#hes so gross and sickly

[vinegar-rights]

i love tour idea that benry tries to hold back the sweetvoice like one holds back vomiting big feeling of "i got so hard i got sick"

YEAHHH EXACTLYYYY LFMAO and also the south park bit where stan would vomit whenever wendy kissed him

[the-bat-bros]

Bruce wdym you don’t want your girlfriend bonding with your kids how else is she supposed to integrate into the family?

From the latest update of Wayne Family Adventures on Webtoons

[mariocki]

Brannigan (1975)

"Well, if it was up to me, I'd get some men out thumping on the streets, passing out some 'e pluribus unum'. That's what ninety percent of police work is today."

"The murder rate in your country, I'm sure, gives ample testimony to your superior police methods."

[pseudodog]

manager ordered a pizza tonight and got half veggie cause he thought i was vegetarian even tho i KNOW ive eaten meat infront of him. and just reminded me that people always think im veggie/vegan for some reason

[selamat-linting]

"you're actually pretty normal-" bro i want to make out with him when he's in the crapper

[little-miss-dilf-lover]

SICKNESS COMFORT W/ LOGAN.

bc im a desperate, conniving attention seeking little sick bitch rn and im not sorry. I just miss and want him!!!!!

implied fem!reader, fluff. 742 words

Sickness bugs come and they go, but never do they get any easier. The migraines seeming to be more blinding than the last, the ringing in your ears sounding more prominent than the time before. It wasn’t a nice feeling by all means, and you found yourself constricted to the sickly comfort of your bed.

You were in the beginning stage of your bug. The dismissed aches and pains in your body now proving to be symptoms. The pressure behind your eyes you ignored for lack of sleep, lethargy you once again passed off as lack of sleep. 

But now, sitting at the edge of your bed in your towel with a bowl in your lap, your jittering ankle bobbing the sickness vessel, you knew it to be more than just ‘lack of sleep.’

“How’ya feelin’?” Logan asks as he steps into your room, voice quiet. 

You shrug, keeping your gaze cast down into the designated sick bowl, staring at the bubbly spit swirl at the bottom. It was gross really, but somehow it helped to not swallow it. 

“Did you wash?” he questions, referring to the bath he ran for you before heading out to the store. The errand of restocking your painkillers. 

He walks closer to you, placing the paper pharmacy bag on your nightstand before moving to sit beside you. He places the back of his hand over your forehead, gauging whether your temperature has grown any hotter since the last time he checked. 

“Yeah,” you say, the word barely audible. You would nod, but that would only make your head worse. “It didn’t help,” you anticipate his next question, answering before he even gets a chance to ask. 

He places his hand from your forehead to your shoulder, his grip light as looks over the side of your face. “You wanna get some rest?” he asks, the question almost rhetorical.

You hum, the sound a wordless attempt of answering without it being too strenuous.

Logan returns your hum with one of his own, though his is far deeper — far more soothing than what you offered him mere moments before. He stands from his seat beside you and heads to your dresser in search of something you could wear, something worn and old enough looking.

He fishes through your clothes until he finds something suitable, not wanting you to ruin something nice and pretty with spit or snot or vomit. He makes his way back over to you silently and takes the bowl from your hold, placing it on the floor beside your bed. Adjusting the tee in his hands, he finds the neck hole and places it over your head, carefully pushing it onto you.

You help him help you, extending your arms into the other two holes so he can roll it over you — your towel falling with the lift of your arms. Though, he doesn’t dare look down, instead keeping his eyes on you, on the dressing of you.

And once your top half is clothed, he bends to the knee in front of you and picks up your under foot. His hold just as careful as he rolls fluffy socks onto your feet — the pair he knew you loved most.

You look down to him, eyes flicking from your feet to his face, offering a soft, sweet, tired smile as thanks.

“Come on, sweet thing,” he stands, groaning faintly with the exertion on his forever old knees. 

He tugs on the covers, pulling back the corner to make an open triangle for you to get inside. You do as silently instructed, placing your head on the pillow, bringing your knees up slightly to keep warm. 

Logan tugs on the lamp chain, turning off the light as he moves to sit near you, parking a seat by your stomach — in the gap of your laid s-like position. Twisting in to look at you, he soothes over the covers, flattening them before moving to your face. His palm resting on your cheek as his thumb swipes across the skin beside your nose and under your eyes. 

His hand remains glued to your face as he practically caresses you to sleep, the delicate touch of something so rugged seeming to put your mind and body at ease. But he’ll be waiting there beside you all night in case you were to need him, listening to you sleep doing more for his body than his own sleep ever could.

⎯ ☆ ⎯

[lovebugism]

“i’m tireddd.”

*in a whiny voice* “i’m tired.” *mocking them*

this is sooo eddie coded

ty for feeding my grumpy eddie obsession anon — grump!eddie's boyfriend instincts take over when you're sleepy (ditzy!reader-ish, established relationship, fluff, 0.6k)

bug's one year celebration ♡

There’s something heavy in Eddie’s lap. Something heavy and warm and smelling like a fresh shower.

He fights open drooping eyelids, not knowing when he’d dozed off or how long he’d dozed off for — or exactly when you crawled haphazardly into his lap. He figures it couldn’t have been that long ago. ‘Cause his show is still on, and you’re still shifting to get comfortable over his legs.

“What are you doing?” he asks you, voice thick with sleep until he clears it away. 

You’ve got yourself curled in a tight ball, trying to make yourself as tiny as possible so you can fit more of yourself in his lap. The effort is futile. Only half you thrown over half of him. It doesn’t look comfortable in the slightest, but you settle with a contented sigh like you are, anyway. Eddie smooths a warm hand over your back and lets you lie there, on top of him.

“Laying on you,” you answer, muffled against him.

“Okay… Why?”

“‘Cause I love you.”

“Boo,” he moans. “Too vague.”

You whine. “Today was just so long, and I’m sooo tireddd.”

“Aww, you’re tired?” Eddie coos in a mocking voice. “You poor baby.”

He uses his sarcasm to compensate for how sweet he is to you. He acts annoyed but grabs a blanket from the back of the couch to drape over you anyway. Even goes as far as to swaddle you in it when he resituates you in his lap, sitting you more wholly over his thighs.

Vulnerability has always been hard for him, only ever feasible when he pretends it’s insincere.

“Is this better?” he mumbles into your hair.

You hum, warm against his neck. “Mhmm.”

“Good. ‘Cause you’re blocking the TV.”

“Don’t act like you’re not enjoying this,” you tease and pull slightly back from him. The tip of your nose runs up his jaw to the apple of his cheek. “There’s a reason I call you Teddy, you know?”

“And why’s that?”

“Because you’re soft. And fuzzy. And you love to cuddle.”

Eddie squints at you. “…You just made all that up.”

“You can like me, you know? We’re not in high school anymore, Teddy.”

“I always liked you,” he scoffs and holds you tighter against him, one arm around your back and the other beneath your knees. “Even before you knew I existed.”

“I always knew you existed!”

“Yeah? Since when?”

“Mr. Hauser’s Sex Ed class. Freshmen year. He was like, ‘That’s how the homo sapien male holds an erection—’” You recite it like it’s something you think about often. A reminiscent smile pulls at the corners of your lips. “—And the boy with the grown-out buzz cut behind me said, ‘Actually, Mr. Hauser, I think an erection is better held in the hand of the homo sapien female.’” 

Eddie laughs at the long-gone memory and starts to sparkle with it.

“And I’ve been smitten over that boy ever since,” you tell him with a sickly-sweet smile.

He scrunches his nose in disgust, still not used to the affection you show him so effortlessly. “You had a crush on me in ninth grade?” he teases like he hasn’t loved you since eighth.

“Uh-huh,” you nod. “Still do.”

“That’s so gross,” he grumbles like a storm cloud right before hugging you that much closer. 

He holds you with firm hands, suffocating in the best of ways, with every intention to melt with you. The bridge of his nose smushes into your neck. He inhales deeply, filling his lungs with the scent of your shampoo. His exhale fans warm against your skin.

“Too gross to kiss?” you wonder in a tiny voice.

“Yes,” he answers quickly as he pulls away. “But I like gross, so…”

You press a smacking kiss to his plush grin. Then another for good measure. You hug him closer and bury your face into his neck. “Mm. You taste like a TV dinner,” you mumble into his skin.

Eddie tries hard to hide his laughter. It bubbles from his throat like sunshine, anyway.

[hyewka]

᭄⁑　txt as yanderes | thoughts

warnings: yandere, noncon, baby trapping, mention of knife play, slapping, perversion, not proofread

yandere!jjun is the type to be too sweet, sickly sweet. like barfed cupcakes and sprinkles, he pretends to care, he love bombs, he kisses you like he truly loves you, like there’s no one else but you and maybe its true, maybe there is no one else but you in his eyes. but its not romantic. not when he has blood on his hands, figuratively or literally, he’s responsible for innocents lost.

“i didn’t lay a single hand on them, how many times do i have to tell you! doll, baby, believe me. please.” his voice cracks, like he’s about to cry. you scoff and turn your head to the side, disgusted, feeling like you could very much vomit right now.

“stop fucking calling me these—these words!”

yandere!jjun, the type to crumble to his knees and beg, holding onto your leg like an abandoned puppy despite having much more power than you, both in strength and status. lips trembling, eyes wide and crazed, full of pitiful tears, giving you a false reality, sense of hope that he isn’t that much more powerful than you could even imagine.

now yandere!soobin on the other hand is the type you don’t even realize is mentally out of it, not until you’re literally two years into a relationship with him with a stable history of 7+ year of friendship. he’s been jealous here and there, one instance of him breaking down over you having coffee with a male colleague that you had to craddle him, rocking back and forth as he sobs and hiccups— that keeps you up at night sometimes, but he’s so convincing you don’t even notice how often he manipulates and gaslights and manipulates. the way he slithers his long arms around your waist, pressing your bodies flush, holding you tight, whispering random “love you’s”, you almost completely forget. almost.

when yan!soobin’s fucking you senseless, lost in pleasure, tongue out dumb like the horndog he is, you manage to warn him again, “b-baby, not on—hah birth control”

don’t cum inside. don’t cum inside. you told him that before you got too into it, and he agreed, he promised he won’t. of course he won’t.

so why’s he shaking his head? why’s he refusing now? your eyes widen a little, trying to push him but he leans to kiss you, drowning out your protests, turning them to mere mewls. “baby—wanna—wanna make you have babies..”

the alarm bells ring again. and again. and suddenly you remember the few warnings from your friends, the offhanded comments about how he’s a little off, a little weird, that he seems obsessed.

“you won’t leave me when you have my babies, you can’t—” suckling on your nipples through your shirt as if to prove a point, he wets it completely, making it see through with his spit. you feel gross. you feel—“can’t leave me,” he says one last time, moans straining as he empties his load in you. a generous load.

yandere!beomgyu is my favorite in the most deranged way possible. he’s not too sweet, he’s not the meanest, and he isn’t the most pathetic, but he’s definitely the craziest. beomgyu would be the one to go as far as to lock you in his home, keep you chained, bondaged—he’s fucking insane. the type to be into knife play as well, he loves the switch in power dynamic. instead of the past bossy, in control at all times y/n and her pretty lanky best friend who’s probably “head over heels” for her, it’s you on your knees, cold hard wood, getting your throat brutally abused like his personal sex doll.

he loves finally being the one in control. he’s so addicted. sometimes it feels like he’s only inflicting his craziest perverted dreams on you, and you were just his nearest victim, but oh no, out of the five, he’s definitely the most ‘in love’.

“let me out…beomgyu…please.”

his back is pressed against the bedroom’s door, listening in to your sobs that barely transcend the sound proof walls. he sighs, frusteningly running a hand through his hair.

“why—why don’t you love me?”

and suddenly its silent on your part, the sobs not reaching his ears anymore. its enough to cause more cracks in his heart, making him undeniably more bitter but god forbid he gives up on it—on making you love him back, he’ll risk everything for it.

yandere!taehyun is the most cruel but he’d also be considered the least delusional and the most delusional at the same time. he knows you won’t love him back, he could care less (well…debatable actually), it’s about protecting you at the end of the day. that’s where the delusion comes in, he thinks he’s your white knight and you’re only acting out like you’ve always been. stubborn and hard headed. when it comes to the sex, this man has you at all times legs spread up, with your hand restricted, supplying your pussy like a free breed whore. other than the humiliating position, he makes sure you’re aware at all times of what you are to him.

his saliva and cum covering your body like filth, using you like a rag, truly. he’s the type to slap when you act out—a strike against your face, pussy, tits, he’d do it all. and yet he still wholeheartedly believes he’s protecting you from the world that “corrupted” you.

yandere!hyuka is beyond pathetic but you’ll never know because he doesn’t act on his desires. well, in the sense that he doesn’t scratch the eyes out of every one of your boyfriends and doesn’t have you tied to him at all times—he’s the pussy type. in the dark, following, each and every step. that was the beginning. then it was jerking off on your balcony peeking between the blinds as he watches you undress. then it was stealing panties, sniffing, licking, as his hands go manic on his poor dick—it hurts, it’s dry but he keeps going, because he is so fucking addicted he doesnt wanna stop. whining n’ squeaking as he lets out your name out of his mouth over and over and over again.

your scent when he hugs you drives him mad, when you kiss his cheeks he embarrassingly spots a boner, he’s just pathetic with horrible horrible dirty thoughts in his head.

