#he likes sublime. i said so

[unicornsaures]

something in me really wants to draw modern bayonetshipping but ion think yall would fw cyber grunge henry enough for that.....

[laesas]

Seeing someone's awful, self-righteous, bad faith, rage bait take and realising that you already have them blocked for their other dogshit opinions 👌👌👌

[pin-k-ink]

CORRECTION ⋆✦⋆ ushijima wakatoshi

synopsis ➸ after a fight that was entirely your fault, you’d do anything to make it up to your husband. and by anything, you really mean anything.

tags ➸ dom!toshi, size kink duh, belly bulge, cockwarming, dirty talking, degradation, punishment sex, unprotected sex, creampie, squirting, manhandling, spanking, slight asphyxiation, rough sex

wc ➸ 3.6k

The living room settled in tense silence, only the faint ticking of the wall clock filling the stillness between you and Ushijima. He sat rigidly on the couch, back ramrod straight as his piercing gaze stayed locked onto the volleyball match playing across the TV.

You lingered by the entryway for a long moment, worrying your lower lip as you studied the stern lines of your husband's profile. Even in his obvious frustration, you couldn't tear your eyes away from that strong jaw peppered with the faintest hint of stubble—a delicious reminder of how he felt like rugged velvet under your touch.

With a shaky inhale, you finally summoned the nerve to approach the couch. Ushijima didn't so much as twitch a muscle as you settled onto the cushion beside him—cognizant of the careful distance you left between your bodies out of instinct now. More than once before, you'd gravitated into his personal space during an argument only for the overwhelming pull of his presence to leave you utterly distracted and undone far too soon.

"'Toshi..." you began hesitantly, craving the familiar cadence of his name on your tongue despite the circumstances. "Can we talk about this? Please?"

Your plaintive murmur seemed to drift across that weighted chasm without any effect. Ushijima's jaw clenched almost imperceptibly, but beyond that razor-sharp movement he remained utterly motionless. You recognized the subtle tells immediately—those micro gestures so easily missed by anyone not intimately attuned to each infinitesimal shift in his demeanor.

Despite his frustration, he was pointedly restraining himself from any potential overreactions in the moment. Years of sharpening that single-minded discipline coiled like taut cords beneath his olive complexion as Ushijima listened in silence. His strength of will always hit you with renewed reverence in these tense moments between you both.

"I shouldn't have said those awful things earlier," you pressed on, hating the tremor in your voice but pressing forward regardless. "You were just trying to help and I...I lashed out in the worst possible way when you were only looking out for me like always."

You fell silent again as Ushijima worked his sharp jawline, clearly processing your paltry apology behind that unshakable mask of restraint. You studied the minute details greedily—the burnished gold flecks gleaming in his irises, the faintest hollow of his cheeks carving into sharp relief whenever his jaw tensed in irritation. The familiar pull of adoration despite your self-recrimination threatened to steal your breath entirely.

Because no matter how he punished you with frigid indifference or terse retorts, Ushijima remained the single most beautiful man you'd ever feasted your eyes upon in your entire life. A sublime vision of rugged, masculine strength burning with unshakable passion tucked beneath that stoic exterior that few ever got to taste the true depths of so intimately.

Heart pounding against your ribcage, you finally indulged your impulses in the face of his frustrated silence. You scooted closer, allowing your palm to drift over the thick cable of muscle joining his throat and collarbone in a whisper of contact.

Ushijima drew a sharp inhale through his flared nostrils, but he didn't cease you. So you traced your fingertips further down over his pec, feeling the coarse fabric stretched taut over his sinuous chest. You swallowed hard at the heat and hardness radiating off him—achingly familiar textures you recognized better than your own skin.

"I'm sorry..." you rasped out once more, barely restraining a whimper as you slid your palm across his abdomen next.

You watched Ushijima's knuckles whiten around the remote gripped tightly in one large fist, his jaw ticking with the minute clenches and releases indicating his struggle for control. Lower still, you drifted over the rigid corrugation of his stomach, fingertips dipping beneath the hem to find the sublime ridges of his Adonis belt finally. Shameless in your worship, you followed the carved trail lower to palm the distinct swell of his cock already tenting the front of his sweatpants openly.

Ushijima let slip a low groan then, eyes fluttering shut briefly as you boldly kneaded the rigid length through the thin material. You licked your lips reflexively, mouth flooding with saliva at the sheer masculine musk wafting off that sensitive area you'd mapped and savored so many times before.

"Please, 'Toshi..." you demanded with a raw tremor of need roughening your voice now. "Let me make this up to you properly..."

Olive-toned lids sliced back open to pin you beneath the full weight of that blazing glare. You held his scorching scrutiny steadily as Ushijima seemed to silently weigh his next calculated move in the wake of your unashamed seduction attempts.

Then his large palm anchored itself against your nape forcefully, dragging you forward until your parted lips ghosted his own in dizzying proximity. You whimpered openly at the molten brand of his touch and piercing focus honed solely on you entirely.

"You've been very naughty indeed, wife," he rumbled out with a dark, rasping undercurrent that made your belly swoop with visceral heat. "Purposefully testing my restraint like a spoiled brat desperate for a thorough... correction, aren't you?"

You shivered bodily at the wicked promise laced through his gravelly benediction, aching to shift closer and chase more of that delicious friction and searing drag of his calloused palms over your sensitized nerves. Somehow though, you managed a jerky nod instead—surrendering over without further protest to Ushijima's unholy thrall and the intimate torments sure to follow.

In one graceful, unhurried movement, he tugged you fully into the cradle of his lap. Those large palms anchored your hips flush against him as his hooded stare drank in the sight of you spread so wantonly across his solid bulk.

"I'm not finished punishing you yet, little minx," Ushijima promised through barely parted lips, calluses raking over your lower back possessively. "But I suppose indulging you some sweet relief along the way couldn't hurt...as long as you take all of it, of course."

He didn't wait for an answer, large palm wrapping around your nape once more to tug you into a brutal kiss that stole your breath entirely. Ushijima devoured your every whimper and whine hungrily, the slick slide of his tongue tangling against your own enough to make you melt further into the furnace of his embrace.

It felt like an eternity before he finally eased off the drugging assault of his lips and teeth and tongue. Your mind whirled with a pleasant haze as you swayed dazedly, struggling to regain your equilibrium in the wake of Ushijima's devastating attentions.

"Take off your panties," he ordered in a husky baritone, those callused hands falling away from your body. "Only your panties."

You trembled faintly, fingers trembling as they obeyed the directive immediately. You lifted up onto your knees just enough to slip your underwear off beneath the hem of your— his shirt, thighs slick and sticky with your arousal as you settled back into his lap.

Ushijima's nostrils flared with his shallow, ragged breaths as his hungry gaze raked over the obscene display. One large palm slid over your inner thigh, nudging your legs open wider for his viewing pleasure. You shuddered visibly as he traced his thumb down the slick seam of your cunt, his touch so infuriatingly gentle and slow.

"You're always so wet and ready for me, my love..." he rumbled out, gaze darkening further at the way your arousal smeared his thumb with a shiny coat. "It's almost a shame I have to be so cruel, but you deserve nothing less, don't you agree?"

You shuddered again, thighs trembling with the strain of remaining upright as he continued to tease and torment you so cruelly. "Y-yes, 'Toshi," you managed to reply hoarsely, fingers twisting into the thin cotton covering his chest. "Please..."

He gave no indication of acknowledgement, continuing his leisurely torture of tracing over every inch of your slick folds save where you craved him most. You bucked your hips up, searching for the relief that eluded you, only to earn a firm slap on the ass for your trouble.

"Patience," he reminded you in a clipped tone, not bothering to slow the torment even as he disciplined you. You whimpered but forced yourself to be still, fingers digging into the hard planes of his pecs as he toyed with you so cruelly.

It felt like forever until he finally brushed against your swollen clit. You shuddered visibly, eyes rolling back with a guttural groan at the sensation.

"I know what you want, love..." Ushijima rasped, dragging his thumb in firm, tight circles against the bundle of nerves. "I know what this greedy cunt craves, but you've been so disobedient and naughty. It'd be unfair of me to give you the relief you so desperately need, wouldn't it?"

"I'll behave, 'Toshi, I swear," you gasped out, hips rocking against his touch despite yourself. "Please, please..."

The rough pads of his fingertips circled your entrance, teasing you with the slightest breach but never enough to penetrate. You let out a frustrated sob, tears blurring your vision with the intensity of your need.

"Oh, you're definitely going to behave..." he agreed, the subtle edge of a threat lacing his husky baritone. "And you'll learn to appreciate my punishments properly, too."

Before you could process his cryptic statement, the blunt head of his cock nudged your slick folds. You sucked in a sharp breath as the chubby tip dragged up and down, coating himself in your essence with each agonizing pass.

Your husband wasn’t a small man by any stretch of the imagination—and his girth and length had been daunting even on your wedding night. You'd been nervous, yes, but he'd been a patient and attentive lover that made sure to leave no part of you unsatisfied.

But this? This was an entirely different level of fullness as Ushijima slowly impaled you inch by agonizing inch, stretching you around the thick length until you swore he'd split you in two. You'd barely adjusted to the overwhelming sensations when he gripped your hip with a punishing hold, pulling you down fully to seat him to the hilt inside of you.

"Now sit still," he ordered gruffly, emerald eyes flashing with dark intent as he reached for the remote control abandoned beside him. "I've got a game to finish and you're going to help me enjoy it."

"Wh-what do you—"

The question died on your tongue as he resumed the program, his other hand splayed possessively over the curve of your hip to keep you from moving. He gave no further explanation, gaze flickering back to the TV as he leaned back into the couch cushions once more.

You stared at him incredulously, mouth hanging open as he proceeded to ignore your presence entirely. Your eyes widened with disbelief when you realized the full extent of his plan—the wicked, horrible, cruel plan he'd concocted to punish you.

"No," you groaned, shaking your head vigorously. "No, please, 'Toshi! This isn't fair!"

His grip only tightened on your hip, the pressure enough to bruise in the most delicious way possible. "Fairness isn't an issue when it comes to punishments, love," he replied mildly, as if he wasn't balls-deep inside you and refusing to move. "Now, behave. Otherwise you won’t get my cock for the rest of the week."

You let out another miserable sound at the threat, the sheer idea of him leaving you unsatisfied and craving his touch for an entire week enough to make you go insane. Tears blurred your vision as he continued to watch the game with utter nonchalance, acting as if his cock wasn't sheathed in the tight grip of your cunt.

You were so painfully full and yet, you wanted more. Craved that delicious friction that only came from Ushijima using your body in whatever ways pleased him most. The urge to rock and grind against him overwhelmed your senses, but his grip held you steady.

You looked down to where his cock pierced into you so deeply, your eyes widening at the slight bulge of his girth visible through your lower abdomen. You whimpered, the sight of it turning you on beyond belief. You clenched and squeezed around his hard length, reveling in the way his nostrils flared and his jaw tensed slightly.

At least he wasn't entirely unaffected.

A wicked idea suddenly sparked, lighting your insides with a fresh wave of fire. You leaned back, bracing yourself with a hand against his knees until the outline of his cock jutted more prominently through the soft skin. You swallowed hard, taking a steadying breath before you pressed down on the bulge with your other palm.

Ushijima let slip a guttural sound then, the noise low and dangerous and so fucking sexy you had to bite your lip to stifle a whimper. But the damage was already done, your hips giving an aborted roll on instinct before he stilled you.

"Behave," he warned you in a raspy undertone, those piercing eyes honing in on the subtle outline of his cock visible beneath your lower belly. He let out another groan, his fingers digging into the meat of your hip hard enough to leave new marks.

You couldn't help yourself—not when you knew how much it affected him, too. You repeated the motion, rolling your hips forward with a gentle press. Ushijima's eyes fluttered shut, his breathing growing ragged and shallow.

You did it again and again, each time pressing down with more and more pressure until the game became little more than white noise to your ears. All that mattered was watching Ushijima's self-control slowly slip as you worked his cock deeper inside you with every deliberate thrust.

His fingers fell away from your hip, and you didn't waste the opportunity. Your pace was slow and steady, grinding him into your slick walls with a filthy grind of your hips. His head lolled back, the veins in his throat protruding starkly as he finally succumbed to the pleasure of your body.

You continued riding him torturously slow, working every last inch of his impressive girth inside you until his cock kissed the opening to your cervix. Your clit dragged along the coarse hair of his pelvis on each downward thrust, and soon your own breathing became ragged with the intensity of your pleasure.

You were so close—so fucking close, your toes curling and core tightening with each delicious glide of his cock against your spasming walls. Just a few more strokes and you'd have the release you so desperately craved...

Only then Ushijima's strong arm locked around your waist, tugging you back into his chest and pinning you there with his iron-clad grip. You cried out, the denial making your skin burn and pulse thrum wildly.

"Did I tell you to move?" he demanded in a ragged voice, teeth nipping the shell of your ear sharply.

"Please, 'Toshi," you sobbed out, nails biting into his forearm as you squirmed in his hold. "I'll be good, I promise. Just fuck me, please!"

His free hand slid over your inner thigh, spreading them apart and leaving your aching pussy exposed and dripping. The rough pad of his thumb found your clit, drawing torturous circles against the bundle of nerves as he nipped and bit at your neck.

"That’s too bad," he replied in a husky rasp, the dark edge to his voice making your belly swoop. "Because I'm not done with my game yet. If you move one more time without permission, I'll pull out and finish in my fist instead. Do you understand, love?"

You whined and whimpered but managed to jerk your head into a nod. "Yes, yes, please..."

"Good girl," he rumbled, giving your clit a final flick before he resumed his hold on your hip.

You forced yourself to remain still and silent, not daring to move an inch lest he make good on his threat. Tears slipped down your cheeks at the agony of waiting and watching Ushijima continue to ignore you in favor of the game.

His fingers flexed against your hip, a subtle tremor in the muscle and tendons that betrayed his struggle for control. He was holding back, you realized, not willing to give in just yet. You clenched around him deliberately, reveling in the way he twitched and hardened even further.

The sudden roar of the crowd from the TV was enough to startle you both, and Ushijima let slip a guttural growl as you tightened reflexively. Your heart pounded wildly, and you could feel the sweat slicking his chest beneath the thin fabric of his shirt.

"Fuck it," he swore under his breath, finally reaching for the remote and switching off the TV with a flick of his thumb.

In the next instant, Ushijima's large palms wrapped around your hips. He lifted you up, pulling out and flipping you around so you were bent over the arm of the couch. One large palm pressed between your shoulder blades, pushing you into the cushions. The other grabbed your hip, anchoring your lower half up so your ass jutted out lewdly.

He nudged your thighs wider with a knee, and then he was sliding back into you. You moaned at the fullness, the delicious stretch of your walls around his thick girth. You fisted the couch cushions, burying your face into the plush fabric as he finally began pounding into you with a ruthless pace.

His grip was bruising, but you welcomed the ache, reveling in the sweet mix of pain and pleasure that only he could bring. His other hand slid over the slope of your ass, and you shivered as he caressed the tender flesh before a sharp smack rang through the air.

"Greedy, insatiable whore," Ushijima growled, palming the abused skin as you gasped and rocked back into him. "Making me break my own rules. Now I'll have to discipline you some more, won't I?"

"Yes," you cried out, his name falling from your lips like a benediction as his hips pistoned into you with a punishing rhythm. "Yes, yes, punish me, 'Toshi! Please!"

He gave your ass a harsher slap, the sting making you yelp and writhe beneath his weight. You could feel him throbbing and twitching inside you, his own orgasm fast approaching.

