#don’t spread yourself too thin

[rabbits-of-negative-euphoria]

listen I am telling you this very important thing. shh listen. it is so much better to temporarily blacklist that Tumblr pal who is irritating you than it is to unfollow them. because over time you will realize that annoying thing they were doing was a phase or that bad attitude they had was a phase, OR that it was YOUR bad attitude making them seem annoying, and YOUR bad attitude is also temporary. and when the phases fade away you will realize it was just a little dumb thing in the grand scheme of your good life together, and in real life you can’t just unfollow your friends when they’re being dumb, you have to forbear with them, and you have to live with the consequences of your own actions.

[whateveriwant]

I know I’ve already gone on and on about what it’s like to have a size difference with Simon Riley, but I’m sorry, I just will never get over how big and strong this man is.

Like I feel like sometimes his size gets lost on us since he’s surrounded by other tall, buff military guys all the time. But y’all, I’m telling you, this man is big. Like 6’4, 250+ pounds, big enough to eclipse the sun big.

With a man that big, it honestly doesn’t even matter what size you are because he’s always going to be bigger and stronger than you anyway. You can be tall, short, stocky, thin, whatever, and this man is still fully capable (and willing? 👀) of snapping you in half like a twig.

Are you worried about potential home invaders? Well, you shouldn’t be. One quick flick of his wrist and he’s breaking the neck of anyone who tries to threaten you. Did you accidentally lock yourself out of the house? Well, don’t bother calling a locksmith. There’s no lock left to pick after he’s just caved the door in with his foot. Do you have a really stubborn jar you’re struggling to open? Well, hand it over, love. He can crack that sucker open in half a second flat.

But Lord, don’t even get me started when it comes to all the ways Simon uses that strength of his in the bedroom.

Like when he tells you to sit on his face so he can eat you out. Don’t even try it with that nervous, hovering, “I’m too heavy, Si,” bullshit. You better sit your ass down right when and where he tells you to or he’ll hold you down by the hips until he’s had his fill.

Or when, after a night of heavy flirting and teasing, he’s got that look in his eye as he corners you against your entryway wall. Don’t be surprised when one moment your feet are firmly planted on the ground, and the next you’re lifted into the air, your legs slung over his arms as he drills into you like you’re his own little fuck puppet.

Or when he’s got you spread out on his bed, got your knees up by your ears, got the backs of your thighs burning in a way that’s matched only by how your walls have to stretch to take his thick cock. Don’t think he’s being mean or malicious when he sees your eyes well with tears but does nothing to change the way he’s fucking down into you. It’s not that Simon doesn’t care whenever you cry and quiver and plead with him to go easier on you, it’s that he knows the truth. He knows that, deep down, you love when he handles you like he isn’t afraid to break you.

[screampied]

✩ㅤ cw. fem! reader, size difference, choking, size kinks, unprotected, dirty talk, praise, full nelson, mdni.

play fighting with suguru which later turns into him having you in a full nelson.

“awww, c��mon. don’t tap out on me now, sweetheart,” he purrs against the soft shell of your ear, hearing you sweetly gasp at the gaping barrage he creates with his thick cock. just a few moments ago—you were on top of him and now you were being stuffed full, legs dangling and weakly being held hostage while a beefy arm of his slings around your throat. your body collapses backward as you’re just idly bouncing on his lap, feeling each of his bulky muscles flex and twitch behind you. “biiiig stretch, fuck there we go. mhm, my baby’s all nice ‘n flexible.” he gruffs, peppering a few sultry kisses near the open curvature of your neck. you moan, feeling the secure grasp of his broad hands move from its original placement, gluing under the cracks of your thighs.

he’s got you in such a risqué position, your body continues to jostle against his, feeling his carved hard abs rub off against your skin. “ngh, suguru,” you squawk, and your hooded eyes peer down at yourself taking him in fully. his base had a pretty sheeny tan, resuming to pump in and out of you, already blissfully bottoming out. you felt him everywhere—and he’s just holding you upright with two burly arms, locking his arms under your plush pretty thighs. “ ‘m gonna cum again, fuck.”

with a husky snicker, he deepens his thrusts against you by moving his hands toward your rickety hips. a cunning simper spreads against his lips before he ghosts a few silvery slick fingers down your sopping wet slit. “well yeah, with a weak pussy like this, bet you are. you poor thing.”

your jaw couldn’t help but loosely hang itself open as he’s just ruthlessly lodged inside of your cunt, creeping a swollen fat thumb near your puffy hood to toy and flick with it some more.

his touch to you was like electricity, and you were very much on the verge of breaking. he was so thick — insanely thick, geto’s pearly poking crownhead mercilessly drags in and out of your pasty walls and you recognize the delicious curve of his dick all too well.

your moans grow even louder, so loud that it’s bouncing against the paper thin walls whilst the sharp slaps of skin create shivers all throughout your body. “fuck, more. put me in a chokehold, sugu.”

“dirty girl,” he grunts, his hefty base starting to slather up with sappy juices from your slick heat. a big brawny arm curls around your neck again and he presses a chaste kiss toward your cheek.

“my, you really shouldn’t say such things, y’know,” and as you’re still taking his cock, you feel his free hand grab near one of your breasts. he gives it a nice squeeze before focusing his attention back towards your neck, hearing your cute exasperated gasps. licking against your ear, he lowly whispers, making you slightly turn your neck to face his feral sly eyes. “i could just snap you in half if i really wanted to. all i gotta do ‘s jus add a little pressure like this ‘n . . my doll’s gonna be all broken and we can’t have that, huh.”

sweet sweet whimpers spill from your lips as his arm still remains wrapped around your throat. he makes sure it’s a safe hold, giving you a few frisky squeezes here and there just to hear you whine for more.

he’s so beefy. through your glossy doe peripherals, you could visibly see his veins pop out through his skin. you felt your pussy throb once you start to imagine all the times he goes to the gym alone, all the times he’s lifting weights.

if anything though, you wanted him to be lifting you instead.

“nothin’ to say? aw, pity,” his gravelly voice lowers, and you’re brought back to harsh reality once his palm swats against your ass. you bite down on your tongue in attempt to suppress your incoming lewd whimper but it still comes out. “fuck, always so warm f’ me, god,” and his grip against your neck loosens. the pits of your tummy tense and coil up as your clammy thighs continue to tweak and spasm from his sharp thrusts. so deep. every few seconds, he’d pull your legs up or drag them further apart just to hear you gasp.

you’re almost marveled by the fact that such an obscene position even exists. your legs could barely stand and if it wasn’t for the help of his hands, you’d be screwed.

“s- sugu—ah!” you whine, feeling his bulbous head ram its way against your convulsing g-spot. he knows that spot like the back of his hand, the cute bumpy texture that never fails to present himself around his angered tip. shaggy long tresses of black hair tickle near the nape of your neck as you fall back. “fuck fuck fuuuck,” you loudly snivel, digging your nails into his meaty thigh. once he hits it, he keeps hitting it until your cute voice strains itself out. he’s still practically got you folded as you’re trying to ride out your euphoric orgasm. the bed devastatingly dips inward from the crushing masses of weight piling on top of it.

“there we go, that’s my sloppy girl,” he coos in a raspy tone. geto’s pitching his voice against your ear as he speaks and oh, his words a mere raunchy whisper. he hears your talkative cunt squelch out, faint strings of syrupy slick forming a little plash around his weighty base. geto holds your hips firmly, showering the crook of your neck with a plethora of balmy kisses as your body ruts and shakes.

“good girl, listen to how nasty you always sound for me,” he hums, sneaking his stubby fingers back down towards your weeping wet cunt, maneuvering a few circles near your drooling slit. “i know, i know,” he talks over your enraptured shrills, and he then gives your pussy a patting spank. you moan, falling back against his sweaty chest and a trail of his curly chest hair titillates against the center of your back. “this is a lot more fun then wrestling, isn’t it, sweetheart?”

“y- yeah,” you swallow, and he teasingly wraps a stocky bicep around your neck again. he’s still merrily buried inside of your gummy walls, feeling you writhe around his lap and he chuckles. you’re panting, full lungs desperately trying to gather up any amounts of air that it could before you exhale. “again, sugu.”

with a purring hum, he lifts you back up, trying to pull your leg over your shoulder. “hm, fine. but keep up. ‘m not gonna go easy on ya this time,” and he gives your dribbling sensitive clit another playful pat. “and ‘m certainly not gonna go easy on her either. but, i’ll try not to break you too bad this time princess, no promises.”

[imaginedisish]

Liquid Smooth (Logan Howlett x Fem!Reader)

A/N: Started writing this last night...sooo happy you guys wanted a sex pollen fic! Hope it lives up to everyone's expectations! This one is (obviously) inspired by "Liquid Smooth," by Mitski. ENJOY!

Summary: A simple mission deep in a forest alone with Logan quickly gets out of hand when you just have to go and pick a flower...

Warnings: 18+ EXPLICIT SEXUAL CONTENT MINORS DNI! Dry humping, Oral (f!receiving), Fingering, Unprotected PIV (wrap it up!), Sex Pollen (so dub!con just to be safe, but not really), Multiple orgasms, Porn Without Plot...literally, implied!age gap, cursing, friends to lovers, fem!reader/afab!reader, probably some grammatical errors, I think that's it.

Word Count: 3,797 muahaha

“I don’t need a goddamn babysitter,” you murmur as Logan thumbs through the controls of the X-Jet. “Could’ve done this by myself.” 

Logan scoffs. “I’m not your babysitter, princess.” You roll your eyes at the nickname Logan has specially reserved just for you. “Charles said we’d be safer going together. He knows you can handle yourself.”

The X-Jet cruises effortlessly through the clouds. The air is still today. Calm. You and Logan are on your way to get some sort of flower that Charles claims to have extensive healing properties. It’s an easy mission. No fighting. No violence. You’re unlikely to have to use your powers at all. And yet, you’ve been paired with Logan. 

It wouldn’t be a problem if you weren’t—admittedly—a little into him. Or rather, pining after him. There’s just something about the sarcasm that’s always thick in his voice; the way he squeezes himself into those thin beaters. How he’s always so self-assured, so thoroughly convinced he’s right. You just can’t help it. You want him. But he isn’t yours, and he probably never will be. He’s a little older—well, a lot, considering he’s been around forever. And you know it’s safer not to make attachments—not to fall in love.

Unfortunately, it’s a little too late for that. 

But having him here with you now, alone, with no buffers…it’s overwhelming. You can smell him—that mix of tobacco and pine and musk and him. He’s suddenly everywhere, and there’s nothing you can do about it. You watch as his long fingers press different buttons, his hands gripping the steering wheel, adjusting thrusters. You stare at those fingers for far too long, your thoughts drifting to what else he can do with them. You think about him curling them deep inside you, stretching you open and—

“Everything okay?” You snap your head to face Logan, swallowing harshly as his voice pulls you back to reality. 

You force a smile, nodding. “Yep!” You say, overcompensating just a bit. “All good,” you lie. You close your eyes, trying to push thoughts of Logan out of your head, denying the heat growing between your legs.

“Good, because we’re almost there,” Logan says, the X-Jet descending carefully. You look out the window to see the trees below. There’s a lake in the distance, but that’s it. No civilization, no houses—no one. It’s empty, peaceful. 

“We’re really in the middle of nowhere, huh?” You say, glancing at Logan. 

His eyes meet yours and he smiles. Warmth blooms in your heart at the sight. “My kind of place,” he says back. The X-Jet descends further as you approach a clear spread of grass to land on just ahead. 

This is, in fact, not your kind of place. The humidity creeps up your back and settles under your skin. The forest is overgrown and impossible to navigate. You let Logan slice through the plant life with his claws, swiping back and forth whenever something gets in your way.

You haven’t been walking for long, but you’re already done. Perhaps Charles was right; a partner is not the worst idea on a mission like this. 

You can see the flower just ahead—yellow petals and a long, green, viny stem. It glows brightly even under the dense forest canopy. “Semper in tenebris lux,” Charles had said; there is always light in darkness. And he was right. The flower illuminates everything in its path. Next to it, you can see a pretty, lavender-colored flower. You stop in your tracks, letting Logan wander ahead as you crouch down to stroke the purple petals. 

“Charles didn’t say anything about not taking other flowers too, right?” You call out, watching as Logan swipes carefully at the stem of the yellow flower. He holds the dainty stem in his large hands as he walks back over to you. 

“No, he didn’t. But you should be careful. It could be poisonous or—”

You ignore Logan, picking the flower anyway. You hold it up to your nose and breathe in. It’s sweet and fragrant. You twist the stem and realize the flower is sticky with sap and pollen. Your twist shakes some of the pollen up, and it lands all over your face. 

“Shit,” you mutter, wiping it away. A gust of wind sweeps through the forest, knocking the flower out of your hand and spreading more of its pollen in the air. You can feel it in your nostrils, getting caught in your throat.

Logan furrows his brows as the pollen falls to the ground. “What the fuck did you do?”

You roll your eyes. “All I did was pick a flower!” You lift your hands, feigning innocence. “I’m sure it’s nothing.” You stand up, glancing once at the yellow flower in Logan’s hands and then back at Logan. “It’s pretty.”

He parts his lips, his stare focused on you. “Yeah, it is.” There’s something else in that stare, in those words. Like maybe he isn’t only talking about the flower. You shove those thoughts down as you turn around and walk back to the jet.

Your steps are suddenly very heavy. You scratch at your shoulder. Heat blooms in your chest, your stomach, across your face. You’re irritated and overheated and itchy. Your breath grows heavier and rougher with every step. 

Logan notices immediately. He stops, grabbing your arm. You can’t control the way you lean into his touch, nor the way you’re craving more. “Hey,” he soothes, eyes searching your face. “Are you okay?” There’s a hint of panic in his voice. 

You swallow harshly, nodding. Your throat feels thick, your skin tight and oppressive. “’M’fine,” you mumble. 

“Quit lying. I can tell something’s wrong,” Logan demands. You open your mouth to persuade him otherwise, but he doesn’t give you the chance, his grip tightening around your arm. “Your skin is on fucking fire, princess. What did you do?” He cocks his head, sniffing as he furrows his brows. His voice is darker now, slower as his eyes widen. “What the fuck did you do?”

You take in a sharp breath. And that’s when you feel it, the ache between your thighs, the slick arousal soaking through your panties. The realization smacks you in the face. For a moment, you’re clear-headed, but still terrified. The pollen. That goddamn, fucking pollen. “Logan, look, I think that purple flower had some—"

He cuts you off as he yanks your arm, tugging you towards the ship. “We need to get you back to the jet, okay?”

“Oh, I am so fucked,” you cry. You know you only have a few seconds left before the effects really kick in. “L-Logan,” you stutter, almost moaning as your core burns stronger with need. “T-the pollen was everywhere. What if you got some too?” 

He ignores you, handing you the yellow flower you came here for in the first place. He sweeps one hand under your legs and keeps the other at your back as he lifts you in his arms—bridal style. You can feel his heart beating in his chest. You lean into him again, searching for relief. Wetness pools between your legs. You have never felt this needy before. Your desire hurts, burns, scorches you. You rut your hips, clenching down around nothing. 

“S-stop doing that,” Logan spits, restrained and quiet. 

“C-can’t,” you whine. “It hurts, Logan. It hurts so fucking bad. How come you aren’t like this too?”

He pulls you tighter to his chest. “I feel a little something, but that might just…”

You tilt your head up to look at him. He works his jaw, that perfect jaw. You want to bite it, to bury your face in the crook of his neck. “Might just be what?” You ask, tentatively brushing your lips against the hollow of his throat. 

“Nothing, just—fuck,” he groans as you press soft, open-mouthed kisses all around his neck now. “Don’t do that, princess. You don’t want this.”

“But I do, Logan,” you beg. The ramp to the jet lowers as you and Logan approach. “N-need you.” You bury your face into his shoulder, breathing him in. “Need y-you all the time.” The confession slips easily from your lips. 

Logan’s eyes widen as he walks up the ramp and into the ship. It lifts and seals shut behind him. “You don’t mean that, sweetheart. Let’s just get you back to the mansion as quickly as possible, yeah?”

He places you down on the seat next to him, taking the flower from your hands and putting it in the jar Charles had given you. The leather cold at your back almost feels good, almost relieving—until you realize Logan is no longer holding you, touching you. You reach out towards him, grabbing his arms, pulling him back in. “Don’t go,” you plead, nails digging into his biceps. Your body is on fire. Everything is unbearably painful. “Please,” you whimper. “Need you so fucking bad, just you.” 

“Fuck,” Logan curses. “I am not taking advantage of you. I am not doing this.” He stands, freeing himself from your grasp and walking over to the pilot’s chair. “I’m getting you back to the mansion and we’re going to fix this, okay?”

But that’s not good enough for you. You stand up and walk over to Logan. Your steps are shaky, your legs trembling. Your chest heaves, your heart beating rapidly. You climb into Logan’s lap, straddling him, one leg on either side. “Logan, I can’t fucking wait,” you cry, grinding down onto his lap. The pressure feels delicious.  He grabs your hips, stilling you, forcing you in place. And that’s when you feel it: his erection, hard underneath your core. “This isn’t you. You don’t really want this, don’t really want m—”

“It is me,” you protest, squirming against his hold. “Logan, I’ve wanted you for months. I-I was thinking about you t-touching me the whole way here.” You remember the way his fingers dexterously pushed all the right buttons. Need courses through you like a river, and as Logan’s hold on your hips softens, you grind down into his lap, against his erection. “S-so good,” you cry out. 

His hands are still on your hips, but now he’s guiding you, rocking you against his cock. “J-just this though, okay?” 

You hum, pressing your forehead to his, rolling your hips faster. The relief is like heaven. His arms wrap around your back, his fingers trailing up and down soothingly. Logan ruts into you, his erection straining against his jeans. You can feel yourself getting closer, but the pain, the need, it’s all still the same. 

“Logan, it’s not gonna be enough,” you whisper, his lips ghosting yours. “N-need more. Hurts so bad.”

He presses a chaste kiss to your lips, like he’s scared to truly touch you. But he wants to consume your pain, to take it away, to feel it for you. You can see it written across his face, in the way his cock throbs against your swollen clit, how he snaps his hips into yours. 

“I know, princess,” he coos, his hands like fire on your back. Your walls contract around nothing, begging for something to hold onto, to feel something sink deep inside. “Gonna take care of you.” He kisses you again, with more vigor this time, more passion. “I’ve got you, darlin’.”

You moan into his mouth. His composure is slipping, disintegrating with every roll, every rock of your hips against his. His cock notches against your clit, sending a jolt of pleasure up the base of your spine. He hikes your shirt up, the cold air hitting your overheated skin. “F-feels good,” you stammer. You’re almost there, almost hitting that peak. “S-so close.”

“I know, pretty girl,” he soothes. “Let go for me, know you can do it.” 

You moan his name, your orgasm crashing into you like a crescendo. You know you’re soaking through your clothes, and probably onto Logan’s too. He’s still rutting against you, giving you more. He knows it’s not going to be enough, and he’s right. Need builds back up just as quickly as you found your release. 

 “Lo…” you trail off, looking up at him under lust-filled eyes. You swallow harshly, squirming in his lap helplessly. “G-gotta have you.” 

He presses his forehead to yours. He works his jaw, parting his lips. “Y-you meant it when you said you wanted me before this?” But he already knows the answer. He knows you wouldn’t lie to him about that, not even now. 

“Yes,” you whine, pulling him closer. He tugs your shirt all the way over your head and picks you up, hands firmly gripping your ass. “Still gonna want you after this, too.”

He curses under his breath as he places you down in the pilot’s chair. He’s frenzied and frantic as he hooks his thumbs into your pants and panties, yanking them down your legs and casting them to the side. 

He spreads your legs with the palms of his hands, his thumbs brushing soft circles into your inner thighs. He’s kneeling, looking up at you. Your breath catches in your throat as his face settles between your legs. 

“Could smell you before, pretty girl,” he husks, his breath fanning over your clit. “Wanted this so fucking bad.” He doesn’t keep you waiting, licking a long stripe through your folds and up to your clit. “Knew you’d taste perfect. Pretty fucking pussy.” 

