#STAB ME WITH A RAKE

[andy-clutterbuck]

Rick's leather sling | requested by EVERYONE

[lilac-melody]

Tomorrow marks my 6th day working at my new job and Monday will be my 7th/weekiversary....

[strangererotica]

SOAKED 𓇢𓆸

Anthony Bridgerton x Reader

EXPLICIT CONTENT | MINORS DNI

Summary: After Reader is stranded by a carriage mishap, she finds herself lost in an attempt to make her way home alone. Luckily for her, another carriage happens to cross her path, belonging to none other than the Viscount Bridgerton himself…

In keeping with Bridgerton’s vibe, Reader is a young woman with zero sexual knowledge or experience. I imagine she’s around nineteen or twenty years old and while she has had suitors, none of them have inspired in her the feelings Lord Bridgerton evokes…

While enjoying your evening ride, your carriage had broken down. To the great frustration of your driver, you’d insisted on walking home alone. It wasn’t in good taste, for a young woman to be out walking unattended. But you were in an exploring mood, and wanted to do your exploring alone. The company of your carriage driver was something you were honestly glad to be rid of.

Despite being reasonably close to town, you’d somehow managed to wander in the direction of the forest rather than home. Night was creeping closer, trees casting shadows across your path as you looked up at the sky, trying to find your bearings.

A large, cold drop of rain ‘plopped’ against your forehead, making you flinch. Several subsequent drops followed, till the situation quickly became a downpour. You raced for shelter beneath the trees, cursing under your breath as your ankle twisted on a large root sticking up from the ground. The trees were basically useless at shielding you from the rain, Autumn having stripped their branches almost entirely of leaves.

Your hat was soaked, its brim flattened against the sides of your head. The pretty dress you’d chosen to wear that afternoon was now caked with mud at the trim; you realized you must look incredibly foolish right now, but certainly not as foolish as you felt.

The sound of horses’ hooves approaching caught your attention. You looked down the road to see a carriage drawing closer, rain bouncing from its roof and sides. When the carriage came to a stop just by you, a stab of panic shot through your chest. What if it was someone you knew, discovering you out here looking a complete mess? And even worse, what if the carriage belonged to a man?

The carriage came to a full stop; the door swung open, and the handsome, familiar face of Anthony Bridgerton emerged. Your heart thumped inside your chest as his jet eyes raked over you, a mischievous smirk turning his lips upward. “Unusual night for a walk, Miss (Y/N),” he remarked, his tone playful.

Despite your embarrassment and the wet state of your clothing, you attempted a curtsy. “Indeed it is, Lord Bridgerton,” you replied. “I was out for an evening ride, when my carriage broke down.” You pointed past you, unsure of which direction you’d actually come from at this point.

“And your driver?” Anthony asked, seemingly unbothered by the rain pelting his hat and shoulders. “What of him? Am I to assume he left you unattended? At the-.” He bit his lip, running his eyes over your breasts, your nipples visible through the soaked material. “-Mercy of whomever should find you?” he finished.

You felt your cheeks going red, in spite of the chilly rain running down your skin. “It was my choice, I assure you,” you explained. “I insisted he allow me the chance to take some air, alone, on my journey home. I had not expected…” Your voice wavered, words failing you as Lord Bridgerton’s penetrating gaze made you weak.

“The rain?” he offered, an eyebrow lifted in amusement. “Understandable, Miss (Y/N). It seems I’ve found you absolutely drenched.” His eyes scanned your breasts and back up to your face.

Anthony tilted his head, acknowledging your ankle. You hadn’t noticed, but you’d been keeping your full weight off of it on purpose. “Your ankle,” he said, his tone sympathetic. “Is it sprained? You seem hesitant to apply pressure to it.”

“I twisted it on a raised root,” you explained. “It is not badly sprained. More of a discomfort, really-.”

“Regardless,” Lord Bridgerton interrupted. “Leaving you to manage on your own would be unconscionable. I insist-.” He extended his hand for you. “-That you allow me the honor of delivering you home.”

There was no way around it; you had to accept the offer. Taking a soggy step forward, you reached for Anthony’s hand and allowed him to help you into the carriage.

Immediately, you felt embarrassed by the way your wet clothes were dripping all over the carriage’s interior. The horses’ hooves sounded, followed by the familiar tug as the carriage was pulled forward. You could feel the Viscount’s gaze resting on you, but were too afraid to meet it. You’d harbored feelings for him for years, and had often wondered what it would feel like to have his attention fixed solely on you, to be the object of his interest. Now that you were in exactly such a situation, all of the practiced lines you’d rehearsed in your daydreams had completely vanished.

You pressed your thighs together, a familiar ache blossoming between them…a tightening, throbbing sensation similar to your heartbeat. You weren’t sure what it was, this odd pleasure mixed with pain; but you always felt it when you were in Lord Bridgerton’s presence, and sometimes, it occurred while simply thinking of him. You’d come to associate the feeling with Anthony, loving the sensation even as it frightened you. Not unlike your feelings for the Viscount himself.

“You needn’t worry about making a mess,” he remarked, and you froze. Because for a moment, you worried Anthony knew of what accompanied the feeling…the clear, slippery fluid that inevitably wound up wetting your inner thighs, whenever you thought of him.

He pointed to the seat across from him, which you were sitting on. Panic seized you, till you realized he was obviously speaking of the mess your rain-soaked clothing was making inside the carriage.

Your cheeks went rosy and warm again. Anthony noticed, and smiled slightly, as if holding onto a sweet secret that pleased him. “Upholstery can be mended,” he explained. “And on the subject of things that need mending…”

Anthony reached forward, taking hold of your injured ankle and lifting your foot to rest on his lap. Your eyes widened, lips parting in surprise. What could he possibly be thinking, touching you in such an intimate way?

You watched his fingers as they gently undid the laces of your boot. His eyes flicked up to meet yours, a wicked glimmer reflecting back at you. Anthony removed your boot, and delicately rolled the lace cuff of your sock downward, exposing your ankle. When his fingertips brushed your skin, the contact of his touch went straight to the aching space between your legs, as if a line were somehow connecting those parts of you.

A shiver ran through your body, your hips bucking as Anthony softly stroked your skin, coaxing his finger lower, till he was cradling your foot in his hand. Every subtle movement of his fingertips sent a flash of heat straight to your center, setting you ablaze with something you’d never felt before. The familiar throbbing between your legs was suddenly burning, the pleasure mixed with a pain that kept increasing, as if demanding some kind of release, though you didn’t know how to relieve it.

Anthony watched you with an unbearable intensity-could he not see that you were unwell?-his smile long departed and replaced with something darker, almost hungry, like the focus of a predator locked in on its prey. Your body jolted as if struck. Anthony observed your behavior in stoic silence-was he angry with you?-all the while continuing to delicately stroke your skin, as if he couldn’t see the way your body was completely overcome by his simple, tender ministrations. Tears burned behind your eyes as the ache within you throbbed harder and harder, pulsing in time with your racing heartbeat. You gripped the edge of your seat, your eyes squeezing shut, air leaving your body in gasps.

You realized you must have been dying…surely, there was no other way to explain this frenzy that had overtaken you. But just as you were sure you were dying…you were flying. The world went white in your field of vision, as the tension inside your lower body finally gave way. A brand new feeling, of absolute rapture and inexplicable bliss, pulsed at your core in waves, rippling and shattering its way through you. Relief washed over you, a light sheen of sweat covering your skin, chest heaving as you recovered from whatever beautiful, brutal attack your body had just endured.

Your eyes opened on Anthony, whose expression was even more intense than before. Certain that you’d upset him with your embarrassing fit, a sudden shame humbled you. “Forgive me, Lord Bridgerton,” you panted, tears welling in your eyes. “I am unwell. I do not know what came over me just now, but I must apologize for my intemperate behavior...”

Anthony’s expression softened, unlike his lap, which now felt stiff and uneven beneath your ankle. He cleared his throat, before assuring you that “everything is alright, (Y/N).” Hearing your name leave his lips, your first name and not your family name, was like hearing an angel speak. “You’ve done nothing wrong. And I promise, you are not unwell.” Lord Bridgerton’s eyebrow lifted slightly. “Quite the opposite, in fact,” he said.

“But-.” You watched as he rolled your sock back over your ankle. “-I must be ill, my Lord-.” Anthony slid your boot back over your foot. “-Or perhaps a demon momentarily seized hold of me-??” Anthony chuckled slightly, his eyes on the laces of your boot as he fixed them. “-I must rest,” you decided. “To make sure this doesn’t happen again...”

Anthony bit his lip and grinned. “Well,” he conceded. “Perhaps you’re right. Some time in bed might be just what you need…” Anthony leaned forward and took your hand in his. “…In case that frightful feeling returns.”

Your lips parted, his nearness an alarming reminder of the feeling he conjured within you, the aching pulse between your slippery thighs reigniting. “I…” You tried to speak but the words wouldn’t come, not with his hand holding yours, his lips so near to your skin-

-A rapping on the carriage lurched you from the trance you’d fallen in. You hadn’t even noticed that the carriage had stopped moving. A driver opened the door for you, offering his hand to help you out. “Thank you, Lord Bridgerton,” you said, exiting the carriage. “I’m so grateful for your assistance today.”

Anthony nodded politely, a warm smile on his face. “It was my pleasure, Miss (Y/N),” he said, and as you turned toward your home, “I’ll call on you later this week, to see how you’re recovering.”

You felt your heart rate kick up a notch. “…from your sprained ankle, Miss (Y/N),” Anthony clarified, though the suggestive glimmer in his eye implied otherwise. You watched as his carriage retreated, starting on unsteady legs into your home. Your dress was still soaked, wet with rain and something else…something only Anthony Bridgerton was able to conjure in you, the product of a secret it now seemed the two of you shared, together… 🩵

PART TWO

[golden-reverie]

Burnt Out

Author’s note: Hello to anyone who sees this! I’m Elodie, 24, from the Midwest. I love to experiment with writing, and my guilty pleasure is anything to do with Harry Styles. I’ve been so inspired by all the amazing writers on here, so I finally decided to take a stab at something of my own. I hope you enjoy :)

Summary: You’ve been running yourself ragged over a work project, and Harry isn’t having it.

Word count: 4.2k

Warnings: MDNI, spanking, punishment, fingering, pre-established dom/sub relationship, stern dom!harry, sub!reader, fem!reader, aftercare, all actions and dynamics are consensual

The soft glow of the laptop screen flickered against the walls, casting restless shadows in the dimly lit house. Y/N’s fingers danced over the keyboard, her eyes locked onto the cascading lines of code. Stray wisps of amber hair had escaped the messy bun atop her head, and she absently chewed on the end of a pen—an old habit from her college days. The room was silent, save for the rhythmic clicking of keys and the quiet hum of the laptop’s fan.

Harry lingered in the doorway, arms crossed, watching her with a mixture of concern and quiet frustration. The faint aroma of the dinner he’d prepared still clung to the air, a cruel reminder that she had once again skipped a meal in favor of work. Outside, the streetlights cast a soft, silver glow through the thin curtains, tracing ghostly patterns on the floor. Y/N remained wrapped in the world of her screen, completely oblivious to his presence.

He cleared his throat, his voice cutting through the hush like a blade. “Y/N, it’s late. You need to come to bed.”

She didn’t look up. “Just a few more minutes, Harry. I need to finish this.”

Harry sighed, raking a hand through his unruly curls. “You’ve been saying that for the last three hours. You need a break.”

This time, she did glance up—just long enough for him to catch the flicker of exhaustion in her gaze before she turned back to her work. “I can’t. This project is a big one. I have to get it done.”

Harry pushed off the door frame and strode toward her, his presence heavy, unyielding. A warm hand landed on her shoulder, grounding her. “You’ve been at this nonstop for weeks. You need to take care of yourself.”

She shrugged off his touch. “I will. Just not tonight.”

His jaw tightened. “That’s not how this works, Y/N. You know the rules. You agreed to them.” His voice remained level, but there was an edge to it now, a quiet authority that she could no longer ignore. “Your body needs food, rest… You’ll burn out if you keep this up.”

Y/N’s fingers hovered over the keyboard, but for the first time in hours, she hesitated. She exhaled slowly, her voice softer, but still laced with defiance.

“I just… need to finish this. Can’t you see that?”

Harry’s expression didn’t waver. He stepped closer, lowering his voice. “You can finish it tomorrow. During normal hours. Right now, you need sleep. I already let you skip dinner, and we both know that wasn’t the first meal you’ve ignored lately.” He leaned in, his voice dropping to a murmur. “I’ve run out of patience, love.”

Y/N stilled. She understood the implication behind his words. Her breath hitched, cheeks heating.

“Harry, I can’t just—”

“Yes, you can.” His tone was gentle, yet immovable. “And you will.” With deliberate ease, he reached out and closed her laptop, the sudden silence deafening.

She finally looked at him, her eyes flashing with something between defiance and reluctant surrender. “You’re being over the top,” she muttered.

Harry smirked, tilting her chin up with his fingers, forcing her to meet his gaze. “Maybe I am. But someone has to be.” His thumb brushed against her cheek, slow and deliberate. “You’re not taking care of yourself. And that’s not acceptable to me.” His voice was softer now, but it carried an unmistakable weight.

The air thickened, charged with something unspoken yet undeniable.

He took a step back, nodding toward the staircase. “C’mon. Up you get.”

Y/N hesitated for half a second before pushing up from her chair, her body drawn to his like a tide to the shore. As much as she wanted to argue, she knew he was right. This project had pushed her past her limits—late nights, skipped meals, unanswered texts and calls—Harry had let a lot slide. But tonight, that grace had run out. And now that she had been pulled from the blue-light-induced trance she had been under, she found herself grateful for his insistence.

As they ascended the stairs, a different kind of tension coiled low in her stomach. She knew exactly where this was going, and she could already feel the electricity crackling in the space between them.

Harry sat on the edge of their bed, his eyes steady as she hovered in the doorway. He extended a hand, beckoning her forward.

“C’mere,” he commanded.

She found her place in between his legs. His hands fell to her hips and slinked around to the soft flesh under her ass, holding her in place. She looked down at him, anticipating his next move.

“I think you have a pretty good idea of where this is headed, yeah?” His eyes held a quiet patience that stood in sharp contrast to the inevitable sentence looming over her head.

“Yes, Sir,” she whispered, avoiding his gaze.

Harry hummed in approval. “I’ve let a lot slide these past couple of weeks,” he said, tilting his head forward in search of her eyes. “I know big projects come up and that they sometimes get the better of our judgment. That’s just life. But you’re not doing yourself any favors by skipping meals and running on two hours of sleep each day… I know you know that.”

She rested her hands on his shoulders, fingers toying with the fabric of his shirt. A nervous habit.

He blows out a soft sigh, brushing his fingers against her skin, “I gave you plenty of chances to course-correct, Y/N. I wasn’t expecting perfection, but you’ve been running yourself into the ground, and that’s not something I can just overlook.”

She chewed her lip, her gaze flickering anywhere but his face. “I know. I’m sorry.” A frustrated breath escaped her lips, “It’s just… this project is important to me, and you know how cutthroat my coworkers can be. I can’t afford to fall behind.”