"Is this what you wanted, little minx?" Ushijima demanded in a husky tone, his hand sliding from your ass to curl over your throat. He pulled you upright, forcing your back to arch and breasts to thrust out as his fingers flexed. His other hand smoothed over your lower belly, thumb tracing the slight bulge of his cock spearing into you.

"Y-yes," you gasped out, head falling back onto his shoulder as he pounded into you with brutal precision. You reached up and twisted a hand into his hair, gripping him tightly as he nipped and sucked at the juncture of your shoulder.

"I can feel myself in you, love," he rasped, his hips slapping against yours in a wet, filthy slide. "Can you feel how deep I am? How your cunt's swallowing me whole?"

"Yes, yes, yes," you sobbed out, eyes rolling back and lashes fluttering. The hand on your stomach found your clit, the rough pads of his fingertips stroking and circling the sensitive bud in a dizzying tempo. "So deep, 'Toshi, so full!"

"Cum for me, sweetheart," he ordered in a husky baritone, his hips losing their steady rhythm. You could feel his cock twitching and throbbing inside you, and the knowledge that he was about to lose control set off a fresh wave of arousal. "Now."

Your body obeyed before you could even process his demand, every muscle and tendon in your body going taut with a force so intense it was nearly painful. You clenched and spasmed around him, hot, fragrant liquid gushing and squirting around his cock as you came harder than ever before.

"F-fuck," Ushijima groaned, his cock throbbing and twitching inside of you as you came undone. He buried his face into your neck, hips stilling as his release spilled deep inside you. He kept pumping his hips, the warm flood of his cum clinging to your walls and filling you so completely.

He held you upright as you both came down from your highs, his breath hot and ragged against your throat. His hand slid over the soft skin of your belly, the other still gently massaging your clit to prolong your orgasm.

It took a moment for you to regain your senses, blinking dazedly as he carefully lowered you onto the couch. You shuddered as he pulled out, a hot rush of his release seeping from your swollen cunt. You winced, the sensation almost painful as you slumped bonelessly into the cushions.

Ushijima knelt before you, olive-hued eyes roving over your thoroughly ravished form as if to assess his work. A faint flush stained his high cheekbones, his dark hair disheveled from your greedy hands and damp with perspiration. He leaned forward, large palm sliding up your inner thigh as he pressed a kiss to the tender flesh of your sex.

You shuddered at the tender gesture, fingers twisting into his hair once more. "Did I... Am I forgiven yet?" you managed to rasp out, wincing slightly at the hoarseness of your voice.

His lips curled into a slight smirk, gaze flashing up at you knowingly. "Not yet," he rumbled, his fingertips stroking lightly over the soft petals of your cunt. "I don't think you've learned your lesson properly just yet. Now, why don't we go upstairs, hmm? I have a few ideas of what I can do to you next..."

[monstrousmuse]

Some of my favourite excerpts from the second part of the interview:

“We know psychologically that Ford is not travelling this path alone. He’s travelling it with his Muse, who he has a very complex and fucked up relationship with. And even in Ford’s private thoughts, he would not say ‘I’m alone’, he would say ‘oh, I have a very important relationship in my life with Bill, but I don’t have a friend. (…) Ford is not alone in his mind, even though he is extraordinarily alone.”

…

“The things that Ford said as McGucket left weren't "I value you and I'm sorry we have a difference of opinion," it was "get the hell out of here you hillbilly, you don't understand science!" (…) He was really cruel to McGucket. He was cold to him, and they did not talk for thirty more years after that.(…) But we knew that if McGucket created the memory gun after their break up, there could be no explanation of it in the journal. (…) And he so wants to please Ford. (…) McGucket doesn't really know what's going on, but he's internalizing and thinking, "I just need to be a better partner.’”

…

“To me, the greatest compliment that I can receive as a creator is somebody saying "this resonated with me." Our goal is to make characters that have a human truth in them (…) My feeling is that the customer is always right. Like, if the character is gay to you, they're gay. (…) That's sort of the magic of fiction.. (…) That's the hope. My feeling is that if we do our job, people feel a truth and they connect to it.”

…

“Ford was a very challenging character to conceive. (…) We knew his job narratively was to give Stan the biggest chip on his shoulder that we could think of. (…) He has to be smarter than Stan. He has to be fitter, and better at fighting than Stan too. He's not gonna be some little shrinking nerd. It would be a pretty fair fight between him and Stan (…) Ford has the formal training, and Stan just has the madness.”

“You know the damage someone's family has done to them by all of their weird tics and behaviors. (….) Who is the character who would result in Stan being this hurt and needy and mad and also longing?”

“We came up with this guy who kinda seemed too perfect. He's aloof, and distant, and he's too perfect. And it's like, "oh, I think he's also aloof and distant from himself." (…) I think he is deeply, deeply hiding from his real feelings about things, because at some point early on, he decided that he could run from hurt by achievement and by creation, and has dug that hole so deep that he has no relationships. He doesn't have friendships, he doesn't have romantic relationships, he is someone trapped in a tower of his own mind and estranged.”

“Ford shows none of that. He has sublimated himself romantically so, so deeply. (…) I really thought of Ford kind of like Tesla in that realm.”

-Alex Hirsch, 2023

…

part one

[ramp-it-up]

Anatomy of a Kiss

Summary: You and Logan agree on one thing: you both hate each other. So what happens when you kiss him?

Word count: 4.2 K

Pairing: Logan Howlett x Reader

Warnings: 18+ Only, Minors DNI. S MUT Not Beta’d. ONE DEADPOOL X WOLVERINE SPOILER AHEAD! Read at your own risk. S MUT! Enemies to lovers; snark to fluff, idiots in love; use of the words stupid, dumb, insipid as insults. Reader's father is either a mobster or a mutant villain, or both; (Reader may or may not be a mutant herself), a couple dark themes and mention of parent death; Reader has Daddy issues; Reader is a thicc girlie; Princess and Old Man as nicknames; there are two slaps; a tipsy kiss; povs switch thorughout the fic. pining; insinuations of masturbation, oral (f receiving), spitting, praise and degredation kink, size kink, creampie, cum play, explicit sex acts, raw p in v (wrap it up) voice kink, this Logan is Dom Logan.

A/N: This was in my soul for a couple of weeks, but I don't feel it's all that great. Here goes. Let me know if you like it by reblogging, liking and commenting please. Thank you. ☺️

I no longer have a taglist. Please follow @rampitupandread and turn on notifications to learn when I post! 😘

I Do NOT Consent to my work being reposted, translated or presented on any other blog or site other than by myself.

-----

The biggest mistake that Logan Howlett ever made in his life was kissing you back.

Because now he was never going to get you out of his system. 

—--

You were celebrating.

Being being voted best small business owner and philanthropist in the city was a big fucking deal. You decided to let your hair down and let go of your famous self-control and discipline for one night.

And now you were tooted on most of a bottle of Moet and Chandon as you walked back to your high rise apartment from the civic center.

It was a perfect night and you stopped and smiled at the moon, feeling sublime. 

Until you heard his voice.

“Keep moving before I throw you over my shoulder and get you inside myself, Princess.”

You rolled your eyes at your body guard, the only thing your father offered you that you didn’t reject.

Because you weren’t stupid. 

Other than sharing his dna, you were not like your father at all, and you divested yourself of everything that had to do with him.

“What about the penthouse? You kept that.”

Your body felt engulfed as if by flames. You were angry, both at the fact that you’d apparently said all that out loud, and at Logan’s audacity.

“Fuck you, Howlett. The apartment is my mother’s. But she died because of my dad and that’s why he wants to “protect” me.”

You wobbled as you did your air quotes, and you could sense Logan ready to spring to catch you if you fell. You recovered quickly, however, refusing to give him the satisfaction.

“But he can't seem to do the one thing that will protect me. Get out of the life. He’s an old man, for heaven’s sake!”

Logan chuckled and shook his head.

“He’s not so old.”

You were in full blown argument mode.

“He’s over 70.”

“Like I said, he’s not so old. And you don’t know so much, little girl. Life is not that simple.”

“I am 32 years old, Mr. Howlett. I am not one of those little girls that fawn all over you. I am a woman.”

You straightened up and you knew that your thick body in the black cocktail dress was banging.

Logan’s eyes reflected your body, although he was staring back into yours. He’d taken it all in earlier.

“You are a teeny, tiny little Princess.”

He was fucking infuriating as he smiled down at you like that. The alcohol made you step to him.

“Someone needs to kiss that insipid smirk off your face, Howlett.”

That stupid eyebrow shot up, and your belly flipped.

Slap. You meant slap, but Logan was quicker than your champagne brain.

“I dare you, Princess.”

—-----

After what happened happened, you hightailed it back to your building, the electricity zapping around the elevator as you stared each other down. As soon as the doors opened, you moved as quickly as your tipsy legs would take through your foyer and living room and down the hallway to your bedroom door.

Logan followed you.

“Princess–”

The door slammed in his face, and he stood there for a good five minutes, restraining himself from knocking it down, before he relented and made his way back to his own room. 

He’d confront you tomorrow (later today), when you were sober.

—-

On the other side of the door, you were thinking of packing your bags and moving to South America. You needed a continent between you and Logan. How in the world had you allowed yourself to give in to a drunken urge that manifested the late night thoughts that you’d had for months? 

You were slipping. Bad.

You absolutely could not face him the next day. You leaned against the door, relieved when you heard him leave, and touched your lips. They still felt as if they were swollen from the kiss. 

You were sobering up now, remembering it. But just a few minutes ago that dare was all you needed to immediately lock your lips onto his. 

You also remembered the way he’d pulled away in shock and stared at your mouth for a beat before he grabbed your hair, pulled you close again, and kissed you so good that your toes curled.

“Fuck! Fuck fuck FUCK! Fuck my life!”

You were losing control. And that was not good. Not good at all.

—

Logan couldn’t get you out of his mind. 

And that pissed him off.

He lay in bed, and thought about how, (if he could die) under penalty of death he would never admit just how often he thought about you.

He’d been glad for the room at your place that came with the job; bunking with Wade and Althea was getting real old, real fast. 

But suddenly this arrangement felt too close for comfort.

You didn’t need to know about the fact that the movie playing behind his closed eyelids during his little shower workouts every night was your sexy smile, or the way your ass filled out your jeans. Especially those black ones.

And when he thought about you wearing those jeans with that wrap around shirt that showcased your tits just right. Well, fuck. He’d have gallons of cum for the shower drain.

Nah, you knowing that would only stroke your ego. Somehow, his mind drifted to the other things of yours that needed stroking.

“Oh, Fuck all!”

He sat up and sat on the edge of his bed, reaching for a cigar, reason number 634 why you hated him. 

But if you hated him so much, then why did you kiss him tonight?

—---

Why did you do it? You didn’t even like Logan. In fact you hated him.

Right?

You loathed the way he called you Princess, an obvious reminder that you were a trust fund baby, although you were far from a child, and to spite the fact that you were trying to make your own way.

You hated him from the top of his ridiculous thick hair, to the soles of his huge shit-kicker boot clad feet. You hated how tall and how ripped he was, the way his arm veins threaded atop the muscles there and led the way to his thick, calloused fingers that felt so nice against your skin.

You hated the chest hair that poked out from the top of the tacky tank tops and flannel shirts he always wore underneath the ever present leather jacket, and the way his blue jeans showcased the muscles in his thighs. 

And you absolutely NEVER accidentally gazed at his crotch and ascertained that he was packing.

That would be asinine.

And his stupid face. That was the kicker. Logan’s face would be handsome if he didn’t wear that ridiculous smirk all the time on that mouth that might look nice if he was normal. 

The mouth that felt nice against yours. 

That might feel nice against your…

You groaned around your toothbrush and rolled your eyes at yourself, fully sober now after a quick cold shower. But somehow your body was still warm and buzzing.

What the fuck had you done?

— 

Logan didn’t even like you.

You were bossy, irritating, loud. 

Fuck, you were loud, always chattering away to your customers, always smiling and making them feel at home. 

He absolutely loathed the way you were trying to make your own living, despite the fact that your father was loaded. Running a food truck with the best tacos in town drew hundreds of people every day and giving away a portion of your food to the unhoused every night was what irritated Logan the most. 

More people to watch.

He was sure you did it to surround him with more people to hate. He just knew that you liked pushing his buttons. 

You just reveled in being the anti-Logan.

The more he glared, the more you glowed. 

On fucking purpose.

The kicker was you cranking up the karaoke machine on Thursday nights and belting it out to Journey or REO Speedwagon. It was so annoying. 

Especially the way you closed your eyes and swayed to the music during the bridge. The happy look on your face wasn’t beautiful at all, it was simple, and he didn’t memorize every curve of your face because it was a dumb one.

He couldn’t get away, because he had three months left on the security contract your father signed with him.

It was unfortunate, because you just wouldn’t shut up.

Except when his tongue was in your mouth.

No. 

Even then, you made noises. 

Those delicious little moans that vibrated down his spine and made his dick harder with every second. Moans that made him see visions of your mouth wrapped around his cock. Moans that gave him a waking dream of you giving him head, and…

Fuck, now Logan had a raging hard on and could not sleep for the life of him. 

He really did not like you.

—--

Kissing Logan had you in a tailspin. 

You punched your pillow as you tossed and turned in bed and conjured positive thoughts.

You could forget this.

Pretend it never happened.

Convince yourself that he didn’t taste like heaven and hell and the best fucking thing in a long time.

You could forget.

It was fine.

Everything was just fucking fine. 

All you had to do was completely forget the way he made you feel when he slid his tongue into your mouth. It was easy. 

Except you were wet as fuck. 

“Listen, bitch. You are not doing me any favors right now,” you mumbled to your cunt. 

She didn't care. 

Your pussy just continued to clench on air as if to say, “He’s right down the hall. Let’s just go finish what we started.”

You groaned and tried to smother yourself with your pillow.

It didn’t work.

—-

Logan just kept thinking of the way you stared at him between kisses. Lips parted on a gasp, plump and soft, right before he'd slipped his hand on your neck and kissed you again. Now your taste haunted him.

Logan huffed and put his head in his hands. Flashes of the kiss played like a movie in his head. Finally, he stood up and went to his door, ready to settle this once and for all.

When he opened it, there you were, in just a black camisole and panties, and god, did he want you.

But there was your mouth again.

“I fucking hate you.”

The problem with that was, he could smell you. You might be saying that you hated him, but your body was calling him right now. And Logan’s knees were weak at the power of his lust.

When you looked him in the eye, you licked your lips, your eyes dilated, your nipples tightened into stiff peaks, and your pussy weeping for him, Logan knew it was the end of the line of his self-restraint.

You smelled delicious, like your mandarin orange body wash and your wet-for-him cunt. 

He stepped toward you and you slapped his face, leaving him with a grin on his face.

Then you slapped him again.

“You got it out of your system now? That anger?”

He cocked that damned eyebrow at you and moved even closer. 

“Or is it frustration?”

——

You were in trouble now.

Not because you were scared Logan was going to hurt you.

Just the opposite.

Logan dipped his head to smell at your pulse point, body so close, but never touching you. Your arms went to grab his impossible shoulders and that's when his huge paws grabbed your hips, dragging you further into his room as he backed toward his bed.

He was full on nuzzling your neck now, and your eyes were rolling as the tension between you two was finally ebbing.

The words came tumbling out.

“I’m so fucking angry that you get me so frustrated, you ass..”

You were turning your head toward his, wanting his lips again, on his lap now, crotch sat on his unbuttoned jeans, and refusing to move to ignite the fire.

Logan grunted at you.

“I see that. You’re trying to stare me down even though you are leaking all over me.”