You throw your head back as his lips latch onto your clit, sucking harshly. He slips one hand across your back, keeping you close. His free hand climbs up your thigh, fingers exploring your folds as his tongue flits across your swollen bud. He spreads your arousal, prodding against your entrance before shoving two fingers deep inside you. “Logan!” You cry out, your walls clenching around him. He’s stretching you out, his fingers dragging inside you. He pulls out and plunges back in. He isn’t taking his time, isn’t teasing. He’s giving you what you need, pump after pump. 

You look down at him, his face buried in your cunt, consuming you, swallowing you whole like a starving man. He’s lost inside you, lapping at you with unwavering hunger and desire. His tongue swirls around your clit, his teeth grazing ever so slightly. You moan his name again, and he hums against you, the vibrations of his bassy voice rocking through your body. He’s wrecking you, but it feels so goddamn good. 

“That’s it, sweetheart,” he goads you along. He’s adding a third finger now, and you suck him in. You’d take anything he gives you, anything at all. “Doing so good for me, taking it so well.” 

He sucks roughly, your walls clenching around him at the feeling. “Yeah?” He grunts, sucking again. “You like that? Feels good?” 

“Y-yes,” you stammer, stumbling over that one simple word. “S-so fucking good.” 

“I know, beautiful,” he groans, nipping at your clit in between his rough sucks. “Gonna make that hurt go away, okay?” His voice is like honey, sugar; it’s sweet, addictive. “You just gotta come for me again, can you do that?” His tongue strokes your clit, his fingers pumping faster now. 

You nod your head emphatically, pleasure surging as you near your peak. “Yeah, I-I can,” you huff. 

Logan smiles against your cunt between rough laps. “I know you can, sweetheart.” His fingers scissor inside you, deeper than before. He takes your clit between his lips again, sucking hard. 

And that’s all it takes—you’re screaming his name, coming undone, unraveling underneath him. The release is even better than the first, more full, more complete. Logan thrusts in and out a few more times before slowly pulling his fingers from your cunt. He licks one more long stripe through your folds and looks up into your eyes. 

For a moment, the fire inside has been quenched. You feel clear, levelheaded. But it doesn’t last long. “Fuck,” you moan, your head hitting against the headrest of the chair. The fire is back, spreading across your stomach, your chest. “Logan,” you whimper. “I n-need more.”

“It’s okay, pretty girl,” he coos, taking you back up into his arms. He hoists you out of the seat, his hands finding your ass, squeezing softly. You wrap your legs around his waist as he carries you across the jet, setting you down on a storage container. 

You bring your hands up to his biceps. “Need you this time, Lo,” you choke, stroking up and down his arms as the heat builds painfully between your thighs. 

“Are you sure?” He asks, eyes searching yours. 

“Always wanted you, always sure,” you whisper, wrapping your legs tighter around his waist. 

His Adam’s apple bobs in his throat. “Wanted you too,” he husks. “But I wanted it to be different, to—” You cut him off. “Just want you. It’s okay like this. I promise.” You grind against him, his erection still straining inside the denim of his jeans. 

He takes the hint, and quickly unbuckles his belt, casting the leather to the metal floor with a clunk. He’s unbuttoning and unzipping his jeans, shoving them down his legs, and lining himself up with your entrance. You push your hips forward, giving him better access. His other hand pushes your bra above your breasts, exposing you completely to him. 

With one hand on his cock and one squeezing your tits gently, he thrusts himself into you. He’s so deep—down to the hilt—stretching you out and working you open. He groans, flicking your nipple with his thumb, his lips at the shell of your ear. “So fucking beautiful,” he whispers, sending a chill down your spine, quenching that fire inside. “So warm, so tight.” He pulls out and plunges back in again, filling you up. 

“Lo,” you whine. “More.”

“I know,” he growls, his hips snapping into yours, bottoming out with every thrust. “Gonna take care of you, pretty girl.” He squeezes your tits once more before sliding his hand down your body and slipping between where the two of you connect. His fingers find your clit, drawing rough circles around the bud. “That feel good, beautiful?” 

“Y-yes, Logan, so fucking good,” you cry out as he rocks into you. His other hand grips your hip tightly, holding you in place. You hope there’s a bruise there later—proof that he touched you, proof that he fucked into you like the world was ending. 

His cock rubs against your walls, your muscles contracting around him, sucking him in deeper. “Squeezing me so good, sweetheart,” he praises, his lips crashing down onto yours, swallowing your moans. He’s taking all of you, hard and fast. You can feel him twitching inside you, throbbing with the same need you feel pulsing through your veins. 

Logan kisses your jaw, and then just underneath, biting down on your pulse point. You arch your back, your chest meeting his. The contact is delicious, the friction a necessity. He thrusts into you faster now, doing his all to satiate your every need. He’s getting you there, pump after pump, hitting that sweet spot inside you every time. 

It’s working. You can feel yourself slipping again, melting. “Logan,” you hum, too fucked out to say anything other than his name. That beautiful name, like a song in the air, a gentle prayer, a holy ghost. He’s all you need—all you’ve ever needed. 

Your walls contract, squeezing him tightly. “Fuck,” he mutters. You know he’s close too. He strokes your clit, circling roughly. “Come on, pretty girl. You can do it, let me get you there again.” 

“Lo,” you cry, your eyes fluttering open and shut as he fucks into you, rutting his hips, plunging deeper still. It’s all too much. You can feel the pleasure drumming inside you, coming to a head. 

Logan loosens his grip on your hip and slides his hand behind your back, pulling you into his chest. You rest your forehead against his. “Come on my cock, princess, let go.” And you do. You’d do anything for him. You moan as your orgasm tears through you. It’s all blinding white heat, liquid smooth, pleasure wracking your body. 

Logan curses under his breath, close behind. He pulses inside you once, and then he’s coming undone. Your arms wrap around his back, keeping him close, letting him know it’s okay to finish inside. He fills you up, whispering praises in your ear as you both come down from your high. Such a good fucking girl. Did so good for me. So fucking good. Perfect little pussy.

He’s still inside you, pumping slowly as you ride out your orgasm. His fingers let go of your clit, his hands running up your back and tugging you closer to him. He slowly pulls out, keeping you tight against his chest. 

“Are you okay?” He whispers against the shell of your ear. You take a deep breath, waiting for the heat to build again, waiting for that need to surge every cell of your being. But there’s nothing. Your nerves are suddenly quiet—silent. 

“I-I think it’s over,” you stutter, still nervous that maybe it’s not. He keeps you there, holding you tightly, ready to start again if necessary. 

After a few minutes, you let yourself relax. It’s not coming back. It’s over. 

Logan presses a chaste kiss to the side of your head. “I’ve still got you. Not going anywhere.” Your heart rate has finally slowed down. The heat is gone. You feel comfortable in your skin again. You take a deep breath. 

“I’m sorry,” you whisper into Logan’s chest. 

“Nothing to be sorry for, princess,” Logan reassures, his voice gentle and soft. “I’m just glad you’re okay.”

You nod against him, but you still feel a sting in your heart. You need to make him know that you meant what you said—need him to know exactly how you feel. You swallow nervously, ready to bite the bullet. 

“Logan,” you breathe. “I-I meant everything I said. It wasn’t just the pollen.” You pull yourself from his chest, looking up at him. “I wasn’t lying when I said I wanted you…” you trail off. “S-still need you now. Nothing’s changed.” 

He smiles down at you, pressing a gentle kiss to your forehead. “I know, darlin’,” he husks. “I wanted you before, and I still do, too.” 

“I know you wanted it to be different. I know it wasn’t—” But he cuts you off, his lips capturing yours, quieting your anxious rambles. “We’ll have other chances. Other times to do it the way I want.” He smirks, running his hands up and down your back. 

Other chances. Other times. More. More. More. “Yeah?” You ask. 

“Yeah, princess.”

tags: @wolviesgirl @dojacatswink @dilf420 @spiderset @pleasantlycrazyworld @imwithyoutiltheendofthelinebucky @y-ns-things

[smallndsoft]

tw: somnophilia

i’ve had to work late for the past few nights and that means i’ve gotten less time with you.

like the last night and the night before that, i get home late again. all the lights are out as i pull my truck into the driveway.

i let out a long sigh as i open the driver door. dragging myself up the driveway, i unlock the door and open it as quietly as i can.

“fucking hell,” i mumble to myself as the screen door squeaks. i’ve been meaning to oil the hinges so it won’t make any noise, but i haven’t had time. maybe tomorrow.

my eyes are somewhat adjusted to the pitch dark house as i drop my keys on the table by the door. i walk down the hallway and into our bedroom.

kicking my shoes off by the doorway, i smile tiredly at your sleeping figure splayed out in bed. the covers are barely on your body, only covering up to your ass.

“thank god you don’t like wearing clothes when you sleep,” i mumble as i strip my shirt and work pants off.

leaving my boxers on, i slip into bed beside you. the bed creaks just a bit but it’s not enough to wake you up. i lean over and press a gentle kiss to the back of your head, inhaling the fresh scent of your shampoo.

you look so peaceful, your bare back and your smooth ass on perfect display. my hand gently traces down your spine and lands just below the curve of your ass.

i grab you, kneading the smooth flesh there. you barely stir from this, only stretching out more for me. almost instinctively.

i had no intentions of doing anything tonight. i’m so damn tired and you’re already fast asleep, but the way you’re spread out for me is an invitation i can’t pass up.

scooting close to you, i throw my right leg over your left, spreading you out just a little more. my hand trails down further, my fingers barely touching your puckered hole before they rest on your cunt.

“oh bunny,” i breathe out, a small smile on my lips. “were you waiting for me?”

you’re dripping wet, indicating that you fell asleep playing with yourself, too tired to finish and too tired to wait for me to help you.

“that’s okay. i’m here now,” i whisper against your skin, my lips tracing against your upper back.

i let a strangled breath out as i slip my boxers off. tossing them carelessly onto the floor, i crawl over you.

“oh fuck,” i moan out. i rub my cock between your ass before i sit back, positioning myself at the entrance of your cunt.

i’m already panting despite not even having entered you yet. i lick my lips and stroke myself a few times before i slowly push into your went cunt.

it’s tight, but the way your sleeping figure is swallowing my cock sends my thoughts spinning. i have to close my eyes despite the darkness.

i keep pushing until i feel my hips pressed against your ass. i stay still for a moment, letting myself take a few deep breaths before i start to slowly thrust.

it’s been days since we’ve fucked but it feels like months. “fuck i’ve missed this, bunny,” i mumble.

i start slow, my grasp on your hips gentle as the soft sounds of my hips hitting your ass fill our bedroom.

after a few more gentle thrusts, i need more. the primal urge to fuck you and fill you is too much.

all at once, my grip on your hips tightens and i start to thrust faster and harder. the sounds of skin on skin becomes louder and more lewd.

a thin layer of sweat forms on my forehead as i use your body for my pleasure.

surprised that you’ve stayed asleep this long, i chuckle softly when you start to shift. i feel your cunt squeezing my cock, signaling that you’re starting to become aware of the situation.

“shhh. you’re okay, bunny,” i whisper as i keep ramming into you.

you don’t bother trying to look back at me as i thrust into your tight hole. burying your face into your pillow, i smile as moans and whimpers spill from your lips.

“need you so bad, baby. i’ve missed you so much,” i pant out.

the tension in my lower belly builds quickly. any other day and i’d be embarrassed that i’m on the verge of cumming. since i’ve not fucked you in days, i feel less embarrassment.

“fuck fuck fuck,” i chant out, my grip on your waist tightening as i get closer to the edge.

“i’m gonna fill you up. gonna take my load like a good bunny, right?” i grunt out.

you just give me a dazed, half-awake nod as you clutch onto your pillow.

the sight is everything i’ve wanted to see these past few days and despite the exhaustion i feel, all that’s on my mind is filling you. breeding you.

“oh fu-uck,” i moan out. in an instant, my body stiffens, my hips flush against you as i feel my orgasm ripple through me. “shit, bunny. take my cum. fuck.”

a shiver rolls through me as i dump the last few drops of my load into you. breathing heavily, i let go of your hips. i keep my cock firmly inside you as i lay on my side, pulling you flush against me.

my cock is twitching inside of you still but i keep lazily thrusting inside you, just wanting to feel as much of your tight heat as i can.

“go back to sleep, bunny. i need to use your little holes a few more times.”

[thargelalia]

Comrade Red Hood

jason todd x fem!reader

patriarchy sucks, thankfully your doting nerdy boyfriend is there to show you support

-> 3k words

-> fluff, hurt/comfort, tiniest bit suggestive

-> warnings: talks of v!olence and crime (c'mon, guys, it's Gotham); mansplaining (not by Jason); reader is a little mean, but she's only human; Jason is a serial kisser and we love that for him

“Are you upset?” 

“Yes.” 

“…is it something I did?” 

“Not everything’s about you.”

Jason’s eyebrows shoot up to his hairline as he lets out a low whistle at your sharp words. “Damn. I thought I was supposed to be the broody one here.”

“Getting a taste of your own medicine sometimes is good.”

Silence.

“Sure you’re not mad at me?”

“I’m beginning to.” You let out a deep frustrated sigh, massaging your temples in a futile attempt to stop the incessant throbbing headache. “What do you want, Jason?” 

“I was just—is there anything I can do for you?” He asks, shifting weight between his legs. “You seemed a bit off over the phone earlier, so I decided to drop by.”

“I just want to be alone.” You sound less passive aggressive this time as exhaustion seeps into your words. ”My head is killing me right now, so I just had an aspirin. I’ll be fine.”

“Okay. I’ll be in the living room if you need me.” Since it’s dark and your eyes are glued to the ceiling, you’re unable to take in the dejected look on his face. 

Seeing you’ve got no objections — he kind of hoped you’d change your mind and ask for cuddles — Jason leaves the room wordlessly. It’s almost like he vanishes into thin air. A well-known skill amongst all bat-family members.

Even so, he’s surprisingly light on his feet for a big guy. But then again, we’re talking about a walking deadly weapon. A vicious vigilante. The prince of Gotham. Red Hood.

Or at least that’s what he usually is when he’s not sulking in the living room for being a victim of his girlfriend’s sour mood. 

Aside from the sound of a car or two passing by down below, and police sirens echoing distantly on occasion, your place is engulfed in a comfortable silence — this a relatively quiet neighborhood. Moonlight filters through your half-open curtains, a soft welcoming breeze swaying them gently to the side. 

At some point, your eyes flutter open. You don’t even remember falling asleep. There’s a dryness to your throat, prompting you to move around and reach for a slim water bottle on the nightstand. Next to it, the digital clock reads 2:17 AM. 

A five hour nap. Nice. 

Fortunately, the pounding inside your head has subsided.

Tsking in disappointment, seeing the bottle is empty, you detangle your legs from the sheets, begrudgingly getting up and dragging yourself to the kitchen. 

The lights in the living room are still on, making your eyes squint when you approach the entrance. You’re confused to discover Jason still lounging on the couch with a book in his hands, legs spread deliciously wide. One of his feet is propped against the edge of the coffee table.

“Thought you were still out on patrol.” 

He looks up, and blinks, not expecting to see you up. “Just got back, actually. About fifteen minutes ago or so, I think.”

You hum in response and take a moment to really observe him. 

His hair is still indeed damp as it falls over his forehead. He’s also shirtless, only dressed in gray sweatpants. Took him quite a long time to feel comfortable enough to show skin like this around you. Likewise, despite the smile that your reassurances bring to his face whenever you thank him for ‘blessing your eyes with such a delectable sight’, sometimes he still gets antsy if they linger too long on his scars. So, you try to respect his limits while also making sure he knows he’s incredible and beautiful. 

There are also beads of sweat accumulated on his bare chest and neck. Despite having just showered, his body is still overheated from Red Hood’s intense activities, you notice. 

No injuries in sight tonight, thank goodness. But if there were, though, he probably wouldn’t be here. He’d still rather agonize in pain alone in his apartment than letting his medical resident girlfriend tend to him. You’re still trying to ingrain into his stubborn mind that his health will never be a disturbance to you. He will never be a disturbance to you.

Hm, though he kinda was a little bit earlier before. However, that wasn’t his fault. Nor yours, for that matter.

As if on cue, his question breaks you out of your reverie.

“Feeling better?” You nod in affirmation and he gives a sweet smile. “Good. You should eat, baby. I got you something on my way back. It’s in the kitchen.”

You mirror his smile and resume your steps to the kitchen where there’s a white medium-sized paper bag sitting on the counter. 

Dismantling crime and wreaking havoc around Gotham, just to later on pick up food to appease his moody girlfriend back home. 

Isn’t that so cute? 

After drinking your fill of cool water, you grab the food bag, a plate – to avoid crumbs dirtying the floor – and return to the living room to eat in Jason’s company. He’s still engrossed in his book. Or rather, yours. Your small library is now his, but so is his yours. It’s an unspoken agreement.

“I didn’t know Mr. Abdul’s place stays open so late.” You say thoughtfully, munching on a falafel. Jason also got you a fattoush salad, hummus, and some pita bread. Yummy. 

You’re sitting on opposite ends of the couch, legs on a pillow in his lap, while his forearms rests on top of them. He’s hunched forward in concentration on the pages in front of him.

“It doesn’t.” Without looking, Jason steals one falafel from the bag and pops it into his mouth. “I broke into his kitchen.“

You choke on a piece of pita bread. “What the f-”

“Relax. I left the money on the counter.” 

“Are you fucking kidding me??” He talks about it so casually. Almost like he’s done this before. “Wait. So, the cookies from Elena’s last time…”

“Well, that one’s obvious.” Successfully blocking a pillow chucked at his face, he rushes to defend himself, “BUT I never forget to pay, so technically I’m not stealing! Only billionaires are harmed here, I swear.”

You both know which particular billionaire he has in mind.

“Right. Keep telling yourself that, Robin. Hood.” You scoff, picking up the fattoush salad box, opening its lid and picking through vegetables with a plastic fork. Jason’s mouth opens in surprise. “Pun intended, by the way.” 

“Whatever.” He huffs with an eye roll, trying to conceal his amusement. To make a point, he raises the open book to his face and blocks your view of him, ignoring you completely. 

As you silently chew on radishes and lettuce, you take a minute to inspect what he’s reading. It’s a considerably thick book. Zeroing in the letters of the cover, your eyes widen in shock as you swallow. 

“Jason, is that—you’re reading The Capital?”

“Yeah, why?” He questions back, nonchalantly, lowering the book just past his eyes.  “You think I only read fiction?” 

“I guess… but I only asked because I think it’s an odd choice of reading given your night.” You explain, gathering the empty food containers, placing them inside the paper bag and setting it aside on the coffee table. “Aren’t you supposed to be tired?” 

“Of fighting against oppressive systems? Absolutely.” He quips, a playful smirk on his face. “This guy just gets me, you know?” 

Seeing the unimpressed look on your face, his smile dies down and he places the book down on the armrest. “I got an extra adrenaline rush while chasing Penguin’s goons this time. There were dozens of them ‘cause he was closing an important arms deal at a warehouse tonight.. Remember that time when we were watching a documentary about wolves, and it was showing how packs tend to slaughter entire flocks of sheep when they’re unable to escape from a confined space?”

“Is that your way of telling me you were in a… kill frenzy?” You swallow hard, trying not to sound too alarmed, but the distant look in his eyes accompanied by his eerie tone and word choice is unsettling. Even though you're well aware he doesn’t pose a danger to you.

Jason seldom shares the details about his gruesome Red Hood business with you. One, because he knows you already see too much violent shit while working at the hospital. 

Two, he knows you worry about his safety. 

Three, there’s also the fact that he’d like to keep a sense of normalcy at home. 

Four, and most importantly, he believes it’s best if you don’t access his dark side, but sometimes – like right now – he’s unable to conceal it. At the end of the day, he’s only someone fighting their shadows like any other. 

Although, his are evidently a bit more obscure and jarring. 

There’s a pregnant pause before he finally breaks out of his trance with a shake of his head. Taking in your tense posture and concerned face, he softens his demeanor, reaching for one of your hands. One, two, three kisses delivered to the tip of your fingers and he’s pulling you to sit straddling his legs. Calloused palms start rubbing the top of your thighs in reassurance back and forth. 

