#feral-teeth fic

[feral-teeth]

A sound is still a sound around no one

(I’ve been waiting for you to love me)

by Arrow Valentine feral_tooth on archiveofourown.org

Explicit - minors DNI!

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Rating: Explicit No Archive Warnings Apply Categories: Other Fandom: Smosh Relationship: Damien Haas x Reader

Summary: You're in bed, trying to enjoy yourself. A man appears in front of you. Not just in front of you, but between your legs, fingers pumping in and out of you, just as you were imagining him to do to you only moments before. Not just any man, but the man of your dreams appears when you’re masturbating. but you know exactly what you want to do, because you’ve dreamed of this before so many times with the man whose fingers were now inside of you. So you move your hips, your head falling back. And you let it happen.

Tags: Smut, Dirty Thoughts, Masturbation, Masturbation Interruptus, Choking, Light Bondage, Oral Sex, RPF, Penis In Vagina Sex, Creampie, Come Eating, Come Swallowing, Come Marking, Come Shot, Come Sharing, Come play, Come as Lube, Explicit Sexual Content, Succubi & Incubi, Alternate Universe - Succubi & Incubi, Breathing Play

read under the cut <3

Imagining him between your legs, licking, fingering passionately and moving fast, rubbing and slickly moving across your clit, rubbing his cheek against it and sighing in bliss.

It’s like he revealed himself as a mirage whenever you played with yourself, dyed silver hair attached to a scruff black beard in a crisp, white button-up shirt and striking black tie, appearing between your legs or behind you when you were bent over a counter, fingers reaching down to touch your slick folds as he quickly moved from different positions in your mind, from bent over licking your clit to fingering you, hips bucking against the air then your hips, then his hips slamming against your ass, his cock filling your pussy with so much cum it dripped onto the floor.

Fuck.

You couldn’t get him out of your head, especially when you were in bed. 

You couldn’t get the image of him out of your head.

Until it became real.

but for now, he was just an image in your bed, inside you, flipping positions whenever you got bored of the current one and he switched as fast as a camera shutter to the next position in your mind.

It was normal until the fingers you felt were real.

Like some sort of mirage, the man that was only ever in your dreams was right in front of you, fingers pumping in and out of you just like you were imagining him to do moments before.

You should have been scared, should’ve been shocked and pulled away and told him to stop.

But you didn’t. 

You pushed down and closed yourself over his fingers, your pussy twitching and tightening around them. Hands flying back to grab on the pillows behind you, already close with the work you were doing to yourself just moments before.

You didn’t want him to stop because if this was real, your biggest dream was happening right in front of you and you were so close, oh fuck you were close so you let the stranger finger and lick your cunt until you came on his tongue.

You grab his hair, softer than you could have ever imagined.

Pushing the hair aside to look at his dark roots that were growing out as you rode out your orgasm, a thin line between the lightness of the bleached hair and the virgin brown hair that peeked out underneath. Holding onto these small little details, something to look back on to go back to the memory, this moment. This passion and bliss.

Tightening your grip, you are so so close again and as your hips bucked and moved against his tongue.

It was like he was born to fuck you.

And to do this.

Just. For. You.

“Fuck! Damien, yes right there!” You scream, closer and closer to the edge.

His voice was gravely when you were finally done, breathing hard and gasping for breath.

and when he finally spoke it was one curt sentence.

His voice deeper than you expected.

“I’m not done yet.”

Damien unbuckled his pants, opening his shirt to show off the hair on his chest.

You touch it and he lets you.

He lined himself up with your entrance and looked at you, slowly rubbing your clit in circles with the tip of his dick. You watch him through hooded eyes, waiting.

He enters you slowly, watching you the whole time.

He tentatively pumps into you, grabbing your waist and pulling your ass to be closer to you.

He then reached up to hold your legs by your feet up in the air.

You grab the tie around his neck, pulling it tight. He moans, enjoying the new tightness around his neck.

Grunting and breathless, he fucks you, his thumb rubbing circles around your clit, just the way you liked it, as his other hand rubbed up and down the bottom of your legs, scratching your thighs with his fingernails, leaving red marks as he grips and grabs at whatever he could hold.

His head leans back, revealing the red and purple veins on his neck, the colour popping out against his pale skin and the bulge of his Adam’s Apple, that you reach up and stroke and prod at with the hand not holding the tie, pulling his skin taught with you fingers. You observe the pinkness of his neck, the tie making it grow a deeper red that lined his neck, rubbing your fingers over the lines.

He was too in it to care, growling and snapping at your touch.

You put your hands around his neck lightly and watch him in awe as he was getting closer to his climax.

You are too distracted by the beautiful man in front of you, and he was too busy in the throes of bliss and was so, so close to climax to say anything to you.

Your hand moves to the side of his cheek, feeling the bristles of his beard.

You wipe your thumb over his mouth, feeling the wet that was just between your legs, feeling the cum that was from you. It was on him, something that marked him as yours, even if it was just for today. Even when he would go to wipe it off, the memory of your wetness on his lips and tongue will always be embedded in his memory, on his tongue, on his lips, on his face, wetting that memory with love.

He came inside you , filling you up with everything that he had.

After a moment of groaning, his face scrunched up in his bliss, He pulled out, pumping his cock with his hand and you stuck your tongue out, tasting his cum on your tongue.

You will never forget the taste.

He lay forward, breathing heavily into your pussy and licked a stripe from the bottom of it to the top, tasting himself on you. 

He places a finger inside you, making you flinch with the touch and gathers up his cum, brings it to your mouth, sticking his two fingers into your mouth, slowly pumping it in and out and in and out, making you taste him, the mix of both of your juices.

He grins at you, satisfied. He was finally satisfied with your thoughts that nagged him. He finally got to do what he always wanted to do, what you had always dreamed of.

And as fast as he had come, just like that he was gone.

His orgasming face, his black tie contrasting against his white shirt, against his pale pink and red marked skin. his sexy hair and face and the way he would grunt and moan still echoing in your mind, locked somewhere in the back of your memory. Locked away for safe keeping for when you would touch yourself again. Only thinking about him and his cum and him filling you to the brim that you almost couldn’t stand it, and that night. Oh *god* that night.

You finger yourself, rubbing the cum into your folds, trying to hold onto that moment more. You bring the cum up to your lips, sucking on your fingers and rubbing them into your mouth, thinking of him.

Rubbing it against your lips to maybe, just maybe taste him again.

And you would never feel him in you again, you would never get to taste him on your lips again. Just the memory of that night and the man of your dreams that entered your reality and then left just as quickly.

It was real, not your imagination, or a dream. Because it was just too real, and the cum that he left inside you mixed with yours that was now on a vial on your bedside table as a reminder of the best sex you ever had and will ever have.

*

And you would still feel him between your legs every night, but you knew nothing would top what you felt that night.

And you would have sex with others, trying to fill the hole that him not being there beside you in bed , between your legs, left in you.

But none of them ever did.

The cum that filled you that night was the only cum that could fill you so deeply, that changed you for good.

A flash of silver would appear between your legs every night and you would think of how well he filled you, so perfectly lining up to the inside of your pussy.

But it would never be the same like that one night, with no one else.

It was only him.

It would always be him.

He was the only one that would ever satisfy you to your fullest.

And you knew that. 

[izzystizzys]

Die Alone: The Coruscant Guard Christmas Special

All‘s calm and quiet on Coruscant, for once - the Senate‘s either gone home to celebrate the universally beloved Xeshmas with their closest, or is attending the annual festive bash at the Spakatomi Splaza buildings, sponsored by Chandrila. At 79’s, a horde of merry Commanders get together to bask in the Xeshmas spirit (red, green and white shots) and celebrate another year survived. But wait, Bacara groans into someone’s boots only thirty minute into their jolly bash, where the kriff is Fox? Ignored the invite again?

A strange feeling comes over Cody. He spent the entire day brooding, telling everyone who would listen that he has the strangest sensation of having forgotten something important and being told it can’t be that important if he’s forgotten it (Wooley) or to quit being such a partypooper (Rex). Now, it dawns on him.

He never sent that comm to Fox.

To be entirely fair, Fox probably couldn’t have attended either way - stuck as he is as the singular vod on babysitting shift at the empty Senate building. Still, it would’ve been nice to at least hear from some of the others, considering he saw them all loiter towards the clubbing district on security cams anyways. Now, here he sits and gathers dust - as a glorified secretary while his brothers are off partying or on security detail at Spakatomi Splaza.

Fox heaves a deep sigh and traces expletives in the thin film of dust on the reception desk. One positive of this whole thing - for once, he’s safe from being accosted and having slurs thrown at him by uppity senate staff, or, Force forbid, being called on a special mission by the Chancellor. He’s safely in his Nubian mansion by now, thank the Galaxy.

Thire and Ballsy are heading the party security, which, most ridiculous kriffing thing he’s had to assign troopers to in a long time. He would’ve doomed himself to it, but the Chancellor specially requested he man the desks and empty Senate. Fox is, after all, the best of the best.

Kriffing Xeshmas parties. Mothma, who’s usually capable of critical thought, specially requested they be in softshell for this assignment - to make their guests feel more comfortable and off the clock, she told Fox with a completely straight face.

Imagine that. Off the clock. Hah.

Fox is so busy watching the imaginary off-time he’s only heard of in dreams that he doesn’t even register the sudden plunge into darkness, until he starts to blink and his brain slowly comes back online.

Well, kriff.

With a heavy, internalized eyeroll, he flicks at his vambrace. Nothing. Taps for the light-controls. Nothing. Pokes at the screens of various pads.

Nothing.

…double-kriff.

With a much more external sigh, Fox heaves himself to his feet and attempts to manually flick on his helmet lights, only to grunt out a string of curses when he realizes they shorted out along with everything else. He gropes at his belt and -

Yup, magpack on the blaster too. Great.

Fox trudges through the empty, darkened corridors with all the enthusiasm of the world’s saddest glorified customer service worker, mentally cursing all the great forces at work to create this extraordinarly shit day for him.

Mothma for throwing stupid kriffing Xeshmas parties and requesting an unreasonable amount of softshell (!) Guard for it.

Palpatine for ordering him to babysit the Galaxy’s center of operations alone.

Cody and all the rest of them for not even kriffing pretending to invite him to anything anymore.

This stupid kriffing generator for deciding to kick it at the worst possible moment, and whoever was stupid enough to make the whole Senate power grid and comm access dependent on one single kriffing -

Fox freezes, all at once.

Voices. Plural. Outside.

Slowly, Fox creeps towards the slide doors leading outside. He pries them open gently, careful not to allow for a single creak or slip that could give him away. It’s more likely to be nothing than anything, but -

“ - enter from the trash chute, while Bossk takes the staff entrance on the other side and cover more ground that way. Bane, you will screw off the vent covers through the third floor exit and -“

“I know what I’m doing”, a deep, gravelly voice interrupts that sends shivers down Fox’ spine. He’d hoped he’d never have to encounter it outside a criminal court recording again - triple kriff. “I don’t need your lectures, Sing.”

“Touchy today, are we?”, Aurra Sing says, snidely, and it begins to dawn on Fox exactly how kriffed he really is. “Relax, Bane. We know what we’re doing. The Chancellor’s treasury doesn’t stand a chance in Sith-hell.”

A low, vibrating hiss answers her, trembling with laughter. Fox has to force himself to hold his breath to keep in the expletives that want to slip free, hands cold and clammy in his gloves.

“Alright, everyone on position. We wait an hour for the commotion to really get started over at Spakatomi, and then -“

Deciding he’s heard enough, Fox carefully shifts the sliding doors back closed and inches back through the hallways with his heart hammering in his chest. Kriff, kriff and double-kriff this stupid kriffing holiday - first thing he’s doing when he gets out of this alive is outlaw the very idea of Xeshmas for all acting GAR personnel, and then he’s going to shove a Nabooian fir-tree up the ass of Jango Fett’s kriffing ghost, because somehow, this too is his fault. Fox just knows it.

First, though, he’ll have to keep three of the Galaxy’s most infamous and deadly bounty hunters from stealing Republic secrets and treasures on his own.

(Somewhere, among the debris-littered ring of planetary satellites, a string of increasingly desperate comms waits to go through:

CC-4477: FOX

CC-4477: FOX HELP

CC-4477: FOOOOOOOX

CC-4477: THERE ARE SEPPIE TERRORISTS IN THE LOBBY THEY ARE BEATING UP ORGANA

CC-4477: I AMN HIDNG I TOLET

CC-4477: Sorry for that, Commander. The situation is back under control - I have acquired a bomb. I‘m sure you‘re right outside with the others setting up a perimeter - I‘ll keep the hostages safe, ori‘vod! :) -Thire)

[ohraicodoll]

Teeth

Joel Miller x f!Reader (Feral Reader as you’ve all lovingly called her) The Last of Us (show/game) 4.5K Words (3rd POV) Part II to Monsters Summary:  “Only Joel could make offering to get her off sound like a business transaction. But the intention was clear. This wasn’t intimacy, wasn’t passion boiling over, wasn’t romance. It was bodies and tactfulness and practicality.“ Warning: 18 + Minors DNI. Smut, pwp, mentions of violence, enemies to fwb, can be read standalone Part I | Part II

The house was too quiet.

So often on the road, they’d taken to sleeping in whatever buildings they could secure, alcoves in the woods, even an old run down vehicle on the side of the road occasionally. But this time they all got their own rooms, beds, to sleep in and instead of being comforting it made her anxious. She was used to the sounds of nature going on at night, the steady breathing of her companions, the slight vibrations of the world around her. There was nothing in the cabin but silence. They’d strategically picked rooms, Ellie taking the master bedroom as that was the farthest away from the entrance with hers and Joel’s closest to the front door. If someone went through the effort of getting through all the defenses and fences and managed to get inside, they’d have to get past their rooms first. Except not even that because she was awake and laying on the floor in the living room. The bed had been too soft, the walls pressing into her too much. Caged. So she had grabbed the blankets and pillows and thrown them on the floor on top of the couch cushions she’d yanked down. All where she could have a good vantage point of the front door, pistol resting beside her head and knife under the pillow. It was better, but still not the same.