[alastor-simp]

Returning The Favor - Alastor x Sick Female Reader

❥Summary: Alastor was finally rid of his sickness, however, you contracted it due to taking care of him when he was ill. Now you lay in your bed, hoping to recover soon, until someone teleported inside your room.

❥Tags: Sick reader, alastor takes care of sick reader, sequel, female reader, fluff, fluff and romance, taking care of someone sick

❥Notes: This is a sequel to my other story Sickly Deer. Hope you guys enjoy it.

✦Your Bedroom✦

"Achoo! Ugh this sucks." Your hand reached for a tissue on your bed counter, wiping your runny nose. It had been a few days since you took care of Alastor when he was bedridden with his sickness. He was stubborn in the beginning, but after his fainting spell in the hallway and you bringing him in his room, he allowed you to do so. It was nice that he was opening himself a bit to you, letting you take care of him, since he barely allowed anyone to see that part of him. He recovered quickly and he was back to his radio demon self. However, the next day from his recovery, you had felt feverish and woozy the minute you woke up in bed. "Great, now I'm sick" were your first thoughts, as you slowly grabbed your phone, making sure to shoot Charlie a text, letting her know you were sick. The response you got back was emoji crying faces and a bunch of kind messages saying "FEEL BETTER SOON!" and "GET LOTS OF REST!!". Heh, she was so sweet.

You were glad you had some stuff in your room to prepare you for your cold, as you put on a face mask to prevent spreading it to others if they came into your room. Sneezing again, you reached for another tissue and blew your nose, throwing the gross tissue in the bin next to you. The gross sick feeling was bothersome, it felt like your body was being held down by a bunch of weights while changing your temperature from scorching hot to bitter cold. Adjusting your body, you leaned on your side, face smushed into the pillow, hoping your body was tired enough to allow you to fall asleep. Shutting your eyes, you tried to relax. Sounds of static penetrated in the air, making you open your eyes slowly, seeing a certain red-headed demon in your room.

"Ohh Y/N! You look an absolute mess." Alastor spoke in a mocking tone, as he bent down to peer at you. "Haha, very funny Al." you returned a mocking tone back to him, as you raised your middle finger up at him. "Now now, my dear, it was a mere joke, no need for unpleasantries." Alastors smile turned apologetic as he walked closer to your bed. Setting his microphone down, he turned to sit on the bed, angling his body to look at yours. The both of you continued to stare at each other, as small sounds of static continued to emit from him. Slowly raising his hand, he removed his glove, allowing you to see his darken skin and nails. He moved to place it on your forehead, appearing to check for a fever. "How are you feeling?" His voice contained no static, speaking in his true voice. You smiled behind the mask, saying you were okay and not to worry. His crimson eyes were kind as he stared at you, continuing to rub your head with his hand. "Your hand is cold. Feels nice" He let out a small chuckle, smiling wider at you.

He soon removed his hand from your head, making you feel a bit sad, but you knew he was a busy man, so it was nice that he dropped by to see you. It turns out you were wrong when you heard the loud snap of his fingers. A small cart had appeared in front of the bed, with a tray on it. Along with the tray, there appeared to be some small bottles of medication and an ice bag. Wait, was he gonna take care of you? The tray had floated over to Alastor as he removed the cover, revealing a bowl of some sort. "It seems you haven't eaten, so I took it upon myself to prepare you something that will satisfy you and help with your ailment!" Alastor continued to smile down at you, as he moved closer towards you. Lifting your body up a bit on the bed, you waved your hands at Alastor, telling him to stop. Alastor tilted his head at your actions, confused as to why you were reacting this way.

"Al, you don't have to take care of me. Its fine, plus you just recovered from being sick. Taking care of me will just make you sick again." Alastor listened to your explanation and let out a hearty laugh, "HAHAHA! I am as fit as fiddle, my dear. I have already recovered from my previous condition. My immune system is not that poor." He inched closer, placing his hand on your cheek, giving it a soft rub. "Plus, I do remember saying that I would return the favor if you were ever to become ill. I am not a man that fails to go back on his promises." His lips drew into a soft smile, making your heart skip a beat. Seeing he wasn't going to take no for answer, you nodded your head. He moved the bowl to his lap, which contained a yellow mixture. "I had made some porridge with honey for you, my dear. I much rather have given you gumbo or jambalaya, but it seems spicy foods are not a wise choice to consume when sick." Alastor took a spoon in his hand, mixing the porridge in the bowl.

"When I feel better, we can make some together." You said to Alastor. Alastor grew giddy at that, feeling happy that you wanted to cook with him. He moved the spoon towards you, holding it in front of your mouth. He raised an eyebrow at you, "Are you planning to eat through your mask?" He jokingly teased. Oh! You forgot you still had the face mask on. You took it off, mumbling a sorry. Alastor giggled as he moved the spoon closer, telling you to say "Ahh". You did what he told you, accepting the spoon. Your mouth bursted with flavors of honey and sugar, making you feel all cozy inside. "It's delicious. My compliments to the chef" you said, smiling back at Alastor. Alastor smile grew soft again, uttering a "thank you", as he got more porridge from the bowl and fed it to you.

After feeding you all of the porridge, he had gotten some pills from the medicine bottle and handed it to you with a glass of water to follow after. After taking the medicine, he told you to lay back down. He had gotten the ice bag and slowly placed it on your head, allowing the cool sensation to help with your fever. You looked for the face mask you had taken off, and grabbed it, only to be stopped by Alastors hand. "Oh no you don't, my dear. This measly mouth guard is going to hide your beautiful smile! We can't have that can we?" Alastor said as he took the mask and threw it away. Rolling your eyes at his silly antics, you told him that it was better to wear it so as not to accidentally spread your germs to him, but Alastor said again, it wasn't needed.

Relaxing your body, your eyes began to feel droopy from exhaustion. You continued to stare at Alastor, as he conjured up some shadows to fix your room a bit, and throw away the tissues that had littered the bin and the floor. He turned back to you with a smile, leaning down to become face to face with you. "Anything else you need, my dear?" His eyes were soft when they looked at you. It was honestly so surprising how much he can go from scary overlord to humble gentleman. Hesitant, you moved your hand slowly to grab a part of his coat. "Could you stay with me a little longer, please?" Alastor stilled for a minute, a bit surprised by your answer. A soft chuckle escaped him, as he snapped a chair to appear behind him, allowing him to take a seat. You smiled at him, "Thank you." Alastor's lips drew into a soft smile, as he conjured up a book. You observed him as he continued to seat next to you. Eyes scanning the book in his hand, while moving up to check on you, before going back. Soft jazz began to emanate from his microphone, creating a calming atmosphere in the room. It felt like he was playing a lullaby for you, as your eyes slowly began to close, falling into a deep sleep.

Alastor had paused his reading to look back at you. Your eyes were shut and you were breathing softly. He got up from his chair, moving closer to look at you. Placing a hand on your cheek, he softly stroked it, as gazed at you lovingly. "Sweet dreams, darling." was what was whispered from his mouth, as he leaned closer, placing a soft kiss on your forehead, before he disappeared into the shadows.

-END-

Tags:

@alastorsgoldie @91062854-ka , @delectableworm , @iiotic

@cookiekyo , @demoarah , @danveration , @beebsbea ,

@veethewriter , @forbidden-sunlight , @pinkcrystal44 , @luujjvi ,

@unholycheesesnack , @saturnhas82moons , @jyoongim ,

@aceofcards0-0 , @ghostdoodlen , @yourdoorisunlocked ,

@starshipcookie , @ainsliemac , @aria-tempest , @nobuharashinyao

, @sweet06tart , @blakedbeanss , @ihyperfixatedagain , @ktssstuff ,

@yakultt-art , @mooniee123 , @nightmarenaya , @darischerry ,

@sadnessiscoldtea , @alastorssimp , @imacollasaltitan ,

@dilucragnvindr-my-beloved , @batmanmonstarr , @felice-jaganshi ,

@justchillaine , @crazed-flower , @ohmylovewhereartthou-blog ,

@akiooshizuka , @lokis-imaginary-friend ,

@themysteriousslenderman , @huntlowfan , @futureittomainn ,

@christinaatyourservice92 , , @just-trash-yeah-thats-it ,

@angelinevalentine89 , @yunimimii , @staryosh1 ,

@mihawksdemoness , @crystalreads , @blahblahbruhmeow ,

@madam-strawberryrose , @inkslayer , @azazel-nyx , @lixanjewel ,

@artemisandhunters , @thereeallink , @ask-theradio-demon ,

@lousypotatoes @l4zyb0n35 , @midorichoco

@lillylovesalastorsm1 , @alastorthirsty , @yukiinee ,

@daydreamtoropov , @cosmiccoralz ,

@orangethecarrotcoloredpaperred , @spnfan2020 , @darling-dovey

[bamfkeeper]

SFW Headcannons: Nightcrawler // Sickness

a/n: I was sick for a good week and a half and I'm just starting to feel it taper off. I kept thinking about him, I just hadn't had the motivation to write anything for this topic. But now I figure why not. Just a short little collection of hcs while I write more imagines. No warnings really besides basic sickness themes. Gender neutral reader.

When You're Sick

Kurt fusses over you a lot when you're sick. He worries every second and he does his best to get you anything you need.

Medicine, water, broth, etc.

He makes you herbal tea and insists you drink it, wanting you to get better. He smiles, knowing the taste of the medicinal tea might be gross, but he always helps you with positive words.

"Now, it isn't that bad, liebling." he chuckled softly, finding it amusing how your face scrunched up at the smell of the hot tea. "It will soothe your throat and help your sinuses. Ich verspreche."

He manages to get you to drink, "That's it, good girl," he teased, "Drink as much as you can. It will make you feel better."

His hands will massage your sore body. You often wake up struggling at night or during the day you feel so stiff. He notices and he massages all those sore spots. "Sore?" he questions and kisses the nape of your neck. "I will help...just relax for me, ja?" he coos and does his best to be gentle but firm with his rubs.

He doesn't like when you're sick, but he thinks you look adorable with your puffy red nose and cheeks, your poor bundled body on the couch wrapped in a blanket.

He draws baths or showers for you, insisting you take a cold one if you are feverish. He washes you tenderly, he likes to tell stories in German to you, it helps you focus more on his words and he will praise you when you point out a German word with an English one that you know.

He makes homemade soups and stews for you, he likes to know what is in food before he gives it to you for eating. He doesn't want you to eat anything bad, so he likes to make sure to make it himself. No canned soup for you, only fresh at the hands of this blue mutant.

He doesn't care about getting sick himself. He will sit close to you, hold you and rub your back as you lay against him. He watches movies with you, trying to distract you from your sickness.

If you throw up, he holds your hair back if it's long, and he rubs your back. "Let it out, schatz...just let your body do what it needs to." he whispers, "Relax...breathe." his tone is even and calm, even if he is panicking internally seeing you so sickly.

He holds you if you need to cry, sometimes being sick can be frustrating. Kurt is always there for you, kissing your temple or forehead, arms and tail wrapped around you.

"I want ice cream," you whine softly against his neck, your throat ached and you needed something cool. It would help your fever too, so Kurt gladly obliges and gets up to get you some ice cream. "Of course, liebling...but only vanilla. You can't have a lot of sugar when you're feeling unwell." he says in a firm but gentle tone.

"Awee....but I want a different flavor..." you pout, making him shake his head. He was firm on his decision, tough love for you.

He might seem too firm at times for your liking, but he's really just concerned about you. He wants you to get better, since he knows you don't like being sick. He has your health in his heart and he loves you.

When He's Sick

Kurt is a big baby when he's sick, especially when he knows how much you will fuss over him.

At first, he tries to hide the fact that he doesn't feel well. He's not used to being pampered or getting 'days off' when he's sick because he never got that luxury when he was in the circus. He doesn't share a lot about the circus besides the happier memories, but he had a tough time.

This goes for being sick. Anytime he didn't feel well or caught a cold, he wasn't given a day to recover. It was like he was feeling as chipper as ever. They seemed to make him work harder, so he subconsciously learned to hide if he felt sick.

When you noticed he was coughing or sniffling a lot, you confronted him and asked him about it. He admitted to being sick but quickly assured you he was fine.

