your lower stomach and spreading through you. You had to cover your mouth to muffle your pornographic moans, but Logan reached up to tug your wrist.

“Uh-uh, wanna hear you, beautiful,” he mumbled into you, practically pushing your thighs even further around his head.

“Fuck, L-Logan, too - too sensitive,” you stuttered out, trying to pull his face away by his hair and failing miserably because of his grip around your thighs.

He eventually reluctantly detached himself and crawled back on top of you, sucking the taste of you off his fingers.

“I could do that for hours, you know, if you let me,” he groaned, pulling your hips up to him so you could feel the weight of his hard cock underneath his jeans.

Still sensitive, you reactively gripped his biceps and dug your fingernails into his skin. You were going to apologize and were quickly cut off by the guttural moan he let out into the side of your neck.

“Fuck,” he groaned, rocking his hips against yours.

“You’re into pain, huh?”

You figured it was your turn to tease him, dragging your fingernails from his shoulders all the way down his back.

“You’re gonna pay for that, pretty girl,” he grunted, moving quickly to undo his belt and strip himself of the rest of his clothing.

When his cock sprung up and hit his stomach as he took off his boxers, you swallowed hard; already feeling a wanting ache in your stomach again. You figured he was big - he was already a tall guy, after all - but he was far bigger than any guy you’d ever seen. Logan noticed the way you bit your lower lip, resting himself on top of you again and bringing his thumb up to pull your lip from under your teeth.

“What, are you nervous? It’s alright sweetheart, I’m not gonna hurt you.”

His voice was so soft and gentle, a tone you rarely ever heard from him.

You could feel the weight of his cock against your inner thigh, heavy and already leaking.

“ ‘m not nervous, I want you, please,” you begged, wrapping your legs around his waist. You reached your hand between your bodies to line him up with your entrance, trying to push him in with your legs around his waist.

“You sure?” he huffed, trying with every muscle in his body to not slam into you in one thrust.

You nodded eagerly, scratching at his lower back.

Logan couldn’t help himself and gave in, slipping himself into you.

“So tight,” he groaned into your neck, pushing himself in even further.

“You - fuck - you’re so fucking big,” you admitted truthfully, nearly drooling at the feeling of him stretching you out.

“Feels good?”

It was hard for him to speak when you were so wet that he was nearly slipping out of you as he gently rocked his hips back and forth, trying to be gentle and let you adjust to his size.

“Mm - uh-uh,” you hummed, gasping each time he pushed further.

“Use your words, sweetheart,” he huffed and you groaned, digging your nails into him.

“Y-yes, yeah - want you all the way in,” you whimpered.

That was all it took for him to be buried in you, grinding his hips into yours so that you were pinned to the mattress.

He worked up to a devastating pace, practically slamming your headboard into the wall.

“S-someone’s gonna - someone’s gonna hear us,” you managed to gasp out, out of breath every time he filled you and pulled back again.

“Don’t care, let ‘em,” he pressed his forehead to yours, bringing a hand up to your face to affectionately cup your cheek. It was so sweet and almost disgustingly hot, the caring gesture contrasting the intense feeling of him repeatedly slamming into the sensitive spot inside of you.

He really didn’t have a care in the world about who heard you both, far too lost in the feeling of finally being able to have you under him like that. You had sweat soaked strands of hair stuck to your face, your eyes squeezed shut, and he was almost sure you’d never looked more beautiful.

“So fucking pretty,” he huffed, his thumb swiping your bottom lip. He had an idea, one he’d considered many times when he thought of you under him like this.

“Bite me.”

You raised your eyebrows in surprise, threading your hand through his hair, “are you sure?”

“Please.”

You forcibly unsheathed your fangs, letting them tentatively poke at his thumb that was still to your lips.

He moved his hand to your throat, resting it there without tightening his grip.

“Please.”

His pleading had the heat in your lower stomach rising and you obliged, sinking your teeth into his shoulder. You felt guilty - you didn’t enjoy hurting people - until he was whimpering in your ear, moaning your name over and over again.

You bit his neck, his shoulders, his lip - all the small puncture wounds healing themselves within seconds.

Having him so pussy drunk and groaning praises into your ear brought the pressure in your lower stomach to a max and you cried out his name, letting him fuck you through your second orgasm.

“ ‘s good, huh, princess? Come on me, c’mon,” he was begging, feeling your muscles tense around him. That drove him over the edge, his hips rutting into you and his thrusts becoming sloppy. He finally let himself go, filling you and letting it drip from you onto the sheets. He pulled back a little to see the mess you had both made, your inner thighs painted with a mix of his release and yours. He went to pull out completely and you clamped your thighs around his hips again, keeping him still.

“Want me to stay?”

“Mhm - please.”

The sexual tension was replaced with loving comfort, Logan keeping you to his chest as he laid you both on your side. His chin rested on the top of your head and your face was against his chest with your eyes closed. You smiled at the thump of his heartbeat in your ear, nearly letting it put you to sleep.

“Hey, pretty girl,” he mumbled into your hair, planting a kiss on the top of your head, “you know I love you?”

The last three words made your eyes shoot open and you looked up at him, worried you’d misheard him or maybe he was just messing with you.

“Really?”

“Of course. You think I would’ve done that with you if I wasn’t in love?”

You thought hard for a second, realizing he was right. It wasn’t that he hadn’t had hookups before, but it had been quite a long time since he’d bothered to even get to know someone like that. He wasn’t the type to lead you on, either - always up front with you, even if he didn’t have to be.

“I love you too,” you answered, unable to hide the wide smile on your face.

“I should’ve told you much sooner,” he sighed, his eyes fluttering closed as you snuggled into him again.

Before you could both fall asleep from exhaustion, he yanked the comforter over the both of you, hearing you mumble sleepily.

“You can make it up to me some more.”

───────♡──────────────♡───────

A/N: If you made it to the end I love you <3 pls lmk what you think and reblog+like if you enjoyed!! also still navigating how to write smut without using cringe terminology so forgive me if that part sucks

#logan howlett #logan howlett x reader #logan howlett fic #logan howlett smut #logan howlett fanfiction #wolverine x reader #wolverine fic #wolverine fanfiction #wolverine smut #wolverine

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imaginedisish · 5 months ago

Text

Dare (Logan Howlett x Fem!Reader)

A/N: Hey guys. Just wanted to say thank you for all the support I got this morning. All of your comments really warmed my heart. Thank you so, so, so much. I ended up getting this done pretty fast. Went with "Dare" by Gorillaz for the title. Made me feel better to write. I like this one. Hope you do, too. Enjoy!

Summary: Logan finds out you've never been eaten out while playing a game of "Truth or Dare," and he's more than willing to change that.

Warnings: 18+ MINORS DNI!!! SMUT!!! Oral (f!receiving), Fingering, softdom!Logan, pussydrunk!Logan (he does not let up, he is starving for you), older!Logan, implied aged gap (reader is in her 20s/old enough to teach at the institute), cocky!Logan, he is an absolute service dom in this, friends to lovers, mentions of mental health/self worth, fluff, some hurt to comfort, some angst, afab/fem!reader, cursing, def some grammatical errors, I think that's it.

Word Count: 4,235 wowza didn't expect that and oh my god this gif

You’re lying on your floor—the door to your room wide open. Everyone is out anyway. It’s Friday night at the mansion—no one will see you like this. Students’ papers are scattered around you. You stare up at the ceiling, feeling choked up. It had been a bad day—a bad week. Maybe even a bad year. You feel like you’re slipping, losing yourself.

Teaching the older students had become beyond challenging—possibly because you aren’t much older than them in the first place. Most days, it felt like everyone expected greatness from you, given the strength of your powers, which naturally comes with responsibility, and that can be incredibly overwhelming. It had all been—if you were being brutally honest—an absolutely terrible time.

So, you’re lying on your floor, feeling numb. You stopped grading papers at least an hour ago, and simply decided to stare at the ceiling, your head spinning. You wanted to calm the noise, to take a breather. Luckily, you’re alone—everyone is on a mission or out given that it’s Friday night.

Or so you thought.

“What on Earth are you doing?” A familiar voice cuts through the silence like a knife, jarring you, and forcing you to look up. And there he is, in a white t-shirt and denim jeans, arms crossed tightly against his chest, leaning in the doorway. Logan. You want to roll your eyes at how good he looks. You want to slap yourself for thinking it in the first place.

He smirks at you, his brows furrowed playfully. You let your head fall back to the floor. “Grading papers,” you mutter. You can hear his footsteps as he walks into the room, drawing closer to you.

“Doesn’t look like you’re grading papers to me,” he teases. You can hear the smile in his voice. “Why aren’t you out with Jean or Rogue?”

He stands next to you, and you look up at him. “Didn’t feel like it,” you mumble, forcing yourself to sit up. You draw your knees into your chest. You decide to turn the question around on him. “Why aren’t you out?”

He sits down next to you, stretching his long legs in front of him, his shoulder bumping against yours as he settles in. He shrugs. “Somebody’s gotta keep an eye on you, right?” He jokes, nudging his elbow into your arm. You can’t help the smile that spreads across your face. It’s impossible to fight it when he’s next to you. Your eyes meet his, and his smile quickly turns into something else—concern. “You’ve been off lately.”