“Don’t worry, baby. I didn’t shoot to kill..uh, mostly.” There’s no way of telling if he’s being sincere, and, frankly, you’d rather not think about this. As usual, he’s attuned to your senses, and tries to lighten the conversation up. “Anyways, I was still feeling charged when I got back. That’s why I picked one of your brainy books to help me wind down. Since your Sociology shelf was right in my line of sight, I decided to give it a try… Oh, I just remembered I forgot to bring you my French copy of Madame Bovary again.” 

“Hm, it’s fine. I’ll borrow it next time I’m at your place. But, back to my books. Why do I feel like this isn’t a first time thing? I did find some of my Sociology books misplaced a couple of weeks ago,” you complain. “Glad you’re having fun tackling dialectical materialism as a post-vigilante workout, but please make sure you put my books in order once you’re done.” 

“So bossy.” He playfully tuts, adding a nip to your shoulder. Then you feel his lips trace a slow path up to your neck, leaving a slow deliberate kiss there. “And so pretty, too.”

He smiles mischievously, lips still attached to your skin, as you shudder. 

Devious bastard.

Crossing your arms, you try not to blush and keep your voice steady. “I mean it, Jason.”

“Alright, alright. I’ll mind your precious organization.” He follows his promise with a chaste kiss, this time to your lips. “But seriously, you do look pretty.” 

“What, out of a sudden?” You raise your eyebrows in amusement. 

Jason prides himself in being a skillful liar. It often comes in handy. 

But he most definitely is not the type to give empty compliments. 

Especially not to the most precious person of his life. 

And you’re aware of that. His eyes don’t lie.

There’s that deep candid warmth swirling within those mesmerizing irises that just captures you whole. They remind you of the ocean, colors of a fine line between blue and green, like teal. Sometimes calm and serene, sometimes agitated and raging. 

One thing is sure. You’re the only person who gets to soak into the tranquil waters hidden amidst the windows of his soul. 

Because you’re the only one capable of bringing them out. 

“Nah, I always think that when I see your face.” Comes his reply.

At that, more kisses ensue. Obviously.

First one is yours, molding your lips to his in an instant as you try to return his incessant devotion with eagerness. He wastes no time in reciprocating, mouth slightly parting to welcome your tongue inside. It makes your head fuzzy all over. Every single fucking time. This type of intimacy took almost as long to construct as the display of his body. You’re never taking his trust for granted. Never. Soon enough, Jason discovered himself to be a great fan of kissing. You. He’s done it before with other people, sure, but it didn’t make him feel like this. Yearn like this. As if he depended on it to survive. And he might as well do. Your fingers find their way to his scalp, tangling in silky locks and pulling while trapping his lower lip between your teeth, eliciting a soft groan from him. As a result, he grips your hips harder, drawing you impossibly closer. The heat from his bare muscular chest is scorching, almost too much to bear as it seeps through your shirt – his shirt. 

You two only break apart because he decides to now trail his lips downward, leaving you panting, eyes sealed shut in pleasure, as he works his mouth across every other available patch of your skin. From jaw to neck, and shoulder. And back up.

This time his ministrations are sweeter and more tender, making you melt completely into his embrace. 

Finally sated, after delivering a last kiss behind your ear, he whispers softly and a little breathless, “Wanna share now why you almost bit my head off a few hours ago, hm?” 

Watching your face fall when he pulls back, his heart equally drops, causing him to backtrack, “S’okay, baby. You don’t have to tell me. I’m sorry.”

You exhale shakily, glancing down to fiddle with the hems of your – his – shirt. A hand cups your cheek, and tilts your head upwards carefully, thumb brushing the soft skin back and forth. Molten blue-green irises coaxing you to relax like the gentle sway of the sea. Telling he’s trusty and willing to listen.

“No, it’s just… ugh…” He waits patiently as you gather your thoughts. “I had to deal with one of my stupid professors mansplaining to me during my presentation today. A subject that I’ve been studying for years now. I knew what I was talking about and he acted as if I didn’t, saying that I didn’t use the concepts correctly like I was a child. Some of my colleagues told me I shouldn’t take his words personally, but it fucking sucked. Still does. I hate it when people, especially men, undermine my intelligence. I just felt so frustrated, I went to the bathroom and cried when the presentation ended. And to top it off, I got a miserable headache on the way home. So yeah, that’s why I was in such a shitty mood tonight. I’m sorry I took it out on you…” 

While describing what happened and venting about your feelings, you barely registered the way his arms tensed around you or how a muscle in his jaw ticked. There’s really no mistaking the look on his face now. The dark stormy blue that has replaced the soothing sea green. “Jason, no. Promise me you won’t do anything stupid.”

“He upset you.” Your boyfriend states in a clipped tone. “He made you cry.” 

“No matter how tempting, you can’t just fuck up every single guy that gets on my nerves.”

“I beg to differ.”

“Jace.” You beg, exasperated. “Please. That’s not what I need right now, okay? He was being an asshole, yes, but the academy, and the whole world, is crowded with them unfortunately. Most of the time, I can handle it just fine. But, today was different. I’ve been preparing for my presentation for days, so he caught me by surprise with his arrogance and my anxiety kinda escalated, I guess. What I mean is I didn’t tell you this because I wanted you to avenge me. I just want to be understood. Can’t you do that for me?” The sight of tears filling your wide eyes dilute his outrage instantly. You’re engulfed in a tight comforting hug.

“Of course, baby. I’ll never feel the same as you ‘cause I’m not a woman, but you must know I’m here for you and I’m sorry you had to deal with this.” He offers, sympathetically, before something darker twists his features again. “I won’t lie to you, though. It’d be easy for me to rip that fucking bastard’s tongue—”

“Jason.”

“—and feed it to his mouth until he chokes—”

“Jason.” 

He puts a finger to your mouth to silence you, just to pull back immediately before it gets bitten off.

“—but I won’t do that.” Not today at least, he keeps this last part to himself. “My point is a brilliant woman like you will always be a threat to insecure fuckers like him. Bet he’s just jealous he’ll never shine as bright as you do.”

You throw your arms around his neck, burying your face in it with a sniffle. “I love you.”

“I love you too. A lot.” Nuzzling into your hair, he inhales the soft scent of jasmine shampoo. “Feeling okay?”

“Yes. Thank you.” You really are. But, then, you sigh wistfully. “I’m thinking if I were an Amazon, it’d probably be easier to deal with this type of situation.”

“How so?” He tilts his head, confused.

“You know… I’d be strong, powerful... intimidating. Stuff like that.” 

“You already wield your intellect like the sharpest blade I’ve ever seen. Your words are eloquent and sharp when you stick up for what you believe. Not to mention the way you carry yourself with confidence even when you’re in a room filled with strangers.” He tucks a lock of hair behind your ear, speaking earnestly. “Trust me, sweetheart. You don’t need to be an Amazon when you’re already a goddess.” 

“That’s… wow… I wasn’t expecting that.” The butterflies are throwing a fucking rave in your stomach. You just can’t stop grinning, so you playfully hit his shoulder. “Never knew you could be so sappy.” 

He catches your wrist delicately, not missing the opportunity to turn it and plant his lips on your knuckles.

“That’s all on you. You turned me into this.” He claims, placing your open palm over his heart, and holding it there. It’s beating quite rapidly. Like yours is. “Take responsibility, woman.” 

“Fine,” you concede with a playful eye roll. Guilty as charged, your honor. “But, seriously, thank you. Your words mean a lot.”

“You mean a lot to me. Don’t ever forget that.” One, two, three pecks to his lips. You discover you really love kissing him as well. 

Suddenly, he’s covering his mouth with a yawn. Outside, Gotham’s black heaven is starting to get tinged with pink and yellow, announcing the sun’s impending arrival. Soon the streets around your building will have people going out about their day. Unbeknownst to them, one of the guys responsible for their safety sleeps tucked in your bed right around the corner. 

“We should probably sleep.” Jason begins, effortlessly getting up in a swift motion while still holding onto you. Your legs wrap around his waist as he walks you two to the bedroom. “I already lost way more brain cells than intended. Gotta save some for Mary Wollstonecraft tomorrow.”

“You’re such a dork.”

“And you need to get woke,” he taunts.

“These are my books!” You counter, indignantly. 

“Ours. Don’t be so individualistic, baby. That’s why capitalism—” Not letting him finish, you jump off his arms and go into the bathroom as he trails behind like a lost puppy.

“Yeah, yeah, I get it, comrade Red Hood. Now shut your revolutionary mouth, and let’s get ready for bed.”

thanks for reading, and please reblog if you enjoyed it <33

feel free to share your thoughts, i'd love to hear them!

this is where i got the dividers

[rafesapologist]

if you would've been the one ─ rafe cameron

summary: rafe gets engaged and you find out.

warnings: angst, swearing, not proof-read

author's note: if you guys didn't know, i love writing angst so enjoy!!

The Pelican Yacht Club hums with the familiar buzz of a humid summer day. You stand behind the bar, the scent of saltwater mixing with the tang of citrus as you slice limes for the afternoon rush. The air is thick, almost suffocating, but you’ve gotten used to it. It’s a typical day—until it isn’t.

You glance up when the door swings open, letting in a flash of sunlight that makes you squint. It's Sofia. She isn’t scheduled today. The sight of her here, so out of place in this moment, makes your stomach twist. You force yourself to look away, feigning interest in the drink menu as she walks past. You can’t help but feel a twinge of resentment as she greets the staff with her bright smile, as if she’s the sunshine that everyone’s been waiting for.

Part of you hates her for that smile, hates the way she effortlessly lights up the room. But it’s not really her you’re mad at—it’s what she represents. Rafe Cameron’s new girlfriend. The girl who has no idea about the summers you spent next door, about the nights you sat on the dock with him, talking about everything and nothing. The girl who has no clue about the history between you and Rafe before she ever came into the picture.

You find yourself inching closer, pretending to fix a shelf of liquor bottles while you strain to overhear her conversation with your boss. Sofia’s voice is low but excited, the kind of tone people use when they have news that’s too good to keep quiet.

You catch bits and pieces of the conversation—something about a new start, a fresh chapter. Your heart pounds as you try to piece it together. Then you hear it, clear as day.

“I’m engaged,” Sofia says, a soft, dreamy smile spreading across her face. “Rafe proposed last night.”

You freeze. The glass in your hand slips slightly, a cold splash of water running down your wrist, but you barely feel it. You’re too stunned, too caught in the moment. Engaged. She’s not just his girlfriend anymore—she’s his fiancée. And she’s leaving. You hear her tell your boss she’s quitting, planning to move in with Rafe, start their new life together.

Your heart sinks, the words echoing in your head like a tolling bell. Engaged. Moving in with him. The world blurs around the edges, your fingers gripping the counter as you try to steady yourself. You force a smile when your boss catches your eye, but it feels thin, barely there.

Your heart thuds violently against your chest, every beat echoing like a cruel joke pounding in your ears. It feels as if your very emotions are ripping at your heartstrings, tearing them apart one by one. The realization claws at you, raw and unyielding. Engaged. You can’t even say the word in your head without feeling your throat tighten, a wave of nausea creeping up as if the world itself has betrayed you.

Your lips curl, the bitterness flooding your mouth as if you’d just bitten into a sour lemon. It’s a twisted smile, one that burns with hatred and betrayal. She had no idea—how could she? How could she possibly know the history, the gravity of everything she just shattered with those simple, giddy words? Bitter tears prick at your eyes, the kind that sting and make you blink rapidly, as if you could will them away.

Without thinking, your fingers fumble at the ties of your apron, ripping it off with a sudden, violent tug. The fabric falls to the floor with a muted thud, but it feels like a thunderous crash in your ears. You don’t care who’s watching; you don’t care what they’ll say. The room seems to tilt around you, your vision narrowing as your breaths come in shallow, rapid gasps.

You place your trembling hands on the counter, feeling the cool surface beneath your fingertips as you try to steady yourself. It doesn’t help. You bow your head, squeezing your eyes shut as you suck in a ragged breath, trying to rein in the flood of emotions threatening to drown you. The noise of the yacht club fades to a dull hum, everything around you blurring as you fight to keep it together.

Suddenly, nothing around you matters anymore. The clinking glasses, the murmur of the club members, the dull chatter of your coworkers—all of it fades to a distant, meaningless buzz. Your job, your manners, your reputation—all the things you’ve been clinging to for a sense of normalcy—seem laughably small in the face of what you’re feeling. The rage and heartbreak surging inside you demand an escape, a release you can’t find standing behind this bar pretending everything is fine.

Without a second thought, you shove the door open, storming out of the yacht club. No one notices. No one even calls your name. The warm, sticky air hits you like a slap in the face as you step outside, but it does nothing to calm the storm brewing within you. You stumble forward, gasping for air, your chest heaving as if you’re drowning. You bend over, hands clutching your knees as you choke on your sobs, each tear hot and unforgiving as it spills down your cheeks.

You force yourself to look up at the sky, its bright blue taunting you. The sun burns harshly, casting long shadows over the marina, but you only feel the darkness wrapping around you. A bitter laugh escapes your lips, followed by a curse you fling at the heavens. You want to scream, to demand an answer from whatever cruel force is out there pulling the strings of your life. What about her? you think desperately, the words echoing in your mind like a broken record. What about her made her deserve a ring, Rafe’s ring?

Your hands clench into fists as you straighten up, trying to find your balance, but the ground feels like it’s shifting beneath you. The memories of Rafe slam into you like a tidal wave, overwhelming and inescapable. The late nights by the dock, the way he used to look at you when he thought no one else was watching, the soft, fleeting kisses that felt like promises he’d never actually made. They all flash before your eyes like a haunting nightmare you can’t wake up from.

It hits you then, like a punch to the gut—the realization that everything you shared, everything you held onto, meant nothing now. He’s chosen her. He’s given her everything you once dreamed he’d offer you. And in that moment, the weight of it all is too much to bear, your knees nearly buckling as you clutch your chest.

A rush of adrenaline surges through your veins, and before you can even think, your feet are moving. You take off, sprinting away from the yacht club, away from the suffocating weight of it all. Where you’re going? You have no idea. You just need to move, to run until the pain isn’t the only thing you feel. The wind pushes against you, almost as if it’s trying to slow you down, but you ignore it. You let it whip through your hair, the strands tangling into a mess of disheveled curls as you race forward.

Your feet pound against the pavement, carrying you closer into town, toward Figure 8—the gilded paradise of the wealthy, where your story with Rafe first began. The roads twist beneath you, familiar yet foreign now, each corner a sharp, painful reminder of the past. You pass the spot where he kissed you for the first time under the flickering streetlight. The bench where you once sat for hours, talking about dreams that were never meant to be. The old corner store where he’d steal glances at you when he thought you weren’t looking. It all burns a hole straight through your chest, the memories hitting you harder than the humid wind in your face.

You don’t stop. You can’t. The images flash by in a blur, each one slicing deeper into your already bleeding heart. It’s like you’re running through a living nightmare, haunted by ghosts of the life you thought you might have had. Your breath comes in ragged gasps, the tears streaming freely now, hot and unrelenting. Mascara streaks down your cheeks, black rivers tracing the contours of your face—a perfect, messy representation of where you were mentally.

You push yourself harder, faster, until your legs scream in protest and your lungs burn with every gulp of air. The world around you blurs, the people, the cars, the houses—none of it matters. You keep running, driven by the pain that won’t let you rest. Your chest heaves, a raw ache settling in as the adrenaline begins to fade, replaced by the crushing weight of exhaustion. You stumble to a halt, bent over, hands on your knees once more as you gasp for air.

You’re breathless, hair a wild halo of loose curls sticking to your tear-streaked face. Your vision swims, a cocktail of sweat and tears blinding you as you look up at the sky, feeling nothing but the hollow ache in your chest. Here you are, in the place where you once made all your memories with him. But it feels like a stranger now—empty, cold, and unwelcoming.

You stand there for what feels like an eternity, hands braced on your knees, gulping down air as if you’ve just surfaced from drowning. You can’t even process where you are—all you can feel is the tight, agonizing pressure in your chest, like your heart is being squeezed by an invisible fist. You’re vaguely aware that people are walking by, probably staring at you, but it’s like they’re part of a distant dream. Their gazes feel like nothing more than a blur on the edges of your vision.

But you don’t care. You’ve been stripped raw, exposed in a way that makes everything else fade into insignificance. You push yourself upright, your fingers digging into your waist as you take in deep, ragged breaths, trying to slow the pounding of your heart. The mascara streaks have dried, the salty residue of your tears leaving your cheeks tight and sticky. You close your eyes for a moment, just a moment, trying to pull yourself together.

Then you hear it. A voice—his voice.

"Y/N?"

The sound of your name hits you like a bolt of lightning, jolting you back to reality. You freeze, your heart skipping a beat as the familiarity of it wraps around you like a cold, clammy hand. You know that voice better than your own, and yet, hearing it now feels like a punch to the gut. It’s haunting, the way it slices through the air, so soft and unsure, as if he’s almost afraid it might actually be you standing there, looking as broken as you feel.

Slowly, you turn around, your eyes widening as you meet his gaze. Rafe Cameron stands just a few feet away, his expression a mixture of shock, concern, and something else you can’t quite place. For a second, it feels like the world stops spinning, the sounds of the town fading into the background until it’s just the two of you, standing there like the past has come back to drag you under.

He takes a hesitant step closer, his brow furrowing as he takes in your disheveled appearance—the wild curls, the streaks of makeup, the look of utter devastation in your eyes. You can see the questions forming on his lips, the confusion in his eyes. But you’re too stunned to speak, the words trapped in your throat. All you can do is stare back at him, feeling the sharp sting of fresh tears welling up again.

“What happened? Are you okay?” Rafe’s voice is laced with genuine concern, the sincerity in his tone unmistakable. His eyes scan your face, searching for answers, and for a fleeting moment, he looks like the Rafe you used to know—the one who held you close on quiet nights, the one who made you feel like you were the only person in the world.

But the sound of his words makes you feel sick to your stomach. The irony of his compassion now, when it feels like he’s the one who drove the knife into your heart, twists inside you like a dagger. You let out a bitter, humorless laugh, the sound cutting through the air like shattered glass. It’s as if he’s playing a cruel joke, and you’re the punchline.

“What do you care?” you snap, your voice raw and venomous. You can feel your top lip quiver in disgust as you shake your head, unable to look at him without the pain flaring up like a fresh wound. His expression falters, the shock evident in his eyes. It’s like he’s been slapped, his confusion deepening as he takes in the sheer hurt radiating off you.

“You don’t get to act concerned,” you spit out, each word drenched in the bitterness that’s been festering inside you. “Not after everything. Not after this.” The last word comes out almost as a whisper, your voice breaking under the weight of it.

Rafe’s expression shifts, a deep crease forming between his brows as he stares at you with wide, bewildered eyes. It’s almost laughable—the look of shock, the utter confusion twisting his features as if he genuinely has no idea why you’re standing here, mascara-streaked and heartbroken. He takes a small step closer, his voice soft and pleading.

“What did I do?” he asks, sounding clueless, like a child who doesn’t understand why they’re being scolded. His tone is so sincere, so filled with concern, that for a split second, you almost believe him. But then the truth crashes over you again, sharp and unforgiving, and it sends a fresh wave of anger coursing through your veins.

You scoff, a bitter sound that feels like acid on your tongue. His naivety, his complete obliviousness to the damage he’s caused, only fuels the fire inside you. You look up at him, your eyes blazing with the kind of betrayal that words can’t fully capture.

“I don’t know, Rafe,” you say, your voice dripping with venom as you take a step closer, your gaze piercing right through him. “You tell me. Maybe an engagement, perhaps?”

You spit the words out, practically throwing them at him, your voice cracking under the weight of your own disbelief. You watch as realization dawns on his face, his eyes widening slightly, the color draining from his cheeks. He opens his mouth to speak, but no words come out. It’s like he’s been struck dumb, caught off guard by the sheer force of your anger and the pain radiating off you in waves.