It wasn't until you began to get him things for his sickness that he slowly began to let go around you. He became a little more needy, asking for medicine or more pillows and blankets, and cuddling with you. He was almost like a toddler, whiny and pouty, but he was grateful for your help.

He always made sure to tell you how much he appreciates your efforts, even if it was as simple as getting him water. When he's sick, teleporting to the kitchen made him feel so dizzy. So you getting him water was such an easy task, but one he appreciated like you walked miles just to get him a drink.

"Danke..." he rasps, taking the water and coughing slightly. "You are an angel..." he drank quickly, avoiding any more coughing fits.

He snuggles you almost constantly, seeking you out in the bed or couch. He needs to be right beside you when he's sick, and he refuses to be anywhere else.

Baths are so hard for him when he feels bad, he doesn't like them and he's like a whiny cat. He tries to sit up so many times out of the water, but his 100+ degree fever says he needs the cold bath, especially since his fuzz keeps heat more.

You do your best to follow recipes for soups that will help him feel better. You feed him ice chips and spoon feed him the soup you make so he doesn't have to move (he whines if he has to move).

He's so in love with you and he's so grateful that you are taking care of him without a single complaint, because you'd never complain when you get to take care of the love of your life.

Thanks for reading.

*BAMF*

dividers by @/adornedwithlight

[insert-this-fire]

Overpoweringly Sweet

Logan Howlett aka Wolverine x gn!nonspecified mutant! Reader

Summary: Somehow you contracted Hanahaki for a man you hardly ever spoken to. Cant end well can it?

W/C: ~9k Warnings: a little OOC, angst, graphic description of coughing up flowers with blood.

AO3 Mirror A/N: I never post actual fics on tumblr but I feel that it needs to be done here. So sorry if its kinda formatted weird? it will also be on AO3!. First x-men fic too so sorry if its a bit ooc. Not really based on any specific iteration of Wolverine. Also not edited like, at all. Also I take requests! :3

~~ :3 ~~

You know, having a crush on someone so unattainable is laughable at best. Having a crush on them and apparently somehow contracting Hanahaki is even worse. How does that even happen? You haven’t even spoken to the guy more than a few words. Too embarrassed to open your mouth to introduce yourself and you work together. Yet here you are, petals on the bathroom floor and a constricting feeling in your throat. Your head lying on the back of the stall door. Still heaving from the sudden onslaught of overly sickly floral-scented petals that spilled out.

Gardenias. Pure white and mocking. 

The smell of them made you nauseous. The sight of them even more so. After looking up what they meant. It just made things even worse.

Secret love. How fitting.

It’s a damn crush, and the world decided it was love. Love for a grumpy ass old man with hair that kinda made you think of a cat. Actually, he reminded you of a cat in general. One that you want to rest your face on and fall asleep. Bury your face in those pecs of his. Muscles may look hard, but they do have a bit of squish. By God, does he have muscles. You’ve caught him shirtless a few times. All by accident, of course. You weren’t a pervert. Anytime you think of it, your jaw clenches tight.

Ah, getting off-topic here. Back to the fact that apparently, hanahaki doesn’t care if you’ve ever talked to someone before.

The stall door was cool against your cheek when you turned your head, and it was less gross than hugging the toilet like you wanted to so you could flush the flowers down the drain. It was terrible. The petals surround you, and a single full bloom floats mockingly in the toilet.

You know how to cure it. The moment that the flower petals started to spill from your lips, you desperately looked for what it was. It wasn’t that hard to find, apparently some find it sickeningly romantic. Bet they never had to deal with the ache that was constant around your lungs. You found the cure for it as well. Should be easy to do, right? Tell the person how you feel and they return it, or get it surgically removed. The surgery should be the right choice. It’s the only choice. You’ve hardly spoken to the man who coveted your affection, but the thought of not feeling the tug of your heart when you see him was too much to bear. Which makes no sense! It’s a dumb crush.

God, you’re an idiot.

A deep breath fills your lungs slightly, and the pain wraps around your chest as you try to get a full breath. Your hands find purchase on the rim of the toilet, and you push yourself up. Now, on two shaky legs, you wipe your mouth. You need to clean up the petals before anyone comes in. It was still the middle of the day, and classes were still going. Thank God the coughing fit didn’t hit you till lunch, or you would have to explain to a classroom full of students. That would be embarrassing. Yeah sorry class, your teacher is in love with someone they can’t have, let’s continue with the lesson now! Embarrassing.

Your hands start to pick up the petals. Each one feels as if it was searing into your skin. One, two, five, ten, thirty. Thirty petals and one full bloom. You were screwed. You could go to Hank. See if he knew any other way around it, any way to fix the disgusting flowers that took root in your lungs. Maybe being a mutant changed how to cure the disease? That was just hopeful thinking, though.

After mulling over the choices for a few moments more, you finally unlock the stall door and walk over to the garbage, quickly discarding the petals that did not make it into the toilet.

Your feet then carry you out of the bathroom and, as luck would have it, right into the chest of the one person you did not want to face yet.

Logan.

You were right, though. The muscles on his chest were squishy. God you want to just motorboat him real fast. Would that be weird? Yeah it would be. As quickly as you ran into him, you tried to remove yourself from his personal space. You know the guy wasn’t too fond of touch. You think. You actually… don’t know. Words quickly spill from your mouth as you try to apologize. “Sorry, sorry. Didn’t see you.”

Logan just makes some gruff-sounding noise and continues on his way. You could faintly see as he walked away scrunching of his nose. He was probably able to smell the faint floral scent that was clinging to you. It probably wasn’t pleasant. You didn’t like the scent, it probably was a lot stronger on his end.

As you stand in the hallway after the sudden bump into your crush, you place your hand on your chest to calm your beating heart, and you walk in the opposite direction to your classroom. It hurt that he didn’t even say anything back to your apology, but that seemed pretty in character. To you, at least. If you were on friendlier terms, maybe not, but you doubt he even knows your name.

The thought of the surgery resurfaces in your head. Maybe you should get it. Ignore the deep-seated pain in your heart at the thought of losing your feelings for him. However, the repercussions of a botched removal is another reason not to do so. It could remove the feeling of ever being in love again. Would that be so bad though?

You shake your head. You have a class you have to get back to… and a phone call to make.

The day continued on like normal after that. Classes, grading papers, discreetly removing petals from your mouth into the trashcan by your desk as you graded papers. A new norm for you. It did seem that a few students had noticed a slight change in you. In fact, one of them even got you a get well soon card. Sweet, but it left a bitter taste in your mouth.

If you don’t get better soon, you will probably end up another statistic for the disease. How many people were there that had it and perished as the roots wrapped around the lungs and slowly filled the valves on the heart. Too many, probably. You couldn’t bring yourself to look at that. That’s why you were now sitting in your now empty classroom, making a phone call. You had found a number to a doctor who specializes in the disease. You would get some advice and decide from there what you want to do.

The phone rings, once, twice….

“Hello, this is Dr. Forrest’s office. How may I help you?” How fitting a doctor who knows about Hanahaki has a nature-based last name.

You quickly introduce yourself and ask if you could speak to him or schedule an appointment. Apparently the only way to talk to him is with an appointment. The next one isn’t for a few months. You don’t even know if you’ll last that long. You’ve been keeping track. A full bloom appeared today. A singular full bloom, no steam. The petals were loose so it had to be in the early start of the mid stages. It was taking its time infecting you. It must be due to not seeing Logan all the time.

You do tend to avoid him when you can. The thought of seeing him always makes your cheeks burn. Man was just too hot. It made it seem like you were in love with just his looks! You weren’t. Otherwise, you wouldn’t be coughing up all these petals. You’re pretty sure it wasn’t just his looks. The flower has a meaning, after all.

Maybe if you avoid Logan, actually stop trying to see if you can see him across the halls. Stop looking for him during dining hours. Just try to ignore him. Though unless he was going to go on one of those sudden long vanishing acts. Well, you doubt that you actually will be able to avoid him enough to live till the next appointment. You really are screwed. Shit.

Running a hand over your face with a groan you lean back in the chair behind your desk. What should you do? The surgery now seemed to be out of the question. So now you either confess and die, or you just die. Which definitely was not the ideal thing to do. You were screwed. Hands down. Your name is on the death warrant the moment the receptionist said months. Maybe you should go to Hank. Dude was a certified genius right? He would know something.

A knock at your door made you jump. Quickly you lift your head and look over to the closed door to your classroom. Could be a student, another faculty member? Whoever it was either needed you or the room.

“Come on in.”

Silence followed and then the door opened up. Your gaze turns to the door, ready to answer whatever questions that are going to follow. Till you hear the tall tale sound of boots, heavy. The sound of jeans rubbing against legs. A jacket rustling slightly from movement. Jeez, why are you suddenly so aware of the sounds?

Your eyes hone in on the man you’ve been thinking about. Logan. Twice. TWICE in one day you’ve seen him up close. See him in your space. He never seeks you out. You never get to see him up close like this more than once or twice a week. It’s like you’re in a fanfiction and someone is pushing the two of you together.

That’s silly though, this was real life.

“Oh, Logan. How can I… help you?” Could you sound any more awkward? You want to bang your head on your desk. Especially with how he was just looking at you. Should you have called him Wolverine? Mr. Howlett?

“You need to let up on that perfume you’re wearing. Can smell it all over the hall.” His face gives away the fact he smells something he doesn’t like. 

Perfume?... Perfume… The flowers. Of course he could smell it. The floral scent has been clinging to you since the first petals slipped from between your lips.

“Oh, heh sorry. I’ll try to use less of it.” You just laugh a bit, still feeling a tad bit uncomfortable, the sudden tickle in your throat reminding you that you could not stop the smell from permeating your skin. That it will linger on you till you no longer have these flowers growing inside of your chest. “If I use too much again I’m sorry. Can’t really tell when I use too much or not.”

Blue eyes narrow at you, you can tell he doesn’t believe you. That he should call you out on it. “Thanks bub, it’s masking everything else.”

With that he left the room as quickly as he came, there was a slight pause and you can tell he glanced at the trash can by your desk. The trash can that had a few petals thrown in haphazardly. Thought to be hidden by the papers that you threw on top. You hope that is all he sees.

That was such an awkward interaction. You slam your head on the desk once more. God why are you such an idiot.

~~ :3c ~~

Time continues on like normal, but recently you catch Logan at the corner of your eye. Which is normal, you usually do seek him out. Yet now it’s like he is everywhere you go. Walking in the gardens, he’s out there smoking one of his cigars leaning on a tree or the wall of the mansion. You’d be eating and you’d see him a table or two away, his eyes on you. You can feel them boring into your skin. You’ll be walking in the hallways and see him turning a corner before you fully spot him. More often than not you find him outside of the bathroom you were just in after coughing up a storm. Just standing by the door like a guard dog. Always scrunching his nose when the door opens and the aroma of flowers follows you out.

He knew. He had to. He had to know something was wrong with you. There is no way he doesn’t. The man has been alive long enough that he probably knows the signs of what you have. The disease that is currently ruining your life. He has probably seen all sorts of people who have had Hanahaki. You won’t be the first, nor the last person he has seen inflicted with it either. It’s probably why he’s keeping an eye on you. He must have found out when he came to ask you to stop using so much perfume and yet you still smell that sickeningly floral smell on you.

Unless you’re just suddenly more aware of him than you were before. Which you shouldn’t be. You were already highly aware of him due to your damn dumb crush that’s killing you. Eyes are always lingering on him.

It’s probably because of the scent that’s following you around. It is probably sticking out more than your usual scent, which was. You don’t know. What do you normally smell like? Apparently, it’s something non-distinct since the new smell is pretty overpowering. If you can smell it, it must be strong.

You wish you knew what was going through the man’s head. You couldn’t really ask him. You aren’t close to him like that. Can’t ask the people he is close to either because you aren’t close to them. You kinda just, are here in the mansion teaching. You’re not a part of x-men, you aren’t too interested in fighting anyways. You earned your keep teaching. You are vaguely close to Hank though. Well, in recent events at least. You could ask him?

Yeah, no, you aren’t. You’re going to suffer through this. You can handle it. You don’t need to know what’s going on in his mind.

Which reminds you, you need to actually go talk to Hank. You’ve been putting it off, but the full blooms are startling. Every other coughing fit brings one full bloom. It has only been a week since the first bloom and with the sudden influx of Logan sightings, it is speeding up. You needed an out and fast. Before it kills you.

Thus here you are walking through the mansion to head down to his lab. Quickly avoiding anyone you see. The scent of flowers following you through the halls like a wraith. Leaving a trail of sweetness to waft into the air. Disgusting.

As you make your way into the lab you spot Hank, or Beast? Shit, you don’t even know which one he prefers to be called. You really should ask, huh. Anyway, you spot him.

When the blue-furred man spots you, he quickly greets you with your name: “It is good to see you this fine evening. What do I owe the pleasure? It is not often I see you down here.”