“I understand,” he says, lightly squeezing her flesh beneath his hands. “And I love how hard you work, but regardless, you know you can’t be on your A-game if you’re not taking care of yourself… That’s why we put these rules in place, remember? He moves his right hand up to her jaw in a silent command to meet his stare, “Because I love you and I care about you.” His voice was steady, eyes unwavering. “And sometimes you need a reminder to care about yourself, too. Yeah?”

She maintained eye contact this time, the guilt she had been trying to push aside settled heavily in her chest. “I love you too.” she mumbles, her voice barely audible. “I’m sorry.” It wasn’t just an apology—it was an admission. She had ignored the rules, brushed aside her own well-being for weeks, and now the weight of it all felt like it was seeping out of her pores, pooling at his feet.

Harry lets his hand drop from her chin, his expression firm but not unkind. “And I appreciate that,” he says, his tone shifting, sharpening. “But you know the deal.”

It wasn’t necessarily a question, but she answered him, nonetheless.

“Yes, Sir.”

“Alright, over my knee,” he said, his voice leaving no room for argument. He patted his thigh—a silent summons, firm and absolute.

Y/N hesitated for a moment. Not out of reluctance, but out of the sheer pleasure of the moment—this dance between them—the thrill of defiance followed by sweet surrender. She always wanted this, always needed this, and until right now; she hadn’t realized how much she’d been craving it.

He didn’t rush her. He never did. He simply waited, watching her with steady, knowing eyes. The weight of his gaze alone sent a shiver through her, anticipation thrumming beneath her skin. Taking a slow, measured breath, she finally relented, placing her hands on the mattress for balance as she draped herself over his lap.

He took a moment to admire the sight before him—the gentle arch of her back, the delicate vibration in her limbs, betraying her excitement. His hands smoothed over her spine, warm and comforting, a soothing contrast to the tension coiling inside her.

He could feel her trembling almost imperceptibly as she laid there—a quiet, unspoken longing bubbling up from her core. He hooked his fingers into the waistband of her leggings, peeling them down her legs with deliberate ease before tossing them aside.

His palms roamed over the swell of her ass, his touch featherlight, teasing. Y/N bit her lip, resisting the instinct to press her thighs together as he traced the lace trim of her panties, feeling her heat radiating through the delicate fabric. That alone nearly unraveled him. His cock strained painfully against his sweatpants, but he forced himself to linger in this moment—the exquisite torture of making her wait, of drawing it out until she was teetering on the edge.

His hands traveled upward, finding the hem of her shirt, fingertips grazing the sensitive skin beneath. He heard the small hitch in her breath, watched as goosebumps bloomed across her flesh. Slowly, agonizingly, he lifted the fabric, removing it from her body, letting the cool air kiss her bare back as she shivered in his grasp.

He towered over her, his presence commanding every ounce of her attention. His voice, low and unwavering, wrapped around her like a steel chain. “Is your work more important than your own health?”

Y/N inhaled sharply, steadying herself before she answered. “No, Sir.”

“And who decides when you’ve had enough?” His head tilted slightly, waiting—expecting.

His voice rumbled through her, a dark, velvety vibration that settled deep in her bones. Her breath hitched. “You do, Sir.”

A flicker of approval danced in his eyes. “Good girl.”

His palm ghosted over the curves of her ass, tracing gentle circles that did little to soothe the anticipation humming in her nerves. “I want you to count for me.”

She barely had a moment to brace herself before his hand left her skin—only to return with a sharp, resounding crack.

“One!” she gasped. But before she could stop herself, her right hand shot back instinctively, trying to shield herself from the sting.

Harry was faster. He caught her wrist effortlessly, pinning it against the small of her back. His fingers wove through hers, the delicate touch at odds with the firmness of his next words.

“You know better than that.” His voice carried a quiet, heavy disapproval that made her stomach flip. “We’re starting over. Every time you squirm, we’ll go back to one again. Understood?”

Y/N swallowed hard, resisting the urge to whimper. He meant business tonight. “Yes, Sir.”

The next blow landed just as hard.

“One, Sir.” This time, she tagged on the honorific—not required, but a subtle touch she knew he'd appreciate. A ghost of a smile tugged at his lips.

Then came the next. And the next.

“Two, Sir… Three, Sir!” The quick succession stole the breath from her lungs, leaving her voice edged with both pain and something deeper, something needier.

He could feel it—the way her body responded, her skin flushing beneath his touch, heat rolling off her in waves. His palm burned against her flesh, but he reveled in it. He lived for this part: the slow, deliberate breaking down of everything but sensation.

By number twelve, the sharp slap landed against the tender flesh of her lower thighs, and she wailed, the sound raw and unfiltered. Tears pricked at the edges of her vision, but still, she forced the number past her lips.

Harry knew her body better than she did. He knew exactly how to unravel her, how to make her cry out first from frustration—then from sheer, unadulterated pleasure. He wanted her mind empty, consumed only by this, by him.

The next set of strikes sent waves of something heady through her, an intoxicating blend of pain and euphoria. Her breath stuttered. She barely managed to grunt out the numbers between each punishing impact, her body trembling, craving.

By the time he reached twenty-eight, her head had fallen slack against the bed, silent tears soaking into the duvet. This was the most Y/N had ever taken. Normally, he didn’t have to go past twenty before she surrendered completely, but tonight—tonight she had been stubborn. Each slap chipped away at the stress, the tension, the weight she had been carrying for weeks.

He felt the moment her body gave in. The way her fingers went limp in his grasp, her voice raw, spent. She wasn’t resisting anymore—just accepting.

“Thirty, Sir,” she sobbed, the words almost lost in the haze of exhaustion and relief. Then, softer still, “I’m sorry.”

Harry let his hand relax, fingers tracing slow, soothing circles over the heated expanse of her skin. Her body was still shaking, but not from pain. Not anymore. He knew she had slipped, drifting into that quiet, blissful space where nothing existed beyond the warmth of his touch and the safety of his presence.

And he wasn’t about to pull her out. Not yet.

For a long moment, the only sound was the steady rhythm of his palm smoothing over her, and the lingering, uneven sniffles escaping her lips. He let her breathe, let her be.

After a couple minutes, he leaned down, his lips brushing the shell of her ear as he murmured, “You did so good baby. I’m proud of you.”

He pressed a few final, featherlight kisses along the curve of her lower back, his breath warm against her skin as he murmured, “Are you ready for me to check on you?”

He already knew the answer. Knew what he would find when his fingers slipped between her thighs. The anticipation sent a thrill down his spine as he let his hand drift lower, tracing the seam of her slick folds, drinking in the heat that seeped into his skin.

She was dripping.

Harry was hard beneath her, the evidence pressing insistently against her stomach, and he knew she could feel it too. But tonight wasn’t about him. Yes, she had broken the rules—deserved the punishment she had just endured—but more importantly, he wanted to strip away the weight she had been carrying. He wanted to unmake the stress that had hardened her and replace it with something softer.

His thumb found her clit, circling with just enough pressure to make her squirm, a broken whimper muffled against the duvet.

“Good girl, Y/N,” he praised, his voice a low hum of satisfaction.

“Just gonna make you feel good now, yeah?”

He slid a finger inside her, slow and deliberate, while his free hand threaded into her hair, stroking, grounding her.

Her nod was small, but he felt the way her body melted, giving in to his touch. Wetness seeped onto his thigh, further proof of how much she needed this—needed him.

He pushed a second finger inside, reveling in the way her walls clenched around him, her body trembling from the overwhelming sensations. With every stroke, he could feel her tension unraveling, her muscles slackening, the last remnants of restraint slipping away.

The world around him dissolved as his fingers curled inside her, seeking out the spot he knew would make her crumble. “You’ve been so good for me,” he whispered, his lips grazing the damp skin of her shoulder. “Took your punishment like a champ. Now, I want you to come for me. Just like this.”

Her skin tasted of sweat and salt, the scent of her arousal thick in the air.

Y/N was a paradox—a perfect blend of submission and defiance. As obedient as she was, that stubborn streak of hers ran just as deep, a constant challenge that kept him on his toes. But nights like this? When she surrendered completely, yielding every inch of herself to him without hesitation?

He savored it. Relished it. Worshipped it.

Because having all of her—mind, body, and soul—was a privilege he would never take for granted.

He studied her like an artist captivated by the final stroke of their masterpiece, burning the view into his memory—the flutter of her lashes as her eyes turned glassy, the flush that crept down her neck, the way her cunt clenched so tightly around his fingers as if trying to keep him there forever. He wanted to teach her to let go. To release all the anxiety, frustration, and exhaustion that had been suffocating her for far too long.

But he needed it to come from her—wanted her to own her pleasure as much as he did—to know that she was worthy, desired, loved.

Harry’s fingers slid deeper, moving with deliberate slowness as they arched just right, pressing against the spot that had her moaning, her body instinctively grinding against his palm. Her face was buried in the duvet, eyes squeezed shut as she gasped, overwhelmed by the rush of sensations flooding through her.

“Come on, Y/N. Let go for me,” he coaxed, his voice dripping with filthy promise.

Her body tensed, and he knew he had her. She trembled on the precipice before the dam broke. A shattered moan tore from her lips as pleasure ripped through her, muscles spasming in tight, rhythmic waves. The heat of her release coated his figures, and he didn’t stop—not yet.

He worked her through it, his thumb never relenting from the steady, precise strokes against her clit. He wanted everything. Wanted to hear her cry out for him, to watch the pleasure drag her under until she had nothing left to give.

And under she went.

Her cries turned breathless as the last tremors wracked her body, her limbs going boneless beneath his touch. Slowly, he withdrew his fingers, smirking at the needy little whimper she made at the loss. He soothed the ache with soft strokes along her trembling thighs, grounding her as she came back down.

“Atta girl, sweetheart,” he cooed, voice laced with satisfaction. “That feel good?”

A slow, exhausted nod was all she could manage. As the haze of pleasure lifted, she became aware of everything at once—the damp strands of hair sticking to her nape, the tingling in her limbs, the lingering warmth radiating from her backside.

But nothing could pull her back to reality quite like his voice.

“Can you sit up for me, sweet girl?”

***

Water cascaded from the shower head in silken ribbons, a warm, soothing contrast against the cool tile. Steam curled in the air, thick and languid, blurring the edges of the room until it felt like they existed in their own private universe. The scent of eucalyptus clung to the mist, wrapping around them like an embrace.

Harry held Y/N close, his chest rising and falling in a steady rhythm, the quiet strength of him anchoring her. Her head rested against his collarbone, the sound of his heartbeat a calming metronome against the storm that had been raging inside her for weeks.

His hands moved slowly over her damp skin, drawing soothing circles along her spine, his thumbs tracing the delicate ridges of her back. She shivered—not from the cold, but from the contrast of sensations: the warmth of the water, the cool air beyond it, the roughness of his calloused fingers against the softness of her flesh.

She tilted her head up, meeting his gaze through the water’s shimmering veil. Her lips were parted, her lashes heavy, surrender written in every line of her expression. Harry felt something deep and primal stir in his chest.

With a lingering kiss, he turned her around, his fingers threading through her hair as he worked the shampoo into a gentle lather. His touch was reverent, a contradiction of tenderness and strength, his large hands cradling her head with the kind of care that made her stomach flutter. She sighed softly, melting into the sensation as she rested against his muscled body, her small noises of contentment filling the air like music.

When the last suds had been rinsed away, Harry reached past her to shut off the water, the sudden absence of sound leaving them in an intimate hush. Without hesitation, he grabbed the towels he had set out earlier, wrapping her in one before she could feel the bite of the air. He took his time drying her off, the plush fabric gliding over her sensitive skin like a gentle breeze, coaxing a soft sigh from her lips. Then, with the same quiet devotion, he slipped one of his t-shirts over her head, the oversized fabric swallowing her smaller frame.

As Y/N moved through the final steps of her skincare routine, Harry retrieved a bottle of lotion from the cupboard across the room. He approached her with the grace of a shadow, gently tapping her on the bum.

“When you’re done, I want you to lay on the bed on your tummy. Ok?” His voice a smooth, honeyed command.

She finished up and did as she was told, sinking into the mattress, her head resting on her folded arms. Her damp hair spread across the silk pillow like a river of dark water, cool and smooth against the fabric.

The bed dipped beneath his weight, and she heard the soft sound of lotion being smoothed between his hands. A moment later, the hem of her shirt lifted, and his warm palms met the tender skin of her backside. Y/N sighed deeply, the coolness of the lotion a welcome relief to the heat lingering from earlier. His hands moved with slow, deliberate strokes, massaging away the sting, his fingers tracing the curves of her body with intimate familiarity.

The room was quiet, save for the rustle of sheets and the steady rhythm of their breathing. Y/N felt herself unraveling beneath his touch, sinking into the present moment, leaving behind the weight of the stress that had knotted itself into her muscles. He always knew how to bring her back—how to pull her from the depths of her mind and remind her that she didn't have to handle everything on her own.

When he was finished, he leaned down, brushing a stray lock of hair from her neck before pressing a gentle kiss to the delicate skin there.

“How do you feel?” His voice was a low murmur against her ear, thick with warmth and something deeper—something unspoken but understood.

Y/N swallowed, taking a moment to gather her words. “I—I feel good, Sir,” she admitted, her voice still laced with the remnants of pleasure and submission. “Still a little out of it… but good.” She paused for a moment, then continued, “I’m glad for the punishment. I really needed that.”

She shifted to sit up, and he caught her chin between his fingers, maneuvering her head to face him.

Harry’s lips curved into a soft smile, his thumb tracing slow, reassuring patterns along her cheek. “You did well tonight. You know that, right? M’proud of you.”

The weight of his words settled over her like a blanket—warm, protective, unwavering. She smiled softly into his touch.

A beat of silence stretched between them before he spoke again. “When you feel like things are spiraling, I need you to know you can come to me.”

Then, without waiting for a response, he leaned in and kissed her. It was slow and deliberate, filled with everything he didn’t need to say—everything he had already proven.

When she finally pulled away, her voice was softer, more certain. “I do know that. And I’m sorry I didn’t come to you sooner. It’s… a habit, shutting people out when I’m stressed. But regardless, you didn’t deserve that.”

Harry exhaled a quiet laugh, “Yes, I’m well aware of that habit of yours, which we’ll crack one day. But in the meantime, you can push all you want, sweetheart. Unfortunately for you, I’m not going anywhere.”

She giggled, letting him pull her into his chest. “On the contrary. Very fortunate for me,” she corrected, her voice tinged with affection.

He grinned, maneuvering the covers so she could slide beneath them. Reaching over, he switched off the lamp on his bedside table, casting the room into a velvety darkness.

As Y/N melted into him, the last of her tension slipping away, he pressed a soft kiss to the top of her head.

“Get some sleep. I love you.”

“I love you too,” she whispered against his skin, finally surrendering to the quiet lull of sleep’s embrace.

...

Ahhh! Kind of out there for my first post but ¯\_(ツ)_/¯. Hope you enjoyed!

[a-leg-without-fear]

Strange Love

i am so fucking obsessed with this man it ain't even FUNNY. oh btw here's some filth

Ship: Logan Howlett x Mutant!Fem!Reader 🩸

Rating: 18+ (i need jesus)

Wordcount: 4.5k

Warnings: smut, foreplay, mentions of PTSD, bloodplay, PnV sex, oral (fem!receiving), fingering, logan's teeth, choking, knifeplay, slight voyeurism if you squint seriously this is so dirty i NEED jesus

Song: Strange Love by Halsey

It wasn’t the tossing and turning that woke you. It wasn’t the occasional movement of his hands, the pushing into your side, the sheets being tugged off your body. You had grown accustomed to the flinches and twitches. Those things were typical when sharing a bed with someone. 