Your body clenched and got wetter at the naming of that fact. You were terrified of what might happen next.

Yet you wanted it so badly.

——

Logan couldn’t wait any more.

He removed one hand from gripping the flesh at your hips that he’d fantasized about for months, to trailing up your cheek to your hair to take off your scarf.

His fingers were in your hair again and your eyelids stuttered as you mouth dropped open for air.

That made him so fucking hard. And it made him want to kiss you again.

He had to know.

“What are you here for, Princess?”

——

His sexy whisper would do you in.

For good.

“I don’t know.”

Logan was staring at you like you were the treasure chest at the end of a quest as you tried to remain as still as possible on his lap. It was so hard.

Logan was so hard beneath you.

“Oh? Let’s run it back to earlier when you weren’t letting that big brain of yours get in the way.”

Frustration surged within you and your mouth got reckless.

“Stop yapping and just do it already.”

——-

“There’s my girl,” Logan growled at you as his dick responded to the challenge and his eyes flashed at your tone.

“Always busting my balls, aren’t you? Need to give that smart mouth something else to do.” 

Before you could reply, Logan’s lips covered yours so perfectly that it was like magnetic puzzle pieces. You fit together and locked. 

Logan’s tongue traced your lower lip and he drew it into his mouth, nibbling, gently at first and then nipping more harshly, causing a gasp and enabling entry. His tongue swiped at yours as he dominated you.

You were not going to win this round.

——

You could only whimper and grab his shoulders tighter as he kissed you. For all that was holy, why did his kisses have to be so damn good?

One of your hands ventured into the thick hair you’d dreamt of feeling between your fingertips and pulled as your desire peaked. Then your palms went to his face as he pulled away and you squirmed as you realized what was about to happen. 

“What are you here for, Princess?”

That question again.

That voice. It rumbled straight to your core and Logan wasn’t letting you off the hook. 

Logan wasn’t letting you up off of him. 

The hardness of his metal button and zipper, but mostly him (oh god he was huge) chaffed your thighs as he sealed his lips over yours again and his hand went from your scalp down your neck and back to your hip again, holding you down to feel him.

You finally moved, smearing your wetness all over your panties and his jeans and Jesus, it felt so good.

——

Logan’s eyes took in all of you in your scanty clothing, following your every movement and when his eyes moved down to your damp panties he swallowed audibly. He clenched his jaw with the strain of holding back.

Logan couldn’t deny that he wanted you. His 200 year old heart felt brand new.

“Mmmmph. Here for this feeling Logan.” 

Your voice was the greatest symphony. His stomach clenched when you looked him in the eye.

“I’m here for you.”

You leaned forward and nuzzled his cheek with your nose, then whispered a demand in his ear.

“Touch me, Logan.”

Without thinking, but instinctively careful of you, Logan’s claws extended, shredding the sides of your panties and rendering them in pieces. 

“Fuck!”

You gasped as he stood up with you in his retracted grip and threw you on the bed, the scraps of your underwear abandoning you.

He couldn’t stand it anymore, he was so weak for you. He was on his knees at the foot of the bed as he ran his rough hands up and down your legs.

——-

“I’m touching you, now what?”

He spoke to you, but he was looking at the juncture of your thighs, at the well-manicured hair there, all casual, as if he weren’t teasing the hell out of you.

You had something for him.

“If you don’t know what to do, then I’ll show you.”

You reached up and took off your camisole and Logan’s eyes raked upwards and widened at the sight of what you were holding, which was your breast in one hand, as you pinched and rolled your own nipple. Your other hand trailed down your body as your legs fell open to give yourself access to your clit, which you had the nerve to play with in front of Logan’s face. 

——

Now he was the one who was angry.

Logan snarled, then batted your hand away.

“Careful Princess. Don’t poke the Wolverine.”

His hands tightened on your thighs and pulled you to the edge of the bed where he was.

———

Logan leaned down, his hot breath ghosting your pussy as he looked up at you with those gorgeous brown eyes. 

You couldn’t let the moment get too tender.

“What if the Wolverine wants to poke–”

Logan’s hand covered your mouth, cutting you off at just the moment he licked a long, hot, wet stripe up the center of you and then pursed his lips around your clit to suck at you ruthlessly.

Your smart ass remark was forgotten as a moan bubbled up into your throat. Logan took his hand away once it was clear that you couldn’t talk anymore, or at least that your capacity for sass had diminished. 

You were leaning up on your elbow and watching him feast on you, convulsing with each swipe of his broad tongue and each pull on your clit.

As mesmerized as you were at his skill, you managed to brush his thick dark hair away from his eyes so that he could see properly. You didn’t want anything getting in the way of the best head you’d ever received.

——-

Logan’s hands were now palming the most delicious meal he’d ever eaten; you were practically sitting on his fingers. For him, you tasted even better than you smelled. He couldn’t believe it.

He looked up at you incredulously, watching your breasts moving with each heave of your lungs trying to capture air, and your mouth open to capture it. He met your eyes and frowned at you as he reached down and stroked his pulsing cock.

“What’s wrong?”

“The fucking Cuties you eat all day long. They got you tasting like a fucking orange. ‘S fucking impossible.”

He yanked you closer and buried his face between your legs. You made those cute little noises with every swipe of his tongue, and he licked and sucked until you convulsed in his hands, screaming.

You were still trying to catch your breath before he was on you, licking and suckling your hard and soft breasts.

“Damn,” you murmured as Logan swiped his thick, bulbous head into your entrance and meeting resistance, “You’re so fucking huge Logan.”

It wasn’t the first time he’d heard that phrase, but coming from you it hit different. His chest puffed with pride.

Logn smiled into your neck, inhaling your scent and growling against your skin.

“Don’t be scared, Princess. I’ll make it feel good for you. I should be more worried than you are. I’m gonna split you open, but you are about to shatter me into a thousand pieces.”

He didn't mean to tell you the absolute truth. But he had.

Logan knew there was no coming back from this for him.

——

You shuddered at the words which were breathed over your skin.

Logan trailed the tip of his tongue up the side of your neck the looked you in the eye. It was too much.

You lowered your gaze and he chuckled, making you sigh when he tugged on your lobe with his teeth and started pushing inside you. It was slow, but sensual and somehow still desperate. 

With each increment of himself that he gave you, you felt destroyed, yet you wanted more. You clutched at his chest as you widened your legs for him, as if that would help.

“No one else has ever made me feel this way. Hurts so good, Logan. More. Please?”

The question was, were you just talking about his penis?

——-

You begging him made Logan want to cry as he slipped further inside of you. When he bottomed out, you both shuddered, you at the sensation of such fullness, and him at the way you were so snugly and warmly wrapped around him.

“Fuck! Princess. Should have known you would be hot and tight. But I wasn’t ready.”

Logan wasn’t ready for you at all.

—-

His pupils were completely blown and the look on Logan’s face made you clench down even tighter as he stroked deeper into you. 

“Y-yess, feels so good.” 

You felt like liquid in his arms. Your hands moved over his shoulders as you hitched your thigh around his hips. He ran his hand up your thigh and around to your leg, holding you in place as he began to pound into you harder.

You whispered a confession into his ear.

“I’ve dreamed about this so many times.” 

Logan lifted his head from watching his cock destroy you, his brow arched in surprise. 

“You’ve dreamt about me?” 

You bit your lip and nodded, all of a sudden feeling shy. 

“At night after a tense night between us, I’d go to my room and imagine that you’d follow me to…shut me up.”

Your lashes fanned your face as you smirked.

“Oh yeah?”

Logan swiveled his hips and you gasped. He was lighting you up from the inside.

“Sounds like a cool dream, Princess,” he said, leaning down to your ear.

“But you’re talking far too much in reality.”

And he began snapping his hips at a frenzied pace, causing your back to arch and your mouth to fall open, leaving you moaning until you screamed with your orgasm.

You couldn’t talk; hell you couldn’t even think when he was going like this.

——

At this point, there was no more finesse; Logan was stroking in and out of you, almost completely leaving you and reentering just to feel that sensation again. The way his fat cockhead breached you was like no other feeling in the world.

Your arched back was displaying your breasts to him at a perfect angle. It inspired something within him.

“Look at you Princess. All gorgeous and fucked out and taking this cock for me. All dumb now. Bet you like not having to think so much. Just take it like the good little slut you are for me, yeah?”

His filthy commentary made the coil in your belly snap, and you came like a freight train, squeezing him so much that he had pull out to keep from coming himself.

He kissed you as you could only whimper in protest. Logan felt a warmth blooming in his chest that he hadn’t felt in a long time, if at all, as you lay melted in his arms.

He couldn’t wait to be back inside you.

“Can’t tell you how many times I dreamt about having you under me just… like… this….”

And he slid back home.

“Mmm… those lips down there suck my tip so well, how will these lips do?”

Logan’s thick thumb was in your mouth and you swirled your tongue around it to show him what your mouth could do. He groaned and pried your mouth open with his hand.

“Keep it open and do what I say.”

——-

The band was tightening in your belly again. You knew what was coming and nearly came again when Logan spit into your mouth. The orgasms were blending together now.

“Swallow.”

You did, and Logan thrust into you hard an deep while thrumming your clit. That was all it took for you to cum again and this time, you gushed around him, making a mess on his bed.

He looked down in disbelief and laughed with glee, handling you like a fuck doll to do with as he pleased.

That's when you realized that you loved being used by him.

“Bet ya didn’t dream you’d be such a dirty little slut for me, did ya, Princess?”

——

Logan realized that he was your slut, too. He was lost to your sounds, the sight of your beautiful lust drunk face, and the feeling of your cunt squeezing him with multiple orgasms now.

He started tracing urgent circles on your clit again.

“Look at me.”

That’s when you said the most beautiful words to him.

“So fucking good L-Logan. Cum inside me. Please. ‘M on the pill.”

“Music to… my fucking.. ears….”

——

Logan’s fingers moved to your shoulders, holding you captive as he stroked deeper and harder. His harsh breaths in your ear increased, the most erotic sound in the world.

You clamped down on him and he growled, his cock pulsing as he spilled inside you, the warm wave of fluid combing and causing a lovely, filthy mess.

It was so satisfying.

And you couldn’t let it lie.

——

He pulled out and stared at the ceiling in disbelief, before looking over at you to find you playing in his cum and licking your fingers, leaning over to give him a taste on your lips.

“What? You tired, Old Man?”

He shook his head and laughed as his cock came back to life.

Kissing you back had been the biggest mistake of his life.

He was never going to get you out of his system.

And he wasn't sure he wanted to.

-----

You shivered as Logan loomed over you, with that damned eyebrow cocked and that smirk on his face.

“Oh Princess. You have no idea what you’re in for.”

Then Logan grabbed you and kissed you again.

——

Reblog if you enjoyed it! 🥰

[madschiavelique]

Hi Ily

Miguel who says he doesn’t want kids after gabriella but secretly tries to breed reader 🤭 breeding press, ass up head down, missionary but he holds knees up to readers chest afterwards for a minute? Anytime reader confronts this he denies it LOL lowkey gaslighting them

GN reader tyyy

aww ily too nony !! hope u like it hehehe

summary : miguel said he didn't want kids after gabriella... but sectrely tries to breed you content warnings : SMUT (18+) minors dni, pnv sex, breeding kink, scent kink (miguel can smell reader's ovulating), gn!reader, no use of Y/N word count : 627 tag list : @fandom-ash

A moan washed through your hot breath against Miguel's cheek as he thrust into you once more, making you feel as if he were buried even deeper within you.

Your calves rested on his shoulders while your knees were on either side of your head, grazing your ears.

"Miguel-" you swallowed as your voice caught in your throat, "I'm too full."

But that was all he was looking for.

Miguel had raised your hips, pressed your legs against you to drive his cock even deeper into you. He had to touch you to the core, make sure his cum would fill you completely and guarantee that you would bear his children.

You were already full, but he had to go on and finish one more time, as much for his own pleasure as to make sure you'd end up pregnant.

He could already picture you, your rounded belly that he caressed and kissed as you carried the fruit of his success inside you.

His chest was pressed against the soft skin of your thighs, his fingers gripping one of them firmly as he moved down to kiss your neck before only pulling his head back to admire the view.

He had before him the most sublime vision of all, your gaze all hazy and dumb fucked, breasts pressed and cunt just taking him perfectly.

His pupils turned red, his rhythm quickening while he let out low grunts as he came to kiss you.

He couldn't think of anything else, his only thoughts all focused on breeding you. He had to make sure you were full enough so that, if he pressed down on your belly, hi cum would drip out of you excessively.

Your mouth whimpering his name, your nails tracing long lines down his back and leaving crescent moon marks in his arm, your smell...

You were ovulating, and that's what made it so uncontrollable. That plump, warm, irresistible smell - how could he control himself when you smelled like that? You were ready for him, your body itself caressing his deepest instincts.

Your walls were so warm, enveloping him to perfection.

"Take it all in," he growled as he felt himself coming, accelerating harder inside you.

He bit into your neck, licking the trail he'd left. His scent mingling with yours was just so exceptional, he couldn't get rid of it, and didn't want to : it felt like pure heaven.

He grunted with a final thrust as he sank deep inside you, feeling his cum filling you all warm once more as you moaned at the sensation.

He came to press his forehead to yours, breathing open-mouthed before coming to kiss you, not moving from the position. He was still buried deep in you, making sure you stayed full and nothing came out.

"Are you... trying to get me pregnant?" you murmured against him, still breathless as Miguel nuzzled his head into your neck, inhaling your intoxicating scent.

He bit his lip and wrinkled his nose. He knew well that you suspected his convictions about not wanting any more children were dubious.

"Don't you like being so full of me, mami?" he'd asked, hoping to deflect the conversation.

"I do, but-" he came to kiss you, cutting you off.

"But what?" his voice was calm, honeyed.

"You said-" but he interrupted you again.

"What I said didn't matter." he sighed as he kissed your cheek, grinning against it as he came back to face you. "But what matters more to me now is that you admitted to liking it."

He raised your hips a little higher even than before, bringing his fingers against your clit which drew a moan from you.

"Then you won't mind if I continue."

Good things can always be overindulged.

[mirohlayo]

LIP BALM

( Lando notices that your lips are chapped, so he fixes that. )

warning : none, just pure fluff, all fluffy

note : i'm in love with this one cuz my lips are always chapped

word count : 927

You finish spreading the cream on your face, before closing the lid on the already half-finished pot. The tap water flows as you lather a bar of sweet-smelling soap in your hands.

You hear the door to your apartment close with a loud thud, indicating that your boyfriend has returned from his round of golf with a few of his close friends. A faint smile appears on your face when you hear Lando call you in a soft voice.

"Baby, I'm back. Where are you?" He asks you in a calm manner and his footsteps seem to trace every inch of your living room. You let out a small laugh, knowing full well that Lando can't wait to see and kiss his girlfriend. “In the bathroom” You reply simply.

And not a second later, the door suddenly opens to reveal your boyfriend all smiles, his eyes admiring you with tenderness and affection. He can't help but giggle when he sees his pretty girl, just like you can't hide your gaping, silly smile. He then leaves the door handle to approach you.

His arms come delicately around your waist, as he squeezes it gently. He lets himself be transported by the softness and graceful beauty of your face, his look as loving as ever. “You're beautiful baby” He said in a low voice to address this compliment to you and only you.

Your cheeks turn a pretty shade of pink, your smile growing bigger, as his eyes slowly drift to your lips. You thought he was going to kiss you, like he does every time he comes back from a long day, but when he stops on your lips, it's his eyebrows that furrow.

