#i can just make a new one from scratch lol

[im-elliotts-wife]

sdv elliott headcanons !! ദ്ദി‎◍˃ ᵕ ˂◍) ⟡ ˙⋆ ♡⋆˙⟡

freckles !! (honestly this should be canon imo)

roman nose !!

clef chin !!

wears earrings !!

was gonna say he probably has dimples only visible when he smiles but that’s visible on his portrait sprites lol

his hair being a little more wavy

speaking of hair, even though he’s protective of it, he really likes when farmer or leah runs their fingers through it and gently scratches his scalp

not a poc but his skin isn’t like. white. more of a tan like alex but lighter

(this got long lol more under the cut 🫡)

i’d like to think he gets to meet one of his favorite authors and he tries to compose himself but he can’t help but be super excited and autistic about it

he’s autistic btw

and has inattentive adhd which fucks with his writer’s block SO bad

i imagine his last name is something like Cunningham !!

other family members probably also were creatives like artists or chefs or maybe even writers as well, but being strict and cold to the one child that stood out the most in ways they didn’t approve of they didn’t believe in or support elliott’s dream to be a writer :[

on that note: his dialogue has many instances of him apologizing for what he says and does, he was very clearly scolded and shamed for a lot of things :[ (one of the many reasons it makes me sad when people who hate him make such crazy assumptions about his character……he’s just a guy……..)

honestly…i don’t think his family comes to his wedding if he gets married. or if they do they’re very cold and off-putting about it. i don’t even know if elliott would want them there or invites them out of respect

more positive one about his wedding: he’d style his hair up either in a fairytale-like ponytail or bun !! and wears a white suit

something from another user is the fact that he experiences his gender more like a fairytale prince rather than just “man”. for many reasons but also because of being neurodivergent and experiencing gender and identity in his own unique way

went to college for either literature or english or something similar, man’s got a bachelor’s in Something

fluent in Latin !! knows a bit of Spanish and possibly French, likes the ✨romance languages ✨

does more than just fill the pet’s water bowl or water the crops: will actually help with farm chores regularly !! insists on cooking dinner most nights as well. if they have children and he’s married to a farmer who can (and wants to) become pregnant he insists on handling everything for them

i don’t believe for a second he didn’t write anything at all during all that time before meeting the farmer, he absolutely had some sort of project or two he was struggling with. his final novel can’t be brand spanking new i mean it takes. a LONG time to write and polish your work hgjshfjf

i think he has a lot of different worlds and stories obviously as a creative, but the three genres you get to choose from in the 2-heart event are three of his most developed, most liked concepts that he’s indecisive about and he chooses to follow through on the one farmer chooses. i think he writes all of them to some level of completion eventually down the line.

though to be honest i really don’t see him as a sci-fi writer ?? romance and mystery make more sense for him. so in my mind the sci-fi plot was a children’s book that he wanted leah to possibly help him illustrate (i’m surprised sci-fi is the default ???? it should be romance. he’s a romantic so like ????)

if he and the farmer have children he will absolutely read this children’s sci-fi book to them

puts characteristics of the farmer into one of the characters whichever genre is chosen

always dedicates his books to farmer <3 that one front page is always like “to my muse, [farmer name].” that’s practically canon to me

dramatic hopeless romantic. i wouldn’t be surprised if he has a hard time differentiating between romantic and platonic attraction sometimes. BIG big heart full of love !!

i know he is paired with leah if not married to the farmer but like. i always saw the two as queerplatonic instead. like they’d be the kind of friends to get married for tax benefits lol. it sounds cliche but i feel like elliott and penny being paired would make more sense. or at the very least i think there should be more interactions with elliott and penny, they both appreciate literature and are old-fashioned, they’d like each other’s company imo !! not just saying that because i love penny lol

ok listen. we need to talk about the 8-heart event. the reason not everyone is there at the ending is because some people had things to do and had to leave early, NOT because it wasn’t interesting. the town can’t just pause all the business for so long ykwim. like things have to keep going. he’s not like a genius writer or anything but he has to be pretty damn good to be able to do a book tour so i highly doubt it had anything to do with not liking his work. probably was going on for longer than expected, i mean reading one chapter aloud probably took an hour or two

absolutely made self-inserts when he was younger for his favorite stories lol

farmer comes with him on one of his book tours !! sometime after the 14-heart event, so not his first tour. i feel so bad him leaving for so long 😭😭 the town works together to care for the animals and crops while they’re away

despite loving shakespeare now, i think he found it a little boring when he was younger lol

carries around a small leather journal to jot down ideas that come to mind when he’s out and about

he likes to sketch nature like birds and plants and flowers in the same small leather journal, especially when he’s hanging out with leah. he’s not amazing at it or anything but it’s fun !! he likes to do it anyway !!

actually i think they invite friends like leah to dinner sometimes. he seems like a very hospitable man

has SOOOOOO many old journals filled with writing. same with how artists like me have a bajillion old sketchbooks filled up and piled up somewhere. but ☝🏾 the last few pages aren’t used because we all start a new book before completing the old one HGDJSHDJFG

has a bit of an accent (?) that actually slips away when he’s drunk (or gets more pronounced) because he’s sillyyyyyyy

goofy ahh drunk on that note. won’t shut up and babbles on and on when he’s intoxicated. and of course dances around, probably drags farmer into a clumsy waltz for fun <3 also very very honest and just sings farmer’s praises more than usual in this state

that nightmare of him getting a buzzcut absolutely stems from a sibling pranking him as a kid by cutting up and fucking up his hair

it’s canon that he has a “rugged physique” but i don’t think he’s huge or anything he’s probably average build. might even have a bit of a tummy :] and very nice arms………….

Camellia Station or Blue Tower becomes the start of a series, maybe a book trilogy?

and leah draws elliott’s characters all the time. if they were in the digital age she’d post fanart of his work all the damn time lol (i do this a lot for my writer friends hehe)

i’d like to think he had at least one friend in the past before he moved that liked him for who he was and didn’t shame him for being “weird” or “different”. they tried to keep in touch but weren’t really able to :[ maybe farmer reminds him of that person

more of a complaint than a headcanon: i think elliott should bring his piano to the farm. IT MAKES NO SENSE THAT HE’D LEAVE IT????? first of all. upright pianos are expensive (esp acoustic ones, and knowing he comes from a pretty rich background it’s gotta be a nice one) and also he likes playing the piano (despite it most likely being forced on him by his uptight family, he reclaims the hobby for himself). WHY WOULDNT HE BRING IT

when you see him at the library reading that children’s book about farm animals i think it was him wanting to write a children’s book and researching what other children’s books are like. though it is really funny to think he just reads stuff like that lol but it wouldn’t make much sense considering he’s obviously from a well-educated background and quotes shit like shakespeare often and uses a very broad sophisticated set of vocabulary. or he just randomly picked up a children’s book out of curiosity !! it’s possible !! i do this on purpose all the time lol

daydreams a lot, head in the clouds, people think he’s an airhead probably since he’s always lost in thought

if farmer and him are married they will sometimes visit the cabin as a little vacation spot

actually speaking of the beach. it had to have been his favorite place to go as a kid i think. like the ocean is very important and meaningful to him. it became a comfort from all the stress and expectations

i think emily has tailored a suit for him at some point !! they are friends. in my heart. i mean she sees him at the stardrop saloon so often it would make sense

on that note he has many, many fancy outfits. i don’t think that man has a single casual piece of clothing. even his pajamas are regal like a silk blouse or something

very fond of using pet names like “my love”, “darling”, “my rose”, “sweetheart”, “angel”, etc. especially anything old fashioned. he’s such an old-fashioned gentleman

and farmer using pet names for him sends him over the moon and giddy like nothing else lol

cries easily, very emotional

farmer calling him Hemingway as a teasing nickname <3

this got longer than i intended LOL sorry. i don’t think anyone will see this though so. doesn’t matter it’s just for me 🫶🏾✨

