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pedroscurls · 16 hours ago

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at your pleasure (one-shot)

summary: din didn't need a partner, but he can't deny the fact that having you around has helped him complete his missions much faster. after din messes up a mission (which rarely happens), the truth finally comes out.

pairing: din djarin (the mandalorian) x fem!reader content warnings: EXPLICIT CONTENT (18+ ONLY MDNI), unprotected p in v, din keeps the helmet on (obviously), fingering, oral (m! receiving), edging, bondage (din ties reader up), light choking, creampie (oops! maybe? be safe y'all), no use of y/n. word count: 4.1k a/n: please bear with me! this is my first time writing for din ever so i really hope that i captured his characterization to the best of my ability. this is also part of @mushgloomz ppcu smut writing challenge! i got din djarin, trope: colleagues, with edging and bondage. please heed the warnings, it's gonna be a filthy one <3

“You almost died,” you tell him, bringing him back to the Razor Crest with one of his arms draped around your shoulders. He’s leaning against you and he turns his head to look at you—have you always been this attractive?

“But I didn’t,” he answers.

“Yeah, because I was there to save your ass.” You shake your head and gently set him down on the edge of your mattress. “Let me just get your bacta spray and you’ll be good as new.”

“Don’t need you to take care of me.”

“Well, your actions say otherwise. Stay here. Don’t go anywhere.”

Din just huffs and grunts in response. From underneath the helmet, he lets his eyes deviate to your ass when you walk away. He wouldn’t admit it but you had distracted him. The mission started out like any other mission—he would hide in the shadows while you did the talking. Your beauty always seemed to get most of their attention so rarely did it ever turn violent. He also knew that you could handle your own—he’s seen it plenty of times.

But tonight… Tonight was different. He didn’t know when he had started to look at you differently, but when he saw the man get a little too close and touchy for his liking, he ended up ruining the entire plan.

And the man ended up getting away.

It was just a mess, and it was his fault.

By the time you come back, his hands are resting on the was edge of your mattress. His shoulder is in pain, blood soaking through the fabric—it would be his fucking luck that he’d get stabbed just right next to his armor.

“You know the drill,” you say, motioning towards his armor. “I’ll turn around but you need to let me do this.”

“I can do it myself.”

“We lost the bounty because of you, Din!”

Din. He tightens his jaw—he should be angry at you that you’re using his name, but instead he’s angry with himself. Mainly because his body is reacting to the way his name leaves your lips.

“We’ll get him.”

You sigh quietly and turn around. “What got into you tonight anyway?”

“Nothing.” He answers, standing up to remove his armor until he’s clad in just his undergarments. He places the helmet back over his face and clears his throat. “You can turn back around.”

You nod to yourself and turn around—your eyes linger on his frame. He’s always been so broad with the armor on, but even clad in just his pants and tank top, he’s so much more muscular, so big, so—

“Don’t have all night,” he interrupts.

You roll your eyes and walk up to him, standing between his legs when he sits back down on the edge of your bed. He keeps his hands resting on his lap as your fingers delicately—gently—touch his skin.

“This might sting,” you warn him.

“Used to it.”

“Seriously, Din…” you sigh. “What happened tonight? We’ve done this so many times.”

“Nothing,” he repeats. “Now, can you get on it with it?”

You tighten your jaw and without warning, release the spray onto his skin. His large hand comes up to grip your hip instantly.

“Fuck,” he growls.

“You said you were used to it.”

Din looks up at you from his helmet, tilting his head slightly as his jaw tightens. His hand on your hip remains and you clear your throat as you stare down at him.

“Was it because he was getting too close to me?” You ask quietly.

“No,” he answers quickly.

“Din…”

“You’re a distraction,” he interrupts.

“What?”

“You heard me.”

“How am I a distraction? We’ve handled so many other bounties without any issue before!” You exclaim, glancing down at his hand which only seems to tighten even further around your hip.

“Didn’t want a partner. Didn’t need one,” he says, ignoring your question.

“Yeah, we established that already.” You roll your eyes. “But we both know that you’re making twice as much as you are now because you have me.”

“You’re just getting too friendly and—”

“Just stop, Din.” You shake your head, taking a step back from him as his hand drops from your hip. You find that you miss his touch—you always had felt something for him but he had always seemed so out of reach.

He stands from your bed and looks down at you. “You need to know when to stop.”

“Stop?” You ask, confused. “What are you talking about?”

“He was getting too close to you,” Din admits.

“It’s always part of the plan, Din,” you sigh. “And if he crossed a line, you know I would’ve handled him.”

“Didn’t like him touching what’s mine,” he whispers. He gazes at you from behind the helmet, hands itching to reach out to you.

You clear your throat. You can feel your cheeks heating up and even if you’ve never seen what he’s looked like, you can’t help but still feel so attracted to him. Your body reacts to his words—wetness beginning to pool between your legs, throbbing and yearning for him.

“W–What?” You don’t move, watching him near closer and closer to you. “Yours?”

“Yes,” he mumbles. Din reaches up, gently brushes his gloved-clad hand across your cheek. He sees your lips part and there’s a part of him that wishes he can feel your lips on his, can have you gaze into his eyes.

But he can’t.

He cannot show his face.

“Din…” you whisper. Your heart races faster and you feel his thumb brush against your lower lip.

“He was touching you,” Din grunts lowly. “And you let him.”

“It was part of the plan,” you repeat. “It’s always part of the plan.”

“Not like this. You seemed to like it.”

Then, he drops his hand from your cheek and grips your hips, turning you around as he firmly presses himself behind you. He leans forward—the coolness of his helmet a relieving sensation along the side of your neck. Your body’s on fire and you can feel his hardening length pressing into you from behind.

“Din,” you whimper, pushing back against him. You can hear his muffled grunt from behind the helmet. “I was just playing my part… like I always do.”

Din clears his throat and reaches around you, hand coming up to wrap around your throat. He doesn’t apply pressure, but he can hear you inhale sharply. You’re still squirming against him, the roll of your hips and your ass firmly pressed against his front causing his other hand to grip your hip tightly.

“You like the attention, don’t you?” He whispers.

“Only from you,” you finally admit. “I just wanted your attention. Only yours. Always yours.”

Din bites back a smile and his hand moves from your throat down to your chest, brushing against your breasts as he skates his hand down between your legs. “You are a distraction,” he repeats. “It’s becoming harder with you around.”

“What is?” You tease, moving a hand behind you—palm brushing against his hard and impressive length. “This?”

“Don’t be smart,” he growls. “You’re the only one I ever pay attention to,” Din admits. “It’s dangerous. You are dangerous.” Suddenly, he turns you around to face him and your hand still continues its movement—he’s glad that you can’t see his face because his eyes flutter at the sensation of your hand palming him.

“And you’re not?” You ask, increasingly gaining more and more confidence. You pull your hand away and gently push him back until he falls back onto your bed. He looks up in your direction, head tilting as you watch his hand move down to squeeze himself—you can visibly see the outline of his length and it causes a pulsating throb between your legs.

“I’m not,” he huffs.

“You are.” You answer, watching him kick off his boots before he moves further up on your bed until he’s sitting up and resting against the headboard. You wish you could see his face, his eyes because you begin to pull the ends of your tank top over your head, revealing that you were completely bare underneath.

“See, dangerous,” he points out, nodding in your direction. Din clears his throat as he watches you push your pants down your legs. Once you stand completely bare and naked for him, he slowly begins to push his own pants down his legs.

“Not my fault you can’t focus,” you quip back, slowly climbing onto the bed.

“I can focus just fine,” he grunts. Din sits back against your headboard—now clad in boxers and fitted tank-top as his large hand squeezes his hardening length.

“Yeah?” You ask teasingly, slowly crawling over to him. You can’t see his face, but you can see the rise in his chest, the grip he has around himself as he squeezes once again.

“Yes,” he whispers quietly. He lets out a low groan when he feels you straddle his waist. Din can feel the wetness between your legs when you firmly sit on his lap, right on top of his growing erection. He lowers his gaze to your breasts, bringing his large hands to your hips. He slowly feels your hips roll against him and he whimpers, the grip around your hips tightening.

“Liar,” you whisper, lowering your head to gently move your lips across his shoulder and to his collarbone. When your teeth grazes his soft skin, you feel him flip you over onto your back as he hovers above you. You stare up at him, watching his head tilt and you hesitantly reach up to rest a hand on the side of his helmet. His hand darts out to grip your wrist and your eyes immediately soften—hoping that he can see that he will always be safe with you.

Then, you catch him off guard when you press your lips on his helmet. He feels his breath catch in his throat as he loosens the grip around your wrist. “Din,” you whisper.

“Hm?”

“Do you know how much I have thought of this? Of you?” You move your hand and grab his own, bringing it down between your legs. He hesitates—almost like he’s unsure that you really want this but when he feels your slickened folds, something overtakes him.

His eyes stay directly on you—watching your mouth slightly part when he slowly begins to circle your clit. Then, he hears you let out a quiet moan and it fuels him even further. “Tell me,” he finally answers.

Your hands move to grip your sheets—it has been such a long time since you’ve felt someone else’s touch. Your own fingers definitely don’t feel as good as Din’s. There’s a part of you that’s afraid to tell him—afraid that he might realize that there’s no coming back from this.

And you certainly don’t want him to stop.

Your eyes flutter when you feel him apply a bit of pressure to your clit and you’re about to reach out to rest your hands on his shoulders when you feel him grab your wrists and pin them above your head. Your moans filter your small room and it fuels him further—turning his hand slightly so that the tip of his middle finger slowly slides past your folds.

“Tell me,” he repeats.

“Din—baby,” you whimper, squirming against his grip as you roll your hips upwards—a sign that you need more.

Din grunts lowly and slides his finger past the knuckle. He can feel how tight and how wet you are and the grip around your wrists tighten even further. “Tell me,” he whispers. “Tell me how much you’ve thought about this, about me.”

Your eyes fall shut and you nod in agreement, feeling him slowly begin to pump his finger in and out of your depths slowly. “T—The way you just walk into a room,” you begin, toes beginning to curl when you feel him slide another finger inside of you. “The way you walk—you know that you’re valuable and oh god—”

“Keep going,” he demands.

“And your voice, Din,” you continue. “I know I—I won’t ever get the chance to hear it for real, but fuck!” He quickens his movements—the sounds of his fingers thrusting into your wet heat mixing in with your moans. “I—I just want you to use me,” you admit. “I know there are nights you can’t sleep, days where you can use some release and I wish—I wish you could see that I’m more than willing—”

Din’s fingers immediately slide out of you and he looks down—your glistening arousal around his middle and ring finger. He pushes down his boxers, letting out a groan of relief and he looks up at you hesitantly. He should feel very shy and uncomfortable under your gaze, but instead he feels the complete opposite. He’s clad in only a white tank top and his helmet, but your eyes take in every inch of his frame. He knows that opening himself like this with another person is dangerous—he knows that you are dangerous—but he can’t help himself.

“You want me to use you?” he asks.

You nod, biting your lower lip as you stare up at him. “I’m at your mercy, Din.”

From behind the helmet, Din’s eyes soften. He releases his hold on your wrists and moves his hands to your hips, lifting you further up the bed until the top of your head is near the headboard. He then climbs off your bed, leaving your room without a word. You furrow a brow, sitting up your elbows as you sigh, staring at the opened door. You think you must have scared him away, but just as you’re about to follow him, he reappears with a rope in his hand and now only clad in his helmet.

You clear your throat, heart racing faster in anticipation. You look at him from top to bottom—his tanned skin, chiseled with muscle, hair across his chest down towards his lower half where he’s completely erect and leaking at the tip.

“Are you sure?” he asks, continuing the conversation before he had left your room.

“Yes,” you answer almost breathlessly.

Din nods once and walks back in your direction. He climbs back onto the bed, straddling your midsection as he takes your hands and begins tying you to the headboard. “Not too tight?” he asks.

You shake your head, licking your lips as you keep your eyes focused on his hardened manhood that’s inches away from your mouth. “No,” you answer.

“Good.”

You’re about to whine in protest, thinking that he’s going to settle back between your legs, but he surprises you by reaching down with one of his large hands to grasp himself in front of you. His knees are placed on the bed at either side of your chest as his free hand rests on the headboard above you. Slowly, he pushes himself forward until his tip—leaking with precome—rests on your lips. You can’t help but grin excitedly as you part your lips, tongue darting out to lap at his precome. You keep your eyes focused up on him—even though you can’t see his face, you can see the way his chest rises when he inhales sharply at the feel of your mouth now wrapping around his tip.

Din forces to keep his eyes open, wanting to remember this moment for the rest of his life. You lift your head slightly off the bed to take more of him and he gets the hint, pushing his hips further as a few more inches slide into your warm mouth. He reaches back behind him, his fingers finding your clit almost instantly. As he begins to circle your throbbing bundle of nerves, the moan that leaves your lips sends vibrations through him. Involuntarily, he pushes even further, the tip of his manhood tickling the back of your throat and your choke around him out of instinct—he pulls away and tilts his head down at you.

“Too much?” he asks quietly, chest heaving.

“Not enough,” you answer and then lean forward to wrap your lips around him again.

Din groans and pushes his hips slightly forward into your mouth. Your tongue swirls around him and another moan escapes your lips when you feel him slide two of his thick fingers into your heat. This time, though, Din pushes even further into your mouth and he watches as your eyes fall shut. God, he could have come right there at the sight of you—mouth filled with his thick and girthy length.

He can tell that you’re enjoying this as much as he is—the squelching wet sounds of his fingers pumping in and out of you a clear indication that you’re becoming increasingly and increasingly wet with his manhood in your mouth. Din pulls out of your mouth again when he feels your walls begin to tremble around his fingers and your back arches upwards, but as soon as your orgasm arrives, he pulls his fingers out of you and a loud whine catches in the back of your throat.

“Din!”

A quiet and amused chuckle leaves his lips. “You said I could use you,” he grins. “Didn’t say how.”

“P—Please,” you beg. “I was right there and—”

“Consider it payback,” he answers, slowly moving to settle himself between your legs. His length is glistening with your saliva and he grasps himself to line the head of his manhood at your opening. “For distracting me.”

Just as those words leave his lips, Din thrusts into you fully—burying himself into the hilt. You’re so tight and so wet—so warm and he can feel your walls throbbing around him. His large hands move to your breasts, slowly beginning to caress both into the pit of his palms as he pulls out to his tip only to thrust back into you roughly—it causes your breasts to bounce in his grip.

“F—Fuck,” you moan out breathlessly. You’re already right near the edge and you wrap your legs around his hips in hopes to keep him sheathed inside of you. Even though his thick length is stretching you from the inside, the pressure and slight pain disappears instantly.

He brushes his thumbs across your peaked nipples—it’s at this moment Din wishes that he could remove his helmet to wrap his lips around one of them. He squeezes and your back arches further into his touch. Din moves his hands down your sides to grip your hips as he continues to drive into you—it’s like he’s fucking you into your bed, chasing more of your tight and wet walls that slide along every vein across his length.

He suddenly feels you clench around him and Din immediately ceases his movements, causing another whimper to escape your lips. You stare up at him, eyes glazed over in a mixture of pleasure and frustration. From behind the helmet, he smirks to himself as he reaches down to brush his thumb across your clit. You shudder in response and when you roll your hips upwards for more friction, he shakes his head and uses his free hand to hold your hips down.

“Impatient,” he mumbles. “And eager, aren’t you?”

“S—Stop teasing,” you whine. “And just fuck me already.”

Another amused chuckle leaves his lips. “I don’t think you’re the one in control here, are you?”

“Shouldn’t have told you the truth,” you mutter.

“No?” Din asks, slowly rubbing your clit in circles with his thumb. Your eyes flutter and you pull your lower lip between your teeth.

The tightness in the pit of your stomach builds even further and you can feel your walls clench around his manhood that remains inside of you. You’re so fucking close and your body begins to tremble—maybe if you listen, maybe if you just submit to him completely he’d finally let you come.

But he wasn’t your boss.

You both were equals.

He was your colleague and you saved his ass tonight.

“Fuck, Din!” you snap in frustration. “I—I need you to fuck me. Or is this all you got? Hm? Been a while for you that you don’t know how to—”

He growls loud enough for you to hear and he moves his hand back to your hip. He grips it tightly and without wasting another second, he begins to pound into you. The sound of his skin slapping against yours echoes throughout the room and into the rest of his ship—you can feel the bed creak with each of his movements and your breasts bounces with each push.

Din slowly moves a hand up to wrap around your throat and you smirk, the corner of your lips lifting when he lightly applies pressure. He looks down between your bodies, watching his length disappear in and out of you—still so slick with your arousal.

Your walls begin to clench around him and Din doesn’t let up. You feel almost breathless as your climax fast approaches. You shut your eyes tightly as your body begins to tremble—you’d never come as hard as this and Din’s thrusts don't falter and it almost becomes too much. Almost.

“This is what you wanted, huh?” Din groans, the feeling of your clenched walls milking him closer and closer to his own release. “Is this what you think about when we’re debriefing on a mission, hm?” He pounds into you and you’re so wet that your arousal seeps through where you’re both connected and begins to dampen the hair at his base. It’s so obscene and he can’t help but want more.

“Or when we’re planning our next one?” Din lets out a quiet moan and he glances up at your wrists, seeing you try to wiggle yourself free. He grins and leans down, removing his hand from your throat as he rests his forehead against your own. He can see the way your breaths fog up his helmet from the outside and your moans continue to filter throughout the room. He’s going to remember this—every inch of your body, every sound you’re making, and the way your body just gives way to him.

It’s like you were made for him.

“Din, baby,” you whimper, feeling another orgasm fast approaching.

That was all it took. The way you said his name, the way you called him baby, it shoots straight to his lower half. His hips falter and become more erratic, but he feels your walls clench around him once more. He has no time to ask where you want it, but he assumes that you’d be fine with him finishing inside from the way your legs wrap around his hips and bring him even further into you.

Din moves his hands to the headboard as he delivers one sharp thrust, his warmth shooting inside of you and painting your walls. His chest heaves rapidly as his own orgasm overtakes him—his length twitching inside of you as his entire body shivers at his own release.

He looks down at you and he can’t help the smile that lines his lips when he sees you stare up at him with a look of bliss across your features. You’re both sweaty, bodies glistening and he slowly pulls out of you. He looks down between your legs and watches his come trickle out of you—it causes something animalistic inside of him because he grasps his length, gathers some of his spilled come and pushes back inside of you.

You whimper, eyes widening slightly in surprise and he reaches up to undo the rope around your wrists. When your hands are finally free from its bondage, he lets out a quiet moan when he feels your touch on his chest—right near his beating heart.

“Din,” you whisper.

“Hm?”

“We’re definitely doing that again.”

“Yeah?” he asks.

“But this time, maybe I tie you up,” you grin.

Din let outs a quiet chuckle. “We’ll see, baby.”

Baby—you smile at that and you lean up to press your lips lightly on his helmet. “You know I won’t take this off, right?”

Din nods. “I know.”

“And I trust you.”

“I know,” he repeats. “And I trust you,” he admits. “Which makes you dangerous.”

You roll your eyes playfully and slowly roll your hips. You bite your lower lip as your eyes flutter—even as he’s beginning to soften inside of you, he’s still so thick that it causes a quiet moan to leave your lips. “Dangerous or not, Din,” you whisper. “I’d lay my life on the line for you.”

Din groans and brings a hand up to your cheek, thumb brushing across your soft skin. He wishes he can kiss you, can feel your lips on his but when he brushes his thumb across your lower lip, you gently press a soft kiss on the pad of his thumb.

“I suppose I have a partner from now on,” he says.

“And I guess I’m stuck with you,” you sigh playfully—lips pulled into a genuine smile.

You don’t know it, but Din smiles so broadly that for once, he feels like this can be the start of something great.

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holo-dok · 1 day ago

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It would be funny to see the other students reaction to vanilla just scooping up his chaotic goblin wolfdog familiar like a sack of potatoes. 😂

(I wanna actually draw a comic for this au soo not gonna sketch all their reactions now BUT BUTTT)

It's been nearing the end of their first semester together. Cool winds blew across the University territory, scattering fallen leaves.

Pure Vanilla has never been fond of the cold weather, used to staying inside during the off-season of his shepherind duties. Or tending to the stock, sinking his cold fingers into their soft wool.