The silence between you is deafening, charged with the weight of everything left unsaid. You can see it in his eyes—the moment he pieces it together. And it’s almost satisfying, watching the horror settle in, watching him realize that the life he’s built, the future he’s promised someone else, has shattered you in ways he never anticipated.

“You didn’t think I’d find out, did you?” you whisper, your voice hoarse as the tears well up again. “You didn’t think it would matter.” The words hang in the air, heavy and accusatory, and for once, Rafe Cameron has no response. He just stands there, staring at you like you’re a mirror reflecting all the mistakes he’s made.

“I’m sorry, Y/N.”

The words fall from his lips like an empty promise, and you can’t help but scoff, the bitter laugh bubbling up uncontrollably. You know it means nothing. It can never mean anything. No apology, no amount of regret can ever take back what’s been done, what he’s taken from you. Your chest tightens as the anger swells up, hotter and sharper with each passing second.

“Oh, you’re sorry?” you spit, your voice rising in pitch with every word. You can feel your fists balling at your sides, your body shaking with the weight of everything you’ve tried to swallow down, tried to bury. “You’re sorry?”

You throw your arms up in the air, an exaggerated motion of frustration, a physical manifestation of everything inside you that’s about to break free. “You think some bullshit apology is going to make up for what you’ve put me through?” you shout, your voice rising to a scream. The words burst out of you in a raw, jagged rush, like you’re finally tearing through the wall of calm you’d built just to keep from falling apart. “You think saying ‘sorry’ is going to make me forget everything? Forget you? Forget the way you made me feel like I was the only one in the world and then turned around and chose her instead?”

Your breath is ragged, your chest heaving as your emotions spill out of you uncontrollably. You’re not even sure where the words are coming from now, but they come in a torrent, desperate and aching. "How am I supposed to wonder for the rest of my life," you continue, your voice shaking, "why you chose her instead? What was it about her that made you pick her over me, Rafe? What the hell did I do wrong?"

You step closer, not caring anymore about the distance between you. Your face feels hot, your pulse pounding in your ears, but you can't stop yourself. "You think I won’t wonder, every goddamn day, why I wasn’t enough?" you add bitterly, the weight of your words crashing down on you.

“I didn’t do it to hurt you, I… I did it because she’s stuck by my side through all of this stuff I’ve been going through.”

The words hit you like a slap, but you don’t let him see the sting. Instead, your head snaps over to him, your eyes narrowed so dangerously that if looks could kill, he’d drop right there, dead. Every ounce of frustration, anger, and betrayal gathers in the pit of your stomach, and your mouth twists into a bitter frown. It feels like your entire body is ready to explode.

“And what? I wouldn’t have?” you snap, voice raw with fury. “You didn’t give me the fucking chance to, Rafe!” Your heart is pounding now, each beat a furious reminder of everything you’ve been through—of the way he’s shattered you, piece by piece. “You gave up! The second things got a little hard between us, you gave up. We could’ve worked through it if you actually tried!”

The words fly out of you, harsh and cruel in nature, but they don’t feel like enough. You shove him, your hands landing firmly against his chest in a fit of frustration. “I love you, Rafe!” you scream, the sound of your voice trembling with the weight of everything you’ve been holding back. “I fucking love you, and it has destroyed me watching you give your all to someone else. You have ruined me!”

And that’s when it breaks. The dam cracks, the tears flood, and you’re not just crying—you’re sobbing, your body wracked with the weight of it all. Your chest aches with the sobs, your body collapsing under the strain as you stand there, shaking uncontrollably in the middle of the street. All the rage, all the hurt, all the unanswered questions spill out of you like a river that’s finally burst its banks.

Rafe stands frozen for a moment, as if unable to process the sight of you, broken and vulnerable in a way he’s never seen before. His face goes pale, his eyes wide with guilt and horror, realizing that he’s the one who’s caused all of this—he’s the one who’s done this to you. And the weight of that realization hits him harder than anything else could.

Without another word, he pulls you into his chest. The gesture is sudden, almost desperate, as if he needs to hold you as much as you need to be held. His arms wrap around you tightly, firmly, like he’s afraid you might disappear if he lets go. You can feel his body against yours, the warmth of his chest as you crumble in his arms, your sobs echoing between you both.

For a moment, you stand there in his arms, the two of you swaying slightly as if the ground beneath you is unsteady. His grip on you is firm but gentle, like he’s trying to hold together the pieces of you he’s broken, letting you cry out your frustrations, your sadness, your heartbreak. The tears flow freely, soaking into his shirt, and he just holds you tighter, his chin resting on the top of your head. He doesn’t say anything, because he knows there’s nothing he can say to make this better. So he lets you cry, lets you release everything you’ve been carrying.

For just a second, you almost let yourself lean into him. His hold feels like comfort—like a memory of what it used to be, back when you felt safe and wanted. But then the reality slams into you like a tidal wave. He’s not yours anymore. He belongs to someone else now, someone who wears his ring, someone who gets to wake up next to him every morning. The realization crashes down on you, a flood of emotions so overwhelming that you choke on your own sobs, the pain squeezing your chest until it feels like you can’t breathe.

“I can’t stand to see you like this, Y/N,” Rafe says softly, his voice trembling as he looks down at you. His eyes are filled with a deep sadness, like he’s finally seeing the full extent of the damage he’s caused. He pulls back just enough to see your face, his hands cupping your cheeks, wiping away the tears with his thumbs. The way he’s looking at you—it’s almost unbearable, like he’s mourning something he’s only just realized he lost. “This isn’t your fault,” he continues, his voice cracking slightly. “You’re right, it’s my fault. It’s my fault for not trying harder.”

His words are raw, filled with a regret you’ve never heard from him before, and it makes your heart ache even more. You want to scream at him, to push him away and tell him that it’s too late—that his apologies don’t change anything. But you’re too exhausted, too broken to fight anymore. You just stare at him, tears still streaming down your face, your lips trembling as you try to find the words to respond.

“But it doesn’t mean that I don’t… love you,” he whispers, his voice barely audible. The confession hangs between you like a fragile, broken thing. You can see the truth in his eyes, the love that’s still there, buried beneath layers of mistakes and regret. It’s there, as real as the pain in your chest, and it cuts you deeper than anything else he could have said.

The words sink into you, bittersweet and hollow. It’s what you’ve wanted to hear for so long, and yet it feels like a cruel joke now, a confession that comes far too late. You let out a shaky breath, your hands gripping the fabric of his shirt as you try to steady yourself. His love—it doesn’t change what’s happened, it doesn’t erase the hurt.

“You don’t mean that,” you whisper, your voice breaking as you shake your head, refusing to let his words sink in. It’s almost like you’re trying to shake them off, as if denying them will somehow lessen the pain. You close your eyes tightly, squeezing out the last of your tears because looking at him—seeing the raw, honest look in his eyes—will only make it hurt more. It’s too much. The truth you’ve waited so long to hear is finally being spoken, but it’s laced with the bitter sting of timing that’s all wrong.

Rafe’s grip on you tightens, his hands trembling slightly as he holds your face, desperate to make you believe him. He swallows hard, his Adam’s apple bobbing as he searches your expression, as if he’s looking for a way back to you, a way to undo everything that’s happened. “No, I do mean that,” he says, his voice thick with emotion. He pauses, the words hanging between you, heavy and filled with a regret so palpable it feels like a punch to your gut.

“I’ve known it since the day I met you,” he continues, his eyes boring into yours as if he’s trying to imprint this moment into his memory, to make you feel the weight of his confession. “But I made a mistake. Letting you go was the biggest mistake of my life, and I know that now. I’ve known it every single day since. And that—” his voice cracks, and he looks away for a brief moment, as if he can’t bear to see the pain on your face—“that is going to haunt me for the rest of my life.”

The sincerity in his voice sends a fresh wave of agony crashing through you. You want to scream at him, to tell him that it’s too late, that he’s made his choice, and there’s no going back now. But the words get caught in your throat, choking you, leaving you gasping for breath. Because as much as you want to deny it, as much as you want to hate him, there’s still a part of you—deep down—that wants to believe him. That wants to believe you’ve always been the one, that he’s just as haunted by the loss as you are.

But it doesn’t change the fact that he’s made his choice. He’s with someone else now, someone who gets to have the version of him you once dreamed of, someone who’s standing by his side while you’re left picking up the pieces of what could have been. And that reality cuts through you like a knife, leaving you reeling.

“I wish that mattered,” you manage to whisper, your voice barely audible, each word a struggle as you force yourself to look him in the eyes. The storm of emotions churning within you feels like it might tear you apart from the inside, but you need him to hear this, to understand the depth of the pain he’s caused. “But it doesn’t change anything, Rafe. It doesn’t change the fact that you’re engaged to someone else, and I’m just… supposed to accept that.” Your voice breaks on the last word, the sound coming out fractured and hollow.

Rafe’s expression drops, and for the first time, you see something close to genuine despair flicker across his face. His blue eyes, which once held a spark of recklessness and life, now look empty, consumed by a dark realization. It’s as if he’s seeing the full weight of his choices for the first time, the horrifying dread of what he’s done sinking in like a stone dropped into still water. You can see the exact moment it hits him—the gravity of the mistake he’s made.

When he proposed to Sofia, he thought he was finally getting his life together. After years of chaos and self-destruction, he believed he was taking a step towards stability, towards becoming the man he always felt he needed to be. He convinced himself that this was the right path, that Sofia was the safe choice—the one who could ground him, the one who would stand by him through thick and thin. But now, standing in front of you, seeing the devastation in your eyes and hearing the brokenness in your voice, he realizes the truth he’s been running from all along.

He’s made a grave mistake—one he can’t undo.

The realization tears through him like a knife, and his knees nearly buckle under the weight of it. He looks at you with a mix of horror and regret, his face pale, his eyes glassy as if he’s about to crumble right then and there. He reaches out a hand, hesitating, his fingers trembling as if he’s afraid to touch you, afraid that this might be the last time he ever gets the chance.

“Y/N…” he breathes out your name, his voice breaking on the syllable. He looks utterly lost, like a man standing on the edge of a cliff, staring into the abyss. “I—” His words falter, and he closes his eyes, a shaky exhale escaping his lips. When he opens them again, they’re filled with a sorrow so deep it takes your breath away. “I thought I was doing the right thing. I thought I was finally getting my life together. But I was wrong. I was so, so wrong.”

You shake your head, feeling your heart shatter into a million pieces. His confession feels like a dagger twisting in your chest, confirming what you’d feared all along—that he never truly let you go, that you weren’t just imagining the way he used to look at you, the connection that lingered despite the time and distance.

“But you chose her,” you whisper, your voice laced with a bitter sadness. “You chose her over me, Rafe. And now you’re standing here, telling me this as if it changes anything. But it doesn’t. It’s too late.”

The words hang between you like a death sentence, and you can see it in his eyes—the crushing realization that he’s lost you for good, that this is the consequence of his choices. The haunting realization that he’ll have to live with this regret, this aching emptiness, for the rest of his life.

[yandere-daydreams]

Title: Daytrip.

Pairing: Yandere!Illumi x Reader (Hunter x Hunter).

Word Count: 5.6k.

TW: Fem!Reader, Non/Con, Prolonged Captivity, Mentions of Kidnapping, Mentions of Animal Death, Semi-Public Sex, Controlling Behavior, Deliberate Isolation, and Stalking.

The first thing you saw when you opened your eyes was, per usual, Illumi’s face.

His dark eyes wide and unblinking, his skin bloodlessly pale, his lips pulled into a thin, neutral line – and all of it no more than three inches away. You were too numb to his off-putting proximity to scream, but you flinched back into your pillow on instinct, and Illumi took the hint, lingering for another half second longer before drawing back. A few months ago, you might’ve scrambled away, barricaded yourself in the smallest corner of your lavish bedroom, but now, you only rolled onto your side, regarding him with the same exhausted resignation that you used to pay to your cat, when she woke you up three hours early for no other reason than her own selfish desire not to spend the small hours of the morning alone.

“What’s up?”

It might’ve been a little too casual of a greeting for your kidnapper, but he didn’t seem to mind. “There are clothes waiting for you on your vanity. The butlers will help you dress as soon as possible.”

 So this was going to be an out-of-bed thing, after all. Reluctantly, you started pushing yourself up. “Are we in a hurry for a reason, or…?”

There was a brief moment of consideration, then a resolute nod from Illumi. You let out an inward sigh. “Okay, whatever, that’s my fault. Why are we in a rush, ‘lumi?”

“I have something planned for the two of us.” If you hadn’t known better, you might’ve thought you saw his expression light up. “A daytrip, I believe.” And then, as if as an afterthought, “I’m very excited.”

Illumi’s excitement was normally something you tried to avoid, but your mind seemed to glaze over that and settle on the word ‘daytrip’ instead. Daytrips meant traveling. Daytrips meant activities.

Most pressingly, daytrips meant getting to leave the empty, lifeless, murderer-infested wasteland that was his family’s estate for the first time since he carried you through its gates. You knew better than to say that in as many words, though.

“And for this daytrip, we’ll be going…” You trailed off, gesturing in the direction you felt most strongly would lead back to civilization. “…out there?”

“We’ll be leaving the mountain, yes.”

“And we’ll be going place where other people are?”

“I suppose so, if it can’t be avoided.”

“And your family wasn’t involved with this at all?”

“They don’t think it’s right for you to be given so much freedom so quickly,” he explained. “I disagree. Even well-trained dogs have to be walked.”

For the first time ever, you had to resist the urge to kiss him.

Instead, you only let yourself smile, casting your sheets aside and settling for a brief but bone-crushing hug. “Thank you thank you thank you!” You pulled away abruptly, sliding off of the mattress. “I—I’ll get dressed!”

Illumi didn’t move, didn’t react, but his eyes followed you as you stumbled across the room – happier than you’d been in months.

~

A little less than an hour later, you were spread across Illumi’s lap in the back of a surprisingly conspicuous black car, the divider raised to block a faceless driver from view. It took a concerted amount of effort to keep your attention on anything but the window, but you managed, only sparing the occasional glance towards the passing scenery.

You watched the mountainside spiral downward as Illumi’s hands settled around your waist, measuring the widening gaps between dense patches of forestry as his mouth ghosted over the side of your neck. It’d always surprised you – how tactile he was, how someone so cold could be so fond of peppering feather-light kisses into your collarbones and groping at your thighs. It’d been weeks since the last time you tried to brush off his affection. As far as you were concerned, there were worse things he could do to you than mimic the behavior of a more conventional boyfriend.

(At some point, you’d come to think of Illumi as the unclimbable, unmovable, twenty-foot-tall wall that separated you from freedom. You didn’t like him, sure, but you had to recognize that on your own, you had no chance of getting past, over, or around him. If something happened to render him a little weaker, a little less tall, a little more susceptible to opening his gates, then things might change, but you couldn’t rely on elusive possibilities. The way you saw it, you could either waste your time trying to overcome an insurmountable obstacle, or you could save your energy and try to make things as pleasant on this side of the wall as was humanly possible, given your below-standard working conditions. Until you met someone willing to offer you a ladder, at least.)

He buried his face in the crook of your neck, and your eyes flitted back to the window. You were passing buildings, now – houses and apartments, people dotted in front of them blurred mannequins. “Can you tell me where we’re going, or am I not supposed to know?”

He seemed to think for a second, but answered quickly enough. “Brunch, first,” he said, not bothering to pull away from you. “The rest is a surprise.”

You pursed your lips. You used to like surprises, but Illumi had managed to change a lot of things about you. “Is ‘the rest’ something I’ll like?”

 “It’s something you’ve been known to enjoy.”

It took everything you had not to roll your eyes. You’d been ‘known to enjoy’ a lot of things, most of which Illumi had taken away from you.

There was one more open-mouthed kiss pressed into your collarbone, one more stolen glance of the outside world, and then, the vehicle was easing to a steady halt in front of a rustic, almost quaint building. A café, you realized, as Illumi stepped out in front of you, holding the door open while you stared wide-eyed at the perfectly idyllic, perfectly normal restaurant. The cute type, with a triangular roof and a greenery-laden front porch and chipped paint on either side of the front door.

Subconsciously, some part of you must’ve decided that you’d never see anything more charming or more homey than the lifeless grounds of Illumi’s estate again. You opted not to linger on that, as you stepped out of the car.

The interior was similarly fairytale-esque. There weren’t any other customers or wait-staff, which you’d expected, but string lights hung from the rafters, fresh wildflowers sitting in pitchers on each table. Illumi let you choose where to sit, and you shot for a spot closest to the front windows – bay-style and freshly cleaned, the kind of thing you might’ve stared longingly out of while nursing an overpriced latte for the better part of an hour. Suit-clad butlers stood guard on either side of the door, but if you were lucky, you’d still be able to catch the occasional pedestrian walking by. You would’ve given anything to sit in a room filled to bursting with other people, but since you couldn’t have that, you’d settle for being able to watch a handful from a distance.

“You’re staring.”

“So?” You responded to Illumi without looking away. “You stare at me all the time.”

“That’s different. I have a reason to look at you.”

“Which is?”

“I love you.”

It might’ve been easier to believe if he hadn’t said it with all the warmth and all the affection of a corpse, already given time to cool.

You changed the topic swiftly.

“It’s a little nostalgic, honestly. I used to come to places like this all the time, especially before I made any friends in the city. It was nice to feel lonely in a aloof-and-mysterious kind of way, instead of an anti-social-and-depressed sort of way.”

“Oh, you were never really alone.” You didn’t say anything, but you made the mistake of shifting your gaze onto him, of spurring him forward with the reward of your attention. “It was a guilty pleasure of mine – spending time with you before we met. I preferred it when you sat outside. It was easier to smell your perfume, in the open air.”

You grit your teeth. It wasn’t the most disturbing thing he’d ever admitted, but it definitely made the list. “…I think I would’ve remembered sitting next to someone like you.”

If he’d been more expressive, you could’ve imagined him smirking. “You would think so, wouldn’t you?”

There was a brief lapse, a moment of uncertainty on your part. Finally, you asked, “Did I smell… nice?”

“Very.” Illumi didn’t share your sense of trepidation. “Like cinnamon.”

You hummed, and as if by magic, a waitress appeared from the door to an unseen kitchen – white knuckling her pen with one hand and driving her nails into her notepad with the other. She took your orders with a terrified sort of professionalism, and before you left, you convinced Illumi to give you all the cash he was carrying at the moment (a sum that easily added up to half a year’s worth of rent, handed over without so much as a passing question) and left it on the table for her to find.

~

Your second stop was as surprising as Illumi had promised. If anything, he’d undersold it.

If the quaintness of the café had been enough to throw you into a stupor, then the sheer scale of the building in front of you could’ve sent you to an early grave. A mall – a nice mall, either recently built or nestled so far into the upper-class shopping district that you never would’ve come across it organically, the type with glass where there should’ve been walls and a fountain without any coins at the bottom. You were tempted to try and pester loose change off of one of the butlers flanking you, but decided against it. The café, you could’ve stumbled into on your own, without Illumi’s intervention. It just didn’t feel right to leave a mark where you so obviously didn’t belong.

More similarly to the café, though, the inside of the shopping complex was startlingly empty. Butlers and hired security were posed in front of exits, but other than that, it wasn’t hard to believe that you and Illumi were the only people on the property. As soon as you were past the initial entryway, you ducked into the closest store – a high-end cosmetics retailer. The door was unlocked, but there was no cashier at the register. Like someone had already come through and cleared it out.

“This is some backrooms shit,” you mumbled to yourself, and then, to Illumi, ever-hovering just over your shoulder. “You didn’t… you know, do what you normally do to people you don’t like, right?”

“Are you asking me if I killed everyone in this shopping complex prior to our arrival?”

“Well, not everyone,” you clarified. “Maybe just the employees?”

He didn’t laugh, but the corner of his mouth turned ever-so-slightly upward, as if you’d said something funny. “No, that would’ve taken far too much time.” The unnecessary loss of life went unacknowledged. “The building’s rented out, and the stock’s been purchased in advance. You’re only deciding what you’d like to keep.”

Huh.

One day, you were going to sit him down and have a long, long talk about class privilege and resource waste. If you were feeling generous, you might even throw generational wealth onto the lecture, just to make sure he got the full picture.