[sysig]

Year of the Candy Villain, Or Else (Patreon)

[izzy-b-hands]

So much of typing in particular as I get older is just shouting at myself 'USE THE FONT EVEN IF IT'S NOT YOUR FAVE. SET THE SIZE TO 12 OR MORE EVEN IF YOU THINK IT LOOKS CRAP/MAKES THE DRAFT SEEM TOO LENGTHY. YOUR EYES CAN'T DO IT LIKE THEY COULD BEFORE; WHY ARE YOU INTENTIONALLY MAKING THIS HARDER FOR YOURSELF?'

and I don't even have a good answer for that lmao

[whisperedmeg]

NAILED IT ⋆˚꩜｡ spencer reid x girlfriend!reader

summary: spencer’s been away too long, your nails are too long, and you’re getting a little desperate. good thing he’s always happy to lend a helping hand.

genre: fluff, smut | w/c: 2.1k

tags/warnings: 18+ MDNI, spencer calls reader sweetheart & sweet girl & angel, hand/finger/nail kink, masturbation (f; only attempted/discussed), fingering, oral (f receiving), multiple orgasms, spencer cums in his pants lol, no use of y/n

a/n: based on anon’s request! loved this idea so much. couldn’t help making spencer the ultimate super whipped boyfriend lmao. enjoy! 💅🏼😉 p.s. if you zoom in on the far left photo you’ll see my sad photoshop attempt at the manicure I described lmao

You send Spencer the photo just before sunset.

It’s nothing fancy — just your hand resting on your thigh, fresh from the nail salon, skin still warm from the hot towel they wrap your hands in at the end of your appointment. The polish is indigo, with little gold stars forming teeny tiny constellations on each nail. They catch in the light when you move. You know he’ll appreciate that. You type out a quick caption and hit send.

You: new favorite set?

His response is almost instant, a flurry of three successive messages:

Spence: How do your hands keep getting more beautiful?

Spence: Also. Yes. Definitely a new favorite.

Spence: Wish I was there.

You stare at the screen, thumb hovering, debating what to send next. You want to say something clever — something flirty or offhand or designed to make him blush a little in public — but instead you just type:

You: come home soon, please

—

The TV hums low in the background, something forgettable you haven’t really been paying close attention to. You sit in the quiet for a while, curled into the couch like it might hold you tighter if you’re still enough. Outside, the sky is bruised and soft and growing darker by the minute. You keep staring at your hands.

Spencer always pays for your manicures. It wasn’t your idea — the first time you mentioned how expensive a full set was, he’d looked almost offended on your behalf and insisted you let him cover it from now on.

“Let me. You’re not just getting them done for you,” he’d said. “You’re also getting them done for me.”

And it’s kind of true. Spencer loves to watch your hands when you talk, like there’s a whole language he’s learning just from your fingers. He traces your knuckles during movies, plays with your rings when you’re standing in line, thumbs over the backs of your hands while you read, threads your fingers through his and presses them down into the mattress when he’s on top of you. He holds them like they’re precious artifacts. Like they’re rare.

You’d gotten this set done a few days after he left for a case out in Denver, and much to both of your chagrin, it ended up being a bad one that would keep him in Colorado for much longer than expected. You hadn’t realized how much of a problem your new nails would be until later that night, when you were wound tight and lonely and craving something warm and familiar. You’d lit a candle. Touched yourself under the blanket. Tried to make it quick.

But it hadn’t worked. You’d scratched yourself twice and gotten the angle wrong three times, and by the time you gave up, your whole body felt edged and annoyed.

You’ve tried again since. Twice, each attempt more frustrating than the last. You can’t say it out loud — I can’t get myself off because my nails are too long — without feeling ridiculous, so you don’t tell Spencer when he calls you each night from the hotel.

You press your hands between your thighs and exhale slowly, willing the ache to dull.

It doesn’t. You know it won’t.

Not until Spencer’s back, not until his hands are on you again, not until you can tell him in person how frustrated you’ve been — half-ashamed, half-hoping he’ll find it as ridiculous and kind of hot as you suspect he might.

But for now, you just sit with it.

The polish catches the light. The stars on your fingers shimmer. And you wait.

—

After a long ten days without him, Spencer finally calls you from the jet to let you know he was landing and would be at your apartment soon. You barely say anything on the call — just a soft “okay, baby,” because anything more might unravel you with want. The line goes quiet for a moment until he says he misses you, and you say it back, and then the silence stretches again like it always does when neither of you wants to hang up first. Eventually, he does. Reluctantly.

You don’t move until you hear footsteps approaching the door.

He lets himself in with the key you gave him months ago and drops his go-bag to the floor. You rise slowly from the couch and walk to the entryway, taking in how his messy curls framing his forehead, suit jacket slouched and travel-wrinkled, dark circles beneath his eyes like parentheses around something unsaid. You can see how the case wore on him, the heaviness of whatever weight he’s left carrying even after it’s over. But the second he sees you, his posture softens.

You don’t say anything at first. You just meet him where he stands and wind your arms around his waist.

He exhales like he’s been holding his breath since he left.

“Hi,” you murmur.

He hums it back into your shoulder. “Hi.”

You stay like that for a while, his arms tightening around your back and his lips pressed to the side of your neck, like he needs to confirm you’re really here — still warm and real and his.

When he finally pulls back, it’s only far enough to look down at your hands.

“Let me see.”

You raise them instinctively, fingers spread. You watch his expression shift — first curious, then sweet, then something that edges towards arousal before he tamps it down with a swallow.

His thumb grazes over your ring finger. “These are… unreal.”

“You picked the design,” you remind him with a soft smile. “Sort of.”

“I told you I like stars. I didn’t realize you’d get a whole galaxy just for me.”

You shrug. “You pay, I impress.”

He smiles and lifts your hand to his mouth, kissing each fingertip like a habit. You feel those kisses everywhere.

“How was the flight?”