He shivered, clutching cloak closer to his body in an attempt to keep the biting winds out. The 5 of them were sitting in the outside patio near the library, presumably having gathered to study but in reality it soon escalated to a heated debate between Golden Cheese and Dark Cacao. Something something etgics of transfiguration magic. Really, he was too cold to care right now. Where was his precious Blue with his long soft shadowy coat when he was needed the most..?

All others had their familiars close by, ready to answer any command. Golden's cheese phoenix was flapping her wings in agitation, fully supporting her master's position. Cacao's twin-headed salamander curled on his shoulder - one head trying to sleep while the other was staring daggers at the cheese bird. Even Hollyberry's seemingly lazy honey bear cub was stealing snacks from the table with the helf of Lily's faerie moth. Not his wolfdog Blue, nope, never him. He always had a mind of his own, coming and going whenever he pleased. Vanilla knew he was supposed to train his familiar better, but he couldn't quite bring himself to discipline the creature, not when he gave them those literally puppy eyes or seemed just so so intelligent!

Sometimes he seemed just.. too intelligent.

Young student shook his head, fixing the mage cap on top of his head. He sighed, letting out a puff of air that came clowdy in the chill atmosphere. It seemed to redirect the conversation a bit.

Cheese: Oi, Vanilla! Are you cold? You're all shivering, jeez! - she laughed without malice, being always the one to dress the least modest and never feeling any cold. Maybe it was because her familiar was a literal fiery cheese bird or her strong magic running through her veins.

Hollyberry: Yea, Nilla, should we head inside? It's not like we are doing any work anyway, hahah! - she brought a warm hand around his shoulders, laughing and bringing him into a bear hug. Cacao hummed in approval. White Lily, the only one who was actually reading put her book down.

Vanilla: Oh thank you, you're being very thoughtful, really

Before he could continue he felt shadows shift beneath his feet and a familiar mu zzle materialize. He quickly reached down to scoop the still forming shadowy body of his wolfdog.

White Lily visibly tensed, seeming having something to say but before she could he yelled in delight.

Vanilla: Blue! Oh, you came! Just who I need!

He shamelessly hoisted the big heavy thing in his lap and shoved his entire face in his fur. Hands came to pet the warm fur and he let out a content sigh.

Cheese bird squeaked, reflecting her owner's flabberghasted expression. Others went quiet, observing the interaction. Everyone, even the one going by many names, one of which was "Blue", were in different stages of surprise, cuteness agression and bewilderment.

Lily was crossing her arms, clearly not happy with how close her best friend was with that weird suspicious familiar of his. Cacao was cautious and told Vanilla multiple times not to put too much trust in a magical creature, cuz even the most tame ones can snap and bite your face off. Holly was delighted, smiling widely - it Was a cute sight! She just never realized he could be so strong. And Golden Queen of First Year Students? Well she was staring daggers at the wolfdog in questions like he owns her money. Or like she wanted to prevent Cacao's fears of becoming a reality.

Lost to the world in the sea of white-black and blue fur that sometimes blinked back at him, Vanilla decided that he was pretty happy to stay outside at the patio for a while longer.

#cookie run kingdom #werebeastau #dark cacao cookie #my post #crk #shadowvanilla #shadow milk cookie #puremilk #pure vanilla cookie #cookie run au #golden cheese cookie #hollyberry cookie #white lily cookie

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cm-punks-bbl · 3 days ago

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"I Wanna Be Your Dog"

A bronllins oneshot

word count: 1400 words, give or take

contains: anal sex, anal fingering, a collar and leash, basically pet play, and there's no plot

summary: as seth's guard dog, bron is in charge of more than just protecting him.

(at the end, the seriousness dies down by the way)

also, tagging my squad: @dnddykes (hand over your right kidney) @bardthestoner @gravesintyre @scarscarmeow

As the collar is tightened around Bron's neck, his hands find their way to Seth's waist. He knows not to grab it hard, he's been trained better than that, though he still wishes he could. The room was completely silent, except for the occasional sound of the tag jingling on the collar, or a creak of the floorboards.

Seth maneuvers the collar and fastens it, before planting a kiss on Bron's jawline. He turns Bron to look into the hotel room mirror, to see how the collar fits, and how well it compliments his neck. It bears small spikes, nothing too sharp, he doesn't want to hurt his precious guard dog.

The blond man goes behind Bron, wrapping his arms around him and cupping his perfect tits. Just from the smile that paints Breakker's face, he knows he picked the perfect dog. One with unwavering loyalty and appreciation for his every action. “You look adorable,” Seth notes, resting his chin on his guard dog's shoulder.

“Thanks,” Bron mumbles, adjusting the collar and running his hand over the spikes. He feels Seth caress his chest, running his rough, calloused hands over his nipples. Bron tilts his head back, enjoying the sensation, until it ends. Until the Visionary isn't behind him anymore, instead looking through a small bag at the side of the bed.

“C’mere boy!” Seth calls. He's holding a smooth, black leather leash, playing with the clasp.

It isn't long before Bron's following his orders, choosing to sit in front of Seth, on the bed. He feels the blond man tilt his head up, clipping the leash onto his collar.

“Good boy,” Seth praises, as he climbs onto Breakker's lap. “You're so big and strong… and God, you listen so well. I really should reward you, huh?” He holds onto the leash, playfully tugging on it.

“You should.” Bron nips at the skin of the Visionary's collarbones, hearing a quiet, hushed noise escape his mouth. Seth's hands run up and down the other man's back, feeling every toned muscle and curve.

The older man can feel a bulge in Bron's shorts, yet chooses to do no more than touch it through the fabric. He rubs his palm against it for a few seconds, finding joy in watching the way Bron squirms, and the way he grips Seth's thighs, with so much force it makes them burn.

Seth slowly grinds into Bron’s lap, his fingernails digging into the younger man’s back. The moment Bron looks away for even a second, Seth yanks on the leash, snapping his focus back to him. Seth whispers small praises in his ear, hoping to rile him up further. Though he certainly achieves that goal, Bron is too caught up in the flurry of pleasure and pain to really pay attention to the actual words. He hears them, his full attention on Seth, yet, the words barely register.

Until Seth whispers, “You wanna fuck me?”

Boy, is Bron paying attention now. He swiftly nods, choosing not to use words. He seems more like a desperate puppy than a guard dog.

“Well? Do you?” Seth asks again, wanting an actual response. His hands slither back to the bulge in Breakker's shorts, palming at it once more, his other hand tugging on the leash.

“Yes sir,” Bron finally responds. The words are followed by a sharp inhale, brought about by Seth's teasing. He lets out the quietest whine, in an attempt to grasp the final threads of his dignity.

As the sound leaves his mouth, Seth initiates a kiss. His lower body pushes against Bron's, the other man almost instinctively bucking his hips up. Seth bites at his lower lip, lightly sucking it into his mouth. He lets go, running his tongue over Bron's lips, before pushing him down, pinning him on the bed.

His blond hair falls in front of his face, before he combs it back with his hands. He does no more than admire the man beneath him. Bron's legs hook around him, pulling him closer.

Before Seth could say otherwise, Bron flips him, reversing their positions, putting the older man beneath him.

Seth stares up at him, almost shocked, not expecting Bron to take charge. He doesn't mind it completely, but he'd rather not give all control to his guard dog. So, he pulls on the leash, forcing Bron down so as to not get choked. “Good boy,” Seth says, only saying it because he feels threatened, realizing the possibility he could lose control of Bron at any moment. It was the last thing he wanted, not having control. Anything could happen.

Seth watches as Bron gets off of him, instead retreating to sit on the floor at the edge of the bed. The older man sits up and moves to the edge, before watching as Bron slides his hands under the drawstring of his pants to start taking them off. Seth lifts his hips up, letting Bron fully slide them down. His boxers come off soon after, freeing his cock. He waits in anticipation for Bron's next move, only for him to get up and begin taking his shorts off.

Seth rolls his eyes, he scoffs, but still watches the younger man undress. He stares at Bron, his naked body almost like eye candy.

Bron grabs a bottle of lube off of the nightstand, beginning to pour it on his fingers. Seth watches, already squirming. Bron's hands are big, this was going to be fun. He lays back, waiting for the other man to make a move.

Breakker grabs Seth's legs, pulling them up. He hoists the older man's legs onto his shoulders, his fingers tracing Seth's hole. The blond shivers the moment the cold gel hits his ass. As Bron slides the first finger in, Seth inhales sharply, before lightly tugging the leash in his hand. Bron smiles, happy to already please the other man.

One finger soon became two, Bron's large fingers stretching Seth. Every movement holds a reaction, sometimes even a complimentary jerk of the leash. Both men are hard as nails, Bron occasionally stroking his cock, though Seth's remained neglected.

Finally, after a couple of minutes of prepping Seth's ass, Bron removes his fingers, puts lube on his cock, and slowly slides into Seth. His thrusts start slow, though almost immediately, his pace quickens, catching Seth off guard.

Seth whimpers, his fists grasping the sheets. He didn't expect Bron to do so much so fast, but it was amazing. He felt as if he were melting around Bron's cock, losing himself with every thrust. Bron grasps Seth's hips, his fingers digging into them. He can't tell who's in charge anymore, but does it really matter?

But when Seth tries to stroke his own cock, he feels his hand be swatted away. “Hey-” was all Seth could muster out in opposition, soon followed by a moan as Bron's thrusts get deeper in an effort to not let the other man complain. He wouldn't want to displease his master, so the obvious way to avoid that, was to not allow him to complain.