It was his breathing. Short, quick, ragged. Like a band of iron was squeezing his chest and restricting his lungs.

Your eyes snapped open and flicked to Logan. He was covered in sweat, beads dripping down his forehead plastered in drenched hair. His teeth were bared, grinding. Sharp canines digging into his bottom lip and splitting the skin before the wounds would seal themselves. Fists clenched in the damp sheets, claws just barely poking out of between his knuckles, fingers squeezing the cotton between them.

Right, a nightmare. He was having a nightmare.

These were a nightly occurrence for him. Logan’s past would dredge itself up in his sleep and torture him for hour upon sleepless hour. Raking his mind through the coals only for him to wake up and not remember a thing. 

It was risky to wake him like this. Once, Marie had tried to get him to wake up only for Logan’s adamantium claws to end up pierced in her stomach. She was fine, having briefly absorbed Logan’s healing ability and allowed herself to live.

That wasn’t a risk you could take. You had a minor amount of healing your body was capable of. Smaller cuts and bruises were your specialty. You could manipulate the rate at which blood flowed and carried the necessary chemicals in order to seal wounds and reverse bruising. Foot-long claws stabbed into your abdomen weren’t something you could easily fix.

You cleared your throat, shifting to the side of the bed opposite him, and said, “Logan?”

No response. He continued to breathe heavily, eyes darting back and forth beneath his furrowed brow. You sat up, determined to end this round of nightly torment. 

“Logan? Hun, wake up,” you said, louder than the previous attempt. A string of incoherent mumbles escaped between his clenched teeth. You sighed and climbed out of bed. Turning to face him and crossing your arms, you braced yourself and yelled, “Logan!”

His hazel eyes flew open as he jolted up, claws shooting out and chest heaving. Silver light glinted off the six razor sharp claws jutting out of his fists. The sheets bunched around his bare waist, his pillow falling off the bed and onto the floor.

“Logan?” you asked, as quiet and calming as possible. Logan’s gaze shifted to you from darting wildly around the room. As soon as his eyes met yours, the claws retreated back beneath his flushed and clammy skin.

He swallowed with difficulty as his mind registered who you were. You could practically see the gears turning beneath his soaked, dark hair.

“Logan? It’s me,” you said. Logan squeezed his eyes shut and rubbed at his eyelids.

“Shit, I’m sorry, doll. Did I wake you?” he grunted. He leaned back on one arm as he smoothed his hair away from his face. It was hard to prevent your gaze from wandering. A toned, tanned chest peppered in dark chest hair melting into defined abs with a trail of dark hair leading beneath the sheets. It took a lot of willpower to look back at Logan’s face.

“Eh, I’m used to it,” you replied, an easy smile falling across your lips. You kneeled back on the bed and ran a comforting hand along his shoulder. His gaze fell to your hand then met your eyes again. 

“It’s not the best thing to get used to,” he said. You could feel the muscles in his shoulder tensing under your palm. A frown stretched across his face, “I shouldn’t be wakin’ you every night.”

“It’s a sacrifice I’m willing to make,” you said softly. You lifted your free hand and smoothed out the wrinkles created by his furrowed eyebrows. Logan smacked your hand away as you laughed.

“Seriously. I could hurt you,” he insisted. To emphasize his point, a single claw extended from his right hand, opposite of the side closest to you. He lifted the metal beside his face and said, “When I sleep, I ain’t in control of these things. I… I can’t lose you.”

You raised your hand, running your fingertips across Logan’s arm, before taking his fist in yours. He allowed the action, keeping the claw extended. You moved his hand closer to your face.

“What’re you doin’?” he asked, tugging his hand out of yours. The silver claw retracted back between his knuckles. You sighed while climbing into his lap, straddling his hips with your thighs. You grabbed the same hand again.

“Do you trust me?” you asked. Logan’s glare searched for some kind of trick or fear hiding behind your amused expression.

“Of course I do,” he replied, albeit a little apprehensive. You placed a chaste kiss to his middle-finger knuckle.

“Then extend your claw, handsome,” you breathed into his skin.

Logan’s shoulders shuddered, his eyes falling closed as a strained breath floated from his lips. The hand you had stroking along his neck shifted to bury its fingers in his hair. His back arched, his bare chest meeting your sleep shirt.

“Vampire-”

“Extend your claw. I’ll prove that you’ll never hurt me,” you whispered. Your lips trailed across his knuckles while your fingers tangled in the soft strands at the base of his neck. A quiet groan bounced around inside Logan’s chest.

Slowly, reluctantly, his middle adamantium claw slid out of his fist. Moonlight danced along the sharp edge and gave the claw an almost ethereal glow. You turned Logan’s hand, inspecting the claw at all angles, enjoying the reflections it projected on the walls.

“Do you trust me?” you said, repeating yourself. You needed absolute clarity before continuing. Logan nodded as another shudder worked its way over his chest. You ran your eyes over his expression. His eyes were closed, tense, his lips parted slightly. The hand you had in his hair rested on his jaw, fingers buried in his short beard, thumb tracing his bottom lip, “Yes or no, Logan.”

“Yes. Yes, doll, I do,” he replied.

With the affirmation you needed, you shifted your focus back to the threatening claw in front of you. You considered it for a moment. The length, the width, the sharp edge. Squaring your shoulders and steeling your nerves, you brought his hand closer to your face as you parted your lips. 

You ran the blade along the center of your tongue. The bite of cold metal pierced your flesh and stung as it slid along the muscle. You felt blood pool in your mouth, leaking out of the corners of your lips and down your chin.

Logan’s eyes popped open when the scent of your blood filled his nose. He yanked his fist away as his claw disappeared. Both of his palms clung to the sides of your face. You kept your mouth open, smiling, cradling the pooling blood on your tongue.

“What the shit? The hell’s wrong with you, vampire?” Logan exclaimed. Your smile held steady as his expression grew frantic. You watched Logan’s face closely as you enacted your plan. 

Your blood began to float out of your mouth in small beads, tiny planets chasing each other, flying from your tongue and into the air around you, forming a ring circling your head. Once you’d cleared most of the blood, you focused on closing the wound. You felt the flesh knit itself back together inch by inch, wound stitching itself closed. When the last bit of leaking blood had exited your mouth, your tongue fully healed, you closed your smile and let the droplets orbit your head.

“You won’t hurt me, Logan. No more than others have in the past,” you said. Logan’s expression remained unchanged, still eyeing you like you were fucking insane, hands clutched to both sides of your face. You stuck your tongue out again. “See? No harm done.”

“You… You can heal?” he asked. His thumb glided across your face to run along your bottom lip. You let your mouth fall open so he could see the absence of blood. He scoffed, “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“It’s not nearly as strong as yours. I can heal surface level stuff on anyone, not just me. Blood manipulation and all,” you explained. A fond smile remained settled across your face. You willed the blood floating around you to soar through the air in a stream, like crimson ribbons braiding and weaving into each other, before directing it into an empty glass on the nightstand.

Logan looked like you had told him the wildest theory about the moon landing imaginable. Eyebrows raised to his widow’s peak, nose scrunched, lips parted, eyes wide. It would have been amusing, laughable even, if it wasn’t such a tense moment.

Without warning his mouth was on yours, fingers tangled in your hair, arms shoving your chest against his. His hips rocked up against yours and you felt just how hard this conversation had made him. You gasped into his mouth when he tugged at the base of your neck.

“All this time,” he murmured. One of his hands left your hair and tugged up the hem of your t-shirt. His teeth trailed from your lips, to your jaw, to the soft skin at the crook of your neck, “All this fuckin’ time. I was worried I’d hurt you. That I’d wake up and skewer you like I did Rogue.”

A choked moan escaped your lips when his hand squeezed at your breast. Rough and calloused and almost mean. Logan’s sharp canines nicked the skin above the artery that ran beneath your ear. You whined as blood leaked from the new wound.

“But you? You’re just full of fucking surprises, aren’t you?” he said. He licked a broad swipe across the blood streaming down your throat. You ground down into his cock, the heat between your thighs seeking as much friction as possible. Both of you moaned as the deep liquid coated Logan’s mouth. 

“We’ve got-shit, plenty of time to find them all,” you said through a breathless grin. The fingers in your hair tightened and tugged your head back, baring your throat as Logan lapped at your neck, staining it red. 

You continued to grind into him while your hands gripped his forearms. Your nails dug into his skin, pinpricks of red sprouting around the crescent shapes. You brought a finger up to your mouth and licked along the tip of the nail. An explosion of copper coated your freshly healed tongue. A taste like none you’d ever had before, like a long-aged wine that’d just been opened. 

You needed to have more.

The knife you kept on your nightstand, the pommel a glass ball filled with your blood, swished through the air and landed in your open palm. Your other hand carded through Logan’s hair in an attempt to get his attention.

“Can I cut you?” you breathed. A feral grin spread across Logan’s face. His claw shinked back out of his fist and slashed down your shirt. The cotton separated like butter under a hot knife, your shirt sagging down your shoulders and falling away from your chest. A thin cut was left between your breasts. Like a red clay path between two rolling hills. 

“As long as I can cut you,” he replied, tongue tracing the new wound. Your head fell back as you arched into his mouth, doing your best to focus on closing the bite in your neck. Getting the skin to connect was growing more difficult as Logan coated his tongue in red and his half-lidded eyes met yours.

“Fuck, okay, I’ll take that as a yes,” you said through gritted teeth. You shrugged off your destroyed t-shirt as you felt the cut on your neck close. Your left hand tugged at Logan’s hair, bringing his lips back to yours, bare chests colliding. 

The air between you grew heated and humid. Teeth clashed, tongues darted into each other’s mouths tasting of copper and sin, claws and nails and blade slicing through skin, fingers pulling on hair. Each wound that closed was replaced with a fresh one, tongue and lips following the lines of leaking blood. If you were normal both of you would be covered in more scars than one could count. But, because you were mutants, the skin sealed as if nothing had ever pierced it. Smooth and soft and absolutely covered in blood.

You felt the room spin as you and Logan flipped. He had one hand on your shoulder, pinning your torso to the bed, while the other wrapped around your throat. His broad, warm hand nearly encompassed your whole neck. The power he held over you stoked the flames in your abdomen to burn away at your sense and reason.

His mouth was back on yours, drinking from you like a dying man. Teeth nipped at your lips, your tongue, your chin. Sharp bites that left the taste of copper in their wake. The hand on your shoulder traveled down your overheated body. Passing over swathes of skin painted red and bruises long since dissipated. His fingertips brushed along the waistband of your shorts and a growl reverberated from his throat.

“You have three seconds to get these off before they’re ripped off,” Logan said, the words echoing in your mind like a prayer in an empty chapel.

You had never stripped yourself so fast in your life. Your fumbling hands slipped beneath your waistband, having to concentrate on both getting naked and Logan’s mouth on yours, and you slipped both your panties and your shorts off in one pull. You kicked them off the bed in record time.

“Mm, that was five seconds. I’ll need to see to that later,” he said, kissing down your jaw between growled words. A shiver rolled across your spine at the way his voice thrummed against your neck. You felt the hand gripping your throat tighten, restricting your breathing, making you gasp. Your hands launched forward, seeking anything to grab in their path, landing on the forearm choking you. Logan nipped your collarbone as he said, “Don’t be surprised to see those shorts in shreds tomorrow.”

He loosened his grip slightly, letting warm air back into your heaving lungs. You felt your pulse rushing in your ears.

“Logan, please,” you whimpered. The heat between your legs was unbearable. Wave after wave of arousal slammed into your trembling body and left you breathless. Your thighs were definitely soaked. You could feel wetness dripping off your skin and onto the sheets below you. Logan bit harder at your lowest rib, making you cry out, “Please! I need you. Please, Logan.”

“I’ve got you, hotstuff. Don’t worry,” he purred. His canines dragged along your stomach, leaving fire in their wake, as he shifted lower on your body. The hand gripping your throat slid down your chest and pinned your hips in place, arm slung across your stomach like a lead pipe. His free hand massaged and groped at your shaking thighs. He looked up at you through his eyelashes, grinning, “So polite, how can I refuse?”

The first pass of his tongue through your cunt made your back bow off the bed. Your hands scrabbled against the soaked sheets, nonsense and cries of ecstasy escaping through your kiss-swollen lips.

A low groan passed through his throat and vibrated against your clit. Your eyes rolled back in your head at the shocks of pure pleasure zipping through your bloodstream.

“Fuck, sugar. All this just for me, huh?” he murmured. You weren’t entirely sure if it was meant for you, but before you could decide he buried his face in your cunt. Tongue spearing inside you, nose bumping against your clit, large fingers holding you open. The air inside your lungs shot out of you like a bullet. 

If your mind had any sense left, the sounds you and Logan were making would’ve been obscene. The wet squelching of him licking at your folds, his rough grunts, your breathless moans and airy whimpers. It would’ve made you embarrassed to ever show your face outside of this room again. But with Logan between your thighs and his arm braced across your abdomen, you could hardly care. 

He shifted so his lips could wrap around your clit, sucking and running the blunt edge of his teeth over where you’re most sensitive. A startled yelp kicked out of your mouth. Your hands flew to his hair and tangled in the damp strands. You felt his fingers run along your entrance, gathering slick along the calloused pads.

“You want me inside you, doll?” he asked huskily, sounding almost as wrecked as you felt. It took all your willpower to lift your eyelids and meet Logan’s eyes. 

“Please. Please, please, I need you Logan,” you slurred. Your grip on his hair tightened in an attempt to emphasize your point. 

He latched back onto your clit, eyes still locked with yours, as two fingers pushed inside you. The digits entered you with almost no resistance, you were so soaked. A loud moan fell from your lips as the accompanying noise from your cunt made you feel fucking filthy.

“Fuck, doll,” he grunted against your clit. He started pumping his fingers inside you, slow at first, letting you feel every ridge and knuckle glide in and out, making sure to brush against that spot inside you that made you see stars every time. Your thighs involuntarily clenched around his head. Your head flew back against the mattress beneath you, breath leaving your gaped mouth in quick bursts.

When his pace increased, you knew you wouldn’t last much longer. That coil in your core was tightening at a speed that even Peter couldn’t compete with. Your fingers scraped at Logan’s scalp, breathing seeming to be a thing of the past.

“Come for me, vampire,” he said, slipping a third finger inside you. The claws attached to the arm across your waist extended, piercing into the mattress and securing you further on the bed. If Logan wasn’t who he was, you’d be afraid of hurting him from how tight your thighs were squeezed around his head. But that chrome dome was nowhere near perturbed as he shoved you into your first orgasm of the night.

Sparks of white hot electricity short-circuited your brain and rendered you breathless. Your back seized up and arched off the bed, mouth flying open, breath halted inside frozen lungs. Pulsing, neverending, world-encompassing pleasure covered you like a thick, electrified blanket. Zaps of shityesgood sparked across your skin, burrowing deep into your flesh and filling your veins.