All the clothes in the house were too big, no matter how tight she knotted the drawstrings, so she’d forgone pants and had thrown on an oversized shirt while her pants dried in what the previous owners had deemed the “laundry room.” The blankets were warm but a little itchy against her bare skin and she sighed. It was hard to relax, to take advantage of the amenities. The need to constantly be prepared for anything a humming nerve under her skin. She tried to calm herself, to focus, to slow the constant stream of thoughts going over the previous day. Finding the group, the bullet graze on her shoulder, the look of pure uninhibited rage as Joel caved the man’s skull in with his bare fist. And then the feel of that same hand in hers, rough skin against her own, and the warmth of Joel’s thighs against her body. “Except you’re wrong if you don’t think I like seeing you on your knees for me.” She wasn’t an idiot. The man was attractive and had been since the day she met him, no matter how much he set her teeth on edge and made her want to wring his neck. They were the same, hackles raised and maws snapping at every turn. She didn’t feel the need to play nice and hide who she was. He never batted an eye at her lack of hesitation towards violence, never looked at her fearfully or disapprovingly for shooting or stabbing first. She’d been around others before, had seen the way they skittered away in fear as if in a blood haze she’d go after them as well. Joel Miller was a survivor and knew that the world was ugly. And sometimes you had to match that ugliness to see the next day. He would have been the type of man that had intimidated her when she was younger. Too gruff, hardened, assured with his cocky attitude and rare smiles. Nothing like Harry. She’d been bashful before, wanting to break out of her shell but unable to take that leap. Not a leader, not a go-getter. Not quite the best at social interaction, at interacting with men specifically, words never coming easily. She would have blushed from one look from the Texan. The world wasn’t made for blushing anymore though and that was twenty years ago. That girl was dead. She was just wearing her skin. A skinwalker. A monster wearing a human form. The Outbreak had changed them all. 

Now it was hard to feel anything. She felt tiny sparks of amusement from Ellie when she tried out new jokes to get a reaction, concern as she took note of the weight that seemed to be on the young girl’s shoulders, affection watching her take in every new surrounding, irritation when Joel bossed them both around. Rage and anger were the easiest to feel, so she took aim at the older man. Like poking a bear if only to feel the exhilaration of being chased. She felt most alive in the middle of a fight and when Joel’s eyes were glaring into her, teeth snapping at her. Staring up at the ceiling, the slight creak of a hinge caught her ear from down the hall followed by almost silent footsteps. Too heavy to be Ellie, too quiet for the girl that blew through life like a tornado. No, she watched and waited as Joel came around the corner, the lantern she had left lit in the corner of the room illuminating the frown tilting his lips down. The sweatpants that hadn’t fit her fit him perfectly, settling loose and comfy on his hips while the faded shirt stretched snuggly across his broad chest. She could see the telltale signs that he’d been running his hands through his head, the slight curls in disarray and silver catching the light. If he had been asleep, she couldn’t tell. Maybe he’d heard her leave her own room. He always did seem to know when she was moving around. “What’re you doin’ out here?” he grumbled quietly, the sound rough and low. The darkness hid his eyes from her but she knew he was probably glaring. Still annoyed over their exchange earlier most likely. She blinked at him then went back to staring at the ceiling, “Bed’s too soft.” My mind won’t shut off, the room is too quiet, the walls are too close, I don’t like sleeping alone anymore. The words were there, buried underneath layers of skin. Joel grunted, scratching at his chin and the patchy beard there before placing his hands on his hips and taking her in. He could tell when she was bullshitting, she knew that, but he wasn’t about to call her out on it. They didn’t do feelings, didn’t confess their fears in the dark. It was practical and that’s how they both liked it. So she reasoned it was in the name of practicality that he sighed and walked over. Because they had shit to get done the next day and he’d gripe at her if she was tired and couldn’t pull her weight. He nudged her side with his foot, the silent command to scoot over, and rather than be a brat and stare him down she did so. The cushions were wide and worn down, big enough for both of them and weren’t entirely uncomfortable. Better than what they were used to sleeping on. Odd sleeping arrangements weren’t new, the three of them pressed tight together like sardines trying to fit in whatever small safe space they could find. So it wasn’t exactly odd for him to be pressed close to her. There’d been many nights she’d fallen asleep to her cheek against his shoulder blades and Ellie wrapped around her back. Maybe he had come out to the living room for the same reasons she had. She wasn’t sure but wasn’t about to ask. Joel placed his own gun on the ground next to his side of the cushions, carefully kneeling down and lifting the blanket up to get underneath. She could feel his pause more than she could see it, could hear the slight curse under his breath, “You wearin’ any pants?” “Does it look like it?” He shook his head, jaw clenching but continued climbing in beside her. The apocalypse did away with a lot of things like modesty and politeness. She didn’t care, had gone and helped him in only a towel earlier because she was already there and wasn’t going to take the time to change just to tend to his hand. Practical. He shifted beside her, getting comfortable under the shared blanket and laying on his side facing away from her where he could still hear from his good side. There was a moment where his arm went under the pillow and he paused, pulling out the blade while giving her a look before moving it beside him. Never surprised, always annoyed. The heat from his body made up for having to share the blanket, warmth radiating from him and seeping into her. She hadn’t moved, eyes still glued to the ceiling though now her concentration was mostly on the slight sound of Joel’s breathing next to her, the way his back muscles shifted against her arms, the anxiety lessening now that she wasn’t alone. “You’re thinking too loud,” his voice growled next to her, bare feet brushing hers as he adjusted. “That’s not a thing,” she replied, very much still awake. Joel sighed and looked at her over his shoulder, “You gonna go to sleep anytime soon or should I go back to my room?” Rolling her eyes, she met his gaze in the dim lantern light, his irises practically black, “You act like I’m not trying to sleep. Brain’s too wired. Feel free to go back if all you’re gonna do is complain, I didn’t ask you to sleep in here.” He huffed, facing away from her and let the silence take back over. 

This time the silence felt weighted, a heavy tension as they both acknowledged that neither of them were sleeping. Using his own words, she could hear him thinking loudly and it kicked up her nerves. She was extra aware of his heat, the press of his back against her arm, the slow and steady way his breath filled the air. It made her sensitive, made the world around her seem to vibrate. Joel was the one to break the silence again, the words deep and rough with his accent, “I can help, if you want…Distract you so you get to sleep.” Her heart sped up, the sound like a raging river in her mind. Her skin was tingling. “How so?” she could hear her own voice get huskier as she whispered back, the barest sound slipping out. He turned to look at her again over his shoulder, gaze heated, “You know how.” She did. Had more than once imagined his mouth on her, fingers slick with arousal and touching her- “Didn’t seem that into the idea earlier when you damn near bit my head off,” she scoffed and tried to ignore how every nerve was on fire. How he had been the one to bring it up and what he was offering. Joel didn’t say anything for a long minute, the memory of her on her knees and his fingers digging into his own thigh fresh. It’d been to rile him up, be a dick to him as he was being to her, but it wasn’t exactly not an invitation. She’d fucked worse to alleviate the tension, to say thanks, to satisfy a need. “Then maybe you weren’t listening correctly,” he grunted, “You want help or not? The window’s closing fast.” Only Joel could make offering to get her off sound like a business transaction. But the intention was clear. This wasn’t intimacy, wasn’t passion boiling over, wasn’t romance. It was bodies and tactfulness and practicality. She nodded, eyes on the ceiling. “Gonna need it out loud, darlin’,” he muttered lowly. Darlin. Not Starshine or Red or Hey You. It was a new one. “Okay,” she whispered and chewed on the inside of her cheek. She didn’t look at him, didn’t try and gauge his reaction or the look on his face. As unaffected as she was trying to come across, her heart was in her throat. It’d been a while, a good long while since someone else had touched her and it was Joel of all people breaking that dry spell. He turned over on his other side to face her and she could feel his eyes, the way they burned into her skin, “Turn over.” She didn’t argue, didn’t bristle at being ordered, simply faced away. It was better this way. It was too intimate to let him see her face, to watch his, and that wasn’t what this was. His chest was flush against her back and she could feel his breath against her neck, hands finding her waist as one of his knees pushed between hers. She expected him to be rougher, quicker, more methodical but he was soft and slow, taking his time. His fingers skimmed over her sides and down to her thighs, finding the hem of the worn shirt then the large expanse of bare skin. His palm was rough against the smooth skin and she bit down on her lip at the contrast in texture, finding she liked the feeling. Then the tips of his fingers were playing with the band of her underwear as his nose dragged along her neck, hot breath almost causing her to shiver. He slid his fingers along the thin straps, hand brushing against her heated skin and she could feel the edge of the bandage on the back of it. The bandage covering the split knuckles and sliced skin from him beating a man to death.

That kind of rage wasn’t supposed to be a turn on, but it had been. The old her would have been terrified, traumatized, backing away from him out of fear but not the person she was now. He had her back, had watched out for her and been there in the second she had been blinded by her overwhelming need to protect Ellie. 

Joel had her. She pressed herself back into him and could hear his swallowed groan as her ass rubbed against his groin, at his obvious arousal pressing against her. He didn’t speak and neither did she. Only the sounds of their quickening breaths filled the silence of the living room and then a barely audible gasp as his fingers finally slipped underneath the cloth and found her center already hot and wet. He trailed along her slit, gathering the arousal soaking there, and spread it around, encircling her clit. He took his time, going slow, getting to know her and the sounds she desperately tried to keep locked inside her. She’d been quiet back in the day. Never been one for dirty talk or loud moans. Maybe because she’d been bashful and inexperienced and easily embarrassed. Soft, breathless, throaty. Now it was more out of instinct, survival, control. There wasn’t much she could control in the world but herself and any noises she made were for her to decide if she wanted them to be heard. So she swallowed the moan that strained to leave her lips as Joel circled her clit even more urgently, lightning shooting through her. His hand was large, so much bigger than hers. His whole body could probably wrap around her completely, cover her up and shield her from everything around them. Joel was a solid wall behind her and as his finger finally dipped inside, she gripped the pillow tightly in a clawed hand while the other dug into the bicep stretched across her. He curled inside her, thumb pressing down on her clit, and she clenched her teeth against another moan, throwing her head back. Salt and pepper curls tickled her chin and then his mouth was on her neck, hot and wet with teeth and tongue. She could smell him, gunpowder and musk and pine. Distinctly Joel and she bit down on her tongue hard, welcoming the slight tinge of copper in her attempt to keep from drowning in him. Another finger entered her and she almost sobbed at the stretch. The coil inside of her was winding tighter and tighter with each stroke, each slow pump, as he managed to tease a part of her that had her delirious with pleasure. He was methodical, precise, bringing her to the edge then pulling back to bring her back down to the shallows before building her up again. It was the perfect kind of torture that had her pushing into hand, searching for more. Her nails were making indents in his skin from how hard she was digging in, struggling to keep herself in control. 

At last a gasp slipped through her lips unbidden. A crack forming. The small sound seemed to almost snap something in Joel. He cursed, pressing his forehead to her shoulder, before yanking her until she was on her back with his hand still down her panties. Before she could question him, his mouth was latched onto her neck and he was pressing deeper into her all the way to his knuckles, no longer going slow, no longer keeping her turned away from him. Their legs were tangled, thigh between his and hips pulled wider, and she could feel the hard length of his own arousal rubbing against her. She didn’t stop to wonder if this was about practicality anymore. If this had been part of the unspoken arrangement. Not when his mouth had inched down the collar of her shirt and he was pressing teeth into the small stars along her collarbone, worshiping the slip of skin. No, her hand reached out and pressed against his sweatpants, feeling him and taking in the way he hissed against her skin and jerked into her hand. Her back arched off the pillows as pleasure grew and their heated pants filled the room. Joel’s beard was scratchy against her skin and she knew there would be red marks all over her neck and across her chest but she didn’t care. His teeth nipped sharp spots of pain into her skin and then he would soothe the spot with his tongue. All while his fingers pumped in and out of her, the slick sound dampened by the underwear he’d shoved aside. Her own hand gripped him through his sweatpants, feeling his weight and length, mouth almost going dry at the size. He didn’t protest, didn’t say anything when she slipped her hand under the band of pants and past his underwear, feeling the hot velvet skin of his erection and passing a thumb over the tip to collect the moisture there. Instead he bit down harder and jutted into her hand, rocking and thrusting faster into her. Fuck, he was big and onehanded she stroked him the best she could, blind in the dark and moving in time with him. She was close, could feel the coil going taut and her breath coming out faster and faster. Her own face pressed into his shoulder, feeling the tight muscles in the arm holding himself over her. He almost seemed to shiver as she dragged her mouth along his skin then bit down, groaning open mouthed onto him as her orgasm crashed hard and unyielding. She didn’t slow down, didn’t release him, even as her body felt loose and HER breath came out in shaky pants. No, she had him and wasn’t going to miss the opportunity to take control over the smuggler. She stroked from tip to base, massaging him and drawing out his grunts with each movement. His fingers pulled out of her and gripped her thigh, smearing her own arousal all over the skin and digging in tight enough to bruise. “Fuck,” Joel hissed into her neck and she let go of the pillow she had been gripping with her free hand, combing through his hair and running nails along his scalp. She wanted to tear him open with her claws, rip away the hardened shell he’d built around himself and climb into him. Force some vulnerability to the surface in the same way he had with her. Revenge maybe, but the word didn’t feel right. He pushed himself up and finally met her gaze, their breath mingling as their eyes found each other in the dark. She wasn’t sure what he was looking for, felt almost more exposed than when his fingers were deep inside her. But she didn’t break her stride, didn’t blink or look away. She met him head on and it reminded her of that first day they had met. Saving Ellie, killing that man with a baseball bat, equal amounts of fury and brokenness meeting the other. A mirror. Joel grit his teeth and she watched the words “fuck it” shape on his lips but never forming sound before his lips were on hers. She hadn’t been expecting it. Kissing was for intimacy and this wasn’t that. But the kiss wasn’t gentle or soft or tentative, instead a clash that shook their bones. He was trying to devour her and she was trying to dominate him, his weight pressing down into her fully. She moaned into his mouth and hooked a leg around his waist, trying to draw him in as close as possible with her hand still tangled in his hair. She couldn’t define his taste. It was…Joel. Earthy and sweet and intoxicating. His tongue discovered every crevice of her mouth, sliding along hers, and she tugged at his hair until a hiss danced along their lips. Kissing Joel Miller was dangerous in its addiction. Her lungs burned and she thought she could taste copper, blood, but she couldn’t get enough, wanting to swallow every innocuous sound that left his throat because they were the only pieces of himself he let go of freely. She palmed his member, massaging it and feeling how desperate he was for release, before finally pulling away enough to whisper against him, “You can either fuck my hand or you can fuck me, Miller. What’s it gonna be?” He groaned as she squeezed him harder, hips jerking, “Jesus Christ…” Then his hands were tugging her underwear down in answer and he was on top of her fully between her thighs, lips bruising while she released him and helped yank his sweatpants down. It was frantic, hands clawing, teeth biting. A desperation she hadn’t felt in a while, only akin to when things were life or death and she was fighting for her life. 