You swallow harshly. “Did Jean or Rogue say something?” You ask. They’d notice, maybe they told Logan. “Did they ask you to stay with me or something?”

But Logan shakes his head. “No. I could just tell,” he says, worry clear in his voice. “Thought I’d hang back with you. All my idea.” He tilts his head, his jaw working, his brows furrowing again. “Is something going on?”

You take a deep breath, turning away from him. You’re suddenly overwhelmed by his presence, by his kindness and his care. He stayed home for you. “I’m okay,” you mutter, avoiding the truth.

“Hey,” Logan whispers, tentatively reaching his hand to your knee, waiting for you to shove him away. His palm is warm against your skin, calming and stabilizing. You turn back to look at him, his brows raised incredulously. “I know that’s not true,” he says. He has always been able to read you like a book. “What’s going on?”

You swallow harshly. “I’ve just been having a tough time lately,” you say, distracted by the way his thumb brushes across your knee. “I…” You trail off, letting your eyes fall closed. “Things are hard.”

“You can talk about it if you want,” he says, his voice deep and steady. “I’m here.”

You sniffle, struggling to keep yourself in check. “I just…” you pause, looking off to the side. “Everything sucks.” You take another deep breath. “And the students are so hard.” You point to the piles of papers scattered around your floor. “And then there’s me, and all my shit. My powers. The responsibilities we have. I’m young, and I’m still learning. And fuck, Logan, this all just feels so impossible sometimes. It…it…” You trail off, finally running out of words, out of steam.

“It hurts.” He finishes your sentence, taking the words right out of your mouth. You turn back towards him, your eyes instantly meeting his. “It hurts a lot.”

You nod. “Yeah, exactly.” He squeezes your knee comfortingly. “You get it,” you murmur.

“It’s gonna be okay,” he soothes, his hand lifting off your knee, his arm wrapping around your shoulder instead. “I’ve got you.” You let yourself lean into his touch, resting your head in the crook of his neck. “Let’s take your mind off things, yeah?”

You nod against him, not wanting to move away, not wanting to separate from him. He feels so nice, so solid. “What did you have in mind?” You ask, hoping it doesn’t involve getting up.

“Wanna play a game?” He offers, turning his head to look down at you. You smile widely, almost mockingly. “What?” He chides. “You think I don’t know how to have fun?”

You laugh softly. “I just don’t see you as a game guy, Lo,” you confess. He chuckles, and you can feel his laughter reverberating through his chest. “Can you even think of one to play?”

Logan’s still laughing, shaking his head. “What about truth or dare?” He ever so slightly pulls you in closer, his lips pressed against the side of your head.

You giggle, feeling light for the first time in a long time. “Are we in seventh grade?” You ask teasingly. You felt like a teenager, honestly—being next to Logan always made you feel like a love-sick schoolgirl. But you know you and him could never be. You were younger than Logan—everyone was—but you, being in your 20s, assume that Logan doesn’t see you the way you see him.

He just shakes his head and laughs, pulling you back to reality. “Truth or dare?” He asks, ignoring your middle school comment and officially starting the game.

You don’t want to get up, don’t want to move an inch, so you answer: “Truth,” hoping it isn’t anything too crazy.

Logan thinks for a second, his head resting on yours. “Why’d you pick truth instead of dare?” He finally asks.

You roll your eyes. “Boring!” You tease. “I only picked it because I don’t feel like moving.” And then you realize…perhaps your answer is more revealing than you previously considered. Your heart thunders in your chest.

Logan hums. “And why don’t you want to move, exactly?” He’s onto you.

“You asked your question, you got an answer,” you protest, trying to shut him down. “No follow-up questions.” It’s your turn now. “Truth or dare?” You ask.

“Truth,” he says. “Because maybe I don’t feel like moving either.”

You smile, and you can feel him looking down at you. You’re too nervous to meet his gaze. You think for a moment, racking your brain for a question. “Did you really stay home for me, and was it all your own idea?” You finally ask. You regret the question almost immediately, fearful of the honest answer.

“Yes,” he responds without a beat. “Jean said you were staying in, and said she didn’t know why, so I stayed too.” He pauses, and you can hear his steady breathing amidst the silence. “I was worried, princess.” The pet name burns a hole through your heart. “Needed to know that you were okay.”

You can feel tears building behind your sinuses. “Thank you, Lo,” you whisper. “That means a lot.”

He presses the ghost of a kiss to the crown of your head—almost not quite there. But you can feel it, hesitant and tentative. “It’s nothing, no need to thank me.” You finally find the courage to look up at him and find him smiling down at you. His lips part. “Truth or dare?” He asks again.

You can feel some sort of tension brewing, building, thick and heavy. You try to ignore it, try to brush it off. Your heart hammers in your chest. “Truth,” you pick again. “But get a little more creative this time.”

He pauses, the gears in his head turning. And then finally: “Why’s your heart beating so fast? It’s loud, too.”

Your eyes widen, suddenly remembering Logan’s heightened senses. He can hear everything. “Uh…” You trail off, not sure how to get out of this. “I-It’s not…”

He laughs. “You’re a terrible liar. You know that?” His voice is deep and honeyed, smooth. “You gotta answer the question, or I get to ask another.”

“Those are not the rules!” You protest, lifting your head to look at him. He’s got that shit-eating grin on his face, the one that makes your stomach drop.

He tugs you into his chest again, his lips at the shell of your ear. “Then answer the question,” he whispers, his breath warm against your skin, sending a chill down your spine. He’s so close. Too close. Your heart is only beating faster, louder now.

“I don’t know,” you whisper. But of course, you know. It’s all because of him. “Just anxious, I guess.” It’s a half-truth—you’re certainly nervous, but you can’t bring yourself to tell him why.

“No need to be nervous, sweetheart,” Logan coos, his thumb brushing circles into your shoulder. “It’s just me.”

Yes, exactly, you want to say. It’s you. But you don’t. You try to steady your breathing, try to calm down. “My turn,” you force yourself to say. “Truth or dare?”

“Truth,” he says darkly. “And make it good.” You can hear the cockiness in his voice—a sudden shift in his tone.

“We should just call this truth or truth,” you say, mulling over a question in your mind. It’s hard to think with him this close—hard to breathe. You want to rile him up, to find out what makes him tick—to make him itch the way he makes you. And then it hits you: the perfect question. “When was the last time you…” You stop yourself, suddenly too nervous to ask.

“When was the last time I what, darlin’?” He asks, cocking his head to the side, raising his eyebrows.

You huff. You’ve fallen into your own trap. There’s no backing out now. “When was the last time…” You pause again, biting your lip. You close your eyes. “…somebody got you off?”

“Been a while,” he says simply. Your eyes flutter open, and Logan is completely relaxed, his eyes trained on you. He isn’t annoyed. He’s unbothered, unprovoked, as if you had asked him what the weather was going to be like tomorrow. “But it depends on how you mean. So, what do you mean?” He finishes.

You’re slightly frustrated by how easy it was for him to answer. “I don’t know,” you mutter, shrugging your shoulders. “Whatever the last time was.”

“Few years back, not particularly proud of it,” he huffs. “Girl took care of me in a bar. That was it.”

You nod. “Must’ve been nice,” you whisper, suddenly feeling a bit disheartened. You catch his drift; you know it didn’t mean anything. You likely didn’t know Logan at that time, having only arrived at the Institute two years ago. You know you shouldn’t feel jealous, shouldn’t care that he was ever with someone else, even for a fleeting moment. You’ve had boyfriends. You’ve been with other people.

“It was fine. Just a blowjob.” He says it nonchalantly. “Didn’t mean a thing.” You look straight ahead, waiting for him to elaborate. But he doesn’t. “Truth or dare?” He finally asks.

“Truth.” Your fake, plastered-on smile becomes real when his eyes meet yours. It’s just what happens when you look at him. “And make it interesting.”

The corner of his mouth turns up slyly, and you know he has something up his sleeve. “When was the last time somebody did that to you?” He asks.

You cock your head to the side. “What do you mean?” But you already know exactly what he’s asking. And you desperately do not want to give him the answer.

“Got you off, like that,” he husks. “With their mouth.”

Fuck. “Uh…” You trail off. You can feel heat spreading across your chest and up your neck, your skin prickling. “Never,” you say honestly.

“What?” Logan’s voice cuts through the tension like a knife. “Never?”

You’re suddenly embarrassed. Your skin feels tight—so do your shorts and tank top. “Never,” you repeat, looking down at your knees, still pulled in tightly to your chest. Your heart beats rapidly. “Just hasn’t happened yet,” you choke out. “I’ve been with people, but…”

“Hey,” he whispers, suddenly grabbing your chin and angling you up to face him. “It’s okay,” he soothes. “I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable, princess.”

You smile shyly, reveling in his touch. “You didn’t,” you insist honestly. “Just a little embarrassed.”

Logan shakes his head, his eyes softening. “Nothing to be embarrassed about,” he assures. “You deserve to be taken care of.” His hand slides across your jaw and cups the back of your neck. “Deserve to feel good.”

Your eyes flutter closed at his touch. “Lo,” you whisper, struggling to keep your composure. Heat pools between your thighs. “Tr-truth or dare.”