“There ya go, that’s a good girl,” Logan said. You barely registered him, the roaring in your ears was so loud. He continued to finger you through your orgasm, placing the occasional kiss on your hyper-sensitive skin, making you jolt.

It took several minutes for the aftershocks to stop, for the blanket to lift off your body. Logan slid his fingers out of you and brought them to his lips. Low groans brought you back to reality as he licked your slick off his fingers.

His claws retracted as he climbed back up your body, placing sloppy wet kisses as he went. You hummed when his lips found yours. You could taste yourself on his tongue, tangy and salty and distinctly you. Mixed with Logan’s smoke and whiskey, you felt like you could breathe this taste and grow intoxicated. You whined as Logan pulled back.

“Ready for more?” he asked. You nodded, biting your lip as a smile graced your features.

Logan grinned back as he hiked your legs up onto his hips and positioned himself by your entrance, cock hard and heavy in his hand. Your hands laced in his hair and yanked his mouth back to yours. The wet, hot tip of his cock glided through your folds, making both of you groan into each other’s mouths.

The first push inside stretched you almost to the point of pain, but you were so wet and needy you hardly cared. Your breathing grew ragged, panting into Logan’s open mouth, as he slid inside you. Every vein along his cock dragged against your walls, making you whine and cant beneath him. 

When he was buried to the hilt inside you, hips connected with your thighs, he braced one hand above you while the other held your leg on his hip. It seemed to take all of his willpower to open his eyes and look down at you.

“Shit, you feel good. Doin’ alright?” he groaned. You nodded a frantic yes, gripping his hair tighter and touching his forehead to yours.

“Logan please fuck me, please, please,” you whispered. You were barely cognizant. Just a body made of an animalistic need. A pure, feral, unadulterated need that only Logan could satisfy.

Logan chuckled, “When you ask like that, doll, how could I say no?”

The slow drag out of you made you grieve the loss of feeling completely full. Your nails dug into Logan’s scalp as whiny moans passed through your clenched teeth. He whispered reassurance into your skin as he pushed back inside, a smooth glide all the way in. He tried to set a slow pace, tried to give you time to adjust. But the pleas spilling from your lips and the grip of your thighs around his hips gave him the last shove he needed.

Quick, wet slaps bounced around the room as he rammed into you, over and over and over again. Pounding into you so hard you swore you could feel him in your throat and that if you weren’t mutant, you would break. High moans met choked grunts in the air between you. The bed’s wooden headboard slammed into the wall behind you in pace with Logan’s thrusts. 

And just like that his teeth were on you again. Biting and scraping and marking, drawing blood just for it to disappear under his tongue. Your shoulders, your collarbone, your breasts, your neck. None were left unmarked. And they remained ravaged, your mind too fractured by his relentless fucking to focus on healing yourself. 

“Fuck, vampire,” he moaned against your skin. His eyes were glassy, distant. Like his entire mind was devoted to filling you to the brim over and over again. The hand braced above your head grabbed the back of your neck, lifting your head so his lips could crash into yours. You were a mess of teeth and tongues and blood. Mindless, breathless moans swallowed between you.

You could feel that coil again. It tightened tauntingly at each thrust, each pound into you that drove you further into insanity. Flames of pure need licked and burned along your skin, only satisfied when Logan was filling you to the brim. Jesus, if you couldn’t feel every thrust rattle your teeth and send you further into oblivion.

Logan adjusted above you, nearly folding you in half as both his hands landed next to you on the bed. Like this, every thrust hit that spot inside you. Splitting you open to leave nothing but a moaning mess behind. 

He groaned above you, teeth gritted, and his claws shot out of his fists. The sound of fabric tearing filled your roaring ears. Deep gauges left in the mattress on either side of your head. Threatening, terrifying even. But to your fuck-drunk mind it only turned you on more. The unquenchable furnace burning in your core flamed into a blazing inferno. Your fingers scraped along his skin, searching mindlessly for something to ground you.

Another groan from Logan, reverberating from deep in his chest, as his forehead touched yours again. A spot of gentleness in the undeniably brutal way he was fucking you.

“I’m-Fuck!-I’m getting real close, doll,” he grunted, his pace never slowing or lessening in its ferocity. He unburied his hand from the bed, retracting his claws, and lowered it between your bodies to rub circles into your swollen clit.

“Ah! Fuck, Logan!” you yelped. You could feel yourself hurtling toward your inescapable second orgasm. Your eyes, unfocused as they were, tried to zero in on Logan above you. You felt like you were caught beneath a launching rocket, being blasted by the flames from the metal beast above you.

One, two, three more thrusts and then you were gone. Ecstasy poured into your veins like ink in water, drowning all you were, all you knew, all you felt. Eyes clouding over with swirling spots of black and white, the inferno in your core overtaking you like a forest fire. All you were was burned away, flames inhaling your body and mind, until all that was left was a mewling, breathless, writhing person that didn’t feel like yourself. 

Logan wasn’t too far behind you. The relentless pounding inside you grew ragged, sloppy, his fingers tangling in your hair to let him breathe the same air as you. A sharp groan echoed from his chest as his thrusts stilled, spilling inside you. Hands gripped at the soft flesh on your hips, pinning you against him, prolonging his orgasm.

You felt weightless, like you were floating on the destroyed bed below you and the only thing keeping you grounded was Logan on top of you. Lazy, trembling fingers traced the veins on his forearms, still clutched to your sides. Your hazy vision focused on his face. Blissed out, eyes closed, chest heaving. You felt a lopsided grin stretch across your swollen lips.

“Told you, ya won’t hurt me,” you rasped. You must have screamed at some point, because your throat was scratchy and sore. Not that you minded.

Logan let out a breathless chuckle above you. His fingers massaged soothing circles into your hips as his eyes opened, gaze landing on your post-orgasmic smirk.

He cleared his throat then said, “You sure? I got pretty rough.”

Your eyes fell closed as you used the remaining fragments of your mind to close the wounds across your neck and chest, willing the skin to seal and the bruises to flush away. Once you were satisfied you opened your eyes again.

“Nothing I can’t handle,” you said, grinning. Logan shook his head, matching your grin, as he slid out of you. An involuntary whine slipped up your throat at the loss of him inside you. The loss was quickly remedied by him laying down beside you, wrapping you in his arms and tucking you against his chest. You settled in, nestling your cheek against his damp skin, while he hummed above you.

“I know you can, but I’m not so sure about the sheets.”

Embarrassment flooded your cheeks as you observed the carnage around you. The once (somewhat) pristine, light blue sheets were absolutely covered in blood, loose threads, and other results of what the two of you had just done. Not to mention the holes in the mattress that could no way in hell be fixed.

You let out a sigh as your hand covered your eyes, face flushed. Logan smirked and kissed the top of your head.

“We’ll get ‘em replaced, doll. Don’t worry about it,” he said, amusement at your situation laced in every word.

However, the two of you froze in response to the words that filled your heads, the disappointment palpable and tone icy.

“It’ll come out of your wallets.”

i'd like to thank @madschiavelique and @gracethyomen for encouraging my obsession with logan. much love to them both and the rest of the murdock tuna team 🐟

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[strawberrykidneystone]

tonight

sevika x female reader

summary: after a long day, there is nothing like plopping down on the lap of your scary girlfriend

a/n: save me sevika…. SEASON 2 IS SO CLOSE AHHHH

tags: 2nd person, fluff, alcohol, smoking, gambling, poker

ao3 version

after a long day of haggling with customers and delivering orders from your mechanic shop, The Rusty Nail, you needed a break. thankfully, one of Sevika's goons scurried in during the day to drop off a handwritten note from her:

The Last Drop tonight. Stop trying to pay for your own drinks.

-Sev

the note was written on a rough piece of scrap paper and it looked like there was a small heart that was drawn next to her name that had been haphazardly erased, which made you giggle. gently putting the note in a shoe box behind the counter that you kept all of her previous notes in as well, suddenly the day went by much faster with something to look forward to.

trudging into the tavern, you quickly walked over to the wooden bar and leaned your forearms onto the counter. you held up a hand to the bartender and they nodded, knowing your usual without you having to say it. while you didn’t frequent The Last Drop very often, they definitely saw your girlfriend often enough to make note of your order.

and of course, your drinks always went onto sevika’s tab no matter your pushback. oh well, the cost of your drink was quickly stuffed into the tip jar as appreciation.

your drink was set in front of you onto a napkin with a straw stabbed into the ice with a gruffness that was familiar in the undercity. you felt a pair of eyes searing into your back, feeling your girlfriend’s impatience from a mile away.

grabbing the drink and taking a quick sip, you strode over to the dark corner of the bar. like a beacon calling to you, there sat sevika slouched back in her usual creaky chair with a half-way burnt down cigar hanging out of her mouth, telling you how long she’d already been here. she was manspreading and glanced at her cards every so often, an unbothered aura surrounding her even though you knew that she clocked you the moment you stepped inside of the bar.

she had a tell playing cards that you’re pretty sure that only you had noticed. her right eyebrow quirked ever so slightly when she glanced at her cards, you would miss it if you blinked or didn’t know exactly what you were looking for.

that’s why you usually win at cards with sevika.

that and sevika liked letting you win.

the only person that she would let win against her.

you slipped your way through the crowd, keeping a tight hand over the top of your drink as you pushed through the maze of people. sneaking your way over in a very cat-like fluid motion, you stood in between sevika’s legs before perching on her left inner thigh.

sevika’s mechanical arm automatically wrapped around your waist and pulled you further up her thigh, close enough that the side of your torso was touching her chest. you wiggled your hips to adjust properly onto her leg, receiving a warning side-eye from your lover to behave. you leaned forward and checked the cards in her right hand, a perfect royal flush. she squared up her cards and stuck them down the front of your shirt, earning an annoyed look from you. she had a habit of sticking her cards somewhere inside of your clothing, insisting on having her hands free when you came over. it was a pretty full table, so it would be a while until her call anyway.

you set your drink on the floor slightly underneath her chair and leaned into her, resting your head on her metal shoulder. the cool bronze was a welcomed relief from the general body heat that was slightly stuffing up the bar. she ran her hand down your waist and squeezed the squishy flesh of your hip, the pointed tips of her fingers tickling your side.

you ran your hand over her mechanical arm, feeling the tactile textures for any imperfections or places that needed some TLC. finding none, you raked your eyes over her body to look for any new injuries from her own day of work. satisfied that she was completely fine, you pecked her cheek before settling back into her. she hummed in appreciation and reached her mechanical arm down, bringing up her cloak from freely hanging down from her shoulder to resting around your shoulders.

plucking the cigar out of the corner of her mouth, she stubbed out the lit end. you told her that you didn't mind her smoking even when you first met her, yet she still insisted on not smoking around you even as other patrons in the bar created a haze with their own smoking. the scent of nicotine reminded you of her and god she looked hot when she smoked. the two exceptions she made to this "rule" were when you begged her enough to shotgun into your mouth or after a particularly long love-making session, she would lean back against the headboard with one hand resting behind her head, a cigarette in her free hand and you tucked into her side.

one of the new faces at the table laid all of his cards on the table with a grin. the whole table leaned forward to see his hand, it was a perfect flush. sevika smirked and nodded to you, giving a playful tap to your hip. you dug her cards out of your shirt, flourishly sliding the cards on the table one on one. a collective groan came from the table as sevika barked out in laughter, the winning pot of coins being pushed towards her. she cupped your face with one hand and squeezed to make you pucker your lips and roughly pressed her lips to yours in a searing kiss. wrapping your arms around her neck and pushing yourself completely flush against her, chest to chest as you got lost in the kiss, your lips dancing in perfect rhythm.

parting from the kiss, she pressed the tip of her curved nose against yours and made deep eye contact with you, savoring the moment of winning with her favorite girl at her side, her gaze giving you butterflies in your stomach.

"c'mon baby, let's go home," she murmured and landed a playful smack on your ass, earning a squeak of shock from you. she held out her flesh hand to help you up, which you happily took and stood with her clock still hugging your shoulders. she stood up with a grunt and grabbed the bag of coins off of the table, tucking it into her side. she curled her around your waist and walked with you out of the bar and into the cool night with her winnings and the love of her life.

a/n: uppercase letters??? in my fanfic??? who am i

[crushpunky]

actress!reader is worried about drew

masterlist | actress!reader masterlist

warning: mentions of disordered eating/extreme weight loss, proceed with caution and remember that food is fuel !!! 

Y/n sat out on the covered porch, a book in her lap and Charleston curled at her feet. The sunlight of the early morning peaked through the windows, the aroma of coffee filling the air. Drew sat opposite her, sprawled out on the sofa, his long legs dangling off the edge. His glasses perched on his nose in a way that always made y/n’s head spin as he flipped through a script. This quiet comfort was the usual way they began their day, climbing out of bed and making coffee before soaking in the tranquility of the morning.

“I’m gonna grab some breakfast, what do you want?” Y/n asked, closing her book and getting up with a groan. Drew looked up from his script, his sunken eyes raking over the way the light shone off y/n’s skin.

“I’ve got coffee, I’m alright.” Drew said, flashing a small grin before returning back to his script. Y/n sighed, placing her hands on her hips. He had been preparing for his new project, a Luca Guadagnino picture alongside Daniel Craig that supposedly “required” him to slim down. Drew was already a naturally lanky guy, often building on muscle for OBX, so the idea of losing even more weight seemed insane to y/n, but Drew insisted. She appreciated his commitment and ability to go “all in”, but as he began to lose more and more weight it seemed to be overkill.

“Drew.” Y/n said sharply, glaring harshly at Drew.

“Y/n.” Drew said back, mocking her tone playfully as he looked back up at her.

“What do you want for breakfast?” Y/n repeated, quirking one of her eyebrows. Drew sighed, placing the script down before sitting up and moving to face her. Y/n took a step forward, standing between Drew’s legs and grabbing onto his hands.

“I’m alright, baby. I promise.” Drew whispered, placing a kiss to y/n’s knuckles. As y/n looked down at him, she felt her stomach swirl at his sunken features and the way he was practically swimming in clothes that used to fit him like a glove.

“Drew, please.” Y/n said quietly, her eyes beginning to prickle with tears. As much as she tried to mask her fear as worry, she could feel herself begin to slip. The fact of the matter was that she was utterly terrified. Terrified of the way Drew was pushing himself, going so far just for some stupid, goddamn project. The boy she had fallen in love with, the curves and angles she knew like the back of her hand sinking into something almost unrecognizable as Drew lost more and more weight.

“Baby, hey, don’t do that.” Drew went to stand, his footing stumbling and body swaying for a moment before y/n forced him back onto the couch with a sob. It had become a more and more common occurrence, the bouts of dizziness or shortness of breath that made y/n’s heart break each time.

“Hey, I just got up too fast I’m—” Drew rambled.

“No, Drew, goddamnit!” Y/n shouted, ripping her hands out of Drew’s grip and wiping her eyes harshly. Drew’s eyes widened before hesitantly wrapping his hands around y/n’s torso, his touch featherlight. Y/n wasn’t one to raise her voice often, especially not at him, but the anger in her voice was glaringly apparent.

“I’m fucking tired of this, Drew! It’s ridiculous and—” y/n sobbed, “you’re scaring me. You look sick, Drew.”

Drew sighed, closing his eyes and resting his head on y/n’s stomach. She continued to cry, her body shaking as tears streamed down her cheeks in a way that made Drew feel nauseous. He smoothed his hands along her back, gently tracing the contours of her hips.