Seth yanks at the leash once more, harder this time. It catches the attention of Bron immediately, almost drawing him back into the role Seth wants him in. “You're a- fuck…” Seth moans, not even able to give his praise to his beloved guard dog.

~~~

Minutes later, both men reach the point of orgasm. To Seth's horror, not only does he cum without his dick even being touched, but Bron doesn't pull out! Bron's smile is cocky, stepping away—as far as he could with the leash—to see the mess he's created.

Seth's breaths are quick and shaky as he begins to come down from his high. He lets go of the leash to fix up his hair, it being messed up and all over the place. He scoffs at the wreck his guard dog made him.

“Sorry sir,” Bron says, about half serious.

“Goddammit Bron, you aren't sorry!” Seth exclaims, as he stands up. His thighs are slightly trembling as he pokes a finger at Bron's chest.

Bron smirks as he thinks of all the smartass responses he could use. But he settles with, “I think there's something dripping down your leg.”

How dare Bron disrespect him like that! That's no way to treat his owner! The blond gets flustered, not knowing how he was meant to respond to such an outrageous comment. “Oh my God, let's just cuddle.”

#seth rollins #fanfiction #bronllins #bron breakker #wwe #wwe fanfiction #hehehehehe #first time writing a fic that doesnt include cm punk i think #the beginning and end of a new era #ao3 #my fics 🎸

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exponentiate · 2 years ago

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I haven’t exactly been bearposting all summer or anything so you’re all a bit contextless, but I just looked up at the explore.org/bears stream that’s just kind of always on at my house, and I saw a bear at the far wall, in The Office, and I recognized him as 151 Walker based on a mannerism, and I said to myself, “Oh, cool, I haven’t seen 151 in a while, I feel like it’s been all 32 and 821 and 164 the last few days”, and I went to look at the comments, and one of the comments was a picture of this bear, 151 Walker, captioned “so handsome”, and while I’m not judging anyone’s taste in handsome bears, I recognize him by how he’s constantly flapping his tongue around licking his chops or something, just, such an incredibly goofy behavior that I would not have described as handsome.

#164 is probably my (and a lot of people’s) favorite bear of the summer #he’s still pretty young and goofy #he has his own special fishing spot right literally under/in the waterfall so people call #him Shower Bear #but it also means that often when another bear has caught a fish on the lip of the falls he will stand up and beg for a scrap #it’s very silly and (anthropomorphizing) seems childlike but it also gives you a good view of the SIZE of the lad #he’s going to be a big bear it seems like #gosh maybe I should have been bearposting all summer #you could have heard all about how I can’t distinguish between the 900s (903 907 909 910)#who to the best of my knowledge are medium-dark bears who often fish on the lip of the falls #I think 909 is the one who tosses her head all the time? but I suspect her sister 910 does that do #too*#the best part about watching the bears and getting Pretty Ok I Guess? at id’ing them #is that I will absolutely not recognize any of them in the spring #oh oh oh the other distinguishing feature of the 900s is their light ears - medium-dark bear with light ears on the lip? 90something to me #and I didn’t even mention 747 even though he is another good candidate for favorite bear #he’s been very chill this year #he’s got a very recognizable silhouette #like a slug #and he’s a very pretty medium reddish brown

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ceilidho · 2 months ago

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prompt: you and Price get in an accident (1.6k)

He comes into your life like nothing less than divine intervention.

A fender bender, of all things. It’s a bad day and you’re distracted, too busy thinking about your dad calling to tell you that he lost ten thousand from his retirement fund when the stock he’d invested in crashed and how you’re supposed to help him out of this mess, and the roads are slick with that last snowfall of early spring, still unsalted even hours after the snow started.

So when you slam on the brakes at the last second after noticing the car in front of you stopped at a red light, your car slips on the ice and slides forward, hitting the back of the stopped car and sending it forward a foot. It’s quick and sudden, and though you stepped on the brakes early enough to avoid a worse collision, your head snaps forward with the jolt and the seatbelt yanks you back violently, winding you.

Your hands go tight around the wheel, eyes so wide that they nearly pop out of your head as you stare at the car directly in front of you. All of the dread in the world pools in your mouth and then down your throat when you swallow, heart galloping in your chest. You almost can’t believe it for a second.

Then the car in front of you—a big, fuck-you SUV that only worsens your anxiety because of all cars to hit, it had to be someone with a fancy, brand new car that probably has a lawyer on speed dial—puts their hazards on and the driver’s side doors opens and reality snaps like a rubberband back into you. With shaky hands, you put your car into park and put your hazards on as well.

“Oh shit,” you whisper under your breath. An understatement.

A tall man in a brown parka steps out of the car and stares at you through the windshield, a stern expression on his face. He has a beanie pulled down over his head and a full beard, and for a second, the mental image of a bear emerging out of its den flickers in your imagination, all snow-dusted and irritable.

He’s grizzled and older than you. The only consolation is that he doesn’t match the image of the driver that you had in your head—no seven thousand dollar suit or bluetooth earpiece; instead, he seems like the kind of man who’d drive an old pickup or a schooner, wearing an Aran sweater and a skipper's cap, with a pipe hanging from the corner of his mouth. He seems out of place in the middle of the road in your small town.

But he is real, and even though you watch him march over to you, you flinch when he raps on the window with his knuckles.

“Roll the window down,” he instructs, voice muffled through the glass, and you do because the command cuts through the buzzing in your ear. When you do, he reaches into your car with one hand and pops the lock, then takes a step back to open the door. You’d freak out if the situation were different, but you must be in shock because all you can do is stare at him dumbly as he leans into the car and undoes your seatbelt. “C’mon, sweetheart. Out.”

It doesn’t take much coaxing to get you to step out of the car. All he has to do is step back and you get out, knees nearly buckling, like jelly under you. He holds your elbow to steady you. Your elbow feels delicate and tiny in the width of his palm.

“You alright, sweetheart?” he asks, looking all over your face.

You want to answer him, but all you can do is whimper, “I’m so sorry.”

“Hey, none of that. It was an accident. You alright though? Anything hurt?”

“Uh…I don’t…I don’t know.” It hasn’t really sunk in yet, you think. Maybe tomorrow you’ll be sore all over, but right now you feel fine. On the verge of shaking out of your skin, teeth nearly clattering together, but more or less okay.

“Nothing too bad then. Wanna give me your insurance so we can deal with this, sweetheart?”

“Oh. Yeah. Sorry. Let me just—” You move to reach back into your car to fetch your purse, but he stops you, insisting on getting it for you.

And you let him, docile like a doll, watching as he leans into your car and across the seats to grab your purse, big frame looking comically large in your little car. Looking like he’d barely fit in the front seat if he tried to get in.

He comes back out with your little purse in hand and opens it, handing you your wallet and purse by its strap. Your fingers are still shaking when you pull out your insurance information and hand it to him. Everything feels surreal and muted, and the tears are going to flow at any minute now if you don’t get a handle on it.

He must notice because a knuckle fits under your chin and lifts your head up. “Hey, what’s wrong?

“No, no,” you say, reaching up to swipe your fingers over your eyes. “I’m just—I’m really embarrassed. I’ve never been in an accident before.”

“Nothing to be embarrassed about.” His voice is much softer now, pitched low in the way handlers talk to spooked animals. He puts his thumb to your chin, holding you in place. “No one got hurt. Could’ve been worse than it was, and we’ve both got insurance, so what’s done is done. I don’t look mad, do I?”

Trapped between his thumb and knuckle, you can only give a slight shake of your head. “No.”

“Then let’s just take it one step at a time and no tears. Okay?”

You sniff. “Okay.”

“Okay. I’m going to call the insurance, so you get back in the car and sit tight, alright?”

You nod.

“Good girl,” he says, a hint of praise in his voice. “Put the heat on too. It’s too cold for that jacket.”

That makes you go warm all over, flustered and tongue-tied. Thankfully, he doesn’t seem to expect a response out of you. The only thing he expects you to do is get back in the car and turn the heat back on, the warm air billowing into your face when he leans in to crank it up all the way.

Though most of the sound is muffled from inside the car, you turn down the heat and crack the window open slightly to hear him give his name to his insurance company. John Price. Even his name evokes the image of him somewhere else in the world, settled into the nooks and crannies of history.

John handles everything for you while you sit in the car like he told you to, settling everything with the insurance companies and calling for a tow truck right after that. You don’t realize that, of course, until the tow truck pulls up in front of his car and he comes back to usher you out of your car.

“How am I supposed to get home?” you croak. The tow truck driver hitches your car to the bed of the lift and pulls it up, your little car looking pathetic all alone up there.

“I’ll drive you home then bring mine in later.”

“Why can’t I drive my car to the garage too?” You’re petulant now that you’ve learned that he won’t bite, and you know it’s petulance because you don’t actually put up much of a fight to get your car taken off the tow truck.

That petulance trembles when his expression grows stern again. “You’re getting it checked by a mechanic before you get behind the wheel again,” he tells you in no uncertain terms, eyes daring you to contradict him.

You don’t. It’s hard to argue with someone so adamant on your wellbeing. A mechanic in later days will tell John, with you by his side, that your car was mostly fine apart from some slight damage to the bumper, but that you made the right call to bring it in just in case the frame cracked during the accident.

John’s arm will be around your waist at the time and he’ll pull you tighter into his side when the mechanic says that. And what do you do but go with it, curling into his side like it’s natural. You’ll have already fucked him by then anyway. It’ll be no less forward than letting him take you for coffee and then back home, following you up to your apartment and into your bed.

Now though, you let him usher you into the passenger seat of his car and shut the door behind you, the wind cutting off abruptly. It only comes back when the door opens on his side.

You rattle off your address and watch bemusedly as he programs it into his GPS and hits save. You don’t have the temerity to question him, to poke a hole in the bubble of familiarity ballooning around the two of you. The real world seems far away in his car, like you’re in limbo, the rules different here somehow.

“How about a coffee?” he asks at the next light, putting his hand on your thigh and shaking when you don’t respond right away. “Does a hot drink sound good right about now?”

“I guess?” you say. In truth, it sounds great, but you’re losing the thread of this conversation, your old preoccupations getting further and further away from you.

John gives your thigh a squeeze, lingering for a beat before pulling away. “Good. It’ll be a nice little pick me up before we go home. My treat.”

All you can do is nod, your throat dry.

#ceil writing #just a little thing to refresh me because i haven't written all month and needed to reset my brain #price x reader #price/reader #cod x reader #john price x reader #john price x you

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cantharel · 2 months ago

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Being Simon's pretty little thing was almost a perfect dream.

People could know Simon as the imposing, serious, brooding, scary figure. But with you? He was a softie.

Ask him for anything, and he'll go to hell to find it for you. He was the type who wouldn't let you pay for anything, especially when the two of you went out together. If you wanted an ice cream, he'd pay for you. Flowers? Take your pick, and he'll pay. A stuffed toy? He'll give it to you. A nice outfit in the display window? He just lets you go into the store and buy what you want.

Simon makes enough money to spoil you. Even though he's very conscious about his spending, he doesn't mind spending more than he should on you. You're his pretty little thing. He loves you too much to deny you anything.

And that wasn't just about material goods. Ask for a kiss, and he'll bend down to give you a kiss as sweet as honey. Feeling needy? He sits down, spreads his legs, taps his lap, and waits for you to straddle him, making him into a big cuddly bear. He'd let you kiss him on the face, steal little kisses, smiling at you all the time, looking at you with those lovesick puppy eyes.

If he was working from home, you'd be on his lap, offering him cuddles and kisses whenever he needed them. Simon liked to have his personal space, but with you, he made an exception. What could be better than holding his pretty little bird?

Even though he had brute strength, he was so gentle with you. He never picked you up in a way that could hurt. He was always gentle with you, treating you like a delicate little flower. Even in cuddle sessions, he held you tightly but never hurt you. Under no circumstances would he do that to you.

He would never forgive himself if you weren't comfortable around him or if you were afraid of him.

Do you want to make Simon even more whipped for you? He just needed to wake up to your affectionate gestures, your soft lips filling his face with kisses, whispering how much you liked him. Simon might not have liked waking up early, but you managed to make him like it anyway.

Once you whispered 'I love you', he quickly replied quietly, mumbling to himself:

“I'm goin' to marry you one day, little bird.”

And you can start dreaming about a ring, because he's going to give you one. Mrs. Riley seemed like a good name.

Guess who is in her Simon's phase again?🫠

#simon ghost x reader #simon riley x reader #simon riley x you #ghost cod #simon ghost riley #simon ghost x you #simon riley #ghost x reader

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yeyinde · 3 months ago

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18+ | noncon. implied kidnapping.

In retrospect, camping all by yourself in a national park teaming with bears was probably high on the list of "dumbest things you've ever done in your life." But in your (shaky) defence—it really wasn't the wildlife you had to worry about anyway, but rather man.

In particular, a man.

That surly, gruff park ranger who happened to look just like a grizzly at first glance. The same one who found you all alone in your pitiful little tent, flashlight clutched in your trembling hands as you stared at him through the crack in the opening, visibly relieved that the thing you heard stomping around outside wasn't a bear, and quickly decided that pampered city princesses ought to be taught a lesson on what survival out here really means.

But he's merciful, he claims, and gives you a headstart to try and escape him (and the thick, unmistakable bulge in his pants, the dangerous look in his eye; naked hunger—that same, dead-eyed thing you'd seen in a big grizzly as he charged an elk earlier in the day) before he takes his prize.

And so, you run.

Except making good decisions doesn't really seem to be your strongest point.

In an instant, something is slamming against your back before you even make it halfway up the hill, pushing you to the ground on your belly. A warm, thick body following down after you. Crushing you into the soil.

You're too dazed by the impact to struggle when your hips are lifted. Pants, panties shoved down. Warm, rough hands cupping between your thighs, groaning at what he finds (all wet for me, mm, sweetheart?), and when you do, finally, begin to struggle you're met with an immovable wall. The strength of a man with more power in the single hand he keeps anchored against the back of your neck than you seem to have in your whole body—

"Don't know a thing, do you, sweetheart?" He growls, pushing your cheek deeper into the softened soil. "Not supposed to run from a bear, love."

Oh. Right.

Before you can squeak out an okay or sorry or please let me go, your knees are shoved wider apart by his thick, hairy thighs as he slots himself between your legs. Mounting his spoiled little prize on the cold, damp ground like a beast.

"Dangerous animals out here," is all he rasps before he's shoving inside of you, groaning about finally claiming the sweet little prey he's been diligently stalking through the park since he first laid eyes on you in the visitors centre. "You don't have a lick of sense in you, do you, sweetheart? No. Didn't even notice me followin' you. You need somethin'—someone—to protect you from dangerous predators, mm. And a firm hand to teach you a lesson."

He pries you open on his fat cock before you can spit out the dirt in your mouth to refute that claim, rutting into you like an animal on the cold ground in the middle of a national park as he makes good on his promise to show you what happens when you try and run from predators. A lesson that tastes like geosmin. Peat. And salty, tobacco-stained fingers. And aches like a broken bone after he set a maddening pace behind you, jerking your body against the upturned soil. Small rocks, and twigs digging into your skin.

When he's finally done, pulling out of you with a bullish grunt and landing a heavy, satisfied slap against the stinging cheek of your ass, he gathers your limp, sore body up into his arms, and brings you back to the lookout tower he calls home (temporarily).

A stop along the way, he assures you before setting out to teach his spoiled city princess more "survival skills"—like how to swallow his cock the way he likes, and how to take him as deeply, and as often, as he wants to give it to you.

(and often really is the foregone conclusion; it's mating season, after all.)

And as he pulls you down to lay against his furry, damp chest, cock softening inside of you (a thing you'll just have to get used to, sweetheart because he has no intentions of pulling out until he's ready to), and starts purring about mates and cubs and how lucky you were that he found you first before anything else had a chance to sniff you out, you think maybe you should have just gone to New York instead.

#very obsessed with the idea of being hunted by park ranger John Price in a national park #captain john price #captain john price x reader #john price x reader #price x reader #pricedrabbles

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absolutedestinyapocalypsse · 5 months ago

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i love how as you read more into tlt, the ninth house seems more and more normal. Like if i'm at an immoral evil government competition, and i use human fat as soap and animate skeletons to do menial labor, i'm gonna LOSE if my competition is the third house, represented by ianthe "who HASN'T eaten human flesh and fucked a corpse" tridentarius. My weird skeleton thing seems normal, suddenly. Well-adjusted, even. It's recycling. They're using resources in a sustainable way. Normal and regular and productive for a post-climate change apocalypse universe.

People go on and on about how Muir drops you into gtn hearing from the person who knows the least about whats happening, and does not hand hold the reader through the crazy shit that occurs, and that's all true. It truly is a crazy writing decision to make your first pov character come from the universe's equivalent of amish fundamentalists. But the reader is actually done a huge favor being dropped into the ninth house first, because we already understand that space is cold and what catholic nuns are, and what goths look like, and what lesbians are. Very little time is wasted in the first chunk of gtn ripping hair out of your head wondering what the fuck is going on, because for all of its strangeness, the ninth house is already the most familiar thing we're gonna get.

Because THEN we learn that this whole universe's medieval chivalry system is designed to groom people from CHILDREN to not only be exploited and used as human batteries for necromancers, but to LIKE it. to wax poetic about it. to confuse it for love, to write fucking academic papers about it! Then we learn about planet flipping, an act so horrific and violent it turns the planet's soul into a massive vengeful monster capable of killing GOD. Like what do you MEAN the animals "change"? Is this why noodle has six legs? I would MUCH prefer to wear skeleton makeup and repent forever if the alternative was to witness my family dog grow TWO EXTRA LIMBS because the planet he lived on fucking died. Suddenly, living in the asscrack of a planet where no light gets in seems like a sweet deal when the whole solar system is lit by a sun that MAKES YOU GO CRAZY. The ninth house's WORST sin, killing 200 babies to make Harrow, a waste of resources and an act so terrible it haunts Harrow for the entire span of her life, is like a BLIP compared to the death count Jod's empire. God even hears about it and he's like, no big deal! The cohort probably kills that amount of people in a DAY.

And its ALSO tragic because you realize that all of this trauma and abuse that Gideon goes through is not really because of the ninth house at all. It's really just an individual skill issue that she wasn't treated with compassion. Nobody hated her because she's jesus or a bomb, nobody even KNOWS she's a bomb. It's just Priamhark and Pelleamena being deeply guilty and scared people that motivates her treatment, and absolutely nothing else.

They did something bad, and they know it, and Gideon survived it, and they can't kill her to cover it up, and that's IT. They killed themselves for pride, because they were afraid of the consequences of their actions (both the baby killing and Harrow opening the tomb) coming back to bite them. You can argue this is the catholicism of it all, and I wouldn't say you're wrong, but compared to the cavalier system, where exploitation is in the very lining of the house's institutions, the ninth house is really removed from the space empire's blood factory. This is compared to the fourth house where they have tons of children to be CANNON FODDER to join the cohort at fucking 14, compared to the eight house uncle nephew fuckery, even the fifth house which actually does seems nice to live on but also seems to have the fourth house in some sort of fucked up political bear hug??? (maybe the fourth house has so many kids in order to fight the fifth's battles? which is EXACTLY what jod's whole empire is about; politely stirring your tea and acting nice while you destroy everything) compared to ALL OF THAT, the cruelty that Gideon faces is really more a bug of the ninth's system than a feature.

There's nothing baked into the culture and everyday life of the ninth house that necessitated that cruelty; in fact, for such a pragmatic and resource-scarce place, it's WEIRD that a strong able-bodied young person was treated like a waste of space and resources. It could just have easily not happened, if Harrow's parents had been different people. Maybe they were products of their environment, but so was Harrow, and she values Gideon's life SO MUCH that she'd literally rather carve out parts of her own brain than exploit her. Gideon grows up knowing really NOTHING about cavaliers, so remote from the horrors of the empire that she develops an idea of what the cohort is from porn magazines. And in a lot of ways, that upbringing was desolate and terrible, and in a lot of other ways it literally DID NOT HAVE TO BE.

Gideon's MAIN THING is that she wants to be useful, to be needed, to be loved and it SUCKS that she couldn't even get it in the one place where she was actually an invaluable resource, where the death empire had the weakest reach. Gideon can't even blame her lack of love on the fucked up chivalry system like everyone else can because it JUST WASNT REALLY RELEVENT!?!?! This is like if i rolled up to the trauma competition and everyone else was raised in a nuclear warzone by wolves or something and i grew up in like, the suburbs and was raised by teachers and i somehow STILL WON. truly what the fuck guys.

#tlt #the locked tomb #gideon the ninth #harrow the ninth #nona the ninth #tlt gender studies #none gender with left grief #the locked tomb trilogy

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missdynamighttt · 4 months ago

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⋆.ೃ࿔*:･⇢"but kia! how do i know what is-" ࿐ྂ

HONEY, YOU'RE A STAR ☆ ! - smut ༉‧₊˚.