If you could, you would sigh deeply. The rattling of vines stops the motion before it begins. “Hi yeah uh. I got into a delicate situation and I don’t know who else to go to? The doctor I had called can’t really see me and I don’t know what else to do and you’re like… The smartest person I know so I’m hoping… you could help?” The words spill out quickly.

Hank raises an eyebrow and fixes the glasses perched on his face. The man was upside down for some odd reason, and he quickly flipped to land on the ground. With grace you don’t expect for someone his size. Then again, you’ve seen some weird ass mutations. He motions for you to sit down on one of the beds stationed in the lab. One used when needed for situations like this. Medical, scientific, not something you can throw a punch at and fix.

After sitting down on the bed, you start to explain. Words flowing like a waterfall. He is the first person you have gone into detail about your condition. How the petals slip from your lips like a poison, the tightening of your chest with each breath. The fear of losing yourself to unrequited love and dying because of it. You do not mention who it is directed at nor the fact you thought it was a crush and did not deserve to have evolved into such a disease.

The room fell silent after your reveal, a silence that stretched on longer than you would have liked. God, you hope he has an idea about how to help you out of this mess.

“From my knowledge there are only two cures. I assume you already know.” A pause as you answer with a curt nod. “I do not believe there are any other alternatives other than what has been proven to work. I assume that you are here to find out if there are any or that you require the surgery.”

“I can’t tell them… I really had hoped that you would know. I don’t.” You sigh and run a hand through your hair, messing it up slightly. It was already a mess from earlier, but you know how hands are in hair. “It’s not an option to tell them.”

“I see. It will take some time, but I will see if I can learn the correct procedure so that there will be minimal to no complications.” Hank pats you on the shoulder and motions for you to head out. He had some things to do and research to go over. Escorting you out of his lab so Hank may do what is necessary. He didn’t give a timeline, but you trust that he can do it before your time is up.

You really hope that he can do this.

After leaving the lab, you had to pass some of the other faculty. Or X-men? Yeah, it seems they are setting off on a mission of some sort. You pass Cyclops, Storm, Jean and. Yeah, that is exactly who you don’t want to see right now. Logan. Seems he is going with them. To, wherever they have to go. You give them all a small nod in acknowledgment as you pass them. Each one provides you a small smile or nods back.

Logan though? He pauses when you pass him. His face contorted into something you weren’t too sure of. He probably caught another whiff of the flowers on you. Great. The others give him a look and he just grunts at them. Somehow they understand and continue on their way. Leaving you with Logan.

A hand grabs your bicep, fingers wrapping around the muscle. Your gaze drops to the hand, in another life you were sure it would be rough with use, but it was surprisingly soft. The grip was not, natural strength hidden behind the hold. A promise that you would not be able to pull away without exerting yourself.

“You’re smellin’ worse. Thought I told you to let up.” A gruff voice, oh how you want to roll in that voice. That was a weird thought, you should probably stop thinking of that like a weirdo. God are you a weirdo?

An awkward laugh bubbles up from your chest. You can feel your own muscles tense under his hold and gaze. Damn he’s never looked at you like this before. A slight glare, crinckled nose, and a slight snarl on his lips. You must be really weird because damn was that kind of a hot look. Which somehow in turn makes your chest tighten and the tickle of a cough is trying to break free. You swallow hard to bite it back. Yet you can feel the petals moving through your throat. 

“Sorry sorry, I guess I overdid it?” You pull your eyes away from his. Unable to continue to look at his face. Be it from your weird thoughts, the tickle in your throat or your inability to keep eye contact with someone. “I swear I’m not doing it on purpose.”

“You’re hiding that you're sick.” The grip on your arm tightens. Not in a painful manner no, but a reminder that you cannot run away from this conversation. Which is odd right? Why does Logan care? You two hardly know each other. Sure you apparently love the man, but you’re still sure he doesn’t even know your name. You’ve seen him care for others in the mansion, a good friend in an odd way. A father figure and mentor to some of the students. Also in a weird way. You’re sure he’d brush off that idea and say he isn’t. He is.

Wait, he just said you’re sick… “I’m not sick?” 

Logan's eyes narrow as he stares at you. Do you look sick? Sure you’ve gotten a little pale and eating has gotten a little hard so you haven’t been eating as much as you usually do. Does being sick have a smell to it? Fuck that is weird. Well, some animals could tell when others are sick before physical symptoms show. Maybe that's how he knew. No, that wouldn’t make sense because you aren’t really sick. You just have a big fat crush that's killing you. 

You can tell Logan doesn’t believe you. “Just fix it. Can’t stand the smell on you.” His hand lets go and he stalks down the hallway to where the others had walked off to. Your eyes linger on his form as he walks away. The ghost of a feeling on your arm where his hand had wrapped around it. The slight warmth seeping into your skin slowly vanishes. God you’re fucked. 

~~ >:3 ~~

And fucked you are. It’s been at least two months since you told Hank about the hanahaki. Hank is taking his sweet ass time researching the procedure, the doctor you called has called back finally and mentioned that his next opening for a consultation was still months away. Which you decide to say fuck that guy, you trust Hank can do it. The doctor probably won’t even work on a mutant. Logan is still always at the corner of your eye. A scowl or sneer on his face anytime he looks at you. Not to mention the flowers! They’re getting worse.

Full blooms, multiple at a time. Their petals no longer loose around the center. Now they are tightly packed, fully bloomed and speckled with blood as they escape through your throat. Occasionally there would be a flower that had not bloomed yet. Still wrapped tightly, not fully formed. You weren’t sure what that meant, but you’re sure it wasn’t good. At least they were not roses. You feel bad for those who dealt with that. Thorns were something you were happy that was not in the mix of your own flower hell.

The flowers aren’t fully developed yet. Stems have not fallen with them. Yet you are unsure if you would survive long enough to see the end stages of hanahaki. Your body is getting weaker and weaker each day. Your own mutation even fighting against you. You can hardly call on it now. Once you had wished to be a normal person, but that has been years ago. Now you feel like you are losing a part of yourself. These damn flowers truly are killing you. Both physically and emotionally. 

You had to leave class more often. The coughs that tore through your chest made it unbearable to speak long enough to teach an entire class to its completion. Students start to worry, other faculty seem to notice the sudden change as you have to start asking for people to cover your class for you as you rush to the restroom to hug the porcelain throne to exude the flowers of love. Each time more and more petals fall from your lips, tears stain your cheeks more often due to the pain and energy it takes to clear them out from your throat. 

It has gotten to the point where you had to ask someone to cover your class in full, or cancel it. You don’t want to cancel your classes, but at the rate you are going it will be the only thing you can do. Today is probably the last full class you can handle, you feel like shit. Your throat itches, your stomach aches from the lack of food. Your head hurts because of the lack of sleep from the coughing. Yeah, you might have to take a break from it all. What surprises you is that Logan is waiting outside of your classroom.

Ok it’s not that surprising. You’ve been catching him outside your classroom since he came back. It is like he is suddenly more aware of you. He doesn’t say anything, but you can feel his eyes on you. You would be excited usually, your crush suddenly paying attention to you! How great is that? Yet lately it just makes things feel so much worse. Especially with that sneer on his face. You know he knows something is up, he made it clear two months ago. Though he hasn’t brought it up again. Yet he is always there. Like a shadow. 

Which is honestly a bit uncomfortable. You aren’t used to this amount of attention. 

“You don’t have to stand out here you know?” Papers you needed to grade were in your arms. You may need to take a break, but you should at least grade these papers before someone takes the class over. Your last bit of work. 

Logan just stares at you. The slight glare, the wrinkled nose, the arms crossing making those muscles bulge out of his shirt. You had to quickly drag your eyes away from his arms so you aren’t caught staring. You don’t meet his eyes though. It was too intense. 

“You’re getting worse.” Way to point out the obvious Logan.

“Good observation.” A short pause follows after. Silence falls for a few moments. “I uh, it’s why I’m takin a break. Sick leave? Uh… Yeah…” You really don’t know how to talk to him. The tickle in your throat is back again. Too soon, you just hacked up half your lung just moments before. You really don’t want to cough in front of him. You thought he might already know what it is, but he still thinks the smell on you is perfume. So no way do you want him to know the truth. 

Logan stares at you a few moments longer, a slight grunt. His head motioned for you to follow him. That’s how you read it at least as he starts to walk down the corridor and only pauses to look at you. Looks like you’re following him. This can’t end well can it? 

The two of you walk silently through the corridors. Your arms are still full of papers, but it seems the two of you are heading out into the garden. Probably for the best, the crisp air outside will dull the floral scent. Hopefully at least. Even if it lingers on your skin and it has gotten to the point others have even started to point it out. The halls were mostly empty though at this time. Most students are already off doing their own thing, you can vaguely hear a laughter from down the hall as the two of you finally make your way outside.

Into the garden, the cool air bites at your exposed arms. You should have worn a jacket. Too late for that now it seems. The trees are already turning orange, autumn making its way across the land. Oranges, reds and browns. If you weren’t full of anxiety you would be enjoying the sights. Especially as Logan brings you over to a small bench by the man-made pond. A bit away from everyone, but still close enough to the mansion you can dash inside if needed. 

You take a seat first. The papers sit beside you. Logan stands in front of you. Arms crossed and eyes narrowed. He isn’t sitting. Why isn’t he sitting?

“So uh…” Your voice comes out first, awkward and a bit unsure. The tickle in your throat grows again as you fight it back.

“It’s not perfume on you is it?” Logan’s gaze never leaves yours, but you can’t help but look away. Too uncomfortable with the eyes boring into you. You never once used perfume, though you did use that as an excuse didn’t you?

Silence followed after. Your eyes looking at the ground as you kick your legs back and forth. Unable to voice the truth. Logan is still looking at you, jaw clenching most likely. You don’t have to look at him to know.

His voice finally cuts through the silence. Apparently he was sick of you beating around the bush and not answering him. Your name on his lips startling you slightly. You honestly thought he didn’t know your name, but it seems you were wrong. “What's makin you so sick that it’s leaving you to look like that and smell like that.”

You should tell him. Tell him. TELL HIM. 

… 

You’ll tell him without actually telling him. You don’t think you’d survive telling him the full truth. You’re a pretty good liar most of the time. He might be able to pick through the lie but he’s not that perceptive right? 

“I uh… It’s.” You feel like you’re stumbling over your words, your throat constricting. “I have.”

You couldn’t finish your sentence. Your muscles tensing as a cough tears through you. Violently. Your body lurching forward as your hand shoots up to cover your lips as the cough pulls out petals and blossoms alike. Your hand can’t catch all the petals as they spill to the ground. Your eyes clenching shut as tears prickle the corners due to how painful it was. The other hand not covering your mouth grabs at your chest. As if you could claw the roots out through your skin. It burns. 

It burns, it burns, it burns. 

It won’t stop. You can’t stop hacking up the petals. Each cough brings out a sob with it as well. It has never been this bad. The scent of gardenias explodes. It burns your nose. You hate the smell of it. If you survive you’ll never be able to handle this scent again. Your body retching forward as you double over. Body crumpling in on itself as you try desperately to get some air into your already filled lungs. You would think having plants living in your lungs would give you more oxygen. If only it didn’t wrap tightly around your lungs and neighboring organs. Leaving little space for what you truly needed.

You almost forget Logan is there with you. An unexpected presence sits beside you. Warmth seeping into your side. He doesn’t set a comforting hand on your back. Doesn’t say any words. But him sitting beside you is enough comfort. You don’t think you could handle physical touch anyways. Your body would probably jerk harder at it. Hanahaki really was a killing disease wasn’t it. It was going to kill you before even getting to the final stage. You can’t do this.

Slowly the coughing fit lessens. The petals and blooms spilling from your mouth as if it was all you breathed came to a stop. Your body still hunched over, tears filling your eyes as you finally, finally stopped coughing up the damned flowers. You were still shaking, trying to catch the lost breath.

“You’re ok sweetheart. Just try and breathe.” Something large, heavy, warm rests on your upper back. Small soothing circles. He called you sweetheart, that was strange. You don’t expect comfort. You don’t think Logan expected to comfort you like this either. It was an awkward movement, but comforting. You wanted to lean into it, lean into him. You weren’t going to though. Pain was radiating through your chest and you weren’t sure you would be able to sit up straight without coughing again. Fear that any movement will bring on another coughing fit settled inside of you like a vice. You can still feel the slight tickle in your raw throat. 

You taste blood.

It takes a few tries, gasping tries, before air finally was able to fill your lungs enough that you could breathe properly. Or well, as well as you can with roots wrapping around your insides. You pull out a few petals that were still stuck in your mouth and let them fall to the ground as you slowly sit up. Still slightly hunched over but no longer practically hugging your legs. You wipe your mouth on the back of your hand, blood from your lips smearing across your skin. Eyes on the ground where the mess you made mocks you. There's so much, white and red. White flowers that you would have thought beautiful covered in splotches of your own blood. Tainting the gardenias, tainting the meaning of secret love. Disgusting. You’re disgusting. 