“This isn’t healthy.” Y/n whispered. Drew lifted his head to meet her glassy eyes, the fear and worry staining her face. He hated seeing her like this, the hurt on her features acting like a stab to the heart.

“Ok, ok.” Drew muttered, taking y/n’s hands gently as he nodded to himself. Sure, he had been in touch with a nutritionist and maybe he had been… neglecting some of their warnings and recommendations, but he knew this role was going to be big. He wanted to do this right. He wanted to prove to himself and others that he could do it, but was it worth the risks? Hell, was it worth the pain he was causing y/n? Certainly not. Nothing could ever excuse the anguish he was causing her, anguish he would kill anyone else if they were causing her.

“I’ll… slow down, okay?” Drew said, his thumb tracing along y/n’s knuckles gently. Y/n closed her eyes before pressing a kiss to the top of Drew’s head.

“Thank you.” She whispered, wrapping her arms around his shoulders. Drew’s arms snaked around her, pulling her flush to his chest as he stood again. He inhaled deeply, his hands curling into the t-shirt of his that hung off y/n’s body. He never thought he’d feel this way about someone else. Feeling so fiercely protective of and willing to do anything to avoid seeing them in pain. Feeling so in love that he’d do anything, anything, to see them happy… but here he was on the porch of their shared home, holding onto y/n so tightly as if he could lose her at any second.

“I love you, baby. I’m sorry I scared you.” Drew said gently, his fingers tracing lightly along the curve of y/n’s back.

“I love you, Drew. Please don’t scare me like that again.” Y/n said into the front of Drew’s shirt, her grip on his torso tightening. The two of them stood in the soft morning light for a moment, holding onto each other so tightly it was impossible to discern where y/n ended and Drew began.

“How about Claire’s, hm?” Drew said into y/n’s hair. Her grip on him loosened slightly, allowing her space to look up at him, her lips curling into a wide grin.

“That sounds good.” Y/n whispered, reaching up onto her tiptoes to press a kiss to the curve of Drew’s jaw.

[littelovelunette]

sevika x reader, and some sleazy guy tries to hit on reader and sevika sees. chaos ensues, sevika knocks him out and then takes reader home and shows them who they belong to

Sevika's Wife

contains smut, mirror sex, stabbing, violence, fingering, biting, degradation, pussy spanking, cunnilingus, squirting, praising

"you like the idea hm?" sevika played with the hem of your dress, the lace edges giving you a sexy look. you both were discussing honeymoon ideas now that you both were engaged

"yeah, it's nice and soft," you said and took a sip of your whiskey smiling at the woman before you, you both were gonna be spending your lives together it was something you couldn't even bring yourself to imagine it just sounded way too good to be true but here you were.

"i was just thinking of you while I thought of them," sevika said as she went back to screwing some fixings into her mechanical arm flexing the in-built blade before retracting the blade and continuing her work in comfortable silence.

you propped your head against your hand as you wondered what being married to sevika would be like, it was already similar to heaven just dating the woman imagine being labelled her wife...

"yo mami nice plump ass," a guy slurred drunkenly from across the bar and you didn't realise it was meant to you at first but then you turned your head once you felt his gaze raking your body

"oh no," you whispered under your breath this was bad. not the fact that he was hitting on you but the fact that sevika was watching it all along, sevika didn't step in and continued fixing her metal arm

"let me buy ya' a drink," the man got up walking towards the both of you, you were remarkably short so the man seemed somewhat taller than you by a few inches towering over where you were seated as if in an attempt to intimidate you

in normal scenarios you'd scoff and say you've seen better but for once it was in front of sevika so you decided to play along with the silence

slowly sevika rose from her chair easily towering over the man from where she stood a bit more than six feet tall and by the way things seemed you were certain this unfortunate soul (the drunk man) would be six feet under.

"that's my wife, junkie. fuck off." sevika growled but the man didn't seem to budge as he reached for a gun in his holster but sevika was faster instantly stabbing the retractable blade inside the man's forearm earning screams all around the bar but she didn't care.

some were running away, some drunken people watching, some recoiling in fear as you stifled a laugh, blood was dripping down from where sevika had stabbed the man

sevika retracted the blade like it was a daily thing for her (which it was) and walked over to you draping one of her muscular arms over your shoulder and leading you out of the bar.

you could see her chest was heaving up and down fast and she was likely fuming with rage inside she didn't want to kill the man there where people would bear witness and all

she didn't wanna fuck up the marriage

but she was still furious at the drunken man for talking to you like that it made you wonder what would've went down had he dared to touch you

once you both got home she didn't say a word and cleaned the blood off her mechanical arm and changed into comfortable clothes. you were in your sheer nightwear as usual, and gasped when sevika grabbed you from behind

her hands were encircled around your waist the sheer material of your dress building a barrier in skin-to-skin contact, her face was in the crook of your neck taking in the scent of milk-based soap you had used in the bath a bit ago

"you're mine okay?" she hummed as she bit your shoulder and then your neck

"a-ah, sev, that hurts," you whispered and gasped but sevika didn't stop, her flesh hand held your mouth shut

bloody teeth imprints littering places which were usually exposed to the public's eye but it seemed like sevika didn't care about any of that anymore.

you whined a little and giggled feeling her hands palming your breasts before she stuck two fingers in your pussy, pushing your panties to the side hastily and started pumping them at a painfully slow pace, "you're so wet for me darling." she whispered in your ear making you gasp and whimper in her strong arms, mechanical arm holding you firmly in place.

"oh daddy that feels good only you can make me feel good fuck fuck..." you whined out as her fingers scissored inside your pussy stretching you out and letting the arousal drip onto the fabric of your panties soiling them

"so wet so needy huh?" sevika bit your earlobe as you shuddered and turned you towards a mirror so you could clearly see as she fingered your pussy under your panties, thick fingers slipping inside your obscenely wet hole

"d-d-daddy," you gasped and writhed in her arms the need to cum increasing with every little movement of her dangerously expert hands

just as she rubbed your sweet spot you gasped and grabbed onto the edges of the mirror cumming on her fingers and completely ruining your panties

"mm, look at you filthy slut, sevika tutted and pulled your head back so you could kiss her deeply tongue swirling together and you just knew it you were stuck with this woman for eternity

sevika pushed you down onto the bed, pulling your panties off and folding your legs against your chest so she could get a good view of your pussy and ass

the wetness from your pussy trickling down onto your plump ass cheeks and asshole giving her a very obscene view to get off to

"you're my woman," sevika said biting down on your inner thigh making you gasp and grit your teeth sevika didn't stop and left marks all over your knees thighs and then she started lapping up your juices

her tongue worked perfectly over your heart engulfing your clitoris in her mouth between long, bold licks taking her time with you

"oh daddy I'm all yours," you could only moan and throw your head back in pleasure drooling all over the place as sevika lovingly ate your pussy

she spat on your pussy and suckled on your sensitive bud making your body shiver a little, "yes all mine," she whispered between her ministrations

sevika pushed two fingers inside your pussy the tight passage stretching around her thick finger again as she fingered you

her fingers rubbed against the inner walls of your pussy making you see stars and in this position she was getting deeper in your little tight cunt

"g-goodness... daddy..."

sevika brought her hand back to slap your pussy before she continued fingering it again, mouth working diligently on your clitoris she loved doing this to you and watching you fall apart in her hands

"are you gonna cum for me?" sevika asked her voice uncharacteristically soft, "cum on my fingers like the dirty little whore that you are?"

"yes daddy, yes!" you whimpered and whined before you felt your pussy convulse squirting on her fingers

sevika pulled her fingers back a gentle smile playing on her lips which was a rare sight to behold as she helped you get off the bed to clean up

"my pantiesss..." you whined a little seeing the soaked cotton panties next to the bed covered in cum and arousal

"i'll get you more," sevika kissed your head before helping you clean up and put on fresh clothes to bed, "you did so good I'm proud of you."

[andy-clutterbuck]

The Ones Who Live | 1x05 - Become

[bucks-babe]

Not Like This

Summary: A night at the bar doesn’t go the way Bucky or you ever thought

Word Count: 3.1k

Warnings: established relationship, Bucky trying to get Steve a date, angst, attempted drugging with the intention of SA (nothing happens though), mentions of a knife/stabbing (doesn’t happen), smut, but like angsty smut not the sexy smut, Bucky being a huge idiot, lack of communication, dub-con/bordering non-con at times, degradation, oral m!rec, subspace, manhandling, very mean Bucky, safeword being called, crying, spanking, self-hatred, insecurities, self-reflection, aftercare, scared Bucky and reader, overstepping boundaries, communication at the end, some fluff

A/N: This is my gift to @buckys-wintersoldier for her birthday! This fic contains topics that maybe sensitive to some people. This is your last warning. You are responsible for your own media consumption. Updates are posted to my side blog @bucks-babesideblog

“This is getting hard to watch, Buck.” You grimace and turn your head towards your boyfriend. Steve stands on the dancefloor in a futile attempt to talk to the girl he’s been eyeing up for the past hour and a half. Bucky takes another swig of his beer before meeting your eyes with the same grimace. “ You should go and help him.”

“And what am I supposed to do, doll?” Bucky leans back in the booth, left arm resting behind your head as he whispers in your ear. A shiver passes through your body and your thighs clench involuntarily. His scent mixes with the faint smell of his last beer and the crowded bar’s sweaty stench.

“Go play wingman, apparently you were great at it in the 40’s.” You playfully nudge him away, mostly because you can’t think straight when he’s pressed so close to you, your body craves his already and you don’t need to make it any harder for yourself. “While you’re at it, I’ll get myself another drink.”

Bucky grumbles as you stand up without giving him a kiss. “Make sure you put it on my tab, doll.”

You giggle as you spin around to face him, dress swaying as you do so. “You know I will, hotstuff.” You take your seat at the bar and signal for the bartender, turning around to watch Bucky try and get Steve a date. You thank him as he places your drink down, but before you can get up, another man seats himself in the stool right next to yours.

“Hello, gorgeous.” At first you don’t realize that he’s talking to you, too caught up in the way Bucky’s muscles flex as he gestures to Steve. “I say, you’ve caught my eye tonight. Mind if I ask your name? I’m Jake.” It dawns on you that he wasn’t talking to anyone else, only you.

As you go to turn around to decline his horrible attempt at flirting, you see him slip a pill into your open drink out of the corner of your eye, so fast that none of the other patrons nor the bartender saw, but you did. Ice shoots through your veins. He tried to drug you. What do you do now? Leave? That would look suspicious. Call the bartender and say that it wasn’t the right drink? No, he heard your specific order.

“Umm,” you trail off. At first you were gauging how far you would have to run to make it to Bucky, but then you saw the pocket knife bulging out from underneath the man’s shirt. “Sorry, I’m here with my boyfriend.” Good, let him know I’m not alone.

“Him? Well he seems quite friendly with the lady in blue over there.” You don’t turn to look, not trusting to take your eyes off of him. “If I were him, we wouldn’t even have made it to the bar when you’re wearing a number like that.” He lets out a low whistle, eyes hungrily raking up and down your body.

You want to yell out for anyone to come over, but you’re too scared when you know that he has a knife. Yes, Bucky is a super soldier, but Jake could stab you faster than Bucky could reach you. “We have an open relationship actually.” Open relationship, really? Why would I fucking say that?

“So you’re telling me that I have a chance.” His beatty eyes lock in on your cleavage and you shift around uncomfortably. “Why don’t you have a sip of your drink? You seem pretty tense over there.” You pick up your drink with shaky hands before bringing the straw to your lips. You pretend to take a small sip which makes Jake smile, showing off his smoke stained teeth. “There you go, good girl.” Where the hell is Bucky? Come on, please come back.

You’re practically shaking in fear as his sweaty palm lands on your knee, creeping up to your thigh. Behind you resides Bucky who has overheard most of the conversation. Anger doused his entire body. He didn’t see Jake drug your drink or how scared you were, too caught up in your words. Open relationship? Letting him call you good girl? Touching you?

You almost shriek when Bucky’s metal hand grabs your wrist, pulling you away, but you instantly relax when you notice that Bucky’s come to save you. The fear still lingers under the surface but it feels like you can breathe without a heavy weight on your chest. “Thank god, Bucky. I-” He cuts you off as he spins around, flesh hand wrapping around your neck.

“Thank what? I leave you for five minutes and you turn into a little slut, huh?” Your eyes widen. There’s no way that he thinks that you wanted to even talk to that man at the bar. Before you can answer he lets your neck go and continues to drag you along. “Keep your fucking mouth shut. You want to be a little slut,” he pushes you into the passenger seat of his car before slamming the door and getting in the driver seat. “Then you can keep your mouth stuffed with my cock.”

He doesn’t even look at you as he slides his jeans and boxers down just enough to free his semi hard cock. He doesn’t see the tears welling up, or how you’re silently begging for him to comfort you, hug you. To tell you that everything is going to be okay, you’re safe and he loves you, but no, Bucky is furious at you.

You feel yourself start to slip into subspace, the fear of your previous situation in addition to Bucky’s harsh words have you floating off into space. You want to please him, show him that he’s the only one you want, but you also don’t want to have sex right now. Either way, he grabs the back of your head and forces you down on his cock before slamming his foot on the gas, making you lurch in the car.

“Keep your fucking head right there. You’re gonna let me use you however the fuck I want since you seem to think that you’re not mine and I’m not yours. You really fucking think that I would want another pussy? Another mouth? Oh, shit. Choke on that fat cock. Think Jake can fill up your mouth like this?” For just one moment, you forgot about Jake, about what could have happened to you, but at the mention of his name you try to pull off, suddenly not wanting to have your boyfriend’s cock in your mouth.

“Don’t fucking run away from me. Never gonna share this perfect body. Shit, can feel you slobbering on my nuts. Bet you fucking like it too, being my little cocksucker.” No, you don’t like it, at least right now. I just want you to hold me.

“You’re so fucking good at this. Already gonna cum, ready? Fuck, gonna make me crash the fucking car just from some head. K-keep going, shit.” Tears stream down your face, partially from all your emotions bubbling over and partially from the brutal facefucking. His flesh hand grips the back of your neck and rails your head, spit and tears everywhere, makeup completely ruined, black streaks running down your face.

He cums with a shout, balls pulsing on your cheek where he holds you down. The breaks squeak as he pulls into your shared driveway, ripping you away from his dick. “You look fucking pathetic right now. Trying to get another man’s cock and then gobbling down mine it’s your only purpose.” You can’t find any love in his eyes, only rage and lust. More tears fall down your cheeks.

“B-b-buc-” You try to speak but your voice is hoarse from his cock ramming down your throat.

“Just get upstairs. On the bed, face down, ass up, naked.” If his jaw clenches anymore you’re sure he’ll break some teeth.

“Please, just let me-” He cuts you off again after you’re able to speak.

“Do what I said or else it’s gonna be much worse for you. I don’t take well to insolent whores.” Why can’t you see I need you?

Without another word, you head to the bedroom, trying to wipe away your makeup but only smearing it around even more. You don’t have any more fight left in you. All you want to do is forget the whole night, but you know that it’s nowhere near over. You do as you were told, grabbing the stuffie Bucky won for you at the carnival over a year ago and clutching it to your chest.