“Fine,” he says as he shrugs his jacket off. “Mostly. There was some turbulence. I didn’t sleep.”

You nod, even though he doesn’t need a response. The closeness is enough.

But when he leans in to press his forehead to yours, when he closes his eyes and exhales like the hard part’s over, you don’t relax the way you normally would. You’re warm, and full, and grateful he’s home, but there’s still something tight in your chest. In your belly. Lower.

He senses it instantly.

His hands still at your waist. His brow furrows just enough. “What is it?”

You hesitate. You could lie, say you’re just tired or overworked or don’t feel well. But the truth is sharp behind your teeth and strangely tender at the same time.

“I’ve just been a little… frustrated,” you say.

He stills. “Frustrated how?”

You glance down at your nails, then back up at him.

“I, um, got them done right after you left. They’re a lot longer and pointier than usual. I didn’t think it would be a big deal, but I haven’t…” You gesture vaguely. “Been able to… you know.”

Spencer’s eyes widen slightly. “You haven’t been able to… to touch yourself, this whole time?”

You shrug, embarrassed. “It’s harder with longer nails. Awkward. I gave up. Maybe I should just give in and buy a vibrator.”

His mouth opens, then closes as he processes the words. “You waited?”

“Yeah. But I didn’t mean to,” you say quickly. “This isn’t, like, a guilt trip or something. I don’t want you to feel guilty.”

He blinks. “No, no, I’m not feeling guilty, I’m feeling… lucky.” Then quieter: “And, okay, maybe a little like a negligent boyfriend.”

You smile, a little sheepish. “Not at all. You were out solving murders. That takes precedence.”

“I would’ve solved them faster had I known.”

You laugh, and he wraps you tighter into his chest.

After a pause, his voice comes low, reverent. “Let me fix it,” he murmurs. His fingers tighten at your waist, and his eyes don’t move from yours. “Come on.”

He walks you backward to the bedroom, his palm warm over the back of your neck like he’s trying to keep you grounded. He kisses you once before you sit back against the pillows, and again after — soft, open-mouthed — as he settles between your legs.

“You sure?” you whisper, even though you already know the answer. “You’re probably so tired. It can wait, really. I’m fine.”

He huffs a breath against your collarbone like it’s laughable. “You, my sweet girl, are not fine. You’ve been walking around like this for over a week. Of course I’m sure. Let me do this for you, please.”

You lean back on your elbows as he lifts your shirt and kisses the newly bared skin, slow and thorough. The reverence in his hands makes your stomach tighten. Like he’s not just touching you for the sake of it — he’s reacquainting himself. Like he missed you with his whole being.

As he peels your underwear down, his gaze catches on the shimmer of your nail polish again.

He parts your thighs slowly. Kisses the crease of your hip before shifting again to kiss your jaw. And then, with a careful breath, he drags two fingers between your folds and lets out the softest, most ruined sound you’ve ever heard him make.

“Fuck,” he murmurs. “You’re soaked.”

You want to say yeah, no shit, Sherlock, I told you I’ve been frustrated, but then his fingers dip in and curl just right and your mouth goes completely slack.

He watches your face like he’s cataloging it. Each shift of your expression, every twitch of your hips. He keeps his fingers slow, consistent — long strokes that press deep and purposeful, curved just slightly until your thighs start to tremble.

“You’re so tight,” he breathes. “So wet, sweetheart. You needed this.”

You nod, helpless. “Spencer—”

“I know.” His thumb moves to your clit, light and rhythmic. “Let me take care of it. I’ve got you.”

The build is fast — shamefully fast. You’d almost be embarrassed over how fast it is if it wasn’t for how sure you are that Spencer loves it. His fingers never stutter, never pause, and when he leans forward and kisses you again, you whimper his name.

“Come for me,” he says, soft and certain. “That’s it, angel. Want to feel you come around my fingers.”

And you do.

Your hips jerk forward, mouth releasing a sound you barely recognize as your own, and you feel yourself clench. He slows the pressure and rides the rhythm through it, eyes locked on yours until you collapse back against the mattress, gasping.

But Spencer? Spencer doesn’t stop. He simply adjusts, changes his position, presses a few kisses to your stomach. Then lower. Lower.

You jolt when you feel his mouth over your center.

“Spencer—oh, fuck.”

He looks up at you from between your thighs, curls already messy, mouth flushed.

“Put your hands in my hair,” he says, voice low. “I know it’s what you’ve been waiting for.”

You groan. “You’re such a cocky—”

He licks a slow stripe through you before you can finish the statement, and your back arches clean off the bed.

His fingers stay inside you — deep, curling just right — and his mouth covers your clit with obscene dedication. Tongue and lips and hands and pressure so steady it borders on unbearable. Your second orgasm builds sharper, thinner, a frayed wire stretched between nerve endings. Your thighs start to shake again and he presses in deeper, sucks a little harder, moans loudly against you when your nails graze his scalp.

You feel it in your whole body — his hunger. His focus. The way he wants this for you more than anything. You’re not even sure if you’re breathing.

“I’m—” you start, but you can’t get the warning out in time. Besides, he already knows.

You come again with a cry that tears out of your throat, and this time it overwhelms you — your body writhing, hands pulling at Spencer’s hair hard enough to make him groan. You’re too lost in the moment to notice how lost he is alongside you.

And then, as your limbs shake and your head falls back to the pillow, you hear a low, choked sound that didn’t come from you.

You glance down, dazed.

Spencer’s still between your legs, breathing heavy. He looks completely boneless, cheeks red, eyes half-lidded and glazed, limbs trembling a little, a combination of his sweat and your slick glistening on his skin. Then it hits you — you’ve seen that face before.

“Did you just…” You blink at him. “Spence, did you just come in your pants?”

He rests his forehead against your thigh and nods, clearly trying to catch his breath, clearly a little embarrassed. “I didn’t mean to.”

You start to giggle. It bubbles up through your chest, soft and stunned and fond beyond belief. “Oh my god, you totally humped the bed. Does getting me off really turn you on that much?”

He groans again, this time in embarrassment, but he’s smiling. “You were… god, you were just so perfect. And the way you pulled my hair and scratched my head… What was I supposed to do, not lose my mind?”

You smile and comb your fingers through his hair again, gentler now, your nails grazing his scalp. He hums.

“So,” you murmur, “would it be cruel to say I might keep my nails like this a little longer?”

Spencer kisses your inner thigh, still breathless. “Cruel? No. Cruel would be not letting me do this every time you need it.”

—

At some point you end up tangled sideways across the mattress, half under the covers, one of his legs still dangling off the edge.

Spencer’s cheek is pressed to your hip, his eyes fluttering closed every few seconds, hair mussed beyond recognition. You’ve managed to wriggle your underwear back on — barely — but he hasn’t made any attempt to move.

“You good?” you murmur, brushing your fingers over the crown of his head.

“Mmhmm.”

“You sure about that? You came in your pants and then passed out,” you tease.