Your eyes linger on the ground as you finally speak. Voice raspy and strained. “Sorry.” 

“Nothin to be sorry about, nasty thing you got. Seen it a few times.” Logan’s voice is gruff, yet there is a touch of something tender in there. Unexpected. You don’t like it. He shouldn’t be treating you like this. He doesn’t know you, he doesn’t know that you’re like this because of him, because of your dumb crush on him that the world decided was good enough to practically kill you.  

Ok that’s not true. You know under his rough and tough demeanor and the huge, insensitive ass he could be. He’s caring and trustworthy. Loyal as fuck and self-sacrificing. It’s what had drawn you in in the first place. The soft look he’d give to people he cared about when no one was looking. The way he treats the younger mutants. It was heartwarming. Your admiration for him turned from simply looking up to him to wanting him to look at you that way.

Silence falls between the two of you again as you continue to try to take in oxygen. The taste of iron and earth is still on your tongue. The sound of fellow mutants distantly chatting and the occasional bird cuts through the silence. You don’t want to talk, you don’t want to tell him who your affliction derives from. You doubt he would ask, but he might. You’ll need to think of an excuse. A lie. Anything to keep him from finding out it is him. He’d reject you. You know this already. You’ve seen him look at others. He doesn’t look at you like that. You just learned he knew your name too! The two of you hardly spoke before. This is the most attention you have ever gotten from him. He doesn’t love you the way the disease needs him to. 

“Who's the asshole?” His words cut through the silence again. Surprising you once more. This definitely is the most words he has ever spoken to you.

“Doesn’t matter… He doesn’t feel the same.” Your throat continued to feel raw. It hurt to speak, but you needed to answer. You couldn’t stay quiet when he asked. Your gaze moves from the ground to glance at him from the side. You try not to meet his eyes but you can see a look on his face that had never been directed towards you. In any other situation you would be happy, ecstatic. Right now though, it makes your stomach tie up in uncomfortable knots. 

A slight hint of anger crosses Logan’s face and his hand just rests on your back, no longer rubbing those soothing circles. You know he wants to know. The look he has on him makes you think he sees you as someone under his protection, it’s nice. Even if it is not really what you want at the moment.

“So you’re willing to die for him.” There was a short pause between his words. His tone is soft, you don’t like it. “Seen most with it die that way. Shouldn’t have to die like that.”

You decide not to reply to the fact that you were willing to die for these feelings. Why? Because you still don’t want to believe it is true. Even with the flowers clearly showing signs the crush was love. Infatuation. You hate this. “Dr. Mccoy is going to perform the surgery for me. Should be any day now.”

You at least hope it will be any day now. You spoke to him a couple days ago and he seemed a bit all over the place so you couldn’t ask him if he was ready yet. You know he hadn’t forgotten, you saw the books laying on one of the tables next to some tools, but time was ticking and it was ticking fast. You know it and now… Now Logan knows it too. You’re on limited time. 

“I… can’t tell him. He doesn’t feel the same, he can’t. I’ll die if I tell him. I have to do the surgery. I’d rather chance not feeling love again than to confess and die. I…” Your hands curl into themselves as you look back down at the flowers. The tightening in your chest squeezes harder. You don’t need to explain yourself, but you feel like you have to. This way you can come to terms with it. Speaking it out loud makes it all too real. “I trust Dr.Mccoy. He won’t fail. He… he can’t.”

“Lotta trust in the guy.” Logan leans back on the bench, his hand lingering on your back removes itself as he crosses his arms. You feel the itch in your throat again, it’s too soon for more petals. You at least hope so. Logan then continues, “Remember watching someone choke on their own blood cause of that shit. Don’t want to see you on that end sweetheart.”

Logan called you sweetheart, again. It made butterflies fly around your stomach, churning with the anxiety already there. It was not the most comfortable of feelings. You weren’t expecting it this time either. It was nice. Would be nicer in better circumstances though. “Thanks Logan, but I’ll survive this. I have to…”

“Still think you should tell me who this asshole is. Could talk to him.” You hear the familiar snikt sound, a clear sign he extended his claws. A glance over was all you needed to confirm he did, the light gleaming off the metal. 

“God no! Sure actions speak louder than words for him, but it wont help.” Because he’d be threatening himself. You couldn’t help but let a pathetic laugh bubble up. Pain radiating through your chest and throat as you do so. At least you can still find some humor in this. Logan’s claws go right back under his skin and between his knuckles at your words. Though you can tell he still seemed interested in using violence against who is causing this for you. God, you wish you could tell him.

The two of you fall into another silence. Your own thoughts are swirling through your head and you’re sure Logan is also dealing with his own thoughts. Your disease is now out there. What truly ales you has been revealed without you actually saying the words. You wished you could have said the words, said what it was, told him your feelings. Though things never work out that way do they. 

You aren’t sure how this was going to end.

Logan looks at you the same time you gaze at him. Your eyes meet his blue ones. You would wax poetic about his eyes, but that seems pretty cliche. Everyone always does when talking about blue eyes, how they look like the ocean, or the sky. Logan’s reminds you of steel, the silvery blue that almost matches the adamantium claws you see on occasion. There is something in those eyes though, something you can’t read. Something behind that wall everyone knows he puts up. You want to dig deeper, fall into those eyes to avoid all your problems. Be free of the pain you can’t escape. The two of you seem to just stare at each other far longer than it felt. 

“Tell me when you get the surgery. I want to be there.” 

“...Okay.”

And just like that, the two of you break eye contact and fall into a silence. A silence only broken by the occasional cough from you and the sounds of nature and other mutants about. You wish you could have experienced this sooner. Before your world decided to crash down on you. You’ll just have to enjoy the time with him like this while you can. Before the feelings you have for him are forever torn away. Leaving only a hollow space in your chest for the fellow mutant. 

You’re not ready. 

~~ :3 !! ~~

Hank Mccoy finally let you know he was ready to do the surgery a few days after your chat with Logan. You weren’t ready for it. You didn’t want to lose these feelings, you didn’t want the complications that may follow, but fuck you don’t want to die either. You will die if you don’t do this surgery. You can’t… You have to do this. 

Which is why you are outside of the room Logan usually occupies when he is in the mansion. You've been standing outside of his room for what felt like hours now. You knew he probably could hear your heartbeat, but he isn’t coming out. He asked to be there when you got the surgery. He wanted to support you for some reason. You could just go, leave and get the surgery without telling him. Your anxiety welling up along with the urge to throw up. Your hand is already raised before you could stop yourself and you knock three times.

Silence follows after. The sound of shuffling and the door opens. Logan standing there in one of those slutty little white tank tops and jeans. A classic look that was all too hot in your opinion. Your mouth feels dry as he looks at you.

“I’m getting it now.” You rub your arm, unable to look him in the eyes. You do look at his face though. Just long enough to see shock cross his face for a few seconds, which quickly vanished back behind his usual look. Logan steps out of his room and shuts the door, head tilting to the side a bit as he waits for you to start walking to Hank’s lab. 

The two of you walk silently through the halls. It was late in the afternoon. You could have gotten it earlier in the day but your body was so exhausted from the coughing fit you had that night that you couldn’t bring yourself to get out of bed. In fact you’re still in your pajamas mostly. Sweatpants and a t-shirt. Comfy. You’re going into surgery, you deserve not to dress up for it. Logan doesn’t comment on it either so it’s fine. You’re fine. 

Everything is fine.

The two of you enter the lab quietly. No one else seems to be here but Hank. After all, one else knew. People knew you were sick of course, but you kept a tight lip on what exactly was inflicting you.

Hank greets you with your name. A look of surprise as his eyes drop onto Logan. Quickly he glanced back at you and you just shrugged your shoulders slightly. Letting Hank know the situation. How Logan knew what was wrong with you and wanted to be here with you. Moral support from the emotionally constipated x-men. Well, mostly constipated. 

After going over the procedures and what needed to be done you step behind the curtains, changing into one of those flimsy hospital gowns. The cool air nipping at your skin as you bite your bottom lip. You were scared. You didn’t want this. You couldn’t do this. You can’t do this! You don’t want to lose your feelings for Logan. He just now is starting to show you attention. It’s not fair! You shouldn’t have to deal with this! You can’t, you can’t, you can’t, you can’t, you can’t, you can’t, you can’t. 

“Are you okay?” Hank's voice cuts through your spiral. Eyes watering and your chest heaving. Ohm you were crying. No, you were sobbing again. Your hands are shaking at your side. You glance at the curtain that hid you from the other two. You know they heard you crying, heard you falling apart. How embarrassing. Your hand grips at the gown, bunching it up at your chest as you take a shaky breath. Lungs barely able to hold a full inhale. 

“Yeah… Yeah sorry. I’m ok. I’m ready.” You step out from behind the curtain. Clear concern was on the blue mutant's face. You can’t read the others. You don’t like this. You silently pad over to the table, bed, whatever it is, that is set up for you. Another strained breathe and you sit on the surface. A glance at the two of them and you lay back. You’re surprised the professor wasn’t here to help out. Maybe he wasn’t needed. Hank could handle this on his own. You can handle this. Logan was here, you didn’t want him here, but it was a strange comfort knowing the man you loved was here to support you. Even if said surgery would remove all feelings for him. How poetic. 

You stare at the ceiling, unsure of what to do as Hank moves around you. Logan who had been leaning on the wall walks over and takes your hand in his. Holding it as if you would shatter at the softest of touches. You hate it. 

“Offer still stands darlin’. Can make the guy love you back.” Although the words would work well in a teasing tone. There was a hint of seriousness behind it. Like he didn’t want you to go under. To have the gardenias removed from your chest. Your hand squeezes his weakly. You knew you didn’t have much time left. You had to do this or confess. Only one of those was an actual option.

Hank returns and holds up the mask. You lift your head up as he slides it over your mouth and nose. It’s too late. You can feel the tears threatening to fall again. You’re scared. Your grip on Logan’s hand tightens as Hank moves around you, making sure you’re hooked up correctly. Your vision starts to blur slightly. You try to inhale the gas as deeply as you could, it hurt. Your lungs didn’t want to fill, you think you can feel the roots wiggling deeper through your lungs and closer to your heart. Your eyes are on Logan, fear clearly radiating off of you. Your own eyes showing the anxiety inside of you. Logan just stands strong next to you. Like a silent guard. 

As the world starts to blacken around you, the corners of the room vanishing slowly. You couldn’t help yourself. You were getting the surgery. You can say the words now. It won’t matter. Your head was already floating and consciousness was fading. Eyes focusing on Logan, like a tunnel. All you could see was him as the world around you slowly vanished into nothingness.   Three words slipped out of you without much thought.

“I love you.” 

The world shifts and the world goes dark. 

The quiet beeping echos. A steady rhythm that matches the slight pounding in your head. Your eyes slowly open, only to quickly shut again. The lights were a bit too bright and everything was… Numb. Your mouth feels dry and you physically can’t feel anything. Did the surgery go wrong? Why can’t you feel anything? A groan bubbles up from your throat as you force your eyes to open. That’s when you feel it.

You can feel every muscle, every fiber of the blanket covering you. The heaviness in your chest is gone. You take a breath. You can… You can take a breath. Your lungs are fully filled with oxygen. Chest rising higher than it has in months. You can breathe. Your eyes open again, the bright fluorescent lights above you illuminate the room. You tilt your head away from looking up at the ceiling. Eyes moving around the room. Gaze falling on the little monitor you’re hooked up to. The beeping was your heartbeat. Ok. That looked good. 

Your head turns the other direction as you take in another sweet deep breath. Eyes landing on Logan. He was still here, sitting beside your bed, head lolled to the side clearly asleep. Your chest tightens in the familiar feeling you have been dealing with for months. That can’t be right. You shouldn’t still be feeling this longing. You shouldn’t still be feeling the warmth that spreads through you over the fact that he had stayed. You shouldn’t be feeling the soft tug on your heart as you look at him or the soft smile pulling on your lips.

This was wrong. Something was wrong. You raise the arm that wasn’t hooked up to all the devices and set it on your chest. There was pain there, raw and uncomfortable, but there was no bump on your chest to show there was a bandage, no pain pulling at your skin. The pain you felt was all under your skin. This isn’t right, something is wrong. Your chest felt clear but you have no evidence that you underwent the surgery. You force yourself to sit up. Pain shoots down your spine. You groaned in pain and a hand was suddenly pressing down on your shoulder. Forcing you back onto the bed. Logan had gotten up.