You gulp at the sound of Bucky’s clothes dropping to the floor. “Don’t make a sound.” It’s the only warning you get before his hand smacks against your ass, hard. You bite the stuffie, more and more tears falling from your eyes. He slaps your ass over and over again, no doubt leaving bruises. By the end, you’re so deep in subspace that all you want to do is please him.

It doesn’t matter that you don’t want to have sex, that what you want from him is his warmth and comfort. If you make him happy then he will take care of you after. You need to please him, make him proud of you. Just take the punishment. Don’t make him angrier.

Without warning, he slams into your cunt, driving in and out with no regard for your pleasure. He wasn’t trying to make you cum, and you could tell just based on his thrusts. He was using you to get himself off. This is what Jake planned on doing to me, isn’t it? You bite onto the stuffie harder. It hurts, but it feels so good. This is what I deserve.

He cums in your pussy but doesn’t stop moving. The added lubrication makes his thrusts easier and the pleasure starts to build in your stomach. Trying to hide your moans as you near the edge only for him to pull out and slap your ass again and again before railing you again. You try to reach a hand back, maybe to get him to slow down, maybe just because you needed to feel some sort of tenderness, but he only pushes your hand away.

Any thoughts of Jake leave your mind with every plunge of Bucky’s cock. You melt into the mattress, focusing on the pleasure Bucky’s bringing you. He loves me, that’s why he’s so mad. “Fuck, pussy’s so fucking good, never want to leave her. M’going to fuck this little cunt all night if I want to.” Do I want that? It feels so good, but I want him to cuddle me.

You can feel your orgasm build up in your stomach, threatening to burst at any moment. “Can I cum?” It’s the first words you’ve said since he started fucking you. For a fleeting second you think that he’ll pull out again and take your orgasm away, but he only fucks you harder, right hand coming down to your clit, rubbing harsh circles. It hurts in the best way, throwing you over the edge as you cream all over his dick.

“Good girl, no one else can make you cum like me, can they?”

Those two words take you right back to the bar, where the threat of what Jake could have done is still fresh. “RED!” Mid orgasm, your mind reels in fear. Bucky pulls out immediately, all the rage coursing through his body leaving at once. You collapse on the bed, curling into the fetal position, still clutching the stuffed animal to your chest as sobs take over your body.

Bucky shakes as he watches you fall apart. He has no idea what really happened at the bar but he knows that he pushed you too far. He replays every word and act that occurred in the past hour. How he didn’t let you talk, how you looked so small, like you were trying to curl into yourself, how he didn’t even look at you as he shoved his cock down your throat. All the names he called you, the roughness, the lack of care.

He tries to reach out to you, but you jerk away, sobbing harder. Panic swells in his chest. What did he do? How could he hurt the love of his life? Bucky gets off the bed and heads to the bathroom, getting a damp washcloth and walking over to your side of the bed, crouching down so that he is at eye level with you. “Doll?” You whimper in response yet meet his eyes. “Can I clean you up?” You give a small jerk of your head, all you can muster.

Bucky’s heart drops to his stomach as he sees your swollen cunt. He caused that. As gently as he can, he wipes away his cum and your juices before tossing the rag across the room and settling next to you, leaving space so that you can decide if you want to cuddle with him. You crave his warmth so you curl yourself into his side, sighing at the comfort his skin brings.

Self hatred licks at his spine. He wants to run away, not giving himself the chance to do anymore harm, but you need him and he can’t let you down again, not after what he did. Eventually, your sobs ebb and your tense body relaxes. “He tried to drug me.” You say it so quietly that if Bucky didn’t have enhanced hearing he wouldn’t have caught it.

He jolts away, ignoring your whimper at the loss of contact. The morsel of responsibility that was keeping him next to you vanishes. He treated you like a whore, thinking that you were flirting with another man, when in reality you were just trying to keep yourself safe. Bucky stands and paces the room, darker and darker thoughts run through his mind.

“He what?” Bucky can’t breathe, he can’t fathom what he just put you through after one of the worst experiences of your life just happened. You needed him and he wasn’t there in the way you needed.

You try to keep the tears at bay, but you can’t help it. “He slipped something in my drink when he thought I wasn’t looking. I was so scared and you were so far away. I-I didn’t know what to do. I thought if I stalled him long enough I would be okay until you came back.” You shrink into yourself again, the stuffies head tilted at an odd angle at the force you were applying.

“And then I, I let myself, I should have-” He can’t think straight. Anger flairs inside of him. At himself, at the man at the bar. “I’m so sorry.” Tears stream freely down his face as he rounds to where you lay, dropping to his knees.

“Please hold me.” Bucky jumps back into bed, he was fully ready for you to kick him out, hit him, make him beg on his knees for your forgiveness, but not for you to want him to touch you again, not after the pain and fear he inflicted. “I just want to be held, want you to love me.”

“I do love you, sweet girl. I love you so goddamn much it hurts. I shouldn’t have done that. I should have listened to you, should have seen how uncomfortable you were, but I was so caught up in my own head, that you were looking for someone else because I wasn’t good enough.” He hastily wipes his tears away before wrapping his arms around your frame. “And that is no excuse for what I did. I let my own insecurities blind me and I hurt you as a result.”

He trails off before speaking the words that he has been too scared to ask before, but he knows the answer to. “You didn’t want to have sex, did you?” It’s framed as a question, but he says it like a statement, because he knows that you didn’t. Not at the time, mostly because of his own rage, but if he would have thought about more than himself he would have.

“I wanted to please you, though. Thought if I took my punishment that you wouldn’t be mad at me anymore.” Bucky feels his heart break in two. You didn’t have to answer his question. His stomach churns at the fact that the only reason you went through with anything was because you thought that you needed to, for him to treat you the way you deserve, with love and devotion.

You don’t blame him, maybe it’s because you still are so deep in subspace, but either way, he’s taking care of you now. “You never have to do something you don’t want to do just because of me. You know that right?” Clearly, he made you feel like you had to.

“Please, it’s not just your fault. I could have tapped your leg three times, I could have said our safeword long before you fucked me.”

“But I didn’t even let you fucking talk.” You see the hurt in his eyes, not at you, but at himself.

“My hands were free. I could have tapped you at any time. This isn’t just on you. We both fucked up.”

“The only reason you didn’t was because you felt like you had to please me though.” Why is he so desperate to put all the blame onto himself?

“Partially, but also because I wanted to forget about what happened. I thought that if we had sex that your touch could wash away his. But when I knew it couldn't, I should have stopped you.” Both of your eyes were red and full of tears. “Neither of us are exempt from the blame, okay?”

Bucky nods his head, not fully believing you, but not wanting to fight about it. “Can we take a bath and cuddle? We can talk about it tomorrow. I just want to be held right now.” With shuddering breath, Bucky nods his head and picks you up, taking you to the bathroom to get the tub ready.

You both have to work to get past this, to understand what you both could have done better to prevent it from happening again, but you still trust Bucky with your life. There is no love or trust lost between the two of you. It happened and you can’t change that. You doubt that you’ll be going to any bars soon, and there’s going to be a lot of trauma that you’ll both have to work through. Him with his insecurities and you with how easy it would have been for someone to take advantage of you, how you didn’t communicate your needs. But you have Bucky and he has you, and he is going to do everything in his power to make this up to you, that this never happens again.

[libingan]

period sex with ghost???? sign me tf up!!!! it’s been such a long time since i last wrote any fanfiction, so forgive me if it’s dogshit im just rusty

a loud groan escapes you as you doubled over, another wave of pain rolling through your lower abdomen. pressing a hand against your stomach, you feel the familiar dull ache that had become a monthly companion.

they weren’t that bad earlier in the day, but by the afternoon, that faint discomfort had transformed into sharp, persistent stabs that made it difficult to concentrate on literally anything else.

you’ve tried pain killers, heating pads, every distraction you could think of, but even the slightest of movements exacerbated the cramps, sending jolts of pain through your body.

simon, your loving boyfriend, had been trying his goddamned hardest to help you through this. eventually, after one particularly bad outburst from you — which he won’t hold against you, you were in pain — he opted to stay still, letting you cuddle up against him as you groaned out in pain.

unbeknownst to you, simon had been on his phone, searching up more ways he could ease your suffering. he scrolls through each website, seeing the same results over and over and over again.

that is, until, he sees the words ‘an orgasm can alleviate menstrual cramps’ on his screen. for a moment, simon just… stares at his phone. he’s not against the idea, but considering your earlier outburst, he’s unsure of how he’s going to bring it up.

in the end, he decides with a simple ‘fuck it’ and speaks, “says here orgasms can help relieve your cramps,”

you blink up at him in surprise, knowing the implications behind your lover’s words. “does it?”

“yeah, it does.” he flips the phone over to show you his screen, letting you read the article yourself.

something about endorphins… “feel good” chemicals… natural pain relief…

“…we’ll make a mess.” you say.

“i’ll get a towel.” simon replies.

“don’t you think this is… well, gross? i mean, it’s blood…”

“is that a serious question?” simon asks with an incredulous expression, raising a brow at you.

upon seeing your embarrassed expression, simon lets out a sigh, placing his phone done on the nightstand. “listen, love, if you don’t want to, and you think this is gross, we don’t have to do it. all im saying is that im more than willing to help you out.”

you let out a sigh of your own, biting the inside of your cheek as you mull over simon’s suggestion. your cramps hurt like hell, and if orgasms really do help…

“i’ll try anything once, i guess…” you mumble, and simon wordlessly gets off the bed to grab two towels from the closet.

simon spreads both towels on the bed, on top of each other, beckoning you to lay on it. “took two, just in case one isn’t enough.” he explains, crawling over to you.

“are you sure this is okay with you, si?” you ask, reaching up to gently cup his cheek. simon instinctively leans into the palm of your hand, pressing a kiss to your wrist. “should be askin’ you that, lovie. this okay with you?”

“if it helps get rid of these damn cramps, fuck yes.”

that’s all it takes for simon to lean in, one hand slipping behind your nape to pull you into a deep kiss. his free hand slides downwards, tugging at the hem of your shirt, eager to slip it off. the two of you pull away from each other to make quick work of discarding your clothing and throwing them to the floor… or wherever they end up landing.

simon takes a moment to appreciate your body, eyes raking up and down, the tip of his tongue darting out to lick his lips. he gently grabs onto your thighs, pulling them apart to leave more space for him to settle in between. “gonna take these off, okay?” he says, hands moving to toy with the waistband of your panties.

“okay, okay, take them off,” you mutter, legs instinctively shutting the moment you’re left bare. simon clicks his tongue at that, pushing your thighs apart once more. “you hidin’ this pretty pussy from me?”

he gazes down at your cunt, feeling a rush of heat flow through his veins and straight to his cock. simon lets out a low groan, parting your lips apart to expose your sensitive bud.

simon wastes no time and dives right into it, licking a flat stripe on your clit, flicking his tongue against the sensitive bundle of nerves. he revels in the way your legs twitch, the breathy whines that leave your lips.

“simon… simon, oh…” you moan, hands tangling in his blonde hair, holding his head down. this only encourages simon, wrapping his lips around your clit, lightly sucking on it.

he keeps his eyes focused on you the entire time, watching the way your chest heaves and how your back arches into a perfect bow. the sight of you completely lost in the pleasure has his cock throbbing and he can’t resist grinding against the sheets with a few grunts.

simon knows you’re close with the way your legs start clamping down his head and how your hands tighten around his hair. he places a quick kiss to your clit before pulling away, eyes gleaming with his desire and need for you.

a needy, high-pitched whine escapes your lips, but simon softly shushes you, promising a world of pleasure if you behaved. “be patient, love, gonna give you what you want in a bit.”

he reaches out to the nightstand, opening a drawer to take out a condom. simon quickly rips the wrapper with his teeth, hastily rolling the rubber around his cock.

with a careful hand, he brings his hand down to grab the string of your tampon, slowly pulling it out of you.

“jesus…” you muttered, face scrunched up in disgust as simon grabs a few pulls of tissue paper, wrapping it around the tampon and tossing it somewhere he can’t really be bothered to care about.

“simon! if that stains our carpet, i swear to god…”

“i’ll clean it up later, damn it…” simon grumbles, one hand grasping his cock as he positions himself against your entrance. “you ready?”

you sigh, wrapping your legs around simon’s waist. he takes that as a sign to keep going, slowly pushing his dick into you.

“jesus, fuck…” he curses, hissing as your warm walls envelop his cock so deliciously. “so fuckin’ tight…” simon murmurs, leaning towards you, lips finding their way to your neck.

once he bottoms out, simon takes a moment to enjoy the feel of you around him. “feels so good ‘round me, love,” he whispers, nibbling gently on the sensitive skin on your neck.

“move, si,” you nudged him, and simon wordlessly obeys.

he starts off with slow, shallow thrusts, letting you get used to his size before gradually picking up the pace.

simon glances down, admiring the red ring around the base of his dick, the blood staining your labia and a bit on the inside of your thighs. a low groan escapes him at the sight, hands holding onto your hips as he readjusts himself, fucking deeper into your cunt.

“makin’ a bloody mess on my cock, love… literally…” he teasingly whispers. you had half the mind to smack him for making such a joke, but with the way his cock fills up your pussy so snugly, you can’t find it in yourself to do so.

“s-si! feels—feels s’good!” you mewled, head thrown back in pleasure, your hands twisting around the sheets below. sex with simon is always good, but right now? you feel like a virgin being touched for the very first time.

simon reaches down to draw circles on your clit with his thumb, groaning as your gummy walls clench down on his cock. “y-yeah? you gonna come for me, love?”

“yes, yes, yes, please-!” you moan out, eyes squeezed shut. the additional stimulation on your already sensitive nub brings you closer to edge, and you’re damn sure simon can tell, especially with how your sounds seemed to have increased in volume.

“come, let go for me,” simon pants, his own orgasm fast approaching. “come on, love, come on,” he coos, his hips stuttering as he circles his thumb faster.

that’s all it takes for you to tip over the edge, eyes rolling into the back of your head, mouth hanging open as a loud moan erupts from your throat. your walls clamp down so tightly on simon’s cock, drawing his release out of him.

simon gently takes his hand away from your clit before laying on top of you, crushing you with his weight.

“how do you feel? still cramping?” he asks, burying his face into the crook of your neck.

“no,” you reply, lifting a hand to gently scratch simon’s back, “thank you,”

no words are exchanged after that. just you and simon basking in the afterglow. that is, until, you remember the fact that you’re still on your period.

“you’re cleaning everything up, simon. this was your idea.”

simon pulls away, exhaling a heavy sigh. “yes, ma’am,”

[fangirlmermaid]

Quinn reading one of your dark romance books and not being able to look you in the eye would be such a good fic omggg

Summary: Quinn read one of your dark romance books by accident and now isn't able to look you in the eye

Warning: Sad Quinn, Lights out Spoliers, Grammar and punctuation mistakes

Note: I originally tried to make this light-hearted but then it kinda took a turn.

I tried my best! Hope you enjoy it!

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~`~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

You were out for the day with your sister, hitting up every bookstore Vancouver has to offer.

Leaving Quinn at home bored out of his mind. There was nothing good to watch, he wasn’t in the mood to play video games, and he read every book on his shelf.

That’s when his eyes landed on your bookshelf and the memory of you saying how no one reads the same books as you popped into his head.