“I did not pass out,” he mumbles. “I’m resting. You’re comfortable.”

You smile and let your nails trace gently over his scalp again. He hums.

“You really missed this, huh?”

He opens one eye, gaze lazy and warm. “I missed you.”

His sincerity hits you. Your cheeks heat up, and you manage a soft hum in response — your chest is a little too full to find the words to speak properly.

He finally shifts, crawling up beside you and nuzzling into your neck. You wrap your arms around him and let your nails scratch lightly at the base of his skull, just enough to make him shiver.

“Seriously, though,” he says, barely a whisper now. “Keep your nails long like this. Please? I’ll take care of you.”

You kiss his hair.

“Anything you want, Spence.”

ᝰ.ᐟ

masterlist

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[nikkento-writes]

Babysitter - Part 1

Pairing: dad!Toji x babysitter!reader

Rating: Explicit – MINORS DO NOT INTERACT

Word Count: ~1.7k

cw: age gap (reader is 21, Toji is in his 30s), language, cheating, smut – PIV sex (doggy style), breeding kink, daddy kink

Summary: You're hired to babysit little Megumi for the summer, but you end up taking care of his father, Toji, as well.

Author’s Notes: This is repost from my old blog! I initially got this as a request and it became my first Toji fic ever, and certainly not my last lol. I'm posting this again because I actually wrote a Part 2, check it out! Thanks for reading! Divider credit to @/fic-dumpster.

You stand in front of a quaint house, checking your watch for the time. It’s been almost ten minutes now since you knocked, no answer. You gave the number from the listing a call, still nothing. Rolling your eyes, you take a seat on the steps leading to the door, waiting.

It’s the summer before you head back to university for your senior year. In an attempt to make some extra cash, you took a job as a babysitter through local ads in the paper. The first two clients were completely normal; this one is already leaving a bad taste in your mouth. 

Fifteen minutes have passed. You try once more, pounding on the door with your fist as loud as you can. Heel turned, ready to leave, it suddenly swings open, revealing a muscular man with black hair, glaring at you. “What the fuck do you want?” 

You step back, startled by his intimidating presence. Stuttering, you answer, “I’m the babysitter.”

He continues to stare at you, eyes following your body up and down, studying it. “Babysitter?”

Before you can explain any further, you hear a car rolling into the driveway. A woman in professional attire steps out quickly. “I’m so sorry I’m late!” She rushes towards you, holding her hand out to shake yours. “We spoke on the phone. I got stuck in traffic, I’m so sorry.”

You smile at her. “It’s okay.”

She faces the man, expression switching from cheery to dreary in an instant. “Toji, where is Megumi?”

He scratches his head. “Huh?”

“Megumi. Our child.”

He sighs. “Right. Uh, I’ll go get him.” 

While he’s gone, the woman pulls you aside, speaking in a hushed voice. “That’s Toji, my husband and Megumi’s father. Unfortunately, he’s a complete deadbeat. That’s why I want to hire you. I started my new job and I need someone to take care of Megumi while I’m gone during the day.”

She swallows hard, blinking to fight off oncoming tears. “I have no one. I’ve been shunned by my family, my husband doesn’t give a shit about ours, and I’m all alone trying to give Megumi a good life. I know this is a lot to ask, but I’m desperate. This is just until I can save enough money to hire a full-time nanny.”

She grips onto your wrist with both her hands, begging for help. Truthfully, it’s a lot to unravel, more drama than you anticipated. But the anguish in her eyes tugs at your heartstrings. Plus, knowing it’s temporary doesn’t make it seem so difficult. How bad can it be? “Okay. I’ll do it.”

Relief washes over her. “Oh thank god. Thank you. Thank you. Let’s go inside and I can give you a tour.” She leads you through the entrance, removing her shoes as you follow her. “Oh, and one more thing.”

“Sure.”

“Toji is home most of the day, but he’s always couped up in his room, doing god knows what. Just leave a meal or two outside his door twice a day. That should be enough.”

“Huh?!” 

She glances at you with a nervous smile on her face. “Yeah. I told you, he’s good for nothing.”

You don’t respond while you maneuver through the house, barely paying attention while she shows you around. It almost sounds like you’ll be babysitting two children…

~~~

The first two weeks of your new job go by smoothly. Megumi is an adorable baby; he’s almost two-years-old with hair as black as his father’s. While he never really smiles, he doesn’t cry either, expression usually stern, unless he needs a diaper change. He’s self-sufficient, always immersed by his own toys until it’s time to eat. Overall, he’s easy. 

Toji, on the other hand, is another story. 

You follow his wife’s instructions, leaving two meals outside his door, breakfast and lunch. And this asshole has the audacity to critique it! The bread wasn’t toasted enough. The eggs were too runny. There wasn’t enough seasoning on the meat. All this criticism while each plate is licked clean, not a crumb to spot. He’s never even uttered a simple thank you. 

But what he lacks in social skills or personality, he makes up for in his physique. In between meals, he works out in the living room lifting weights, doing push-ups, sit-ups, and pull-ups at the frame of the door. It lasts for over an hour, and by the end of it, he’s shirtless, dripping with sweat. You’ve done everything in your power to avoid staring but it doesn’t prevent your mind from conjuring all types of lewd thoughts about him. You’re ashamed to admit that he is physically attractive, only because everything else about him is utter trash. Still, it doesn’t hurt to look, right?

On the third week, there’s a shift in energy between you two. When he isn’t working out or going out to meet with his sketchy friends, he’s usually couped up in his bedroom, ignoring you and Megumi. This morning, he actually joins you in the kitchen. You stare blankly at him, stunned by his sudden appearance. Megumi is unfazed by his father as he tries to pull your wrist towards him to get a spoonful of mushed up peas. 

When he catches you, Toji glares. “What?”

“Um, nothing. Just surprised to see you here.” You clear your throat, focusing back on the baby. 

He rolls his eyes. “This is my house. I can do whatever I want.”

“Yes, of course. Sir.”

For some reason, this triggers him. He stands up abruptly, stepping to you, leaning his face towards yours. The scar on the corner of his lip twitches when he gives you a wicked grin. “That’s right. I’m in charge here.”

You flinch from him, scared, maybe even slightly aroused. He’s intense, that’s for sure. But part of you finds it exhilarating to be in his presence. 

Megumi whines for more food, to which Toji grabs the utensil from your hands to start feeding him. “Damn kid, he’s hungry all the fucking time.”

You sit up in your seat, regaining your composure. “You shouldn’t curse in front of children.”

He faces you, chuckling. “Curse? Seriously? What are you, five?”

You cross your arms, answering, “I’m twenty-one.”

“Interesting.” There’s that naughty smirk again, as if he’s thinking something obscene in that twisted head of his. And while you should be turned off, you’re not. You squeeze your legs together, pussy throbbing between your thighs. And of course, he notices this. He must, because he leans forward, lips grazing your ear, whispering, “Come by my room whenever Megumi is taking his nap. That’s an order.”