BABY, YOU HAVE MY HEART ♡ ! - fluff ༉‧₊˚.

SHINE BRIGHT LIKE A DIAMOND ✧! - angst ༉‧₊˚.

LONG FICS (˶˃ ᵕ ˂˶) .ᐟ.ᐟ ᯓᡣ𐭩

*ੈ✩‧₊˚ honey..come back to me. please. | k. bakugo (first ever fic)

₊✩‧₊˚౨ৎ IN WHICH, you and your ex-boyfriend katsuki bakugo can't seem to resist each other no matter what. even if you're only supposed to be friendly at the class reunion party.

*ੈ✩‧₊˚ there's no one like you, sweets. | k. bakugo

₊✩‧₊˚౨ৎ IN WHICH, you make what feels like the worst decision of your life—getting into a hot tub with your fake boyfriend, katsuki bakugo.

*ੈ✩‧₊˚ fat ass like hers needs a real man to fuck it | k. bakugo

₊✩‧₊˚౨ৎ IN WHICH, you get tangled up with your boyfriend's arrogant, infuriating, and devastatingly hot rival, katsuki bakugou and ended up fucking... one too many times.

SHORT FICS ٩(^ᗜ^ )و ´- ᯓᡣ𐭩

*ੈ♡‧₊˚ convincing bf! katsuki to do the sticky cover

*ੈ✩‧₊˚ shoulder-biter bf! katsuki

*ੈ✩‧₊˚ beach with older bf! katsuki

*ੈ♡‧₊˚ new year with bf! katsuki

*ੈ♡‧₊˚ jacked AND kind with bf! katsuki

*ੈ♡‧₊˚ crying in a movie with bf! katsuki

*ੈ✩‧₊˚ watching porn with bf! katsuki

*ੈ✩‧₊ bf! katsuki pays for your nails and you thank him

*ੈ♡‧₊˚ bf! katsuki convincing you to go on a date with him

*ੈ✩‧₊ bf! katsuki does your eyeliner

*ੈ✩‧₊ backshots with enemies, pro hero! katsuki

*ੈ♡‧₊˚ pro hero, husband! katsuki's greatest achievement

*ੈ✩‧₊ old bro's bsf! katsuki catches you masturbating (1k special)

*ੈ♡‧₊˚ using bf! katsuki's face to test out your lipsticks

*ੈ♡‧₊˚ shamelessly seducing boss! katsuki as his secretary

*ੈ♡‧₊˚ husband! katsuki had a dream you divorced him

*ੈ♡‧₊˚ sitting on bf! katsuki's shoulders while he cooks

*ੈ✩‧₊˚ husband! katsuki SO in love with the way that you smell

*ੈ♡‧₊˚ husband! katsuki on twitter for texting you while fighting

*ੈ♡‧₊˚ husband! katsuki asks for a kiss after an argument

*ੈ✩‧₊˚ acidentally snooping on freaky, bf! katsuki's phone

*ੈ♡‧₊˚ asking bf! katsuki about prenups

*ੈ✩‧₊˚ twitter porn links with katsuki (2k special)

*ੈ♡‧₊˚ pro hero, husband! katsuki hears he needs to bone his wife

*ੈ✩‧₊˚ ovulation week with bf! katsuki

*ੈ✩‧₊˚ shit to try w/ her masterlist (3k special)

*ੈ♡‧₊˚ filipina gf! arguing with bf! katsuki

*ੈ♡‧₊˚ texting old bro's bsf! katsuki part two

*ੈ✩‧₊˚ husband! katsuki taking out his frustrations on you

*ੈ♡‧₊˚ husband! katsuki takes care of you after a long day

*ੈ♡‧₊˚ bf! katsuki pays for his girlfriend tax

*ੈ♡‧₊˚ bf! katsuki helps you with procrastinating

*ੈ✩‧₊˚ bf! katsuki pranks you for april fools... differently

*ੈ♡‧₊˚ shopping w/ bf! katsuki for the first time

*ੈ♡‧₊˚ missing frat boy, bf! katsuki's calls

*ੈ✩‧₊˚ part two of enemies, pro hero! katsuki

*ੈ✩‧₊˚ easter birthday special (late 4k special)

REQUESTS (˶ ˘ ³˘)ˆᵕ ˆ˶) / / ᯓᡣ𐭩

*ੈ♡‧₊˚ life with husband! katsuki and kids

*ੈ✩‧₊˚ arguing w/ bf! katsuki being reckless

*ੈ✧‧₊˚ single father! katsuki finds daughter's drugs

*ੈ✧‧₊˚ pro hero! katsuki meeting villain! reader

*ੈ✩‧₊˚ internet goes wild over mature photo of pro hero! katsuki

*ੈ♡‧₊˚ mature interview with pro hero! katsuki and his wife

*ੈ✩‧₊˚ bf! katsuki's first time hearing you moan

*ੈ✧‧₊˚ falling in love with fantasy! katsuki over and over again

*ੈ✩‧₊˚ missionary bear hug with bf! katsuki

*ੈ✩‧₊˚ hyena! reader and pro hero! katsuki nsfw

*ੈ♡‧₊˚ bf! katsuki cooks your favorite filo dish

*ੈ✧♡‧₊˚ situationship with katsuki

*ੈ✩‧₊˚ husband! katsuki with a big dick

*ੈ♡‧₊˚ bf! katsuki's favorite place: your thighs

*ੈ✩‧₊˚ gym rat! needy bf katsuki

*ੈ✩‧₊˚ brat tamer! katsuki

*ੈ♡‧₊˚ dating frat boy! katsuki

‎‧₊˚✧[ it's me, kia! ]✧˚₊‧

⋆˚࿔ kia's note ˚⋆ kia thanks you for making it to the end (*ᴗ͈ˬᴗ͈)ꕤ*.ﾟ

#bakugou x reader #bnha bakugo katsuki #bnha bakugou #katsuki bakugo mha #bakugou katsuki x reader #mha bakugo katsuki #mha bakugou #katsuki bakugou #mha #bakugo katsuki smut #masterlist

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chaussetteblanche · 7 months ago

Text

and they were roommates

pairing : Spencer Reid x fem!student!roommate!reader summary : you are Spencer Reid's roommate, the team finds out about you when a case brings them to the university you study at word count : 2.5k warning : canon-typical violence A/N : the university is a random one I picked in Virginia, bear with me because I don't know how US university systems work, thanks :) I think this is a part one, there may be a part two or even more, idk, but tell me what you think !

part 2, part 3, part 4

"I- I'm sorry, what university did you say?" Spencer's frantic tone was immediately noticed by his colleagues. Suddenly, he seemed hyperaware of everything in the room. The loud AC, Derek's pen-clicking and the overwhelming smell of Emily's coffee. "Mary Washington University," JJ answered swiftly, eyes narrowed as she sent Reid a confused glance. The man in question mumbled a few words under his breath and shot up, grabbing his coat and scarf. "We need to go." His tone, unusually urgent, left no space for debate or questioning. He was out the door within seconds, followed closely by Morgan and the others.

When you'd applied for Mary Washington University, you had known you would have to get an apartment. You lived too far away to even consider taking the numerous trains and buses and subways to get there. So, when you had been accepted into your first choice of universities, you'd started apartment hunting. Or roommate-hunting, to be more precise.

To say you had been unlucky would have been quite the understatement. You'd visited four apartments so far and could not even consider living in one of them for a second. The first had been full of frat boys who made your skin crawl, the second was with an old, far right-wing couple, the third had been two sisters who'd yelled at each other for the whole time you were there and the fourth had been so crowded your were certain it was neither sanitary not legal for another person to live there. With the deadline of university starting and having to move all your things, you were starting to get quite anxious. But call it chance or fate, one day you stumbled upon an advertisement for an apartment in a nice neighbourhood with one person who seemed quite normal. This person was a state-employee (which meant a stable salary and that meant you wouldn't have to compensate for rent) who travelled often for work and liked to keep mostly to themselves. Not one for big parties, they preferred a night-in and rarely had people over.

So you'd put on your big-girl pants and had walked over to what you hoped would be your last apartment visit. You hadn't been expecting such a young person to open the door because of the way the advert had been written and because of what it said. "Hi, I'm Dr. Spencer Reid." You noticed he didn't hold his hand out and mirrored his behaviour. "Hi! I'm here for a visit!" You introduced yourself somewhat shyly, feeling intimidated. This man was at the most five years older than you and he was already a doctor?

He showed you around the apartment, which you liked very much. The rooms smelled like books and tea and everything was kept very clean. On the whole, it was tidy, even if a few books or articles were stacked in some odd places. The bedroom you'd stay in was large and luminous. After the tour, he made you a cup of tea as you discussed formalities.

"Uh, so, you’re a student, right?" he'd asked politely as he added a worrying amount of sugar in his earl grey. You bit back a teasing jest. You hoped maybe one day you'd get to place where you could comment on his daily sugar intake. "Yeah, um, I'm studying English Literature and Cinema." You stirred your tea, looking around the kitchen. Even though it was painted a dark, forest green, it still seemed luminous in the afternoon sun. "Oh, that's super interesting! I’ve always found texts in Middle English particularly insightful! I- I read the Canterbury Tales when I was about 10 years old. It’s fascinating the way in which issues which were already current then are still very present today, like in the Wife of Bath’s tale, for example-“

He cut himself off, leaning back into the couch. He rubbed the back of his neck, cheeks dusted pink. “Sorry, you probably don’t want me to ramble about what you already know.” “No, I think it’s amazing that you would know that, actually. What else did you like in the Wife of Bath’s tale?” Spencer seemed to brighten up at your words and thus ensued a lengthy discussion of the avant-garde themes evoked by Geoffrey Chaucer. You were fascinated by his knowledge and found his passion especially endearing. Lots of your professors weren’t even that passionate when talking of late 14th century literature.

After discussing rent, which you would afford by waitressing at a local bar, lightly touching upon political subjects (on which you seemed to agree on), he finally told you that he was an FBI agent. "Excuse me?" you spluttered, leaning backwards in shock. "I'm a profiler with the BAU, the Behavioural Analysis Unit. I can show you my badge if you want." He stood up and reached for his bag, but you stopped him in his tracks. "No, no, that's okay, I believe you. I'm just surprised, that's all, sorry." His expansive knowledge of so many things seemed fitting for an agent of the BAU. After realising you were the first person who didn't demand his badge as proof of his profession, Spencer granted you a small smile. "You don't need to apologise. I- I know it can be a bit... off-putting." He sat back down and looked you in the eye. "Is that a problem for you, living with a federal agent?"

You thought about it for a second. As a general rule, you weren't a big fan of cops. Even more generally, you didn't believe in the structure of today's society. But that was a big topic. Plus, a profiler wasn't really a cop, was he? "No, that's not a problem for me."

You'd moved in a month and a half later. Things had been slightly awkward at first and you'd had to figure out what kind of dynamic Spencer and you had. But eventually, you’d found your rhythm.

When Spencer left for work, you took care of his plants and sent him pictures of Geoffrey. Geoffrey was the cat you’d found on the street and taken in. He was named after Geoffrey Chaucer, author of the Canterbury Tales, your first common point of interest. Spencer had been reluctant at first, but you’d taken him to the vet, where he was tested and vaccinated, and the man had finally accepted him into your shared space. Now, he loved the little creature. Sometimes, you’d call him to ask how he was doing and whether he was safe. He’d always reply that yes, he was doing fine and no, he wasn’t in any danger, don’t you worry. He’d ask how you were doing and if you were staying on top of uni work and if you’d eaten and if Geoffrey wasn't being too annoying. As an orange cat, he had his particular tendencies.

When Spencer was at home, you'd always look forward to getting back from class. There was always that sense of comfort and ease when he was around. You had found a lovely routine quite easily. You'd both work or study, then cook, eat together and afterwards maybe you'd watch a movie or something. You were at a point where you could comment on his daily sugar intake, which he's started correcting since meeting you. He loved the Big Bang Theory and though you weren't such a fan, you loved the little laughs he let out and all the corrections he'd make. In general, you liked when he talked. Even more generally, you liked him. You also liked Friends and though Ross got on Spencer's nerves, he enjoyed being able to discuss it with you afterwards. The two of you got very close without even noticing.

Sometimes, you'd remember he wasn't just your roommate, but also a man. He'd make you a cup of tea and you'd stare at his hands a little too long while he stirred the honey in. Or he'd help you reach for a cup with his impressive height, his front just skimming your back with a shiver. He'd tell you to breathe and sit down when you were upset about something. A few times, he drove you home from a night out with your friends and laid his hand on your knee. He was the only one who remembered how you'd told him you wanted to kiss him.

With you, Spencer discovered many things he had never experienced before. A healthy, comforting and peaceful routine. A supporting, non-judgemental, healthy friendship. Easy laughter in the middle of the night and tired "good morning"s at dawn. Butterflies in his stomach whenever you touched him. A budding romance which kept him awake at night.

So when that was threatened, he just about lost it.

"Oh my God." "I can't believe this." "Is this a prank?" "Did someone call 911?" "What about her parents?" "Oh, that's sick."

Voices swarmed around your head, making you dizzy. Your hand rested over your mouth as you stared at the body strewn on the lawn. Much of the student body stood next to you, just as shocked. Mary Goldman had been her name. You'd crossed her just this morning in the main hall and had exchanged small smiles. You had thought that she looked really pretty today, but hadn't told her. You regretted that now. At the moment, her mascara had run down her cheeks and dried and her lipstick and been smudged. Bruises and cuts decorated her bare arms and legs and a big red stain sat on the side of her stomach. The contrast between her dead body and the green, thriving grass beneath her was haunting.

You turned away, feeling sick. You felt your friend's hand on your shoulder, a small source of comfort anchoring you to reality. Facing the road as you turned, you were surprised to see three big black SUVs speeding towards the crowd. You'd been expecting an ambulance, or cops. Not whoever these guys were. They screeched to a stop, drawing everyone's attention. A small dozen of people stormed out, all dressed differently though they all held the same aura of importance, knowledge and authority. You turned back to your friends. "Who are these-"

You stopped mid-sentence when you heard your name being called out urgently. You'd have recognised his voice amidst a thousand others. He spoke your name like no other. You frantically looked around, pushing your way to the large vehicles. When you finally spotted him, tears started pricking your eyes. "Spencer," you breathed in a half-sob. His eyes ran you over once, twice, assessing any damage. When he saw there was no physical wound, his shoulders sank in relief. He opened his arms and you rushed inside his warm embrace almost reflexively. Neither of you noticed the numerous pair of curious eyes observing your intimate exchange.

"Oh my God, Spence- What- What are you doing here?" you'd cried into his cardigan. You buried your face into his neck, inhaling the comforting scent he always bore. He wrapped an arm around your waist and another around your shoulders, holding the back of your head in a consoling manner. "We're- We're taking this on as a case, sweets. Are you all right?" He knew it was a stupid question but all the emotions and tension were barely wearing off and he didn't know what else to say. You pulled away but he kept you at arm's length, holding your cold, shaking hands in his warm, steady ones. "I- Yeah, it's just- I- I saw her this morning! How could she- Why would someone do this to her? To- to anyone?!" Spencer cooed and pulled you into another tight hug as you continued to ramble through your tears. When you'd eventually calmed down thanks to his words of reassurance, he pulled away softly.

Spencer understood what you meant perhaps more than anyone. The sadness, the shock, the anger, the need to understand. He gently wiped away the mascara under your eyes with his thumb. "I know, I- It's- Even I don't always understand, sweetheart, so don't- Why don't you go home? I'd come with you but-" You nodded, biting your lower lip. He gave you a sad smile. "I promise I'll join you as soon as this is over. You- you can make yourself a cup of tea and process all this and pet Geoffrey, okay? Classes are going to be cancelled either way." "I don't want to-" The look in his eyes kept you from arguing further. You nodded, giving him another hug. Before you left, an older man came over to you.

"I'm sorry to bother you, miss. I'm Agent David Rossi. I just had a question-" "Rossi," interrupted Spencer with a stern tone you'd never heard before. The older Agent raised an eyebrow at him. "Just one question." He turned back to you. "At what time did you say you saw the victim?" You inhaled shakily, running a hand over your face. "Uh, it must have been around quarter to eleven. I think- Yeah, somewhere between ten thirty and eleven." "Thank you, miss." You didn't miss the glance shared between the two men before Rossi retreated.

"Who was that?" asked Emily as soon as you'd left and Spencer had joined them behind the police tape. "No one," Spencer brushed her off as he kneeled next to the victim. Strangely, he hated the idea of someone who knew you dying. It felt too close to home. "C'mon, man, you lost your shit this morning, a girl you clearly know very well runs into your arms, you snap at Rossi and you expect us to believe you?" Derek raised an eyebrow, crossing his arms over his chest. Spencer sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose before looking up at the rest of the team. All were staring at him patiently. He stood up, swallowing.

"That was my roommate." He informed the team of your name and of how you'd been living together for a few years now. "Spencer, you've been living with a woman for years and you've never told us?!" Derek was all but hysteric. Hotch reminded him that everyone was entitled to a private life. "So, are you dating or something?" Emily prodded again. Spencer hesitated a second before answering. "No." Derek scoffed, appalled. "You mean to tell me you've been living with a beautiful woman like that for years and nothing's ever happened?!" "Not everyone is like you, Morgan," Emily reminded with a teasing smirk. Derek sent her an unimpressed look. "Look, let's all grill Spencer later, we have a case to focus on right now." Rossi, ever the voice of reason, directed everyone's attention back to the corpse laying next to them.

Needless to say, the BAU team did not need to interrogate Spencer or attack him with incessant questions to find much out. They'd seen by his behaviour that very morning how much he cared about you. They'd seen how relieved he had been when he'd seen you safe and sound. They'd noticed you'd only started crying when you'd seen him, a big sign of trust. They had never heard him call another by pet names such as "sweets" or "sweetheart". They'd read both of your body languages like a children's book and translated it easily.

Love. Comfort. Peace. Ease.

#Spencer reid #Spencer reid x reader #spencer reid fanfiction #criminal minds x reader #spencer reid fic #spencer reid x you #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid angst #doctor spencer reid #dr spencer reid #criminal minds x you #criminal minds

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reignpage · 4 months ago

Text

Bear Necessities

Synopsis: what life is like married to brown bear hybrid!Nanami Warnings: 18+ mdni, smutty, fluffy, cursing, established relationship, marriage, cunnilingus, blowjob, unprotected sex, baby fever, lactation kink, breeding kink, dirty talk, praise, dom!nanami, backshot, mention of fleshlight, sub!reader, possessiveness, threat of violence or harm, creampie, knotting, not proofread Word Count: 3.5k

Being married to Bear hybrid!Nanami means having to tip toe your entire relationship because he’s so tall. He does make the effort to hunch down for you, growling softly against your neck about how small and fragile his beautiful wife is. But he’s not always so nice. No, your Kento likes to tease, much to your chagrin.

“Sweetheart, I’ll be late for my morning class,” he remarks, peering at you over his glasses as you hold onto his shoulders for purchase, jumping to reach his face. “And you know I can’t possibly start my day without my morning kiss. You wouldn’t leave me waiting, would you?”

His words are sweet, always so sweet, but the way he’s pawing at your hips and dipping lower to squeeze your ass are nothing but. Lifting you up in one arm, he brings you face to face with his gentle grin, his pearly whites glinting in the morning sun.

“Hi, darling,” he whispers.

Savouring his soft lips and feeling the soft bristles of his beard, you mutter, “I’ll miss you, Kenny.”

“I’ll miss you too, my darling love. But soon we’ll be away for hibernation, yes? And then you’ll have me all to yourself for months.”

“Dada!”

Kento laughs, a big smile taking over his face until his eyes are crinkling in the corner. With you still held up by one arm, he opens the other for your two cubs to jump onto him. Kenji, the eldest, climbs up his huge back, biting onto his father’s thick neck and growling in challenge. Whereas, Mio sits politely in his other arm, chubby hand petting his beard with wide eyes.

“One of these days, we’ll all be too big to be carried like this, Kento,” you say with a sigh.

The glimmer in his warm eyes melts your heart. “That day will never come, my love.”

“Yeah! Dada’s strong,” Kenji argues, to which his little sister agrees, nodding furiously.

“Alright, alright. Dada’s got to go to work, so let’s not hold him up any longer, okay?”

Shifting his tie into to place, you bid him farewell, the warmth of his body still imprinted on yours. He leaves you one last kiss against your forehead, eyes roving over his family, with his eldest puffing his chest out to say he’ll take over the big bear duties now.

Satisfied, Kento is off to work and you jump on your kids, peppering kisses and attacking them with giggles.

“Let’s go bake some cookies!”

Bear hybrid!Nanami isn’t always so mild-mannered. Though he isn’t quick to be riled up, there are, unfortunately, certain things that seem to trigger those prominent animalistic instincts. For example, he’s not particularly fond of the your neighbour.

The single male is a husky who knocks on the door often, requesting sugar or dropping by gifts for the cubs. He’s completely harmless, if a little too bright and cheerful. In fact, you can tell he’s a good person, but that doesn’t matter for your husband. All males are a threat.

One evening, your neighbour knocks whilst Kento’s in the kitchen. Discussing the recent neighbourhood bake sale, you must have been gone far longer than your husband would have liked because he eventually appears behind you, impossibly taller and broader.

He casts a shadow on you and on the husky who only grins cheekily. Winding a paw around your waist, he snaps his jaws together, flashing his canines. The message is clear: leave his territory now. Your neighbour retreats back, giving you one last wink before the door slams shut.

Bear hybrid!Nanami buries his face in your neck, inhaling deeply in rapid succession, chest heaving as you’re pinned to the door. His hold on you is calculatedly light enough to not hurt but they do threaten to leave indentations should you attempt to push him away as he’s recollecting himself.

This doesn’t very often; something about that husky sets him off. You can’t say you hate when he’s like this. How could you when he’s shoving a leg between yours and caging you in his arms?

He’s shuffling his entire body against yours, rubbing his scent as thoroughly as he can. His thigh presses roughly against your moistening core. Gravelly, he groans, “Who are you married to?”

“You.”

A paw urges your hips up and down on his leg, seeking that tantalising honey from your insides. Kento stops inhaling, only to lick up the length of your neck, marking you so that there would be no confusion as to whom you belong to. His sharp teeth scrape the skin in warning — it isn’t enough for the others to know you’re his mate, you must know that too.

“Again.”

“I’m your wife. I’m yours, Ken.”

You cum just like that, shuddering against his burly chest, buried in his pecs. He rubs soothing circles in your back in apology for his aggressive behaviour. Without much regret in his voice, he admits, “I’m terribly sorry, darling. I don’t know what came over me.”

“I do,” you mumble against his repenting lips, fingers pressing the wet streak that’s formed over his trousers. “I made a mess, sorry, Kenny.”

Glasses foggy and cheeks flushed, he shakes his head. “Nothing to apologise for, my love. You were, and are, nothing short of perfect. Always. Now, come. Let’s eat. The kids must be starving.”

Bear hybrid!Nanami goes through hyperphagia during the autumnal months, when the weather begins to become colder. He eats almost double his usual, consuming more berries and salmon — your grocery budget goes through the roof trying to keep his hunger satiated.

This does mean, however, that your husband stores more fat. But it isn’t an awful experience. Rather, it’s actually the sexiest thing ever. Seeing him grow rounder in his arms, his face, his stomach and his thighs is incredible. You notice the added weight when he lays on your chest at night, laying a possessive hand on your tummy.

He almost crushes you when he does that. At first, he simply takes extra care around you, making sure he moves slowly and carefully, but as the winter approaches and he grows even bigger, sleeping on you is no longer an option and you must lie on his chest, the hairs there tickling your nose.

You can’t keep your hands off Bear hybrid!Nanami in those months. Even as he’s sorting through papers in his office, you just can’t help but crawl under his desk and fish out his thick cock. It’s long, thicker at the base where those fuzzy blond hairs are than the curve. He’s even bigger as he’s bulking. There, in his base, is a little knot-like curve that makes your mouth water.

“Feeling needy, darling?”

You hum, teasing your lips against his tip. “For you? Always.”