Practicality had gone out the window and she wasn’t sure when it had happened. She felt alive, sharp and bright, and that had her fully pulling him to her, feeling him slide along her wet core heavy and pulsing and so fucking good. Joel braced himself with an elbow beside her head, muscles straining, hand gripping her hair tightly to keep her lips against his. His other fist pumped himself, sliding against her clit and drawing breathless moans into his mouth. There was no discussion about going slow, about making sure she was ready or stretched enough for him. That required a level of care, affection. No, that wasn’t them. Inside he hitched her leg higher around his waist and pushed into her fast and rough. Both of them groaned at the stretch, at the way he filled her completely, teeth swallowing the sounds. It never left their mouths, wasn’t for the world to hear, simply passed from one to the other like a secret. Her arms wrapped around his neck, pulling him flush against her as he started to move. The proximity had him grinding against her, the rough hairs at his base adding friction and sending sparks through her. It was fast and bordered on painful, but it only heightened the feeling for her. She didn’t want him to be gentle with her, didn’t want to be handled like a doll.

She needed to feel something even if it was pain and god, if the man didn’t cause every single inch of her to alight with fire. “Fucking hell,” he whispered against her, the words a growl as he broke from her mouth and pressed his forehead to her shoulder, “Feel so fucking good.” His thrusts were beginning to lose their rhythm, going faster and harder as if he was aiming to tear her in half. She only wrapped both legs around his waist, hooking them at the ankle, the silent promise that she was fully along for the ride until the end. “This better than me on my knees, Miller,” she hissed, fingers tightening on his curls. He gripped the back of her head and drove deeper into her almost in answer, “Shut the fuck up, darlin’.” There was a reply on her lips but it never managed to escape, his lips crushing hers as they both began to hit the edge. She pulsed and tightened around him as her orgasm hit her like a freight train, lightning searing every nerve and dragging Joel down with her. He came hard with her, his warm release filling her and coating both of them as he fucked her through the last waves and aftershocks of their climax. Their breathless pants wrapped around them and painted their lips, a few centimeters apart but not fully pulled away from the other. She could feel him twitching inside of, was drowning in his scent and that familiar whiff of sex that clung to them. Even with his weight bearing down onto her, she felt good, filled to the brim, awake. Joel groaned, forehead against hers, sweat trickling down his neck and into the collar of his shirt, “Fuck.” “Ditto,” she mumbled, trying to catch her breath, releasing her tight grip on his hair and sliding it along his bag. He almost shivered at the slight caress. “I should have pulled out,” he frowned, brow furrowed as reality started to sink in. “It’s fine,” she answered heavily and fell back fully against the pillow, neck stretched beneath him, “Can’t get pregnant. Plumbing don’t work.” Her sentences were stuttered, short and to the point as a clear indication that it wasn’t a topic she wanted to elaborate on. It was the smallest admittance of something personal, a rarity between them, and he filed it away in the back of his mind.

He nodded and lifted himself up, only giving her a small warning before sliding himself from her. They both groaned at the sensation and loss of warmth, laying on their backs side by side under the blanket. The air was much cooler on their sweat slicked skin and in the back of her mind she was thankful that at least she’d get to take a shower in the morning. A second later though, her thoughts were cut off when Joel grabbed her and tugged her closer into his side, her arm across his chest. She froze, not quite expecting him to even acknowledge her after the deed was done, much less want to touch her. His ankle was still wrapped around hers and the threadbare shirt was soft under her cheek, his hand resting on her shoulder. “Didn’t take you for a cuddler,” the words lacked their usual mocking tone or bite, bordered on unsurety. This was out of her comfort zone and she was stiff, in unfamiliar territory with the smuggler. Sex and rage she knew, but not…whatever this was. “Shut up and go to sleep, Red,” Joel’s eyes were already closed, breathing relaxed and even. He wasn’t rising to take the bait, all the fight gone out of him. Biting her lip, she sighed. And true to his word, she followed him into slumber quickly after, leaving the new aspect of their relationship to ponder in the daylight. 

[sluckythewizard]

Keep calm, and drink soda

[CW for blood and gore and vomit] takes place a day or two after emizel was sired. just two boys adjusting to a shift in their daily norms. would YOU drink your homies blood? still not used to writing fanfic so any and all advice IS appreciated. i hope u enjoy.

There were very few things that Soda enjoyed more than well, drinking soda. It was a hobby, an interest, a comfort. And by extension there were very few errands that Soda would look forward to more than the occasional soda run.

The gas station closest to the Demons hideout had stopped selling Faygo entirely about a month or two ago, and it was near impossible to find it anywhere else. The closest place was now this janky little Shell gas station, lovingly titled the Shady Shell, that thankfully sold more flavors than any of the other ones ever did.

It made the hour and a half walk here entirely worth it. Even if this side of town made his skin crawl. Normally he would ask someone to accompany him on this daring little quest, but everyone at the hide out tonight just seemed too tired, too preoccupied, too uninterested.

He knew not everyone really got the soda thing, but they were accepting of it for the most part. Soda is something that, clearly, Soda really loves, but he knew not everyone else was into it.

Which was fine, of course. They didn't need to get it. But, still, sometimes Soda found himself wondering how much of it was a bit, and how much was him.

Emizel gets it perfectly though. He would've been the first person Soda would ask to go on this soda run with him, but, well. He's been preoccupied too, with the whole vampire thing.

It's been a bit more than a day since Soda had last seen his close comrade. For a friend that he saw just about everyday, going without him this long left him feeling a little emptier.

That was fine, though. Emizel had shit he was working out, he had things he needed to do. It's not like he could go out in the day anymore, so of course Soda wouldn't be seeing him at all the usual times.

It was a lot of weird and heavy magical stuff, it made Soda think about those superhero shows. Where the hero needs to keep his identity hidden from everyone. Family especially. He knows how much of a piece of shit Emizels dad is, so he hoped that Emizels home life wasn't stirred up all stupid-like over this.

He hasn't told anyone else, about what happened that night. For the last 2 days, Soda would spend time with close friends and not let them know a thing about what happened to Emizel so, so recently. Why he's so suddenly absent, so distant, so.. off…

'Maybe his dad's just giving him a hard time', he would say, hoping to smother their questions. The less questions they ask, the better. At least until this vampire stuff gets figured out a bit more. Should Emizel wear a disguise when he goes out at night now? Just like a superhero? What kind of hero outfit would Emizel have anyways? Soda figured it would be something really cool.

If anyone could figure out a way to balance all this vampire stuff, and all the leaderly responsibilities that come with being the biggest dog in the Demons, it was Emizel for sure. That guy is so seriously cool.

He was sure this rough patch would even out, and they would weather the next rough patch together no problem. There was really nothing to worry about! All Soda has to do is stay positive, and well, drink soda.

As Soda walks quietly down the crumbling sidewalks of this dreary hive of strip malls and shops, he goes to pull his backpack around to his chest, fumbling with the zipper in the dark. Which was a little annoying, considering the tab of his zipper had fallen off forever ago. He really needed to get around to fixing this damn thing. Maybe another ziptie and a soda tab will do the trick.

Humid air hangs heavy in the night, the sidewalks still somewhat warm after a hotter day. The diesel-soaked air provided enough warmth on its own that Soda had considered taking his jacket off a few times, only for the occasional, annoyingly sharp and chilly breeze to brush by, reminding him to keep the thing on.

Tripping only once and only slightly on an uneven sidewalk, Soda manages to pull a bottle of Faygo from his backpack, a smile glowing on his face. Another short fight with the zipper seals up the bag, and he slings it over his shoulder again.

His flavor of choice tonight was actually the Red Pop, the tried and true, the absolute classic, one of the best Faygo flavors for sure.

But, this kind wasn't actually his favorite. Normally he would stock up on the cotton candy ones, but something about the last few days had him craving the red stuff.

Securing his backpack all the way, he goes to crack open the bottle. Just the clack and the hisssss of the fizzy drink were enough to lift his mood.

Not that his mood needed lifting or anything. Of course. Sure he missed his friend and sure he found himself wondering what he’s doing and where he is and if he's okay. Maybe sometimes he found himself wishing they talked about funeral plans more.

Emizel talked up all sorts of crazy funeral ideas for himself, usually involving the use of his dead body as an inconvenience for others. Outlandish and hilarious ideas, like filling it with explosives and tossing it into a busy road. But what would he want seriously? What would Soda ever do if he just stopped showing up one day?

He had to swallow down all these unnecessary anxieties, so he took a swig of his soda. Sweet, bubbly, comforting. He felt better already! Just stay positive, and drink soda..

It was a lovely night out, and he didn't come all this way planning on letting it go to waste. There was a place he was heading towards, a particular alleyway in this particular place that led off to a particularly tall concrete ledge.

 It was a run-down little space, littered with trash and shitty trees and those bushes with just too many goddamn ants in them. But the view was fairly nice, overlooking a massive deformed intersection. A particularly stupid one, at that; about 3 times a week you could witness a gnarly crash at this spot. Soda always heard people saying that LA folks can't drive, but he was just starting to figure that maybe no one can drive.

That was the place he really wanted to go to enjoy this soda, and he wasn't too far off from it. Just a few more blocks, and he would be there.

Oh wait, didn't he still have a bag of chips in this backpack somewhere? Hell yeah, he couldn't wait to sit down and relax with a good soda, a good snack, and a good view of the night.

Living as a Demon had its fair share of stresses. He felt lucky to have this life, but he knew well that it could be better. That not everyone has to worry about survival the way they do. That not everyone gets injured on the regular and not everyone has to worry about being sick and never getting better.

Living is hard. But it's finding the small moments of joy that make it all worth it. Dying would be scarier anyway. He didn't want to die, and he felt glad to feel so confident in that nowadays.

The sudden   THUNK  of something slamming into the ground just a block away from him, jolts him out of his thoughts, all his gears screeching to a halt as he freezes in place. What the fuck was that?

It looked like a person, laying flat on the ground with only their head and shoulders peeking out of the alleyway ahead. Fuck. He hated this side of town..

Anxiety churns in his stomach as he debates just turning around, but the way the victim reaches an arm out, attempting to crawl away; it made his heart ache aswell. he's no goddamn fighter, but he couldn't just leave someone like th-

The body is suddenly yanked back into the alley, snatched at a startling speed. It didn't feel exactly real, how could something vanish so fast? It reminded Soda of something from a horror movie, or whatever. What the fuck was that??

His foot takes a step forward, before the rest of his body notices its rebellion and locks down again. Was he seriously going to investigate that? He could just walk away and take another alley. But that was the one he was supposed to turn down! All the other alleys are either walled off or gated off and he wasn't about to go climbing over a damn wire gate. His soda would get too shaken up! Fuck!

Another foot goes in for another step forward. He's gotta get the fuck out of here. He could hear more commotion in the alleyway, a scuffle, a skirmish. He could hear someone cursing through a choked breath. A loud and nauseating crack echoes out from the alley, and yet, Soda takes another step forward.

This was stupid, he shouldn't be getting tangled up in someone else's business. What if something happened to all this soda?

Thankfully, it was that thought that actually got him to pause, and take in a deep breath. It wasn't worth it, maybe he should head straight home.

Atleast, that was the thought his heart and mind were about to agree on, until a particularly familiar grroowwwwlll bleeds out from the alley.

Emizel?

All reason immediately evaporates as Soda makes that connection in his head, stepping right up to the corner of the brick walls, and peering around to investigate.

There was a body on the floor, face down in a puddle of red, head split open in a way that reminded Soda of a smashed watermelon.

But standing over that body, was the familiar, blackened coat, and short blonde hair, of Sodas closest comrade, Emizel.

Despite the carnage on the floor, Soda couldn't help the smile that lights up his face. That was Emizel! That was his boy!

But before he could get over just how happy he felt to see his best friend, something else caught his eye. Movement, behind the dumpster closest to the vampire boy. A person, rising out from the shadows with a glinting baseball bat clutched fiercely in their hands.

"Oh fuck, look out!" Soda speaks up, and Emizels gaze immediately clicks over to him, silencing Soda with just that startlingly red stare.

He had forgotten just how uneasy those red eyes made him..

The attacker, silent and professional, rushes up behind Emizel and CRACKS the metal bat downwards onto his blonde head, the sound ringing out like a  gun shot  in that dark little alleyway.

Soda cringes from just the sound of the impact, but was amazed to find that the bat had warped under the force of it!

The attacker hardly had a chance to process his mangled weapon before Emizel whips around to retaliate.

It looked like he had just swung his hand at his opponent, so the way a shower of red spills outward from the slash, catches Soda completely off guard. The monster boy had cleaved an excruciatingly massive gash up from the attackers right hip, to his left shoulder, the slice spewing with scarlet.

 It wasn't until Emizel had pulled back his arm, that Soda could process the way it had darkened with more than just blood, distorted into an odd, spear-like shape.