~~~

This is bad. Very, very bad. 

You're supposed to be better than this. Clearly, you aren’t, because you’re currently getting railed by your employer’s husband while his child sleeps peacefully in the next room.

“Fuck, this pussy is tight,” he groans, pumping his thick cock in and out of you. You’re bent over the edge of the bed, his hips smacking against your ass as he thrusts into you. He’s got a tight grip on your hips, nails digging into your flesh, pounding away at your greedy pussy, absolutely drenched with arousal and lube. Your face is sticky with perspiration, pillow soaked with sweat and drool. It’s a fucking mess, but it doesn’t matter, because all you can think about is Toji fucking you until you’re seeing stars. Until your head is empty and nothing but his fat cock is occupying your thoughts.

“God, you’re squeezing me so fucking hard, princess. You gonna come again?”

You nod erratically, reaching your fingers to your clit. He smacks it away, doing it himself, his thumb flicking against your swollen bud. “Fucking come on my cock then. Make it nice and creamy for me, got it?”

His cock is buried deep inside you, hitting your sweet spot over and over until you unravel, gushing around him once more. You’ve lost count on how many orgasms you’ve had in this short amount of time. 

After your climax, he doesn’t pull out, fucking you even rougher. Your body is pliant around him, yielding to his every touch like putty. You’ve lost control of yourself, completely enraptured in the intense pleasure he surrounds you with. 

He leans forward, chest pressed to your back, lips brushed to your ear. “I’m gonna knock you up. Give Megumi a little brother or sister. Would you like that?” He’s crazy. Completely unhinged. Absolutely fucking psycho. 

“Fuck yes, I want that,” you moan. “Give it to me, daddy. Breed me.” 

And apparently, so are you. 

“Oh fuck yeah, take my fucking cum then,” he growls. The bed creaks violently below you, his backshots brutal and frantic now, cock desperate for release. “I’m gonna get you fucking pregnant. Make you mine.”

He shoots his hot load inside you, stuffing you full of his cum. He doesn’t stop until he’s fucked it deeper into your pussy, watching with that sexy look on his face as his creamy cum leaks out of your slit.