He lands a heavy paw on your head, guiding your head lower. Taking him in, in any holes, is never easy. You have to mentally prepare yourself by re-familiaring yourself with his scent, his texture, and his taste by licking from base to tip, circling the head and peering up at him as his breathing becomes heavy. Only once does he begin releasing pained groans do you stretch your lips to engulf him.

“Sweetheart, go -ha- slowly,” he advices. “I’ll cum too fast if you’re rough with me.”

His thighs are so thick you palm them, eyes rolling back at the pudge there, still solid and firm from his strength, and the knowledge that he could crush you with them makes you so wet, you moan around his cock.

The growls coming from his chest vibrate the wooden desk you’re under, heady air puffing from his mouth as he curls his lips back, big arms tensing whilst he grips the wood with a deathly force, knuckles white. You hear it creak above you. You suck harder.

“Almost there, honey. Keep -ngh- going.”

When he spurts in your mouth, painting your throat with his seed, he thumbs at your bottom lip, smearing the wetness of both his cum and your drool all over your chin before he pulls it down to inspect your mouth. “Swallow it all, my love. That’s right. Such a good girl.”

During hibernation, the entire family is sluggish. The children sleep all day. Kento practically never leaves the bed. Though he’s eaten enough in the season before to only need to eat once in a while, the same can’t be said for you. No, you still need to eat three meals a day.

You know that. And your husband knows that, too.

So, why does he refuse to let go of you in the mornings, afternoons, and evenings?

Held by his brawny arms, one around your chest, groping your tit, and the other circling your neck, you literally cannot move. Especially not with the hefty thigh he’s thrown over both of your legs. The snow he senses outside urges his instincts to keep all sources of warmth with him, even if the hottest thing in your room is himself, with all the heat emanating from his huge body.

“Ken, I’m hungry,” you whine.

He huffs, no rebuttal escaping him.

His glasses have been safely tucked away in a drawer, and he’s wrapped tightly in a bulky sweater, hair all mussed up. He looks even paler during the winter, the only colour on his skin being the flush across his cheeks. Kento is the epitome of comfor during hibernation — it’s his favourite time of the year. He gets paid leave and so do you, the government understanding the importance of hybrids having support systems during such a vulnerable time.

With his cubs all safe and sound at home, just in the next room, and his wife by his side at every given moment, there’s nothing else he could possibly ask for. Except maybe for you to stop squirming to get away.

“I’m literally starving, Kento,” you grumble.

Bear hybrid!Nanami relents at the very last second, pulling those heavy limbs back enough for you to slide out from under them. You rush to the bathroom for your much needed reprieve and then head straight to the kitchen. Your husband had kept you captive until it was past lunchtime.

He is so ridiculously selfish during these winter months.

Careful to make as little noise as possible, you make a quick breakfast. Waiting for the bread to pop up from the toaster, all golden brown and warm, you tap your foot against the floor. It’s an odd feeling to rarely cook in the winter season — all year round, there’s practically never enough food for your husband and your children. Now, you pretty much only cook for yourself.

You may not have the bear instincts they do, but you are a mother. You have to constantly fight the urge to shake your babies awake and shove hearty stews and delicious pies down their throats. Whenever you sneak into their rooms, all you ever get are grumbles of complaint about how loud you’re being. And if you leave the bed too often to check up on them, making sure they’re still breathing, your husband becomes adorably irritated and carries them over to your bedroom, everyone piling on top.

“You left me waiting so long, sweetheart,” Kento grumbles into your neck, startling you.

Somehow, he had managed to creep up behind, bare feet padding quietly until he reached the kitchen where he promptly rested his weight onto you. Almost toppling over by the sudden weight, you yelp.

“Ken! Go back to bed.”

Skimming his nose against your neck, he hums, “Can’t sleep without my wife.”

He patiently waits with you, hugging you from behind as he practically dozes off on top of your head, steady breathing causing his chest to rise and fall, coaxing you back to sleepiness too. He reaches over, plating the toasts for you as soon as they emerge, wary they’re too hot for your sensitive human hands.

Taking your last bite, your world turns topsy turvy when you’re thrown over his shoulder, a large hand palming your thigh all the way up to your ass. Upon reaching your bedroom, he climbs in with you still clinging to his torso. You lay on top of him. He doesn’t complain about the weight, rather he groans from the feeling of you, all of you, keeping him warm and grounded.

“If you were a bear, honey,” he mumbles sleepily, hand rubbing your back, “those toasts would be enough to keep you in bed with me for weeks. How lovely would that be?”

Playfully, you retort, “You should marry one, then.”

“There’s no one else for me but you. Human or hybrid, you’re perfect. Just perfect,” he muses.

Grabbing your left hand, he rests it on his which lies on the pillow above his head. Your rings clink together as he clutches every part of you tightly, like you might disappear when he wakes up, like this marriage with you has been all one big dream.

What a sweet slumber and a bitter waking it would be.

“See you on the other side, Kenny,” you say absentmindedly.

Kissing the top of your head, he affirms, “Always.”

Once winter passes, Bear hybrid!Nanami returns to work and your kids go back to school, catching up with their friends like they haven’t been asleep almost the entire time.

The snow’s all gone and the frost in the air disappears, signalling a brand new start. Your cubs will grow bigger, whilst your husband shifts back to his normal size, still enormous and intimidating, but much more hardened. In the spring, that brings its own set of problems.

“The cubs are at their friends’, sweetheart.” Kento hugs you from behind as you stir a pot in the kitchen. You already know where this is going. You’ve lived through enough springs with the man to know that the bulge he’s grinding against your ass isn’t a simple expression of his love for you.

Sighing, you ask, “Isn’t two plenty, Ken?”

He growls, teeth scraping your neck as he squeezes every inch of flesh his paws can reach. “I’m a greedy man. I want more of you. I want one that has your eyes and your wit. And another with your hair and your humour.”

When he cups your pussy through your dress, there’s nothing you can say in argument before he places you atop the counter, hob off and food left to grow cold. He’s got something more delicious in mind.

He grips your thighs, legs spread to accommodate his wide berth. Leaving a big bite on your skin, a red mark begins to grow and the growl vibrating in his chest tells you everything you need to know. Kento isn’t stopping until your stomach balloons with his cubs once more.

“Smells so good, sweetheart.” He presses his nose against your clothed core, burying the tip on your clit. His mouth waters with the tantalising scent filling his senses. “Always smell so good. I can never focus when you’re around.”

Your panties are ripped apart in his claws, torn to shred but before you can even process the destruction, he’s already diving in, your wetness coating his beard. Kento laps up all the juice you produce, suckling that tight little bud, rolling it with his tongue to hear your moans.

You pull at his hair, so thick and luscious, and jut your hips up. The pleasure quickly grows overwhelming and you’re squirming away, clawing to find escape from the mind-numbing euphoria.

Bear hybrid!Nanami growls, throwing a heavy arm over your stomach and he gnaws on your thigh in warning. “Do not move. Do not run. I couldn’t bear it. Not right now, sweetheart. You will give me what I want and you will thank me, yes?”

Panting, you nod your head. “Yes, yes. I’m sorry, Kenny.”

Eyes narrowing, he licks up the bruise he’s planted on your thigh in apology before he dives right back in with greater vigour. He wriggles his tongue inside, his nose teasing your clit, and you cum, creaming right into his mouth. Your husband makes low noises of approval, grip on your body turning punishing.

Bones a mush, he spins you around, wrangling you into position. Kento doesn’t give you a second to even recollect yourself. Your back to his chest, he pulls down the neckline of your dress, cupping your tits with calloused paws.

“These will fill up with milk for our cubs and they’ll feed our babies,” he reminds you, pinching your nipples and you can almost imagine the sensitivity you’ll develop. “You get aches here, don’t you, darling? It’ll be alright. Your husband will take care of you, hmm? He’ll suck out all the milk so you don’t clog up.”

In one hard thrust, he shoves his length inside you. You gasp, eyes wide and jaw dropping. You feel so full. His long and thick cock is pressing against all the sensitive spots in your pussy, kissing your cervix. Your juices coat him, leaving shiny dew drops on the blond hairs at his base.

“Feel me here, my love?” He’s got a paw pressing hard on the imprint of his bulge. When he presses harder, you clench down, jolts of electricity tickling your spine. “Ngh, that’s right. That’s where our cubs will be. You’ll grow -god you’re so beautiful- round until you can’t see your toes anymore. Oh, and then you’ll need me to put your socks on and -so tight ha- tie your laces, right?”

“Yes, Ken!”

He’s pummelling deep inside of you, head rubbing against that spot that makes you cream even more. The force in which he’s thrusting is leaving you a shaking mess, having to cling onto the counter to steady yourself.

“I’ll protect you -ha goodness- and our family. Always. N-no one will harm you. You’ll always be safe with me,” he chants and you’re not even sure he’s talking to you. Kento can only plunge his cock inside, that bulge at the base inching its way in with no regard for how your pussy’s having to stretch impossibly to fit all of him.

You cling onto that one hand keeping your hips still. “Ken! I can’t. It’s too much!”

He bites your neck, digging into your skin. Those meaty arms wrap completely around you, and he’s lifting you up and dragging you down on his cock. Your head is lolled against his shoulder, limbs limp as he uses you like a glorified fleshlight.

“Nonsense. You’ll take it all in. You’ve done it before and you’ll do it again. For your Kento, yes? For your beloved husband? For your Kenny?”

You scream as your orgasm washes over you like a tsunami, snatching you under until you’re left panting for breath, vision blurring from the tears cascading down your cheeks. He licks one that trails down your jaw and the salty taste, coupled with the almost painful squeezing of your sloppy cunt, pushes him over the edge.

Spurts of white paint your quivering walls, your clit throbbing as he shudders against you with a prolonged growl.

“So good. Always so good for me.” He makes a satisfied noise, grinding his hips deeper inside to plug up your pussy, keeping all of his seed inside. “What would you like, honey?”

You already know what he means and you don’t hesitate to answer, slurring, “Another boy and girl. So that we’ll have even numbers.”

His laughter rumbles and he kisses your neck, lips sliding through the sheen of sweat. He’s still holding you up with ease. “That would be nice. If we only get one boy, we can try for a girl soon after, and vice versa. What do you say, my love?”

You’re almost asleep, thoroughly exhausted even as your pussy still spasms around his thick cock, sensitive from the warmth of his flesh and his seed. Mind elsewhere, you can only reply, “Whatever you want, Ken.”

“Don’t say things like that, sweetheart. Because you know if I had it my way, you’ll always be pregnant and our house would be filled with mini yous all the time.”

The image causes him to throb inside you, cock not softening but rather getting bigger somehow. And when he begins rocking his hips once more, you know he likes the idea a little too much.

You go for rounds after rounds until you’re leaving a trail of cum as he carries you over to the bathroom, where he takes you again and again, eating up the overflowing mixture of your combined essence.

Bear hybrid!Nanami never needs to try hard to convince you for anything. All he needs to do is flash you that soft smile and flex those huge muscles and you’re creating a sloppy mess in your panties. And he knows when he’s charm has taken the effect he intended. His sense of smell is so powerful he can tell when you’re growing needy from even across the house, where he chases you and pins you to the ground.

The next hibernation is spent taking care of newborns. A boy and a girl. And oh, how proud is your husband to have given you exactly what you wanted. His heart couldn’t be any more full. Except for a couple months later when he’s pawing at your breasts again.

#jjk smut #jjk x reader #jjk fic #jjk oneshot #nanami kento #nanami x you #nanami x reader #jjk x you #nanami smut #Jjk hybrid au #hybrid au #Nanami hybrid #Nanami fic #Nanami oneshot

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thewitchblue · 2 months ago

Text

"Mooooooom!"

You heard across the house. Little Jason came running to you with an overbearing Dick trailing behind him, doing cartwheels.

"Mama, he won't leave me alone!"

Jason clutched onto a book he was trying to read and hid behind your legs. You wanted to laugh but managed to hold it back.

He peaked at Dick from his poor hiding spot. Now he was doing backflips. Dick wanted his attention, but he tried everything, and he couldn't find any other way to ask for his attention besides doing circus tricks. You asked,

"Dick, what do you want from Jason?"

Jason wrapped one of his arms around your leg. He only wanted to read in peace. He thought he finally found a corner in the library Dick hadn't found yet.

"I wanted to play a game with him, but he was busy reading, and I needed his attention to ask."

You kissed the top of Jason's head. Your sweet little boy, Jason, looked at Dick as if he were an alien. Surely, there are much easier ways to get his attention. He couldn't have been that engrossed, right? He looked at you with guilt-filled eyes.

"Ma? I didn't mean to ignore him, I promise."

You believe him. He would never intentionally ignore anybody, let alone his friendly big brother. Your heart melted at the teary look he gave you. He doesn't want to be thrown out back onto the streets. He knows you'd never do that, but it's an anxiety that won't go away.

"I believe you, sugar bear. You can listen to him now."

Jason bravely stepped out from his hiding place and walked towards Dick with a nervous smile. He still wanted to stay with you, but he listened to the game Dick proposed.

Your two boys ran off to cause their mischief after Dick explained the game he wanted to play. It was one of his favourite circus games that he knew Jason would love. He couldn't believe it took him months to remember the game.

You casually picked up the book that Jason accidentally dropped in his haste to play. Percy Jackson and the Olympians: The Lightning Thief. You read the first page and smiled. He was halfway through the book already and likely has the whole series stacked in a pile in the library.

You decided to put the book on his nightstand in his room. His room was covered in books with an entire wall dedicated only to books, but what's one more?

You smiled fondly as you looked around. Little Jason was so passionate. When he loves something, it's part of his heart forever.

Dick's room is full of circus decorations, and you even made a net on the ceiling to catch him when he inevitably falls from the ceiling after a circus trick.

You smiled as the two ran past you, both giggling like they were having the time of their lives. Until Dick backflipped over the guard rail on the third floor. You screamed,

"RICHARD JOHN GRAYSON!"

You ran to the railing and watched Dick ride the chandelier for five seconds before landing onto the couch like he's done it millions of times.

Horrified, you ran down the staircase. You had to check him for injuries immediately while he laughed. Jason was also terrified.

Dick wasn't even bruised to your relief, but the anger came after the relief. You physically relaxed but still looked at him with anger.

"Little wing, never do that again."

You pulled him into a tight hug and kissed his forehead. You will have to tell Bruce and figure out some way to prevent this from happening again. Maybe put up a mesh wall to stop it.

"You can't take the circus out of the kid, mom."

He winked with a grin. You shook your head with a small smile. He's right, of course, and that's why you have to safeguard the entire manor.

"You are so lucky that chandelier didn't fall. It's the oldest in the house."

He didn't seem too bothered by the idea of falling from the ceiling. You suppose he lost his fear of heights a long time ago.

"I tried to stop him, ma!"

You heard from the staircase. Jason was peaking behind the corner. You chuckled.

"I know, sugar bear. You can't control other people."

Alfred, who had been watching this whole time, said in an exasperated tone,

"I'll put a net up tomorrow, Mrs. Wayne."

You smiled gratefully at the butler, but Dick complained that nets take the fun out of his tricks. You chose to ignore his desire to be without a net and instead turned to Alfred,

"Thank you, Alfred. Dick, I'm putting up nets regardless. You shouldn't be doing dangerous tricks. I'll get you a jungle gym and a trampoline room for your tricks, but please stop doing circus tricks off of railings."

Dick was excited about the compromise and ran off again. To do what? Nobody knows. Jason hugged you. He asked shyly,

"Ma? Where is my book?"

You kissed the top of his head before telling him,

"In your room, sugar bear."

Jason, too, ran off after being told where his book is, almost running into Bruce in the process. He mumbled a quick apology as he scampered away.

Bruce watched on with amusement. Jason was a joy to have as a kid. You kissed Bruce's cheek when he approached you.

"How are you, my queen?"

You laughed at the nickname. He's always coming up with a new nickname, but he's really been enjoying calling you his queen lately.

"I'm recovering from a heart attack. We need another net, my liege."

Bruce groaned. Dick found a new spot to jump off of? He thought he had found all the spots. You said worriedly,

"He's only getting more and more creative, Bruce. I promised to build him a jungle gym and a trampoline room to get him to stop. He rode the chandelier!"

Bruce sighed softly. He can make those changes in the rooms next to the game room. His voice rumbled as he said,

"I'll get it taken care of, my love."

Alfred chimed in with raised eyebrows,

"How many more nets would you like, master Bruce?"

Bruce seemed to do a mental count of all the rooms in the manor and the ones he's blocked off. You have blocked out a good amount of the rooms and railings, but he worries Dick will simply jump off the balconies at this rate.

"At least 10 more. Thank you, Alfred."

You mirrored Bruce's thank you with a grateful smile. Alfred bowed before walking off.

You gave Bruce another kiss as he tucked you into his side. Bruce murmurs to you,

"I went to the orphanage today."

Bruce's baby fever knows no end. You rolled your eyes and said with a laugh,

"Are you collecting children like Pokemon cards?

He promised he hadn't taken in any more this time. He said while wrapping an arm around you,

"Two is plenty."

Well, jokes on you both because you ended up with twelve children, and Bruce has yet to stop. Where did he find them all? You had asked jokingly. At this rate, you are going to have a full house. He didn't have a better answer than "I'm Batman."

#batfam x reader #batmom #bruce wayne x reader #fem reader

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skzdarlings · 9 months ago

Text

harmony ; 3racha x reader ; one-shot

masterlist.

porn without plot. you want to have some fun and you know exactly which boyfriend can help get it started.

pairing: 3racha/reader content info: sub!reader, dom!changbin, dom!chan, switch!jisung, polyamorous mmfm foursome (so they’re all involved with each other and interact with each other), very enthusiastic consent with an implied red/yellow/green light system (yellow is employed once). some rough play (esp with changbin), cnc game that reader initiates, face-slapping, choking, dirty talk, pussy eating, double penetration, blow job, all three holes at once, multiple orgasms, jisung having a monster dick for no reason, aftercare. (technically no mention of birth control but it’s a long established relationship and you can safely assume it’s taken care of.)

word count: 5255 words.

enjoy <3

When you want to play – really play – you know where to go.

Jisung can be an overthinker and Chan is always protective, so they hesitate before getting too rough with you. Changbin, however, never holds back. You know how to touch him, how to smile that particularly provocative smile, how to bat your eyelashes and invite him to play.

You are thinking about it when he returns from his work-out, muscles straining in his black tank shirt, body damp with sweat, and looking like pure, unadulterated sex. Chan and Jisung are huddled around a laptop in the living room, their entrepreneurial endeavours a seemingly endless chore, and they are so engrossed in their work they don’t see you leave.

You sneak off to your room to change, ditching your shorts and underclothes, slipping into one of Changbin’s old t-shirts and absolutely nothing else.

You intend to hunt him down after his shower, but it’s Changbin who comes to you. He ambles casually into your bedroom without knocking, comfortable and relaxed and at home. You have your own rooms for personal space but you all come and go as you please.

Your room is dimly lit with strings of fairy lights, the bed crowded with pillows and teddy bears, not to mention a big strong boyfriend who makes himself at home. Changbin is dressed in sweatpants and a black t-shirt, his hair blow-dried soft and fluffy, but body as bulky and powerful as ever.

“Look at this,” he says, holding out his phone. A sweater you were eyeing has gone on sale so he sits on your bed and buys it for you without hesitation. He giggles to himself with all that self-satisfied delight, teasing that he is the best boyfriend and your number one favourite.

He knows the truest harmony lies among the four of you, together, always, but he likes to tease.

You like to tease back.

“Be careful, you big bully,” you say, because he plops himself down at the head of the bed, knocking a teddy bear over. You pick it up and aggressively shove it back into place.

He quirks an eyebrow, his giggling joviality replaced with a studious expression. He seems to finally notice what you are wearing, blinking his gaze up and down your body as you rearrange the pillows behind him.

You bat your eyelashes, all playful innocence.

“Don’t be so serious,” he says. He deliberately knocks a teddy onto the floor.

You playfully gasp, bending over with a flourish and flashing him.

“Ah,” he says, putting his phone on your bedside table. “It’s like that?”

“I don’t know what you mean,” you say, blinking.

“Hm,” he says, giving you another quick once-over. “Okay.”

Changbin hauls you over his shoulder and wrestles you onto the bed. He puts you on your back, upside down so your head is near the foot. He climbs right on top of you, not an inch of muscle budging even when you thud your fists against his firm chest.

“Binnie,” you say, wriggling underneath him, the t-shirt riding up your thighs. “You’re crushing me, you big mean brute.”

“Brute,” he says, laughing. He grabs your hips and pins you to the mattress. “Tsk. You like it like that.”

“No, I – ah!”

Changbin never hesitates. He knows you will tell him if you don’t like something. It’s a game of trust, full of an all encompassing love that boasts such tender affection beneath each action. Being with Changbin is like being nestled in blankets by a warm fire on a snowy winter’s day. You are sheltered in the storm, feeling that protection even more keenly because of the dangerous cold.

Between you, there is nothing but heat.

He gathers the hem of the t-shirt and shoves it up, past the skin of your tummy, exposing your thighs and all the bare softness between them. Oh, yes, all softness against his hard body, the thickness of his biceps as he holds you down, his big thighs shoved between your open legs, broad shoulders relentless and ungiving even where you smack him repeatedly.

“Binnie, be careful,” you say, trying to close your legs around his hips.

You gasp when he puts a hand up your shirt, squeezing your breast in the cup of his palm. His mean fingers immediately find the stiffening peak, thumb tormenting you while you whine.

You buck as if you want to throw him off, but he is right where you want him and he knows it. He knows you, your body like a well-loved instrument, his strong hands drawing every musical gasp and sigh out of you.

“Where’s your panties, hm?” he asks. Undeterred by your continuous bucking and writhing, he slides his hands down to your naked hips. He was slouched half-on top of you but he gets up on his knees now. He pushes your thighs apart, forcing his hips between them.

“Shameful,” he says. He tries to grab your flailing hands to no avail. You smack his chest and shoulders, dodging the reach of his fingers.