The victim hardly had a chance to yelp before that blade swoops up into his chest at the speed of a snapping bear trap, plunging through meat and bone with disturbing ease, and forcing blood and viscera to erupt outwards. The red patters down onto the concrete behind, the sound similar to rain...

With another low, inhuman snarl, Emizel brings the twitching, dying body closer, until that signature squish of teeth sinking into fresh meat bleeds outward into the space.

What a disgusting sound, Sodas first instinct was to simply avert his eyes, but as the sound persists, he resolves that he has to do something.

He finally steps out into the alley, and speaks.

"Hey ma-"

He could hardly get two words out before Emizel suddenly rips its teeth away from its victims throat, tearing out a hefty chunk of jellied meat, and slamming the remaining fodder onto the concrete floor.

It immediately whips around to stare down Soda, red eyes glowing with reflected light, and with hardly a chance to process the moment-

-It's immediately right infront of Soda.

A gasp lurches from Soda's lungs as he almost stumbles back in shock. How was Emizel so fucking fast?

Other than that single step back, Soda was frozen in shock, his tongue buzzing with the physical pain of such a startling jolt. 'White boy jumpscare' is something that came to mind, but while usually such a thought would evoke some sort of laugh from Soda, this time it offered no such comfort. Okay maybe it did a little.

Emizels snarling face was only inches away from Sodas. Its eyes were wild and unnatural, teeth menacingly sharp and reddened with so much fucking blood. It was everywhere, coating most of his face, smothering his shirt and his coat, and absolutely choking the air with its thick, metallic stench.

Soda would gag if he felt he was safe to even move. He felt like he was locking eyes with that of a creature, something he would only ever see in his nightmares or in scary movies. But it was real. Those monsters are real. And his best friend is one of those monsters. His bestest friend in the world...

His mind was skewered on that unnatural glare, completely frozen with anxiety. Stalling too hard to come to a proper conclusion, Soda instead falls back onto what Soda does best.

"H-hey man... You want some soda?"

He very gently presses the opened bottle of Faygo into Emizels chest.

The two boys stand there for a moment, locked in a tense, silent pause, before the monster boy finally peels its gaze down to the bottle.

It's quiet, for a few seconds, the gears turning in its head. Until the monster blinks, and its eyes clear, and Emizel processes the sight of the bottle.

"Oh, fuck yeah dude, is that the Candy Apple Faygo? Man, that stuffs my favorite!" Emizel smiles as he goes to accept the bottle, and immediately takes a massive swig.

Soda tries to disregard the way his hands were still shaking. "Uh, n-nah man, its just Red Po-"

The words are bit off as Emizel suddenly retches, a heavy flood of red blood and red Faygo spewing out onto Soda, as the vampire boys body entirely rejects the fizzy drink.

The shock of getting fucking projectile vomited on had snapped Soda out of whatever daze he was just in, and it seemed to snap Emizel out of it too. Soda backs up with a groan, looking down at all the blood and bile and pop on his shirt and coat.

"Ohhh fuck dude, what the hell??" He cringes, not even wanting to try smearing any of it off with his hand.

Emizel was coughing, still holding out the Faygo bottle, but hunched over as his body dared to convulse again.

"Ohhhhhh fuck, ohhooohhh fuuuuucckkk" he grumbles towards the floor "Fuuuck I’m sorry dude, I don't know what fuckin- oohhhgg shit,” He coughs and groans,  offering the bottle back to Soda.

Soda was still staring at his messied coat with a displeased grimace, but looking up to meet Emizels eyes...

There was a guilt on Emizels face that Soda didn't see too often, and it helped wash away that irritation he felt. This sucked, but Emizel was probably going through a lot more. 

“It’s, uhm.. don't, don't worry about it, man..” Soda decides to reassure him, offering a sympathetic smile, and a hand on Emizels shoulder, as his comrade spits out the remaining blood and bile.

"Fuckin hell… I’m uh, I'm sorry about your shirt, man."

"What? Nahh it's okay man, don’t worry about it." Soda shrugs, taking the Faygo bottle back. "I mean, are you okay man? That uh.. looked like a pretty crazy fight."

Emizel was rubbing his eyes, smearing more blood across his face as he seems to be collecting himself. he spares a glance back at the carnage behind him.  

"Ah.. yeah.. I thought I uh.. I thought I saw that one fucker from uh. That one night. Yknow, the one that uh.." He snaps his fingers, as if trying to summon back the memory. "Vampire bitch... Anyway after that I just kind of, uh.."

He seems to space out again as he looks around. It was as if he was just woken up from a deep sleep, like he was certain he had just known what he was doing, but found the dream escaping him. "I guess I just.. went crazy on these guys. I dunno, they're Fangs anyways." he finally shrugs it all off, but Soda still felt unsatisfied by the answer.

"Oh.. huh…” is the only response he manages to scrounge together. Sure they were Fangs, but did they really deserve.. all that? It just seemed a bit brutal, even by Emizels standards.

He found his eyes wandering over to the split-open head. It was mostly red and bloody, but even in the dark, he could still make out some of the finer details of the gray jelly seeping from the gash. A human brain. He wondered if his own brain looked the same on the inside..

“So what are you doing out here, man?” Emizels question helps Soda pull his eyes away from the gore, instead looking over to his bloodied comrade.

Emizel looked messy and even exhausted, but his drowsy gaze was focused on Soda with a worried expression. 

“Oh, uh, yknow, just a soda run. Decided I would stock up on some Faygo from the Shady Shell.” Soda shrugs, his eyes flickering down to the opened Faygo in his hand. The top was covered in regurgitated blood. unnaturally blackened blood…

“Are you.. okay, by the way? Other than the whole..” Soda gestures vaguely at the gruesome crime scene. “Are you hurt?”

The question has Emizel pausing to consider. He straightens his back and stretches his arms, as if trying to detect any pain from any possible injury. Nothing seemed to be bothering him though, and after a second, he decides to shrug.

“Nah, I'm all good.”

“Oh.. That's good, I uh…” Soda found himself looking over Emizel aswell, searching for any wounds the monster boy might be simply disregarding, as he often does.

There was a fairly gnarly gash on his shin..

“Hey uh, I was actually gonna go hang out by the ledge down that way. Yknow, the one with the funny intersection.” Soda says, gesturing off towards where he intended to go. “Wanna come with?”

Emizel looks back that way, before turning back to Soda with a big smile on his face. 

“Oh hell yeah I do! I love the funny intersection!” he starts to walk down the alley, about to step over the body of the broken skull, when Soda speaks up.

“Uh, hey, shouldn't we uh.. Do something about the.. uh..” He waves a hand over towards the bodies, trying not to look directly at them. 

Emizel spares the corpses an inconvenienced glance, and a sigh, but ultimately shrugs them off. “Ehhh I'll just dump 'em in a dumpster again.. That's what I've been doing anyway.”

“And you're not worried about, like, anyone finding them?”

Soda anxiously watches on as Emizel paces around the body with the torn-out throat, licking the blood from his own mouth. Was his tongue always that long and pointed? That's neat, and normally Soda would point it out, but he was a bit.. preoccupied right now 

“Nahh not really. I haven't had anyone bother me at least.. Anyone been bothering you?” Emizels eyes finally flick back over to Soda. 

“Nah, I'd say things are actually more lax than usual. Anything that would end up being trouble’s been pretty much crushe- er, killed- destr- stamped out, by uh, by you.” Sods was cringing with every attempt to find a word that didn’t make his stomach turn, but Emizel didn’t seem to notice or mind.

Emizels eyes were currently a bit more focused on the body laying before him. He had that weird look on his face again… 

“Uhh, yeah, yeah that's good that uh, no troubles coming back to you guys…”

There’s a moment of quiet between the two as Emizel stares at this corpse, and Soda was about to open his mouth to fill the silence, but Emizel speaks up instead.

“Hey uh, why don’t you go ahead of me? I’ll uh, I'll meet you at the place.” He suggests, pointing vaguely off down the alley, but not removing his eyes from the kill. 

Soda certainly hesitates, his eyes narrowing before he even forms a thought. He opens his mouth to object, but then his eyes flicker back towards the body.

“Are you gonna eat this one too?”

The question leaves Sodas mouth as soon as it comes to mind.

Emizel pauses, and considers, before giving a shrug. “I don't see why not. Perfectly good blood.” He reaches down to grab his kill by the shirt, the one with the split open head. As the corpse rises from the concrete, gray matter drips and sloughs from the crack in its skull. Once again, Soda felt the need to look away, and yet his stupid eyes remained fixated on the horrendous sight. Emizel looks over the spilling brain of his meal, licking his lips curiously. “Dude, what do you think would happen if I ate his brain?” Emizel asks, looking back over to Soda with a wild, bloodied smile. Something about that look made Soda shiver, but.. Not really in a bad way… “Uh, I.. Dunno…. Eating a persons brain is how you get like, mad cow disease right? But you might also be immune to disease.. Are you immune to disease?” “Uhhh, I don't know yet actually. I'm still figuring out how much of this is like video games,” Emizel says, rubbing the back of his head as he idly sways the body of his kill around, watching the blood and gore drip and drop from its broken head. “Eh, I'll chance it later.” Without another word or thought, Emizel goes to sink his teeth into the shoulder of his kill, a pleased growl radiating from him as the blood gushes around the bite. More fresh blood upon less fresh blood upon old blood upon older blood. Just so much fucking blood. Soda thought he was used to seeing blood, but this… this was just egregious. Was he really starting to get used to this? It’s just blood after all, and it’s not from his comrades, so it's… fine… He finally manages to pull his eyes away from the gruesome sight of Emizel feeding, but his eyes instead wander down to the blood on his own shirt. Emizels blood was strange, darker than usual, and carrying a different scent. Something about the smell of his blood was more savory, more appealing than the standard metallic miasm. His shirt was smothered in it, his jacket was coated in it, and his opened bottle of Faygo was also splattered with the deep red ichor. Ink swirls within the bottle of red fizzy, spreading out into all sorts of odd patterns. It was a lot of blood. He was certain a lot of it came from however many people Emizels been feeding on. With how much hes been terrorizing the Fangs in just the last few days, and with how nonchalantly he feasts on his kills, who knows how much blood hes actually ingested… Soda swirls the bottle, watching the blood inside thin out into strands, dancing within the bubbly soda as they gradually dissipate, fully assimilating into the drink. A bad idea chews at the back of his head… The sound of ripping flesh once again knocks at Sodas head. He doesn’t look up this time, but he knew Emizel was just playing with his food again..  Did blood taste good to a vampire? Did some blood taste better than others? What did Sodas blood taste like? What did Emizels blood taste like? There's a visceral snap of something among the chewing and ripping, very clearly a bone or a joint snapping out of place. It made Soda shiver a little. When did his heart start pounding? There's an animal standing only 8 feet away from him, feeding on its kill. That animal is a person, and so is its kill. He wanted to know what vampire blood tasted like, but he already knew what human blood tasted like. It hung so densely in the air, he could feel it forming a vile film over his tongue. The blood of a person just like him. Eaten by an animal that eats people.  All this stress was no good. This bile rising to his throat was no good. This creeping anxiety was no good. He's friends with an animal that eats people. Would it eat him? This weird feeling was no good. Maybe it will never eat him. But it needs to eat people. This worry was no good. He needed to wash this awful taste from his mouth, replace it with something sweeter. He needed to keep his head clear enough to be there for Emizel when he needed to be. He needed to hold a light to these shadows. And he needed to stay positive, and drink soda. He takes a swig of the open Faygo bottle.

[stellamancer]

empty threat (implied-ish gn!reader x satoru gojo)

notes: hi my name is niku and for some fucking reason everyone i know and love thinks i am a gojo fucker. first of all, they are wrong. uh anyway. one of them said a thing and that’s why this fic exists. it’s also @willowser​’s fault so they should take responsibility. thanks to fabi for checking this for me cuz never wrote this man before. 

word count: 1.1k

“What the hell!”

You’re not sure what you were expecting when you asked to spar with Satoru Gojo. To spend twenty or thirty minutes of your time chasing after a basically untouchable foe until he got bored and decisively ended the fight? To get your ass handed to you as he reminded you, once again, of the difference between you and him? To totally and magnificently lose?

What you can say is you definitely weren't expecting to end up pinning the man who holds the title of the world's strongest sorcerer to the ground. You both know it's not due to your skill as a sorcerer or even due some dumb luck. The only reason why you've got Gojo pinned is simply because he's letting you.

And it pisses you off. It's not like you were expecting to win, but this is just…

"What's wrong?" Gojo asks, mocking you with that disgusting saccharine voice of his. "You look upset. I thought you wanted to beat me."

You do your best to remain calm and not respond to his provocations. Even so, your grip on his wrists tightens ever so slightly.

He notices because of course he does and winces dramatically. "Owie!"

"I know it doesn't hurt," you tell him flatly, resisting the urge to squeeze tighter. It won't do anything to him, but maybe it'd make you feel a little better.

"Nope, not one bit!"

Before you can stop it an annoyed growl escapes your throat and Gojo latches onto it, ready and more than willing to weaponize anything he possibly can. “Come on, what’s got you all frustrated? You can tell me, you know?"

Stupid fucking dumbass piece of shit jerk knows exactly why you’re mad. He probably let you get him because he knew how much it’d aggravate you.

“No need to be so shy,” he continues purposely ignoring your growing rage. “We’re friends after all, aren’t we?”

You choose to remain silent and instantly find it’s the wrong response as Gojo starts to prattle on and on about how he thought that you were friends and how sad he is that you, as his friend won't talk to him, won’t rely on him and blah blah blah. He really loves the sound of his own voice, doesn’t he? Normally, you would just tune him out, but your agitation has left you impaired and on edge.

You need Satoru Gojo to shut up.

Like yesterday.  

Instinct takes over and your body moves on its own, you pull back just a bit before slamming your head in his direction full force. But the hit doesn’t connect because of course it doesn’t. Instead, you feel like you are just hovering over him like an empty threat that you’ll never make good on.

He laughs and your frustration flashes in your chest hot, agitation at its peak. “You know, if you wanted to kiss , you could have just asked.”

“I do not want to kiss you!” you snarl, refusing to take the accusation in silence.