You're confused for a little while. “Your lips are chapped, princess” He remarks, while naturally running his thumb over the bottom of your lip. "I know. I always have chapped lips, I hate it" You answer in such a way that Lando can effortlessly guess that you're used to having this dead skin on your lips.

His hands come to rest on your hips, as he presses a light kiss to your temple. His arms tighten the grip he has around you, pulling your body closer to his. “Wait, I'll fix that” You say suddenly, pulling back to get out of his grip, but his arms hold you so tightly that he comes to trap you in his embrace again.

You smile shyly at the action, and then you try as best you can to open the small drawer under the sink. After reaching there, your eyes finally fall on the little blue lip balm placed at the bottom of the drawer, hidden between several other skin products. You grab it quickly and close the drawer with your elbow.

Lando examines the small blue object between your fingers, understanding that it is indeed a lip balm. You then remove the cap from the tube to apply the product to your lips, but a hand grabs the object before you can bring it to your lips.

"Let me do it for you, sweetheart.” Your boyfriend delicately holds the tube in his hands, and you let yourself do so since you know that he will never give up applying balm to your lips. With his fingers, he carefully lifts your chin so that your head is higher, and accompanied by soft and careful gestures, he applies a generous layer of balm to your pink lips.

His eyebrows furrow slightly and his lips purse, signs that he is focused on his task. You can't help but admire his beautiful blue eyes, his shiny curly hair, the beauty spots on his tanned skin. He is just sublime.

He continues to apply product to you, then he stands up and stops the contact of the balm on your lips by putting the cap back on the tube. "All done. Much better." He smiled to himself, proud of himself. You rub your lips together to disperse the balm evenly.

“Thank you, Lan” You tell him simply. Then, the corner of his lips stretches to form a smirk. “Wait, I have chapped lips too” He announces while looking at you mischievously. Your eyes drift to his lips as you try to grab the lip balm from his hand. “I’ll put some on you too then” You offer.

“I have a better idea than that, princess” And without further ado, he presses his lips against yours. His hands come to caress your hips with their thumbs, while his arms close to bring you closer to him. He delicately and tenderly moves his lips on yours, in order to spread the balm of your lips on his. He is careful with his gestures, there is simply love and affection escaping from this kiss.

Then he pulls back, pleasantly surprised and above all amused to see your face so red and embarrassed. He smiled shyly, his cheeks also taking on a rosy tint. He rubs his lips together, reveling in the neutral scent of the balm. “I think our lips are hydrated enough as it is” You finally say shyly.

“I don’t think so, baby.” His lips come to rest on yours again in a quick kiss. “I think I love it when your lips are chapped.” He places another light kiss. "I just want to kiss them. I want to kiss you."

And with those words, he ends up pulling you into another deep and passionate kiss, which ends with a cuddle session under the covers of your bed.

[ngayawneluoer]

playing with their hair

ˏˋ°•*⁀➷ neteyam, lo’ak

you do their hair. that's it. just sweet fluffy domestic moments before I drop the angstiest fic known to man in a few days

word count: 1310

✧ Neteyam:

As you chilled on a peaceful afternoon, you noticed your lover looked very overwhelmed as he walked up and down around the Omatikayan stronghold with no particular direction. He probably seemed very busy to others, but you had learned to recognise his stressed pacing after seeing it so often.

"Neteyam!" You called for him, grabbing his attention. He looked over, a gentle yet tense smile blooming on his face. You waved him over to where you were lounging on the ground, back resting on a mossy rock.

He sat beside you reluctantly, though his leg shook with nerves to replace his nervous pacing.

"What's wrong, Ma Neteyam?" You asked, a hand rising to stroke his hair.

He sighed, leaning into your touch, "Just worried. I heard my father talking about a situation with the sky people, and I just feel a little useless."

"It is not all your responsibility, Nete. Everything will be alright; trust your father." You comforted, hoping your voice didn't let on how uneasy his statement had made you. This was about making Neteyam feel better; you didn't need to add to his worries.

You sat up on your knees to take a closer look at his hair. As you sifted through the braids, he looked up at you, a little self-conscious, "What?"

"Your braids are really grown out, love. When was the last time you did them?"

He blew a raspberry in thought, "Not sure… a while."

"Yes, I can tell," You said with a smile, "Wait here."

You kissed his forehead gently before getting up and scampering away in the direction of your tent, and Neteyam patiently awaited your return. He barely had time to think before you returned with a few small satchels and a wooden comb, and he chuckled lightly, knowing what he was in for.

You kneeled beside him, fingers fumbling to unbraid his hair.

You twisted gems and wooden beads you had made for yourself into his hair, and as you progressed, you felt his muscles relax, a low purr vibrating in his chest. As you finished off a few braids near the front of his head, he held them up to his face to examine the beads.

"Are these the crystals you found when you fell into the river?" He laughed, looking at the little purple gems you had made into beads and incorporated into his braids.

You rolled your eyes, "Yes. And here I am, lovingly using them on you even if you won't ever stop teasing me for it."

As you eventually finished the last braid, he shook his head experimentally, his braids swaying around. You moved to sit in his lap, smiling at his playfulness before grabbing his face and kissing his nose, "You look great, Ma Neteyam."

"You are so humble, aren't you?" He spoke, accompanied by a small laugh.

"Even without my expert braiding," You giggled, grabbing his hand, "You are the most beautiful."

"Not as beautiful as you, my love." He grinned like a fool, planting a soft kiss on your knuckles, "Now turn around. I want to do yours."

"Oh no," You said sarcastically but obeyed and twisted to sit in his lap.

In response to your quip he teasingly pulled on a strand of your hair, not hard enough to truly hurt you. You yelped and smacked his thigh lightly, but relaxed into his touch and allowed him to play with your hair.

His gentle fingers raked through your locks, soft strands slipping through his fingers as you sighed at the comfort. He was never the best at braids, but after you had done his hair so sublimely, he only felt it was fair for him to return the favour. He opted for something simple: two large braids adorned with beads and feathers. They were slightly wonky and not as pretty as the ones you had done on him, but you still beamed when you turned to cuddle into his chest and thank him.

"Thank you, Nete." You whispered, revelling in the intimate moment, "And next time you're stressed, come to me instead of pacing around like a lost puppy."

He chortled softly, head resting on top of yours, "Yes, ma'am."

✧ Lo’ak:

It was midday on a long day of exploring the forest with Lo'ak, and the two of you finally took a break from the fatiguing hiking. Your backs rested against a tree in an enchanting clearing, finally at peace for the first time since Lo'ak had dragged you away from the Omatikayan village that morning. To your distaste, it wasn't long before Lo'ak became restless.

"Alright, let's go," Lo'ak ushered, beginning to rise to his feet.

You grabbed his arm and pulled him back down, and he landed back on the ground next to you with a thud, "Honestly, Lo'ak, we just got here. Give me a moment."

He groaned but complied, head coming to rest on your shoulder. You lovingly nudged your head to his before pulling him down to rest his head on your lap. Your hands began playing with a few of his braids, and with your soothing touches, he finally seemed to unwind and shut his eyes.

As your hands ran along his scalp, you felt the fuzz of growing hair and noticed the sides of his head where he had previously shaved were noticeably overgrown.

"Lo'ak," you muttered quietly.

"Hm?"

"Your sides are growing out, love."

He hummed in response, eyes still closed, "I'll do them when we get home," he drawled.

"I can do them for you." You stated, but he only hummed, barely processing your words. For someone so previously eager to get going, he sure seemed very drowsy.

You pulled out your hunting knife, the only blade you had on you right now. Your finger touched its edge experimentally, and you determined it was definitely razor-sharp.

At that moment, Lo'ak opened his eyes to see you sitting above him with the sharp knife. He quickly sat up, startled.

"Nah! I know you are not about to shave my head with that knife." He exclaimed, voice sounding almost panicked. He was always very precious about his hair.

You let out a half-suppressed laugh, "It's sharp enough! And I promise I won't cut you."

"No."

"Please?"

He sighed, giving in to your pleading eyes, "If you scalp me, I will literally kill you," He said, though his threat didn't carry much weight as he laid back on your lap, facing away from you to give you access to the left side of his head.

It was going well, but when you put too much pressure, Lo'ak panicked, flinching away with a hiss. He slapped your knee, "What the hell are you doing?"

You scoffed, throwing your knife down to the grass to slap the back of his head, "What are you doing, you skxawng? I was doing fine."

He slowly felt around his scalp, golden eyes sharpened in a glare. When he came to the conclusion that he had indeed overreacted, he admitted defeat with a huff and returned to your lap.

"Just hurry up."

"You should be nicer…." You spoke, focusing on the task at hand, "to the person holding a knife to your head."

He snuffed and turned his head slightly to bite your thigh.

You yapped, pulling away from him to avoid slashing him, "Lo'ak! It's like you want me to carve a hole into your head!"

He slightly laughed, though he masked it to avoid annoying you further, "Alright, alright. I'll behave."

When you were finally finished, he sat back up next to you and felt his head. He smiled softly, "I guess it's not too bad."

You rolled your eyes amusedly, shoving his arm, "You're impossible."

He wrapped an arm around you, planting a peck on your cheek, "Okay, okay. Thank you."

[l0vedoe]

Yandere!Lucifer X GN!Reader

Hi! My name is Kay, and it's my first time posting something on Tumblr (I don't know how to use this)

I've been really obsessed with Lucifer and I saw a Yandere!Lucifer fanfic that I loved a lot, but sadly there's no part 2 :( So, I decided I would write MY OWN Yandere!Lucifer fanfic! (Also without a part 2..) Here is the one I got inspired by! So, have fun! <3

Sorry if it's a little weird at first, english is not my first language and I'm still learning it!

Part 2 here!

Words: 3787

Synopsis: Your friends found a ritual that can bring Lucifer to your world and, unfortunately, you accepted to participate.

You were sitting on a pile of cushions with your arms crossed, not believing what you and your friends were doing.

A few days ago, one of your friends, Lesley, had found a ritual that could summon Lucifer, the King of Hell, into the human world. You knew that your group of friends were obsessed with those sobrenatural things, ghosts and anything with horror involved. You liked it too, but among them, you were the only one who didn't enjoy getting directly involved with these things. You liked the trivia, the facts, the stories you heard on the internet, but participate in rituals? Ha! No, certainly no. You were sensible enough to know that you shouldn't be messing with these things, whether you believed in them or not. You weren't scared, you just didn't want to disturb whatever exists out there.

Even though you didn't like the idea, you accepted, not knowing why though. Maybe it was because your friends kept insisting...

And there you were, in a dark room in an abandoned house that Lesley had found so that you all could perform the ritual.

You watched your friends as they prepared everything. One of them was making a large pentagram on the floor, while another was placing six candles around it. As soon as they had finished, the three of them stood inside the pentagram, looking at you as if that was all that was missing - and it was.

"Come on, you agreed to do it, remember?" Lesley says, holding out his hand to you.

"Unfortunately."

You said, standing next to your friends.

Lesley took a needle from his pocket and pierced everyone's finger, letting them each drip their own blood onto the pentagram below. Gab, your friend on your left, held out a lighter so that you could light the candles one by one. As soon as you had finished, you all left the pentagram and the atmosphere became more tense.

This couldn't turn out good.

"Lucifer, lord of the red skies, hear my sublime call, show us your true power and appear in this circle!"

When Lesley finished speaking, silence prevailed in the room... for a long time. Since you came here you believed it wouldn't work, but your friends really believed it would, so they were all very disappointed when they saw that nothing happened.

As soon as you thought to say something, the pentagram glowed in a gold so bright that it didn't seem real. It glowed so brightly that if you looked at it for too long, you would surely lose your sight, so you all looked away until the light ceased, and it did. With your vision still blurred, you turned to face the pentagram again and sighed in shock.

There, in the middle of the pentagram, was a short, blond man with pale skin. His eyes were yellow, his teeth were sharp and there was a red circle on each cheek. His clothing appeared to be of high quality and class, a red shirt covered by a white jacket with veiled details, matching his pants in the same color. His hat was also white, with a red band, a golden crown, an apple and a golden snake. A lot of information in a single hat, to be honest.

The man looked confused and annoyed as, with one hand, he was dusting his clothes.

Not only you, but all your friends looked at the man with admiration and amazement. “It worked..." they all thought.

No one said anything, they were too surprised to be able to formulate a single sentence.

"I knew Lucifer was a fallen angel, but I thought the fall would have affected his appearance?"

You say, analyzing the whole figure of the creature in front of you. He was pretty, you had to say.

Lucifer sighed, looking extremely bored with the situation.

"I thought no one knew the summoning ritual anymore, but it seems I was wrong." he says, looking at everyone in the room. "So...?"

He waits, with a judgmental look on his face.

Lesley wakes up from her thoughts and starts talking frantically.

"Oh, Great Lord Lucifer, King of Hell!" Lesley bows, followed by all her friends too, except you. Lucifer smiles. He liked those nicknames. "We're really, really sorry to bother you. We were just curious about whether this ritual would work or not, we didn't want anything to do with you."

Lucifer rolls his eyes. Of course, he had to have been summoned by a bunch of curious mortals...

"You see, I was taking care of very important things when you summoned me, and I am unable to return to my duties unless one of you makes a deal with me." Lucifer gestured his hand gracefully in the air as he spoke. You had to admit: the real devil was not at all what you expected. You expected a tall, red-skinned, goat-legged creature with long horns and a tail, but this...? It was laughable.

But of course you didn't laugh.

Lucifer turned his gaze on you, giving you goosebumps. His gaze on you was something you had never felt before, and it scared you. He was a shorty man and yet he was making you afraid of what might happen to you if you stepped in the wrong place.

You swallowed.

"I'm waiting!" Lucifer raised his voice, making everyone shiver. "Which one of you is willing to make a deal with me, hm...?"

Lucifer had an amused smile on his face as he analyzed each individual in the room. One shaking his legs, another trying to look away, another thinking about what to do to get rid of the blond man and, finally, you, who even though you were afraid, didn't seem to be letting your guard down. You looked at Lucifer with courage, and Lucifer liked that. He really did. When was the last time he saw someone like you? A long time ago, that's for sure. Most of the humans who ended up meeting Lucifer, willingly or by accident, used to be so scared and afraid that they would sometimes beg Lucifer to let them live with their souls in peace.

Souls... Lucifer never cared, really. Most of his deals didn't involve receiving the souls of humans in return, he had no interest in that, he just asked for anything that came to mind. Most of the time, something very silly. He didn't even like making deals with humans, it’s just time he wastes to satisfy the will of mortals.

Seeing that no one would take the initiative, he decided to do it for them.

"Since you guys won't make up your minds, leave it to me. Eeny-meeny-miney..." Lucifer began to choose, and when you saw that he was going to end up with one of your friends, you interrupted him. "Hm?"

"I'll make a deal with you if that's what it takes for you to leave us alone."

Lucifer smiles. He was loving your attitude.

"Are you crazy? You shouldn't do that! He is going to take your soul!" Lesley tried to warn you, worried about you.

"At least it'll help you not to mess with things like that again."

You say harshly, stepping closer to Lucifer.

So that's what you were afraid of? It was nothing new for Lucifer.

"All right, then. What's your name, dear?" Lucifer says, approaching you.

Everyone was looking at you worried and afraid. You liked your friends, but they were the kind who fucked up and left it to you so you could resolve things. Always.

"What do you want? My soul? Possession of my body?" You ignore the question the blond man made, leaving him a little frustrated, but without showing it.

He laughs.

"No, no, no! I don't care about these things, really!" He puts his hand on his chin and closes his eyes, seeming to think deeply, until he snaps his fingers, thinking of something. "Oh, I know! You're going to dance for me dressed as a duckling!"