He smacks your face, a tap hard enough to register the game has really begun, but not so hard to sting for long. You still gasp, your hands pausing. It gives him time to work a hand between your open thighs.

“Ahh—!”

“Yah, look at you,” he says, rubbing his fingers through your wet pussy without finesse or gentleness. You twitch every time his knuckle rides over your clit. “Bad girl,” he says. “Who are you so wet for?”

He gives you no time to answer, scooting back to drag you to the middle of the bed. You are still upside down, your pillows and teddies piled behind him, all the dreaminess of your girly lace bedroom in contrast to his stark masculinity. It makes your whole body thrum with arousal, hot from the tips of your toes to the crown of your head. You feel him even where he is not touching you.

Where he is touching you, you burn, heart erratic with anticipation as he squeezes your thighs, as he shoves your hands out of his way, as he uses his thumbs to spread your pussy open to his gaze.

“Ah – Binnie—!” You get louder. Your bedroom door is open. Chan and Jisung might be focussed on their work, but not for long, not if you keep this up. Still, to speed things along, you scream, “Chan! Channie! Ch—hmmph!”

Changbin shoves a pillow in your face, holding it there, smothering you to soften your shrieks. His other hand is on your thigh – no, slipping higher, a surface touch through all that wet desire. Then his blunt fingers are inside you. You moan into the pillow, clenching around the thrust of his fingers. You get dizzy quickly, partially because of the pillow, partially his skilled hand.

He abruptly lifts the pillow. The oxygen goes straight to your head, as intoxicating as a kiss. You realize you are close to coming already, hiccupping with all that sudden breath as he fucks his fingers into you.

Changbin is relentless. You smack his chest but he ignores it, his strong arm keeping a steady momentum. An orgasm builds and builds, your fingers hooking into his t-shirt for some leverage. He puts a hand on your belly and holds you down. He feels so strong and heavy, utterly unmovable, and it makes falling apart so much easier.

“Didn’t you have something to say to Chan?” he says.

You gasp and turn your head. Sure enough, Chan is standing there, watching you. Changbin does it on purpose, knowing when you are close, so you look at Chan just as the orgasm crests.

Chan is standing beside the bed, dressed in his basketball shorts and a sleeveless black shirt, a baseball cap over his curly dark hair. He must have entered the room while the pillow was on your face, and now he is standing there, watching Changbin hold you down and fuck you with his hand.

“Channie, please—” you say, then you come all over Changbin’s fingers. You cry out because he keeps tormenting you, thumb shaking back-and-forth across your throbbing clit. “Ah, Binnie—Channie, please!”

Chan gives Changbin a look, his eyebrow quirked, then he just leans towards the open door and whistles. It’s a sharp, high whistle, a call to attention.

“Han,” he says, not even very loud. Chan never needs to shove or force or yell. When Chan says come, you come.

You always obey Chan. You throw your head back, gasping as you come a second time. It is so soon after the first orgasm that it feels like one long, rolling wave. It continues to shudder through you, even after Changbin slips his hand out.

The shirt is still shoved up your tummy, soft skin and wet pussy on display. Chan does not look away, reaching blindly behind himself for your desk chair. He yanks it closer to the bed and plops down, taking off his cap and tossing it on the floor. He is bare-faced, expression so open and honest, but a hunger in his eyes that darkens his whole face.

Changbin just looks giddy. You look at him as he giggles, that funny little chortle leaving that buff body. Then you realize he is rolling his sweatpants down.

“Channie!” you yelp, shrieking and twisting while Changbin licks his palm and strokes his cock, his other hand effortlessly holding you down.

Chan slouches in the chair. He props an elbow on the arm-rest and puts his chin in his palm. His other hand slips under the waistband of his shorts.

“Careful, baby,” Chan says, seconds before Changbin smacks you again. It is within your limit, but still enough to turn your head on impact.

Like before, it breaks your concentration, and Changbin takes the opportunity to grab your hips, line up, and shove his cock inside you. Chan and Jisung always give you a minute to adjust, the size of a hard cock definitely different from fingers, but Changbin never waits. Even while you wince and complain, he fucks you through it, gripping your hips hard and ignoring your hands pushing against his chest.

“Too much, Binnie,” you say, even though the sting is quickly passing. You’re so wet and it makes it easy for him to fuck you. It even sounds messy, every thrust opening you up, getting you even wetter, the bed creaking as he pulls you onto his cock over and over.

You look over at Chan who is still watching, the shape of his hand and his dick so clear through the material of his shorts as he fists his cock slowly.

You hiccup as Changbin switches from long, deep strokes to short, pounding ones.

At which point Jisung finally walks in, yapping about work, saying, “I was thinking we could postpone the meeting to Monday and—oh, hi, WHAAAT, we’re having sex in here? All right, man, okay, that’s cool, all right, what’s up.”

Oh, your sweet Jisung. He is also in house clothes, black shorts and a sleeveless white shirt, dark hair feathering through his fingers as he runs his hand through it. He walks further into the room, kicking the door closed behind himself for no reason. His attention is firmly fixed on you, holding your gaze while Changbin fucks you. The unmoving intensity of those big brown eyes leaves you tingling, a swoop in your belly that feels as thorough as a good fuck. It crashes into the feeling of Changbin inside you, makes your whole body get tight so Changbin groans and curses.

“Oh,” is all you can say. You cover your face with both hands, gasping when Changbin goes back to longer, deeper thrusts.

“Heyyy, baby, why are you hiding?” Jisung says in his sweetest voice.

You hear him approaching, even above the sound of you getting fucked, above Changbin’s little grunts, above Chan cursing. You feel the dip of the mattress when Jisung climbs up on the bed, sitting near your head. Then his hands are on your wrists, prying them away from your face. You try to wrestle them back but he holds them calmly, his own arms boasting a subtle musculature as he pins your hands to the mattress to stop you from moving.

“Yes,” Changbin says. “Like that. Come on.”

“Jisungie,” you whine, looking down at where Changbin is driving into you, feeling each thrust deeper than your pussy, all the way up to your throat. You tip your head back, looking at Jisung upside down.

He leans down, his hair swooping forward, tickling your face as he kisses your forehead and temple.

“It’s okay, baby,” he says. Despite his soft voice, he does not lighten his grip, your hands still locked in place. “Does it hurt?” he asks, wide-eyed.

“Mmm,” you say, nodding, even while shuddering with so much pleasure that a tear spills down your cheek.

“Aww,” he says, licking that tear track, making every nerve spasm. “You’re so cute, baby.”

“She gets tighter when you choke her,” Chan says.

“Awww,” Jisung says. He releases one hand to reach for you. He wraps his fingers delicately around your throat, not even squeezing at first, just a caress as his hand curls around you.

Your adrenaline naturally peaks, body clenching, just like Chan said. Changbin groans his satisfaction and Jisung tightens his grip, keeping you pinned by the throat while Changbin goes still, coming inside you.

“Fuck,” Chan says.

Jisung releases your throat and you suck in a shaky breath. It is interrupted when Jisung swoops in, kissing your lips upside down. You squirm under the confusing messiness of his open mouth at this angle.

He comes up with a breath, one as shaky as your own, ravished from a kiss. He runs his hand through his hair and nods to Changbin, saying, “Turn her around.”

Two pairs of hands find you, manhandling you so easily between them. You yelp, startled by the movement, as they lift you up and turn you around so your head is in Changbin’s lap and Jisung is now the one between your legs.

Changbin hoists you into his arms, holds you in the cradle of his bicep as Jisung lays down between your open legs.

This is one area that Jisung never hesitates to indulge, his open mouth descending on your pussy with ravenous excitement.

You are so, so sensitive down there, almost numb beneath the first few searching swipes.

He presses his whole mouth there, moaning as he sucks on your clit then licks up and down, back and forth, around and around. His tongue rubs where Changbin just came, circling your sensitive hole, pressing there then licking back up to your already throbbing clit.

“Can’t come again,” you say, not entirely sure if it comes out coherent because your eyes are closed and your brain feels fuzzy.

He answers with a hum. He does not seem to be eating you out with the intention of making you come, but purely for his own pleasure as he sucks and licks and tastes. Despite that – and despite your words – you feel a tightening in your belly, a dull throb that feels too feels too deep to reach.

“Shhh, it’s okay,” Changbin says when you start to writhe, his big arm wrapped around your neck, holding you tight to his beating heart.

The thud of that heart, the relentless flick of Jisung’s tongue, and Chan’s approving nod makes your thighs press around Jisung’s head.

“Oh—” is your last word before you come again, bucking hard against Jisung’s face. You gasp and cling to Changbin’s arm.

Jisung keeps licking at you, not relenting until your gasping whine is more of a scream. Then he kisses your thighs and hips before pushing himself up onto his knees.

He and Changbin wordlessly work together, sitting you upright to remove your only article of clothing. Both pairs of hands find you again, touching and groping and stimulating everywhere.

You shudder under all the sensation, eyes closing, rocking against nothing. You are desperate to close your legs to relieve the tension, but Jisung is kneeling between them. Fortunately, he knows you well, his hand sliding down there, fingers finding you, curling into you.

“You’re soo wet, baby, it’s embarrassing,” he says. “You need it that bad?”

He is still using his sweetest voice, like he doesn’t know he is about to utterly wreck your shit. Because Jisung always does without very much effort, simply by effect of having the biggest dick you have ever taken. It is part of the reason you usually can’t start with him, or why he takes his time when you do, because it is an aching endeavour whenever he tries to fit all that inside you.

Even the bulge in his shorts is obscene, the material rubbing against your thighs. He brings your hand to that bulge and groans when you squeeze it, saying, “That’s it, that’s it—”

He leans over you. It sounds like he and Changbin might be kissing above your head, sloppily at that. Jisung is probably shoving his tongue into Changbin’s mouth, the same tongue that was just inside you as it licked up the mess that Changbin made.

They press you between their bodies in an envelope of desire, utterly dominating your senses. Changbin smells like his shampoo, a deep scent like mahogany, while Jisung tends to douse himself in cologne, faded now at the end of the day but still a rich, expensive smell. Beneath all that is that simple sweat, bodies getting worked up, raw sex overwhelming all those other scents.

You breathe them in, whimpering because you are pressed so tightly between them. You can feel Jisung twitching in your hand and Changbin beginning to stiffen again at your backside.

There is a wet pop and a shared gasp when they stop kissing. Jisung grabs your face and pulls you up, his mouth hot when it claims yours, that stupidly talented mouth making you crazy.

“Hold her,” Jisung says, speaking against your lips while guiding Changbin’s hands. Jisung grabs your thighs and pushes them up, not quite folding you in half but almost there. He knows you need to be open to take him. Even then, you are already clenching, fluttering around nothing in anticipation.

Changbin holds your thighs back, hands pressed under the curve of your knee. Jisung hastily shoves his shorts down his thighs, leaving them gathered at the knee. He touches you and uses your desire to wet his dick, frantically jerking it as if it is not already intimidatingly hard and ready.

“Jisungie,” you say, already whining, wiping an embarrassing spot of drool as it spills over your bottom lip. Your body is so eager that it thunders out of control, clenching around nothing, and you can’t seem to stop it.

Jisung is so mean, just using his fingertip for a second, circling your fluttering hole. You try kicking him but your ankle manages little more than a flick, your legs trapped in Changbin’s hold.

“Sorry,” Jisung says, giggling and obviously unapologetic. He flicks your pouting bottom lip before finally putting the tip of his dick at your entrance.

The first little bit is always fine. It feels good to be full, your body needing him, pulling him in. He rocks back and forth a little, pushing an inch then another, and that’s when your body realizes how much there is, clenching and stretching and burning as he pushes in.

He goes slow, his whining mouth against your throat. But then Chan sits on the edge of the bed and touches his back. He bottoms out quickly and you squeak, eyes closed and breath coming fast.

You hear Chan say, “Take it off.” Confused, you blink your eyes open. Chan is talking to Jisung, tugging his shirt up his back.

Jisung groans but complies, tugging it over his head with one hand. The few seconds give you a precious moment to adjust, barely enough before he comes back and starts to fuck you with short, rolling thrusts. You think Chan is getting Jisung’s shorts out of the way given the jerky way Jisung moves on top of you, but then you are skin to skin with no obstruction.

“Mmph, yellow – legs,” you say, breaking only briefly to prevent a cramp in your thighs. Changbin is quick to smooth you out, helping reposition you more comfortably.

You sprawl flat on your back as Changbin moves away, wrapping your legs around Jisung’s waist without any hindrance. He holds himself above you, alternatively muttering expletives and cooing sweet nothings at you.

Changbin sits on one side, Chan the other, both fully clothed despite the obvious strain below their waistbands. It reminds you a little of the time Changbin topped Jisung while Chan fucked you, the pair of you kissing and touching between them the entire time.

Today is a little different. You are at the centre of it all, Jisung inside you, Chan’s hand on your chest and Changbin’s fingers circling your mouth. You take those fingers when prompted, sucking dutifully, batting your eyelashes up at him while he softly finger-fucks your mouth.

Chan’s fingers join him, touching your lip. You open your mouth wider and drool messily around the intrusion.

“Fuck,” Chan says. He rips his hand back in sudden needy haste. “Turn over,” he demands, smacking Jisung on the ass.

It makes Jisung yelp but he complies. With some help from Changbin, you roll over until Jisung is on his back and you are on top of him. Changbin kneels upright too, taking your face in his hands and kissing you, tongue penetrating your mouth as Jisung holds your hips and thrusts up into you.

Chan grabs the back of your neck, holding you in place while Changbin kisses you. Chan’s other hand runs down your front, tweaking a nipple and making you mewl into Changbin’s mouth. You are more panting than kissing by the time Chan’s fingers reach your pussy.

Jisung slows down just a little, out of breath and whimpering as you clench around him. This angle makes him feel stupidly deep, your eyes rolling back. He makes a few small, jerky movements, not even a deep thrust, and it still feels like he his hitting your heart.

Chan joins the kiss with Changbin. You are not even sure who is kissing you, just that it is one or the other, back and forth until you are dizzy. You know it is Chan’s fingers between your legs, the unmistakable pattern of his deft, familiar stroke making you spiral towards another orgasm.

“Oh, god, she’s – she’s—” Jisung says, squeezing your hips, going still for a minute to stop himself from coming when you do. He is breathing as hard as you.

You look down at Jisung, holding eye contact while you come hard on Chan’s fingers. Chan and Changbin are each sucking a bruise into either side of your neck.

“Fuck,” you say in a watery voice, thighs shaking, hands on Jisung’s abdomen as you lean forward.

“That’s it,” Chan says, kissing your throat sweetly while Changbin bites you meanly. Both of them swipe their tongue across the mark they leave behind. “Jisung,” Chan says, a demand without further explanation.

“Fuck, I know,” Jisung says, slowly moving his hips again.

It is so quick off your orgasm, it makes aftershocks move through your whole body. You are a livewire, making every ridiculous sound possible as Jisung fucks you, Changbin kisses you, and Chan gets up behind you.

Chan runs his hands down your sides, gently bending you forward until you are chest to chest with Jisung.

“Yup, just like that,” Chan says, rubbing the base of your spine then lower. His hands cup the curve of your ass, squeezing, tilting your hips just so. It gives him a good view of Jisung’s cock moving in and out of you, no doubt obscenely wet and messy, as well as exposing the smaller hole in your ass as he spreads you open.

“Changbin,” Chan says, still with that same confident assurance he will be obeyed no matter what, “Pass me the lube. Bedside drawer.”

As if you were not already sensitive enough, just hearing those words makes everything clench, which makes Jisung fuck you harder, which makes some place inside you that is so unbelievably soft and tender start to ache.

“Ah, that sound,” Changbin says when your moans turn to high-pitched whimpers. He pats the back of your head and reaches for the bedside table.

After a bit of rustling, he tosses the lube at Chan who catches it easily.

“One second,” Changbin says while Chan uncaps it. “She’s gonna come again. Big one, isn’t it, yes?”

The fact he knows before you do is a testament to how closely he watches you, how well he knows you. He is completely right, of course, as Jisung repeatedly pounds into some squishy, vulnerable part of you, so deep and so tender. You are not sure your clit would even respond if someone tried to touch it, but they don’t need to. It is enough that Jisung is hitting that place again and again.

You come with a scream, literally gushing around Jisung as you come. It takes everything in his willpower not to come, nonsensically begging Changbin to help so he doesn’t finish. Changbin just grabs him by the throat, much harder than Jisung grabbed you, making Jisung choke out a strangled gasp immediately. It works, though, as Jisung goes still but stays hard, letting you rock desperately on top of him as your orgasm seems to last ages.

When it finishes, you are completely boneless. You slump onto Jisung who takes a breath when Changbin lets go.

“All right,” Changbin says, smacking your ass. You hear him kiss Chan quickly. “Your turn.”

It is a good thing you feel so willowy; it makes it easy for Chan to open you up on his slick fingers. The few times you have done this, it always took forever, which was fun in its own way, but today it is so easy. He slides a finger right in, then another, hardly any obstruction as your body surrenders so completely to your boyfriends.

“You gonna take it okay, baby?” Jisung asks, his hands on your sides, holding you steady.

You look up at him, nodding, and open your mouth with a whine. He understands, lifting his head, meeting you in a messy, lazy kiss while he rocks slowly inside you. The kiss only breaks when Chan replaces his fingers with his cock, reigniting every spark in your over sensitized body.

“Ugh, god,” Jisung says, barely above a breath as he pants against your mouth. “He’s inside you, baby?”

You don’t answer because he can probably feel it when Chan is fully inside you. It takes a second for them to calibrate, find a rhythm that works. You are not sure if you are more impressed with yourself for taking it so easily this time, or impressed that Jisung has lasted this long and is still coherent enough to keep a steady rhythm.

“Changbin,” you say, his name a moan on your lips. You need to feel him too, his hand on your back not nearly enough.

“Go,” Chan says, groaning, your hips in his hands as he fucks you. “Oh, baby, you’re so good,” he says. “Isn’t our girl so good for us?”

Changbin and Jisung basically just grunt in reply, affirmative but irrevocably distracted.

Changbin kneels near your head, rubbing the back of your neck and gently guiding you to turn your face. Jisung swears when you open your mouth, a bit of spit drooling past his own lips as he watches you take Changbin’s cock past your lips. You mostly just lay there with your mouth open, letting him fuck it rather than really blowing him, but there are no complaints.

Chan squeezes your ass, a gentle knead that just makes you feel more open, stretched to your absolute limits, so full that you do not know how you will ever be happy without them all inside you.

It reinvigorates you. You find strength in your arm and use it to touch Changbin, fist circling where your mouth does not reach. You get him off first but Chan follows quickly, muttering things like you, tight, perfect, baby, baby, baby.

“Oh god,” Jisung says, somehow still holding out. When Chan slips out, it gives Jisung slightly more leverage. He pushes himself upright, letting you slump in his arms and cling to him while he fucks up into you with quick, desperate little uh-uh-uhs.

Finally, he comes, your name melting into a moan as he buries his face in your neck, mouth open where Changbin left his bitemark.

They surround you after that and you hum happily, letting them pass you from one pair of arms to the next. Jisung flops back, running his hands through his hair and catching his breath. Changbin is there with a cloth of some kind – you think it might be Jisung’s shirt, but Jisung is way past caring – and he gives you a quick and gentle wipe-down while kissing your sleepy brow.

“I should buy you sweaters more often,” Changbin says, giggling.

It makes you snort with laughter, blinking up at him with a grin. “Was gonna fuck you anyway, dummy,” you say.

“In that case, I’ll buy you another one right now.”

You giggle when he rubs his nose against yours in a cute little nose-kiss, eyes crinkling with an affectionate smile.

“Mm, c’mere, sleepy,” Chan says, rightfully as you are still mostly slumped in his arms. You manage to string an arm around his neck as he scoops you off the bed and holds you against his chest.

You are still a little dazed from so much sensation. You let your boys take care of you. After some quick inspection and care, you are plunked in a bath with Jisung to clean and decompress while the other two go strip and re-make the bed.

Jisung kisses your face while helping you wash, his careful hands and the hot water soothing every achy limb.

“Totally worth it,” you say, head under his chin, eyes closed and sighing contently.

Changbin comes to help you out. By then, you are bright-eyed, sore but in a way that makes you alive. You feel clean and fresh and loved, bundled up in a robe and then carried off in Changbin’s arms to the living room where food, a comfy couch, and Chan is waiting.

Jisung joins a moment later. The laptop is long since closed and utterly forgotten, the four of you snuggling up in a big blanket. Chan has an arm slung across the back of the couch, your head on his chest, Changbin’s arm around your middle, and Jisung half-asleep where heis slumped against Changbin.

“Round two?” Jisung asks then promptly yawns, making you laugh as Changbin playfully smacks him and Chan just sighs an amused sigh.

Taking the cue from Jisung’s yawn, you close your eyes and snuggle down.

“Love you,” you say, drifting off to each of them saying it back. You know one of them will carry you to bed eventually, so you let yourself drift into sleep, safe and warm, happiest when you are all together, just like this, the four of you always in perfect harmony.

#3racha x reader #3racha smut #bang chan x reader #bang chan smut #han jisung x reader #han jisung smut #seo changbin x reader #seo changbin smut #stray kids x reader #skz x reader #stray kids smut #skz smut #stray kids x you #skz x you #bang chan x you #seo changbin x you #han jisung x you

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yanderedrabbles · 2 months ago

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Yandere Neighbour - Noncon

With your electricity out and your devices dead, you have no choice but to turn to your neighbour for help. He's more than willing to welcome you into his home. Really, you're lucky he's such a nice guy.

Tags: male yandere x gender neutral reader, noncon, somno, just the tip anal, daddy kink but only if you squint, 3.3k words

Living in the middle of nowhere had its perks. Privacy. Untouched nature. Peace and quiet.

But after the third day with no electricity, those perks were starting to look pretty damn weak. Your fridge was sitting in an ever expanding puddle. Almost all your devices were dead. And if you had to take one more cold shower you were going to cry.