“Oh? You don’t?”

“Hell no!”

“What a shame! I made sure to put on one of Nobara’s lip masks on last night so my lips would be super soft today!”

In a moment of weakness, your eyes flicker to his mouth and his lips curve upward in a smirk. Fuck. It doesn't matter that it was for just a split second— he caught you looking. You consider accusing him of stealing Kugisaki's skin care products to deflect the accusations that are sure to come but before you can the infinity between you dissipates unexpectedly bringing you mere inches from Gojo's infuriating face.

"Well?" he asks, voice intentionally seductive, his warm breath perfuming your face. You manage to suppress a shiver. It's an act. It's an act. He's just trying to get under your skin. "Wanna see for yourself?"

Your refusal lingers at the tip of your tongue— stuck for some reason you don't care to delve into right now.

"Come on." He almost sounds like he's pleading with you, and you keep reminding yourself that the bastard is just fucking with you. "I promise they're really soft."

Your eyes, traitorous things that they are, try to look again, but you force your gaze upward. Maybe if you try headbutting him again it'll work. There's nothing between you now, right?

No harm in trying.

You shift, trying to conceal your movements as best you can before going in for another headbutt. Surely Gojo will put infinity between you when he realizes that you're trying again, saving you both from what could be a massive headache.

But he doesn't.

You end up stopping yourself this time— your mouths even closer now. Too close. You finally take notice of your heart thumping wildly in your chest, the sound echoing in your ears. You should move. You need to move. Now. If you don't, one weird move from either of you will likely close the distance between you.

It's unfortunate for you that Gojo is a fan of weird moves.

He shifts beneath you, just slightly, his chin tilting up and you feel like a thread that's just snapped in two. You reel backwards, repelled by the thought of kissing Satoru Gojo, rejecting the thought, the notion, that for the breadth of a second your lips connected. It didn't happen. It didn't. You still want to wipe your mouth though, just in case. You don’t because you don’t want him to think that maybe there was contact.

Beneath you, Gojo laughs again, amused as he always is. Unsure of what to expect, you jump off him and assume a defensive stance. He rises so that he's sitting up, and you can't tell for sure with that blindfold but you feel like he's watching you.

"I think that's enough for today," he says, pushing himself to his feet. You eye him nervously, keeping your guard up in case it's a fake out. Gojo walks past you nonchalantly and you think that's confirmation that he really is done for the day.

"It was fun," he remarks cheerfully and the fact that it sounds like he means it annoys you a little. Then, his voice drops as he adds, "We should do it again some time."

The way his voice sounds makes it seem like you've just wrapped up a date and not a fight. It makes you feel funny inside and you scowl as you turn to face him, fully intending to tell him to shut up.

But you don't.

Satoru Gojo instead blows you a kiss, immobilizing you before he saunters out the door looking far too pleased with himself.

You stare, your heartbeat erratic and your face warmed by what you're determined to call rage.

[i-eat-deodorant]

recent conversations reminded me but. so many songs by Crane Wives fit narilamb perfectly

[readthephible]

”do you mind if i smoke” as a dialogue prompt! (Love it cuz its from one of my fave TV Girl songs :3)

ARROW MY BELOVED okay i think of sarah christ,,, i’ll do it based on a fic i’m writing that i probably won’t finish (prompt from here)

~

All Augustus remembered was picking up the GameBoy. Everything before that was a temporary blur.

“Who the hell are you? Where’s The Chosen?!” a woman’s voice asked defensively.

Augustus pushed his glasses out of his face, rubbing his eyes and looking around, completely disoriented. Slowly, his memory came back—and his instinct to raise his hands in innocence. The woman before him wore an army green jacket, a golden badge around her neck, and a hand ghosting over a gun on her hip.

“I just picked up this GameBoy on the planet I was on,” Augustus reasoned.

She squinted at the device, then snatched it from his hand.

“Shit,” the woman grumbled, “This is my only way of tracking him.”

Augustus was still on the floor of what seemed like a trailer, leaned back on his hands. His head pounded, an incoming migraine pulsing at the sides of his skull.

“And who is that?”

“Chosen? He’s…uh…a friend of mine. I think he might be in danger,” she said, messing with the buttons of the GameBoy.

“Does he happen to have a middle part and sporty sunglasses?” Augustus asked her.

The woman looked up, shocked.

“Yes,” she said, “Did you happen to see him? Before you got teleported here?”

“Uh…I didn’t see him, but his face was plastered all over the screens of the planet I was on.”

She thought for a moment, then asked, “Is there anything else you can tell me about him?”

Augustus scratched his chin.

“What about you? You said he’s in danger, I’d prefer to know who I’m giving information to if it also threatens my safety, thank you very much,” he said bluntly.

The woman set the GameBoy down on the counter of her kitchenette.

“It’s Sarah,” she said, “Sarah Christ, ex-detective.”

Augustus waited, then realized she was waiting for his introduction.

“Oh. I’m Augustus St. Cloud,” he said, “Food enthusiast and five star Yelp reviewer. Do you have any mayonnaise?”

Sarah furrowed her brows, “Maybe, in the fridge. Why do you want mayonnaise?”

“Well, one, I’m hungry, and two, I’m getting a headache, maybe from that little transporter video game device thingy, so that’ll cure it right up,” Augustus explained.

“You’re telling me mayonnaise will cure a headache?”

“Not a headache, dear Sarah,” Augustus said, “My headache. My body loves mayonnaise, so eating some will make it feel better.”

He couldn’t quite read her facial expression, but she had a reaction nonetheless. Still, she went into her fridge, finding a jar of mayonnaise and offering him a seat at her small dining table.

“Thanks. Do you have a spoon? I may eat mayonnaise straight from the jar because my brain is spicy, but I’m not a heathen.”

“Sure,” Sarah retrieved a spoon, placing it on the table and then sitting down. She watched in awe as Augustus fed himself spoonfuls of the condiment, feeling the need to treat herself to a stress reliever in the moment. “Do you mind if I smoke?”

“Not at all, Detective. This is your spooky trailer, after all.”

~

GAHHH this was so fun thank you arrow !!!

[matchbet-allofthetime]

okay but what's the point of making Merchant fanart if he's not a little creepy?

just a bit Not Right?

i need him with too-wide of eyes and a too-wide smile, teeth too sharp and scars a bit too deep.

i need him with a roman or arched nose of some kind, curved and gorgeous

blue eyes? don't care, you turn the lights off and they go orange-red.

take off the mask? he's got facial scars and you can see some of his teeth even when his mouth is closed.

open his mouth? he'll let out a few long, evidently inhuman tongues and wrap them around your wrist while he grins.

him once he sheds the coat? has a bit of heft and fluff to him, OR he's INCREDIBLY skinny and just ever-so-slightly disproportionate because it's MERCHANT

he's GOTTA be fuckin' creepy, 'tis what makes him so gorgeous tbh

in both the original and the remake, he was always somewhat OFF in so many ways despite being so friendly.

[coffee-at-annies]

Thinking about EK’s hug for Jarry after that goal. How can you not ship it

[xamaxenta]

*scuttles out of an alley in a trench coat* hey kid

I got what yer lookin for right here

https://archiveofourown.org/works/46807789/chapters/120575710

—

This section is straight fucking fire dude this entire fic youre just

[feral-teeth]

This bed is on fire with passionate love

(it’s the best thing that you’ve ever had, the best thing that you’ve ever, ever had) 

by Arrow Valentine (feral_tooth on archiveofourown.org) for Arthur @tommybones

Link to fic on ao3

Spotify playlist for this fic

Pinterest board for this fic

Summary: Spencer likes Courtney. A lot. But he also really likes Tommy.

Rating: Mature No Archive Warnings Apply Categories: M/M, Multi, Other Fandom: Smosh Relationship: Courtney Miller x Spencer Agnew x Tommy Bowe

Additional Tags: She/Her and They/Them Pronouns for Courtney Miller, Movie Night, Cuddling & Snuggling, Character Analysis, Neck Kissing, Sleepy Cuddles, Sleepy Kisses, Queer Character, Queer Themes, Nonbinary Character, Sexual Tension, Internalized Homophobia, Internal Conflict, Neurodiversity, Synesthesia, Kissing, Non-Sexual Intimacy, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Polyamory, RPF

Read under the line <3

Spencer likes Courtney. 

A lot. 

But he also really likes Tommy. 

And that shouldn’t be allowed. 

At least that’s what society tells him time and time again. 

Not exactly directly to his face. 

But anything around it just feels… taboo. 

Growing up, Spencer never really understood why people would only date and marry one person at a time, cause it seemed so boring. 

He loves the idea of holding two others hands, and can’t imagine himself next to only one face when he goes down the aisle. 

What he saw on TV as a kid was always only two people in a relationship. 

Starting with a man and a woman. 

Then later in his life, when people became more open to the ‘lifestyle’, it turned into two people with any gender. 

But it was still two people. 

Like pillars. 

standing side by side.

Totally equal. 

Equally balanced.

It feels unbalanced to Spencer though.

He enjoyed the idea of having more when it came to the people in his relationships.

He also had a crush on basically everyone he met. 

Or whoever was hot. 

So how could he choose? 

Why did he have to choose? 

It felt unfair to him.

So now when he’s lying in bed with his friends Tommy and Courtney, all of them wrapped up in each other's arms, he shouldn’t be feeling this way. 

He should only want one of them. 

One part of him feels like what he was doing was wrong. 

That he had to choose one person. To send one away to the other room and continue doing what they were doing without the other.

But another part of him knew what they were doing was so right.

Lying there, hugging, felt so electric. He felt the most alive he had ever felt in a long time. It was like there was a constant electric current running through him, electricity shooting through his body and out of his fingers.

--

Spencer has always been extremely close friends with both Courtney and Tommy from the beginning of his time at Smosh. 

When the three of them were together, it was like something clicked into place. 

Like three lego pieces that were meant to be together. 

Spencer has always been quiet around others. But not when Courtney and Tommy were around.

Courtney brings him out of his shell, and encourages him to be more open with others. And to be more confident with himself and his talents and strengths.

With Tommy however, Spencer becomes the loudest one in the room. Tommy just has that effect on him. But Tommy is always watching and listening with open ears, smiling at Spencer’s dumb rants and vulgar jokes. 

When Spencer became the director of the Smosh Games channel, it was Tommy and Courtney that he told first. They both immediately cheered, Courtney and Tommy squealing, squeezing him into a big bear hug as they spun him around in the air. 

Ever since that hug, being so close to the both of them, a spark grew in Spencer’s stomach.

And no matter how hard he tried to blow out the flame or stifle it, it just got brighter and louder.

No matter how hard he tried.

He had always been attracted to Courtney and Tommy respectively.

Courtney is so encouraging and personable with others, with an amazing style and personality to match. 

Tommy with his witty, quick and dark personality. He has a shyness to him that Spencer finds charming. Spencer would always make jokes to try and see that part of him for a split second. 

Courtney and Tommy were also both so hot.

It didn't help working with them and hanging out with them almost every week to stifle those thoughts.

Those thoughts of possibly. 

Those thoughts that maybe he was attracted to both of them? Starting to swarm. 

But then so did the guilt. 

And the shame that stabbed him in the back of his mind for wanting both of them when the world pushed for him to only choose one of them.

Sure, he’s had crushes on people at the same time. But there was never anyone who he wanted to step into something more with like Courtney and Tommy. 

They had also mostly been celebrities he had multiple crushes on at the same time, but he felt like that didn’t really count. 

Not really. 

But oh god did he want both of them. 

This type of cuddling feels different for Spencer. It felt like there was more tension in the air. 

It was also going on for a really, really long time. 

Before this, Spencer, Courtney and Tommy were all watching a movie on the couch. But they decided to move to the bed since it was starting to get dark outside and they wanted to be more comfortable. 

As soon as the movie was set up and they sat on the bed, they all immediately gravitated towards each other like magnets.

--

Spencer and Courtney were always close. Especially Courtney, with the way they would always be touching an arm or a leg when she would talk to him. 

But Tommy usually was more reserved with his hands in public. Keeping them close to his body when he was at the office. Looking over his shoulder before resting his palm on Spencer’s arm.

Feeling like he would get caught somehow if he was too handsy with him.

Maybe it’s the gay guilt embedded into his skin from the beginning. 

To not get too close to someone of the same gender in public. 

Just in case. 

Spencer was also a bit more reserved with touching others.

But he was happy to cop a feel at Tommy’s arm when the cast ever mentioned him working out. Enjoying the feeling of his strong muscles against his hand. 

Tommy was in fact, getting stronger. And Spencer noticed how strong Tommy was getting over the past couple of months.

Even if he was shy about it, Tommy was looking even better than before. So much more fit. And, to Spencer’s delight, and in his own words, so much more tastier than before. 

Tommy also had a boyfriend before, so he always felt off limits to Spencer. Like he was safe from his feelings developing into something more because it couldn't go anywhere. 

It felt safer to Spencer when Tommy and his boyfriend were in what Spencer knew was a monogamous relationship. 

But then Tommy and his boyfriend broke up. 

And when Spencer heard the news, his ears couldn’t help but perk up. 

He couldn’t stop his thoughts from swirling about how nice Tommy would look in his bed. 

--

After Tommy and his boyfriend broke up, Spencer immediately became the support system for Tommy.

Spencer told himself it wasn't just an excuse to get closer to him. 

But he couldn't erase his what if thoughts. 

Spencer especially couldn't erase the thoughts of Tommy’s lips. And what they must taste like.

Since Spencer hadn’t filled the role of supportive best friend for his crush during a breakup before, it was new to him. But he liked the feeling of being a shoulder to lean on when Tommy needed. 

He finally started allowing himself to get closer to Tommy. To feel his muscles, to flirt with him on and off camera whenever he could. It was worth it to get closer to the man that he craved so desperately. 

He played them off as jokes, but he always blushed after saying them. 

--

On the other hand, Spencer also got closer with Courtney when they came out to him as nonbinary. 

He already knew that Courtney was pansexual, so Spencer was immediately supportive.