Your sister was more into thrillers and mystery books, while you were into romance. Quinn normally didn’t like romance, but hearing the sadness in your voice made him change his mind.

Quinn strolled over to your shelf to look at your book selection. There was some hockey romance (He will 100% bring that up with you).

He was going to read Butcher and Blackbird but according to you, it ruins ice cream.

Then he found something that seemed interesting. He remembered it was one of your favorites, Lights Out. He remembered that it was a stalker romance, which he just assumed was about a stalker who fell in love with a girl but got arrested at the end.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

He had a horrid look on his face, he couldn’t believe the chapter he just read.

Josh stabbed the bed with a knife and told Aly to ride it

AND SHE DID IT?!

Quinn would never judge you, especially about the things that you like but holy shit what the fuck!

Were you into this? 

Did you have a mask kink? Were you afraid that he would shame you?

Quinn's ears perked up when the front door unlocked. Panicked, he shoved the book behind the throw pillow and tried to act casual.

“Hi, lovey.” You smiled, closing the door behind you. Quinn saw bags and bags of books. He wondered how many books you had and now bought like Lights Out.

“Hi, baby,” Quinn mumbled, keeping his eyes on the floor. He couldn’t look at you. It wasn’t because he was mad that you read smut; you didn’t need his permission. So what was it? Was he feeling guilty that he wasn’t satisfying you?

“Quinny?”

Your voice pulled Quinn out of his thoughts “Hmm” he hummed looking up at the bookshelf you stood next to, hoping you didn’t notice. “Are you okay?” you asked knitting your eyebrows together, Quinn nodded as his mind replayed the knife scene.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

When you finished showing him all the books you got, you noticed his eyes were on the ceiling. Your stomach churned, did something happen when you were out? Was he mad at you?

You sat down next to him “You sure you're okay?” you asked staring at his side profile. Quinn sat frozen looking straight at the TV “Lovey?” you whispered raking your fingers through the ends of his head “Hmm” was all he was able to say “Look at me” you mumbled grabbing his chin and making him look at you.

His eyes landed on the top of your head, “did something happen while I was gone?” you asked, Quinn shook his head “Did I do something wrong?” Quinn shook his profusely.

Quinn gone mute was making your heart sink, he normally was so open with how he was feeling with you. You cupped his cheek “Baby, What’s wrong? You’re scaring me” you mumbled, your thumb stroking his cheek hoping this would do the trick.

Quinn kissed the pad of your thumb before leaning your touch, “Are you not satisfied?” Quinn mumbled softly you almost missed it, you tilted your head “What do you mean?” you wondered. Quinn finally looked at you “I remembered you saying that no one reads the same books as you…” Quinn started to explain, (your heart stopped, hoping he chose one of your PG-rated books). He grabbed the book he hid “And you were sad…so I wanted to read one so you had someone” Quinn explained placing Lights Out in your free hand.

You would feel butterflies if you weren’t so horrified, why couldn’t he have picked one of your hockey romance books? The book was the final piece of the puzzle to understand why he wouldn’t look at you and what he meant by satisfied. “Lovey, that was very sweet of you to do” You smiled, absolutely no one would read the books you would recommend no matter how hard you tried to convince them. You placed the book on the empty cushion next to you.

“Quinny, I am satisfied I promised”

“You sure?”

“100%”

“So I don’t need to start wearing a mask?”

You chuckled, Quinn would go above and beyond to make you happy. You tucked his hair behind his ear “No, I would miss looking at your handsome face” You assured, which seemed to perk him up.

Though the idea of him wearing a mask was hot

Quinn pressed a kiss to your forehead, “Lovey, next time you try to read one of my books just ask for my opinion” You added gazing at him, “Like your hockey romance books?” Quinn teased, you playfully smacked his chest pretending to be annoyed but your smile gave you away.

[mysticworks]

One day too late ~ LN4 x Reader

Lando x Pregnant! Reader; Coworker! Reader; Very Angsty; mentions of intimacy but nothing explicit; Borderline Forbidden love; Reader & Lando are friends with feelings

S Y N O P S I S:

Carried away at the party, you and Lando share a beautiful night. Lando, worried about the implications on his career, urges you to pretend it never happened, ignoring your feelings for each other...until 6 weeks later you find out you're carrying his child. Word count: 1.5k

[ Drop a comment to be tagged in part 2 ]

A beam of sun in your eyes pulled you out of your slumber.

Sore. Head pounding. A deep ache in your lower stomach.  

It took you a few seconds to realise that this wasn't your room. The unfamiliar sheets, the duvet much thicker and heavier. There seemed to be so much room across the mattress, stretching out in its emptiness. 

Then every memory from last night came tumbling through. 

After a launch party of the new 2024 season, you’d found yourself a little too lost in the celebrations, Lando right beside you in fits of giggles and dances. 

You'd always had feelings for Lando, ever since you joined the PR team during his rookie days - the working time together bonding into a quickly growing friendship. Yet something had always stopped you from taking it further.

And so when Lando placed his hands on your waist last night, his face inches away from yours before your lips finally collided - every rational thought was thrown out the window. 

The heat of the party. The excitement and psychedelic blood rush. Climbing into Lando’s car. Your legs, entangled. His whisper of sudden hot, breathless confession. Your heart pounding in reciprocated emotions. Your hands in his curl, his... 

You shot up in bed, last night now a vivid image.

Lando was sitting across the room, on his computer, headphones flung around his neck. His eyes flick away from the computer screen at your sudden movement, coming to rest on you, and he draws in a long breath.

You felt the air leave your lungs. How did he manage to look so gorgeous even in the mornings? 

“How are you feeling?” You blinked at his break of silence, words not quite making it out of your mouth. 

“Yeah, I’m…” Raking your fingers through your curtain of bangs in an attempt to collect your thoughts, “I’m fine.”

“Don’t worry, I’ve got the pounding headache too.” Lando shrugged, sighing, before powering down the screen and in a swift motion making his way across the room, over to you. 

Awkwardness suddenly overcame you and you did everything to avert your gaze from his. 

This proved pointless as he sat himself in front of you, the mattress dipping under his weight. You could feel the warmth radiate off his body, his finger coming to rest under your chin as he forced your eyes to meet.

“Are you okay?” There was a sadness in Lando’s eyes, one that didn’t quite match the gentleness of his voice. You mumbled a reply, feeling the heat rise in your cheeks - his face was so close - forcing your heart to respond with a quickened beat.

“Listen, I’m sorry for last night.” Your brows found themselves furrowing at his words.

“Sorry?” 

“We shouldn’t have…” He raked his curls, shutting his eyes tight for a brief moment, as if pained to say the words. 

His voice was quieter when he spoke again, “We shouldn’t have done what we did y/n.”

You felt something stab at your chest. “I don’t understand, Lando, I like you, you like me, we’ve known each other for years…what’s…what’s the - ” 

He didn't give you a chance to finish. “I can’t risk having…I just can’t risk a relationship right now. We can’t - ”

He pauses, gaze softening as you feel your eyes well up, but you’re determined to keep a stoic expression on your face.   

It didn't help that Lando was looking at you with such an intense look in his eye, his hand cupping your cheek before tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. 

“Are you saying we can't date?”

You felt your voice betray you, a single tear spilling down your cheek. Lando used his thumb to wipe it away, taking in a shaky breath. 

He looked away. “Please. I’m sorry.” His eyes were almost telling you to stay, now also welled with redness, but his words said differently. 

You felt the world collapse. Your breath hitched. A tremor shot through your limbs as you scrambled out from Lando’s bed. He got up too from his seat, standing limply in the centre of his room.

It was then you realised you were in his clothes, his loose tee reaching your knees, a pair of his joggers clumsily worn over your legs. You paid no heed, now eager to just leave. To run away and hide. 

Never had rejection been so cold. It was almost like he’d used you. A part of you wanted to scream at him, throw things and ask him “why,” yet you felt as if life had been sucked out of you. 

One of the best days of your life had been merely hours ago, before turning into a nightmare. 

“Y/n…” You’d only just reached the door, but his call made you stop in your tracks. There was a shameless hope he’d changed his mind. 

“Here. It’s cold out.” 

He held out one of his hoodies, passing it to you in a gesture to take it. 

You did. Curt and refusing to meet his gaze, before turning around stiffly.

And without another word, you left his apartment, refusing to look back.

----------------------

You weren’t sure when you got home, drenched from the rain that came gushing down along the way. 

You weren’t sure of much…only that your relationship with Lando was over. 

Over before it had even begun.

Climbing out of bed the next day was the worst feeling. With no energy in your limbs, you called in sick to work, refusing to face anyone at the McLaren office, but more importantly, avoiding Lando. 

You stayed in bed, too exhausted from crying to move. 

It wasn’t until a week later that you finally showed up at work. The pain seemed to have subdued; now replaced with forever changing moods. At times you were down in the dumps, exhausted and tired - your head slightly foggy - other times, irritable and angry. Yet you ploughed on at work, ignoring the sleepless nights and restless evenings. 

Avoiding Lando at work was near impossible, and yet you managed. Only speaking to him when absolutely unavoidable through email, or putting on your best corporate voice. 

Eye contact was avoided altogether, even when he craned his head to catch your gaze, you turned away. 

That was a satisfaction you refused to give him.

At 2 weeks it seemed the restless nights had been replaced with exhausted ones, a full night's sleep still leaving you fatigued and nauseous in the mornings. You blamed the sickness on heartbreak. 

Lando watched you more often now, sitting in the lobby of your office during lunch breaks. You turned down the blinds and shut him out.

-------------------

The realisation came, 6 weeks post heartbreak. A quick glance at your calendar told you you’d missed your cycle. The nausea, tiredness, mood swings all made sense now - each jigsaw piece coming together to fit the puzzle. 

Although the fear of raising a baby alone rose in your throat, you were determined to do it. You knew Lando had a right to know. Yet somewhere, deep down in your heart, you refused to give him that.

Perhaps you were running away.

Perhaps this was your revenge.

Your resignation made sure he’d never know. 

L A N D O 'S P O V:

They say you don’t know the value of something until it’s gone. I've learnt this truth the hard way.

I’ve watched her everyday since that night; desperately trying to catch her eye at work; take her aside and apologise. Tell her we can make this happen... start over, uncaring of the world and it's concerns.

I've watched her everyday, slowly starting to shrivel. The bags under her eyes, the tiredness in her smile. I’ve watched her at lunch, nibbling at almost nothing at her plate before silently excusing herself away. 

It devastates me to know that this pain is from me. I have caused it and she didn't deserve it. How I wish I could tell her that I was wrong. I was so, so wrong. 

I miss her smile. Her company; once a comfort. I miss having her by my side; encouraging; so full of energy.

And so this is my chance. My chance to finally set things right.

Clutching the bouquet - glitter roses I spent the last night making - I head over to the PR query desk, determined to start again, if she can give me the chance. 

There’s a new member of staff at the desk; someone I’ve never seen before and he tilts his head up at me, hearing my approach, flashing me a smile. 

He thinks I’m here for a project meeting and begins to rise from his seat, holding up a clipboard as if ready to pass it over. 

“I’m looking for y/n, l/n.” A moment passes.

Legs jittering. Heart tight and constricted; there’s a sense of urgency swelling in me as if telling me to hurry, rushing me to make things right. My fingers tap at the desk, impatient. 

He gives a sigh, furrowing his brows and lowering the clipboard back into place. 

“I'm afraid she's not here. She gave in her resignation yesterday.”

The words hit me like a boulder to the chest.

My legs feel heavy, a tornado whirling in the pit of my stomach. My fingers unclench from the bouquet and with a soft thud, the flowers thud to the ground; petals ripping apart from impact.

They've crumbled. Glitter littering the floor.

It was over.

I was one day too late.

Taglist: @hc-dutch @racinggirl @aileeincomplexity @kravitzwhore @eringaitskill @adoreyou-ido @landoslutmeout @queenofmanydreams

[puck-luck]

Like Hughes, prompt 1, hearts… I was thinking maybe she’s having a bad day and talking about her brain just not shutting up something along those lines lol

warnings: oral fem receiving on a dining room table wc: 619

“I’m sorry, Lu. I know I’ve been talking about this for a while. You must be bored,” you say sheepishly, picking at the remaining food on your plate. 

“I’m not bored,” Luke replies. “I like listening to you talk, even if you’re just venting about how work sucked today. It’s up to you if you want to keep talking about it, babe.”

“I’m sure I could talk about it forever,” you grumble. “I just hate how in my head I get over the stupidest mistakes and interactions. I know it’s not that deep, but I get so wigged out.” You stab at the pile of green beans with your fork. “I wish there was some way where I could just turn off my mind when I don’t want to use it.”

Luke quirks an eyebrow at you. “You think?”

“Yeah,” you tell him. You shrug. “It gets overwhelming to be in my brain, sometimes. It would be nice to quiet it down.”

Luke looks at you for a moment too long. “I have an idea for that,” he says. He clears his plate, then yours. 

“Luke, I wasn’t done eating,” you complain.

“I’ll reheat it for you if you’re still hungry after.” He leaves his plate in the sink, but places yours in the refrigerator. Then, he walks back over to you, taking your hand and guiding you out of the chair. He moves your utensils and glass of water to the floor, away from your feet. “You trust me?” He asks, thumbing over your bottom lip.

“‘Course,” you reply. “Always.”

Luke smiles, the edges of his eyes crinkling slightly. “Good.” He backs you up against the table, trapping you. You hop up onto the ledge, sitting back more comfortably as Luke towers over you. He brings both of his hands to the sides of your face, cradling your jaw as he leans down to kiss you until your chest is heaving and your cheeks are flushed. “I’m gonna fuck every last thought out of this pretty little head,” Luke says like he’s swearing on his grave. “But first, I’m going to eat my dessert.”

You feel a bit lightheaded and hot as he gets to his knees, undressing your lower half. His hands rake over your exposed thighs, tickling your flesh and groping the particularly meaty sections in his hands. Luke kisses over the inside of your thighs, the sensitive areas marked with suction mark after suction mark– they’ll all fade by tomorrow, so you can’t call them hickeys. He’s so sweet about the way he teases you, which lasts until you’re unable to wait any longer. You stammer out a plea for him to do more, unsure if you’re in a space where Luke will grant your requests.

His eyes lock with yours and a smirk covers his mouth. He maintains eye contact as he inches forward, sticking his tongue out when he gets close enough and flicks the tip over your clit. He’s not close enough for it to be anything more than a tease, but the touch already has you whimpering and trying to move your hips closer to his tongue. 

Instead of chastising you for being so greedy, Luke buries his face in your cunt. He went from nothing to everything at once– making you cry out. Your hands fly to his hair. Luke just closes his eyes and nuzzles into your pussy, his tongue working overtime against your clit. One of his fingers has started to trace slowly around the rim of your entrance, although he refuses to enter. 

He seems hell-bent on making your pleasure wash all over his fingers well before they even enter you– you’re in for a long night.

[moonxknightx]

♡˗ˏ✎*ೃ˚ : MATCH-DAY : :;

╰┈➤ ❝ [PAIRING] ❞ Logan Howlett x F!Reader

・❥・GENRE: Fluff and gore?