One day, but not today.

“The third floor always has the best stores,” you said, turning on your heel and grabbing Illumi’s hand, too distracted to think anything of the gesture. “Let’s start there.”

You weaved in and out of stores with reckless abandon, hyper-aware that you had no one’s time to waste but your own. Essentials were overlooked entirely, makeup and self-care supplies limited to eyeshadow pallets with no less than several dozen eye bleeding colors and bath-bombs that were more glitter than pigment, and clothes made up the bulk of your adoration. Everything that wasn’t in your size had already been removed – something as worrying as it was convenient. The only thing you refused to try on was loungewear. It would’ve been practical, sure, but you didn’t need to be reminded that this was likely the last time you’d ever leave Illumi’s sprawling home.

“You know,” you called from a dressing room, pulling a gingham dress over your head. You couldn’t see Illumi, but you were sure he wasn’t far. He didn’t seem to have much of an interest in shopping, but his favorite hobby was looming over your shoulder like some blank-eyed, haphazardly domesticated bird of prey, so it balanced out. “If this had been our first date, I probably would’ve married you.

You heard him hum as a weight settled against the dressing room door. “I enjoyed our first date. It was endearing – how long you rested your head in my lap.”

“Well, yeah. The paralytics you used were so strong, I couldn’t move for three days.” You’d still lose feeling in your left arm, if you held it at the wrong angle. It reminded you a little of your cat, after she first came around to the idea of sitting in your lap. You’d been so afraid of scaring her off, you’d let your legs fall asleep before you so much as thought about moving her. “I just meant that the whole ‘kidnapping’ thing probably wouldn’t have been necessary, y’know? I wasn’t exactly in a place to be picky when it came to creepy rich men.”

There was a brief lapse of silence, and you finally managed to drag the bodice of the dress into place. “I never considered that.”

It shouldn’t have surprised you to hear that Illumi wasn’t the dating type, and yet, you let out a breath of a laugh. “You never thought about asking me out? Not even once?”

“…no, I didn’t.” If you hadn’t known better, you would’ve thought he sounded shy. “It was hard to be practical. I was distracted. You were perfect, and contained, and I thought touching you would be—” For the first time, his voice seemed to dip, to grow just a little quieter. “—vulgar. It would’ve changed you, to know I was there.”

The skirt was layered, and you bit back the urge to curse as you smoothed over the layers of cotton and lace. “I think being abducted might’ve changed me, too.”

“It was the better option. Something would’ve fallen out of place eventually, but like this, I could save you. Only your environment had to be altered.”

He made it sound like he’d sealed you behind glass, rather than underneath a mansion occupied by the world’s most dangerous killers. You’d known better than to hope he’d be able to come up with a selfless reason for your prolonged captivity, but still. Hearing that you were miserable because he needed a ballerina to decorate his music box with stung more than you would’ve liked to admit.

“…it’s unlocked. You can come in, if you want.” Immediately, you heard the dressing room door creak open, and turned your attention towards your reflection. Out of the countless you’d tried on, there was a reason you’d saved this dress for last. You used to fantasize about being able to afford something so wonderfully needless, something you wouldn’t have had to justify with things as joyless as ‘function’ and ‘practicality’. Even now, the puffiness of the sleeves and the lace detailing around the collar and the tiny, almost impossible-to-see hearts printed onto the checked pattern felt exorbitant – borderline garish. You still didn’t have any reason to wear it, any place you could’ve gone to show it off, but then again, you didn’t have much of a reason to do much of anything when you were with Illumi. You guessed, in a roundabout kind of way, that meant you got to do whatever you wanted to.

Illumi came to stand behind you, and you leaned back, kissing his cheek gingerly. “I’ll add it to the pile. Thanks for this, ‘lumi.”

His hands found their way to your hips, settling there as he rested his chin on your shoulder. “Keep it on. It suits you.”

You tried to laugh, but fell short – your smile falling into something more strained. You really shouldn’t have said anything, but you were talking before you could stop yourself, before you could think better of it. “The cinnamon,” you started, speaking against the dryness in your throat. “When I first moved to the city, the only apartment I could afford was flat above a bakery. The ventilation was awful, and the landlord was impossible to get a hold of, and everything I owned smelled like sugar and cinnamon and bread. I couldn’t touch anything sweet for months, after I moved out.”

It was all you could do to bite down on your tongue and force yourself to stop, to shut up, to remember who you were talking to. Illumi’s response was less dramatic – as instantaneous as it was muted.

“How fitting,” he said, with a chime of a laugh. “Sweet things belong in sweet places.”

…

You could only be mad at yourself, really. What else were expecting? It wasn’t like he was going to get down on his knees and apologize, for fuck’s sake.

You sighed, melting into Illumi’s chest. Of course, he welcomed you with open arms.

~

You didn’t end up keeping any other dresses. A few other articles of clothing, a couple pairs of shoes, a small fortune’s worth of little luxuries that’d help you pass the time when you were returned, kicking and screaming, to solitary confinement, but no dresses. Well, aside from the one you were wearing, of course.

It wasn’t long before Illumi started gently ushering you to the nearest exit, and already thoroughly defeated, you didn’t try to resist. You only got distracted once on your way out, and not for very long. Illumi made sure of that.

It was kiosk-type stand – the glass cabinets filled with high-end pet toys and animal-themed tchotchkes. You couldn’t stop yourself, gasping as you broke away from Illumi and darted to the first thing that caught your eye: a bright pink collar with silver spikes, adorable and cliché and so, so cute. It was clearly meant for a dog, but it could’ve fit a cat. Or, you probably would’ve tried to make it fit a cat, rather.  

Illumi appeared at your side, as always, and you started talking without looking up. “I’m sorry, I know we’re in a rush, but it just—” You paused, trying and failing to bite back a smile. “I had this cat before you took me – her name was Ghost. She used to be the neighborhood stray, but she was getting pretty old, and I think other cats were picking on her. Eventually, I just started letting her in, and after a while, she stopped leaving. She would’ve hated something like this.” You held up the collar, gesturing dismissively before forcing yourself to set it back down. “She never really liked me. Whoever took her in shouldn’t have had too much trouble winning her over, after I disappeared.”

“Ghost,” he repeated. “Was she a black cat?”

“Yeah, that’s where her name came from. I couldn’t see her at all at night, and she could knock over anything that wasn’t nailed down. It was like living with a poltergeist.”

“She’s dead.”

You felt something small and vital tear open and start to bleed. “…excuse me?”

“You two were quite close. Had she been given the time, she would’ve woken you up the night I came to get you. I didn’t want that.” It took an embarrassing amount of time for you to make the connection, to form the link, to realize why the pain in your chest was quickly becoming so unbearable. “We can get another, if you’re upset. As a couple.”

The shock was numb, if there was any shock to be had at all. “It’s fine,” you managed, eventually, and despite the strain behind your voice, Illumi didn’t argue.

Instead, he glanced towards the nearest glass wall, to where the sun was just beginning to set over the horizon. “We should go.”

“I didn’t realize we were on a schedule.”

“You weren’t supposed to. I told you earlier – the last stop is a surprise.” This time, he was the one to take your hand, squeezing gently as he laced his fingers with yours.

It might’ve been a nice gesture, if his touch hadn’t been cold enough to burn.

~

You weren’t really sure what the third and final stop was supposed to be, at first.

An old sort of a dream knotted and coiled in your chest as his driver ferried you out of the city, metropolis shuttering into mountain backwoods. You’d never really been afraid of Illumi killing you (not when there were so many things that were so, so much worse than death), but as the car eased to a stop on the side of single-lane road, it was hard to imagine why else he would’ve taken you so far from the nearest scrap of civilization, another reason for him to wear such a bright expression as he ushered you outside - the most impatient he’d been all day. It wasn’t until you saw the trailhead – unmarked save for a wooden post and break in the foliage – that you started to relax.

“Oh,” you mumbled, your relief audible. “I’m not really dressed for hiking, ‘lumi.”

“It isn’t far.” And then, taking your hand in his, “I can carry you.”

It sounded more like a matter-of-fact statement than an offer, but you shook your head, edging forward. He was right, in the end. It couldn’t have been more than half a mile of level ground, Illumi holding your hand all the while. It wasn’t like you weren’t allowed outside on Illumi’s estate, but you spent so much time in the woods that surrounded his mansion and his mother’s gardens – it would’ve been impossible not to go numb to the absence of bird song, the treacherous slope of his mountain, how little sunlight managed to break through the dense canopy of tangled branches and leaves that seemed to lie a little closer to black than green. It was nice to be somewhere else, somewhere with humming insects and a gentleness to the landscape and just enough dappled sunlight to make you forget who you were with. You kept your head on a swivel, quietly eager to soak in as much of it as you could. If you were lucky, you’d actually get to see some life – a deer, or a wildcat, or—

Something caught in your throat, and your head lulled forward, eyes dropping to your feet. You stared at the ground for the rest of the walk.

Your destination was, similarly, storybook levels of idyllic. The forest thinned and fell away entirely, breaking into a lake that stretched on as far as the eye could see and glittered pink in the light of the setting sun. Stretched over the lake’s shore was a blanket piled with platters of chocolate-covered fruit, breads and cheese, bottles of wine with a matching pair of glasses for each option – everything you might’ve once drunkenly listed off to a friend while fantasizing about your perfect, fairytale date. You glanced around you, looking for the butlers who must’ve only just finished setting up, but Illumi was quick to call your attention back to him. You felt him let go of your hand, your body shift before you could process why you were moving, and then, you were no longer on the ground; one of Illumi’s arms hooked under your knees and the other behind your back, your side pulled against his chest in an effortless bridal carry. You made a passing attempt to squirm, but Illumi didn’t seem to mind – keeping you tucked against him as he made his way to the only unoccupied corner of the blanket and all-but dropped to the ground, leaving you splayed across his lap and safely caged within his arms.  It was hard to tell if he was trying to be romantic in his own, blank, heartless sort of way, or if he’d simply decided you weren’t moving quickly enough. For your own sake, you leaned towards the former.

“It’s awful,” you muttered, and then, correcting yourself, “Not the picnic, I mean – that’s perfect. It’s just, I can never tell what you’re thinking.”

He seemed to consider that, for a moment. A chocolate-covered strawberry was plucked out of the nearest bowl and held to your lips, and to appease him, you bit into it. Your throat still felt too knotted for you to actually enjoy eating, but it was good to keep Illumi happy. “Most of the time, I think about you,” he admitted, any hint of shame absent from his voice. “It’s an issue. It doesn’t affect my work, but it’ll start to if left unchecked.”

He thought about you while cutting down innocent civilians. Great. “And you’re not going to fix that by drowning me in a lake, right?”

“No, I’m not.” Like your question, his answer was too sincere for comfort. The way his free hand toyed with the hem of your skirt did little to ease your nerves, either. “I’ve tried keeping an amount of distance between you and I, but that hasn’t yielded much progress either.”

If he’d ever tried to keep himself away from you, you hadn’t been able to tell. His hand slipped under your skirt properly, and you twisted, reaching for the neared wine bottle. “There’s so much food here, we should really—”

“It can wait.”

It was awful, just how even his voice was. For the first time, you were tempted to give him a reason to raise it.

You’d never resisted Illumi, but he’d never tried to—tried to do this, either. There’d always been an unspoken barrier when it came to sex – your resounding horror shadowed comfortable within his apparent disinterest. Now, though, he didn’t seem very disinterested, and your lingering terror was brushed neatly to the side as his fingers grazed over your thighs, your hip, before slipping underneath the thin, silken fabric. You wanted to thrash, to bolt, but you were suddenly unable to move; paralyzed save for the reflex to clench your legs shut and sink that much deeper into Illumi’s chest. The former was undone with only as much effort as it took him to ease your thighs apart with his knee, though, and the latter only seemed to bring a soft smile to his lips – just barely prominent enough to feel as he nuzzled into the crook of your neck. If you’d been in your right mind, you might’ve thought to look for his butlers, to worry about passing hikers or concerned locals he wouldn’t think not to hurt, but Illumi had done his job well. It was impossible not to consider yourself wholly and entirely alone in the world, when you were with him.

He was less clinical than you would’ve expected. Illumi did most things with surgical precision, but touching you seemed to call for a more experimental skillset. His chin came to rest on your shoulder as his long fingers spread and explored underneath your panties, the tautness of the fabric ensuring that he always moved against you, rather than over or around. Undressing you never seemed to cross his mind; instead, his attention was trained on dragging the pad of his thumb over your clit, on using his ring and middle fingers to trace the slit of your cunt. You weren’t turned on – who could be, with their stoic kidnapper fondling them like a child learning to handle their first doll? – but your body and your mind were on two different tracks, one eager to make the best of a bad situation and the other too distraught to stop it. It wasn’t long before you could feel yourself dripping around him, your arousal adding a damp heat to your already claustrophobic point of connection. Illumi hummed. “You’re sensitive.”

You opened your mouth, but anything you might’ve said was drowned out by a hitched gasp as he thrust two digits inside of you with a wet click. “Tight, too,” he muttered, almost absentmindedly, immediately falling into a pattern of pumping and scissoring; spreading you open and pulling back only to fuck his fingers that much deeper. When he paused, it was only to curl against something particularly sensitive inside of you, to leave you shrinking that much further into his chest. “Is this uncomfortable?”

The practicality of the question caught you off-guard. You couldn’t call it considerate, but it was more than you’d expected, more than you ever would’ve hoped for. Unable to speak, you nodded furiously, and Illumi clicked his tongue. “You’ll be alright,” And then, slightly softer, “It couldn’t be any worse than what I had to deal with, waiting for you.”

There was no bitterness, no remorse, no pity; just Illumi’s cold rationality and the feeling of his palm grinding into your clit. The only warmth you could feel was the ghost of his breath on the side of your throat, the dip of your shoulder – not quite panting, but a world apart from his usual absence of expression. You tried to steel yourself, to think about anything aside from Illumi’s presence where it draped across you like a funeral shroud, but it’d been months since the last time you so much as thought about touching yourself, and for all his apathy, you could feel heat pooling in your core and recognize that your attempts to stave off the inevitable were only prolonging the insufferable. Still, it would’ve been impossible not to try and choke back your whimpers as that heat brewed and solidified into something more tense, something more breakable; as Illumi’s cheek pressed into the curve of your neck and his fingers curled against something soft and unprotected inside of you. Your climax was drawn out of you slowly, painfully, with a ragged whine in place of a moan. You kept your face buried in Illumi’s chest, your hands balled around the bodice of your dress. It felt like an eternity passed before it was over, before Illumi’s hand drew back, but no relief accompanied the distance.

You couldn’t even bring yourself to hate Illumi for it, not really. You couldn’t bring yourself to feel much of anything. The only thing you could think, as hard as you tried not to think at all, was that you missed your dead cat.

It was pathetic, honestly. A sob tore past your lips as he pulled you away from his chest and lowered you onto your back, tears burning twin tracks down your face. You couldn’t remember the last time he’d made you cry, and this shouldn’t have been your tipping point – not Ghost, not your awful shoebox apartment, not the fact that you could hear fabric tearing as he pulled your dress apart, too impatient to so much as consider a less destructive solution. You were in hysterics by the time he glanced up, the faintest possible frown coaxing the corners of his lips downward. “You’re crying.” And then, when your only response was another jagged cry, “Why?”

You opened your mouth, but only managed to force out another incoherent sob. Illumi softened, leaning over you, his dark hair forming a curtain that seemed to replace the rest of the world with unending void. Eventually, you managed to scrap up the only thing you could, even if it wasn’t what you really meant. “I—I want to go home, Illumi.”

He cocked his head to the side, staring down at you with a sort of blank focus. A moment passed, then another, before his expression brightened. “Oh.”

He leaned down, and you felt his lips brush over your forehead. His smile bit into your skin like a blade.

“We will, love.” He pulled back. You heard fabric shift, felt something hot and terrible slot against your cunt. “Just not yet.”

 You moved to respond, but gave up quickly. His mouth crashed into yours as he thrust into you and your blood ran cold.

~

Later on, in the dark, things became bearable again. Illumi was cruel, psychotic, delusional, but he was dutiful, too, and with the most beautiful dress you’d ever seen reduced to scraps, he wrapped you in his jacket and gathered you in his arms. The picnic was untouched, the breath-taking view painted over by night. None of it mattered, of course. You were too exhausted to keep your eyes open, and a bottomless pit occupied the space your stomach used to. You wouldn’t mind going the rest of your life without taking anything of the filthy, unfeeling outside world inside of you ever again, but you knew better than to swear off eating because of Illumi. Or, at least, you hoped you’d know better in the morning.

You were only half-conscious of him pulling you against his chest and starting back into the forest, following the same path you had an eternity ago. It was a stupid question, but you found yourself asking anyway, your voice low and hoarse. “Are we… Are we going somewhere?”

“Of course.” Illumi bowed his head, kissing the top of yours. “We’re going home.”

He didn’t know he was lying, but he was. He might’ve been, but you weren’t.

Slowly and with no small amount of effort, you managed to nod, slumping against his chest. No sooner had you went slack in his arms than the final tether to consciousness thinned and fell away, leaving you to be consumed by the darkness.

[nottsangel]

okay this is my first little idea that i’m sending in so don’t judge if it’s bad😭

but like imagine a love island au and you and theo are pared up and he’s touching you in bed and he’s like talking you thru it but at the same time tilling you to be quiet 😫

— love island au moodboard

“theo… we— we can’t” you whisper urgently, hoping not to wake the other islanders as theo’s hand roams over your body, squeezing your tits before slowly travelling to your aching core. you feel unbearably needy, after not having been touched by anyone else or even yourself in weeks since arriving at the villa. yet, it feels so wrong— mattheo is snoring loudly on the bed next to you, his arms wrapped tightly around his girl, and on the other side, you hear the soft, wet sounds of making out on lorenzo’s bed. but getting caught by your fellow islanders isn’t even the worst part— it’s the microphone you’re forced to wear 24/7 that makes you second-guess everything. it feels so… awkward to let everyone at home hear what you’re doing— to let them hear the filthy words theo’s whispering right into your ear.

“shhh, just let me take care of my girl. i know you’ve been craving for my touch, hm?” he teases, fully aware of how touch-deprived you’ve been, evident by all the little touches you’ve given him throughout the past few days, but too hesitant to take it further. you can’t help but feel yourself become wetter and wetter at theo’s touch, as you instinctively spread your legs a litter wider, inviting him in. “that’s a good girl. gonna make you feel so good.” he murmurs right into your ear, faces merely inches away from each other as you have your arms wrapped around his neck, clinging to him while you try to relax.

“tell me what you want.” he demands, his hand cupping your aching cunt and not giving you what you want— no, need, just yet. “i want to feel you, please. need it so bad.” theo chuckles condescendingly, his soft lips attached to your neck as he hungrily sucks on the sensitive skin, marking it with dark hickeys as his body presses intimately close to yours. “you want me to finger you in the same room as the others? while everyone at home can hear your pretty moans? naughty girl.” he taunts, his fingers teasing your clothed pussy, already dripping with arousal as you can only nod eagerly in response, gazing up at him with desperate, pleading eyes.

“please, theo, just— stop with the teasing and make me feel good, please?” you beg desperately, unable to take it any longer as you can feel your pussy throb at his words. he gazes down at you with a mischievous smirk, clearly enjoying how desperate you are for him as he slips his hand into your tight shorts and soaked underwear. “really? it’s this easy to make you wet?” he whispers seductively into your ear, his fingers slick with your arousal as he gently gathers your wetness. “you’re fucking adorable.”

you moan softly at his words, desperation taking over as you place your hand over his, seperated by the thin fabric of your shorts and panties, and push his hand deeper into you. “so desperate, hm? poor thing. let me help you, baby.” he growls, rubbing slow, tantalising circles on your aching clit, causing your lips to part, but no sound escapes. his fingers then wander to your dripping hole, pushing two fingers in at once, causing you to throw your head back at the full feeling. “fuck! theo, just like that!”

he groans at the cute moans slipping from your lips— god, how he wishes it was just you and him here, so he could make you scream his name until your throat hurts. but this is what you’re both dealing with now, and he’ll take whatever he can get. “shhh. you gotta be quiet for me, amore. think you can do that?” you nod obediently, biting down hard on your swollen lip as he starts rhythmically pumping his digits in and out of your soaked hole, and you so desperately hope the others won’t hear the slick, wet sounds coming from your shared bed.