Spencer was a part of the queer community, sure, but he also felt like he was on the outskirts of it. His interests and his wants for more in his relationships were placed outside of the social norm, even for the group of outcasts.  

No matter how far away Spencer felt from this so-called fully accepting community, He still knew how to support his friend and knew the lingo for what they were going through. 

He made sure to do more research, though, as he wanted to be more supportive to the best of his ability. 

He even drove Courtney to a gender therapist so that she could explore their gender identity and expression, and to talk more about the gender dysphoria they were dealing with. Spencer enjoyed helping Courtney out with anything she needed. He wanted to be as supportive as he could be for his other best friend. 

Tommy was also immediately supportive when Courtney came out as nonbinary.

Both Spencer and Tommy made sure to use their pronouns right away, and they even threw a small party when she came out to more people around the office and to their friends. 

They were already such a close-knit group. 

--

They were now lying on the bed, backs on the headboard, slipping down into a more comfortable position. Their eyes were glued forward to the TV as Jurassic Park was playing. 

It was probably the third time Spencer watched Jurassic Park this week. 

His response to any ridicule is that it was his comfort movie. 

Both Tommy and Courtney found that endearing and valid as they both dabbled in being neurodivergent, and both had their own respective shows and movies that were on repeat when they needed some kind of comfort in their life. So they never judged him.

Giant dinosaurs were taking up the entirety of the screen while the three comparatively tiny actors stood and gazed up at them in awe in their bisexual-coded outfits. 

“That’s us!” Courtney giggles into Spencer’s shoulder, pointing and mimicking the amazed look the characters held on their faces. Tommy and Spencer caught onto the bit right away, making the same face as each character on the screen and joking together about it.

Tommy laughs into his hand, falling into Spencer while they all have a giggling fit over the truth in her words.

It really was them.

After the fit of giggles fade, they all focus their attention back on the movie. They all felt a warm glowing ball of light that was growing in the pit of each of their stomachs. All three of their lights were mixing together, glowing brightly together, warming up the room and them in the process. 

For once, Spencer isn't paying attention while watching his favorite comfort movie. He couldn't stop thinking about the two stunning people who he called best friends that were in his arms.

It was like magic. It finally hits Spencer who he's with and the situation they're all in, wrapped up in each other's arms in bed. 

Spencer finally realized how safe and accepted he finally felt, and he truly found people that understood him. 

He glows even brighter. The warmth glows so brightly that it warms Courtney and Tommy. They were feeling it too.

Spencer leans back against the headboard, sighing in contentment as Tommy and Courtney cuddle back into him. Tommy lies to his right, but as on top of him as he can be without squishing him. Tommy’s arms and legs lay over on top of Spencer, wrapping his body closer towards him. And Courtney does the same.

The movie is long forgotten and is just a distant memory after the credits rolled and a blank screen sits on the tv.

They were too busy to turn it off. Arms were being rubbed, the softest nuzzle, and a sigh from Courtney into Spencer’s ear made him blush. Not to mention the fact that Spencer noticed Tommy’s fingertips rubbing circles on his back, giving him goosebumps and chills along his spine. 

The tension was growing. The whole group could feel it. 

Courtney nuzzles into Spencer’s neck, lightly grazing her lips over his neck.

Tommy followed suit, kissing the other side of his neck. 

Spencer couldn’t help but giggle at the feeling, ticklish. 

The warmth that was growing within him was something he had never felt before. The nerves in his neck were tingling, flowing all the way down his back. 

“Is that ok?” Courtney whispered into Spencer’s ear, concerned. 

Spencer leans back on his elbows and moves his head slightly to look at Courtney, a soft smile on his face. 

He noticed she was furrowing her brow, a worried look in her eye. Worried that she had stepped over a line. But she also had a glaze over her eyes and a soft smile on her lips. 

He nodded, looking to Tommy to see his reaction. Tommy smiled at him, a dazed look in his eye. Smiling and giddy. 

They all looked like we were drunk, dazed and content with each other. With messy hair and soft smiles. It was like where they were felt right.

Like they were on a whole other planet, floating in space with just the three of them together, and they could watch movies all day in bed together if they wanted to.

Tommy leaned down and kissed Spencer. Softly, tentatively, as this was the first kiss between them.

His kiss felt like soda pop fizzing in Spencer’s skull. 

It reminded him of a hot summer's day. Popsicles dripping onto his tongue and onto the sidewalk. He was a relief from the heat, like a refreshing glass of lemonade.

Spencer’s brain bubbled, the sensation catching him off guard as he had never felt it before. 

He fell into the kiss, seeing sparkles and warm colors moving like blobs of paint being traced with a paintbrush behind his eyes. Like soft ghosts of light were having a dance party. 

Tommy’s lips were soft, but still rough from the dry air and the coldness of what LA can give. Tommy’s mustache and beard scratched against Spencer’s skin lightly, as if it was a group of tiny little hands that wanted to get closer to his face. Their stubble rubbed against each other, causing friction that heat up their faces. 

Courtney kissed and nipped at the skin on Spencer’s neck after a while of watching. Grazing her lips along his stubble, the rough sensation tickled their lips.

Both of their lips on him radiated through Spencer’s body, sending waves of shivers through him.

After Spencer was satisfied, and taking a long time to taste Tommy’s lips to the full extent that he could eagerly, he wanted to taste Courtney. He was craving her lips. 

Spencer leaned down towards them. Courtney awkwardly shuffles up with a laugh that broke the tension a bit as they waited for Courtney to meet Spencer’s lips for the first time.

When she finally did, it was like fireworks. He literally saw fireworks behind his eyes. Bright flashes of strong, bold colours were dancing behind his eyes, pulsating and moving as if it were the perfect symphony and choreographed for him.

It was different than kissing Tommy, but equally as delicious and sweet. 

They tasted different. Both delicious in their respective tastes.

Tommy had a deeper musky flavour to Spencer. He tasted like the coffee he just drank and dark chocolate.

Courtney tasted sweeter than Tommy. She tasted warm, with a hint of cotton candy. They also tasted like apples and cinnamon, the oatmeal she decided to eat for her midnight snack.

They both tasted so good to Spencer. 

But he liked the taste of them mixed together best.

“You taste so good” Courtney murmurs between their long, stretched out kisses that stretch like toffee. 

“Fuck, You’re so hot,” Spencer moans into Courtney’s mouth, leaning back over to kiss Tommy again, feeling new and different sensations than his first kiss with him. “And you’re so hot” Spencer mumbles into Tommy’s mouth. Kissing Tommy harder than before, he was inspired by their words to be more confident. 

Tommy moans into the kiss between them, too caught up in the feeling to really say anything coherent, but sounded enough like what he just said to feel satisfied.

He felt so comfortable kissing them. Like this was what they were meant to be doing the entire time

They were all a blur of soft touches, first time kisses and tentative movements that got more fluid as they went along. 

It became more sloppy, more lazy, as they started to enjoy the feeling and cared less about their inhibitions. 

It also got more rough, but it never went away from them. They were all in the moment, still there but also a million miles away in pleasure.

The most important thing is that Spencer had never felt more right in the moment than he ever had before. 

He’s had partners in the past, sure, but there was always something missing, like there could always be something more.

He didn’t want to, but inevitably he always ended up breaking up with them because there was always something off about the relationship. But he could never quite put his finger on it. 

He always made the excuse as the other not being the right person for him. 

And now he knew why.

Because there was always someone else missing.

And as they slowly stopped kissing, breathless with beet red faces and panting from the intensity of it all, they unanimously decided that they were going to wait to doing something more.

This was all so new to the three of them, so they were definitely going to talk more about it in the morning. 

But for now, they were too spent. They were making new paths in their lives, afterall.

So they cuddled closer and settled into the comfortable silence.

With Spencer wedged between his two best friends, he was the most content he had been in a long time.

Maybe even in his whole life. 

He also felt excited to see what was next for the three of them. 

And Courtney and Tommy were too. 

Courtney and Tommy felt like the last two puzzle pieces in the empty spaces in his heart. And then when he finally found them, they fit just right.

[daryascurse]

hello!! i've worked up the courage finally, but I'm here!! If I could, could I enter The Cabin event, with a creature feature fic for Kisame Hosigaki from Naruto? Monster on the loose, and beauty and the beast tropes! Summary: "Fresh air, scenic views, and a beautiful lake offer a perfect retreat when you need to escape life's troubles. But your peace, however, is shattered when rowdy campers move into the cabin next to yours and an eerie presence in the lake takes a keen interest in you."

!!!! A VISION!!!! Oh my god!!! Oh my GOD!!!!! I am adding you promptly. This is such a beautiful use of tropes and character and setting and WOW!!!

⛱️🏕️🪓 COME TO THE CABIN THIS SUMMER

[emmcfrxst]

no bc this felt like a full on punch to the gut from start to finish……. the soft and sweet beginning…. sleepy logan wanting to make his girl feel good….. getting interrupted by scott and logan in typical logan fashion just straight up ignoring him until you push him away….. him trying to keep his cool when the creep starts to flirt with you and immediately calling him out on his shit for using his powers to prey on women…… logan teaching younger kids and being soft to them…. the grand reveal where charles is like “hehe we been knew folks i just know how to shut the fuck up”….. the desperate sex and the breeding kink….. yeah i’m gonna be thinking about this fic for a while

My Girl (Logan Howlett x Fem!Reader)

A/N: Hey guys!! So sorry this took so long. Here is the secret relationship/breeding kink fic. I honestly really like this one...and I hope you guys do too. Was listening to "Juna" by Clairo while writing it, but went with "My Girl" for the title. ENJOY!

Summary: You and Logan have been in a secret relationship for months, but everything comes to a head when a new mutant visits the Institute, and won't leave you alone...Logan shows him, and you, who your man is.

Warnings: 18+ MINORS DNI!!! SMUT!!! Thigh riding, Fingering, Unprotected PIV (wrap it up!), breeding kink, praise kink, possessive!Logan, jealous!Logan, unspecified/implied!Age Gap, established relationship, creepy!OC who hits on reader and doesn't lay off, minor violence, afab!/fem!reader, fluff/feelings, cursing, def some grammatical errors, I think that's it?

Word Count: 5,313 this is why it took so long also, smut right under the cut...

You remember the first time he fucked you, vividly. 

It was late at night, after a mission. You almost died in his arms. And that was what broke that thing inside him, the burden of time that he carries, that deep-seated pain that made it justifiable to stay away from you. He had held back for so long—had done his all to resist falling for you. He was screwed from the beginning, and he knew that. But he had become so terrified at the thought of losing you that he hadn’t realized it could happen all the same if he stayed away—if he forced himself to remain a friend. 

So, when he fucked you that first time, that first night, he fucked you like it’d be the last—the only time. 

“Goddammit, so fucking perfect,” he mumbled, his lips bruising yours, shoving himself deep inside—as deep as you could take him. “Needed you this whole time. Can’t live without you.”

“Logan,” you whined, his hips snapping against yours. “D-don’t stop, please.” “Never gonna stop, pretty girl,” he promised. “Can’t go back. Can’t be anywhere but here.”

For months now, you’ve been together—but nobody knows. There’s no doubt about commitment—nothing casual about the relationship in the slightest. You start and end every day in Logan’s bed. You’ve talked about running off together, getting married, and settling down. For the first time in his long life, Logan sees a future where he’s happy—genuinely happy. 

The sun peaks through the curtains. You curl yourself into Logan’s chest. His arms are wrapped around your back, holding you tight against him, even in his sleep. You listen to his breathing as the fall breeze creeps through the open window. Everything is calm and quiet in the morning, when everyone is still tucked away in their bedrooms, sound asleep. 

Logan groans, tugging you closer to him, nuzzling his face into your neck. “Go back to sleep.” His voice is heavy, laden with exhaustion. “Too early.” He kisses the spot just under your ear, and you moan involuntarily, feeling extra sensitive in the haze of the morning. He smiles softly against your neck, and kisses you again, his teeth grazing your skin. You moan louder this time, intertwining your legs with Logan’s. “Love those pretty little noises you make.”

“Feels good,” you murmur, his thigh slotting between your legs, pressing against your core. You can’t help but grind down on his thigh, rocking your hips back and forth. “Need you, Lo,” you beg. 

“You’re gonna ruin me,” Logan husks, his palms warm against your bare skin as he slips underneath your shirt—which is really his. 

He’s slow in the morning, pressing soft kisses on your bare shoulders, letting his touch linger longer than normal. He likes the peace of it all—waking up to each other, smelling you next to him, feeling the other side of his bed warm and full of you. When he fucks you, early like this, he takes his time. 

His fingertips trace the curves of your stomach, falling into your dips, gripping your flesh. Logan breathes you in, his lips softly melting into yours. “Still too early?” You mumble between soft, lazy kisses. 

“Never too early to want you,” Logan husks, dragging his thigh against your core again. “Always need you.” You can feel his erection through his boxers. “Gonna take care of my girl. Gonna make you—”

There’s a knock at the door. “Logan?” It’s Scott’s voice on the other side. He knocks again. “Logan, you in there?”

Logan tries to ignore him, his fingertips dragging down your sides, bumping into the hem of your panties as he trails wet, open-mouthed kisses down the hollow of your throat. You let out a breathy moan as Logan bites down on your pulse point. He smiles under your jaw at the soft sound, content that you can’t hold back. 

“Logan,” you whisper, running your hands up his arms, to his shoulders, your fingertips finding the nape of his neck. “He’s not gonna stop.”

Sure enough, Scott knocks again. “Logan, I know you’re in there,” he calls, banging on the door now. “Wake up. We have some tech guy on his way.” 

Logan groans into your neck. “Why do you need me, Summers?” Logan licks your collarbone teasingly, hiking your t-shirt farther up your body. 

“He’s…a mutant,” Scott explains. “He can speak with machines, computers, code—you name it, he can do it. He’s gonna fix some stuff around the mansion. Charles asked me to make sure you’re awake just in case…” Scott trails off.

Logan finishes Scott’s sentence. “In case everything goes to shit?” 