His forehead presses to yours. “I think we’re done with the game, pretty girl,” he rasps, the arm around your shoulder slipping down to your waist. “Unless I get to give you a dare this time.”

“What’s the dare?” You ask, your eyes fluttering back open. His lips are so close. Your noses touch softly.

He works his jaw, licking his lips. “Let me eat you out, pretty girl,” he pants, his chest heaving against yours. “Let me take care of you like you should’ve been already.” He hates the idea that you’ve never been touched properly, the idea that those younger guys didn’t know how to treat you right. But he can fix that. He can make you feel good.

“Fuck,” you curse, his breath fanning across your lips. “A-are you sure?” You ask. “I don’t want you to do it just because you feel bad for me or—” “You think that’s what this is about?” He cuts you off, pulling you closer so that your body faces his, your thighs slotting together like puzzle pieces. “You think I want this just because I feel bad for you?”

“Well…” You search his eyes. “Yes,” you say.

Logan’s face falls, and he shakes his head. “I want you, pretty girl,” he pants, his knee rubbing against your aching core. “Wanted you this whole time.” His palm presses firmly against your back, his other hand gripping your neck tighter. He wants, no, needs you closer. “You ruined me the second I saw you. Haven’t been with anyone since then.”

“Logan,” you whisper, bringing your hands up to his neck. “I want you too. Always have,” you confess.

He smiles, his lips pressing a chaste kiss to yours. “Then let me do this for you,” he rasps, almost begging, like he needs this more than you do. “Need to make you feel good, beautiful.” “Please,” you breathe. “Want you so bad, Lo.”

He curses under his breath, his lips capturing yours, harder this time. This kiss is starving, all-consuming. His tongue swipes across your lower lip, and you open your mouth, inviting him inside. He lowers you down carefully, sure not to break the kiss, guiding your back to the wood floor below.

His thighs rest on either side of your hips as he hovers over you, bracing himself with his forearm. His free hand trails up your body, exploring your curves, hiking your shirt above your breasts. He smirks against your lips at the realization that you have no bra on.

“Look at you,” he mumbles, rolling a nipple under his thumb, palming your breast. “Fucking perfect.” His fingertips drag to the other side, massaging you gently, taking your nipple between his thumb and forefinger and pinching softly. “Can smell you, you know,” he grunts. “Know you’re soaking for me, darlin’.”

His hand slides between the valley of your breasts, trailing down your stomach, until his fingertips bump into the waistband of your panties. He hesitates, looking down at you, waiting for you to change your mind, to tell him to stop. “Please,” you beg. “Need you, Lo.”

Logan smirks, his hand slipping under the hem of your shorts and inside your panties. “Love it when you call me that, sweetheart,” he groans. His fingertips flick your clit gently before finding your folds, feeling your arousal. “Barely even touched you,” he tuts. “And she’s already crying for me.”

He prods your entrance, spreading your slick, teasing you. He bites your lips, sucking so hard he might bruise—might draw blood—and you hope he does. You want proof that he was here, proof that he wants you—needs you this badly. You moan as his fingers find your clit again, drawing a few soft circles before pulling away, his hand slipping out of your shorts.

You grab his biceps needily, impatiently, your nails digging into his skin. “Don’t stop,” you cry out. “Please, Logan.”

He swallows your moans with another kiss, his lips trailing down to your jaw, then your neck—that sensitive spot just under your ear. “Don’t worry, pretty girl,” he soothes, biting down on your pulse point, licking the hollow of your throat. “Don’t think I could stop if I tried.” He nips at your collarbone, shoving your tank top further up your chest as his lips drag down the valley of your breasts.

He kisses his way to your stomach, hooking his fingers into the waistband of your shorts, tugging them down your legs. His palms spread across your inner thighs, yanking them apart. He settles between them, his face just inches from your heat. He presses a chaste kiss to your clit, still all too clothed, hidden behind your panties.

“Lo,” you whine. He breathes you in, pressing another kiss to your clit. He digs his fingers into the hem of your panties, slowly pulling them down your legs.

“Wanna take my time with you, sweetheart,” he grunts, finally throwing your panties to the side. He spreads your legs wider, his face settling back between your thighs. You can feel his breath against your cunt, warm and teasing. “Wanna take care of you.” His lips finally find your clit again, and he licks at you.

His tongue is soft, warm, wet. He laps at you again, harder this time, and you moan his name. “Fuck,” you curse as he licks a long stripe through your folds and back up to your clit, flicking the bud. Your legs twitch, your hips backing away involuntarily at the newfound pleasure. Logan’s hands slide under your ass, yanking you back to his face.

“Where do you think you’re going?” He mumbles teasingly against you, the vibration of his deep, bassy voice rocking your core. “Not letting you go until I’m done with you, darlin’.”

You curse under your breath as he licks another long, slow stripe through your folds before settling on your clit. His tongue draws gentle circles around the bud, and you can’t hold back the loud moan that falls from your lips.

“Yeah?” Logan husks between laps. “Feels good, pretty girl?”

“Y-yes,” you stammer, looking down at Logan, his face buried against your cunt. His eyes are trained on yours, watching your every move, taking in the way you’re squirming for him. “D-didn’t know it would feel this good, Lo.”

“Gonna try something, okay?” He says, his eyes searching yours. You nod emphatically, bracing yourself. His lips wrap around your clit, his teeth lightly grazing the bud as he pulls it into his mouth. And then he sucks, hard. Your eyes roll into the back of your head, your back arching off the floor.

He releases the bud, and does it again, sucking harder this time. Tears brim at the corners of your eyes, pleasure coursing through your veins. “Logan!” You cry out, your nails digging into the floor below, searching for purchase. “Fuck!” He laps at you soothingly, drawing tighter, faster circles around your clit.

“You okay?” He coos between laps, his tongue swirling rapidly.

You swallow, meeting his gaze again. The sight of him between your legs, working your clit, his hair a disheveled mess—it’s overwhelming. “Yeah,” you heave. “More than okay.”

He smirks against you and wraps his lips around your clit again, sucking on the bud like hard candy. His right hand slides out from under your ass, trailing up your inner thigh. Your heart thunders in your chest as his fingertips find your folds, spreading your slick, your walls clenching down around nothing.

“Know you need ‘em, pretty girl,” Logan croons, two fingers nudging your entrance. “Beg for it.”

But he’s sucking on your clit again, making it impossible to say a word. You whimper, your legs trembling. “P-please,” you stutter, choking on air. “Need…” You trail off, your eyes fluttering closed. You swallow harshly. “Need your fingers, Lo,” you finally manage.

“That’s a good girl,” he praises, shoving two fingers deep inside you, down to his knuckles.

“Fuck, thank you,” you whine, moaning his name as his fingers stretch you out. You suddenly feel so full, so warm, so close. He pulls out, only to plunge back in, deeper this time. He’s lapping at you with reckless abandon—a man starved, like you’re the air he needs to breathe. Your walls flutter around him, the liquid heat in your lower belly threatening to burst.

“Tastes so good,” Logan mumbles against you, his long, thick fingers thrusting in and out. He hits that sweet spot deep inside you with every pump. “Such a sweet little pussy. Tastes better than I imagined.” You’re crumbling underneath him. His words alone might push you over the edge. “Nothing compares to you, you know that?”

Your walls flutter again, his fingers sinking deeper inside you. “You like that?” Logan husks. “Like knowing how much I want you? How much I need you?”

“Yes,” you groan, his fingers fucking into you, faster now. His teeth graze your clit as he pulls the bud back into his mouth and sucks roughly. “N-need you, too. Always.”

“I know, pretty girl,” he soothes, scissoring inside you, dragging along your walls. He laps at you, his tongue stroking your clit. “Not going anywhere. I’ve got you.”

You curse under your breath. You can feel yourself melting, your walls contracting and releasing. “Lo,” you call. “I’m so close. Wanna…” You trail off, unable to finish.

“Can feel you squeezing me, sweetheart,” he breathes. “Don’t hold back. Let it happen,” he coaches, rocking into you. “Wanna taste you, wanna feel you come on my fingers.” He laps at you between sentences. “Come for me. Know you can do it.” And then everything is white-hot and blazing.

It’s earth-shattering—better than anything has ever felt before. The tension snaps, heat boiling under your skin. Everything is blurry, hazy, dizzied as you let go, and let go hard. You cry out Logan’s name, your thighs shaking as waves of pleasure drag you under. Your bones are burning, scorching. Everything is on fire—overwhelming and greedily all-consuming.

Logan’s pumps slow, and he carefully pulls out of you. He laves at you, his tongue pushing through your folds, milking you dry, savoring every last drop.

“Logan,” you whisper, your hands reaching down to his head, digging your fingers into his scalp.

He hums against you, unwavering as his tongue laps at your folds, tasting your release.

You’re still shaking, still coming down from your high. “Logan,” you call again, and he looks up this time, lifting his face from your cunt. Your release glistens on his chin, and he licks his lips clean of you. His eyes are dark, his palms squeezing your thighs possessively.

“I’m not done yet, sweetheart,” he says, demand clear in his voice.