“Logan?” Your voice was scratchy. It felt just like the times you coughed up all those flowers when he found out. “What… What’s going on? Why do I…” 

“Yeah it’s me. Lay back down. Can’t have you moving around too much yet.” Logan’s hand was still on your shoulder, a gentle pressure making you lay back down onto the bed. Your eyebrows furrowing in confusion at the look he is giving you. You can’t read him. “Don’t talk too much either. Hank said you got to heal.”

Yet you’re pretty sure you didn’t get the surgery though! You should be dead. You… You told Logan how you felt. How you still feel. Yet the urge to cough is gone. Your chest feeling lighter than it has since before the disease took its hold on your life. That has to mean something. Something happened when you went under. What happened? Why won’t he tell you? Why is he looking at you like that? 

Logan’s hand finally pulled away from your shoulder. He just stares down at you as you stare at him. Silence falls between you two. His hand then slowly moves again. Your eyes darting down to the hand. Slowly his hand goes to push some hair out of your face. The same look he has been giving you for the past few months crosses his face. You still don’t know what it means, but it is making your stomach flip. 

“Glad you didn’t die for a guy like me. World be a lot darker without you in it.” His hand gently cups your cheek, his thumb gently rubbing your cheek. His hand was soft and warm. The touch a bit too tender for someone like him.

Wait. Wait wait wait. He heard you. He heard what you said before going under. You didn’t go through the surgery yet your chest feels lighter than it should. That could only mean one thing. Your eyes go wide in surprise and your lips part as you go to speak. Pain still itching at your throat.

“You heard me…” Of course he heard you! He was right next to you holding your hand. He has enhanced senses. He heard you confess. He heard you say you loved him. You’re still alive, you still feel for him and you confessed! That has to mean. Your face suddenly lights up. Heat pooling both on your cheeks and in your stomach. There is only one explanation. There is only one way you were able to live and still feel this way. Logan loved you back. That doesn’t make sense though! Before you started smelling like flowers the two of you never spoke to one another. Yet he…

He loved you back.

“Yeah, I did. Could have told me sooner to save you the pain. Told ya I’d make sure the guy felt the same.” His hand leaves your face. He turns to grab the chair he had been sitting in before and pulls it over. The chair legs screeching across the floor making you flinch at the noise. Once the chair was next to you he sat down and took your hand in his again. Once more treating you like glass. Though you appreciate it, you feel like glass right now. 

Logan lifts your hand up to his face, blue eyes staring straight into your own as his lips find your knuckles. Leaving a soft kiss. You were already blushing before, but you swear you feel like you’re on fire. His lips brushing against your knuckles as he speaks once more. You really aren’t used to hearing him speak so much. “Looks like we got a lot to talk about sweetheart.”

You just silently nod, unable to break your gaze from his. Your hand is lowered, your heart beating out of your chest. You are sure he can hear it. You lick your lips, unable to speak a word out of fear you’ll embarrass yourself further. Logan just chuckles slightly, a deep reverberating one. 

“Guess I should say it, not really good with the emotions shit, but I love you too.”

A few blinks and then a small laugh comes out of you. A wince follows after, but the biggest grin spreads on your face. All it took was you almost dying to finally hear those three little words. You’ll never look at gardenias the same again, nor will you be able to stand the sickly sweet smell of a strong floral scent. That doesn’t matter to you though. You obtained something you thought was unattainable. The love of the man you were in love with. The secret love no longer hidden. 

You can now understand the look Logan was giving you. It was the same you had been giving him. You both were in love with each other but were unsure how to go about it. All it took was the flowers that no longer were growing inside of you. 

You finally say the words, more confident than when you went under. “I love you.” 

“Love you too sweetheart.” 

[rainrot4me]

Rain’s Kinktober 2024 - 10

Kagekao x Female Reader - Stalking/CNC

SMUT WARNING MINORS DNI

TW: Stalking, consensual non consent, teasing, cunnilingus, blood and gore, depictions of murder, gross pervert man, semi-public, cat and mouse, blood smearing, begging, pleading

Tag: #rainykinktober2024

Words: 2.6k

Wrapping his scarf tightly around his neck, Kagekao scanned the busy roads and overcrowded bartops bustling with all kinds of people. Drunk bastards and flirty couples shoveling their way through streets and stoplights, cars honking and people shouting with excitement. He liked to watch, to examine just how different each one was. The rooftop view was nice though, out of sight from any curious eyes so high up. 

The chilly night air was comfortable, leaning casually on a beam holding up a larger advertisement sign, the bright luminescent colors flashing obnoxiously above him. The demon could’ve stayed there all night, the stout smell of cigarettes and alcohol floating up to his perch and easing his excitement.

But he had a pretty girl to look for.

Every once in a while, when Kagekao grew bored of his usual games and repetitive forms of entertainment, you both would agree on a little cat-and-mouse routine, something to spice up the late nights when he grew restless. You would leave for the night, and Kagekao would follow discreetly, your oblivious mind never knowing when he would decide to swoop in and snatch you up.

You would dress up, harboring some skimpy clothing that revealed just a little too much and grabbed all the wrong attention, flaunting yourself in busy bars and crowded restaurants. Nasty men would circle, wrapping their arms around your waist and asking if you needed a ride home, buying you all kinds of fruity drinks and things you didn’t really like. Kagekao was there to watch it all, hopping from rooftop to rooftop as the breeze ruffled his dark hair, keeping a close watch on his precious woman.

You always promised you wouldn’t be a flirt, unaware that the demon was watching your every move, following along and catching your every sly smile and intentionally roaming hands on their chests or arms. Such a tease, such a minx. And he ate it up, too.

He watched you jump from bar to bar, hanging on to one guy after another. He hung on every step of the way, his excitement growing, waiting for the perfect moment to infiltrate your fun little night. It always ended the same, you just had to decide who.

It was late, far after midnight when you and some unnamed drunk stumbled out of a nasty dive bar, his arm wrapped around your shoulder while you leaned into his touch. The demon knew you weren’t unfaithful, far from it- this was all your ploy to get his breathing spiked, claws scraping against the concrete of the building as he watched you both saunter into a dark alleyway. Kagekao could feel his heart thump in his chest, each moment he watched this disgusting man press you against the rough wall, stupidly kissing along your bare neck and tugging at your tiny skirt, it just made his blood boil.

People walked by unknowingly, the darkness of the cramped alley covering any suspicious activity, but he could see it all. Every place his hand touched, every time his lips pressed against yours, every inch his fingers moved closer between your thighs- every action reflected with a sickly sweet smile on your face just to piss him off.

“Well played, angel.” Kagekao stood straight, adjusting his mask, the stark glow of his eyes flickering and sucking in the light around him. Tapping his feet off the edge of the rooftop, the demon gave just another moment of enjoying yourself before he dropped. It wasn’t incredibly high, unsurvivable for a human, but lucky for him landing on the ground was nothing more than a slight sting. 

The loud thump of his arrival in the alley alerted you both, the drunk guy going to town on your neck glancing back, his eyes glazed over from the heavy amount of alcohol. Kagekao stood there, feet away as he smiled, clapping his hands slowly. 

“Kage-” You breathed, pressing your hands on the man’s chest and shoving him off, pressing back against the wall. The guy was stunned, his confidence staggering as he looked the demon up and down, thrown off by his unusual attire. “Hello, pretty girl. Good show, really.”

“Wait a min- You know this guy, hun?” The drunk guy slurred, his use of a nickname nearly cracking Kagekao’s demeanor entirely, his claws aching to get a hold of him. You don’t answer, the man puffing up his chest and crossing his arms, some show of dominance that was futile. “Hey man, finder’s keeper, a’ight? Won’t you jus-” 

You had already turned your head, looking in the opposite direction down the tight alley by the time Kagekao was on top of him, thick claws sinking deep into the meat of his neck. The demon’s eyes were piercing, staring, unblinking as he watched the man sputter and choke on globs of his own blood. “Aww, guess that means I get to keep her then? Ain’t that right, angel?” He chirped up, smiling under his mask at the satisfying pop of the man’s tendons snapping off of his spinal cord. He was gone, half-dead from the impact of his skull hitting the hard concrete ground, but now his eyes were already lulling back. Blood pooled onto Kagekao’s claws, thick globs running down to the ground and staining, the sour smell already thick in the air.

He was so lost in it, glaring with bloodlust intent that he almost missed the sound of you coughing, choking at the sight. Your heels clicked as you tried to shuffle away, pressing tight against the wall like you were trying to disappear into it. Kagekao flexed his claws out of the neck, the poor guy’s body shaking and flinching with the last efforts of life before going limp, a satisfying end.

Focusing his attention on you now, Kagekao’s eyes shone bright, the fiery irises burning a hole in you. Taking several steps back, you held your hands out, shaking your head as slowly as you could to not alert him further. “Kage… Listen, I- You’re not thinking right-” You’re stumbling over your words, looking for the right things to say as your gaze flickers from the demon’s mask to the mangled body feet away. “You’ve never- Oh, God… Kage-”

Maybe he had gone a little too far. The usual routine was to knock the guy out and tease you around a little about being such a flirt before swiping you away for more fun. So what if this one had been a little too cocky for his liking, and a little too touchy… It didn’t matter. Kagekao was itching now, body wracked with so much pent-up energy he had to expend it somehow.

“What? We’re having so much fun and now you don’t wanna play anymore?” He mocked you, taking heavy steps closer and closer, laughing every time you took another inch back. You were cornering yourself, shoving deeper into the dark alleyway like it would be safer. You were shaking your head, skirt riding up your pretty thighs just enough to make him groan. He couldn’t blame the dead guy, you were so easy on the eyes it was hard to even look away.

“Angel. Don’t be runnin’ now…” He chuckled, closing the space between you two as your back connected with the back wall, panic creeping in as his eyes nearly glowed in contrast to the shadows. He snaps forward, a yelp as Kagekao’s claws wrap around your cute face, blood smearing across your skin and snaring into your hair. It felt hard to breathe with his chest pressing against yours, the rumble of his words shaking you as he playfully smeared dark red across your rosy cheeks. “Please, don’t…”

You try to push away, hands clawing and ruffling his clothes with anxious breaths, shaking under his weight. The demon smiles, swiping the blood on his claw across your puffy lips and smiling at how nice it looks. You were whimpering, tears welling in those pretty eyes. Kagekao could feel his cock getting harder by the second.

“Angel, fuck- y’look so gorgeous like this.” He snarls, dipping his claws lower to snag around your throat, tightening his grip just enough to make you gasp. “What- Oh ngh- Fuck-” You’re gasping when he nudges his knee between your thighs, separating them and pushing that skirt up further, your plump ass barely staying hidden. “Gotcha.” Kagekao smiles at the feeling of your clothed cunt drooling, seeping onto his pantleg, excited already. 

“Don’t go acting like this wasn’t your intention. That’s alright, girl, I get it.” Letting off of your face, the demon drops to his knees, dipping his claws between your plush thighs and pushing them apart further. He wastes no time, pushing his hood back and nudging his mask up to his nose, his sour smile sending waves of anxiety through you. 

Snagging his claws under your skirt, he shoves the fabric up, pushing it to your waist. Your panties are next, the damp fabric tinted with your arousal, and quickly being hauled down to your ankles. You settle your weight on the wall behind you, reaching forward to tangle your fingers into his hair, the dark strands being tugged uselessly as he presses forward. 

You can’t see his eyes anymore, mask covering them, but you can see his smile- so sickly sweet as it disappears against your cunt. He licks a long, languid stripe up your swollen folds, your pussy gushing its arousal and soaking your taste onto the muscle. Oh, how Kagekao loved this little game, the pathetic little whimpers leaving your mouth as he teases you, hot tongue going all the way up from your base, just underneath your swollen clit. He doesn’t fuck into your sloppy hole yet, he wants to hear you ask for it. 

You moan out, doubling over as he abuses your clit, “Quit! Kage- not here, not now!” You’re so shy, so ashamed of the way your body reacts to him. You might’ve enjoyed it if every time you glanced up, you weren’t met with the body of the poor bastard you dragged out here. Kagekao wasn’t sane right now, wouldn’t listen to you. It’s so useless when you try to push his head away, shoving at his mask while he sucks heartily on your clit, completely avoiding your sopping entrance. “Stop- please, stop-”

“Keep cryin’, it jus’ makes you wetter…” He drooled, lapping at your throbbing clit as it pulses and jerked, heavy with your panic. You sob, fat tears rolling down your cheeks as you push against his head, trying desperately to shut your thighs but he's so much stronger, pushing them even further apart like it’s nothing. “Yeah, jus’ like that.” He groans, tongue rubbing obscene little circles on your poor clit.

You hiccup, face burning at how unreasonable he was being. “Kagekao- I don’ want this- No!”