“god, you’re so fucking sexy. do you know how hard it is for me to control myself when you moan right into my ear like this? wish i could take you right here and now, until you cum all over my cock.” his words are only driving you closer to the edge as his fingers curl up so perfectly, rubbing against your sweet spot, making you dig your sharp nails into his arm. “oh my god, right there!” his skilful fingers quicken as his soft lips captures yours in a passionate kiss in an attempt to silence your moans, knowing you’re close to the your release.

his other hand moves towards your tits, squeezing them firmly and toying with your hardened nipples, and that’s when you lose it— your orgasm hits you unexpectedly as you moan right into his mouth and arch your back, all your muscles tensing as your legs tremble uncontrollably. “that’s it, baby. there you go.” theo whispers soothingly, talking you through your orgasm as you slowly come down from your intense high. your chest heaves up and down, heart pounding wildly, when suddenly draco’s stern voice from the other side of the room causes you to flinch, your cheeks heating up in embarrassment. “so, are you guys done now? people are trying to sleep.”

ੈ♡˳

[bunnis-monsters]

🕸️Legend of the Drider🕸️

Bunni’s Monstertober Event(Oct1)

Male!Drider x Fem!Reader

Oct2

warnings: light web bondage, breeding, oviposition, possessive behavior, reader is a bit insecure about her body, body worship and praise

summary: You go on a trip, hoping to build your confidence before you go back to college. When you get trapped on a mountain during a storm, you realize a legend about spider people may be real when you encounter a horny one for yourself.

A/N: I don’t know much about college so don’t kill me if things are inaccurate 💗 also don’t expect all of the halloween posts to be this long, some will be short and some on the longer side >< also guess the inspo for this story in the comments…

my ko-fi if you’re feeling generous~

If you had known how your trip up a nearby mountain would end with you in the clutches of the spider creature you’d only heard of in legends, you would have stayed home that October day.

But you were bored, wanting to find some fun stuff to film and meet a cute stranger while you were at it. That’s why you packed your bag and left for the nearby tourist attractions.

First you walked through a big pumpkin patch, taking pictures with a 50 pound pumpkin. It wasn’t as impressive as some you had seen online, and you knew that wearing a burnt orange sweater while posing next to it would only bring on ridicule.

You weren’t thin, and if someone from your college saw that picture, you were sure they’d compare you to the pumpkin, saying it was your twin.

Well… you had never even really talked to a single in any of your classes. You weren’t the type that liked to socialize. Too many times had you been burned, finding out they were being your friends for a prank or had been talking about your body behind closed doors.

Part of you knew it wasn’t right to judge others before even meeting them. After all, it happened to you more times than you could count… but you were still too shy and insecure to take that first step into making new friends.

That’s why you took a bit of time off of college to try and build up your confidence. It was important to you, learning how to love yourself so you could truly love others.

Ever since you went through puberty you had been aching for someone to love you, to adore you with their entire being…

How would you even be able to believe them if you didn’t love yourself first?

So you laughed at the picture of you next to a pumpkin and placed it into your scrap book before packing it away in your backpack.

You repeated this at several tourist attractions, even finding the courage to speak to a few attractive men and women. It wasn’t as scary as you thought, they didn’t look at you with disgust or say anything mean. They simply spoke with you before giving a smile and going about their day.

‘Maybe there really isn’t anything to be afraid of after all?’

The last stop on your list was the Arachne Mountains, named after a certain legend surrounding the area.

“Huh… spider people have been sighted several times over the year, and there’s a reward for anyone that can catch them on camera…”

You squinted at the pamphlet in your hands, trying to read the small print at the bottom. “What does that say? It’s so small…”

With a shrug, you stuffed the pamphlet into your bag, pulling out the bug spray instead and spraying every bit of bare skin. Mosquitos just loved you, and you didn’t want to be itching the whole bus ride home.

As you walked up the mountain trail, you took many pictures, but mostly of the gorgeous scenery.

A vast forestry landscape spread out beneath you, and the mountain path winded through the forest. As you continued walking, the path worn down by several years of hikers began to become more overgrown and less accessible.

“Huh… doesn’t seem like anyone’s been this far up in a while…”

When you thought about it, the stand with all the pamphlets was abandoned and dusty, the window broken. You just assumed they didn’t have the budget to fix it… but now you were second guessing yourself.

And that’s when a storm hit. Earlier that day you had heard something about a thunderstorm on the radio, but it was supposed to be that night, not now!

“Shit!”

You ran through the rain, slipping on mud and losing your way. The rain was so thick you could barely see in front of you. Tree branches scraped against your sides and caught on your clothes, ripping your sweater and scraping you up.

By the time you were finally able to take shelter in a nearby cave, you were absolutely drenched and covered in scratches and scrapes.

You slid down to the ground, panting and taking off your sweater, now heavy with water. It plopped against the ground, and you reached into your backpack.

“Fuck…”

Your phone had no signal, and you wouldn’t be able to go down the mountain to call anyone until the storm died down.

You yelped, jumping up from your seat and backing away from the entrance to the cave when lightning struck close by.

This sent you further into the cave, nearly tripping on the uneven, rocky ground.

Most would expect a cave out in the middle of nowhere to be cold and damp, and smell of moss and dust. Surprisingly, the further you traveled inside, the more… “cozy” it seemed.

It smelled almost like cinnamon and felt pleasantly warm. This made your shivering die down, your soaked clothes forgotten at the entrance of the cave.

Little did you know, you were slowly being lured in deeper by the inviting warmth and pleasant smell…

The first sign that something was wrong was a skittering that could be heard further into the cave. The hair on your neck stood up, but you tried your best to reason with yourself.

‘It’s probably just some rat or bug…’

But as your phone battery went out and darkness enveloped you without your only source of light, the noise got louder as whatever was making it approached.

You yelped when something brushed against you, and tried to scream, but your mouth was covered and something sunk into your neck…

Darkness.

——————

When you awoke, you felt something warm yet sticky enveloping you, keeping you from freezing while trapping you in place.

You were barely awake when you heard a purr like sound coming from the dark corner of the cave. A man’s face was barely visible within the shadows.

He was handsome, his eyes a dark red and hair a soft blonde, almost platinum color. It seemed he had been the one to trap you there.

“Hello, my dear. You’re finally awake…”

As soon as you were fully conscious, you began to struggle against your bonds, finally looking down to see what was keeping you from breaking free.

“Are those… webs..?”

You felt almost faint, staring down at the whitish, substance wrapped around you. It looked like thick, velvety ropes, but they were so sticky that you knew that they couldn’t be.

“Indeed.”

The man began to move forward, the same skittering sound appearing once more. You looked on in horror as his lower half was revealed.

Below his torso was not a set of legs like a normal, no, it was the abdomen of a spider.

‘The legend… is true?’

You had been captured by one of the spider people of myth…

“You must be scared… you’re just a human girl after all, and I’ve taken you away.”

He reached out, caressing your soft cheek with his hand. “But do not fear, I’m not planning on eating you, little one.”

His hand traveled down your face to your shoulder, his fingers playing with one of your bra straps.

“Far from it…”

Your cheeks heated up as he easily cut through your bra, his eyes on your now bare breasts.

“I’m in need of a mate to carry my eggs… and you’re the only woman that’s traveled to this mountain in ages…”

He breathed against your neck, licking the bite mark he left there earlier. “God, I could hardly hold myself back the moment I saw you. Such a plump, perfect woman, you’ll carry my eggs well…”

You whines as his lower half creates more webs, keeping you suspended in air, but freeing your soft cunt.

Quickly, he tore off your panties as well, growling lowly at the sight of your pretty, fat pussy. “Oh, my little mate, already this wet? Perhaps this was fate, for me to be sent this angel from above…”

He plunged a finger into you, pressing against your gummy walls and stretching you out as one of his spider legs nudged against your sensitive clit, just enough to stimulate you and get you to cum all over his fingers.

“There we go… such a good girl…” he purred into your ear, beginning to stroke his monstrous cock. He drew out several orgasms from you, prepping your virgin hole for him.

Within seconds, you were lowered down, your hips hovering over his as he nudged the head of his cock against you.

“Gods, you’re so soft…”

He kneaded your fat belly and thighs, purring in delight. “You’ll make such a good mother… you’ve got child bearing hips, like you were just meant to carry my eggs…”

Soft nips and nibbles were left on your neck and breasts.

“Every ten years, us driders go out to find a mate that’s suitable for us. I am the last of our kind, so there are no females left for me…”

He smiled, beginning to push in.

“But you… are not just going to be the woman that carries my eggs. You’ll be my mate, and I’ll cherish you.”

It was uncomfortable and painful, the way his cock stretched you out. You gritted your teeth and he cooed, but wouldn’t allow you to close your legs, two of his spider legs kept your thighs apart so he could sink deeper into your fat cunt.

“Shh, shh… it’ll feel good soon, my love…”

And he was right, his cock stretched you in such a delicious way, hitting all the right spots and making you cry out in pleasure.

He mounted you, fucking into your needy cunt as he groaned into your ear. “Gonna take my eggs, okay? My sweet girl, you’ll be such a good mommy won’t you?”

Suddenly you felt something push into you. Was that…

He was cumming, eggs filling up your pussy and settling into your womb. Soon your belly would swell as the eggs grew and developed, but for now, you were tired…

He kissed along your shoulders and neck, nuzzling into. Slowly, he lowered you down from the webs, curling up with you in a dark corner of the cave.

“You’ll be pampered, well taken care of… never again will you worry about a single thing…”

As you began to drift off to sleep, you realized that this creature truly thought you were beautiful… it made you happy.

So you snuggled into him, too full of cum and eggs to really even try escaping. Why would you?

You were loved… you felt truly beautiful for the first time in your life.

“I’ll prepare a cabin soon, there’s plenty of abandoned ones nearby. Wouldn’t want my mate to be uncomfortable.”

The way he nuzzled into you was filled with such love and care. He must have been lonely, being the last of his species.

So you decided to stay… at least for now…

Want a part 2? Send me a kofi and ask for it~

————————

NSFW TAGLIST: @sunset-214 @strawberrypoundtown @avalordream @icommitwarcrimes @bazpire @im-eating-rn @anglingforlevels @kinshenewa @pasteldaze @unforgettablewhvre @yoongiigolden @peachesdabunny @murder-hobo @leiselotte @misswonderfrojustice @dij-ology @i8kaeya @lollboogurl @h3110-dar1in9 @keikokashi @aliceattheart @mssmil3y @spicyspicyliving @namjoons-t1ddies @izarosf1833 @healanette @lem-hhn @spufflepuff @honey-crypt @karljra @zyettemoon1800 @exodiam @vexillum-moeru @imperfectlyperfectprincess1 @binnieonabike @enchantedsylveon @mysticranger575 @readeryn68 @danielle143 @kittenlover614 @filthybunny420 @annavittoria-mm @makimamybelovedwife @blubearxy @omglovelylaila @toocollectionchaos-universe-blog @fruk-you-usuk-fans @wil10wthetree @hammerhead96-blog @slightlyusedfloormat

[luveline]

oooh what about hotch's sister calling spencer to pick her up at the hospital after an accident or something because she doesn't want hotch to know since worry and go into protective big brother mode, but spencer tells him anyway and they both show up and lots of fluff ensues :)

adopted fem!reader, 1.5k

cw for panic attacks

You should call your brother. 

You think about it, even pull up his contact, he’s the first person you go to when you need help and he always has been, but lately Aaron has been so stressed you hesitate, clicking the text button by mistake. 

You read back his last message. 

I can feel myself being spread too thin but there’s nothing I can do to fix it, he’d text. I guess I’m frustrated. But how are you, working girl? New jobs are scary. I bet you’re doing better than you think already. Jack and I are super proud of you

You’d sent him a meagre response. You aren’t always sure what to say to him. Sincerity is easier in person, but even then, he can be terse and deflective; he looks after you and no one looks after him. 

You didn’t tell him about work, and you won’t tell him about now. You call Spencer instead. This is a good way to test the almost dating thing, right? 

He doesn’t answer. When you call again, he answers on the first ring. “Hey, are you okay?” 

“No. Are you busy?” 

“I’m not busy if you’re not okay. Two seconds.” There’s a pause where you assume he’s moving from one place to another, perhaps closing a book around his hand, or closing the lid on an early lunch. “What’s wrong?” 

“I’m, uh, in hospital. I had a huge panic attack at work and I… thought I was having a heart attack, so I–” You’re so embarrassed your voice turns to a thread. “Sorry, I know it’s so stupid.” 

“It’s not stupid, that’s not stupid. How do you feel now?” 

“Like someone hit me really hard in the chest.” 

“Are you calmed down?” 

“Mostly.” You wince. “They want to talk to me about medications. Uh.” You clear your throat. “I want to go home.” 

“Angel… I’m on my way, okay? I’ll get Hotch and–”

“You can’t tell him.” 

“What?” 

“Please, Spencer, he gets so worried, he’s worried enough. And if he finds out I had a panic attack he’ll try and make me take time off of work and that’s just another thing on his plate he didn’t ask for–”

“Hey, hey, hey,” he says softly, “please don’t panic. You’ve had a hard morning, panicking again is really gonna hurt. Try and think about things that don’t wind you up, alright? Is there anything you need me to get?” 

“You don’t have to come.” 

“That’s why you called me, right? I’ll be there.” 

You can’t know that he says goodbye and ducks straight back into Hotch’s office, where he’d been, to tell on you. It’s not to hurt you and it isn’t because you told him not to —it’s two parts concern, and one part self preservation. Aaron needs to know and you need him with you, and he also can’t imagine things going well for himself if he kept the news of your stay a secret. The shovel talk plays in his mind. 

Aaron’s shovel talk being, You won’t do anything to hurt her, said simply, and with an impassive expression that bordered terrifying. Not overly unaffected, just casual. 

You’re laying in your hospital bed with your hands clasped across your stomach when Spencer arrives. He frowns at you in your bed, worse when he sees your smudged makeup and the chafed inside of your wrist where you’ve picked and squeezed at your own skin. Your panic has left a physical mark, your chest aching as you force yourself to sit, and it hurts doubly so when your brother lets himself in behind your nearly-boyfriend.

You don’t have it in you to complain. 

“I’m sorry,” Spencer says, reaching down to give you a quick hug as you sit. “I had to tell him.” 

 Aaron’s hug is similarly apologetic, though much longer. “You weren’t gonna tell me?” he asks quietly, his hand settling at the place between your shoulders. “How do you feel now?” 

“I’m fine, I– I really thought I was having a heart attack.” 

“That’s common,” Spencer says, “it’s the feeling of impending doom, thousands of people mistake anxiety for medical issues every week.” 

Aaron holds you by the shoulders. “It’s okay,” he says. “Was it a doctor that checked you out, or a nurse?” 

Aaron probes the name of your nurse from you and promises to be back soon. He seems to have gleaned that the quickest way to get information today won’t be from you. 

Spencer goes in for another hug when he leaves, and then, to your delight, a very quick kiss pressed to your cheek. He ducks away after that and sits on the side of your hospital bed, his knuckles gracing the outside of your thigh. “Thank you for calling me,” he says, smiling at you, and better when you smile back.

“Thanks for coming.” 

“Of course. I know how it feels, okay? If they want to talk about medication it’s a good thing, but everyone has moments like this.” 

“I can’t believe you told Aaron,” you say, giving a weak but playful glare.

“I can’t believe you weren’t going to. He loves you, he wants to know what’s hurting you, no matter how much stuff is on his plate.” 

You bite the inside of your lip, contemplative for a few slow seconds. “You think so?” you ask finally. 

The hair flicked under his ears wobbles as he nods. “Absolutely.” 

You lean forward to readjust his collar and tie. He’s wearing one of his cutesy waistcoats, dark grey over a light blue shirt. His tie has patterns you trace with your thumb, like fish scales. “Sorry, I know you were working,” you murmur. 

“I think my boss will forgive me.” 

You let your hands fall. Spencer, perhaps picking up on a hint you hadn’t meant to give, takes them both into one of his and squeezes reassuringly. 

“It’s harder than I thought,” you confide softly. 

“It’s an adjustment period. But maybe it’s not right for you, there. That’s what started it, right? Your job.” 

“I’m not sure. I don’t know. I get panicky about all sorts of stuff, but I’ve never had one this bad before. I was a miserable kid, you can ask Aaron, but I really thought I was better.” 

He rubs over your fingers with his thumb. “I think we all have stuff that messes us up. Doesn’t mean you’re not better. You don’t even really have to be better. And I… I am here for you, I promise. I know you have no reason to trust me with it yet, but I’ll listen whenever you need me to.” 

You think about kissing him. Spencer kisses like he’s suffocating and your air, it’s cliche and undeniably true. Whenever you kiss him it’s like a shock —he steals your breath, he can’t stop himself from grabbing your face, and any other time you’d love it, but right now you just need a peck. You’re hoping he can do those kinds of kisses too. 

“Will you kiss me?” you ask tentatively.

He gets the memo on gentleness. You shouldn’t be surprised, your very first kiss was tame, his hand running up your arm as he encourages you forward. Your eyes shutter closed at the feeling of his lips on yours, and the exhausting thrumming that’s lived beneath your skin since you woke up numbs to a more manageable ache. 

Spencer breaks away. He cups your cheek quickly, dropping it immediately when the door opens. 

You shuffle backward nonchalantly. 

Aaron gives you a sarcastic look. Really? it says. I wasn't born yesterday. 

“They want to give you a prescription for Paxil, honey, what do you think?” He turns his attention to Spencer reluctantly. “What’s her best option here?” 

“Paxil could be fine. They didn’t suggest a benzodiazepine? Paxil is an SSRIs, it slows down the rate of serotonin reuptake, basically increasing the effectiveness of your bodies natural serotonin, which could decrease the risk of another attack, but taking it won’t stop her from feeling like this,” —he frowns at your location— “very quickly. Ideally she should have a medication for general anxiety and the option for quicker relief if this happens again.” He smiles at you suddenly, nearly shyly. “If that’s what you want, that is.” 

“What are you thinking, honey?” Aaron asks you. 

You have the two of them here to look after you while you decide. You take Spencer’s hand gently, desperate for reassurance. “I’m not sure.” 

“It’s okay, we’ll work it out,” your brother promises. 

Spencer squeezes your hand. 

[paarksunghoon]

Riding sub hoon w/ glasses on abd u have to constantly fix it cause it keeps falling down his faceee pleaseee

that’s…so hot. fuck

***

Sunghoon isn’t a loner by any means but he’s not as popular as you. He prefers to keep his head down and focus on his studies whereas you’re the life of the party. You’re so cool. Other people must think so too. You keep to yourself like he does but it seems like you get perks out of it. You don’t care what other people think of you and you’re not concerned with who’s talking about you and who isn’t.

You’re friendly when people get to know you. That aloof persona is reserved for everyone who doesn’t really know you. But you come off as nonchalant because you like who you are and don’t give too much away. Sunghoon likes that about you and he thinks you two are similar for that.

He’s had a crush on you for a few months now, ever since you started coming to the coffee shop he works at. You sit in your table late at night to study until your laptop dies or until he has to tell you to leave so he can lock up. Sunghoon used to watch you from afar until you started talking to him like you were friends.

Now, he finds himself with you on his lap in the back of his car, his cock so stiff that he feels like he could cum all night.

“You look so pretty beneath me,” you say, pushing your body off of him just to plant yourself back down on his lap. Sunghoon feels the car shake as he looks up at you. Your tits are pressed right against his face but your shirt is covering your perky nipples. “So sexy when you look at me like that.”

It’s true. Sunghoon looks godly when he moans. His eyes shut from time to time and his balls tighten every time you push yourself back down onto him. It’s so wet between the two of you that he feels it trickle down his thighs and runs down his shaft.