It was when you were digging through your drawer looking for desperately needed batteries that you found your neighbour's number. He'd offered it to you a little while after you moved in, and while you two were on friendly terms, you'd never actually spoken for longer than a few minutes. You sighed, looked at the 10% left on your phone and decided that desperate times called for desperate measures.

You: hey, it's me. I still haven't got any power. Do you mind if I come over to charge some stuff?

He replied almost instantly.

Unknown: aww that sucks

Unknown: come on over. I've got hot stew and a generator

Unknown: and you can take a hot shower too if you want

Score. And to think you found him intimidating at first. Just goes to show that you can't judge on appearances. You packed a change of clothes, your devices and the last tub of ice cream that wasn't totally melted. You'd find some way to properly pay him back but a tub of chocolate fudge double cream wasn't a bad way to start.

He was waiting on his porch when you pulled up. A bear of a man in a flannel and blue jeans, a five o' clock shadow darkening his jaw.

"Howdy neighbour," he drawled, opening your door for you while you grabbed your stuff. "Regretting leaving the city yet?"

You huffed a laugh. "You do NOT want to know the answer to that."

His cabin was much larger than yours, a two storey behemoth with wide windows and exposed beams. It had a rustic charm - like some natural park Air BnB where they charged a weeks pay for just one night. A little too big for just one man. Didn't he get lonely?

"I brought some ice cream and chocolate to say thank you. And also because it miiight have been melting."

He opened the door for you and ushered you through with a hand on your lower back.

"Hell, I'll never say no to something sweet."

There was a fire burning in the fireplace and a stack of logs in a crate next to it. He was so much better suited to this life than you were. He locked the door behind you and slipped the keys into his pocket.

"Old habit," he explained with an easy grin.

"Why don't you get settled? I'll plug your stuff in."

You handed over your tech with a relieved sigh.

"Thank you. Really. I'm so behind on work already and I haven't heard anything back from the power company."

"I wouldn't hold my breath," he said. "Once ended up going a week straight with not even a light bulb flickering."

You winced. "It gets that bad?"

"Yep. Especially in winter. Gets dangerous then too."

He tilted his head at you, concerned. "You need to get yourself better sorted before it starts snowing. I hate to think of you stuck out there when the blizzards start rolling in."

God, could you be any more of a city slicker? You rubbed your neck, embarrassed.

"Thanks. I've been here a few months now and I guess I just didn't realise how serious things can get."

"It's all good. But if I'm honest, I get worried thinking about you out there all alone. Plenty of drifters end up passing through. Not a good place to be alone, not for a little thing like yourself."

Little? You wanted to feel indignant, but looking at his bulk, you reckoned that most folk probably seemed little to him.

He lead you to the fireplace and poured you a mug of coffee from the pot that was waiting for you. He jerked his head at the hunting rifle on display above the mantle.

"I can teach you to shoot, if you've got some free time."

You took a sip of the coffee, internally debating with yourself. You could see the sense in your offer but you weren't a big fan of guns. Hell, just being around them was nerve wrecking enough. Maybe -

You looked down at your mug in surprise.

"This is some really good stuff."

The coffee was strong, bitter in the best sort of way. You could catch a hint of chocolate in it too. Just sweet enough to make your toes curl.

" 'Course. Only the best for my guest. Help yourself to another cup. I'll just put your stuff on charge and be right back."

You finished your drink in a few sips and happily poured a second serving. Hot coffee... man, you didn't think three days without it would be so tough. Usually, you were pretty sensitive to caffeine. But by the time your neighbour came back, your head was tilted back and you were half asleep.

You tried to shake yourself out of it but he just laughed and pushed you back down.

"You probably haven't had a good sleep since the power went out. Just rest. We can talk once you wake up."

"I'm sorry..."

"It's fine." His hand was still on your shoulder, thumb rubbing small circles into your neck. "It's just fine with me."

You drifted off after that. Into a deep sleep without any dreams. Waking up was like slogging through molasses.

"Finally up sleepy head?"

It was dark outside and your neighbour was on one knee in front of the fire place, coaxing fresh wood to catch.

You sat up slowly. Your muscles ached and there was a strange, salty taste on your tongue.

"My heads killing me..."

He stood, poker still in his hand. "You must be starving then. I've already got some food on the stove. You'll feel better after you eat."

You didn't feel hungry at all. If anything, you felt almost hangover.

"Thanks," you managed. "I'm sorry to be such a bother."

He waved you away. "I don't mind a bit."

He came back with a bowl of steaming hot chow and stood with his arms crossed on the back of your couch while you ate.

"It's real late. I reckon you should stay over. I don't want you driving on dirt when it's so dark."

"Oh, it's fine. I've already put you out so much."

"Don't be silly. I insist."

You shivered without meaning to. That almost growl, low and bordering on menacing. It was so familiar, so...

"Just like that. Look at you, half asleep and still desperate for my cock."

"You like the taste? Yeah, I bet you fucking do."

"Ain't just gonna use your mouth next time."

You squeezed your eyes shut. Where the hell was this coming from? Were you remembering some sick dream from this afternoon?

"You okay there neighbour?"

You nodded. "Just my head."

Maybe he was right. Driving when you were so disorientated was just asking for trouble.

"If you really don't mind... I'll be happy to sleep over."

He laughed, a deep, rumbling thing. "I'll make the guest room up special, just for you."

"Could I use your shower too?"

"I offered didn't I? Come on, I'll show you where it is."

He took you to the master bedroom and jerked his thumb at the en-suite.

"Hot water is the most reliable in there. Door doesn't close that well though, so don't mind it. I'll be downstairs when you're done."

You brushed your teeth carefully. You lips felt sore, bruised in a way you couldn't explain.

You waited until you heard his footsteps going down the stairs before you stripped off your clothes. You stood under the hot water for a good few minutes, luxuriating in the feeling. The bathroom was thick with steam when you finally got to scrubbing yourself. The door was open just a crack and the bedroom beyond was dark. You forgot all about it until you heard the creak of the hinges.

You whirled to face the door, your hands coming up to cover yourself. The steam was too thick to see through. You called his name.

Nothing.

You stepped out with suds still on your thighs and pushed the door open. The room beyond was empty.

You sighed. God, you were being paranoid. Your neighbour was a great guy. It was unfair of you to treat him like a peeping tom when he'd gone out of his way to make you comfortable. It must have been just an errant draught.

You stepped back into the shower and rinsed yourself off. But no matter what you told yourself, you still kept an eye on the door.

When you went to change into your fresh clothes, you spent at least five minutes hunting for your underwear. Did you drop it somewhere? Oh, please say your undies weren't just sitting in the middle of his hallway. That would be beyond embarrassing.

Eventually you gave up and just decided to go without them. Not comfortable at all but still better than walking around in a towel to look for them. And much better than calling your neighbour in to help. Wouldn't that be fun? 'Hey neighbour that I don't know that well, you haven't seen my intimates lying around, have you?' Yeah, you'd never again get invited over after something like that.

When you were dressed, you found him already on his way up the hall. He was carrying a glass of water and some pills.

"Thought you might still have a headache, so I brought you some painkillers."

You paused, nervous but not sure why.

"Thanks." His hands dwarfed yours when he handed them over. You didn't recognise the name of on the pills, but they looked harmless. You tossed them back and gagged at the bitter aftertaste.

"They pack a punch, so tell me when you start to get drowsy."

"Aye aye captain."

You followed him to the guest room. It was at the very back on the second story, quieter than the rest of the house. A huge glass wall gave you a view of the forest disappearing into the darkness. You could see the ghost of your reflection in the glass, your neighbour a hulking, shapeless mass at your shoulder.

He took a seat in an armchair across form the bed and stretched out his legs. You perched on the edge of the mattress, still feeling a bit like an intruder.

"How long have you been staying out here?” you asked.

He smiled at you, teeth glinting almost wolf-like. "Got you curious?"

"A little. Folk in town say they hardly see you. I don't know... I'm just wondering if you ever get lonely."

He was quiet and you cursed yourself for being so nosy. You hurried to fill the silence.

"It's just that I get a bit lonely out here too. 'Specially when it's so quiet. And I guess I was wondering if it's the same for you."

He smiled at you, rueful. "At times. Used to be worse, but I've got a new interest to keep me occupied nowadays."

"Oh yeah? What?"

"Bird watching."

"Really? What do you look for?"

The way the room was lit up, you couldn't see his eyes. They fell into shadow and you only had his lips to read his emotions by. He smirked, slow and almost mocking.

"Just one bird I look out for. Flighty little thing. Tends to get caught by predators a lot. You’d probably recognise it."

The polite thing to do would be to ask what it was called. You didn't. Some part of whispered that you wouldn't like the answer.

You must have been quiet a little too long because he took it as his cue to leave. He stood, a mountain of muscle, his eyes not quite as nice as they seemed that afternoon. A trick of the light, surely. He wouldn't hurt a fly.

"You rest up. Got a busy day tomorrow."

"G'night."

He was gone before you thought to ask what he meant. And you were passed out on your pillows before you realised it. He was right. The pills sure did pack one hell of a punch.

You were aware of a shadow at the end of your bed. You weren't fully awake, and your limbs were slow and heavy with more than just sleep.

"Who..."

The shadow reached down and one warm paw circled your ankle.

"Just me little bird."

You knew that voice. It was the voice that brought you warm food and invited you in from the cold. You could trust it. Could go back to sleep and not worry about anything.

'No,' some part of you hissed, 'He's not as safe as you think.'

"Cold..."

The shadow laughed and it was the laugh of the fox finding the rabbit's den. Nasty. Hungry.

"Cold huh? Don't worry baby. I'll warm you right up."

He yanked your ankle towards him and your whole body slid down the bed. You were too drowsy to stop it.

"Knew you were gonna be mine the second I saw you," he cooed, hands running up your thighs.

His fingers slipped under your waistband, nails scraping your hip bones.

"Dumb little thing from the city. Doesn't even realise I've tripped all their breakers. That's why you don't have power baby. It's all me."

His fingers were as big as the rest of him. Thick, meaty. Skin rough from working outdoors. You whined when his fingertips scraped the edges of your hole.

"No underwear. You needy slut. That's practically a written and signed invitation to fuck you."

He pulled your pants down to your ankles and pushed your knees up to your stomach. And you were too out of it to stop him. Limp and pliable as a fuck doll.

Your tight ass was exposed to the cold air, entirely at the mercy of whatever he wanted to do.

"Cute." He circled his thumb around the rim, almost pushing in but not quite. "Wanted to be in this ass since you first showed up at my door all those months ago. Lookin' up at me all sweet. Fuck, it's enough to drive a man to desperation."

He lowered his head and you could feel his warm breath washing over your thighs.

He dragged his tongue across your hole. Some part of you must have been more awake than the rest, because your whole body jerked away from him.

"None of that," he cooed, hands digging into your thighs and dragging you back. "I haven't even gotten started yet."

He licked you again, deeper this time. The flexed tip of his tongue pushing at your entrance, and to your dull horror, actually slipping in. He moaned and you could feel the vibrations all through your crotch.

He pulled out and spat, rubbed it in with his fingers. One of them pushed in until the second joint, curling into your walls so rough that you gasped.

"Please..."

"Please what?" he mocked. "Please fuck my tight little ass? Please cum inside me? Use your words little bird."

"Please...stop..."

That made him laugh again, made him shove his finger in all the way to the knuckle. Twisting so cruelly as he pulled out and jerked back in.

"Stop? Stop? After all the work it took to get you here? No way baby. I'm not slowing down and I'm sure as fuck not stopping."

You heard the sound of his belt unbuckling, followed by a sharp intake of breath when he nudged his leaking head against your hole.

"You’re not going to remember this. And I'm not going to leave any evidence."

He pushed your legs tighter against your chest.

"So as much as I want to fuck you rotten, you're gonna have to be happy with just the tip."

He'd done a good job loosening and lubing you, but it still burned like a hot poker when he forced his way in. He groaned, almost in pain.

"You're fucking choking me. God, do you want my cum so bad?"

You could feel when the tip was in. That tiny difference in thickness between his head and shaft was oh so noticeable when your ass was clenching and fluttering around it. It was the smallest mercy, but mercy nonetheless.

He was panting from the effort of getting it in, the effort of holding back. The size difference between you almost perverse. Like a draft stallion trying to mount a pony. In every way, he was just too fucking big.

He spat in his hand and brought it to his cock, ran his palm up and down his shaft with sickly wet strokes. The combination of his palm and your squeezing ass was fucking delicious.

He had great stamina but fuck if it didn't feel like you were milking him.

He let go long enough to smack your ass. It almost finished him. You clenched around him so hard it felt like his tip was getting fucking crushed.

"Shiiiit, you're the best hole I've ever had. Can't wait 'til I can go all the way."

You whined, pitiful as snared prey. There were words there, though they were too slurred to make out. Something about Daddy and please and stop. He ignored you.

He pushed in a little deeper and watched your face scrunching up. So helpless, so fucking caught. That was what did it. The knowledge that he could do this to you at any point and you'd be helpless to stop it.

He came inside you, snarling through clenched teeth, his fingers digging into your thigh hard enough to bruise. You'd notice the marks in the morning and chalk it up to just being clumsy. But he'd know. He'd see the bruises peeking out from the hem of your shorts and his cock would twitch just a little at the memory of leaving them.

His cock pulsed. Shot strings of spunk deep inside you. You could feel it. Hot, too hot. Gross. Make it stop. Get it out.

He pulled out with a wet pop. His cum drooled down and he took a minute to work it back into you with his finger. Your hole was gaping just a little and it made his balls pulse. If he had the time...

"A real fucking mess. And on my good sheets too. You're a terrible guest."

He mopped up whatever cum remained with a balled up piece of martial that he pulled from his pocket. Even in you stupor, you recognised it as your missing underwear.

"Terrible guest, but the perks of having you around are pretty fucking sweet."

He dropped your knees back to the mattress, pulled your pants back into place and roughly yanked the duvet over you. He grabbed your jaw and smiled at the lost, drowsy look in your half open eyes.

"Got a big day tomorrow. Gonna wake up and find your whole house was flooded. Ruined. Gonna have nowhere to stay but with me."

He sounded smug. It made your guts twist.

Outside, the night grew quiet. A predator was hunting and most prey knew better than to catch its attention.

"I made sure of it. All your family and friends in the city are away from home. There's no one around to help you out..."

He tightened his grip just enough to watch the fear start dancing in your eyes.

"No one...except me."

He let you go and smiled that same warm, comforting smile from that afternoon.

"Dumb little thing. Got no clue how your water mains work, do you? Got no idea how easy they are to sabotage."

He tutted. "Got me so damn busy. I'm gonna have to run to your place, fuck shit up and be back here before you wake up for real."

He traced his index finger over your lips and left behind a sticky coating of spunk. You'd wake up tasting salt again, with no memory of why.

"But it's fine. I forgive you. After today we'll have plenty of time together. Rest of our lives in fact. So just sleep tight and forget what you think you've dreamed."

There are perks to living in the middle nowhere. Privacy. Untouched nature. Peace and quiet.

There are perks, but unfortunately for you, your neighbour isn't one of them.

#yandere #yandere x reader #yandere drabbles #yandere imagines #yandere scenarios #reader insert #x reader #yandere oc #yandere lemons #yandere oc x you #tw noncon #Yandere neighbour

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bruhstories · 9 months ago

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sweet like honey ˚₊ ˚ ‧₊ .:･˚₊ ˚ ‧₊ .:･˚₊ *˚

summary: logan ended up spending his evenings in the bar across the street from your bakery, watching you do your job. he never approached you, never talked to you, but he always kept an eye on you, until he has a bad feeling. pairing: logan x fem!reader warning & content: swearing, violence, reader almost gets assaulted (but logan saves the day), she/her pronouns for reader, wade being wade, unprotected p in v, fluff, angst, lots of baking and mentions of food, slightly ooc logan (if you squint), slow burn, sex in a bakery wc: 6k

a/n: i don't always write, but when i do, it's a fucking thesis. unedited.

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Logan was never a fan of sweets. He hated chocolate, cheesecake, gummy bears — literally anything sweet. The only thing he could barely stomach was tiramisu, and only because it had coffee in it. Other than that, he steered away from sweets like they were the fucking plague.

Yet despite all that, he found himself enjoying the smell of freshly baked croissants, custard donuts, brownies, and whatever goods you baked in your little bakery, conveniently situated across the street from his go-to bar.

Cleverly named Flour Power, it was all pastel both inside and out, with little pots of hyacinths hanging from its window and a big sign above the entrance. Not that Logan ever went there, but he always walked past it when he went for a drink. Flour Power stood out from all the shops with its baby blue windowsills and bubblegum pink door. As much as he disliked vibrant colours, his eyes were always drawn to the bakery. But not because of how it looked or the way it smelled.

No, Logan strategically sat down by the window in the bar to see you. Every evening, he watched you sell everything you had on display, from wedding cakes to éclairs, greetings customers with a warm smile on your face. He watched you turn the sign from open to closed, lock the door, clean the display shelves, the counters, the only two tables and four chairs inside, and sweep and mop the floors. Then you disappeared in the back for a while, perhaps doing the dishes or preparing dough and frosting, before you walked out, locked the door again, pulled down the blinds over the big window on the right side of the door, and left.

It became a ritual for Logan to watch you. In a way, it brought him some peace, despite him never speaking to you. To him, you were innocence personified, the type of girl who made others feel better simply by being there, and he didn't want to disturb that peace.

Tonight was an ordinary night for the 200 year old mutant. He swirled the whiskey in his glass, drank it all, then went to the bar to ask for another round, killing time until you closed the bakery, then he could finally go back to the apartment. You closed at 7 for clients and left at 8:30 every evening except for Sundays, when you didn't work. Logan knew your schedule a little to well, even knew you opened for clients at 8 in the morning, but you were there much earlier, because he could smell the pastries at around half 6. This time, however, you seemed to have a bit more work. It was past 9, it was dark, and you still hadn't left, and Logan was slightly concerned.

He watched you like a hawk, how you tucked rebellious strands of hair behind your ear when you mopped the floor, how you wiped your hands on your cute little apron after you finished scrubbing the countertops. Logan thought you had extra orders from customers, perhaps a wedding cake. He scrunched his nose at the thought of having to try so many flavours only to pick a damn cake that he probably wouldn't enjoy anyway.

But finally, you were done.

It was almost 10 when you locked the door to the bakery, double checking to make sure it wouldn't budge. Then the blinds and off you went. Logan was satisfied to see you go, but the hairs on his back suddenly stood up, his nostrils filled with the scent of danger. Bitter, sour, it went straight to his brain, and so he finished his drink and left the bar, following you down the street but keeping a safe distance.

You walked past a group of drunk men, gripping your tote bag with your left hand and your keys with your right one. You've learned to place the keys between your fingers, like claws, in case someone attacked you. Going home at that time wasn't something you enjoyed, and you always tried to avoid working late, but sometimes that was inevitable. When you heard footsteps approaching you, you picked up the pace, but paranoia kicked in, and you didn't want whoever was following you to find out where you lived, and so you took a detour.

Logan was like your shadow, going everywhere you went, until he heard something drop in a dimly lit alleyway and he sped up, finding you round a corner, pinned to a wall by a man while another guy had his hand up your dress. It was too dark to see, but Logan didn't need eyes to know that was you. He could smell the vanilla extract and icing sugar and fear.

"Take my wallet!" You told the men, but they weren't there for the money. They wanted something else from you.

"Nah, doll, I'll take something else from you. Somethin' more precious than money." One of the men said, his breath reeking of alcohol, the cheap kind.

"Hurry up and fuck her, bro, I need my turn-"

Something flashed, then a shadow lunged at the second guy who couldn't even finish his sentence before he was struck down.

"Mike?" The man who pinned you against the wall asked, his hands trembling on your body. "Stop fucking around."

But Mike was seeing stars somewhere on the alleyway. It happened so quickly you couldn't understand what was going on. When your eyes finally adjusted to the darkness, you saw him, rough, handsome and very, very angry.

"Who the fuck are you?" The man asked, but all he got in response was a guttural growl. "Hey, man, I don't want any trouble. My girlfriend and I were just talking. Stay out of it." He grabbed you by the neck, dragging you away from Logan.

You seized the opportunity and wrestled out of his grasp by biting your assaulter's hand, dashing behind a bin.

"Ow! Fucking bitch!" He lunged at you, but Logan was quicker, piercing his claws through his shoulder and holding him in place.

"That's no way to talk to a lady." The mutant snarled, and you watched how his claws retracted before he punched the man in the face, effectively knocking him down.

He was the Wolverine. You had seen it all over the news, how he saved your universe, how he came from a different world. You couldn't believe he was the one helping you when you thought no one would save you in that moment.

"You alright, kid?" His raspy voice startled you and you barely nodded, still too shocked to move or speak. "You sure?"

You shook your head and tears rolled down your cheeks as you finally started to process what just happened. Logan scrunched his nose — comforting someone wasn't his strongest skill — and instead he picked up your bag and keys from the pavement.

"Shit, um, don't cry." He handed you your belongings, and you looked up at him with a frown.

How could you not cry when you saw your entire life flashing before your eyes? Logan swallowed a lump in his throat and offered his hand to help you stand up. You looked at his hand, reluctant to grab it. The only thing he could compare you with was a cat — cautious, yet curious.

"No claws." He said when he understood the meaning behind your eyes. "Come, I'll- um, I'll walk you home."