The full use of his name had him shuttering, wasting not another minute on your feeble clit and shoving his tongue into the warm pool of your entrance, shoveling his way past that tight ring and into the gush of your taste. “Oh, yeah?” He teases, voice muffled around your swelled cunt, so deep that his nose was rubbing tiny, sinful little circles on your poor clit. “Hard to believe when you’re nearly dripping…”

His lips and chin are smeared with your juices, tongue lulling in and out of your cunt, pressing all the right spots. You can’t help that your hips jerk with the feeling, grinding down onto the muscle like you weren’t pleading with him to stop, to just wait a minute-

You’re dragging your pussy so sloppily all over his face, his tongue fucking you with such reckless abandon, like this is the reward you get for participating in his sick little game. “You make me so fuckin’ hard, angel. Y’know that? Little pussy is soo tight-” He slurs against you, nose bumping your clit and dragging a long, agonizing moan from your throat. The demon hopes each oblivious passerby can hear, each one glancing down the alley and getting a full view of you falling apart just from him.

“Maybe I shoulda kept him alive, s’like you wanted me to fuck you right here. To have him watch how I’m gonna fucking ruin this pretty pussy on my cock.” You’re scrambling to grab at his hair, biting into your puffy lips until it hurts, his tongue flicking with intent across your clit. You’re too distraught to even think of a reply, sobbing as you will your eyes not to look up at the body feet away, keeping them trained on only Kagekao’s nasty tongue. “N-no- I didn’t wan-”

“You’re right- Poor bastard… Look at what ya did to him… But look at what I get to do to you…” He claws against your thighs, blood smearing across your skin and glistening an ill reminder. You want to argue, to fight something pointless, something that can’t be changed now. “No, no, no-”

The demon is practically pussydrunk, blatantly teasing you for every sorry excuse for a plea as you ride his tongue, groaning at the lewd smack of his tongue dipping in and out of your puffy folds. He smiles against your lips, smearing your arousal across his lips and licking them obscenely, chuckling into your warmth. You’re so close, gut so heavy and knotted you could cry. Kagekao can feel it, the way you flutter and clench onto his tongue, his lower lip collecting all of your sweet taste with the mess of your juices and saliva. “Kage- quit, I’m gon-”

But he doesn’t let you, sultry tongue stalling just long enough to have you rutting your hips down and physically begging for it. He’s taunting you with that sick smile, tongue smearing long, nauseating stripes between your folds, but refusing to brush your clit. “Tell me.” Murmuring even deeper into your cunt, “C’mon, now, angel. You’ve been asking me to stop all night, go ahead an’ tell me you want it.”

You sob, sniffling as you rut your hips, giving in to whatever restraint you had before. “Kage! Fuck- m-close- So, so close- Please don’t stop!”

Snagging his soiled lips onto your throbbing clit, he’s sucking like his life depends on it, wracking your body with jerk after satisfying jerk. You’re barely managing a strangled moan before you finally cum. All you can do is tighten your hold on his hair as wave after wave of such intense ecstasy hits you. With each flick of his tongue, he jolts you, sending flashes of light behind your eyelids as he crushes your hips down lower. Satisfied, Kagekao lets you have it, smearing your soaked cunt across his devilish tongue as you ride him out, shuddering. 

Finally tugging away, you’re panting, sniffling the last of your tears down your cheeks as Kagekao stands, tugging his mask down so his eyes gleam a hearty white at you. You’re shaking, cunt still wracking with waves of pleasure, knees weak from standing.

You glance at the body behind him, cringing before the demon takes a step in front of your vision, blocking the unsightly view. You stare up at him, whining softly with each panicked breath. 

“You’re so cute when you try to play victim, angel.” He’s cupping the side of your face, free hand easily unbuckling his belt, the cold metal sounds enough to have your cunt pulsing between your tired legs. 

“Now, let’s see just how loud you can get before somebody comes looking…”

Thanks for reading!

Comments and reblogs are appreciated! 𐚁₊⊹

Thanks to my wonderful editors @h3llw1 and @solarbites!

[luveline]

do you think you could do something with zombie au where reader is on her period? thank you!!

thank you for your request! fem, 1k

You’ve gotten your period three times since the apocalypse began. The first time, you and Steve were just beginning to get along, and he’d proved why you trust him as you do, treating the whole thing with kindness. More recently, he’s your unofficial boyfriend. Like, kissing you and holding you, but foregoing the conversation that would make you an official couple. 

Either he doesn’t want to be official (which is fine, it’s not like he’s going anywhere), or you’re official without words. You’ve assumed the latter because the former makes you nauseous. 

Not that you need much help in that department. Your stomach churns like a tide, bouts of sickness and pain that hit you rampantly as you follow Steve downstairs. 

“Can I take my shoes off?” you ask. 

“Why are you asking me? It’s not my house.” Steve descends the last step and holds his hand behind him for you. Seemingly to help you down a step you don’t need help with. 

You’re asking because taking your shoes off means getting comfy for the night, and he doesn’t want to do that at every house you break into.

You don’t explain yourself. You follow Steve into the living room, hoping he’s going to take your hand again. He nudges you with his hip into a mildly dusty couch. 

You sit. “What, are we gonna watch TV?” you joke. 

“You look sickly.” 

That’s not nice. “I do?” you ask, all teasing gone from your tone. You often wish you were much prettier, and occasionally beg fate to drop a bottle of medical grade body wash into your lap, if just to make Steve see you that way. But Steve’s kissed you with a greasy nose and blood on your chin. You were hoping appearances didn’t matter. 

“You look awful,” he says, his eyebrows stitching together as he heads into the kitchen. “Stay sat down!” 

“Awful?” you ask. 

He doubles back, face peeking around the doorway. “Not like that,” he says hurriedly. “Just, sick. I’m gonna cook you something.” 

“I don’t need to be sat down, I’m fine.” 

He disappears again. “That why you’re glaring at me?” he calls, his voice echoing against tile. 

You don’t have the energy for whatever it is that’s happening. You kick your legs out on the couch and begin kneading the swollen mess that is your stomach, debating on telling him why you’re grumpy. It’s not like he cares. He never finds it gross, but you don’t want him to pity you either. It’s just a period. 

(It really sucks.) 

“Alright, the hot plate is on,” he calls. “What do you want, huh? We got the split pea soup, or the chicken casserole?” He laughs. “The casserole, duh. Ten minutes and it’s yours.” 

Your breath rushes out through your nose. Stomach hurts, head hurts, he’s making you dinner and laughing where you can’t see him. You force yourself to get up, shuffling to the kitchen with a pout already in place. 

“Ten minutes is not right,” you say, announcing your movement so he doesn’t stab you. 

“Is too right. How come you never listen?” 

“Steve, please don’t be mean to me, I’m on my period.” You wince as a pang climbs your back. 

“Oh, you are?” 

“Unfortunately.” 

“Well… I’m glad, sort of. Better that then the flu, right?” 

“Yeah, I guess.” 

A couple of weeks ago, he would’ve told you to go back to the couch, and he would’ve brought your food in to you, wrapping a blanket over your legs and leaving you to it. But this is now. Your unwilling protector has gone remarkably soft on you. 

“Is it like last time?” he asks, holding out his arm. 

You drift toward him, pretending it isn’t to be hugged. “It hurts, if that’s what you mean.” 

“It hurts,” he repeats in a murmur as his arm finally curls around your waist. He pulls you into his side.

“You’re pitying me.” 

“You like it,” he jokes, his tone still held in that soft murmuring. 

You close your eyes, driving your nose into his chest. The hot plate gurgles weakly on the stove, using the last of a canister of camping gas, a few days from the end of its life. Your eyelids feel heavy closed, achy not with tears but fatigue, and your head aches with a migraine you know from experience won’t be defeated using tylenol. But Steve hugs you with one arm and leans against you as you press into him. Stuck together. He doesn’t move for ages. 

“I’m glad I don’t get my period,” he says. 

“You act like you do.” 

“Were you not gonna tell me? I guess you don’t have to, but if you’re in pain, I’d like to know.” 

“Don’t need you to feel any more sorry for me.” 

“I don’t. Just like rubbing your back.” 

Your heart skips a beat. That’s as close to a confession of feelings you’ve ever gotten from him. Well, verbally. His sporadic kissing says a lot. 

“Thanks for telling me,” he says. You have to strain your ears to hear him. “I don’t think there’s much iron in chicken casserole. I wish we… How much iron is there in squirrel?” 

“I don’t wanna eat squirrel.” Again. 

“It’s good for you.” 

Doubtful. You turn completely into his touch and hug him. “Please don’t make me eat squirrel.” 

You sound a teeny tiny bit pitiful, and you earn yourself an even better hug than the first. “I won’t, I won’t, I was just kidding,” he promises, “I just figure you need it. Maybe if we look through the medicine cabinet they’ll have some multivitamins or something.” His hand grabs at your side. It’s not a careful touch, though he’s far from spiteful. “You need painkillers, right? I could crush a Vicodin into your casserole.” 

“Yes, please.” 

Steve’s nose presses into the side of your face. You feel close to him in a way that chokes you up, but you don’t need to talk any more. 

“Half a Vicodin,” he deliberates, “and I’ll rub your back.”

[laiiaaa]

thinking abt what Carmen would do if his gf’s feeling insecure…i’m so sappy rn this was rly self-indulgent :(

You walk into the bathroom while Carmen’s brushing his teeth, sweatpants hanging low on his hips and triceps flexing as he leans into the counter. You take gentle hold of his arm and press a kiss to his shoulder.

With the toothbrush still in his mouth, he mumbles, “Hey, baby,” before leaning over and spitting into the sink. He turns on the faucet, bends over to rinse his mouth, and relishes in the feeling of your hand rubbing up his back. “You want anything special for dinner tonight?” He makes eye contact with you through the reflection in the mirror. “I’m stoppin’ by for groceries later, I’ll pick up the ingredients for whatever ya want.”

You hum. “No, it’s okay…”

“O-Okay.” His brows furrow for a moment but he moves on, splashing his face and going about his routine.

“Do you know how much longer you’ll be?”

“Uhhhm…” He laughs into his hands and dries his face before turning to look at you face to face. “Like, five minutes? Why?”

“It’s nothing, I just wanna take a shower, ‘s all.” You’re still holding onto him, but your eyes dart away when you speak to him.

“Oh.” He pauses. “Am I in your way?”

You shake your head and smile. “No, why?”

“It’s just—you can get in the shower now, if you want. If you’re in a rush.”

“I’m not.”

“Then why d’you want me outta here?”

“Carm,” you start, a hushed voice, “I have to take my clothes off…”

He pauses again, looks you in the eye with a confused expression, stopping what he’s doing to face you with his whole body, his hands resting on the backs of your arms. “Is somethin’ wrong? Did I do somethin’?”

“No.” Your tone is light enough to keep him confused.

“You jus’ want me to head out for a few?”

You nod slowly. “I just…want some privacy.”

“Oh.” He pouts. “Okay.” His thumbs brush tenderly along your skin, and he presses a kiss to your forehead. “You feelin’ okay, baby?” He’s using that tone—the one that’s sickly sweet and doting, the one that has your knees weak and brain turning to mush. “You don’t want me t’see you?”

“Not right now, ‘m sorry—”

“Hey, it’s—it’s okay.” Another gentle kiss against your forehead. “Do you—is there…” He struggles for the right question. “Could you tell me why, at least?”

You try to push away from his hold. “It’s embarrassing, Carm—”

“Uh-uh—” He shakes his head and pulls your right back. “No it’s not, baby, you can tell me.”

“Just forget about it, it’s stupid—”

He brings a hand to your jaw and holds it firm so you can’t turn away. “Hey.” 

Tears start pooling in your eyes, and you keep your gaze away from his as your lip quivers. 

“C’mon, talk to me, baby.” His free hand smooths over your hair, brushing it away from your forehead. “What’s got you all worked up, hm?”

“I just…” Your throat becomes sore, and a few stray tears spill from the corners of your eyes, quickly brushed away by Carmen’s callused fingertips. “I just don’t look good right now…”

“What’s that? You don’t look good?” His eyes dart from your bleary eyes to your streams of tears to your shaky lips, and his heart shatters. “Baby—”

“I told you it was stupid—” Your voice cracks when you say it.

“Oh, c’mere…” Carmen pulls you into his chest, offering a lighthearted scoff as he takes in your words. His arms wrap snug around you, one hand smoothing up and down your back while the other stays at the back of your neck, the fingers scratching your scalp gently as he holds you close. “You’re so beautiful, baby, don’t say stuff like that…”

“I just feel gross, Carmen, ‘m sorry…”

He squeezes you a little tighter, takes a deep breath to keep himself from shedding any tears of his own. “Shhh, don’t apologize, you’re okay…you’re okay…” Pressing kisses into the crook of your neck, he repeats those words as his mantra: You’re so beautiful, you’re okay, you’re so perfect, baby, it’s okay…

In his arms like this, it doesn’t take long to calm down again; his hands and arms soothe you, and what’s more is the fact that Carmen of all people—as stubborn as he is about verbalizing everything—keeps his voice a soft coo as he pulls you back out of your worries. When he feels your breathing slow and your chest have a steady rise and fall, he loosens his grip to see your face.