“I wasn’t going to say that,” Scott huffs, likely shaking his head on the other side of the door. “But yes. In case things don’t go as planned. I’m also looking for—"

But Logan cuts Scott off, saying your name for him. 

“Yeah, I can’t find her. Do you know where she might—”

“On a run,” Logan chimes in, and you suppress your laughter by pressing your face into his chest. “She’ll be back soon.” Logan’s arms wrap around your back, holding you against him. 

“Alright,” Scott says, shuffling, slowly stepping away from the door. “If you see her, let her know what’s going on, okay?”

“Trust me bub,” Logan husks, his fingers digging into your flesh, tickling you. “I’ll make sure she knows.” 

Scott mumbles something unintelligible as he walks down the hallway, his footsteps echoing as he disappears down the stairs. 

Logan’s lips are attached to your neck again, sucking playfully. “Where were we?” He teases, his nails grazing down your back. His palms settle on your ass, squeezing your flesh tightly in his hands. 

You moan, your chest flush with his. “Logan,” you whine. “We need to get up,” you insist, your hands pushing against Logan’s broad shoulders, your fingers digging into his muscular biceps. “Can’t stay in bed anymore.”

Logan grunts, his thigh still nudged between your legs, rocking into your core. You want him, and it’s tempting to let him take you right here, right now. But you can’t. And he knows it. He presses a chaste kiss to your lips and pulls you tightly into his chest. “Later,” he promises, his lips finding the shell of your ear. You smile at the thought. There was always a later with Logan.

You snuck out of Logan’s room, unnoticed, as always. It was still early—too early for the ruckus of a morning at the mansion to begin. You got ready for the day and slipped downstairs. You’re still shocked at just how oblivious the rest of the team is. Truly, no one knows about you and Logan. 

You’re in the kitchen now, nursing a cup of coffee, waiting for the day to start. Familiar, heavy footsteps approach, and you smile before you can even see his face. 

“Hi pretty girl,” Logan coos, standing behind you and wrapping his arms around your front. You lean into him, feeling the warmth of his chest and the strength of his heartbeat. He presses a chaste kiss to the crown of your head and walks over to the coffee pot. 

Scott enters the kitchen as Logan takes his first sip of coffee—one second earlier and he would have seen Logan holding you. “The guy is here,” Scott announces from the doorway. He looks at you and smiles. “Oh! Hey! How was your run?” He asks cheerfully. 

You almost spit out your coffee, remembering what you were actually doing this morning. “Great!” You say, doing your all to hold back your laughter. “Surprisingly relaxing.” Logan snorts and plays it off like he’s sniffling.

Scott smiles, none the wiser, and nods, cocking his head towards the hallway just outside the kitchen. “Come meet the tech guy!” He backs out of the doorway and into the hallway. Logan settles his coffee cup—which reads #1 Professor—next to yours on the counter and gives your waist a quick squeeze as you hop out of the chair. You walk shoulder to shoulder into the foyer. All the signs of your relationship are there—out in the open—and yet, still, no one seems to catch them.

You step into the foyer, and there’s Scott and the Professor by the front door, chatting with a younger man—who’s about your age. The man’s eyes find yours, and he smiles softly. “Hi there!” He calls, waving. “I’m Mark!” He strides away from Scott and the Professor and towards you. “But you can call me Techno.” He smirks and winks, extending his hand out, waiting for you to take it.

Logan grabs his hand instead, gripping it tightly, catching Mark off guard. “Wolverine,” Logan growls. “And you can’t call me Logan,” he adds, gritting his teeth. “So, you turn on computers, bub?” 

Mark grimaces, wrenching his hand from Logan’s grasp. “A little more than that,” he asserts, closing his eyes and bawling his fists. You look up as the lights flicker, and televisions turn on and off. Your cell phone rings in your pocket, and you pull it out. The screen reads: Incoming Call from Mark.

Your lips part. “How did you…” You trail off. 

Mark shrugs his shoulders nonchalantly. “My powers essentially let me communicate with electricity and tech,” he explains. You can practically hear Logan seething beside you. 

“A technopath,” Charles offers as he rolls over to join the three of you with Scott in tow. 

“Exactly,” Mark says, nodding to Charles. “Makes it easy to put my number into pretty girls’ phones.” Mark winks at you, and you press your lips into a straight line in response. 

You shake your head. “I’m not inter—”

You’re cut off by the sound of Logan’s claws unsheathing. “These,” Logan pauses, lifting his claws to Mark. “Make it real easy to hurt creeps who put their numbers into girls’ phones without asking first, bub.” 

Mark rolls his eyes, and the corners of your lips twitch up. You try to force down your smile, try to slow the rhythm of your heart. You secretly liked when Logan got possessive over you. He was inherently protective, and you’d be lying if you said it didn’t turn you on just a little. 

“Let’s stay on course,” Charles reprimands, guiding Mark to the hallway to the left with a wave of his hand. “Let me show you some of the machines I’d like you to work on.”

“It would be my pleasure, Professor Xavier,” Mark says harshly, his eyes locked on Logan as he backs away to follow Charles and Scott.

Logan lowers all but his center claw, giving Mark the middle finger as he turns around. “Don’t mind Logan,” Scott says as they disappear into a room, the door shutting behind them.

“Logan,” you whisper, now that everyone is gone. “Don’t worry,” you assure, bringing a hand to his shoulder. 

He turns to look at you. “He’s a fucking creep.”

“It’s going to be fine.”

 It is not going well, or fine.

Mark is something of a nuisance. He’s only been here for an hour, but he has already created multiple excuses to talk to you, to pull you away from whatever task is at hand. 

You’re in the middle of teaching an English class, discussing Mrs. Dalloway with a group of older students. “So, what are we to make of Clarissa and Sally’s relationship?” You ask the students, to no avail. 

This was your hardest class of the day—especially given the fact that you’re not even a decade older than most of the students. You had joined the X-Men in your early 20s, your powers having shown themselves a bit later than in most mutants, and only a few years have passed since then. Convincing the students who have been here their whole lives that you deserve to teach has been nothing short of a challenge. 

So, when Mark butts his head in on your class, annoyance burns through your body. You take a deep breath and swallow down your frustration. 

“Hey!” He chimes, his head poking through the open classroom door. “Mind if I take a look at your computer really quick?”

The class perks up, more focused on you than they were just seconds ago. You fake a smile, nodding and pushing yourself off the front of your desk so that he has space to access the computer. 

He slips behind the desk and smiles widely. “You didn’t have to move,” he remarks. “Would’ve been nice to have you close.”

You want to gag. You turn away from the students, whispering so they can’t hear. “Listen,” you chide, narrowing your eyes. “I am not interested, so could you please—”

“What are you doing in here, asshole?” Logan’s voice echoes against the walls of the classroom. For the first time all year, the class is paying incredibly close attention. “The Professor told you to check the computers in the lab down the hall.” Logan fully enters the room, striding over to Mark, his hands bawled into fists at his sides. “Beat it, bub.”

“Whatever,” Mark mutters, his head down as he exits the classroom. The bell rings, and the class stands, grabbing their things and filing out the door. 

You groan. “Please read the next twenty pages for tomorrow!” You shout over the hubbub and shuffling of students. “I know it’s a challenging novel, but I think you guys can…” The students are gone before you can finish your sentence. “Handle it.” 

Logan smiles sympathetically, closing the distance between you and him. His presence is comforting, warm, everything you’ve ever needed. He wraps his arms around your waist, pulling you into his chest. “Sorry,” he apologizes, pressing a kiss to the side of your head. “Didn’t mean to make your class harder than it is already.”

You take a deep breath, your annoyance fading away. “You helped,” you whisper. “Mark is the one who ruined things,” you insist. “He won’t leave me alone.”

Logan chuckles. “You don’t like him?” He teases. “Don’t like a guy your own age flirting with you?” He’s egging you on, trying to joke, but you can tell part of him is a bit serious. 

You shake your head. “Only like you.” You press your lips to the hollow of his throat and Logan grunts. 

He reluctantly pulls away, the palms of his hands dragging down your arms, his fingers intertwining with yours. “Gotta get to my class,” he husks, his fingers slipping, tugging longingly as he steps to the door. “Meet me after?” He asks, but he already knows the answer. You’ll be outside his classroom door before the bell rings, waiting for him.

You nod, and he smiles, his hands gripping the doorframe like some invisible magnet is pulling him away, and he’d give anything to spend another second with you. He slips down the hallway, and into his classroom. 

You spend the next thirty minutes or so grading papers, waiting for the period to end so that you can walk across the hall to Logan’s class. Another few minutes pass, and you start to collect your things, readying yourself to meet Logan. Your heart thumps in your chest at the thought, even after all the months you’ve spent together. 

You grab your bag and head to the door, closing it behind you and locking up. You cross the hall and stand outside Logan’s door. He’s teaching a younger group of kids—ten to eleven-year-olds. You would trade places with him in a heartbeat if you could. The younger students loved you. There was no question of respect, no doubt of your power. But Logan was given the class as a challenge—Charles wanted to test his patience. 

And, honestly, seeing him with the children did something to you. You loved watching the way he doted on them, carefully explaining material in a way they’d understand. He was an excellent teacher, and one day, you’re sure, he’d make an even better father. You find yourself falling into fantasy: Logan, late at night, a baby—your baby—on his chest. You can see it now—him changing a diaper, teaching the child to walk. Your heart squeezes in your chest, your eyes falling closed as you daydream about the future—your future together. 

You’re so distracted that you don’t hear Mark walk up to you—don’t feel his hand grab your shoulder.

You yelp and jump. “Oh my god,” you mumble, turning around and coming face to face with him. 

“Didn’t mean to scare you,” he says, his hand lingering for far too long on your shoulder. He finally peels away, his arms falling to his sides. He leans against the wall, trying to appear casual and cool. “What are you doing tonight?”

The bell rings before you can think of a polite way to shoo Mark away, and the students exit Logan’s classroom, happily shouting greetings in your direction. You stood outside Logan’s door every day, and the students were always excited to see you.

A few of them run up to hug you, complaining about Logan’s gruffness. When they hear Logan’s footsteps approaching the door, they bolt down the hallway, their laughter booming against the walls. 

Logan steps out into the hall, and he groans audibly when he sees Mark next to you. But Mark ignores Logan, his eyes trained on yours. “Got plans?” He asks again. 

You roll your eyes. “Dude, I’m not interested!” You groan, too irritated to pretend to be nice. Mark smirks and parts his lips, ready to persist like the creep he is.

Logan steps in front of you, his claws already out. “Listen, bub,” he growls, his claws just inches from Mark’s chest. “If you don’t fuck off and stop harassing my girl, we’re gonna have a problem.”

Mark scoffs. “My girl? What are you, her father? You��can’t possibly be dating her.”

You can see the anger in Logan’s eyes, the honest rage. “Lo,” you soothe. “Don’t do it.” But you know it’s too late. His decision is already made.

Logan shoves Mark against the wall, his claws pressed against his throat. “I’m her fucking boyfriend, bub,” he grunts as Mark squirms helplessly under his hold. 

“Oh, her boyfriend?” He teases, despite the fear in his eyes. “Aren’t you too old to be a boyfriend?”

Logan shoves him harder into the wall, and Mark yelps pathetically, like a small dog. “More serious than that,” Logan asserts. “Guessing you wouldn’t know anything about that though, would you?” 

“Alright, break it up!” Scott’s voice echoes from down the hall. He runs over, Jean and the Professor by his side. Rogue and Gambit follow close behind. But Logan doesn’t budge, the tips of his claws almost digging hard enough to draw blood. 

You bring your hand to Logan’s shoulder. “He isn’t gonna hurt me,” you whisper to Logan. “I could handle him easily if he tried.” You slide your hand to the nape of his neck, trying to soothe him, to relax him. “Nothing’s going to happen, okay?” 

Logan retracts his claws and lets go of Mark, who stutters away from Logan and into the center of the hallway. “I’m getting the fuck out of here!” Mark shouts, but Logan doesn’t react. He simply intertwines his fingers with yours. 

“You okay?” He asks, his thumb brushing circles into the side of your hand. 

You arch a brow. “Are you okay?” You smile and lean into him. 

“So…” Scott trails off, interrupting. “You two are…”

“Together.” You finish his sentence, your eyes still on Logan’s. You can feel the tension in his shoulders stretch down to his hand. He’s rigid, still on edge. You know he needs to get out of here, needs to be alone with you. 

“How long has this been going on?” Scott asks, genuinely caught off guard. “Did anyone know about this?” 

You turn to the team to see heads shaking side to side—save for the Professor. “I did, of course,” Charles confesses. “But I felt it was best left a secret until the two lovebirds decided otherwise.”

Rogue shakes her head, the corners of her mouth twitching up. “I can’t believe you never told me!” 

“Told you what?” Jubilee calls from down the hall, approaching the group. She blows a bubble as she stands next to Rogue, her eyes trailing down to where your and Logan’s hands connect. Her eyes widen and her bubble bursts. “No way!” She cheers, jumping up and down. 

“Settle down,” Charles laughs, extending his hand down the hall to where Mark was just moments ago. “Scott, make sure our technopath friend makes it out the door alive.” Scott nods and heads down the hall. Charles turns to you and Logan. “As for the two of you,” he pauses, winking. “We’ll discuss more at a later point.”

You smile in understanding, and Logan squeezes your hand—another sign it’s time to go. He’s still worked up about Mark; he needs to get this out of his system, needs to relieve all the built-up tension. 

“Got something I need to take care of,” Logan says to the group, tugging you down the hallway.  

He strides through the mansion, practically yanking your arm out of your socket. “Logan,” you whisper, trying to catch his attention. You’ve never seen him like this—rage and jealousy like fire in his eyes, dripping from his pores. He leads you up the stairs and towards his bedroom, and it suddenly dawns on you what exactly he needs to take care of. 

Logan pushes the door open and slams it closed the second you’re inside. His hands are immediately on you, grabbing at the pillowy flesh of your ass, pinning you to the door. His lips find yours—hungry and rough, the wiry hairs of his beard scratching your face. He tastes you, his tongue seeking more of you as it swipes across your lower lip. You open your mouth, inviting him in, your tongue tangling with his.