You look at him with a mixture of confusion and disgust. Was this really the King of Hell that everyone was so afraid of?! You hold in your laughter.

"All right." You reach out to shake his hand, but he interrupts.

"Don't you know how deals work, darling?" he asks in a mocking tone, amused. "You need to tell me what you want in return."

"Oh, is that so?" you ask and he shakes his head positively. Actually, there was nothing you really wanted, you just wanted him to go away and for you to be able to come home soon. You should never have agreed to take part in that. "Oh, I don't know, man... give me a chocolate cake and we'll be fine."

Lucifer laughs softly. You seemed as bored as he was, and your boredom amused him too much.

He grabs your hand, and you automatically felt your casual clothes change into a yellow jumpsuit with a hood that had a duckling face on it.

You sighed. What a humiliation.

You danced a children's dance that you learned as a child, and you could see how Lucifer was enjoying it, his eyes shining, his cheeks reddening and a smile on his face. He clapped his hands frantically.

When you finished your dance, he sighed, snapped his fingers and your clothes returned to normal. A second later, you were holding a plate with a chocolate cake on it. It looked delicious.

"It was a great deal. I hope I never see you again!" Lucifer said, finally disappearing into a golden dust.

Your friends were wide-eyed and dumbfounded. They gave you a quick lecture on how you could have used that deal to get anything and you decided on a chocolate cake. You could ask for thousands of dollars, you could ask to have whatever you wanted, have as much power as you wanted, and you still decided on a chocolate cake?!

You didn't care, saying goodbye and making your way home while holding your chocolate cake. You were sure to devour it as soon as you sat down on your couch.

~

After that incident, your days went by as normal. You wake up, go to work, come home, go to sleep. Wake up, work, come home, sleep.

It was a routine you got used to, and it was good to be used to things, you weren't the type who liked new things.

However, after a week or so of performing that ritual and summoning Lucifer, you began to feel strange. You felt watched almost all the time, it was uncomfortable even to take a shower and this was something that was really bothering you. You've never been sensitive to these things, what was going on?!

In addition to the feeling of being watched, you also began to see figures out of the corner of your eye and hear voices calling you. You could have sworn you were going crazy, it wasn't normal.

You sent a message to Lesley, telling him what you were feeling. Lesley didn't care much.

Lesley Bff: idk, it must be in your head

Lesley Bff: I felt that way too during my first ritual

Lesley Bff: but you know what?

Lesley Bff: Lucifer could be watching you 👻

You laughed.

You: if he's not back in his hole, I'll send him back there myself

Lesley could be right. You've never taken part in a ritual before, so maybe it affected you more than you expected.

You sigh, smiling at the thought of being anything else. "How silly..."

You head for the kitchen to get some water. Opening the fridge, you take out your jug of water and fill a glass with the liquid, putting the jug away again.

As you bring the glass to your lips, you notice a blond man on the other side of the dining table.

You continue to drink your water.

Wait...

You spit out the water, looking back to the front and no longer seeing the man there.

"I need therapy…" you say, putting a hand to your forehead.

"Everyone needs it, dear." When you hear the familiar voice, you're startled and turn around so fast that you drop your glass on the floor, shattering it. "Wow... Do you get that excited just by seeing me?" The blond smiles debauchedly.

"What the fuck..." that's all you managed to say. "I didn't summon you, damn it! Get the fuck out of here!"

You demand, making the demon in front of you laugh.

"It's that way of yours that made me fall in love with you!" he says, still laughing.

What?

You look Lucifer up and down with disgust. How strange was it to have a religious figure, who you believed existed only in your imagination until a week ago, tell you that he's in love with you? Answer: very. ABSURDLY.

"Dude, I don't want any trouble, just do me a favor and leave."

You say, calmly, but Lucifer didn't seem to hear. His smile remained on his face, it seemed to grow with every detail he appreciated about you. It was as if he was hypnotized. You could notice his pupils dilating and his cheeks starting to turn pink.

He moves closer, making you take a step back to keep your distance.

"I'm afraid I can't…" he said, still smiling, but now without showing his teeth and without looking you in the eye. He was analyzing your body, your baggy white T-shirt, your plaid pajama pants and your matching slippers.

Your posture was as if you were ready to run at any moment. Lucifer noticed, after all, he didn't want you to run from him. Why would you run from him?

He took a step forwards, coming closer again, and that was the exact moment you knew you had to run. You weren't an idiot, you ran, you ran as if your life depended on it and, at that moment, it really did.

As you climb the stairs to the second floor of your house, you enter your bedroom and lock the door. You didn't think it would help much since your enemy was a demon who could easily teleport to where you were, but you still did what was possible at the time.

Trying to think of many ways to make the demon go away and get you out of this, you are interrupted by a voice on the other side of the door.

"Darling, please..." the voice was sly. "I don't want to hurt you, I just want to talk to you..."

You didn't trust him. You couldn't trust him. He was the fucking devil!

You didn't answer, and a silence remained. You tried to look through the keyhole, to make sure he was no longer there and you could finally get out. As soon as you put your hand on the handle to open the door, you felt a hand on your shoulder. You automatically turned round and punched Lucifer in the face.

"Get away from me!" You screamed, and before you could run away again, golden chains wrapped around you, preventing you from moving. "What the...!"

"Look..." Lucifer begins, caressing the cheek you punched. "I just want to talk, that's all."

You didn't want to listen, you were just trying to free yourself from the chains that bound you.

Lucifer continued.

"Your attitude that day captivated me, and I found it so attractive how you didn't show any fear. Not to mention, of course, that your dancing was incredible." he smiled. "I couldn't help myself and started watching you ever since. I couldn't stop thinking about you for a second. I've spent the last few days just watching you from hell. I've watched you sleep, you eat, you work, you shower..."

This last part seemed to have had a different effect on Lucifer.

Until now, you really believed that you could escape him, but as soon as you realized that it was impossible to free yourself from the chains, your body withered. You knew there was nothing you could do.

Even so, indignation and confusion overwhelmed you. What was this guy saying? In love with you? Really?

You looked at Lucifer angrily, while he looked at you as if you were all he wanted.

"I've been so lonely these last few years, and as soon as I started watching you I wanted to be with you even more and more..." he said, hugging himself and looking at random corners as if he was fantasizing about a thousand different things. "So I give you the honor of moving in with me! In hell!"

You widened your eyes. That couldn't be real. It couldn't.

Lucifer, the fallen angel, wanted you to live with him in hell?

You laughed. Of course it was a joke. If you accepted, he would steal your soul and you wouldn't be free for anything else. Yes, that had to be it. It was a way of persuading you, tricking you, so that he could get what he wanted.

You took a deep breath, recovering from your laughter, and kept your eyes on Lucifer's hopeful gaze.

"No!" you said, loud and clear.

You didn't want another deal, you didn't want to go to hell, you didn't want Lucifer! You just wanted to get back to enjoying your holiday peacefully watching whatever was on TV, you didn't want anything new.

Hearing you refuse, Lucifer's expression changed from a smile to disappointment. He couldn't believe it. Why were you turning him down? He was the King of Hell, he could make you powerful like him, give you anything you wanted! What was stopping you from accepting?

"Why?! I can give you anything you want! Power, money, comfort and lots of chocolate cake! Please accept it..." he looked sad, but deep down he hoped you would say yes. "I love you..."

His last words made you even angrier. The devil himself was confessing to you, you no longer feared him.

"But I don't love you! I want to get away from you, your hell and everything that surrounds you! I don't want power, I don't want money, I want you to go away!"

You scream, spitting out the words with hatred, not even caring what the blond guy might feel. You couldn't stand it any longer, the chains were tightening your body with each passing minute, you just wanted to go back to your normal life, without demons, without rituals, without anything weird.

You noticed Lucifer with his head down, quiet, and wondered if now he would accept it and leave you alone. Unfortunately, he wouldn't.

As soon as he raised his face, you noticed his eyes filled with a bright red colour, his horns began to appear from his head and his tail appeared behind him. Clearly, he was very angry, and now you felt genuine fear of what might happen to you now.

He began to smile, a fearsome smile that showed his sharp teeth.

His voice was slightly distorted. The chains squeezed you tighter and tighter.

"I am Lucifer, King of Hell, and it is not you who will change that." he approached, still smiling. "I can do whatever I want, and I want you, and I'm going to have you, whether you like it or not."

With those words, the chains disappear and you fall to the ground in pain. They were already suffocating you.

As soon as you calmed down, you looked up to find Lucifer staring down at you without smiling now. He snapped his fingers, forming a portal beneath the two of you.

Before you could fall, Lucifer caught you. You had your eyes closed, afraid to open them and see what you feared. You only felt Lucifer holding you until he finally stopped on the ground and released you. You open your eyes and realize you're in a spacious room, with a large bed with crisp sheets. The walls were dark, as was the floor. There were several pictures of Lucifer with a beautiful woman and a little girl and lots of rubber duckies scattered around the room.

You looked out of a window to see the red sky on the other side.

You were in hell, alone with the angel who had fallen from heaven, with no idea how to get home.

You despair, your breathing quickens and becomes heavy, cold sweat begins to run down your face. You turn around and find Lucifer taking off his jacket and hat and settling down in the bedroom.

You keep your distance as he starts to approach with that same smile as before, until you slam your back against a wall, making it easier for him, who could now approach you.

He came close, standing inches away. His hand caressed your left cheek, while the other took your right hand, bringing it to his lips so that he could kiss it.

"Let me go…" you plead, your eyes filling with tears.

Lucifer looks at you, smiling even more.

"No." he says, in the same tone you used when you told him that. "I tried to make it as friendly as possible, but you wouldn't co-operate. How could I keep the person I love close if I didn't force you to stay here with me?"

"This is not love...!" you say, without looking at him.

"It's your idea of love that's wrong, darling..." Lucifer's face moves closer to yours, his hand still caressing your cheek. "That love you humans appreciate doesn't exist, it never did. Love where the two live happily ever after only exists when one of the people involved makes it happen. And that's exactly what I am doing right now..."

He kisses the corner of your mouth, and you shiver at the touch of his lips.

Why you? What was so different about you that Lucifer needed it to be you? Since Lesley came with that, you knew it wasn't a good idea to do that ritual, you'd never done such things just because you knew it was never a good idea. You didn't want to mess with whatever was out there because you knew you could end up in trouble, and yet you agreed to take part in that damn ritual...

Look at the state you're in now: being forced to be Lucifer's prisoner.

"Don't worry, it won't be so bad." Lucifer says, now hugging you and putting his face into your chest.

You wanted to cry, scream, punch Lucifer until you couldn't, but you were afraid of what might happen if you did. You remained silent, cried silently, without moving a muscle.

Once again, your friends fucked up with things and you had to deal with it.

Just a quick reminder: This is just a fanfic, I don't like the idea of a yandere in real life. In real life, this is crazy and toxic, I don't support that.

So, if you guys liked it, let me know! You can also ask for me to write something about Lucifer again (I'm not doing other characters yet).

Thanks for reading! <3

[hairyjocktf]

A Growing Love

It was the best night of Kyle’s life. He had finally worked up the courage to ask his gym crush Alex out, and to his absolute surprise he had said yes. They’d met up for lunch on Saturday and the date was going so well that by dusk there was little space between them as they cuddled on Kyle’s leather couch. The movie on the TV had no one watching it as Alex’s hands worked their way under Kyle’s shirt, tracing over his well defined abs in a way that made Kyle shudder with pleasure. He locked eyes with Alex, the man’s short brown hair glowing in the last purple rays of the sunset. Alex moved his hands upward, pulling Kyle’s shirt up and over his head to reveal his toned and smooth upper body. Kyle was always a little insecure that he wasn’t super muscled but what he did have he kept in good shape. Alex felt his hands along Kyle’s body, moving up from his abs to his pecs, before pinching his nipples to get a moan out of Kyle. Alex could feel Kyle’s cock pushing from inside his sweatpants, growing harder by the second; he moved one of his hands down to address it personally.

Kyle was in absolute heaven. Alex continued making advances, stripping Kyle of all his clothes and feeling his smooth body move under his touch. Alex grinned at the state he had Kyle in. He leaned down and whispered into Kyle’s ear.

“I want you to grow, babe,” he said softly.

“Wha-” Kyle began to say before Alex put his finger to his mouth, shushing him.

“Don’t worry about it, let me take it from here,” Alex said assuringly. Kyle’s eyes closed as he fell back into his relaxed state. Alex bent his head down and began kissing Kyle’s chest. Within seconds the pecs began pushing out, inflating slowly as they put on years worth of size in seconds. The massive pillows looked out of place on the rest of his thin body. But that wouldn’t last for long, as Alex began kissing his way down Kyle’s torso, with the same growth following. Kyle’s abs, only visible from him being so skinny, vanished as his stomach packed on mass, growing out into a large belly. Muscle was definitely growing under there, but under a thick layer of fat and bulk now. Pleased with this, Alex continued further, his lips gracing Kyle’s rock hard cock  Kyle felt himself getting harder than he ever had before, as without knowing his cock began to grow, pushing 6, 7, 8 inches and growing thicker around. His balls swelled in size and hung lower in their sack. Another moan slipped out of Kyle’s mouth as precum gushed from his now massive cock. Alex moved back up and planted his lips straight onto Kyle’s, cutting his moan short. Locked in that passionate embrace, Kyle’s jaw began to square and sharpen and his brow jutted out just a little more than it had. 

He was really starting to look more masculine now, to Alex’s delight. But those twiggy arms and legs had to go. He started at the bony shoulders, planting kisses along Kyle’s collarbone and moving towards his bicep. The area inflated like a balloon, his shoulders packing on size and growing to truly boulder size. The bicep was next receiving the same treatment, exploding with muscle mass with his tricep not far behind. Thick veins appeared as the muscle stretched his skin and pushed out from his previously skinny frame. Finally his forearms and hands bulked up, becoming thick and manly. Alex repeated with the other arm until his upper body was sublime; Incredibly strong and muscled with a good layer of fat covering it, giving him the look of almost a strongman. Alex quickly moved down to his legs, kissing down his thighs as the quad muscles enlarged to unreal proportions, before softening just a bit from fat. His calves follow suit bulking up nicely, and lastly his feet expanded to size 16 from what had been puny size 9 feet. Kyle was a beast of a man now, built like a truck and oblivious to it all. He had been in a trance of ecstasy, the growth felt so good that he couldn’t move or resist if he had wanted to. Alex leaned back and laughed as he took in what he had done. 

Alex went back to rubbing his hands over Kyle’s body, feeling the new mass of his frame. It was sexy, but he felt something was missing. Paying no mind to Kyle’s moaning, Alex spat directly on Kyle’s chest and began to rub it into his skin. Kyle groaned loudly as thick, blonde hairs began to break the skin, curling out first from around his nipples before spreading like a wildfire across his chest. The hairs grow thicker and denser as they coated his pecs in a thick rug of hair. His follicles were working in overdrive pumping out hair after hair, his chest hair growing so thick you couldn’t see the skin below. He worked his way south, watching Kyle’s gut erupt with thick blonde fur. The hairs raced down from his chest and erupted across the expansive, coating his muscular belly. 

Satisfied, Alex raised Kyle’s arm to reveal a pitiful few wispy hairs in it. He spat into the nearly bare pit, working it into the skin. Immediately, blonde hairs began worming their way out. The hairs grew and grew, twisting through Alex’s fingers as they blossomed from the formerly smooth skin. His pit filled up with an incredibly thick bush of dirty blonde hairs, enough to really trap the sweat in there and stink. And stink they already did. Alex stuck his nose in and took a whiff of the sweaty musk that was already building. He repeated the process in Kyle’s other armpit, his body squirming as hair burst out. More moans escaped Kyle’s lips as the pleasure built and built.