Your heart flutters in your chest as he climbs up your body, hovering over you again. His lips find yours. “You taste that?” He mumbles, kissing you again, harder this time. “You taste how sweet you are?”

“Y-yes,” you answer, his hand sliding down your body, slipping between your legs, finding your overstimulated clit.

He pinches the bud lightly, your back arching off the ground, your breasts pressing to his all-too-clothed chest. “Need more of you,” he husks, his hand dragging back up your body. He sits up and pulls you into his chest, taking all your weight as he hoists you up and stands. You instinctually wrap your legs around his waist.

He places you in the center of your bed before striding across the room, closing and locking your bedroom door. “They’ll all be home soon,” Logan says, walking back towards you, spreading your legs and settling between your thighs. “Might have to be quiet for me, darlin’.”

“W-what do you—”

And then his face is buried deep inside your cunt, his tongue lapping desperately at your clit. “I told you,” he rasps. “I’m not finished with you yet.”

tags: @wittyjasontodd @wolverinesslut @galacticglitterglue @silversprings-mp3 @zxaera @spiderset @figsnpassionfruits @alastorssimp @alsoprettyinpink @prettyseaveins @ilysmdovie12 @evasmlp @derbygracie @rammakela @honeyfewr @ricefordays-blog1 @manipulatour

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eyesxxyou · 5 months ago

Text

First Drink 🥃

🍺・・・l. howlett x fem!reader

rating. m

word count. 2.2k

synopsis. you were everything logan shouldn't want. young, religious, and innocent. you were sweet to everyone. and you've never been touched. logan wants to be your first everything.

Logan gives you your first drink

warnings. age gap relationship (reader is 21, Logan is nearing 50) , religious reader, innocent reader, drinking, forced alcohol consumption, dubious consent, fingering, squirting, not edited

↳ pt.1 / pt.2 / pt.3

Logan is far from a holy man. He drinks too much, smokes too often, hasn’t even stepped foot in a church in his entire life. He’d like to think he’s a good man though, one who tries to make the right decisions when he can, but he knows that what he’s like to think and the reality of it all were two wildly separate things. For how could he be a good man when he’s got it out for you, a pastor’s daughter?

He didn’t mean for it to happen. Kind of stumbled into it as one stumbles into trying cocaine. That is to say, he didn’t stumble into it at all. It was a deliberate decision made with addictive consequences. You were his neighbor, a meek, kind little thing often wrapped up in your bible while you sit quaintly on the front steps of your family house. You were young, not too young though. Freshly turned 21. Yet you still wore your modest clothing and pretty mary janes with frilly socks.

Logan was a perverted man. There was no way to get around it. You were as kind and as innocent as any one person could be. You spoke to him kindly, you brought him lemonade while he was working on his motorcycle and all he could think about was how pretty you’d look in his lap with his large hand on your tummy, feeling the bulge of his cock nestled nicely against your womb.

It was one of these days when you brought him lemonade and sat with him in his garage that he turned to you, hands covered in grease and oil. “You’re 21 now, right doll?” Logan grabbed a towel from out of the waist of his jeans and used that to clean off his hands before grabbing the small crystalline cup of fresh lemonade to sip on. It was almost as sweet as you, not nearly as pleasing to taste.

You sat on a small crate with your knees close to your chest. The toes of your sleek, black mary janes pointed to each other. “Yes sir.” He liked that about you, how respectfully you spoke to him. It reminded him of how much power he had over you, how many years, how much authority. Oh, he is far from a holy man.

“You had your first drink yet?”

You were a sweet, little thing, flustered at the mere suggestion of drinking alcohol. “Oh, no sir. I don’t drink. My father would never allow it.” You and your tender sensibilities. You and your innocent nature. Logan thought about how easy it would be to have his way with you. You wouldn’t fight, wouldn’t scream, wouldn’t so much as make a peep. You’d be too entranced by the way his fingers slide along your tongue and his length snuggle sits way into the walls of your unused cunt.

Logan hummed softly. “You wanna?” He watched the way your eyes shifted as you considered it, a world within your grasp if you just had the courage to reach for it. He’d give it to you, all of it, a universe of worldly pleasures. Why restrict yourself now to go to heaven when you can have heaven on Earth right here?

“I shouldn’t.” Your voice is slow and unsure. All you needed was a little push and you’d tip right over the edge into depravity. That’s the thing about little girls like you, you long for a touch of what’s beyond you but you’re always too scared to get it.

Logan stood up to his staggering height, all legs and muscular torso. “Come on, no one will know but me and you.” He offered a hand to you and after a moment of hesitation, you placed your hand in his large palm and let him pull you up to your feet and guide you into his house. It was a world you had never before seen, rustic and dark, smelling so strongly of Logan you thought you might faint.

He had a whole cabinet for his alcohol, bottles of scotch, whiskey, and bourbon. Logan grabbed a bottle out of the cabinet along with a whiskey glass for you to sip out of. He poured some out and you watched with utter fascination. The golden brown liquid long kept from you for fear you may lose your spot in Heaven. Worldly pleasures such as drinking doomed you to Hell.

“Come here, doll.” Logan coaxed you towards him with two fingers as he sat down on his couch, legs open just enough to offer you a comfortable seat on his thighs. You trembled like a newborn deer, scared of this strange, new world you’ve found yourself in. He brought you into his lap, his hands resting on your thigh as he pushed the glass of whiskey into your hand. “Go ahead and try it.”

You looked into the glass, golden brown sloshing around. It didn’t look so intimidating, like drinking Coca-Cola. But it didn’t taste like Coca-Cola when you lifted the glass to your lips and took a sip. It tasted bitter and burned your throat as it went down. “I don’t like it.” You pouted softly, turning to look over your shoulder at Logan. His fingers slowly began to gather the fabric of your skirt, pulling it up your thigh. “Just keep drinking, doll.”

You were a good girl. You did as told, entirely unaware of the way his fingers kept pulling at your skirt until it was entirely up your thigh. You felt his rough fingertips against your bare flesh and shivered as he traced figure 8s into your skin. “Mr. Howlett?”

“Shh, keep drinking.” Logan murmured as he felt up your thigh, closer and closer to your heated cunt. You writhed in his lap, simultaneously uncomfortable and aroused as you felt his rough fingers brush against the damp fabric of your cotton panties. The stuck to your pussy lips, wet and sensitive as he pressed his thumb to your clit through the fabric and began to rub. Logan took his free hand and pushed the cup back to your lips, tilting it to force you to drink.

Logan couldn’t help himself. You were here, splayed out before him for the taking. He’d be stupid not to take advantage of, take advantage of you. You didn't fight it, just as he had expected, like a good girl. “Spread your legs now.” He clicked his tongue and crooned into your ear.

Trembling, you shook your head. “I– I can't.” Your voice, all small and meek, only made his pants tighter. You could feel it, the bulge against your ass through his jeans. Or maybe that was the large buckle against his pelvis.

“Yeah you can. Open up, doll.” He shifted you slightly so that you were sitting on one of his thighs. He used his leg to part yours a bit further, skillfully. He’s had many girls in his lap, none as pretty as you.

Logan stroked your quivering cunt. “What a wet little girl you are. You been thinking about this, pretty girl?” He bounced you on his thigh and let you slide further into his fingers. A stifled whimper escaped you as you braced yourself against him. “Mr. Howlett– please.” You pleaded for your innocence, for your integrity. Most importantly, you begged for him not to expose your innermost thoughts. The sinful way you look at him, all muscle and hair and man.

Your fingers grasped at his wrist and forearm, nails digging into his skin. It wasn't like you were trying to move his hand, not like you could if you wanted you.

You gasped as he curled a finger into the side of your soaked panties and pulled them to the side. Your cheeks began to swell with the heat of embarrassment. Of course, you never expected to have any sexual experience before marriage so you hadn't shaved between your legs. Logan didn't mind at all it seemed, his finger dipped between your lovely lips and stroked in tender touches.

You squirmed in his lap, whimpering. “Mr. Howlett, I…I shouldn't. Please.” His thumb pressed on your puffy clit, pulsing with arousal, and you choked as the electrifying jolts of pleasure shooting through your body. You had ever been touched like this before, not even by yourself. Logan’s experienced fingers circled your leaking entrance, teasing at all the possibilities of pleasure.

“No one has to know, doll.” Grunted Logan. He felt the way your pussy fluttered, the whole thing aching with want. He eased a single finger into you, sighing out a sweet “Jesus” at the way your walls clamped down around him. You let out a squeal, back arching away from him, your nails sinking into his hairy forearm. Your entire body shivered. “Too big,” you murmured, “‘s too big.”

You were small, tight, and already complaining that a single finger was too much. How could he possibly fit his fat cock into your cunt? Logan was sure he'd tear you in half, his precious girl. “Relax, grab that bottle and drink some more, baby. It’ll help you loosen up.”

With a shaky hand, you reached out and grabbed the bottle off the table in front of you. You brought it to your lips and sipped at the liquid while Logan rubbed your hip with his free hand. “Good girl. I gonna keep going now.” You shook your head viciously. “No, no, no, ‘m not ready.”

He cared not for your concerns. Free hand pulling your legs apart, Logan curled pulled his finger from your gripping cunt before sliding it back in. You were all warm and soft on the inside, just like you were on the outside, even more so. You squeaked and squealed in his lap, his thumb attacking your clit in ferocious circles.