Logan hoists you up without breaking the kiss, and you instinctively wrap your legs around his waist. You can feel his erection straining inside his jeans, pressing against your heat. He grinds into you as one hand slips under your top and drags up your back, holding you tightly against him. 

“Need you,” he mumbles against your lips. “Always fucking need you.” He tears you away from the door and towards the bed. He throws you onto the mattress and climbs over you, slowly, like an animal stalking its prey. “Tell me you need me, pretty girl.”

“N-need you,” you stutter as he settles on top of you, grabbing your wrists and pinning them above your head. 

“I’m not too old for you?” Logan teases, one of his hands loosening its grasp on your arm and trailing down your body, settling on the hem of your shirt. “You don’t wanna be with anyone else?” He hikes up your top, pushing it above your breasts. 

You can feel the heat pooling between your legs. “No,” you whine, arching your back as his fingertips play with the bottom of your bra. “Only wanna be with you,” you breathe as Logan slowly, teasingly pulls your bra up. “Please,” you beg, spreading your legs wider. “Want you to fuck me.” 

Logan smirks, finally tugging your bra and top over your head and casting them to the floor. “Gonna take care of you, sweetheart,” Logan soothes, palming your breasts with his free hand, rolling your nipples under his thumb. 

“Fuck,” you moan as he pinches a nipple between his thumb and forefinger. 

Logan hums, his fingertips trailing across the valley of your breasts, doing the same on the other side. Logan pinches harder, and you moan louder this time. “That’s it,” he coos, his lips finding your pulse point, sucking roughly. “Don’t be quiet, darlin’,” he demands. You whisper his name, your voice whiny and needy. “Show me how much you need me. Keep making those pretty little noises, baby.”

“Feels good,” you whimper as his hand traces down your stomach, to your hips, gathering the fabric of your skirt in his fist and yanking it up to your waist.

He chuckles darkly. “You wore this just for me?” He asks, his thumb hooking inside the waistband of your panties, pulling them down your legs. “Wanted to make it easier for me to fuck you?”

“Fuck, yes, just for you,” you pant, watching as Logan lifts himself off you, tugging his t-shirt up and over his head. He dexterously unclasps his belt buckle and throws the leather to the floor. He balances on his forearm as he unbuttons and unzips his jeans, pushing them down his thighs along with his boxers. “I’m all yours, Lo,” you promise as he presses his forehead to yours.

Logan’s hand glides down your side, slipping between your legs and finding your folds. You moan as his fingertips prod at your entrance, spreading your slick. “Fuck, all this is for me?” He pinches your clit before swiping through your folds again. “You’re soaked already, princess.” His fingertips brush your clit, tracing achingly slow circles into the bud. 

You rock your hips against Logan’s touch, searching for more friction. “Logan, need you,” you whine, squirming underneath him. “I’m yours.”

“All mine?” He whispers, his touch suddenly disappearing. You groan at the loss of contact. “Say it again, pretty girl,” he demands, guiding his cock to your folds. 

“All yours,” you answer, trying to move your hips lower to feel just an inch of him. “Please just—”

Your eyes roll into the back of your head as he slams into you, down to the hilt with one thrust. He throbs against your walls as he works you open, his hips still, his cock splitting you in two. “Fuck,” Logan grunts. “So fucking tight. Perfect little pussy. Wanna stay right here forever. Maybe I won’t even fuck you. Maybe I’ll just make you sit on my cock.”

But you need him to move, need him to take you. “Logan, f-fuck me,” you choke, trying to move your hips. His hand grips your waist, stopping you from sliding up his length. “Please, move,” you plead. 

“So impatient,” he chides, kissing you bruisingly, biting your lips. He finally pulls out and slams back in, bottoming out again. His hand slides down your waist and slips between your legs. “You gonna be a good girl and let me fuck you the way I want?” 

His hand is just above your clit, inches away from where you need him most, waiting for your answer. You nod emphatically. “Yes,” you say with pleading eyes. “Anything. You can do anything just please—oh fuck!” Logan pinches your clit and starts his machinations, swirling around the bud. He pulls out and pumps back in, setting a ruthless pace. 

His hips snap against yours, taking all of you with reckless abandon. His lips swallow your moans, consuming you, drinking you in. Of all the times he’s fucked you, it’s never been quite like this. There’s a hunger in Logan’s eyes that you’ve never seen before, an undying need you’re not sure can be satisfied. Something feels different about this time—more intense, fervent, and feverish. 

Logan thrusts in and out of you, bottoming out with every pump, still stretching you out. His fingertips stroke your clit roughly, your walls already fluttering around him. He curses under his breath, his chest heaving against yours. 

“Look at you,” he groans, fucking into you. “So beautiful like this. Always so beautiful.” You can feel his cock twitching inside you. “Wanna make you mine, sweetheart.”

“I-I already am,” you stammer, his fingers drawing tight, rapid circles into your clit, pushing you closer to the edge. “Always gonna be yours.”

“Want more than that,” Logan grunts, his hips rocking, his pace quickening. He’s so deep inside you—hitting exactly where you need him most with every thrust. 

“Whatever you want,” you pant, your chest pressing flush to his. “It’s yours. I’m yours.”

“Yeah?” He growls at the shell of your ear. “You gonna let me fill you up? Gonna let me stuff you full of me?”

“Yes, please,” you cry out as he pumps in and out, shoving himself as deep inside as he can possibly fit. You feel so full, so complete. Nothing compares to having Logan this close, to having him be so connected to you. You’re already coming undone underneath him, falling apart. “Want you to stay inside.” And then the words fall from your lips without a second thought. But you mean it, and you want it more than anything…

“Wanna have your baby, Lo.”

Logan groans at your words, his cock throbbing with need. “Fuck, don’t tease me like that, sweetheart.” 

“N-not teasing,” you stammer. “I mean it.”

“Shit,” Logan growls, his skin slapping against yours, your words spurring him on. He’s letting himself go, letting himself plunge deep inside you, fast and hard. “Such a good girl,” he praises, his length dragging against your walls, pushing deeper still. “You gonna let me fuck a baby into you?”

“Yes!” You cry out, the fire burning in your belly spreading up to your spine, coursing through your veins. Your walls flutter around his length, squeezing him tightly.

“That’s it, pretty girl,” Logan coos, rutting into you, his hips stuttering. “Want you forever.”

You throw your head back as his fingers swirl around your clit. “You have me Lo, always gonna have me.” Your walls clench down around him, and the tension snaps. Electricity shoots up your spine as your orgasm crashes into you. It’s intense—more intense than anything you’ve ever felt. Pleasure washes over you in waves, heat blooming across your chest and up your neck.

Logan is right behind you, whispering a string of praises as he finishes inside you. “Did so fucking good for me. Always so perfect, beautiful.” His thrusts slow until he’s still inside you, but he doesn’t pull out. “Don’t wanna move, princess,” he husks, pressing a gentle kiss to your lips. 

“You don’t have to,” you say, your voice hoarse. Logan rolls you onto your side, hoisting your leg up and over his hip, keeping himself deep inside your cunt. You close your eyes, your heartbeat finally steadying, your chest still heaving in time with Logan’s. 

The silence is comfortable, calming. You listen to Logan’s breathing as he runs his hands up and down your back. “You okay?” He asks, pressing a chaste kiss to the crown of your head. 

You hum. “I’m perfect,” you mumble, burying your face into his chest. “Do you really…” You trail off, suddenly nervous to ask the only question on your mind, despite everything that just happened. 

“Yes,” Logan answers immediately. “I meant it. Wanna be a family. Wanna be with you forever.”

You melt into him, wrapping your arms around his back. You can feel his cock growing hard inside you as you move to get more comfortable. “I want that too, Lo,” you sigh. “More than anything.” You smile against him, thinking about your future, thinking about how all this started because some asshole wouldn’t leave you alone. You can’t help but giggle at the thought.

“What’s so funny?” Logan asks. You can hear the smirk in his voice. 

You look up at him. “You’re crazy, you know that?” You joke, your smile widening. “You could’ve hurt that guy.”

Logan’s smile widens too. “Just crazy about you,” he says, shrugging his shoulders. He flips you onto your back and hovers over you, his cock still deep inside you. “Should’ve kicked his ass.” You bite your lip, waiting for his next move. “You’re my girl,” he groans, sliding out of you slightly. 

“Yours,” you breathe as he thrusts back in. “All yours.”

tags: @cosmiccandydreamer @alsoprettyinpink @alastorssimp @1800-fight-me @iamburdened @chaoticweirdogeek @loganobsessed @seasonofthenerd @witch-lemon @the-occasional-artist1125 @https-murdock @afw5 @wolviesgirl @the-ruler-of-death @xtwistedchaosx @wittyjasontodd @galacticglitterglue @silversprings-mp3 @zxaera @spiderset @figsnpassionfruits @prettyseaveins @ilysmdovie12 @evasmlp @derbygracie @rammakela @honeyfewr @ricefordays-blog1 @manipulatour

[eloquentlytired]

Logan with a breeding kink fic? 😉

18+ mdni

— raw.

pairing: logan howlett x fem reader

word count: less than 900

tags: unprotected sex — breeding — logan is feral — just filthy smut — risky sex — dom/sub undertones

author’s note: hi anon I hope this was a good read for you. logan having a breeding kink is so incredibly canon honestly

ৎৎৎ

“lo.” you moan as you lie facedown on the bed, legs straight, hips slightly raised. logan enters you from behind and the way he stretches you in this position has you whimpering. one of his large hands puts weight on your head and forces you to bury it against the bedsheets as you sob beneath him. his other hand stays on your middle to kind of support himself as he fucks you, driving his veiny cock into your deepest parts. the bed creaks beneath your moving bodies but you don't seem to care. logan grunts as he feels your pussy clenching around his cock, coating it too with your arousal. “still taking your pills like a good girl?” the shake of your head makes his hips slow down and gradually stop. you tilt your head at an awkward angle to stare at him and he stares back. “w—we ran out.” you whisper, voice still laced with arousal and need. logan weighs his options as his eyes drift downwards where his cock is completed soaked by your wetness and even his pubic hair drip with the doings of your pussy. his bare cock twitches inside you and you moan. “not safe,lo. let's just—”

there's not much you can do in this position when logan starts thrusting again. you take what he gives you and your eyes roll back when the fat head of his cock kisses your sweet spot, making your entire body shake all over. tears of pleasure slide down your cheeks and he leans down to kiss a tender spot on your shoulder before biting down. he grounds his hips in circles and you almost scream. “there— there,lo.” you beg him and he repeats the motion again and again. when your pussy tightens around him as you cum, logan growls into your shoulder and you can sense him growing more feral over you. your hands grip onto the bedsheets for dear life as you drool and cry against the mattress. logan drives his cock faster inside you and a few more thrusts later he fills you up, leaning the weight of his lower body on yours that his cock nudges impossible places within you. it makes you squirm and logan offers you a reassuring kiss as he pants against your shoulder, trying to process the raw feel of your walls around his bare girth.

“fuck.” you hear him curse minutes later and when you look back, your eyes widen. logan slips his softening cock out of your pussy and watches as his own come drips out and over your cunt. you exchange a silent and long stare and then logan is moving you again. you don't know what's happening or why but you're about to.

you've lost count and you've also lost any sanity left for the time being. you drag a hand over your belly as logan pumps his load inside you again, making your thighs shake from where they sit atop his own. you're laying on your back this time while he gets comfortable between your spread legs, breeding you until the late hours. “one last time. I swear,baby.” he lies through his teeth again and you allow it. logan slips his hands underneath your legs and shoves them back until your knees are nearly touching your chest. his cock is still hard and leaking — he'd really done it this time — and he wants to blame your bare cunt for wrapping around his cock so perfectly. you're tired and your pussy feels a little sore but you can't help but reach a wandering hand to your clit and rub it as logan fucks you mercilessly. his balls are heavy and drag against you with each shallow thrust. your entire body shakes and your other hand remains atop your stomach; you're full, so full, and your toes curl when you think about how much of logan’s seed you've stored in your womb.

“lo—” you're letting go again, your entire body spasming as your fingers shake against your swollen clit. logan’s eyes narrow when he watches you squirt beneath him and one of his hands is moving down to toy with your pussy, his fingers moving past yours and past your clit to tease the source of your squirt. it makes you cry and nearly scream. logan feels his balls tighten and before you know it he's already giving it to you again, spilling everything inside your pussy to make it full. to make his seed take place. “lo.” by the time you call for him he's already slipping a hand around your nape, clutching it, while his other hand joins your own on top of your stomach.

your lips meet and logan soothes you. “so pretty, so sweet. you took so much in ya, princess.” and his whispers make you tremble even more as you kiss him back slowly. his kisses are nothing like the way he fucks you; they're slow, patient and gentle. logan hums into your mouth as you wrap your arms around his neck. his fingers flex upon your stomach, even doing so much as squeeze it. he loves it. “how ‘bout we forget about those pills?” logan growls.

his cock doesn't stay soft for long and when his hand presses into your tummy possessively, you know exactly what awaits you.

[lilpomelito]

I go feral for for fics where Eddie is like "I'm a metalhead drug dealer🤘😈, I'm dangerous, I'm from the wrong side of the tracks☠️💉⚠️, I'm bad news baby, you should be scared, I'll eat you up and spit you out⛓️🐺⛔️, you should run, you're a suburban spoiled rich kid and I'm exactly the bad news your mommy warned you about❤️‍🔥🔪😏" and Steve, who fought an interdimensional demon with a bat full of nails, who protected children from the equivalent of radioactive rabid dogs, who endured russian torture, who saw a little girl who was the experiment of a shady government organization explode full grown adults with her mind, who survived a demon bat attack with only his fists and teeth as weapons, he's like "ok sweetie, I'll pick you up at six 🥰✨"

[feral-teeth]

I FEEL CALLED OUTTT but in a good way :3 hehehe 😈

You already know it ;)))

writers whenever they’re starting a new fic: I have these ✨ vibes ✨ now I’ll have to build an entire plot and write an entire fic about those vibes