Alex spat into his hands and began massaging Kyle’s bulky shoulders, causing hairs to start springing up. The fur worked its way from his chest up and over his shoulders, with more curly hairs sprouting by the second. His arms were not spared as thick coarse blonde hairs coated his forearms, hands, and even his upper arms. Alex watched as the back of Kyle’s thick hand sprouted long hairs, slowly inching their way from his wrist towards his knuckles.

Kyle groaned as he felt fur engulfing his body, but was too enraptured in the feeling of absolute bliss to care. His mouth hung open, allowing Alex to lean over and spit in his mouth, following it up with a full kiss. Kyle’s jaw itched as blonde stubble began to poke through, giving him a light chinstrap before spreading out. It grew thick and bushy, a real beard beginning to sprout on his face. The hairs crawled up his cheeks giving him a lush coating before the growth descended, racing down his neck. The thick hairs quickly met up with his chest fur, connecting and making sure it would always be visible above his shirt.

With a fittingly masculine beard to match the rest of his upper body, Alex was pleased with the bear he was turning Kyle into. He scooted down on the couch and spat on Kyle’s thighs, which were definitely looking barren compared to the rest of him. As he rubbed it in the bulky expanse was quickly encased in a thick mat of hair, covering his thighs completely. Alex moved down to his calves, which were also fully coated. Then Alex got to Kyle’s bare feet. He took his time, slowly massaging them in his hands as curly hairs began to sprout on the top, quickly spreading to coat the entire surface. Thick hairs popped out of the tops of his toes as his feet grew a coat to match the rest of him.

Alex was nearly done, but upon looking over Kyle’s lusciously hairy body he saw one spot left. Alex spat into his hand and began slowly stroking Kyle’s erect cock, which was still leaking copious amounts of precum. As Alex’s hand slid up and down, pubes began to sprout from Kyle’s groin. What was originally a small, sparse bush was quickly growing into a thick forest, as curly blonde hairs erupted from his skin. Kyle uttered a loud moan, feeling the growth in his most sensitive region. Spreading like wildfire, the blonde fur claimed his balls as well, growing into a carpet making them look even larger. Hairs continued to shoot up across his groin, reaching up above his waistline and giving him a thick triangle of fur. Smaller hairs even started sprouting up the base of his cock. Kyle’s buddy shivered from the intense sensation of the hair growing in, and with one final pump of Alex’s hand, his cock erupted. Kyle groaned in pleasure as ropes of thick cum shot into his dense chest hair. He had never felt this good in his life. His cock still dribbling out the end of his massive load, he opened his eyes to see Alex licking the cum caught in his fur. 

Kyle finally took stock of what had happened to him while he was under Alex’s trance. He now had a hulking, hairy body of a bear, complete with muscle gut and a fur coat. He could feel immense strength in his beefy body, rubbing his hands through his dense chest pelt. Alex, who had been much larger than him before, now looked small next to him as he laid Kyle’s hairy pecs. He looked up from the furry mounds at Kyle and grinned, feeling accomplished in what he’d done.

[narutouzumakiarchive]

There are certainly gothic elements in Naruto and Sasuke's dynamic, particularly in Part 1, and there is one image that really highlighted this aspect.

Now, the sublime, according to Edmund Burke, is the attractive, "delightful horror" caused by the experience of pain and terror. Though I best like how it's described by John Dennis as the mingling of pleasure and horror. So there's a sharp emotional juxtaposition that's central to the modern conception of the sublime, and in Naruto, juxtaposition is a motif that has significant prominence in Naruto and Sasuke's relationship (especially given their function as foils).

In the lead up to VOTE 1, Kishimoto blends Sasuke's experiences of horror and terror because of Naruto. There's an increasing sense of astonishment and fear at the great magnitude of power that Naruto displays but there's also significant apprehension at what's to come — an apprehension characterized by Sasuke's constant questions about who, or what Naruto is. And things come to a head during VOTE 1, when Sasuke is so shaken by Naruto that he experiences a level of terror similar to what he felt during the massacre and his confrontation with Orochimaru.

That said, this particular post isn't about VOTE 1. In the image that caught my eye I noticed there was something interesting about Sasuke's expression.

Now the onomatopoeia used in that panel (zoku) of the first image that I posted has been used before. In Example 2 below we see it used to represent Sasuke's clear cut excitement at being able to fight Gaara, whereas in Examples 1, 3, 4, and 5 we see it used to represent a range of obvious negative emotions ranging from fear to terror.

But the image of Sasuke reacting to Naruto summoning Gamabunta evades simple classification. Sure there's that typical fear and incredulity that Sasuke felt towards Naruto, reflected in Sasuke's single sweat drop and thoughts. But his facial expressions don't neatly align with Sasuke's more obvious expressions of negative emotions (eyebrows thoroughly furrowed, mouth agape AND downturned, increased number of sweat drops, etc.) In fact, his expression was a near exact parallel to that of Orochimaru's throughly excited face after he saw Sasuke defeat his opponent in the Chunin Exam Preliminaries.

This image encapsulates the paradoxical nature of Sasuke's feelings about Naruto's strength that stretches throughout the Part 1. There's certainly an attraction to the Naruto's physical strength that had been present as early as the bell exam, but as the manga progressed, we also see how Naruto's strength generated a myriad of different emotions in Sasuke: anger, confusion, anxiety, incredulity, apprehension and fear.

And we also see this representation of the tension between the positive and the negative in Naruto's reactions to Sasuke as well, with the most significantly being Naruto's physiological response of "tingles" at hearing Sasuke acknowledge him, despite the fact Sasuke lashed out at him during a negative moment after being traumatized by Itachi.

The Orochimaru issue image really captures both sides of this contradiction at once. It perfectly represents the delightful horror that Burke called "the most genuine effect and truest test of the sublime."

Part 1 was really about building up the beautiful and complex tragedy between Naruto and Sasuke while Part 2 emphasized healing and progress, though we still see some of those tensions at play (ex. fighting violently with their fists to read eachother's hearts).

[bibuckkinard]

Devout

for Day 1 of @bucktommypositivityweek - Things they love about each other.

bucktommy - Words: 675 - Rating: M - Complete

Buck wraps his arms around Tommy’s neck as Tommy buries his face in Buck’s shoulder. He takes a deep, deep breath and says, “Wow.” He can feel the vibrations of Tommy’s laugh. “A ringing endorsement.” “Oh, always,” Buck says emphatically and when Tommy goes to move off of him, he tightens his hold, wraps his legs around Tommy’s hips again, and holds on. He loves this. He loves everything about Tommy, but this... It’s the way he got to come to Tommy’s house, which feels far more like home than his loft ever has. It’s the way Tommy was excited to see him, it’s the way he fills him, covers him, kisses him, and touches him...it’s almost sublime. Every aspect of their relationship is something to be savored. Buck knows that he has had great sex before, but this, what he has with Tommy is true intimacy. Someone he can make love to and laugh with all in the same time span. The thing is, he hasn’t told Tommy any of this. Not yet. It’s only been four months and he’s spent a hell of a lot of time wondering just when he can tell Tommy all of this, tell him that he loves him, but he’s got him in his arms and well, he can’t hold it in anymore. “I’m not crushing you?” Tommy mumbles against him and Buck runs his fingers through the hair on the back of his head. “No,” he says softly. “Hey, can I tell you something?” Tommy leans far enough back to look him in the eye. “Of course. Everything okay?” “Oh yeah,” Buck insists, cupping his face in his hands and kissing him. He’s still got his legs wrapped around Tommy’s hips so he can’t go far. “Everything’s great, I just...I...I love this, you know? I love coming to your place and knowing you’re here. I love the way you kiss me hello. I love the way you got me out of my clothes like I’m something precious-” “-you are,” Tommy insists gently. Buck smiles. “I love the way you kissed every single part of me like you couldn’t get enough-” “-I can’t-” “I can’t get enough of you either, but my point is, uh, if that wasn’t quite clear is that I love you. Like, I’m ridiculously head-over-heals for you.” Tommy's smile is soft, but bright, crinkling the corners of his eyes and scrunching his nose in a way Buck always finds totally irresistible. “Yeah?” “Yeah,” Buck says, remembering a night four months ago when they said those words when Tommy was looking for confirmation and found his courage and more when Buck kissed him back. “Evan,” Tommy whispers, searching Buck’s face, like he’s looking for confirmation then too and Buck hopes he’s giving it. He knows he is when Tommy leans forward and up and kisses his birthmark. “I love you too,” Tommy says simply. Like it’s not even something he has to think about. “Hmm,” Buck breathes. “Know what else I love?” Tommy chuckles, fond and happy. “What?” Without any warning, Buck braces himself and flips them over so that he’s on top. He buries his face in Tommy’s neck, sucks a bruise there. “I really, really love the way you say my name,” he whispers lowly into Tommy’s ear, gratified when Tommy shivers against him. “Wanna see how often I can get you to say it tonight?” “Please,” Tommy whispers and Buck won’t deny him anything. He moves down Tommy’s body, kissing every piece of skin he sees. When he gets to his goal, he hears it, deep and guttural, like a prayer. ”Evan.”

[raitonsfw]

Hi I’d like to request for Dazai x fem!gf reader and ab that Dazai couldn’t get the thoughts off of his mind since the night before reader allowed him to finish inside for the first time in their relationship and it’s just kinda got him weird ( not in a bad way ) but in a way he wants to do it again until he dies? Also breeding kink? Thank you,

𝚟𝚊𝚗𝚒𝚕𝚕𝚊 𝚍𝚛𝚒𝚙𝚙𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚍𝚘𝚠𝚗 𝚢𝚘𝚞𝚛 𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚐𝚑𝚜 | 𝚍𝚊𝚣𝚊𝚒 𝚘𝚜𝚊𝚖𝚞

synopsis: Dazai had pleaded day after day to let him cum inside you and you were always so worried about the consequences, a simple ‘no’ leaving your mouth every single time. But the one time you say yes after he begged for it, yearning for it from the very depths of his arousal, Dazai becomes absolutely obsessed with breeding you. And the next day is nothing but new territory for you as he pushes you to your limit, over and over again…and well, guess it’s time to start shopping for the nursery.

warnings: 18+ mdni, smut (holy fuck y’all), fem!reader, needy-fucked out-desperate!dazai, breeding kink, cunnilingus, cum eating, creampies (a lot of them), squirting, overstimulation, dubcon, slight masturbation (dazai), dirty talk, yearning, begging, desperation, rough p in v, many positions (missionary, doggy style, mating press), dazai has insane stamina, talks of having children, four rounds (probs unrealistic but who cares?), aftercare, pet names (baby, princess, darling, my love)

a/n: i got really really really carried away, my bad. Fr my sex probably wrote this instead of my mind, im so ashamed of myself. anywho, enjoy my version of breedy dazai! wc: 1.5k. m.list

divider credit: @benkeibear

“Please, Y/N, one more time.” You heard Dazai beg in your ear, his cock sliding into your already abused cunt and you let out a tiny bruised noise. “I promise it’ll be the last round.”

How did you get like this exactly? Underneath him for what felt like an eternity with cum and your squirt dripping down the backs of your thighs and pooling thick against the bedsheets? You knew it had something to do with last night, but your mind was so hazy you couldn’t quite puzzle the pieces together. 

“Can I, baby? Please, just one time.” “Fuck, ‘M so close, need to cum so badly.” You remembered Dazai groaning last night, the memory finally faltering up in your mind. And of course, you weren’t thinking– you said ‘yes’, moaned, practically whined for his seed as his dick drilled into your sweet spot over and over and over– You should’ve thought it through but as you heard the telltale grunts from Dazai, burying his head into your chest with a heady moan, your senses became distorted and you begged for him to fill you up.

And he sure fucking did his job too, ropes of cum spurting against your cervix as he stilled inside you, pressing up against it harshly. You couldn’t feel anything else but his cum at the time, it was so wet and so warm inside you as your entire body went numb– and your mind too. You definitely thought once or twice about having his kids but that fortunately brought you back from your sublime wanting, reaching down for Dazai’s hand and squeezing it tightly as he shuddered against you.

You remembered his face when he pulled out, his cock damp with your arousal and the tip wet with remnants of the cum he fucked inside of you and you could see something whirling through his brain as he sat there for a second on his haunches, collecting himself. Dazai had watched his cum drip out of you and run down your folds like it was some sort of prize he had won– and was waiting for it to be given to him. Before you blink off the orgasm that had piled through you, his tongue had caught wind of your leaking cunt and you arched your back off the bed, clutching the brunette’s strands with a whimper.

“Dazai–!” 

“Mm?” He had looked up at you, with those precious eyes of his still completely clouded with lust and you let out a sharp moan as he plunged his tongue into you, lapping at all the cum he had filled you with. It was possibly the hottest thing you ever witnessed in your life as his bandaged arms came to rub at the sides of your hips, his mouth moving skillfully against your folds and you felt his tongue curl to get every drop. Dazai tasted you through yet another orgasm, it wracking your body with immense pleasure and once you unclenched from his pointed tongue, he crawled onto you with a fervent kiss.

“What’s gotten into you, my love?” You had asked him once you managed to pull away, carefully rubbing down the extent of his chest, soothing the small scars that shrouded the frailness of his figure.

“Nothing, princess. I just really wanted to taste you.” 

And maybe breed you. Dazai didn’t know what to do– ever since he had felt your pussy clench around him as he leaked into you– finally filled you up with his cum, his mind had been constantly begging for it again. The entire next day you were gone, he had been at a loss for words– his dick awfully hard in the confines of his trousers as he paced around the living room in distress. He tried to get himself off, slicking his hand up and down his cock with heavy intent on finishing… but he wanted to finish inside you– it drove him nearly mad as the precum bubbled at his tip but never truly let him release.

He waited for you all day, all fucking day and when you walked in; you were basically jumped. He hauled you over his shoulder with a kiss and a promise, something you were so deftly aware of and you got excited– you wanted to see what he had in store. Your boyfriend was quite theatrical, you could say; sometimes he’d end up with his hands tied in his own worn out bandages and other times, you’d end up with marks in places you didn’t even know he could reach. Very eccentric was your Dazai, the master of heeding your sex like it was dessert served on a silver platter.

And oh, that’s right– you’ve been in three different fucking positions now. The first time, you two didn’t even make it to the bed; he threw you against the plush pillows of the sofa and ripped open your blouse like it was a present, mouthing at the lacey bra you wore underneath. His fingers snaked into your panties like second nature, finding your clit and rubbing against it to warm her up. And a few minutes later, he sunk into you with a groan as you sucked him into your tight heat. And guess what he had started to beg as soon as started to thrust deep inside you?

“Baby, please can I cum inside again? Would mean the world ‘t me… I wanna–” And your response had been the same as the night before. A yearning yes, complete with a moan of his name to spur him on even more.

You could feel the cum seeping out of you as he laid you down onto the edge of the bed, the second round much more languid than the first. Dazai rolled his hips into you, peppering kisses down your chest and through the crevices of your neck and all you could do was push back against him in earnest as another orgasm crept up, threatening to burst in your nerves and it overtook you with a tremble. He came with a whimper of your name, seemingly more desperate than before, his eyes glancing down to your cramped pussy and watching the cum ooze out of you.

“Need you still, can we go another round?” 

You were flipped onto your tummy, his hand pushing against it so you can get into the position he needed you in– on your hands and knees, with your back arched beautifully to show the swell of your ass. Before you could complain about feeling weak, he plunged into you. Your knees nearly collapsed in on themselves, but Dazai held you up with the hand on your tummy and plowed into you like it was his last day on Earth. And yet again, you chased your overwhelming orgasm as he bruised your cervix with every thrust. 