It’s a feeling you’ve never experienced before, being fucked with a single thick finger. You mewled, mind growing hazy as your hips rocked against your will. Logan knew you wouldn't be able to handle a second finger. He’d rupture your hymen and he wanted to save that honor for when he pushed himself into you and possessed you completely.

You were dripping down his knuckles. He fingered you so hard and fast, you nearly screamed as you thrashed in his lap. “Mmmh ah, ah… ngh.” Something wet trickled out of you and down Logan's hand, clear and dripping. A weak, little squirt, followed by a much larger one.

“I– I’m sorry, I didn't…” You panted out, whining. Logan cooed lowly in your ear. “Got myself a squirter.” He chuckled, a nice puddle on his leg and couch from your sweet show of pleasure. He curled his finger, messaging your soft walls in desperate search of that soft ridge where your g-spot lay.

When he found it, Logan smiled, chucking as you yelped and cried out, a rattling moan shivering up your spine. You tried to slow his hand, grasping and scratching at his arm. You fell back against his chest, legs splayed open while he took the time to abuse your pretty cunt. “You okay, doll?”

You whined vaguely, hazily, your body rolling then slumping, tensing then relaxing. “I– It feels weird.” Something was building within you. Something tight and breathtakingly beautiful. Tears pricked your eyes, wide and pretty, weeping with the brutality of your orgasm, pressing on the edge of unknown pleasures.

And it snapped like a rubber band. Everything that had been held back released all at once, ravishing your body to the point where there goes pointed in your Mary Jane's and your back arched. Shaking, you clawed at Logan's arm so hard you left bright red marks lining his flesh. “Mr. Howlett!”

“Shh, shh, don't want the neighbors to hear you, do you doll?” Logan slowed his hand, pulling his finger from your aching pussy. His entire hand dripped with your cum, sweet and creamy, some slick with your squirt. “Open up, little one.” He teased the tips of his fingers to your lips like he had that glass of whiskey. Coaxing your mouth open, Logan slipped his fingers between your lips and pressed his fingers to your tongue.

You tasted nice, sweet. Your body unmarred by the poison of excessive alcohol, smoking, or junk food. You were clean and pure, untouched by anyone but him. Logan loved it, knowing that he’s the first man to ever touch you. The knowledge was almost as good as an orgasm by itself. You were his, he possessed you. You were his before you were anyone else's.

When you stood, skirt falling back down to your knees, your legs trembled with the aftershock of your first orgasm. You let out a deep, shaky breath, trembling as you turned to look at Logan’s sitting figure. “M–M–Mr. Howlett.” It’s all you could manage to say to him, choking. You had been violated; your sacred temple desecrated.

And you liked it.

Logan hiked himself up to his feet from his couch and stood before you, towering. His hands on your hips, he pulled you in close to him. You braced yourself with your hands against his solid chest. Your cheeks were still wet with tears which Logan wiped away with the pads of his thumbs. “Why don’t you come back tomorrow, doll?”

You were such a good, obedient girl. You nodded slowly. “Yes sir.”

“Good girl.”

#wolverine #wolverine x fem!reader #logan howlett x reader #logan howlett x fem!reader #logan howlett smut #wolverine smut #wolverine x men

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vixeneptune · 1 year ago

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See yourself being perceived by others in this light bc you already are such a remarkable beauty to witness

Pov : everyone who sees you says this about your looks

"Omg you're drop dead GORGEOUS 😍 "

"HOW are you so pretty 😭😭 what's your secret"

" you're literally the prettiest girl I've ever seen I'm not even kidding"

"Your eyes are so mesmerizing wow😍 ..I'm in love"

"U have the most perfect lips"

"Ur eyebrows are always on fleek"

"I love how long and thick ur eyelashes are"

"You're so beautiful I'm obsessed"

"Ur skin is literally FLAWLESS"

"I'm convinced you're a real life goddess"

"I looove ur hair it looks so healthy and soft and luscious "

"How are u even real? U look so ethereal and out of this world!"

"Ur beauty has me daydreaming and writing poems"

"Ur beauty alone leaves an unforgettable mark on everyone"

"I can't fathom how pretty you are"

"Everything about u is perfect, like youre unbelievably stunning"

"What's it like being the most beautiful girl in the world?😍"

"U have this kind of beauty thats so captivating, haunting and addictive to look at"

"I love ur stylee u always look so chic"

"You're such an eye-candy I could look at you forever"

"Ur face is literally my desired face, ur beauty is the standard"

"Girl I would kill to look like u"

"Ur beauty leaves me speechless everytime, how do u have that effect?"

"I don't think anyone who looks at u can resist falling in love w you"

"Has anyone ever told you how powerful your beauty is? Like it's dangerous how beautiful u are"

"Do you model? U literally have the body and looks for it"

"I love ur fashion sense , u give off IT girl vibes"

"Stop looking at me with those siren eyes 🫠"

Pov : people say this behind your back

"She's def the kind of girl who steals all the attention with her beauty when she walks into a room"

"Y/N had a huge glow up, she keeps getting prettier everytime I see her"

"She looks so stunning in pictures but wait till u see her irl its even better"

"I genuinely think she's the prettiest girl in existence"

"There's something about her beauty thats so hypnotic it sticks in ur mind"

"My heart starts beating so fast when she looks at me. Her beauty makes me nervous"

"Have you seen Y/N? she's the prettiest around here"

"She has that kind of beauty that everyone wanna copy"

"She's naturally beautiful like she doesn't even try"

💌💌💌

Let me know if u want more like this 💫

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misswynters · 2 months ago

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Headcanons: Sevika as your partner

Sevika as your lovely partner (lesbian wife)

warnings: nsfw themes below the banner, fluff

She will 100% be loyal to only you and take care of you.

Sevika has a soft side that she only shows around you. She’ll deny it if anyone else mentions it, but you catch her looking at you with a gentle, almost protective gaze. She’s not always good with words, but her actions (ex. making sure you’re comfortable) speak louder.

Sevika’s naturally protective and will go out of her way to take care of you in small, endearing ways. She’ll remind you to drink water, make sure you’re eating enough, and will even get a bit grumpy if you neglect yourself.

Behind closed doors, Sevika loves it when you lean into her or snuggle up on her shoulder. She’ll casually drape an arm around you while watching something together, or pull you onto her lap when you’re alone. The moment anyone else is around, though, she’s back to her gruff self.

After a long day, Sevika loves just lying in bed with you, talking about anything and everything. She rarely opens up, but at night, she’s more vulnerable and lets you in on her thoughts and memories of growing up in the Undercity. Those quiet moments are when she’s the softest and most open.

Sevika has learned a few recipes over the years and will occasionally surprise you by cooking a simple but delicious meal. She loves watching your face light up when you taste her food, and even though she’d act nonchalant, it clearly makes her happy to see you appreciate her cooking.

Sevika has a secret stash of pet names just for you, like “sweetheart” or “love.” Her voice goes a little softer when she calls you by them, and she usually tries to keep them reserved for quiet, intimate moments. But you’ve caught her murmuring them under her breath more often than she realizes.

She tries to keep up her tough exterior, but sometimes you catch her doing little things like gently brushing a stray hair from your face or adjusting your clothes to keep you warm. When you point it out, she just grunts and tries to change the subject, but it’s clear she’s letting her guard down with you.

Sevika gives you these soft, almost awed looks when she thinks you’re not paying attention. It’s as if she can’t believe someone as sweet and kind as you has a place in her life, and she’s quietly grateful for it.

Sevika knows how to take charge, and she’s not shy about it. Whether she’s guiding you with a firm hand or whispering orders into your ear, she makes it clear that she’s in control. She loves seeing you respond to her authority and takes pride in knowing you trust her to lead.

She doesn’t flaunt it, but Sevika can be a little possessive. She’ll wrap an arm around you in crowded places, keeping others at bay with a glare. When she’s with you, she makes sure everyone knows you’re hers without saying a word. There’s something reassuring and thrilling about her subtle displays of ownership.

Sevika exudes a quiet confidence that makes you feel safe and wanted. She’s incredibly attentive, learning every little thing that makes you melt and using it to her advantage. She’s slow and thorough, making sure you feel every touch, every kiss, knowing exactly how to leave you breathless.

Sevika loves taking her time. She knows exactly how to make you flustered with lingering touches and meaningful glances, enjoying every little reaction. Whether it’s a hand on your lower back or a low whisper in your ear, she’s a master of the slow burn, watching your anticipation build until you’re practically begging for her attention.

Her voice drops an octave when she’s in a dominant mood, each word wrapped in a tone that sends shivers down your spine. She knows the effect it has on you, and she’ll use it to her advantage, murmuring softly but firmly as she takes her time with you, savoring every moment.

Sevika may be strong and powerful, but she’s also incredibly careful with you. She holds you with a gentle firmness that makes you feel secure, as if she could shield you from the world. Her hands move with precision, every touch deliberate, giving you the perfect balance between strength and tenderness.