Lifting you up to lay comfortably on the bed, he rolls beside you, kissing you sloppily until Megumi’s whimpers blare through the baby monitor, indicating that he’s awake. Toji laughs, smacking your ass as you crawl over him to return to your real job. 

~~~

You spend the remainder of your summer employed at the Fushiguro household until you have to go back to school. You and Toji continue to fuck each other silly every day that you’re working. 

The day before you leave for college, you say your goodbyes to the family. Megumi’s mom, who remains blissfully unaware of your sins, hugs you tightly. “Thank you so much for all your help. I’ve finally saved enough money to afford a full-time nanny, so we’ll be fine.” 

“It was my pleasure. I had a lot of fun. With Megumi,” you clarify, avoiding Toji’s gaze as he watches from the kitchen. 

“Seriously. You’re a good person. I hope you know that.” She smiles, truly grateful. “And thank you for taking care of my good for nothing husband too.”

As the guilt of this dirty, filthy secret eats away at you, Toji stares at you from across the room, smirking. 

[fatalhoon]

caught in my web ! - sjy

spiderman!jake x best friend!reader

wc ~6k

cw fluff!! swearing, one cum joke LOL, jake is a big nervous dork and reader is a little dumb lmaoo, i think that’s all!

an i wrote this and posted it on my sideblog for a different fandom but i thought it was cute so i wanted to redo it for jake a post it here too :>

—🕷️🕸️🕷️—

when he first discovered that such a simple and seemingly harmless spider bite had such irreversible effects on him, jake, to put it bluntly, was petrified.

even from the moment the spider bit him, for all he knew he could soon be literally petrified by the way the bite was making his arm feel weird already, and though he can’t say he’s necessarily well versed in arachnids, that was not a spider he’d ever seen before.

he knew most likely it was just paranoia, but his brain was swirling with worst case scenarios.

nonetheless, it was very late at night and a college student such as himself did not have the money nor the means for an emergency room visit, so he decided to attempt to sleep it off, and if it seemed to be worse in the morning he’d see what he could do.

well, maybe that’s an oversimplification of events.

he’d called you, practically hyperventilating and saying his goodbyes, scaring you shitless as well for a good minute before you’d finally pried out of him what had happened.

luckily, entomology was something you were actually studying, and you had enough knowledge of various spiders and the effects of certain venom that when you arrived at his apartment (for his own peace of mind and yours) you were able to calm him enough to the point that planning his own funeral was no longer at the forefront of his mind.

with the strange spider safely captured in a small jar (as afraid as he was, he couldn’t bring himself to kill it) he felt a little better even just from your calming presence.

(“jake, why did you put a piece of cheese in there?” “i wanted to be hospitable.” “..cheese.” “i don’t know what spiders eat!”)

you spent the night on his couch that night as well (he hadn’t asked, but you knew if you left he might start typing up a will) so you were able to keep an eye on him.

the next morning jake wakes up feeling fine, albeit a bit groggy. he flops out of bed, and he rubs the sleep from his eyes as he wanders across the hall to the bathroom.

grabbing his glasses and sliding them on, he looks down at the spot on his arm that he’d been scratching at to check it’s status.

but its.. blurry?

he blinks a few times to focus his vision, but nothing changes.

its not until his hand pushes his glasses up to rub at his face and he gets a view without a lens that he realizes that its actually his glasses that are the issue. he moves them out of the way, and to his shock he can see completely clearly without them.

he lifts them up to sit on his head, looking at himself in the mirror, absolutely dumbfounded.

“what.. the fuck?”

“jake?”

he jumps, banging his knee on the counter.

“jesus! sorry,” you chuckle, hands up. “not a spider!”

“har har,” jake mocks, massaging his leg, a cute pout on his face.

you step into the bathroom, reaching up to adjust his glasses that had fallen from the crown of his head to the tip of his nose. he squints, rubbing at his temple.

“you.. okay?” you venture, watching him blink hard a few times.

“yeah! uh-“ more blinks, eyes wide- “i’m good.” a fake smile. its your turn to squint, not quite believing him.

you see him instinctively clenching his fist, shaking out his arm a little. you grab it and drag him forward a little to examine the splotch on his forearm.

“mm.” you hum. you brush your fingers along the bump, making a shiver roll up jake’s spine. he watches you over the rim of his glasses.

“its a little red, but it looks okay. i don’t think it was poisonous.”

“great! uh- cool, that’s good news,” jake bumbles, an awkward smile on his face.

he stares at you.

you stare at him.

your face is blurry.

he adjusts his glasses.

“right..”

he gulps.

“well. i have a lecture soon, so i should get going.” you give his arm a little pat and release it from your fingers. he nods, scratching at it absentmindedly again.

“still on for movie night later?”

jake answers without thinking through it.

“of course.” shit.

you grin at him. “great.” shit shit shit.

but the twinkle in your eyes and the way your fingers ruffle through his messy hair makes his heart flutter less with anxiety and more with something.. warmer.

you turn and round the hallway corner and jake lets out a tense breath he didn’t know he was holding. he knocks into a small table from his lack of clear sight as he follows you, and swiftly blames it on lack of sleep when you quirk a brow at him.

a minute later you’ve gathered your things from the living room, the bottled spider included to take to your class to be studied, and give him a wave as you walk out his front door.

“see you tonight, spider man.”

jake takes off his glasses once the door is closed behind you, sighing heavily and rubbing a hand down the side of his face. he swipes his thumb across his forearm, your touch lingering in his mind.

“spider man.” he scoffs, but he can’t help the fond smile that turns up his lips.

—🕷️🕸️🕷️—

“where are your glasses?”

“i got contacts.” jake lies through his teeth.

“today?” you question incredulously.

“… yeah.”

you clearly don’t believe him, if the way your brow furrows is anything to go by. you’d seen him just a few hours ago.

“is it because i always call you a nerd? you know i mean that affectionately, right?” jake hears the hint of guilt in your voice and panics.

“no! yeah i uh, i do- i just-“ he trails off. he isn’t sure where else to go with this. you catch the awkwardness, watching as he scratches the back of his neck, and decide to let it go before he starts sweating.

“well, if you can’t see the screen don’t ask me what happened,” you joke, lightening the mood to jake’s relief. you set down the snacks you brought and plop down on the couch, propping your feet on the coffee table, remote in hand.

jake relaxes in his spot next to you, ripping open a bag of chips. “you’d probably be asleep even if i did.” you roll your eyes and smack his arm. jake lets out a laugh.

fourty five minutes later, jake does have to ask a question about the movie you’re watching (but not because he couldn’t see, he’s just been daydreaming for most of it.)

and lo and behold, you are asleep, so he’s left to wonder.

jake starts to reach for his soda on the table in front of him, but you, wrapped around his right arm and sleeping comfortably, tighten your grip when you feel him start to move.

he moves just the left side of his body forward, ever so slowly, wiggling his fingers as he strains to grab his drink without disturbing you.

but suddenly, something knocks into the can, denting the side and sending it falling over with a tinny clank against the wood. liquid spills from the opening and dribbles over the side and onto the floor.

“how the-“

“shhh,”

he freezes, looking down at you. you pull him back again, nuzzling your face into his shoulder. your cheek presses up against his sleeve, smushing up your face and jakes’s heart almost explodes. he reaches up gently, pushing a tuft of hair away from your face, and you hum happily.

jake thinks for a second that maybe a stain on his carpet is worth it if he can stay like this forever.

something stuck to his wrist catches his attention.

its a strand of web.

jake yelps before he can catch himself, frantically flicking his arm to detach it and startles you fully awake in the process. you let out a similar yelp in practically the same octave as his was, jumping up and clutching tighter onto his bicep.

“what!! what happened?” you squeak.

he doesn’t answer, just continues his task of brushing off every square inch of his body to rid himself of any potential dangers. when he deems himself safe, he looks over at you, and is met with crossed arms and a disgruntled look.

“sorry! sorry,” jake huffs apologetically. he clears his throat, his face flushing red from embarrassment as he explains, “spider web.”

you chuckle incredulously, rubbing your eyes and letting out a yawn. “spider web,” you giggle through a playful smirk. you stand, stretching your limbs, and hobble in the direction the bathroom.

“try not to die out here without me, alright?” you quip as turn the corner.

jake groans. he gets up himself to grab a towel from the kitchen, coming back to crouch down and sop up the mess still dripping from the table.

he picks up the can and tries to set it back on the table top, but it sticks to his hand. even when he uncurls all five fingers from it, its still stuck snugly to his palm. he uses his other hand to grab it and pry it away, and it detaches with a sticky snap, leaving multiple strands of web connecting his skin to the tin.