This time was different as a wave of heat rushed over you– some type of pressure you’ve never felt before and you couldn’t even warn him as you squirted all over his cock with a shaky cry. You tightened around him, pulling his third orgasm from him inadvertently. “H-Holy shit, baby…”

And that’s how you got here, with Dazai pleading in your ear for one more fucking round. 

You were in another position now; he moved you into a mating press and your legs shook with overstimulation as he held onto them. You honestly weren’t sure if you could cum a fourth time and it was the same with Dazai, but all he wanted you to do was milk him dry. He never expressed it to you, but you knew in the back of your mind that you made him into this monster, this goddamn fucker who wouldn’t stop til his cock leaked out nothing.

“Doing so good for me, darling. S-So fucking good. Wanna breed this pussy, till you're so full– till you have no choice but to have my children.” His eyes were rolling back as you stared up at him with dazed eyes, his words hitting you just right and your brain short-circuited with such a dangerous desire. His entire body had started to shake from overexertion and his praises were babbled on his tongue, stuttering along with his hips and you clenched around him as he thrusted into you and you felt like everything was falling apart around you. You saw stars as you came one last time, your vision blacking out as you arched into Dazai’s chest. 

He followed shortly after and as he came, nearly nothing came out but he still tried to fuck it into you anyway. Dazai let your legs fall against the bed as he pulled out, kissing everywhere he could reach in the process. “Did so well, my love. Was so perfect for me, I love you so much.” 

The praises didn’t stop for a while, even as he carried you to the bath and let you soak first before he even dared to try to fit in beside you. Dazai changed the sheets as you caressed the marks on your skin, bubbles soaping up the bruises and you whined out for him a few minutes later. He came running when you did so, making sure you were alright and you clinged onto his arm, unwrapping his bandages with a graceful twist. “Get in with me…” 

a/n: wanna get tagged in future writing posts? join my taglist!

[very-straight-blog]

It really tires me how some fans try to make Aegon look like an asshole who doesn't give a shit about anything. This is a fundamental misunderstanding of his character as such. Of course he cares, that's literally the essence of his personality. He cares. He and Aemond both feel too much emotion, but if Aemond sublimates into self–improvement, trying to be strong, cold and detached, then Aegon is literally an open wound. I want to talk about this, also using Tom's interviews (yes, I think the actor's opinion is valid in this matter) and the few scenes that we have in the first season.

We know that Aegon didn't want the throne and wasn't ready to rule. The scene with Alicent, who explains to him the prospects for the future of their family, seems very traumatic to me. Imagine what it's like to know from your childhood that the lives of people close to you depend on you, on how strong you'll be. Such a burden can destroy anyone. You can't just ignore it.

Next, we're shown how Aegon drinks on Driftmark. And that's a pretty sad sight - several cups in a row, wincing, as if taking a medicine that will help him to feel better.

Actually, I like the theory that he gets drunk after Aemond says that Helaena is his future queen. Another reminder that he'll have to marry his own sister, for whom he has no feelings. And he drinks because he tries to numb his pain.

The same goes for his obviously unhealthy attitude towards sex - he uses it to numb his loneliness. I believe that Aegon literally didn't have the opportunity to feel what love is in any form. His father disliked him and showed it openly. His mother loved him, but she never knew how to express it the way he needed to. He was married to his sister (the tragedy for both of them) and it was a matter of duty, not feelings. At the time of the first season, Aegon is deeply unhappy and this is obvious. I have every reason to believe that his need for physical intimacy is based on the fact that this is the only form of love he can receive. Considering that Aegon is quite smart, I even think that he himself understands how ugly this form is, but there's nothing he can do. During the act, I guess in some unhealthy way it really saves him from loneliness, longing and the need to be loved, but in the end it makes him even more unhappy.

Then it's impossible not to remember the eighth episode and the famous:

It's still clear that family is important to him. Yes, he feels like a stranger among his relatives, but it hurts him just because he cares. He cries and says "it will never be enough for you or father" because he wants it to be enough. He still loves them and wants them to love him back.

"What Aegon wants more than anything is to be told by his dad ‘I have faith in your capabilities as a young man. I see you bringing prosperity to King’s Landing.’ But he hasn’t said any of those things. His dad has completely ignored him, in fact, throughout his entire youth." (с) Tom Glynn-Carney for Esquire

Next, we can move on to episode nine and the fact that Aegon ran away. I've seen a lot of opinions that this is an indicator of selfishness and like...what? He was scared. This follows from the script:

He was scared, he'd never leave his family, much less Sunfyre. It was a decision made in a panic when he realized that his father had died and the moment he had feared all his life had come - he needed to accept the crown to protect his family.

During the conversation in the carriage, we see that Aegon was really hurt that his father didn't love him:

He even said "because he didn't like me" when talking about his father's attitude towards him. He didn't use the word "love" because it was obvious to him that his father didn't love him. He used the word "like", unknowingly emphasizing that he couldn't count on even simple sympathy.

He's also well aware that Viserys could have named him the heir, but didn't do so simply because he didn't want to and because of this, he - the eldest son, feels unworthy of the throne, and also completely lost.

When Alicent tells him that Viserys wanted to make him the heir before his death, an emotional dam breaks inside him, it's literally written in the script:

And at this moment, looking at the dagger, he's not even listening to Alicent, he's completely in his thoughts - maybe, at least for a second, his father cared about him. And when he asks his mother if she loves him, we see how much he craves love, how broken he really is, how important his family is to him.

I know this post is insanely long and I haven't even analyzed the various microexpressions in Tom's acting, but I'm really tired of people wanting to make Aegon something pure evil.

"I also see Aegon as being incredibly complex. He's not an out-and-out psychopath. I see a multilayered character that just has endless potential of pits of vulnerability and empathy and things that we don't see. I think it's his vulnerability that breeds the darkness. It's the way he copes, it's his security, it's his safety blanket, it's an addictive coping mechanism for him to shut things out and to be cold." (с) Tom Glynn-Carney for Entertainment Weekly

[idlesuperstar]

Donald was the best partner in movies I ever had. We were brothers and we loved each other. We had such a deep, sublime chemistry. There was nothing intellectual about it, just this amazing natural harmony. I first met him in the commissary at 20th Century Fox when Robert Altman told us to have lunch together after I’d been cast in M*A*S*H. At first I thought: I don’t think this guy likes me. But it was just the opposite. The thing was: we were such opposites. I’m a Jew from Brooklyn and he was a Canadian from Nova Scotia. But it was perfection: never any conflict, just bread and butter – a relationship that felt like a miracle. Making M*A*S*H made us immediately close because while everyone else was working with Bob Altman, we worked for Bob Altman. He kept us a little segregated. We were both really unsure about the improvisation, the direction of the movie and Bob’s approach in general. Donald was hired well before me, but once I signed on we had the same deal: no less than second billing, and the same money. Later in production, Richard Zanuck, who was at that time running 20th Century Fox, said they wanted to give me first billing. I thought: “Oh that’s a nice honour. But Donald is my friend! I’m not going to be opportunistic – he was here first and should have first billing and I’ll stay in second place.” That’s what Donald meant to me. I never told him about that. A few years later, I turned down the screenplay for the movie that became S*P*Y*S, about two bumbling CIA agents. Then Donald called and said: “Would you do it with me?” And I said: “Oh that’s a different story. Of course!” On the first day of shooting in London, we drove to work together and he said: “What do you think of the script?” I rolled the window down, threw it out and said: “It’s a piece of junk. The only way this will work is if we swap parts.” But the producers could not digest that, so we just did the picture. Yet we did bring some of our own ideas to the table. There wasn’t an ending, for instance - so Donald and I agreed that we would just walk up the road with our backs to the camera and sing Side By Side. We worked together and we succeeded together, but we didn’t socialise very much – though having the opportunity to develop a relationship with some of his family was a total joy. Once, Donald was making a movie in the Bahamas and I came to visit because I had a week off from making The Long Goodbye and was interested in his leading lady, Jennifer O’Neill. Kiefer, his son, was five or six and Donald introduced us. Kiefer wanted me to stay, so when I said goodbye, I said: “Kiss me, Kiefer.” He had an ice cream cone in his hand and put it on my face – he kissed me with his cone. Donald was a true human being – and not all of us are. He could identify with any of us. His presence and his nature, his life and his mind are an asset for everyone. We all come and go physically, but as a being, he was really special and unique. I don’t put anything in the past. With me, it’s all in the present. My feeling is that for as long as I am living, Donald will be with me. I have no doubt about that, and I’m not being sentimental. I can see Donald now. I will see Donald for ever.

Elliot Gould - Donald Sutherland remembered by Keira Knightley, Elliott Gould, Ralph Fiennes and more in The Guardian

[atlaswav]

EMPYREAN ☾

INFO: 4385 words, dr ratio x gn!reader, college au SYNOPSIS: Art is the practice of capturing life in still motion, and yet Dr Ratio can never seem to capture your beauty in its entirety in his sketches. His waking thoughts are clouded by images of you, the bane of his existence. He hates it, but can't resist. The Gods - if there are any - are cruel. WARNINGS: none! for once! except attempted kiss. AUTHOR'S NOTE: my head hurts so bad rn and i need sleep but there were thoughts in my mind. also i think its really boring lowkey but hey! i said i'd publish something by sunday! also i think his characterisation is really off today but oh well.

Divinity wasn’t real. There were no real Gods, they didn’t exist – couldn’t. Science proved such. Miracles were situations of insurmountable luck, and no one’s fate was “ordained” like astrology maniacs liked to think. 

But when Icarus fell from the great skies of myth, reaching for the sun and Gods and the heavens beyond, Veritas Ratio was sure that the gnawing terror and morbid awe that seized that man at the sight below was familiar to him. That sprawling city touched by the sublime sun, smiled upon with the benevolent God peering through the clouds whose gaze melted fragile wax. 

He was sure that that fear and unprecedented awe was the same as when he first glimpsed you. 

His fall, however, wasn’t graceful or worthy of any legend. 

“Oh– you alright?” 

“My apologies, I–” he glanced up, leaning down to immediately pick up his sketchbook which had fallen to the ground, then he froze. 

“...Are you okay?”

This, he wasn’t certain. You helped him gather his supplies again, and he thought he’d never see you again – there were so many buildings and so many classes, why would he? But as if fate was stringing him along, he wound up sitting next to you for his art studies class. The class he convinced himself he needed to take for a proper education.

Icarus’ fall was met with swift demise, and he was so sure that he would too. But who was he to compare himself to legends? Even still, why else would he be stricken by the malady of your existence, if you weren’t some overwhelming beauty that his greed desired to capture? 

Art, however, could not capture life as any man would like. It could never catch the way light reflected in the eyes, illuminating the soul. Neither the delicate intricacies of a smile, a twitch of muscle, a beating of a butterfly’s wings, the delicacy of life.

Try as one might, however, Dr Ratio aimed to do this, anyway. Charcoal was his chosen medium, pervading clean paper, marking intent, focus and desperation. 

He remembered you casting him a smile before seating yourself beside him, and all his doubts in taking the art course dissipated from his mind – despite your literal run in moments before. 

You became immersed in the artwork at your fingertips as the professor chirped about something he should’ve probably been attentive to, but to him, it was now entirely meaningless. Your cheeks lifted when you smiled, creasing the corners of your eyes. Your hair fell over your face in graceful lines that framed your features, and your hands moved with such gentle dexterity that he yearned to capture them in his drawings. Your eyes narrowed in the slightest as your brush met the canvas, mouth agape with your fixation on your art. 

The charcoal snapped, and Veritas Ratio likewise snapped from his immersion, frowning at the dark lines that marred the page. 

In his sketch, your eyes were obscured by a wall of smudged black ash instead of the curtain of hair that covered your features. Ratio sighed, leaning back from the desk. Your eyes were now downcast on your palette as you mixed paints. 

There was a divinity in you that he yearned to capture, like sunlight in a jar. Futile, but with noble intention, he swore to himself. 

Then, there were more classes. More days that passed, more instances where he observed your habits, your artwork that had you enrapt, just as he imagined his own perverse captivation with you. There were more charcoal sketches in sketchbooks that never saw the light of day, ones where your smile was too wide, didn’t meet your eyes, or didn’t carry the exact expression that yours projected. 

Art could never imitate life – Veritas was simply mortal. But mortals could always dream of something divine.

There were times where he left the classroom for a moment, and he feared you might glance over at his sketchbook to see the hundreds of sketches of yourself. Smiling and frowning and focused, the end of your paintbrush sitting absently between your lips, your gaze cast to the side, small splatters of paint smudged under your eyes and on your fingers. It was unsettling. He knew it himself. There had to be an extent to his observation when it became invasive, yet he feared losing your presence without ever capturing it in still motion. 

This is when a man grows desperate. 

“May I draw you?”

“...draw me?” you glanced towards him, reluctantly tearing your gaze from your own work. “Why?”

“A study.”

You smiled a half smile. An expression that he was familiar with, given that you were already halfway through the semester. Still, there was nothing to your encounters but smiles of courtesy and niceties (he’d never admit that he so desired more).

“Sure. Show it to me later.”

Now, Dr Ratio discovers, there are few things that may disturb a man’s endeavours when he is enrapt in his studies. None of which affected Veritas in the slightest as his charcoal became dust on his fingers and he clicked his tongue at the material’s reluctance to bend at his will. 

None of which can successfully capture the being that is you, and he isn’t sure he wants to, anymore. Art isn’t made for the eyes of greed, it’s made for the soul that yearns for the cure of the senses. Or so the greats all say, but he thinks he cannot be one of them. He couldn’t imitate life, he was versed in the calculations of life instead. 

Caught in his thoughts, he taps his – new – stick of charcoal on the edge of the drawing pad, frowning at the new sketch he was pondering. 

“You’re really good.” your voice echoes from behind him. 

He turns abruptly to find you standing behind him, head tilted as you examine his sketches. Your nose scrunches the tiniest bit, and your eyes crinkle with a hint of mirth.

“Does my nose really look like that?”

“Of course.”

You laugh at his blunt reply. “Can I see your other drawings?”

There are over seven thousand languages that still exist in the world, and Veritas Ratio cannot think of a better, more dire way to say no than to agree completely. 

“Of course.” He flips through his sketchbook quietly, letting you glimpse his insanity. You were making him lose his mind, really. He watches your expression – how your eyes widen, your lips part, your brows furrow. 

“Did you do all of this since the last lesson?”

No, but he wouldn’t say that – 

“No, I've been studying you for a while.”

– Or maybe he would. 

Your laugh is another divine thing that he wishes he can capture. “Oh God, I’m embarrassed.”

“Don’t be. You make a good muse.” 

“Do I?”

He nods, biting his tongue. He doesn’t want to incriminate himself any further than he already has, and he’s already become a stalker to you. 

“Is that a compliment?”

“Yes. Undoubtedly.” 

“Consider me flattered, then…” 

“Dr Ratio. Veritas. Veritas Ratio.”

“...Veritas.” 

He loves the way your lips mouth his name. He’d never say it to your face, though. This, at least, would die with him. 

“Well, thank you. You may return to your painting.”

You huff a laugh. “So formal. I’m nearly done, so I don’t really have anything urgent to worry about. Meanwhile you…”

He’s inclined to agree. The professor was checking everyone’s progress the next lesson, and he still hadn’t grasped what he thought to have been perfect. 

“Ah. Right.”

“Do you want me to like… pose for you or something?”

He hesitates. Why? He doesn’t know. Maybe something about morality and art and the truth, but he doesn’t care anymore. “That… would be ideal.”