Sevika is unafraid to give you all her attention. She watches your reactions as you take her, focusing on what you need, and isn’t satisfied until she’s sure she’s left you thoroughly happy and exhausted. It’s an intense, almost possessive attention that makes you feel cherished and adored in a way that leaves you craving her touch.

Oh! also she has a playful side to her dominance, often teasing you just to see how much you’ll blush or squirm. She loves making you flustered with a smirk, reveling in the way you react to her touch or voice. It’s her way of showing her affection and keeping things light-hearted even when she’s completely in control.

Like in my previous writing, she’s into biting! it don’t matter where you bite her. on her shoulder, hand, etc. SHE WILL ENJOY IT!! (trust me!)

Her favorite positions (with strap) would be the mating press and missionary. If it’s a quickie then i’d say standing up. AND 69. can’t forget about that. She be eating you out more than you would. Absolutely wild

Using a hexcore strap whenever she wants to, though there could be an occasional switch where she would ask you to use it on her. Especially when she’s feeling lazy.

taglist: @444fernz @kylorey25 @prentisslove @lilfroggyy @kissyslut @ab2ysw1fe @xxblairslairxx @cestlaprincesa

banner: @cafekitsune

#sevika arcane #arcane characters #sevika #sevika fics ⟠ ࣪ .#sevika headcanon #sevika x reader #sevika x you #arcane masterlist #arcane x reader #arcane x y/n #arcane x you #sevika smut #arcane smut

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gothicfied · 17 days ago

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Kang Dae-ho / Player 388 Headcanons

Pairing: Kang Dae-ho / Player 388 x Reader

Warnings: Mentions of death/dying (typical squid game stuff), other than that it's just fluff

જ⁀➴ Considering the nature of this environment and the people you're surrounded by, you didn't speak up or made yourself noticeable at all. You kept your thoughts and worries to yourself, pretending like it didn't bother you that the players around you were being killed off left and right. And, it worked: no one seemed to bother you or notice you in the first place. Except for one guy.

જ⁀➴ Your bed was directly under Dae-ho's. After being so rattled up by Red-Light-Green-Light, you just sat there on the thin mattress, staring down at your food. The commotion next to you about Gi-hun, a previous winner of these games, didn't interest you at all. Your attention was drawn to Dae-ho though, when he dropped down from his bed with a loud thud.

"Oh," he looked at you with a concerned look, "hey there. Are you okay?"

જ⁀➴ Kickstarting your 'friendship', if a friendship is even possible in this place, you were kindly accepted into Gi-hun's little group, alongside In-ho, Dae-ho and Jung-bae. From the beginning, it seemed like Dae-ho was more concerned with your wellbeing than his own. He'd often share his meals with you, as a general act of kindness. And, it warmed your heart, considering he kept nagging Jung-bae for his milk or water or whatever it was.

જ⁀➴ He'd always keep you an arms length away from him at most, feeling responsible for your survival during the games. He was a marine after all, he needed to protect you, no matter what was to come. You'd show your appreciation with hugs and endless thank-you's when saved from literal death. Dae-ho would just laugh it off, claiming that you'd do the same for him. And you definitely would.

જ⁀➴ Dae-ho's a sweet guy with a good heart, refusing to continue the games in the next voting, even if it meant he couldn't pay off his debt completely. Not only did he hate to see other players die (obviously), but he was genuinely scared to lose one of his friends. Especially you. He developed an undeniable adoration for you and he was determined to get you out of here, so that he actually has a chance of living a normal life with you.

જ⁀➴ Your presence alone made him nervous, in the good way, of course. While the others started to notice, you seemed to be oblivious. You'd accept every little compliment with a smile, say something nice back and then go on with your task, completely missing the fact that Dae-ho's cheeks were turning a bright pink. And, to be honest, he was really glad you didn't seem to notice at first.

જ⁀➴ Before lights out, he'd lean down and whisper a quiet "Good night." and after you wake up, you'd be greeted by a fairly cheery "Good morning!". Dae-ho just needed to reassure himself that you were safe and alive, wanting to be the last thing you see when you go to sleep and the first thing you see in the morning, too.

જ⁀➴ When it was your turn to guard the makeshift safety spot that Gi-hun made you guys set up, Dae-ho would stay up alongside you. He'd tell you to go back to sleep and that he could handle doing a double shift, but you refused, wanting to have some alone time with him. His voice was soothing in a stressful time like this and he, somehow, always found the right words to say to calm you down.

"Look, I know we didn't meet under the right circumstances by any means," he started, tucking some of his hair behind his ear, "but I'm still glad we did. You're really brave, you know?" You just chuckled, leaning your head on his shoulder. "I'm really glad we met, too."

જ⁀➴ Whenever Dae-ho was showing signs of distress or discomfort, you'd try to distract him or comfort him by side-hugging him and speaking reassuring words. You noticed that, while he did his best to protect everyone, he definitely needed that as well from time to time.

જ⁀➴ When not being able to sleep at night, you'd sit up and look if Dae-ho was awake as well. For some reason, as if he had developed a sixth sense for you, he'd wake up, feeling your eyes on him. If you try to apologize he'd wave it off, inviting you up to his bed to talk.

જ⁀➴ Even if these beds were small for two people, you'd manage to lay down comfortably, his one arm wrapped around your waist, to keep you from falling off. Your head rests against his chest while you talked his ears off about something Dae-ho couldn't focus on. His mind was just filled with you and the feeling of your body against his.

જ⁀➴ You guys definitely fell asleep like that.

જ⁀➴ And Jung-bae definitely made everyone look before waking you up.

#squid game #squid game season 2 #squid game fanfic #squid game x reader #squid games x reader #kang dae ho #player 388 #player 388 x reader #kang dae ho x reader

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cruel-seduction · 2 months ago

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Theodore Nott Headcanons

Warning: This piece contains themes of possessiveness, obsessive behavior, and dark romance undertones. Theodore’s devotion might be overwhelming, intense, and not suited for everyone’s taste. Reader discretion is advised.

(+ Requests are open so if you wanna request something, go ahead)

mdni 18+

Theodore Nott

6’4 | He’s taller than Mattheo, and yes, he lords it over him (quietly, of course, because Theo is above petty behavior… unless it’s funny).

Lean, but don’t be fooled—this man is cut. He’s that deadly kind of fit where you don’t notice at first because he’s always wearing loose sweaters and looking like a poetry major. But the second the sleeves roll up? Oh. My. God. Veins for DAYS, hands strong enough to snap a wand in half (or your will to argue).

He doesn’t work out. Like, ever. He’s just naturally like this. Probably from lugging around all those dark magic books and the emotional weight of his trauma (we love a man with issues!).

(He could choke you with one hand while quoting Dante and your ghost would thank him. RESPECTFULLY!)

Has that sleepy, “don’t bother me, I’m too cool for this” kind of vibe. Until he’s pissed, and suddenly it’s quiet rage central. A single glare from him could silence an entire Great Hall—and probably has.

His abs? Unfair. They’re there, but in the casual, effortless way that makes you want to cry because why do they look that good without trying? If you’re lucky enough to see him shirtless (bless your soul), you’ll be rethinking your life decisions.

Quidditch player energy without ever actually playing. His thing? Sitting in the stands, sipping black coffee, and judging everyone while looking hot.

"YOU WANNA KNOW IF I’D FOLLOW THEODORE INTO A CURSED FOREST AT MIDNIGHT JUST BECAUSE HE SAID SO??? THE ANSWER IS YES. I’D GO, NO QUESTIONS ASKED."

You think he’s calm and controlled until you see him in a duel, and suddenly he’s throwing hexes like he’s possessed. It’s giving “do-not-poke-the-bear” energy, and it’s hot.

His smirk? Criminal. It’s the kind of smirk that makes you forget how to breathe for a second and then hate yourself because he definitely knows the effect it has on people.

“Mia cara,” he says, and you’re done for. No wand needed. He just obliterated your whole existence.

Theodore Nott | Personality

He’s quiet, but it’s that kind of quiet. The "I could verbally destroy you with a single sentence but choose not to because I have better things to do" kind of quiet.

(WE LOVE A MAN WITH RESTRAINED CHAOS!!! IT’S SO SEXY!!!)

His reputation is split down the middle. People either think he’s the chillest guy in Slytherin or they’re low-key terrified of him. There is no in-between. He doesn’t go out of his way to make people uncomfortable, but if you catch his bad side? RIP to you, my friend.

Very composed most of the time, but don’t mistake that for softness. Theo doesn’t raise his voice; he raises his eyebrow. And somehow, that’s worse.

"You really thought that was a good idea? Cute."

Stone-cold when it comes to confrontations. No yelling, no theatrics—just a quiet menace that makes you wish he’d scream at you instead because this is SO MUCH WORSE.

However, if it’s for his friends? Oh, baby, the gloves come off. Someone messes with Mattheo? He’s done. Someone insults you? They’re not showing up to class tomorrow. He’s terrifyingly efficient when it comes to protecting the people he loves.

Doesn’t talk a lot in fights, but his insults are cutting when they come out. And he does it with a smirk that makes you want to both slap him and kiss him.

"What’s the matter? Spellbook too heavy for you? Or is it just that your brain isn’t working?"

Unlike Mattheo, he doesn’t get in trouble for starting fights. Oh no, Theo’s the one who talks his way out of detention, leaving the professors wondering how they ended up apologizing to him.