“You’re so cute,” you coo when you see Sunghoon’s glasses have fallen down. You lean forward and tenderly kiss him on the lips despite the pace you’re riding him. He feels you lift the glasses to fix them. “All better?”

“So much better.” Sunghoon says it like you’ve taken his breath away. He watches how you smile at him and feels the way your fingertips play with the hair behind his neck.

“I’ve wanted to fuck you for so long, you know.”

Sunghoon chokes. “R-Really?”

“Mhm. You’re so hot, Hoonie. I always knew your cock was big too.” He bucks his hips into yours with a great force. You yelp and lurch forward, which causes your tits to push against his frames until they nearly fall off his face. “Hoon!”

You do it for him again. Sunghoon loves the way your fingers graze his skin and how gentle you are when you touch him. Sunghoon lets himself live in fantasy and smiles at you like a lovesick puppy.

“Be careful,” you whisper. He feels you adjust your body and kiss his cheek. “Don’t break your glasses.”

“I’ll try not to.”

“You looks so sexy in these.” You tap on the handle. “I can’t wait to watch you cum with them on.”

He feels a swell of validation spread throughout his body and clenches his ass to push right up into you. You capture his lips and he swears you’re kissing him like you’re asking him to become your boyfriend.

Sunghoon’s a goner when you clench around him and squeeze his balls from behind. He moans and spurts of cum coats your inner walls as he shuts his eyes and opens his mouth. He looks angelic when he orgasms, a thin layer of sweat coating his skin and his warm breaths sounding melodic like a lullaby. You push your tongue against Sunghoon’s in his open mouth and he lets you toy with him until spit connects the two of you.

You fix his glasses for him again. Sunghoon opens his eyes and looks at you like he wants to say something but can’t. You kiss him anyway and push his hair back, pulling away to watch him. Sunghoon keeps his eyes shut and enjoys the feeling of your fingertips along his scalp.

You don’t think you can let him go. You ask him back to your place and Sunghoon doesn’t think twice.

***

ps had this image in mind:

comments and reblogs are appreciated! x

[yanderenightmare]

TW: nsfw, dubcon/noncon, captive reader

gn reader

Thinking about poly yanderes… 

Being held still by one of them, forced to sit between his thick thighs – getting so sick of being outnumbered – feeling so weak, stuck in his muscle-swelled arms keeping you tight against him, wrapped snugly around your torso with your back to his chest while his hands grope your front, locking your own to your sides.

He rests his chin off your shoulder – whispering sweet words laced with mockery as you’re left to quake on his lap, struggling to keep your own pathetic sounds to yourself, having grown tired of screaming to be freed some time ago.

"You're shaking so much, sweetie~” He teases while licking your neck – smirking at how the fight in you, once so wild and untamed, had turned into you trying to restrain yourself in favor of breaking free. Fighting, now instead, to hold yourself back from spiraling until coming undone by the heat surging in your belly. 

Your face, dewy with a thin sheen of sweat, is held steadily in your other captor’s hand, keeping your misty hooded eyes looking up at him, where he leans over you while his other hand plays an eager one-sided game of war between your thighs. 

His mouth ghosts yours with small kisses, and everything smells of his breath as he pours sweet unwanted nothings down your throat. "Oh, y'so sweet in my hand~ so soft on my fingers~" 

It’s as though you can see the sickness in his eyes – leering at you like you're something he wants to devour.

“Don’t be shy~ show us how pretty you are when you cum~” He continued cooing.

“You know you want to~” The other accomplice added hot and damp right at your ear – just as amused as his partner. “Come on, baby~ show us~”

You whined, pathetically trying to wrench your face away from their pestering – overheated and overwhelmed – thighs shuddering around the stimulation, wherein the distress you wanted nothing more but to close your legs.

But the one behind you had them both hooked and spread beneath his, keeping you still and accepting of the one in front’s brazen touches.

You pinch your eyes close and bite your lip, not wanting it but feeling it take you nonetheless.

“No, no, no~” One of them tuts then, his mouth on your cheek catching tears. “Don’t look away, Angelface~ Keep your eyes on me~” He begs with fingers curled around your jaw, nuzzling your nose with his while pressing his forehead flat against your sweaty one. 

You whimper, and his thumb swirls over that place you're most sensitive. Cracking a splitting smile when you buck your hips in response.

“So close, buttercup~” He simpers before dragging his hot tongue from your chin to your temple. And you sob, thinking it’s just too cruel how your body decides to react to it. 

The knot within you seizes up, coiled so tight and stretched so thin it snaps – leaving you to throw your head back against the chest behind you – moaning out while they watch you gush for them with a shared smile on both their faces.

BNHA – DabiHawks, ShinKami, BakuDeku, ShigaDabi, TodoDeku, KiriBaku

JJK – SatoSugu, Toji x Shiu, MahiJaku, YujiKuna

HQ – Miya twins, IwaOi,

BLLK – NagiReo

HxH – KuraKuro, HisoIllu

[gogogodzilla]

day 31, sex pollen

peeta mellark x reader warnings: nsfw 18+, dubcon, unprotected sex, fuck or die, semi-public sex, slight dirty talk, reader gets sad at the end, multiple orgasms, dedicated to @omgbrcat hope you enjoy it bestie kinktober ☠︎︎ main masterlist ☠︎︎ read on ao3

You didn’t think you’d ever run so fast and wildly in your life. Well, except for last year when you were fighting for your life and running away from everything that was trying to kill you. 

Peeta was a few steps behind you, slower and stumbling a bit due to his prosthetic leg. You threw a glance over your shoulder every few seconds, just to make sure he was still there with you. 

The various leaves and foliage of the jungle hit you as you ran. You hardly even notice as the foliage shifts from a  normal lush green to unnatural shades of pinks, purples, and blues. You did notice, however, when one of the plants shoots a dusty substance directly in your face as you run past it. 

You lost your footing as you attempted to wipe the dust off your face. Peeta came up beside you, arms outstretched and ready to pick you up. 

“Don’t!” you shouted as you slowly stood, slightly relieved that your face didn’t immediately burn off. “I don’t want it to affect you, whatever it is.”

Your ears strained as you tried to discern if the mutts were still on your tail. 

“Do you hear them?” Peeta questioned, echoing your thoughts. “Y’know since you have a Capitol-engineered ear and all.”  

You huffed out a laugh as you listened. You couldn’t hear the familiar rustle of leaves, and you relaxed slightly. You knew never to get too comfortable in the arena, but your lungs were burning and you needed to get this stuff off your face. 

“Do you still have the spile?” you asked, attempting to avoid the way your body felt like it was on fire and your heart was pounding in your chest. 

“Yeah,” he breathed, as he began to hammer it into the trunk of a nearby tree. You prayed that the trees wouldn’t be as hazardous as whatever was covering your face. You watched as he stuck a finger under the liquid flowing out of the spile, checking to make sure it was safe. 

He wrapped his hand around your elbow and it felt like fire bloomed under his touch. He was gentle as always as he guided your face under the water. You dragged your hands over your face as you washed off the dusty substance that had covered it. You attempted to rid yourself of the inferno burning under your skin. 

Your cheeks flushed as you pulled away from the stream of water. Peeta’s touch was fleeting but your entire body ached for him. It was a strange feeling, unlike anything you’d ever felt before. 

Your heartbeat pounded in your chest with every shaky breath you took. You hunched over, attempting to calm yourself. A thin sheen of sweat begins to cover your skin, and your eyebrows furrowed in something akin to pain. 

You heard Peeta call your name, but the only thing you could get out was a whimper. He was on you within seconds, gripping your shoulders and shaking you slightly. You scrambled out of his touch, thinking clearly enough to know that you needed to get away from him. 

“What’s wrong?” he questioned, voice desperate and eyes frantically searching over your form. You hurriedly crawled away from him. 

You shook your head, as you pressed your back against a tree. “I— I don’t know. I feel hot,” you breathed, conflicted between clenching your thighs together and spreading them for him. 

 Peeta kneeled in front of you, eyes soft, “How can I help?” 

You remembered before you’d entered your first Games together how he didn’t want the Game to change him. You were thankful that he was still the same sweet boy you entered the arena with. He was different in some ways, of course. No one left the arena unscathed, but who he was at his core was unwavering. 

Your vision was becoming hazy, and a dull ache where you’d never felt it before emerged. You let out a low groan as the heat blistering down to your bones becomes almost unbearable.

Peeta crawled between your legs and cupped your face. You hissed at his touch, leaning into him. You gripped onto his sides, nails digging into the soft flesh through his suit. His touch felt heavenly against your skin, a ravenous hunger for more filled you to the very brim.

“Touch me,” you whimpered out, tears pricking the corners of your eyes. “Please, Peeta.”

He swiped a thumb across your cheek, and your grip on his tightened. You tugged him closer, your limbs seeming to move on their own. You made a small, strangled sound in the back of your throat. 

Peeta’s lips were hesitant against yours as he kissed you. He was always so gentle with you, never wanting to cross a line. You moaned against him, and swiped your tongue across his bottom lip, desperate to taste him. 

You wrapped your arms around his back and clawed at the zipper to his suit, tugging it down as much as you could. He sucked in a breath as you yanked his suit off of his shoulders, practically manhandling him. You were giving the Capitol exactly what they wanted, but you didn’t care. 

The ache deep between your legs was growing with every moment, and your body temperature rose along with it. Your kisses increased in desperation until you were pleading against Peeta’s lips and writhing against him. 

“It’s okay,” Peeta soothed, reaching behind you to unzip your suit. “I’ll help, it’s okay.” 

You hurriedly peeled your suit off your shoulders, letting out a sigh as Peeta’s fingers trailed over the newly exposed skin. Your cheeks flushed as he leaned down to press open-mouthed kisses against the column of your neck and your chest. 

You ran your hands over the smooth expanse of his chest, the feeling doing little to quell the electricity crackling under your skin. His tongue circled your nipple, eliciting a breathy whine from you. 

You raked your hands through the hair at the nape of his tugged and tugged on the strands. A groan vibrated in his throat, and his hands splayed against your ribcage. 

“Peeta,” you whined as he kneaded your other breast and you clenched your thighs around him. 

You couldn’t stand not having him for a second longer and you hooked your arms under his, gripping him tightly as you rolled to the side. You landed on top of him, straddling him. You panted as you finally got a good look at him. His eyes were half-lidded and he was flushed and breathing heavily. His pupils were blown wide as he looked up at you. 

Your tongue darted out to wet your lips, “Is it getting to you, too?” 

He nodded, attempting to steady his breathing. You stood and shimmied out of your suit, tossing it to the side. You leaned down to hook your fingers into the waistband of Peeta’s suit and looked up at him through your lashes. The quick dip of his head was all you needed, and you were practically ripping his suit off of him. It wasn’t the first time you’d taken off Peeta’s pants, but you flushed all the same. You were too focused on saving his life last time to worry about being embarrassed. 

You were back on him faster than your hazy mind could process, your hips moving on their own accord as you ground against his thigh. His length pressed against your belly, warm and unbelievably hard, as you dragged your hips against him. 

You reached down and stroked him in time with each rut of your hips. He let out a mix between a whimper and a sigh as you did. Your movements quickened, and you buried your face in the crook of Peeta’s neck. With each twist of your wrist around his cock, he was letting out noises that had heat pooling in your belly. His tip was leaking, and you loved the sound he made when you ran your thumb over it. 

Peeta’s fingertips dug into the plush of your hips so hard you didn’t doubt that he’d leave bruises. The animalistic part of you that had taken control wanted him to mark you in every way possible. Your slick had begun to cover Peeta’s thigh, allowing you to easily grind against him.

Your strokes became more erratic as your pace against Peeta’s cock increased. You both were so wound tight you might burst. You’d never been so aware of your pulse pounding in your ears, and you came with a strangled cry. Tears coated your cheeks as warmth encased your entire being and you spasmed against Peeta. You had a moment of respite as you thought the plant’s effects had subsided, but the drive to ravish him returned with a vengeance. 

He followed you off the precipice soon after you calmed down, back arched and head thrown back as his release covered your knuckles. The fog that surrounded your head cleared just enough for you to realize just how pretty Peeta looked like this. If you were going to die, you didn’t think you’d get a better view. 

Your pace slowed but Peeta was still hard in your hand. The boiling heat still lingered under your skin, and your pulse quickened. You wondered if that was the Capitol’s goal; to make you so fucked out you succumb to exhaustion or burn you from the inside out. 

Peeta looked utterly exhausted and a coil of guilt settled in the pit of your stomach. 

“Just one more, please,” you begged, trailing kisses down his neck. He nodded against you, and you could’ve cried from the relief that washed over you.

You lifted your hips and aligned the tip of his cock with your entrance, gasping at the sensation. Peeta’s hips bucked up unconsciously, shoving himself deeper inside you. A pained hiss left you, and Peeta cried out a thousand apologies, his iron grip returning to your hips once more. 

“I’m sorry. You’re just— Fuck… So— tight,” he babbled out, brown eyes glazing over. You pressed a featherlight kiss against his cheek, thoughts too consumed with his cock inside you to reassure him properly. You slowly lowered yourself onto him, sighing when your hips were finally flush. Peeta had his eyes screwed shut, gritting his jaw in thinly veiled restraint. 

Your hands settled on his shoulders as you began to rock your hips against his. Peeta rested his head against the tree as you rode him, releasing little pants and moans with every thrust of your hips. 

With each moment that passed your movements became more erratic, desperate to reach your peak once again. Peeta’s hands frantically roamed your body, grasping and kneading whatever inch of skin he could reach. 

He reached a hand between the two of you and drew hurried circles around your clit. He lifted his hips to meet yours, jutting himself deeper inside you. The sounds of skin slapping against skin filled your ears, and you prayed you were the only ones trapped in this portion of the arena. 

It took no time for your release to hit you, practically knocking the wind out of you as you clenched around Peeta’s cock. Your vision went hazy, and for a moment you feared you’d pass out. 

Peeta finished with a few more rolls of your hips against his. He filled you to the brim, his release hot and steady coated your walls. 

Your vision cleared as you came down from your high. The fire within you had finally dissipated, and you breathed a sigh of relief. You felt exhaustion consume you as you slumped against Peeta. 

“I’m sorry,” you slurred out, clinging onto Peeta like your life depended on it. Your face screwed up and you felt your throat tightening. 

“It’s okay. You’re okay,” he rushed out, running his hands over your body, attempting to soothe you as quiet sobs wracked your body. Your last thought before drowsiness overtook you was of how much you didn’t deserve Peeta Mellark. 

Your heart pounded as you awoke, adrenaline spiking as you heard someone calling your name. You jumped to your feet, eyes frantically searching your surroundings. Your movements caused Peeta to stir and his eyes shot open, the same panic gracing his features. 

You tugged on your suit, grimacing at the dried cum that covered your inner thighs. You tossed Peeta his suit and pulled him to his feet. You didn’t know how long you’d been out, and the thought turned your stomach. Someone could’ve easily come along and killed you both. 

You grabbed your weapon while Peeta removed the spile from the tree. 

“Let’s just hope our sponsors enjoyed the show,” you joked, immediately cringing as soon as the words left your mouth. 

The corners of Peeta’s mouth quirked up, “I’m sure they did.”

[imaginedisish]

Savior Complex (Logan Howlett x fem!Reader)

A/N: Hey guys! Here is the request I said I'd write. I hope it's what the anon wanted. It's quite long...and maybe a little different than my other Logan works...so I hope you guys enjoy. Inspired (obviously), by "Savior Complex" by Phoebe Bridgers.

Summary: You are willing to give up everything, including your own life, to save your found family. Logan, however, is not willing to let you do that. And he finally shows you why.

Warnings: SMUT 18+ MINORS DNI!!! Unprotected PIV (wrap it up), Oral (f!receiving), fingering, multiple orgasms, friends to lovers, hurt to comfort, mutant!reader, omega!mutant!reader, fem!reader/afab!reader, allusions to death, canon typical violence, cursing, likely some grammatical errors, and I think that's it.

Word Count: 4,549 eeeeeesssshhhh

“Stay down!” Logan yells, his body hunched over yours, shielding you against the trunk of a thick tree. 

You try to push him away. “We need to move!” You protest, shoving at him to no avail. He’s more solid than the tree at your back, firm, unwavering. Bullets fly overhead, swishing through the air. You listen to the sounds of triggers clicking and guns cracking. “I need to get out there!”

Logan presses himself further into you, his chest flush with yours. “You are not going anywhere,” he spits, his eyes trained on you. He’s studying every shift in your expression, every twitch in your shoulders and every flinch you make at the firing of a gun in the distance. 

“Logan,” you say, trying to stand up straight, to force yourself from his hold. You raise your voice. “I’m going out there, and you are not stopping me.” You brace your hands at your sides, ready to use your powers if necessary. “Now is not the time to be the overbearing, protective friend, okay?”

Logan refuses to let up, unleashing his claws and digging them into the tree on either side of your body, caging you in, trapping you in place. “Well, isn’t that just too bad?” He mutters cockily, that shit-eating grin spread across his face. “Because I’m not going anywhere, princess.” 

You swallow, flexing your palms, stretching your fingers down to the ground. “I’ll give you one second to reconsider that decision.” 

He laughs, too self-assured for his own good. “And what are you gonna do—”

“Sorry, bub,” you chide, sarcasm heavy in your voice as you interrupt him. “But your second is up.” You shut your eyes, reaching towards the ground. Thin, black shadows—spirits—slip up through the blades of grass, nipping at Logan’s legs, wrapping around his ankles tightly. 

He looks down as the shadows pull him away from the tree, his claws slipping from the bark with little to no resistance. More shadows emerge, twirling around his wrists and yanking them down to his sides. 

“No!” He protests, thrashing as you step away from him. “What the fuck do you think you’re doing?” He cries out, trying his best to break free from the tight hold of the shadows. 

“Using my powers,” you say nonchalantly, putting some distance between you and Logan as you step backward. You smile. “Spirit weaving. Started calling it that the other day, actually!” You’re gloating off now, showing off, manipulating the spirits to tighten around him. 

You can see the irritation on his face—the fury written across his furrowed brow. “Oh! How cool!” He is far beyond sardonic—his voice a mocking jeer. “Now let me fucking go!”

You purse your lips, pretending to consider the thought as you backpedal through the surrounding trees. “Yeah…” you trail off. “I don’t think so. Think I gotta get a head start first.” 

And then you make a break for it, sprinting through the trees, cracking the branches scattered along the forest floor. You can see the mansion in the distance, the government agents rounding up the children. The sight sets off something deep inside you. You can feel the anger in your heart, squeezing tightly, dread filling your stomach. You’ve let go of your hold on Logan, your focus now on something far more important. 

You have to save the school. Your friends. Your family. You’re not an Omega-level mutant for nothing, after all. 

You take a step closer to the school, grass dying underneath your feet as your boots tread along the ground—the bright green blades turn brown as you give in to your anger. Somewhere in the distance, a familiar voice calls your name, but it’s too late for that—too late to stop you now. Your eyes flicker closed and open again, changing colors as your powers take control: your left eye white and your right black—representing life and death.

My dear, Charles is suddenly your head. You must restrain yourself. You must back down. 

“No,” you call out, your voice multi-dimensional, bassy and high, light and heavy. “It is time they learn we are not to be taken advantage of.” 

It is too dangerous, my child, his voice bounces around your mind. Charles works hard to convince you, showing you visions of your death, of the potential consequences of your actions. This is not you. This is your anger. 

“I know what I’m doing,” you protest, your voice echoing across the field. 

The agents watch as you stalk across the lawn, spirits following closely at your ankles like a thick, massive cloud of black smoke. 

Your name rings out from behind you. You can feel the tug of the familiar voice, the desire to turn around and see that face, to hear him call your name again. But you stifle the feelings down, struggling to ignore the way your heart begs to see him—Logan. You can feel yourself caught in the middle, split in two. 

A tear slips down your cheek as you walk forward, closer to the agents. Their guns point at you—hundreds of fingers on triggers, aiming carefully with squinting eyes. You can see they’re no longer paying attention to the children. You’ve given the students their chance—their way out. You can see it in their faces; they know. They’re just waiting for your signal. 