“Alright, but you’ll owe me as well. Deal?”

This is how Veritas Ratio finds himself pacing his apartment, fixing his hair in the mirror, dusting the tops of the bookshelves that line the walls and polishing the kitchen counter so that each surface is devoid of any evidence of his own guilty conscience. 

His anxieties were immediately multiplied hundredfold when you knocked. He waited a couple of seconds – to not seem too desperate, with his heart racing out of his chest – then finally opened the door. 

You stood there, smiling with such casual ease that he found himself wanting to know everything about you. 

It was absurd. 

A tiny, suppressed part of him welcomed it. 

“Hey, Veritas,” 

There it was again, the unfamiliar way you said his name, smile widening. He decided against a verbal reply, instead nodding and guiding you into his living room. 

“You’re so… clean.” you glanced about the apartment, marvelling at how almost every surface had a shine to it. But it made sense, once you saw him sitting at the couch, already observing you with the unshakeable gaze you’d felt since that first class. 

You weren’t entirely oblivious to his stare, just as you weren’t unobservant with the way his cheeks dusted with pink the day before – and today, it seemed – as he made eye contact. 

You smiled, and watched him blink a couple of times before turning away with a cleared throat. 

“Yes. I can’t stand a mess of any sort.”

“Figured.” you shrugged, standing next to him. “So, where do you want to start? What should I do?”

He hesitated for a second before directing you to the armchair across from him. “Just sit there for now. We’ll start here.”

You complied, allowing him to hurriedly arrange the folds of your clothes and angle of your limbs with fleeting touches. 

He appeared nervous, but it was endearing. 

Minutes pass by in silence, faint scratching of charcoal on paper filling the space between you. The sunset’s light poured in through the balcony behind you, casting a dramatic shadow over the armchair. Purple, orange, yellow – you wondered if that scrutinising look he gave you was disapproval or awe. There was no way of telling, with his complex set of facial-expressions. 

But interpreting him through guesses wasn’t how you envisioned this would play out. 

You cleared your throat, but he didn't glance up. He held the sketchbook up next to you, but quickly returned to the page, making harsh lines across the page. 

“So… Veritas?”

His head snapped up, stray strands of violet hair splayed across his forehead. “Yes?”

“Why did you take art?”

His eyes narrowed on you. Examining, maybe. “I felt as if I needed to. For a well rounded study, of course.”

You laughed. “Of course you did.”

At this, he paused. “What do you mean by this?”

“Your reputation on campus. You have… what, four degrees? You’re famous.”

He bit the inside of his cheek, never putting down the charcoal, but tapping it against his fingers instead. “Oh? What else have you heard?”

“Well, they say you’re insanely smart, but you’re also pretentious.”

He frowned. The way his brows scrunched was endearing. “I’m not pretentious. Everyone else is simply far underqualified.”

“They also say that you’re an elitist.” you laughed. 

Concern only grew on his expression. “Do you think this of me?”

You shrugged. “I’m yet to form an opinion.”

He nodded. “Good. Wise.” he said, almost as if reassuring himself. 

“...How long will this be, though? I can only sit still for so long.”

He blinked, turning to the sketchpad again. “Not too long. I promise.”

“Can we go out to dinner, afterwards?” 

At this, he choked. You stifled a laugh at the renewed blush on his cheeks. 

“Dinner? Why?”

“You owe me, don’t you?”

This is when he realises that he was a fool in allowing you in, to allow the muse of his most divine visions to become human. 

He’s greedy, though. No one and nothing can change this. He wanted more of you. He wanted to hear each thought that crossed your mind and know each little item that occupied your attention. He wanted to dissect your mind and examine your memories and behaviours like an insect splayed under a glass, and he wanted to understand you so well that he became sick with the thought of you. But in his mind, you could do no wrong. You were so divine; with your secret smiles that held secret thoughts, and knowing glances that examined his frame with an artist’s scrutinising eye. 

“Fine. Just let me finish up.”

So you stay put, and you return to the thick silence that envelops the room. The clock ticking above the armchair only taunts you as your limbs begin to ache from lack of movement. 

Scratching on paper, huffs of exasperation, the occasional tearing of a page, and he finally sighs, rising from the couch. The sun had long since set, only remnants of daylight still lingering on the sky’s deep blue. The light was gone. You wondered if he’d captured the sun in his drawing, as well. 

“It’s done. Not good as the professor would like, but it will do for now.” he said, running a hand – dusted with black – through his hair. His forehead was coated in splotches of black thumb prints. 

You similarly rose from the armchair, stretching, and walked over to the drawing on the coffee table. 

You didn’t realise this was how you looked to him. Your features were only emphasised in the dramatics of the sunset, the slight turn of your lips and curve of your cheekbones accentuated with the shadows. He’d taken artistic liberty, you realised, in painting you within the sun’s dying light. 

You almost looked divine. 

“Holy shit.”

“Does that hold a negative connotation?”

“Veritas, you’re crazy.”

“...negative?”

“It’s so…” you met his gaze which was already searching yours for a reaction. “It’s brilliant. It’s so, so good.”

His shoulders relaxed as he sighed. “Good. Let’s go to dinner, then.” he turns to leave, but you stop him, grabbing his arm. You found that it was hard as chiselled marble, and almost want to find out exactly what’s underneath, but you dismiss the thought. 

“You have something on your forehead.” you point. 

He frowned, rubbing his forehead with the same hand that had been gripping the charcoal for the past hour. Smudged it even further. His forehead was thinly coated in black ash.

You sighed. “Here, let me.” 

He leaned down for you to wipe the stains, hair hanging over his eyes. He smelled faintly of the library with its old books, and partly of ink with something deeper. His eyes darted around to meet anything but your gaze, long lashes fluttering, crimson red eyes matching the shade of his complexion. 

You make him nervous, you confirm with delight. 

“There. That’s the most of it.” you withdrew, and he stood back up quicker than you thought possible. 

“Alright, dinner, then.” 

“Dinner.”

“I’ll go and… wash up.”

“Don’t keep me waiting.”

He realised how much he was doomed as the sky started to pour with rain, just as the two of you stepped outdoors, beyond his apartment complex. 

“How far is the place you wanted to go?” he asked you.

“Not too far. Let’s just keep walking.”

He shrugged, falling into step beside you. His steps were terrifyingly large, as would make sense with his tall frame. 

“So what are your interests?” he blurts out, staring at the ground as he walks. 

“Well, art, obviously,”

“Yes, of course, do you think I’m dense?”

“Maybe a little.” 

“I will interpret that as sarcasm.”

You laugh, and as if the heavens had heard you, the rain began to fall heavier, darkening the landscape, tingeing the air with smells of petrichor and a cold that wasn’t there before. 

Ratio thought it was ironic. A pathetic fallacy of his doomed fate. 

“You have to be kidding me.”

He sighed, massaging his temples with his fingers. “We are unfortuitous.”

“...You could’ve said unlucky.”

“I choose not to associate myself with idiots.”

You chuckle as you attempt to cover your head with your arms, running to the nearest block for shelter. The rain, however, doesn’t desist. It continues to pour until you’re both soaked through – his hair soaking wet, sticking to his forehead, white shirt clinging to his carved abdomen that you desperately try to avoid looking at. 

“Should we just go back?” you move your hair out of your eyes, squinting in the relentless downpour. Through the slight shelter of the building behind you two, the rain pours heavy as ever, unlikely to cease soon. 

“I was waiting for you to come to that conclusion.”

“...Why didn’t you offer it first?”

Because he thought you looked good in the rain with wet hair. He wanted to remember the image – burn it into his eyelids – before he returned to sketch it. Number of things he’d never say aloud: two.

“I was waiting for you to come to that conclusion yourself.”

“Pretentious.”

“Thank you. Now can we hurry? It’s only getting heavier.”

His situation, ironically, then becomes even more perilous. A series of unfortunate events, unfolding like a train of misfortunes. First, your meeting – strikingly uncomfortable for both of you, he imagined (it certainly was for him) – then your failed attempt at dinner, interrupted by an unforgiving rain storm. He didn’t think it could get much worse. But there was always room for improvement, as he knows better than anyone, the academic that he is. 

There are, now, puddles of water throughout Dr Ratio’s apartment that he hadn’t bothered to clean since you got into his shower.

You, in his shower. 

He wonders if there is a God, somewhere out there, delighting in his torment. It was never supposed to devolve into such interactions, only observing you long enough to capture your beauty on the page. 

He wonders if you know he is thinking about you often as he does. Thinks you’d be completely repulsed by him. This is what frightens him. 

“Veritas?” your voice echoes from within the house. 

He gets up from where he’s sitting in a puddle near the kitchen, racing to the bathroom at your call. Did he manage to miss something incriminating in his bathroom? He’d made sure that every surface was bare before you entered, had he not?

“Yes?”

“...This is embarrassing. Can you please get me a towel?” 

This felt like one of those cliches in romantic comedies that Ratio’s colleagues liked to watch. Mindless scenes of dry humour and burlesque attempts at “comedy” he found appalling. It was happening to him, now. Spiting his academic rigidity. 

“Of course. One moment.”

He tries not to think about you, standing completely bare behind the door, as he sticks a hand into the bathroom, head turned away. If you looked closer, you’d have seen the bright red shade of his ears – but to his merit, you take the towel, shutting the door, a muffled “thank you” audible through the door. 

He sighs, sitting on the floor beside the bathroom. 

Whatever Gods there were, were bestowing great suffering on him today. 

It takes a couple minutes for you to finish up in the bathroom. Another few more for him to wash up, and another handful of minutes for you both to be seated on the couch together in awkward silence. 

You wear one of Ratio’s old shirts and shorts, scrolling on your phone, and he is sitting, arms crossed, on the opposite end of the couch, staring at you again. Outside, the rain still pours in unceasing rivulets, dissipating any ideas for going out for dinner. 

He thinks his clothes look far better on you than on him. Thinks that you were made for this world and its inhabitants, crafted so perfectly. Wonders what wouldn’t suit your wear, because he can’t imagine anything that you couldn’t look good in. 

“Okay,” you say, turning off your phone to stare back at him, “I ordered. Should be here in about ten minutes.” 

He nods, and averts his gaze. 

You smile. His behaviour is amusing.  

“Veritas?”

“Yes?”

“What are your greatest fears?”

“Excuse me?”

You shuffle closer, and he notes a glint in your eye that suggests mischief. Teasing, as he’d seen before. “What are you afraid of? Like, the dark?”

“Nothing.”

“Boring. Come on, there’s gotta be something.” 

He frowns, brows bunching together as he stares at the wall. An easy, natural habit. “Nothing. Fear is irrational.”

“Right.” you laugh at his blatant refusal to cooperate with you. 

“Am I being funny?”

“No,”

“Why are you laughing?”

“Because you’re being so… unexpectedly childish.”

“What?” he seems to prickle up with indignation. “What do you mean?”

“Your stubbornness to just answer my question, and the way you’re…” you gesture to his posture, the way his arms are folded and he glares at the wall. “Behaving. It’s childish.”

“Well, what are you afraid of? Nothing, right? It’s a stupid question.”

“I’m afraid of insects, the dark, I could go on, really,”

Veritas glares at you, meeting your eyes for a second. “Fear is stupid.”

“Really?”

“Yes.”

“Then why are you scared of holding eye contact?”

At this, he blinks. He turns to face you, still frowning, but his gaze flickers between your eyes and the rest of your face. Your laugh only makes him roll his eyes. 

“You really can’t hold eye contact, can you?” you say through a fit of giggles. “Have you ever dated?”

“Yes, I can hold eye contact,” – but not with you, it seemed. You intimidated him – “And no, I haven’t, it’s a distraction.”

“From what I’m seeing, you can barely even be near me without blushing.”

He blushes, breathing a sigh of exasperation. 

“Dr Veritas Ratio’s one fear is making eye–”

Then he grabs your shoulders, forcing you closer, and holds your gaze with such intensity that the words disappear from your lips. You blink as his stare bores into yours, crimson eyes deep, shining with something unfamiliar to you that you realise you want to decipher. 

People like to say that eyes are the windows to the soul, and Veritas Ratio’s was ridden with something that burned like the sun's dying light. 

It’s then that you realise how close you are to him, how his firm grip on your shoulders softens and his touch drifts to hover above your jaw, how he smelled so inviting, familiar and distant all at once, and how his lips were slightly parted, how they looked so soft –

Knocking, at the front door. 

You both tear away, and he stumbles to the front door to collect your delivery. 

You never regret anything more than this moment. 

“Delivery.”

You nod, obscuring your face with your hair as he sets down your meal on the coffee table. 

You’re both back to silence, pleasantries and common niceties as the meal passes. 

Neither of you meet the other’s eye. 

Time ticks away as you finish your food and clean up, wiled away by carefully weighed words and half-met glances. 

He hates it. 

He hates how you were looking at him with such curiosity, and he hates how he let you tease him. He also hates the delivery man for not being delayed by the rain, but he also hates himself for not ignoring the knocks on his front door. 

“I think I should go now.”

Yes, that would be best. “Why? It’s still raining, you could stay.”

“Well…”

He knows your dorm is far from his apartment complex. He knows that you’ll have to trek through the rain, and yet he also knows that if you stay, he won't be able to sleep. He still has images of you – fresh in his mind – to sketch onto the page. 

“It’s no trouble.”

“Okay. I’ll stay the night.”

“You can sleep in my room.”

“But–”

“Don’t argue.”

Somehow, you’re inclined to do as he says. 

Time, like all things, passes too quickly and too slowly all at once. Without time, nothing exists, but with it, it’s all too agonising to live through. 

This is exactly how Dr Ratio feels as he sits at the coffee table, the small space dimly illuminated by a lamp, as the entire apartment is still. You’re probably sleeping, as he reminds himself, tearing another page out of his sketchbook, unsatisfied with his own hand. 

The rain was now tame, a steady rhythm to his never-ending endeavours to capture your beauty on the page. 

Maybe it’s when the charcoal snaps in his hands, or maybe it’s when his lamplight flickers that he decides that capturing life in still motion is helpless – a pointless and impossible venture that can never succeed. 

You’re too deific to fit into a world of his creation. 

What are supposed to be your eyes – painted with fervour, but lacking depth – stare up into the ceiling as he dozes off, charcoal falling from his hand, eyes drooping closed. Slivers of moonlight cut across your painted face as he slumps onto the table, snoring softly.

—

You wake to sunlight in your eyes, blinding and harsh, and realise where you are. 

It all smells like him – that scent that you can’t place that smells good, and a lingering smell of the library with all its papers. It all smells like him, and when you walk into the living room, you find that his own apartment is completely devoid of any sense of himself. 

But when you find him slumped at the coffee table, lamplight still illuminating the space with its curtains drawn and rays of sunlight peering through, he’s obsessed with you. 

You’re unsure what, exactly, to feel. There are abandoned pages scattered all throughout the space, and unfurling one, you recognise your own face staring back at you. 

Each and every drawing is of you – your hair wet, clinging to your skin, you drowning in his clothes far too large for you, or your face painted with curiosity and entrapment. 

It’s you through Veritas’ gaze, and you think that beyond all else, he made you look divine. 

When Veritas Ratio wakes to his papers – all wrinkled and partly torn – sitting in front of him, neatly arranged with a note on top, realisation hits him, but he can only laugh. 

“Veritas Ratio’s greatest fear: eye contact with the person he’s obsessed with. Completely irrational – even though he can draw me perfectly from memory. A shame, really. Looks like you’ll have to invite me over to pose for you again.

So you can get my eyes right, of course.”

written by @atlaswav , published 26th of August 2024