Let’s be real, Theo has layers. He’s the kind of guy who looks calm and put together on the outside, but his mind? A mess. Overthinks everything, but you’ll never know it because he’s mastered the art of hiding his emotions. (He’s good at this, but it’s also probably why he sleeps like four hours a night.)

Moody, but in a subtle way. You’ll notice when he’s upset because he’ll get even quieter, or start tapping his fingers on the table. He’s not the type to vent about it—he’ll just say “it’s nothing” while his jaw clenches so hard you swear you hear it crack.

Theo loves order. He’s a perfectionist and gets mildly stressed when things don’t go according to plan. He doesn’t lose his temper, though—he just sighs dramatically and mutters something in Italian like "Per l’amor del cielo..."

(BILINGUAL KINGS ARE UNFAIR. WHAT DO YOU MEAN HE CAN INSULT ME IN TWO LANGUAGES?)

A total academic weapon. Not because he tries super hard, but because he’s just naturally brilliant and does the bare minimum to get top marks. He can explain a spell you’ve been struggling with for days in five seconds flat, like it’s the easiest thing in the world.

Always looks like he’s in control, but put him in social situations? Total disaster. Theo’s not awkward, but he doesn’t do small talk. Half the time, he just nods politely and hopes whoever’s talking gets the hint.

Has the driest sense of humor. He’ll drop a sarcastic one-liner so deadpan you’re not even sure if he’s joking.

"I think your essay was… bold. Choosing to write it in such a confusing way must’ve been a creative choice."

Drinks coffee like it’s water. Black coffee, of course. None of that sugary stuff, though he secretly loves when you make him try your sweet drink.

Doesn’t like parties but goes because the group makes him. He’s the guy sitting on the couch, watching everyone else make fools of themselves while holding a drink he hasn’t touched. (He’s your ride home because you know he’s always sober enough to apparate responsibly.)

Theodore Nott | Boyfriend

Ah, Theodore Nott, the walking paradox of calculated charm and quiet vulnerability. Having him as your boyfriend is like playing chess against a master—except the stakes are your heart, and he already has you in checkmate before you even realize the game started.

Manipulation, Thy Name is Theo:Theodore isn’t one to beg for your love; oh no, he’s too smooth for that. Instead, he’ll make sure you think choosing him was your idea all along.

He’ll subtly nudge you into needing him.

He anticipates your desires before you even say them aloud:

"Thirsty? I grabbed your favorite drink. Tired? Don’t worry, I already finished that essay you were stressing about."

He’s not loud about his possessiveness, but it’s there. You don’t realize it at first, but suddenly, every other guy who tries to get too close to you is either giving you a wide berth or “just happened” to fail their next exam. Coincidence? With Theo, nothing is a coincidence.

(We love a man who’s low-key terrifying but only in a protective way!)

How He Realized He Was in Love:Theo didn’t believe in love. Love was messy, uncontrollable, and entirely too risky for someone who thrived on precision and control. But then you came along, and everything changed.

It was slow at first. He didn’t notice it happening until one day, you smiled at him across the library, and he felt his carefully constructed walls crack.

And then it hit him.

“Merlin, I’m in love with her.”

Of course, Theo didn’t panic outwardly. No, he spent the next week internally spiraling.

"What does this mean?"

"What if she doesn’t feel the same way?"

"How do I tell her without sounding like an idiot?"

Eventually, he decided that subtlety was overrated. One evening, while you were sitting in his dorm, flipping through one of his books, he just said it.

"I love you."

You froze, unsure if you heard him correctly. He didn’t look away, his intense gaze pinning you in place.

"You don’t have to say it back. I just needed you to know."

Affection, Theo Style:Theo isn’t flashy or over-the-top, but he’s deeply romantic in his own way.

Words of Praise: He’s a master of compliments that don’t feel like compliments until you think about them later.

"You’re too brilliant for this school, you know that?""How do you manage to look stunning even when you’re furious with me?""You’re the only person who’s ever managed to make me lose focus, mia cara."

Subtle Acts of Service: He’s always doing things for you without making a big deal out of it. Your favorite quill broke? There’s a new one on your desk the next day. You’re stressed about a test? He’ll quiz you until you feel confident (and then reward you with a kiss for every right answer).

The Praise Kink Is Real, Babe:Theo doesn’t just praise you to make you feel good. He needs you to know how much he adores you. Whether it’s your intelligence, your kindness, or just the way you look in his sweater, he’s always quick to remind you of your worth.

"You’re too good for me, you know that?" he murmurs against your ear, his hand resting on your hip. "But don’t think for a second I’ll ever let you go."

(Is it hot in here or is it just Theo?)

The Possessiveness Comes Out in Subtle Ways:

At parties, his hand is always resting somewhere on you—your lower back, your shoulder, your thigh. A quiet signal to everyone else: She’s mine.

If someone flirts with you, he doesn’t cause a scene. Instead, he’ll step in with that dangerously calm demeanor, his words laced with thinly veiled threats.

"I believe you’re in my seat." Translation: Touch her again, and you’ll regret it.

Theodore, the Unexpected Softie:For someone so composed, Theo is surprisingly soft when it’s just the two of you.

He loves curling up with you on the couch, one arm draped over your shoulders while he reads aloud from a book he thinks you’d enjoy.

Sleeps with one hand always touching you—your waist, your hand, your hair. It’s the only time he truly relaxes.

Occasionally whispers “I don’t deserve you” when he thinks you’re asleep.

Having Theo as a boyfriend is a rollercoaster of intensity and tenderness. He’s the type to protect you from the world while also making you feel like you’re the center of his universe. And honestly? We’d ride that roller coaster over and over again.

Theodore Nott | Obsessive Devotion

If Mattheo is chaos in bed, Theodore is calculated destruction. Theo doesn’t rush—no, he takes his time. He knows every move, every word, every touch is designed to drive you absolutely insane.

The Slow Burn King:Theo isn’t just about getting you off; he’s about making you beg. He’s not the type to drag you into the nearest broom closet and go at it like a madman. No, Theo prefers to let the tension build—catching your eye across the library with a smirk, his hand brushing yours during dinner, leaning in close to whisper something sinful in your ear when no one else is looking.

"You’re squirming, mia cara. Tell me, what’s on your mind?"

Possessive but Polished:He loves control—holding you still with a firm grip while his mouth works wonders between your thighs. Theo thrives on the sound of your moans and whimpers, each one a confirmation that you belong to him.

But don’t get it twisted: his possessiveness is refined. He’s not shouting it from the rooftops; instead, he’s branding it into your skin with every kiss, every bite, every low growl of, “Mine.”

(We love a man who can ruin our lives with just one look.)

Praise You Like a Goddess:Theo is the king of praise. He’s not subtle about how much he worships you, and he makes sure you know it.

"You’re so perfect, amore mio. I could stay like this forever, just watching you fall apart for me."

He’ll kiss every inch of your skin like it’s holy ground. He’ll tell you how beautiful you are when you’re flushed, trembling, and completely at his mercy.

And if you praise him back? Game over. Tell him he’s a good boy, and suddenly you’ve unlocked the most obedient, eager-to-please version of Theo. He’ll do anything to hear you say it again.

Control with a Dash of Chaos:Theo’s not loud, but his intensity is deafening. He thrives on being in control, but sometimes he loves to break his own rules. If you push him just enough—maybe tease him in public or drag him into a forbidden situation—he’ll snap in the most delicious way.

"You think you can play games with me? Let me show you how this ends, bella."

Experimentation, but Make It Sophisticated:Theo isn’t one to dive into wild kinks without purpose, but he’s creative when it comes to trying new things.

Silk ties? Check.

Blindfolds? Of course.

Whispering Latin endearments in your ear while he has you completely at his mercy? A standard Tuesday night.

And don’t get me started on the way he uses his fingers—this man could write symphonies with how skillfully he plays your body like an instrument.

Stamina for Days:Don’t let his cool demeanor fool you—Theo can and will go for hours. He has the patience to draw out every moment until you’re gasping and begging for release, and then he’ll do it all over again.

"Oh no, dolcezza. We’re not finished yet. Not until I’ve had my fill of you."

Switch Theo = UNLOCKED:Normally, Theo’s the one in control, but when you take charge? When you straddle his hips, grip his jaw, and order him to behave? He’s putty in your hands.

"Tell me what you want, bella. Anything—it’s yours."

And the best part? He loves it. Watching you take what you want from him, hearing you praise him as he falls apart under your touch—it’s enough to drive him to the brink every single time.

In Private, He’s All Yours:While Theo keeps his emotions tightly guarded in public, behind closed doors, he’s all in. He loves to hold you afterward, running his fingers through your hair and whispering sweet nothings as you both come down from the high.

"You’re everything, you know that? My whole world."

Having Theodore Nott as a lover is like being the muse of a masterpiece—every touch, every word, every moment is designed to make you feel like the most desired person on the planet. And honestly? We’re not complaining

♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡

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devotedlyandrogynousyouth · 1 month ago

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Imagine Softie!Jason. To everyone else, he's a bit mean and standoffish. But to you, that man is a Simp and a half. Anything you want or need, he gets you. You say a coworker was mean to you at work, they're apologizing the next day. You linger at a shop window looking at a sweater... it's delivered to your apartment by the end of the week. He's being a little mean to someone at a bar and ready to fight, all you have to do is say his name and smile and he backs down. You have a stressful day, that man makes you cum until you beg him to stop and even then 'just one more... you got one more'.