 ˚୨୧⋆｡˚ ⋆FANDOM: X-Men

ੈ✩‧₊˚ WARNINGS: Graphic Violence: Includes detailed descriptions of physical combat, injuries, and bloodshed

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥SUMMARY: Logan and you engage in a fierce, bloody battle in the forest, showcasing your powers and playful rivalry. Amidst the chaos and mutual taunting, the fight deepens into a tender display of your love and connection.

THE FOREST WAS ALIVE WITH THE CRISP SCENT OF PINE, the soft rustling of leaves, and the hum of nature's quiet symphony. Logan's motorcycle roared to a halt, and you hopped off the back, brushing the wind-tangled hair out of your face. Logan, ever the gruff and rugged presence, took off his helmet and shook out his wild hair, his trademark smirk already in place as he glanced over at you.

"You sure you wanna do this, bub?" Logan asked, his voice dripping with amusement. The way his eyes sparkled, he clearly didn't believe for a second that you could take him in a fight.

You rolled your eyes, playfully punching his shoulder. "Oh, come on, Logan. You can't tell me you haven't been waiting for an excuse to go all out. Besides," you added with a mischievous grin, "you need to be taken down a peg or two."

Logan snorted, crossing his arms over his chest. "You? Take me down? Not in a million years, sweetheart."

Your grin widened, and you cracked your knuckles, a playful light in your eyes. "Wanna bet?"

Logan chuckled, a deep, gravelly sound that sent a shiver of anticipation down your spine. "Alright then. But don’t say I didn’t warn ya."

The air was thick with the scent of challenge and excitement. Without warning, you teleported behind him, your small knife already slicing through the air toward his side. Logan barely had time to react, spinning around and catching your wrist with one hand, his claws unsheathing with a familiar "snikt."

"Nice try," he growled, but you just grinned and vanished again, reappearing a few feet away.

"Not bad, old man," you teased, twirling the knife between your fingers. "But you're gonna have to do better than that."

Logan lunged at you, claws flashing in the dappled sunlight. You met him head-on, your knives clashing against his adamantium claws in a shower of sparks. The force of the blow sent you both skidding back, but you were on him again in a flash, teleporting around him in a blur, landing small cuts and jabs wherever you could.

The air grew thick with the metallic scent of blood. Logan snarled as your knife bit into his shoulder, cutting deep before the wound closed just as quickly. He didn’t hesitate, driving his claws into your side, feeling the resistance as they punctured your flesh. You gasped, but the pain only fueled the adrenaline surging through your veins.

You teleported behind him, but Logan anticipated your move this time, slashing backward without looking. His claws raked across your stomach, opening a deep wound that sent blood spilling onto the forest floor. You gritted your teeth and drove your knee into his ribs, feeling the satisfying crack of bone before you plunged your knife into his back.

Logan grunted, but instead of pulling away, he leaned into the attack, grabbing your arm and yanking the knife out himself. Blood poured from the wound, but it didn’t slow him down. He drove his claws upward, slicing across your chest in a brutal arc. The pain was sharp, blinding, but you welcomed it, your own healing factor already working to close the gashes.

"You’re gonna have to do better than that," you growled, a wicked grin spreading across your face as you spat out blood.

"Oh, I intend to," Logan replied, eyes gleaming with the thrill of the fight.

You both moved at the same time, a blur of claws, knives, and teleportations. You got in close, too close for Logan to effectively use his claws. You managed to stab him in the side repeatedly, the small blades slicing through muscle and sinew. Logan snarled, grabbed you by the throat, and lifted you off the ground. You gasped for air, the pressure building as he squeezed, but you didn't stop, plunging your knife into his side again and again, each stab more vicious than the last.

Logan didn’t even flinch. He threw you to the ground, his claws aimed directly at your heart. You rolled at the last second, feeling the claws graze your ribs as they pierced the earth where your chest had just been.

With a snarl, you teleported behind him, driving both your knives into his back, right where his kidneys would be. Logan roared in pain, the sound echoing through the forest. He twisted, ripping one of the knives out and throwing it aside before driving his elbow into your face, breaking your nose in a spray of blood.

"That all you got?" he taunted, blood dripping from his lips as his wounds began to heal.

You wiped the blood from your face and grinned, your nose already snapping back into place. "Not even close."

The two of you clashed again, a brutal dance of death and regeneration. Logan's claws tore through your flesh, slashing across your arms, legs, and torso. You responded in kind, your knives finding their mark again and again, stabbing into his chest, his abdomen, anywhere you could reach. Blood soaked your clothes, your skin, the ground beneath your feet. The forest around you was splattered with crimson, the trees and leaves bearing witness to your savage battle.

At one point, you managed to get the upper hand, pinning Logan to the ground with your knife at his throat. He looked up at you, a mixture of pride and affection in his eyes despite the blood streaming down his face.

"Looks like I win," you panted, grinning down at him, your own body a patchwork of cuts and bruises.

Logan’s lips twitched into a smirk. "Don’t get cocky, bub."

In a flash, he flipped you over, his claws grazing your cheek as he held you down, your knife slipping from your grasp. "Damn," you muttered, catching your breath as you looked up at him, your eyes still bright with challenge. "You're stronger than you look."

Logan smirked, leaning down so that his forehead nearly touched yours. "You know me. Full of surprises."

For a moment, the only sounds were your mingled breathing and the quiet rustling of the forest around you. Logan's eyes softened, his hand moving to brush a strand of hair from your face, the earlier brutality of the fight melting away into something warmer.

"You know," he murmured, his voice low, "I could get used to this. You keepin' me on my toes."

You laughed softly, your hand coming up to rest on his chest. "Good. Wouldn't want you getting bored."

Logan leaned in, his lips brushing yours in a kiss that was both tender and fierce, a reflection of the battle you had just waged. When he pulled back, that familiar smirk was back on his face. "Next time, though, I ain't holdin' back."

You grinned, your eyes flashing with mischief. "Neither will I."

The two of you lay there for a moment longer, the adrenaline of the fight still buzzing through your veins, but now tempered with the warmth of your shared connection. Even though you'd just tried to tear each other apart, there was no denying the love that bound you together.

Logan finally stood, offering you a hand up. "C'mon, let's get outta here before the wildlife gets curious."

You took his hand, wincing slightly as your body finished healing. "Fine. But next time, I’m bringing bigger knives."

He chuckled, pulling you close as you walked back to the motorcycle. "Whatever you say, bub. Whatever you say."

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[a-ikuoliver]

w/c: 1.8k tw: blood, bloody makeout, don't look at me notes: this is my first time writing toga i want her so bad tagging ml @papersirens <3

too much. too much. too much. too much. too much. too much.

friends, teachers, parents, that's all they'd ever say — every school report, every play date, every fight some variation, always too something.

"himiko," her friends would sniffle, pouting at the edge of the playgrounds, rubbing palms into their watery eyes, tossing himiko's doll at her feet, "mama says you play too rough."

too rough. too rough. too rough. too rough. too rough.

"himiko. let go." older know, she knows to obey, to loosen her grip on her best friends hand, not to argue, not to pout. "you're hurting me."

a painful pang hits her heart as miu's hand slips from her grasp, her hand flopping uselessly to her side; why didn't miu want to hold her hand? keep her close? hold her so hard she won't slip between the gaps?

too hard. too hard. too hard. too hard. too hard.

"himiko," miu's voice is soft, like feathers, like cotton, like her lips.

"please, himiko? i need to practice, yumiko said naruhito is going to ask me out friday." her voice is sweet, like sugar, like peaches, like her tongue.

practice. that's all it was. her first kiss already not really her own, it belonged to naruhito. like miu did.

"toga!" her shout is sharp, like a knife, like a razor, like glass, shattered into tiny shards at her feet.

"why would you do that!" the back of her hand comes away red when she glares at the blonde, himiko's pointed canines grazing against her bottom lip, she just wanted her, wanted her love, wanted all of her.

"you're too rough, boys don't want to kiss like that."

too much. too hard. too rough. too overwhelming. too suffocating. too much.

miu was right. no one wanted to kiss her. no one wanted to walk hand in hand. no one wanted to love her. no one wanted her affection.

"himiko," your voice is soft, like cotton, like feathers. "please, angel."

your voice is different than miu's. lower. hungrier. your grip is bruising, clutching her hips like your life depended on holding her in your hands, painted nails raking over her burning skin beneath the knitted dress.

you're breathless when you say her name, like being in her gravity sucks the oxygen from your lungs, like miu sounded talking about naruhito before she kissed toga.

your lips are less than an inch away from hers, glittering, citrine eyes staring into yours, finding nothing but the same insatiable desperation mirrored from her own; nothing like the eyes that came before you, no apprehension, none of the disappointment, the fear.

you slot between two plush thighs, pushing her dress higher on her hips with your movement, one hand sliding down past her belly button, ghosting over her hips to move to the back of her thighs, squeezing the pillowy fat there hard in your hands, gripping her like you're worried she'll disappear, slipping through your grasp.

"kiss me, please, kiss me."

himiko wants to speak, to wield a sharp tongue before you can cut her with yours, to tell you your affection meant nothing, that she was indifferent, nonchalant, unaffected, just like miu had been. another swift squeeze to her ass has her head falling back onto plush pillows instead, a low, drawn out sigh from her parted lips.

your bed is squishy, like miu's, the scent of clean cotton and your perfume filling her nose, muskier than miu's had been, the scent clouding her mind the more she sunk into the comfortable cushions.

soft.

aren't you worried she'll slice and stab and rip the softness apart? claw and cut and tear through the sweet-smelling fabric until she was surrounded by fragile feathers, floating down around her as she lies in the centre of her destruction?

you can feel her heart pounding in her chest, practically hear it in the silent room (save for your panting as you kiss her cheek and jaw) when her thighs slip apart absentmindedly, the short woven dress sliding higher on her hips at the movement, exposing just a sliver of cotton panties, already wet at the centre.

"you want me to say it again, angel? i'll say it as many times as you want to hear it." you're panting against her skin, smiling lips planting another kiss beneath her jaw, hot breath tickling the hair at the nape of her neck the more you begged. she's certain you can taste her erratic heartbeat when you lick at her pulse point, smell her desperation, her fear. like a fawn cowering beneath a wolf, your canines bearing with every word you spoke, "please, please, please."

sliding one hand up her chest, you rest it on her pulsing ribcage, just beneath her tits, your other travelling lower, easing between her thighs, feeling her heart race the closer you inched up her thigh, closing in towards her cunt.

her pupils have almost swallowed her entire amber iris, full and dark with an insatiable need, thick eyelashes fluttering when the tip of your finger ghosts over the crease of her thigh, only a breath away from her pussy. she jumps, the muscles in her thigh twitching beneath your fingers.

"i-i can't," it's the murmur of a church mouse, of tiny, wild prey, trapped beneath a murderous predator. her voice soft, like your pillows, like your hands.

"can't kiss me?" your voice is light, teasing, drawing another blissed sigh from her when you kiss the column of her throat with a grin, "or don't want to kiss me?"

god, if you knew how much she wants you. if you knew how all-consuming her appetite was. himiko sinks her claws into you, sharp plum nails digging into the meat of your upper arm, tugging you closer, closer, closer, your hips pressed to hers so hard she jerks again, hungrily searching for you. you let her, allow her to pull you where she wants you, to tug you above her, to bruise you. to mark you. have you as her own.

she waits for your yelp, your cry, 'himiko, stop, too much. too hard. too rough.'

she aches for more as she stares up at you, for your touch, your tongue, your lips, your teeth, your fingers. she can't let go of you, sinking her claws deeper into your skin, even as a bruise begins to bloom beneath painted fingertips. she feels her heart might explode beneath your hand, that your fingers will be stained with her desperation for more, her ache to make you hers.

you don't wince. you don't pull away. you don't pout. you don't tell her she's too much. you don't say anything. you only grin, biting your bottom lip before you finally dip your head to meet her lips.

your kiss is nothing like miu's, apprehension replaced with a hunger, a desperation no one's ever felt for himiko before, your tongue searching for hers, not avoiding her kiss. sighing into your lips, her spine arches into you, chest pressing to yours, rib cage to rib cage, your heart pressing to her heart. there's not an atom keeping you apart.

her hand travels down your arm, over your waist, resting on your hip where she pulls you closer again, her hips jumping to meet yours, desperate for any stimulation, for your body heat.

she thinks she hears you mumble again, a breathless plea from your mouth into hers, your sigh breathing life directly into her lungs.

pressing your hips into hers, you take advantage of her soft moan, sliding your tongue into her mouth, tasting her lips, her teeth, sucking her tongue into your own mouth. himiko all but whimpers against you, the sound high, needy.

she is needy, needs your touch, needs you to need her.

too much. too much. too much. too much.

like a mantra, she reminds herself, glass heart fracturing at the idea of your kiss laced with trepidation, of your mind racing with excuses to leave her, of you sniffling when soft skin tears beneath her razor-sharp touch.

a needle-sharp incisor catches on the plump of your bottom lip, blood already pooling to the surface, spilling into her mouth. glimmering golden eyes roll back, you taste so good, breath taking, so fucking addictive. she wants to savour your taste before you pull away, before you tell her she's too much for you, before you storm out and leave her barren of your heat, of your adoration.

"fuck, himiko," you sound… different than miu did. she spoke sharply, angry. you were… hungry, needy, desperate.

your hand slips out from beneath her dress, flying to her jaw to slam your lips into hers again, spreading blood and saliva over your lips and chin as you sloppily kissed her, your metallic tongue tracing over hers. himiko's hands follow, one forming a bruise on your ass, the other tangling at the back of your neck. she can't get close enough to you. tugging you closer, closer, closer, kissing you deeper, deeper, deeper.

her moans sound angelic, even more so when her head falls back, unabashedly loud in her pleasure when you suck on her throat, bringing blood to the surface with your tongue until you sink your teeth into her neck, at the join of her shoulder, her chest, leaving deep, purpling indents in your wake, a memory of you cemented in her epidermis for the days to come.

crimson runs down the centre of your chest, a deep vermillion trail travelling down between your tits, her tongue relentlessly chasing the taste until her face is pressed to your sternum, licking and sucking hungrily at your skin, neither of you caring about the mess of blood and saliva between you. not when her tongue was swirling between your tits, when your fingers are twitching against her plush cunt.

"himiko, himiko, himi-ko," her cat-like eyes are fogged over with lust, staring up at you, no thought in her mind other than the taste of your skin, of your blood, of your lips, teeth, tongue, of you.

blood rushes in her ears, pumping through her arteries and gathering at the base of her throat, spilling from the shallow wound on her chest, smearing between your bodies. himiko's dizzy, her head swimming when you lick at her tongue again, the taste of coppery blood spreading between your mouths; she doesn't know what's yours anymore, your saliva and blood mixing with hers between your mouths, you both becoming one.

her hand settles at your jaw, pulling your gory lips back to hers hungrily, eagerly parting your lips with her tongue, licking at the wound in your lip, your blood-stained teeth. dark red spreads between you both, from your veins to her tongue, from her tongue to your mouth, from your mouth back to hers, a terribly erotic mix of blood and saliva that had her heart racing like it wanted to jump from her rib cage into your hold, for you to hold and kiss like it was her.

"fuck, himiko," you pant, breaking the kiss to press your forehead to hers, planting kisses between every word,, between every breath, leaving pretty red marks along her jaw, "you're perfect."

she's perfect. perfect. perfect. perfect.

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