You pout up at him still.

“Baby…” He kisses you anyway. “You’re so beautiful, c’mon.” His hands come to hold your face tenderly, thumbs brushing along your cheekbones to rid them of those damned tears. 

“You’re just saying that because you have to.”

He laughs at that, a smile blossoms on his face to show dimples as his head reads back. “ ‘Cause I have to? You’re goin’ crazy, y’know that, right?”

“Stop it.” You try to pout, and your mind still aches with insecurity, but your cheeks still begin to flex with a bit of a sappy grin.

“Uh-uh, you’re so fuckin’ gorgeous, baby.” He peppers kisses all over your face, gentle and slow and delicate the way he always takes care of you. “ ‘N you’re all mine…so, so pretty, I’m so lucky to be with you…”

“Stop it, Carmy,” you whine, giggling against his lips all the same when he takes yours in a kiss. “Okay, I get it, I get it.”

One more kiss for the hell of it, one that has you pulling him a little closer as your knees turn wobbly, one that has him smiling into your mouth and wondering how he ended up with you, ending with his forehead resting against yours. 

“I love you, okay?” he whispers, and even though it’s not typical of him to say it first, in his chest he knows he should.

You nod, and all his praise makes your head swim. “I know. I love you.”

“And, uh, I can—” he clears his throat— “I can still get outta here if you want me to—? Make you breakfast while you shower, yeah?" A hand runs down to your waist. "I want you to be comfortable.”

“Actually—” you loop your arms around his neck— “I was thinking…you could keep me company?”

You don’t think you’ve ever seen him smile so wide, jaw slack and brows raised. “Yeah?”

“Mhmmm…it’ll make me comfortable…” 

And he does exactly that: keeps you comfortable and in the moment, undresses you slowly, worships every part of you with kisses and with high praise. He handles you gently and with so much adoration running through his veins that by the time he’s done with you, dressing you and serving you your breakfast with a peck to your cheek, you don’t have to think twice about how much he loves you.

[haetrack]

omg now im thinking of perv!haech whos ur best friend but ur just a pretty bimbo ! completely clueless to the fact that ur bestest friend in the whole wide world is hopelessly in love w u and imagines what its like to be wrapped around ur creamy cunt 25/8 .. so eventually he gets tired of it and just decides to start being even more forward w it bcz ure just one oblivious bimbo :P

- ☀️ (aka same anon that sent cockwarming w haech <3)

a/n: HELLO ☀️ ANON… nice to have u here… trying something a little new… thank u for little me try this…

warnings: a little dubcon, reader wears a skirt, male masturbation, improper massage, MDNI

-

throughout the years haechan has known you, he’s fallen more and more in love.

you were always so nice to him, talking to him about everything and anything. you had a pretty smile, contagious laugh, and always talked to him with interest shown.

you also had a nice body. his eyes always wandering down to your almost-exposed chest, eyes lowering down to your smooth thighs. his hands always wanted to touch your pretty skin, hands twitching on his thighs at the thought.

too many times has he hung out with you and thought about fucking your cunt. he just knows you have a pretty pussy, knows that you would beg for him to fill you up. you just can’t seem to catch on, thinking his stares are only friendly.

he’s heard people talking about you, almost shushing them as they talk about his best friend. he doesn’t want to hear about how pretty you look giving someone head or how good you feel wrapped around someone’s cock.

he knows he can make you feel better than anyone else.

he never asks you about your sex life. you assume haechan probably doesn’t want to hear about it, probably doesn’t care about all the people you have sex with. he’s just your friend anyways, he’s only there to talk to you!

except, he can’t really take it anymore. he needs you to look at him, to touch him, to tell him that there’s no one else that you’d rather fuck than him. but he can’t just tell you that, right?

he decides to be more honest with you, letting you know that he’s ready for you to come to him, ready to hear you beg for his cock.

there’s a day where you’re wearing a skirt while hanging out. his hands move to warm themselves between your thighs, fingers dancing along your skin. he smiles when he sees goosebumps raising on your skin, not missing the embarrassed pout on your face.

you don’t push his hands away, watching with a dazed look as his hands trail higher on your thighs. you’re squirming in your seat, not caring that it’s your best friend that’s touching you like this. before you can start begging, he pulls away, leaving you to look at him with desperation.

there’s another day where you want to hang out at his place. he purposefully gets himself off knowing that you’re on your way. he’s letting out gross whimpers of your name, wanting you to just walk in and catch him like this, all messy for you.

once you knock on his front door, he’s cumming all over his hand, a loud moan of your name leaving his mouth. he cleans up quickly, licking off the cum on his hand before making his way to you. you notice his pink cheeks and messy hair, knowing none the wiser of his actions.

in a final attempt of trying to get you to notice him, he offers you a massage.

“i know how stressed you’ve been,” a sickly sweet smile on haechan’s face, “let me help you.”

you, of course, say yes to your friend. you even peel off your shirt, letting it lay on top of your chest, exposing your back to haechan. he didn’t even have to ask, his eyes drinking in the sight of your skin.

his hands tremble before putting them on you. he digs his thumbs into your shoulders, not missing the small whines that leave you. his cock is twitching in his pants, enjoying all the pretty noises you make.

it’s not until you let out a choked whimper when he rubs against a tender spot where he realizes he can’t take it anymore. precum spills out of his tip as his mind runs fast. his hands trail a little lower, moving to cup your covered chest. he gropes your boobs, feeling at the soft fabric covering you.

you let out a whisper of his name, hearing how he tuts back at you. “you’ll let me make you feel good, right?”

you feel his sweaty hands go under your bra as his fingers make it to your hard nipples, pinching around to hear high whimpers leave you. he can see your thighs squeezing together, your eyes peering up at his, your voice begging for more.

he tries to hide his shaky voice from you, “i knew you needed me, knew you wanted me to touch you all over.”

after all, you’re his pretty bimbo to play with.

[moodymisty]

Author's note: I love him

Relationships: Mortarion/Fem!Reader

Warnings: NSFW, A man jerkin it, Gross descriptors of Mortarion's body, Pervert Morty and his hot wife the prequel

The lights hit your skin so beautifully.

The dark purple fabric of your dress wrapped around you in an embrace, flowing onto the floor like water in a glittering stream. The color was a dusty, deep purple, much like his cape- But while yours was by design, his was ragged and washed out from years of overuse.

The way it wrapped around your shoulders, down your arms around your delicate wrists; how when you walk, it pulls away to reveal the ever so slight amount of skin just above your heel. Dresses were exceeding rare on Barbarus, and underneath were usually further layers to protect the skin. To see your naked body underneath such thin fabric had made his eyes widen- instinctually thinking that it was dangerous, he felt sickly and perverted to gaze so openly- as you casually walked around to chatter with other baselines.

When you'd turned away from him and revealed the open back of your dress, revealing your shoulderblades all the way down to the small of your back, he had just about choked.

If Mortarion had been a different primarch, you might as well have walked up to him and flashed your tits right at him, pulling your bottom lip between your teeth for good measure.

He left moments after that. You probably didn't even notice, which was for the best. He was better off slipping away unknown to take a moment for himself.

Funny- he hated the remembrancers at first. They seemed pointless at best and actively frustrating at worst, but the other primarchs had insisted he allow them aboard The Endurance. For documentstion, Fulgrim had said. To etch his legion's deeds into history.

Who cares. He and his legion do what needs to be done. History is unimportant.

One by one they slowly left the Death Guard, but you remained; With no signs of abandoning him departing.

Ever so diligent, quiet, and demure, you always did your work- sometimes even with a smile- watching his legion conduct their duties. Sometimes you would even indulge his lackluster and embarrasingyly necrosed conversational skills, showing no reaction other than interest and this odd, soft expression he had no word for.

You wouldn't want him.

He looks down at his body once in the safety of his Terran bedchambers- the way his skin is pallid and sickly, the scars. His nails are chipped, his hair is limp and grey. The clothes he wears are from Barbarus; Old, torn, stained and filthy. Dependable and still useful. But why now does he suddenly want to change them?

His bed groans under his weight as he sits on it, looking down at his thighs. He knows they're scarred underneath his trousers, a bit wider than they were when he was on Barbarus.

His nose curls, his breaths deepen. He's angry- but why?

He takes a deep breath filling his chest and rips off his respirator in one fell swoop, before letting out a sick cough that rips through his lungs like hellfire. He feels the palm covering his mouth get wet, groaning and tensing his neck to try and control the fit.

He then looks to the singular mirror- sees the way the skin around his mouth is dry and discolored, the dark circles under his eyes, before turning his entire back to it.

He throws the respirator to the floor and watches it roll across the marble before skidding to a stop. It feels satisfying, in a pointlessly vindicating way.

The next few breaths he takes are ragged and full of sticky phlem. It racks his body and when he can't stop another cough, he feels the painful jolt of a rib popping. Spittle strings from his mouth to his hand, it tinted blood red ever so slightly.

'Where did you get such attire.'

Mortarion watched confusion bloom across your face, your lips shifting in an erotic dance. They part with the softest little pop. The skin of your cheeks looks so smooth.

'Oh, when I was given as your remembrancer, I was assigned an appropriate wardrobe, formal attire included.'

He felt disgusting, looking down at your bare skin. Almost your entire collarbone was visible, your shoulders, your fingers, your ankles, your wrists, your back- by the throne your back, he felt like some sort of slathering beast barely holding himself together. You looked so soft and you displayed it so openly- so wantonly! On Barbarus, you were lucky to see another's eyes. To see this much was... A fantasy.

His respirator discarded on the floor like rubbish Mortarion moves to undo the fastenings of his trousers, feeling the heavy heat of his cock. The first touch of him pulling it out at attention has him hissing, it nearly painful. He has to start with gentle touches- he knows you would do that if you weren't revolted by him- to build himself up to wrapping his entire fist around his cock. Once he manages it, even the dry scarred skin of his palm still feels otherworldly compared to just rubbing himself through his clothes.

Would you kiss him? Would you risk the poison of his breath and the sickly pallor of his skin? Would you let him mouth at your bare skin, feeling the warmth of your body under his lips?

Probably not. But he abandons the self declaration of him being a disgusting, cowardly pervert to imagine you would.

His cockhead throbs and aches, leaking precum that slicks his hand and shaft as he fists his cock. He hasn't done this in years, touch himself. He never had the need to- the desire to. Until you. Now he feels like he's rubbing himself raw almost daily.

He lets out a louder groan, one that vibrates his throat and nearly sends him into another coughing fit as he strokes himself faster. His lower stomach tenses and his cock twitches in his tight grip, angry, ragged breaths coming out of his nose.

Would you let him show you what you do to him? Would you show him more skin that you do shockingly showed him already? If you were from Barbarus, showing that much of your body would be the absolute height of intimacy.

By the throne, would you do all of that he's imagined and tell him you wanted more? That you wanted him? Would your allow your body to get defiled ruined stained corrupted poisoned touched by him, wantonly begging for more underneath him laying there like a beautiful painting while he falls apart before you?

He's so enthralled by the idea of kissing you, touching you-

Watching you undress-

He barely has a hold over himself. He fists his cock rough feeling his finish coming closer and closer, teeth gnashing. His cock twitches against as his stomach gets tighter, whenever his fingers brush against his cockhead he lets out the most pathetic, overwhelmed groan.

The idea of you touching him has him leaking in his fist, of the hand wrapped around his cock being your smaller ones and not his own.

The thought of actually being able to sink his cock into the tight, wet heat between your legs, of you moaning for him to ruin you more, to make him the only one that could bring you pleasure, has his body tightening up and he lets out a shaky, pathetic cry, coming all over his hand and onto the floor. He hadn't realized his eyes were closed until he opened them, looking at his own mess.

His cock twitches in little aftershocks, and despite the feeling that he could possibly go again, he takes a few deep breaths and rises to his feet. He fixes his half soft cock back into his trousers and sullies himself as to clean up his mess on the floor- the embarrassment of having another do so would ruin him- before returning to the small formal event he left behind.

He finds you moments after entering, as if by fate. You're standing alone, outcast by the other remembrancers.

They all fail to compare to you anyhow. They pale in comparison to your smarts and your beauty, a jewel among a legion of rot.

You are his remembrancer.

When he walks up to you, your face changes in a way that confuses him. You smile, giving the tactful bow he expects of you, though it isn't needed.

"I see you've returned," You say, adjusting the front of your dress. "Do you need something of me, Lord Mortarion?"

Mortarion watches the way your lips curl around your teeth, the way on some letters your tongue moves barely visible behind your lips. The way his name leaves your mouth sends another jolt to his already abused cock; By the Throne, he should just force it down your throat for what you do to him.

He grunts, looking down at you. You're waiting expectantly.

You wouldn't want him.

"No."