Unf.

Oh, anon, i think you've low key stolen my heart. I love the idea of jay being soft like that<3

Soft! Jason Todd x Reader

Soft! Jason Todd who loves to hold your hand in public, but will always be looking around to make sure no one is too close to you. He might act like it's no big deal, but he's silently watching, ready to jump into action if someone steps out of line. When you hold his hand back, though, he calms down instantly, finding comfort in your touch.

Soft! Jason Todd who insists on carrying all the heavy bags for you, even when you tell him you’re fine. He acts like it’s no big deal, but you can tell he secretly loves being able to do something for you. He’ll always find a way to carry your stuff, whether it's groceries or a backpack, just to make sure you're not burdened.

Soft! Jason Todd who has a habit of brushing your hair out of your face when you're distracted. He’s rough around the edges but, when it comes to you, he’s gentle, as though every touch is an apology for the harsh world he’s lived in. He’ll do it casually, but there's a softness in his eyes when you catch him.

Soft! Jason Todd who would rather risk a fight with anyone who disrespects you than let you deal with any kind of discomfort. He may look like he’s trying to start something, but the second you look at him with a calm expression, he shuts down, knowing you're the one who can stop his rage. His love for you is his anchor.

Soft! Jason Todd who hates seeing you upset. He’ll try to hide his concern under a facade of indifference, but if you’re upset for too long, he becomes clingy. He’ll either silently pull you into his arms or buy you your favorite food in an attempt to make things better, even if he doesn't know the words.

Soft! Jason Todd who’s always watching your back. No matter where you are, he’s like a shadow, always making sure you’re safe. He’ll act tough, but the minute you say, “I’m fine, Jason, stop worrying,” he’s immediately soft and obedient, stepping back but never really leaving.

Soft! Jason Todd who’s surprisingly shy when it comes to complimenting you. He’ll say something like “You're looking good” in that adorable, gruff tone and look away, but his cheeks betray him with a faint blush. He’ll never admit it, but he can’t stop stealing glances at you when you’re not looking.

Soft! Jason Todd who doesn’t mind if you steal his hoodie. In fact, he loves it when you wear it, and he’ll sneak little glances at you, unable to hide the grin spreading across his face. It’s his subtle way of showing you how much you mean to him without saying a word.

Soft! Jason Todd who likes to surprise you with little gestures of affection. He might leave your favorite snack on your bed or clean up your space when you’re too busy. He doesn't expect recognition, but seeing your smile is more than enough for him.

Soft! Jason Todd who gets worried about you when you're out in public, even if you can take care of yourself. He'll scan the room like a hawk, looking for any potential threat, even if it’s just a crowded store. The second you notice and smile at him, he relaxes, his jaw unclenching.

Soft! Jason Todd who never really shows it, but he loves being the one you rely on. When you need something, whether it’s help with a problem or simply a listening ear, he’ll be there without question. His protective nature is fueled by his deep love for you, even if he doesn’t always express it directly.

Soft! Jason Todd who secretly loves the thought of having you around, even when he's pushing you away. He might act like he’s fine being on his own, but he’ll subtly make sure you’re still close. He’ll start with something like, "You don’t have to stay here," but as soon as you do, his demeanor softens and he’ll quietly be grateful.

Soft! Jason Todd who doesn’t let anyone else touch you without a heavy dose of protectiveness. He may be joking around one moment, but if another guy even looks at you the wrong way, he becomes serious, standing in between you and the person. You can count on him to take care of anything that threatens your space, whether physical or emotional.

Soft! Jason Todd who sometimes gets lost in the little things. Whether it’s the way you laugh or the warmth of your hand in his, he takes note of every detail that makes you, you. Even though he won’t say it out loud, he’s always thinking about how lucky he is to have you in his life.

Soft! Jason Todd who can’t help but stare at you when you're concentrating or absorbed in something. He loves how you get lost in what you're doing, and he admires your focus. His gaze is intense, but he’ll play it cool when you catch him, pretending he wasn’t watching but secretly smirking to himself.

Soft! Jason Todd who turns into a grumpy mess when he sees you in distress. Whether you're upset over something small or big, he’s all action, immediately trying to fix whatever's wrong. He may act like he doesn’t want to talk about feelings, but he’ll listen to yours until the issue is resolved.

Soft! Jason Todd who loves to cuddle with you when you're both home after a long day. He’ll pull you close, acting like he's just tired, but secretly, it’s the only time he feels at peace. When you trace your fingers through his hair, he’ll relax completely and maybe even drift off to sleep.

Soft! Jason Todd who can't help the way his hands begin to wander to massage the fat and muscle of your inner thighs. His thick fingers tend to wander beneath your shirt before snaking under the waistband of your pants to gently dig them into your skin.

Soft! Jason Todd who still acts completely normal as he does so, his eyes still focused on the TV on the wall at the foot of your bed. If you knew any better, you'd think that he didn't even notice how bold his touches had grown. This has happened a few too many times for you not to know better, but no efforts were made to stop him.

Soft! Jason Todd who, before you know it, is rubbing slow, languid circles on your clit through your panties. The friction is almost frustratingly slow, but after the shitty day that you've just experienced, you were thankful for any kind of distraction. You swear you almost let out a whimper just from his calloused fingertips brushing under the elastic of your underwear.

Soft! Jason Todd who takes everything as slow as possible, no matter what responsibilities he may have to deal with later on in the night. He knows that your day was less than ideal, but something about you all frazzled just gets him going. Plus, he knows for a fact that he can pull more orgasms out of you when you're so high-strung.

Soft! Jason Todd who doesn't even trail your panties down your legs and past your knees until you've cum on his fingers once or twice. As much as Jason loves to tease, he knows how uncomfortable your sticky, wet panties must be against your puffy and needy pussy.

Soft! Jason Todd who's kneeling on the ground between your plush thighs before you can even blink, his large hands holding onto your hips as if he'll drown when he lets go. His lips are much slower on your skin, however, as they trail light kisses up your thighs and leave small nips along the way.

Soft! Jason Todd who doesn't adjust his pace as you whine and beg, no matter how much you try to persuade him. Every little complaint you let out about him going too slow earns you a light slap to the side. "Jay, baby... Please. I've already had such a long day-" 'smack!' "Quit your yapping, doll face. You can be a good girl and wait."

Soft! Jason Todd who absolutely devours your weeping pussy once his tongue makes contact with your dripping folds. His muscle leaves absolutely no bit of skin untouched as he gives your pulsing clit a little suck every once in a while. He couldn't hold back his smirk when he looked up to see your eyes rolled back in utter ecstasy.

Soft! Jason Todd who's pace stays relentless, even as your fingers are tugging at his black and white locks. "Oh fuck... Fuck. Fuck. Fuck." The curses fall from your lips like a mantra as you tug on his head, unsure of whether you want to greedily pull him closer or push him away to avoid thr overstimulation that's bound to happen. "Quit pulling me away, ma." He mutters into your cunt, spitting on your already dripping folds as he worships you like a piece of art. "You had 'such a bad day,' right? You were just begging for me to touch this pussy. Let me do my job."

Soft! Jason Todd who ends up betwen your quivering thighs for hours on end, greedily licking up every single drop of your endless orgasms that seem to be ripping through you every few minutes. His strong nose is constantly bumping against your overstimulated clit. You're pretty sure that you've cum from that little of contact alone, at this point.

Soft! Jason Todd who literally has to be torn away from your weeping folds as your eyes water from how much you're feeling. Your glassy eyes are just so beautiful as you look down at him with sore fingers tangled into his hair. "Come on, baby..." He coos, pressing a gentle kiss to your thigh as if he hasn't been pleasuring you for the majority of the evening. "You can handle one more. I know this pretty pussy can handle one more for me."

Soft! Jason Todd who ends up making you squirt on his tongue three more times before he finally stops with a kiss to your achy, puffy clit. As always, he makes sure that you get a taste of yourself on his lips as he kisses you until your tears eventually slow to a stop.

Soft! Jason Todd who doesn't even get himself off on nights like this. The only time he allows himself to orgasm when you're upset is if he ruts himself into the side of the couch or if you want to take out some frustration by gagging on his large, thick cock.

Soft! Jason Todd who carries you to bed and wipes you off with the utmost care after overstimulation like this. Every single hickey he's left on your thighs gets kissed and every drop of your fluid mixed with his spit is carefully wiped away with a cool cloth. He makes sure that only the lighter blankets and comforters are left on the bed so that you don't get too hot as you try to come down from your endless highs of the night.

Soft! Jason Todd who is whispering praises into your hair until you fall asleep, one of his hands holding yours with entwined fingers and the other running soothing circles along your back. "You did so good for me, beautiful..." His voice is nothing more than a mumble amongst the ambience of Gotham City outside of his apartment. "I knew you had it in you, baby. I've got you now... No more stress for today. It's all over."

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