“jesus christ,” he gripes, watching the web strands flutter under his breath.

“oh, there really was a spider web,” it’s jake’s turn to startle, jumping a bit as he sees you crouched down right beside him, observing the wiggly webs.

jake gives you an indignant look, one that reads ‘did you think i was lying?’

“honestly i just though you were being paranoid.” jake rolls his eyes, nudging you with his shoulder.

“sorry! not my fault you’re a scaredy cat!”

“i am not!” he defends, pressing the towel further down into the carpet plush.

you glide your fingers up the back of jake’s neck in a gentle tickle, and right on cue he lets out a little ‘eek!’, slapping your hand away. he pushes you softly and you giggle, falling back from your crouched stance on your toes and onto your butt. you hug your legs, resting your chin on your knee as you watch him continue to dry up the mess.

“they probably just like you. i know i do.” you drop a little hint at the end. he never seems to catch on.

“they can like me all they want, just far away from me please.” he grumbles, taking the can to the kitchen to toss it in the trash.

“spiders are friends!~” he hears you sing from the other room.

he drops the can into the bin, hoping this is the last of his spider related worries.

—🕷️🕸️🕷️—

jake never thought he would ever be friends with spiders. let alone be one.

it took him a while to realize that the spider bite had caused him more trouble than just a slight fear of the nooks and crannies of his apartment. much more trouble.

he discovered that it was him creating the webs he was finding around when he dropped his pen once while writing out some notes for a class, and when he tried to grab it before it hit the ground, he’d caught it with a collection of web strands that shot out of his wrist instead.

he discovered how strong his webs were when he tripped on the staircase while running late one day, spurting out a web that stuck to the wall and caught him, and tugged him upright before he hit the ground.

and he discovered how useful this strange new talent could be outside your apartment.

“so, any news about that spider? you brought it in to study it, right?” jake asks as nonchalantly as he possibly can, walking down the concrete steps beside you.

“oh, actually yes! we think it might be a-“

suddenly a hooded figure runs by, snatching your backpack from right off your shoulders, and sprinting down the sidewalk through a dense crowd of pedestrians.

the stranger nearly knocked you to the ground with the push-and-shove of stealing your belongings. jake caught you, steadied you on your feet, and booked it after him without even thinking twice, leaving your confused cries to stop behind him.

his speed and reflexes seemed to be heightened as he caught up in a few seconds flat, and in a fraction of that time he had a web wrapped around the strap of your bag, pulling it directly into his chest to wrap his arms around, and a leg out to sweep the thief’s legs straight out from under him, sending him face first into the pavement.

jake stands motionless for a second, energy rushing through his veins, and waits for his brain to process what had just happened. when it does, it feels like he’d just returned to his own body from somewhere completely different.

you caught up to jake after a moment, heaving heavily from your tired lungs. your eyes widen at the scene in front of you; a completely unscathed jake and a nearly unconscious criminal bleeding from the nose below.

“how did-“ you struggle for a full breath. “how did you do that?”

“uhm- adrenaline, i think?” honestly, jake isn’t quite sure how he did this either.

“jake, you could have gotten hurt!” you scold him, trying your best to sound steady and serious, but by the way your hands tremble it tells him you were more worried for his safety than anything else.

“i wasn’t gonna stand there and do nothing,” he says like its the most obvious thing in the world. he settles your bag back on your shoulders, looping your arms through the straps for you and adjusting the fabric of your sleeves. your eyes gloss over and you’re gnawing at your lip like you’re trying your best not to cry.

“your laptop is expensive. we can’t have you lose that,” he jokes, attempting to lighten the mood.

you let out a trembling laugh, and yank him in to hug him with a full crushing force. “you’re such an idiot,” you whine, and he returns the hug with a chuckle of his own.

jake isn’t sure how he did this or what exactly is going on, but what he is sure about is that whatever is happening to him, using it to protect you will always be his first priority.

—🕸️🕷️🕸️—

the idea to become a “hero” of sorts struck jake one day like a bolt of lightning.

the notion sounds absolutely crazy, jake knows that, but the circumstances have fallen directly into his lap, and he knows that if he has the ability, the real ability to protect people, he should take it.

he practices his web slinging in private, and he’s gotten quite good at it; he now can do it on command instead of at random, and can control it when he needs to.

(and yes, he’s made all of the jokes, even if he’s the only person around to laugh. he can shoot sticky white goo from his wrists, did you expect him not to be a little silly with it?)

he practices his dexterity in the air out in an old alley that no one has any reason to frequent. in doing so, his muscles have bulked up significantly, and he was flustered beyond belief when you of all people were the one the pointed it out.

he told himself that if he was going to be this new face of justice, he should protect his identity and keep it separate from his personal life. he didn’t want anyone he knew and loved getting involved; if someone got hurt because of him he wouldn’t be able to bare it.

so he made a few suit prototypes from old clothes and acrylic paint. he may not be the craftiest, but he made do, and he learned some sewing basics in the process, though you really wouldn’t be able to tell. (in the end he commissioned someone to make one for him anyway, for the sake of quality.)

the last thing he really needed came to him after he’d successfully helped a woman with an issue involving a man following her down the street late one night. after making sure the woman was safe enough to leave, he attaches his web to a fire escape and is about to swing away.

“what do i call you?” she yells out from below him as he hangs from the rail.

he thinks for a second. web boy? no, that’s dumb. arachnid kid? a little silly, he likes that it rhymes, but it still doesn’t feel right.

and then it hits him.

“spiderman.”

he swings away, and within the next few weeks, ‘spiderman’ is everything that people are talking about.

you included.

“have you seen him?” you ask him excitedly, rocking back and forth on your heels as you both stand in line at your favorite ice cream shop. “he’s so cool!”

he chuckles a little. “i’ve heard of him.” a blush creeps up on his face he hopes you don’t see, but you’re too excited to even notice. “cool, huh?”

“so cool!” you thank the worker for your milkshakes and leave the small shop, the bell above the door jingling as you step outside. “i want to talk to him so bad, i bet he’s so interesting, and he’s probably so cute under the mask,” you daydream out loud as you walk down the sidewalk.

jake coughs a bit in surprise. “what makes you think that?”

“don’t be jealous,” you poke, a smirk on your face. “just a hunch.”

in a split second you’re suddenly yanked to the edge of the sidewalk by jake as you’re about to step onto the crosswalk. before you can comprehend why, someone comes barreling through on a bicycle, shouting a faint ‘sorry!’ as they whiz by, the wind fluttering your hair. your milkshake slips from your fingers, a small gasp leaving your lips, and jake grabs it before it can splatter across the ground, placing it back in your hand for you.

“you okay?” he asks, brushing off your jacket. you don’t answer, still staring off in the direction the bike went in shock. as soon as everything catches up to you, you look at him, eyes wide. “that was insane! when did you get such crazy reflexes?”

“what do you mean?” jake sweats a little. “didn’t you hear him coming?”

you shake your head. “no that’s not it, you did that so fast, and my drink-“

“i think- i think you were just caught off guard,” he excuses, ushering you forward to keep walking.

“so um. you were talking about spiderman?”

—🕷️🕸️🕷️—

and talk about spiderman you did.

specifically, you talk about how you would love to meet him, to speak to him.

so, who would jake be to keep that from you when he is the one you want to meet?

well unfortunately, it wasn’t his choice.

(how was he supposed to go about that? knock on your door and say “hello random citizen, i’m spiderman! your best friend jake who i totally don’t know and definitely am not the same person as said you wanted to talk to me”?)

no, in reality, it was a total accident.

he finds himself crash landing onto the roof of your apartment building after a particularly brutal fight he’d gotten himself tied up in, his fatigue and pain not letting him swing any longer to make it all the way back home. he groans loudly, cradling his leg in his arms as he lays on the cold roof in the fetal position.

“spiderman??”

fuck. he knows that voice.

he lifts his head up in the direction it came from, seeing your head pop up over the ledge of the building. before he can say anything, you scramble up from the fire escape and run over to his side.

‘great,’ jake thinks. this is the second worst byproduct of you having a top floor apartment. (he still remembers how sore he was after having to help you drag your mattress up several flights of stairs when you moved in.)