The invitation had you perk up and gain courage, and you quietly took the bag from his hand. He walked with you in complete silence, until you stopped in front of a building. You lingered, unwilling to go in. Logan asked if that was your place, and after you nodded, he offered to take you all the way to your apartment, which made you feel relieved. He could see it on your face when you sighed. You guided him up the stairs, constantly looking behind you to make sure he was there.

You stopped in front of a tall wooden door, keys in hand.

"Go on. I'll wait until you lock the door." Logan encouraged you.

"Can you stay?" You finally spoke, and your voice was sweet like honey, fitting for a baker.

"I don't know, kid-"

"Please." You looked at him with glossy eyes, pupils blown from the fear that hadn't left your body yet. The fear he could still smell.

"Yeah. Okay, I'll stay."

"Thank you."

Logan followed you in, and you flipped the light switch on before locking the door behind him. He looked around and, just as he expected, the apartment was a direct reflection of your bakery — clean, colourful and calm. There were recipes stuck to the walls with pink pins, and between them little paintings of sunsets, skies, flowers, cats. All things cute. They weren't framed, and so Logan figured they were hand-made, his assumptions confirmed by the easel in the corner of your living room.

Of course your sofa had to be colourful, too — mustard yellow with sage green cushions and blankets. Even your curtains were sage green. Despite the explosion of colours, Logan found himself enjoying being there. Not everything had to be brown, black and grey, he thought. Probably the only vibrant thing in his life was his suit, since the only people that brought colour were his friends, and they were gone.

"Drink?" You cracked the walls he put up around his heart with that sweet voice.

You shook a bottle of gin to get his attention and he nodded. Logan wasn't a fan of gin, but he didn't expect you to have any hard liquors. He watched you pull out two blue glasses from the kitchen cabinet, and of course they had to be funky, with white flowers on them.

"Where'd you get these?" He asked, swirling the drink in his hand.

"I made them. Kind of." You said. "Bought them from a charity store and painted the flowers. Do you want some tonic water?"

"Fuck no." Logan choked on his gin when you asked him that question. Simply being in a place so... colourful was enough. He didn't need a girly drink.

"I'm Y/N, by the way."

"I'm-"

"The Wolverine!" You cut him off a little too eager.

"-Logan. Call me Logan." He cringed when the beverage tickled his taste buds. It wasn't bitter enough for him.

"Logan. Thanks for tonight. Is there any way I can repay you?"

The question was riddled with innocence, but he couldn't stop the degenerate thoughts that popped in his mind when you asked him that. You were just so pure that he wanted to both protect you and ruin you.

"Don't mention it. I couldn't just walk past without doing anything." Logan lied, because, really, he wasn't just walking by, was he? No, it was downright stalking.

"I could bake something for you." You offered and he shook his head.

"I don't like sweets, kid."

"What?" You were baffled. "Everybody likes something sweet."

"Not me." He shrugged. "All I like is tiramisu and only if those biscuits are doused in coffee."

"Ladyfingers." You corrected him with a chuckle. "They're called ladyfingers."

"Bullshit."

"I'm serious! Here!" You rushed to your pantry and pulled out a whole box of them, showing Logan the name.

"That's just stupid." He shook his head. "Who calls them ladyfingers?"

"Uh, everyone?" You laughed at his surprise, and the thoughts of your bad evening slowly dissipated, like a bad dream.

Logan truly was clueless about baking, but spent hours listening to you talk about types of sugar, extracts and their uses, and the difference between baking soda and baking powder in cooking. You rambled on and on and not once did he get bored. He could listen to you talk for hours with your voice soothing. Logan thought about it, and he genuinely never met someone like you before. The women in his life were all so different, but you took the cake. You were special in ways he couldn't understand. And he was just so drawn to you.

"I'm sorry, I haven't stopped talking once!" You apologised, realising how safe you felt with him there. You would never let a stranger inside your house, let alone talk about baking while having gin. But Logan wasn't a stranger. Not after he saved you.

"'s alright. It's not every day I learn about baking." He chuckled, finishing his drink. "Listen, I should get going."

"Right." You sighed, eyes darting at the floor. "No, of course. I've kept you too long."

Logan got up and you walked with him to the hallway. He was slow to put his leather jacket on, as if he was waiting for you to say something, anything, but when you didn't, he unlocked the door and opened it.

"Hey, Logan?" You tugged at his sleeve, whispering so you wouldn't wake your neighbours. "Are you sure I can't bake you something? Not now, I mean. I really want you to try something besides tiramisu. And that way I can repay you."

"Hell, why not?" He shrugged.

"Great!" You beamed at him like a child on Christmas day. "Stop by my bakery tomorrow at twelve. It's on Granville Street."

"I thought you didn't work on Sundays."

"Oh, how'd you know?" You quirked a brow at him.

Caught red-handed.

"Educated guess."

"Fair enough." His answer satisfied you. "Be there or be square!"

Sleep was for the weak. All night, Logan tossed and turned and abused his poor pillow with with punches. The mere thought of seeing you, no, interacting with you, had him wriggle like a worm on the mattress. It didn't help that Wade instantly noticed something was up.

"Oh, my, did you shower, peanut?"

"Not today, Satan." Logan poured himself a cup of coffee.

"Mmm, and what do I smell?" Wade sniffed the air. "Wait, is that my perfume?"

"Forgot to pack mine when I swapped universes." The Wolverine barked back.

"Hah!" Blind Al chimed in from the living room. "I think tall, dark and handsome here has a date!"

Logan rolled his eyes while Wade pouted, plopping on the sofa next to Al.

"You never called me that."

"That's cause you’re a degenerate." The woman snorted.

"Takes one to know one, doesn't it- ow! Stop hitting me with your cane, I know where you hide your nose candy!" Wade fought back.

"Touch it and I'll bust a cap in your ass!" Al scoffed.

"And I'll regenerate."

Logan used the opportunity to slip into the hallway, but his roommate was quicker, and blocked the door.

"You're not going anywhere until we have the talk."

"The talk?" The Wolverine snorted.

"Ah, they grow up so fast." Wade told Al. "Now, son, when a man and a woman love each other-"

"I'll give you three seconds to fuck off."

"Oh, but I need to know everything! Who is he?"

"She." Logan rolled his eyes.

"Oh my god, is this you coming out to us? Al, he's straight! I promise we love you anyway." Wade went for a hug and all Logan could do was accept it. He learned to live with Wade, even though he dislocated his jaw a few times after he moved in.

"Alright, that's enough."

"Nooo, we're just getting started. Name? Age? Occupation? We could do a double date with Vanessa-"

"Absolutely fucking not." Logan pushed Wade off of him.

"Okay, okay. Just make sure you wrap your willy, and if you need any advice, daddy's here." Wade opened the door for his roommate.

"Actually." Logan lingered in the hallway. "What kind of flowers do girls like?"

The blinds to the bakery were closed but you were inside, pastries in the oven and dessert in the fridge. You couldn't help yourself and prepared something savoury as well, in case he didn't like the lemon cake. A knock on the door startled you, and you rushed to check who it was.

Logan stood there, a bouquet of peonies in his hand. You welcomed him in with a smile, but he could tell it was different than the one you flashed your customers. It seemed more genuine. And it felt like a date.

"These are for you." Logan handed you the flowers, taking in the scent of pork pies. "I thought you were gonna bake something sweet." He flared his nostrils.

"I did, I just thought I should have a plan B in case you didn't like my cake." You placed the bouquet in a vase on one of your tables. "How did you know I liked peonies?"

Logan couldn't believe Wade was right about those damn flowers. And there he was, thinking roses would be better. Maybe the Merc with a Mouth wasn't so bad after all.

"I had a hunch." He shrugged.

"Well, Logan, I love them! Now sit, sit!" You ushered him to his seat. "I hope you're hungry, because there's a lot for you to try."

"A lot? I thought you'll make me a cupcake or somethin', bub."

"A cupcake?? Don't be silly." Just as you said that, the oven made a loud ding sound, and you turned on your heels, heading in the back.

Logan waited patiently, observing every little detail from the front of your bakery, from the spotless display shelves to the neatly organised paper bags, to the fairy lights around the window. It was obvious to him that you had put your mind, body and soul into this bakery, and his expectations were quite high after all the fuss you made. But he decided to be nice not matter how the food tasted. He couldn't bear seeing you upset if he didn't like what you made.

You reappeared with a tray in your hand, and on it two plates, one with a small pork pie, one with a croissant, and a cup of coffee. Hell, even the cutlery was cute, with swirls engraved on the handles of the fork, knife and teaspoon.

"I decided to leave the cake for last." You said, placing the tray in front of him. "This is a simple pork pie, start with that." You urged him. "Careful, it's hot."

The Wolverine struggled with the cutlery, too small for his large hands, and the brief thought of slashing the pie with his claws crossed his mind, but he decided to be civil. You watched him butcher the food, eager to see his reaction, but he was taking his time.

"I'll let it cool off a bit."

"Ooh, that's probably a good idea." You nodded.

"Aren't you having some?" Logan asked.

"Noo, no. I like to bake for others, not for myself."

"So what do you eat, then?" He sipped on the coffee.

"Instant noodles usually. I'm too tired to cook when I get home. I do occasionally have leftovers, but whatever isn't sold I take it to the local shelter." You explained.

Christ, you couldn't be any kinder. Logan was stunned by your beauty and your soul, which was why he decided that after today, he will stop any interaction with you. He couldn't ruin you, not with his lifestyle, not with the danger that followed him everywhere.

The only problem was that the conversation flowed naturally, and he felt safe with you, just as you did with him. Like you were the missing piece to his puzzle. Logan pushed away those thoughts and decided to try the food. He took a large mouthful of the pie, chewed and swallowed, and you waited expectantly.

"Shit."

"What? Is it bad?" You jumped from your seat.

"Fuck, this is the best pork pie I've ever had." Logan wiped his mouth with a tissue you provided. "I'm serious, kid. Did you put drugs in it?"

You laughed, shaking your head as he finished the rest of the pie. He truly seemed to enjoy it, and you felt so satisfied. But the real test came after.

"Pistachio croissant." You said. "I thought about making almond ones, but I figured pistachio wasn't that sweet."

"Right, let's see." Logan took a healthy bite out of the pastry, and lo and behold, he closed his eyes, leaning back in his chair. If heaven had a taste, it would be that damned croissant.

"Is it good?"

"Good? Jesus, this is the best one yet." He finished the rest of it, the pistachio cream tickling his taste buds in all the right ways. "Who taught you to bake like this?"

"My grandma. She was the best cook I knew." You smiled.

Logan noticed your use of past tense, and he didn't want to bring up any bad memories. He wasn't the nosy type, but something possessed him to ask you about your life, your family, your favourite colours. He needed to know more about you, and you answered all his questions, opening up to him like a flower in bloom. But when it came to him talking about himself, Logan was reluctant.

Talking to Wade was easier, because Wade didn't take anything seriously, nor did he ask personal questions. Well, he did, but in his own stupid way that provided Logan some distraction, as well as a reason to punch him. But with you it was different. He felt like he owed you serious answers that he wasn't yet ready to tell a stranger who made a mean pistachio croissant.

"The cake!" You spun on the chair, changing the subject when you saw Logan dodging your questions like bullets.

Although he didn't say it, he was grateful that you didn't put any pressure on him to talk. He wasn't a talker. That was definitely Wade. You came back with the whole cake, and it looked so good that Logan didn't want you to cut it. Perfectly round, a layer of cream in the middle and white frosting on top. You even went so far as to decorate it with all kinds of yellow flower petals and what seemed to be mint leaves.

"Alright, hit me. What's this one called?"

"I call it the Mojito Cake. The sponge cake has lemon zest, the cream is made of lime, mint and rum syrup, and the frosting is buttercream with a dash of actual rum." You explained.

"Shit, I can't tell if that sounds disgusting or incredible."

"Only one way to find out." You cut him a thick slice, and Logan wasted no time trying it.

"I think you found yourself a new customer."

"You're too nice."

"I'm anything but nice, kid." He took three more spoonfuls. "But I ain't a liar. This is delicious." Logan spoke with his mouth full and it made you chuckle.

"Oh, there's a bit of frosting on your face."

"Hm?" He used the tissue to wipe his chin. "Did I get it?"

"No, it's still- here, I'll get it." You leaned forward and delicately ghosted your thumb over the corner of his mouth, eyes locked with his.

Without thinking about it, you dragged your tongue over the frosting, and Logan couldn't look away from you even if he wanted to. A gesture so innocent, but it destroyed any form of restraint. He pressed his lips onto yours, tasting the rum and the cream, but before you could kiss him back, he pulled away.

"Sorry. Sorry, I shouldn't have-"

You gave him no time to finish his sentence when you placed your hands on his shoulders and kissed him with fire on your tongue. God, he hated being touched, but when you did it, he melted in your hands. Lust battled reason and prevailed, and you found yourself straddling Logan's lap, arms around his neck and chest pressed against his.

His large hands found their way under your dress, fingers digging in the plush of your thighs until a moan escaped past your lips. Logan could've sworn you were pure in all ways — a virgin — so, naturally, he was surprised to see you eager to jump his adamantium bones.

With the last shred of reason left in you, you glanced at the door and window to make sure they were covered, and pushed Logan's jacket off his shoulders, peppering his neck with soft kisses. He wasn't the gentle type, no matter how hard he tried, and he didn't need to be when he felt your hips grind in his lap. It was more than obvious that you wanted him then and there.

Logan lifted you up as if you weighed nothing and slammed you down the empty table. His roughness sent a chill down your spine, because you really wanted him to manhandle you from the moment he stepped foot in your bakery. He kissed you again, pressing his whole against yours until your back hit the table. You felt like a cornered animal with nowhere to go, and the thrill of it turned you on.

"Are you sure you want this?" Logan asked despite you unbuckling his belt.

"I don't want this, I want you. I need you to fuck me so hard I can't walk." You unzipped his jeans, and although he was taken aback by your sudden use of filthy words, he couldn't deny he enjoyed seeing that side of you.

"Greedy little girl." Logan's hand slithered between your legs, fingers rubbing circles over your clothed clit. "Shit, you're soakin' wet. Can feel it through your fuckin' panties already." He flared his nostrils, taking in the scent of your arousal.

With his jeans loose around his waist, you palmed his cock through his boxers, and it didn't shock you for a second that he was rock hard. What did shock you, however, was the size of it. It was probably the biggest you've ever taken, and you didn't want any other man anymore.

You tugged at the waistband of his boxers, making it clear that you didn't want to waste any more time. Not that you didn't want to suck his dick or explore every inch of his body and worship it the way a man like him deserved it, but you were impatient.

Logan got the hint when you whined and scoffed, and he tore the pink panties off of you, tossing them on the floor. At least he had the decency not to put them on the table, which you were going to disinfect anyway. He pushed his boxers down, and you propped yourself on your elbows to look at him, and it was a sight for sore eyes indeed. He had perfectly sculpted abs, you could see them under the half-lifted t-shirt, but it was his cock that made your mouth water.

"Like what you see?" Logan was smug, confident in his good looks.

"I need to permanently imprint this image on my retina." You told him, and he couldn't help the chuckle.

"Likewise. Now spread 'em."

"Yessir!" You very quickly obeyed, parting your legs for him, and Logan couldn't deny that he enjoyed being in control.

He wasn't one to take orders, nor give them, but watching you comply scratched an itch he couldn't get rid of. Logan pressed the tip of his cock against your slick folds, earning another whine from you. You bucked your hips, craving more, and he scoffed.

"That desperate, hm?"

"You have no idea." You dug your manicured fingernails into his shoulders, bracing for temporary pain, because you knew damn well it would hurt.

"I don't know, I didn't hear you say please." Logan frowned, and you understood what game he was playing. A game you yearned to be part of.

"Oh, please, please, please fuck me, Logan! I'll be so good for you! I'll do anything you want." You clung to his shoulders, bringing yourself closer to him. "I'll even take it in any hole you want." You whispered, dragging your tongue over his lips.

"Shit." Logan was weak in the knees from your words, and the worst part was that he believed everything you said. But there was a time and place for everything.

You were the perfect mix of sweet and spicy, and you begged so nicely that the Wolverine just couldn't say no. You felt the leaking tip of his cock push past your folds and you audibly gasped at the size of it, drawing blood from his skin with your fingernails.

"It won't fit-" You whined with lust in your voice.

"I'll make it fit." Logan promised, painstakingly slowly thrusting into you.

He gave you time to adjust to his girth, constantly checking if you were alright, if you wanted him to carry on or stop, and while you loved that he was so caring, you needed him hurry up and fuck you.

To assure him that you would survive his monstrous cock, you planted a soft kiss on his nose, and there it was again, the change in your personality, from sultry to innocent. It was as though you embodied everything he ever wanted, and his desire to never contact you again went down the drain. How could Logan ever leave someone like you?

"I'm ready." You nodded, and he pressed his forehead onto yours, slowly rolling his hips.

You weren't ready, because it hurt like a bitch when he stretched out your velvety walls. But the pain was soon replaced by pleasure, and Logan picked up the pace when your whimpers turned to moans, and the slight frown on your face disappeared.

"So tight." He hummed, forehead resting against yours.

Were you tight, or was he just so incredibly big? Either way, you were a panting mess already, clinging to him for dear life, and Logan forgot his worries, even if it was just for that one moment. You were too good to be true, with your parted lips and glossy eyes — a beautiful sight for his sore eyes.

"Fuck, I- fuck!" You wrapped your legs around his waist, the table screeching under you. Not a single coherent sentence could come out of your mouth. "Logan, shit, I-"

"What's the matter? Need something?" He cooed, fingers bruising into your hips. "Use your big girl words."

"Need it ha-harder!" You cried out but he slowed down, confusion written all over your face.

"Where are your manners?"

"Please, daddy, please give it to me harder!"

The term of endearment had Logan quirk a brow at you, but he wasn't surprised in the slightest that you had a daddy kink. And he basked in being called that.

"Are you sure you can take it?"

"Yes!" There was no hesitation in your response. "Fuck, yes!"

Logan growled when he felt your pussy clench around his cock, and he delivered, thrusting deeper, harder and faster into you, until the sound of skin on skin echoed in the bakery, and your breathing became heavier.

"Fuuuuck, I can feel it in my gut!" You threw your head back when the tip of his cock brushed against your cervix.

"Filthy. Little. Slut." Each word came with a thrust and a groan, and he filled you up so good, you became addicted to him.

Your toes curled up, and your legs began to twitch when you felt your orgasm build up. Each push and pull made your vision blurry, and Logan's grip on you tightened as his hips stuttered. He was feral, and he was close, you could feel it in your bones.

"Fuck, Logan, do- oh- don't stop!" Words spilled from your mouth incoherently, and after a few more thrusts, pure bliss rushed through your body.

"That's it, let go." Logan buried his face in the crook of your neck, slamming hard into you until all you could do was chant his name like a prayer.

You felt him fill you up, pussy hot and sticky and sore, and he slowly pulled out, eyes darting at the tissues on the table. He grabbed them, gently cleaning you up, and you couldn’t stop the grin on your face. There was just something about a man like him be so gentle. And you were absolutely delighted to have him take care of you.

"You know," Logan said licking his lips, "I'm beginning to think you didn't want me to just taste your pastries."

"True." You told him smugly. "But you liked them."

"I like you more." He blurted out without thinking.

You felt your cheeks burn at his sudden honesty, and after sliding up your underwear and fixing your dress, you planted a soft kiss on his cheek.

"I like you too, honey badger."

"Don't ever call me that again." Logan chuckled.

"Not happening. Now, could you pleaaaase help me clean up this place? The last thing I need is a surprise hygiene inspection tomorrow."

He couldn't even imagine what the inspectors would do if they found out you had sex in a bakery, and with a nod, Logan zipped up his jeans and began disinfecting the tables and chairs while you swept the floor.

In less than half an hour you were done, and the shop was squeaky clean. You were satisfied with the end result, and told Logan that you wanted him to have the rest of the cake, pies and croissants. He thought Wade and Al could eat something, and decided to accept your offer.

"Can I come with you? There's quite a few boxes of food." You told him, a sheepish grin on your lips.

"Is that your way of finding out where I live?"

"Maybe. I'll go home if you don't want me with you."

"No, you're good." Logan assured you. "Besides, I'm sure my roommate's gonna devour everything. He'll probably lock you up in our apartment and force you to bake for him."

"I don't know if that's a threat or a promise." You laughed.

"Both. It's both."

You walked with Logan down the street, boxes in your arms, and you were surprised to see him open up to you more. He answered almost every question you had, and you felt him more relaxed. And he was. Logan forgot how much he needed that kind of connection with someone. You were so easy to talk to, you didn't judge him, and most importantly, you listened.

He guided you up the stairs to his apartment and knocked on the door, because he couldn't reach his keys with so many boxes in his arms. You baked for a damn army.

Wade opened the door, and you were taken aback by his appearance, but it didn't scare you. Instead, you introduced yourself as Logan's personal baker, earning a chuckle from him.

"Come on in, Martha Stewart." Wade opened the door enough for you to walk through it with the boxes and not drop them.

"Wade." Logan came back from the kitchen with a croissant. "Eat. Seriously, eat."

You watched Wade wolf down the pastry without hesitation and his eyes lit up. He chewed and swallowed, then moaned, eyes rolling back. The look of disgust on Logan's face was priceless.

"Holy fucking shit, Y/N, what the fuck did you put in this?" Wade grabbed your shoulders, giving them a good shake. "It's so flaky and creamy and buttery, like a bunch of unicorns came in my mouth."

"I'm glad you like it." You giggled. "Try the cake."

"There's cake?!" He ran to the kitchen, leaving you and Logan in the hallway before coming back, a slice of half-eaten cake in his hand. "I am officially impressed. Can you make Rocky Road?"

"Yes."

"Dulce de leche?"

"Yep."

"Baklava?"

"Uh-huh."

"Schwarzwälder Kirschtorte?"

"Yes, Wade!" You rolled your eyes, then turned to Logan. "Sugar rush?"

"Oh, you have no idea. And this is him on a good day."

"Listen, sweet cheeks, if old man fuckface here won’t marry you, I will. Just don’t tell Vanessa." Wade whispered.

"Don’t even think about it, you degenerate limp dick."

"Ugh, fine. And here I was hoping all four of us could be a happy dysfunctional family. Five if you count Al. Six with Colossus. Wait, actually, eight with-"

"Wade, have you tried the pork pies?" You asked, effectively shutting him up.

Yeah, Logan could definitely get used to being around you from now on to sweeten up his life.

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