Spirits cloud your fists, climbing into your palms, eager for a fight. You bend your knees, digging your heels into the ground. The grass between you and the government agents has long since died. You can feel the tension, feel the spirits rumbling in the air and in your hands. 

“You wanted a fight…” You pause, your voice a crack of thunder. “I’ll give you a fucking fight.” The spirits whisper in your ears, their hums filling the air. They aren’t dead; they’re drumming, living things. It’s time. Oh yes, it’s time. Go! 

“Now run!” You scream to the children, unleashing the spirits across the lawn. You sprint across the field, black shadows knocking the agents over and throwing them away. You guide the spirits with your mind, directing them with the flick of your wrist and the point of your finger. 

You’re bloodthirsty, searching for the mission’s organizer, hunting tirelessly for their leader. The spirits know what you want—what you need—and swarm around a man at the back of the lawn—the man following the children. 

The spirits pick you up by your knees and your shoulders, lifting you into the air and towards the man. You fall to the ground right behind him. 

You smirk hatefully, extending your fingers toward his ankles. Shadows surge him, threading around his legs, twisting up his stomach, and wrapping tightly around his throat. 

“W-who the fuck are you?” The agent chokes out. 

You cock your head to the side, grinning widely. The spirits goad you along. Tap his little head. You know you want to. Take his life. Go on. Take it. One tap to his temple—that’s all it would take—and his life would be yours. It’s something you’ve never done before, something you’ve been able to resist in the past. But this time, you can’t help it. 

“Who am I?” You repeat condescendingly, laughing manically. You lift your hand, inching closer to his forehead. “I,” you pause, your fingertips brushing against his skin. “Am death.” Your white eye flickers out, turning pitch black. 

This is what the Professor had always been afraid of. 

“Don’t!” There’s that voice again, tugging at your heart. “Please, don’t.” 

You keep your hold on the agent as you turn around. Logan. He’s in front of you now, approaching you slowly. Behind him, spirits wreck the other government agents, sweeping them up, throwing them away, holding them down. The other X-Men fight off the few remaining agents easily. 

“I am going to finish this,” you say, struggling to hold on to your powers. Your hatred and anger fade at the sight of Logan—wearing the uniform he said he never would, his hair a disheveled mess, his hand slowly extending out to you. 

He shakes his head, his throat bobbing as he swallows. “It’s already over,” he says firmly, taking your hand. You turn around and see that the government agent is passed out on the ground, likely from the pressure of the spirits choking his throat. 

“If you hold on any longer, you’re gonna hurt yourself, princess.” Your eyes flicker at the nickname, your grip loosening on your powers. You can feel yourself slipping, fading away. 

“H-have to f-finish the job,” you stutter, fighting against that tear in your heart. 

Logan pulls you towards him, his thumb brushing soft circles to the top of your hand. “Think you already did, sweetheart.”

“N-no, she didn’t,” you hear a voice mutter from behind you. BANG! A gun cracks, and there’s suddenly a stinging sensation in your side. You turn, and the government agent is freed from your hold, his gun aimed at your head now. 

“NO!” Logan shouts, but you ignore him, your powers flooding back to you. The spirits swarm the agent again, winding up his body and holding him in place. The shadows trail up your body too, coming to where the bullet hit your side and pulling the metal shell out. 

You fight through the pain, pressing your pointer and middle fingers to the temple of the agent’s head. “This might hurt a bit,” you mumble, taking a deep breath and stealing his life force. “Just taking retribution.” His veins darken as your wound closes, taking only enough of the man’s life to heal yourself. 

You sigh with relief as the wound becomes nothing. You lift your fingers from the agent’s head, and he slumps down to the ground. He’s truly incapacitated now, passed out cold.

You turn around, and Logan is still standing there. He approaches you again. You suddenly feel overwhelmed and woozy. It was too much, you realize. 

Your eyes flicker again—black, white, normal, shifting quickly, shakily, like power going out in a thunderstorm. “L-Logan,” you stammer, hunching over, your hands on your thighs. He crouches down, letting you lean into him. 

“Hey,” he whispers reassuringly—but you can hear the secret panic in his voice. “I’ve got you.” 

The others call your name in the distance. 

“I did it,” you whisper. 

The spirits disappear from the field, slipping back under the ground. 

Logan’s eyes are glossed over. “Yeah, you did sweetheart.” You fall fully into Logan, his arms wrapping around you, a single tear slipping down his cheek. 

And then everything goes black. 

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

“Still in here, Logan?” It’s Charles.

“Yeah,” Logan’s voice is raspy, tired. And it’s close, like you could reach out and strum the sound waves. “Are the kids okay?”

“They’re all safe and accounted for,” Charles says. “And Hank is handling the government side of things. It was an unsanctioned attack.” Silence settles over the room, the pause strained and tense. “She’s going to be okay. You should get some rest.”

“I’m staying.” 

“Logan—”

“I said I’m staying.” And then the door shuts. 

Your eyes slowly open, and you realize you’re back in the mansion—in your room, your bed. Logan notices immediately, standing from the chair next to your bed and rushing to your side. 

“Hey,” he soothes, his hand reaching out, gently cupping your cheek. You lean into his touch involuntarily. It’s an instinct—something you simply have to do. “You’re awake.”

“No visit to the lab for me, huh?” You joke, sitting up a bit as your memories flood back to you. You’re surprised that you don’t feel any injuries or soreness. 

Logan swallows nervously. “You were…” he trails off, his eyes searching yours. “Earlier. All day, actually.” His thumb brushes against your cheek. “Everyone was worried about you.” 

You shake your head, smiling softly. “I’m alright. I don’t feel a thing.” 

But Logan isn’t swayed. You can see the fear in his eyes, the stress in his shoulders. “You should’ve let me hold you back.” He’s serious, his voice firm and steady. “You could’ve gotten hurt…” He struggles to get the words out, his eyes grazing up and down your body. “You could’ve died.”

“Logan,” you mumble, sitting up. “I did what I did because I had to,” you pause, your heart squeezing at the look on his face. “I’d give my life for this family. I would—”

“You’re not giving your life for anything; do you hear me?” He cuts you off, furrowing his brows, his other hand cupping your cheek now, too. 

You close your eyes at the feeling of his touch, the warmth of his palms. “I would give my life to save you.” The words slip freely from your lips. You’re so sure of that fact, so impossibly certain. 

He pulls you closer to him, his hands sliding from your face to the nape of your neck. “I won’t let that happen.” 

“Logan I will always—”

But he cuts off your protests. “Enough of your fucking savior complex.” His voice is shaky now. He pulls you into his chest, and you let him. His arms slip down your back, pressing you tightly to him. His lips are at the shell of your ear. “I am not losing you.” 

The vulnerability of his words shocks you, your breath catching in your throat. “You won’t,” you promise, burying your face into the center of his chest. 

“I almost did,” he chokes out, pressing a chaste kiss to the crown of your head. His words kill you, your heart aching at the sadness in his voice. 

You lift your head from his chest, looking up at him as he looks down at you. He’s massive, towering over you. You can smell him on your clothes, on your skin—tobacco and pine and musk. There’s a shift in his expression, in the tension in the room. His chest heaves under his beater. 

“I’m not going anywhere,” you promise, your hands sliding up his stomach, trailing over his abs. He relaxes into your touch, the stress leaving his shoulders. He leans over you, his forehead pressing to yours. The contact and the closeness are dizzying, your mind hazy as Logan’s fingertips ghost the sides of your waist.  

He swallows harshly as his lips brush against yours—a whisper of a kiss. “Wouldn’t even give you the chance,” he mumbles. You can feel the charge in the air, the anticipation. There’s a look on his face, and you recognize it immediately. You feel it too. 

Longing. Need.   

His lips capture yours, engulfing you like a fire. His hands slip under your shirt, exploring your skin. He’s breathing you in, and you’re breathing him out. You’re suddenly one extraordinary machine, working together, moving against each other in time. 

Logan pushes you down to the mattress, his lips still on yours, the kiss becoming rushed and frantic. He climbs on top of you, his bare arms caging you in on either side of your head. You spread your legs for him, giving him room to settle in between. You can feel his erection strain against his jeans as he rocks into you. The friction feels good, but it’s not enough. You grind against him, needy for more. 

“Fuck,” he pants between kisses, lowering himself down onto his forearm to close the gap between you. His free hand finds the hem of your shirt and slips underneath, his fingertips trailing up and down your body. He’s still rutting into you, his cock nudging against your needy core. 

You grab at his back, pulling on his beater. “L-Logan,” you stutter, his fingers bumping into the bottom of your bra. You arch up into him, giving him the space he needs to bring his hand to your back and unclasp it. He sits up, quickly pulling your shirt up and over your head, slipping your bra off, too. 

He lays you back down, hovering over you, balancing on his forearm as his free hand drifts up to your breasts. He squeezes softly, his thumb tracing over your nipples. “Beautiful,” he murmurs into the crook of your neck, biting your pulse point. “So fucking beautiful.” 

His soft bites turn into kisses, trailing down your neck to your collarbone. He kisses in between the valley of your breasts, down your stomach, stopping just above the hem of your shorts. You swallow, nodding frantically as he hooks his fingers into the waistbands of your shorts and panties, yanking them down your legs in one fluid motion. 

You’re exposed to him—bare. He settles back in between your legs, his mouth just inches away from where you need him most. His breath fans across your clit, a jolt of electricity sparking a fire at the base of your spine. You can feel the ache between your legs growing. 

“Please,” you beg, Logan’s name hanging on the tip of your tongue as you look down at him. He presses a teasing kiss to your clit, his eyes focused on you, on every move you make. “Logan, I need—”

You’re cut off by his tongue—a long, flat stripe licking through your folds, up to your clit. His tongue flits out, flicking lightly before starting all over again. “Gonna take my time with you, pretty girl,” he murmurs against you, the vibrations of his bassy voice coursing through you. Your walls squeeze down around nothing, begging for more, begging for release. “Gonna make you feel good.”

He spreads his palm against your inner thigh, nudging you open for him. His nails dig into your skin, fingers trailing up closer to your core. “Please,” you whine. “Want you.”

Logan’s fingers finally meet your folds, his tongue flicking your clit and pulling it between his lips, sucking softly. “Tastes so good,” he mumbles against you. “So fucking sweet.” Two fingers nudge your entrance, testing the waters, spreading you open slowly. 

You open your mouth to beg for him again, but then he’s thrusting inside you—knuckle deep—his fingers stretching you out. Your walls flutter around him as he pulls out and pushes all the way back in. His swirls circles into your clit, his tongue lapping at you, savoring the taste of you. 

He slides his free hand under your back and to your hip, hoisting you closer to him as he buries his face into your cunt. There’s a hunger in his eyes. No, it’s so far beyond hunger. He’s starving—starving for you and only you. If he could live inside you, he would.

He’s relentless as he sucks your clit, his fingers pumping in and out of you. He can feel you shaking underneath him, trembling. His thumb draws gentle, comforting circles along your hip. “I’ve got you, sweetheart,” he whispers in between thrusts. “Doing so good for me, taking it so well.” Your muscles contract around him at the words, his praises overwhelming you. 

He's getting you there—the fire spreading, creeping in, ready to consume everything in its path. “’M’so close,” you moan, overstimulated and fucked out. Logan doesn’t slow down, his fingers hitting that sweet spot inside you with every thrust. You can feel yourself coming undone, unraveling before him. 

“That’s it, pretty girl,” he soothes between laps. “Come on my tongue, just like that.” And then you’re letting go, coming around his fingers. Fire washes over you, beat after beat, pump after pump. It hits you in waves, the sensation crashing into you as Logan works you through your orgasm. 

He’s whispering praises as he savors your taste on his tongue. So good, sweetheart. Letting me take care of you. I’ve got you. So fucking pretty. 

His thrusts slow down, gently rubbing at your walls before sliding out. But his tongue is still working at your clit, lapping softly. “Could eat you out for hours, princess,” he says, licking another long stripe through your folds. “Maybe I will.” You can feel him smile against you.

But you need him, need him closer—as close as he can possibly be. “Logan,” you call out, already close to coming again. “Want you now,” you plead. 

He licks one more long stripe before lifting his head. He sits up, staring down at you as he lifts his beater up and over his head. You stare at his chest, the way his muscles flex as he breathes. Your arousal glistens on his lips, his chin. 

He unbuckles his belt and slips it from the loops, casting it to the ground with a loud clank. He unbuttons and unzips his jeans, tugging them down his legs along with his boxers. His cock springs free, and he is so much bigger than you ever imagined he’d be. You swallow at the sight, and Logan smiles. 

He is so cocksure, but maybe he deserves to be. 

He lowers himself down over you, once again balancing on his forearm. His free hand trails up your sides teasingly before resting on your hip. “Gonna go slow, princess,” he whispers, biting your bottom lip and then stealing a kiss. “Nice and easy.”  His hand on your hip disappears, leaving you suddenly cold and empty without his touch. But you know where he’s going—know that he’s wrapping his fist around the base of his cock. You spread your legs for him, inviting him inside.

He nudges against you, sliding up and down your folds, feeling you. His tip bumps against your clit, sending a shiver down your spine as you squirm underneath him. He finds your entrance again, his head slipping in, and then pulling back out. 

His teasing is too much. You need him, more than anything, ever. “Please, Lo. Need you inside—” 

Your words get stuck in your throat as Logan thrusts deep inside you, his cock rubbing against your walls, stretching you out. You moan his name, arching your back, your breasts pressing against his chest. He stays there for a moment, his cock throbbing inside you, giving you a second to adjust to the size of him. But it’s not enough—you need him to move. You lift your hips, searching for more friction. 

Logan pins you down, his free hand stilling you at your waist. “Wanna take my time with you,” he growls, sliding out and thrusting back in. “Wanna feel every inch of you.” He’s setting the pace: slow, but building. Once he’s sure you’re not going anywhere, he lifts his grip from your hip and brings his hand down between where your bodies connect.

He finds your clit again, still swollen and overstimulated, and starts to work slow, gentle circles into it. You’re already close, already almost at that edge. 

Logan’s thrusts become rougher, deeper. He rocks into you, plunging himself down to the hilt as he flicks your clit. He swallows your moans with a kiss, his tongue swiping across your bottom lip. You open your mouth, letting him inside. You’d give him anything—absolutely anything he wanted. He never even has to ask. 

“Yours,” you breathe into the kiss. “All yours.”

“F-fuck,” he curses, rutting into you, your words goading him along. “Mine,” He growls, his hips snapping faster, his pace quickening with every thrust. “All mine, pretty girl.” 

And then the confession spills from your lips. You can’t control it. “I love you.” 

Logan pounds into you harder. “I love you, too.” He can’t control himself either. You squeeze around him, the words practically pushing you over the edge. “Needed you this whole time, sweetheart. The whole fucking time.”

You throw your head back, exposing your throat to him. He buries himself into the crook of your neck as he pumps in and out of you, biting down on your pulse point again and then licking away the pain. 

“Can feel you getting close, darlin’,” he coos, his fingers still stroking your clit. Your walls flutter and contract around him. “Wanna feel you come on my cock.” 

Your chests heave together, one single breath flowing between the two of you as he thrusts deeper. You’re slipping, letting go, crashing beneath him. You wrap your arms around his back, pulling him closer. “Lo…” you trail off, unable to form a sentence. 

“Love it when you say my name, sweetheart,” he grunts. “Say it again for me.”

“Logan,” you whine, your legs wrapping around his waist as he fucks into you. You can’t hold back anymore. It’s too much. And he knows. 

“That’s it, pretty girl,” he says, rubbing at your clit. “Let go for me.” 

You do, clenching down onto him, pulling him deeper. He groans at the feeling, his pace faltering as you come around him. You’re melting into the sheets, your muscles tensing and relaxing, white-hot heat spreading across your vision. 

“Fuck,” Logan groans, working you through your orgasm. After a few more slow, languid strokes around your clit, his hand slips from your core and up your body. He squeezes your breasts before sliding his palm behind your back, lifting you up for better leverage. He fucks up into you, pressing you closer to his chest. 

You tighten your legs around his waist, keeping him in place. He knows what you’re asking him for. “Inside?” 

“Yes,” you murmur. He brings his lips to yours as he comes inside you, filling you up. He’s so warm, so solid. You cling to him as he finishes, not wanting to let go. His pumps slow until he’s still inside you. He holds you there for a moment, your foreheads pressed together.

Logan carefully pulls out. He rolls off you and pulls you with him so that you’re lying on your side next to him. He wraps his arms around you, keeping you pressed against his chest. Your legs tangle together. 

The intimacy of the moment suddenly sobers you, and memories of today come flooding back. You can feel the tears brimming in your eyes. Logan notices immediately. 

“Hey,” he whispers, panic clear in his voice. “It’s okay,” he soothes, running his hands along your back. “What’s wrong?”

“I’m so sorry…” you trail off, burying your face into his neck. “I’m so sorry for scaring you, for hurting you, for putting myself in danger. I just—” 

“I know,” he interrupts you. “It’s okay, don’t cry. I’m here.”

“I won’t leave you,” you vow. “I promise.”

“Don’t promise,” he says softly. You look up at him, a sad smile spread across his face. 

You furrow your brows. “Why?”

He swallows. “Because I would’ve done the same for you.” He presses a kiss to your forehead. “I’d tear the world apart for you.” He pauses. “I love you.” 

“I love you too.” You smile, your tears subsiding. You take a deep breath and recall something he had said before. “So, who has the savior complex now?” You joke. 

“Me,” he says back, half joking, but half serious, too. You can hear it—the honesty, the intention. “I’d do anything to save you.” 

“It’s not gonna come to that.”

“But when—” he stops himself. “If it does, I’ll be there.” He pauses. “I will always choose you. Always. Every time.”

Always. Always. Always.

It’s all you can think about as you fall asleep in Logan’s arms. 

[xazse]

look...I LOVED all of your puppy hybrid reader works. But just think about Kitty reader??? That was a stray and stsg find her. And it takes time to get comfortable for her. So there's lots of scratching and hisses but she'll come around sooner or later.

Oh she definitely would, the first day inside is rough, you don’t want to talk, eat and you definitely show no signs of wanting to be near them. Satoru had really laid it on thick when he got too close to you, invaded your personal space: you had no choice but to feel threatened at the man leering over you! You have no choice but to scratch at him then run and hide yourself in their shared bedroom locking the door in the process.

The next week Suguru tries to calm you down when you start giving him lip about what’s yours in this house and what they can’t touch. They’re appalled? Baffled even. You hiss and bare your teeth at them when your rummaging through their fridge as they attempt to get close, they keep telling that most of the stuff in there needs to be cooked in order to eat so you don’t get sick, you’re having none of it.

It’s like this for an exhausting month before you start showing signs of being comfortable, you slowly start letting Satoru touch you, slowly start letting Suguru touch you as well.

When you’re resting on the couch and Satoru boldly sits next to you, you make no move to strike at him: Suguru is watching the exchange from the kitchen shocked. Even when he begins rubbing your back, slowly inching his way up to your neck, you’re fully accepting it and leaning back purring. Suguru doesn’t want to be left out so he normally (attempts without distracting you) walks to the back of the couch and starts rubbing your ears, a little jumpy though you let him stroke them ever so softly.

You find yourself liking the touch from the two men, it feels good. Eventually you start mewling for more attention, slipping into their bedroom at night to smoosh yourself all over them to wake up. One of them usually does and gives you exactly what you’re craving. Feeling bad you always make sure to give them something in return: soft licks up their face.

It’s not long before you’re being treated like a queen, these men do your beckoning with no complaints.

Suguru has you propped up on a pillow on your stomach, legs spread. He has you in that thin nightgown that gives easy access, the no panties really is the icing on the cake. He’s behind you licking long stripes up your cunt, you’re so fucking sensitive, jumping with every bump against your little swollen clit. You’ve never felt this before, you can’t help it when you’re whining the entire time he’s eating you out, your poor brain turned to mush by the time he decide hes finished.

Satoru loves having you use that cute mouth of yours, he’s guiding you through every step of the way, no no you need to be extra careful with your sharp canines, roll your tongue around his length and coat it with your saliva: good girl he praises and you go crazy for those words.

They agree to not give you cock until your first heat comes, they want you begging just a little!