“are you okay?”

“i’m fine, i’m good, i just-“ he attempts to stand on his own, but groans again, and crumples under his own weight. its your turn to catch him before he falls.

“oh god, um, i can help! just- here-“ you sling his arm around your shoulder and huddle into his side, and you help him hobble to the edge. he clambers down the fire escape, using his webs to keep him relatively stable, and fumbles through the window and onto the floor of your apartment. he hits the floor with a thud and a moan.

“sorry! um, i’ll get my first aid kit! i’ll be back!”

you leave and come back in a blind hurry, making quick work of rolling up the torn part of his suit to get a clear enough view of the gash in his leg to start your process. it hurts at first, a lot actually, but the pain subsides not long after. maybe because its you doing it, and he trusts you more than anyone, but he feels so much love and care in your movements.

he lets you focus in quiet for a while before he finally decides to say something.

“for someone who studies bugs and not medicine, you’re pretty good at that.”

you raise your eyebrows at him, wrapping a bandage around his calf. “how do you know i study bugs?”

shit. “just a hunch.”

you glance at him, not convinced.

“the pinned butterflies on your wall.”

“ah,” you say, nodding.

whew.

“maybe i just like butterflies.”

“that could be it too.” he chuckles under the mask. “i mean they’re pretty. like you. so it makes sense.”

you blush, a smile tugging at your lips. “smooth.”

“thanks, i know,” jake drawls, leaning to suavely rest on his elbow next to him, and hits his head on a table. “ow.” you both laugh.

when you finally get him patched up, he thanks you (he almost leans in for a hug on accident, but settles for a firm handshake instead) and climbs over the windowsill in preparation to take his leave.

“hey, can i ask you something?”

jake’s heart pounds. “sure.”

“can you.. come back sometime?” you twist your fingers nervously as you ask, avoiding his eyes. “i always wanted to talk to you but, this wasn’t really.. under the best circumstances, i guess.”

jake’s brain doesnt know if he should say yes, but his heart knows he could never say no to you, spiderman or otherwise.

“of course.” your smile makes it worth it.

he slings a web up onto a bar of the fire escape and flings himself out.

“wait!”

he turns back, glancing back down at you leaning out the windowsill, the chilled wind fluttering your hair.

“i don’t just like butterflies. i like spiders, too.”

jake grins.

“i didn’t used to like spiders. but i think they’re growing on me.”

and with that, he swings away.

—🕸️🕷️🕸️—

despite his better judgement, jake does come back. more than once.

he knows he shouldn’t appear as spiderman in front of you more than he needs to, but it just makes you so happy, it was physically impossible for him not to when he knows he’s the reason for your smile every time.

he sits with you now on the roof of your apartment, the same place you found him the first time, and the same place you two always meet now.

“-and that’s the story of how i met my best friend jake.” you finish your story, face flushed from laughing, and he’s forever grateful you can’t see his face under his mask. if he’s being honest (having lived through that torture with you) you actually told it way less embarrassing than he remembers it being. whether you perceive it less humiliating than he does or if you’re just gracious enough not to go into detail with strangers he’s not sure, but he’s thankful nonetheless.

“seems like you really care about him.”

“jake?” you ask, leaning back to rest on the heels of your hands. “well, yeah. he’s my favorite person in the whole world. don’t you feel that way about your best friend, too?”

jake feels his face heat up. “yeah, um. you pretty much took the words right out of my mouth.”

“yeah? tell me about them. what’s their name?”

“hey, whoa” jake lifts his hands in defense. “ask me about my favorite ninja turtle all day, but i can’t be giving out my best friend’s identity. why do you think i wear the mask?”

you laugh, nodding in understanding. “okay, okay, fair.”

a comfortable silence falls for a moment, and jake watches you gaze at the stars above the city lights.

“you remind me of him, you know.”

“huh?” jake snaps back into the present.

“jake. you guys seem really similar, honestly. same mannerisms, same cologne-“ you know the smell of his cologne? “you say things sometimes that i definitely think he would say. same favorite ninja turtle, too.”

he never really realized you paid this much attention to him. his heart flutters.

“ehh, i don’t know. guy sounds like a total nerd.”

you snort out a laugh. “oh he is,” ouch?? “but he’s my nerd. i love him just how he is. i wouldn’t change a single thing about him.”

“.. you love him?”

another silence. this one a little more.. tense.

“i love all my friends, but jake is.. different.”

“different how?”

“i’m not in love with my other friends.”

jake’s brain nearly short circuits right then and there. how he gets a single comprehensible sentence out of his mouth after that is honestly beyond him. but he’s not jake right now, he’s spiderman.

“i’m in love with my best friend too.”

“really?” you look at him, a sense of hope in your eyes, like you just found the only other person in the world in the same position as you. if you only knew.

“this,” he motions to his suit, and in turn the whole act of being spiderman at all. “its for them. i help everyone i can, of course, but,” he seems to be lost in thought for a second, drumming his fingers on his knee. “like you said, they’re different. i’d do anything for them. anything at all.”

you tilt your head at him. “wow, who knew a superhero could be so sappy.”

“yeah, yeah,” he waves his hand dismissively. “my bad, gotta protect my stone cold image.” you huff out a laugh.

“have you told them?”

“no.”

“why?”

“same reason as you, i’m guessing.”

“fear?”

“fear.”

a knowing look is passed between you.

“my best friend doesn’t actually know i’m spiderman.”

“wait really?” you ask, surprised. “why not?”

“how am i supposed to tell them that? ‘hey by the way i’m risking my life every day for you!’ that seems like a horrible conversation.”

you chuckle. “yeah, i get that. i suppose its similar to the reason you haven’t confessed. the fear of rejection is present either way.”

“exactly,” he sighs.

after a second, a light bulb seems to come on above your head. “hey, i’ve got an idea. you tell your best friend you’re spiderman, and i’ll tell my best friend i’m in love with him.”

“that’s a terrible idea,” jake admits through a chuckle.

“is it?” you feign indignant. “if they love us, they’ll accept us, right?”

jake thinks it over for a second, his heart racing so fast he hopes you can’t hear it.

“okay. deal.”

you grin. “perfect.”

how the hell is he gonna do that?

“jake should actually be on his way, i’ll call him to make sure.”

shit. shit. he forgot about movie night.

you pull out your phone, tapping quickly to find his contact and press your phone to your ear. jake panics, pulling his phone from his suit just as it starts to ring, and presses end as soon as he can reach the button.

you give him a puzzled look, and he huffs nervously. “sorry, scam calls.” he shoves his phone into his suit before you can see it.

“hm. it went straight to voicemail. that’s odd,” you muse, glancing at the ‘call ended’ screen.

“maybe he’s driving. yknow, gotta stay safe,” he bumbles, nerves flooding his system as he stands up and dusts off the back of his legs. “hey listen, its been great, but i just remembered i have to go-“

“wait, wait!” you jump up as well, grabbing onto his gloved hand. “can you stay for just a minute? i think jake would really love to meet you!”

“i really uh- its- its important- i should-“

“it’ll just be a second! i promise! don’t move!” you plead. you give his hand a squeeze, and before jake can stop you, you hop down the fire escape and scurry back into your apartment.

—🕷️🕸️🕷️—

jake is fucked. absolutely fucked.

as soon as he sees you disappear into your apartment to wait for, well, him, he slings himself down to an alley to ‘jake’ himself up.

luckily, he has spare clothes stored across the city in case of emergencies like this. he stuffs his hand through a hole in the bricks of an abandoned building and pulls out a backpack, and as quickly as he possibly can, he pulls his clothes on over his suit, shoves his mask in and zips it up. he ruffles his messy hair in an attempt to seem a more presentable type of messy, and sprints out into the street.

now trekking up the stairs toward your apartment door, he thinks there wasn’t even really a logical reason to do this. he could have just told you right then that it was him, but something inside him told him that wasn’t the right time or place.

stopping in front of your door, he prepares himself, catching his breath before he knocks.

you swing it open immediately, a huge smile on your face.

“jake! i have something to show- why are you so sweaty?”

“i uh- i was running late so i ran.” he fumbles for an excuse. he walks in and is about to kick off his shoes when you grab his arm, dragging him across the living room to your window.

“come with me first! i have something to show you!” you say, brimming with excitement.

“hold on- i need to-“

“hurry!” you squeal, and hop out the window to climb the ladder. jake internally groans, following after you.

he grabs the rungs and hoists himself up behind you. “can i tell you something first?” he calls upwards. “its important!”

“this is important too! he has to be somewhere!”

oh, so now you listen to that information.

when his head pops up above the ladder to see the expanse of the rooftop, you’re already looking around, confused.

“where did he-“

“why are we up here?”

“i’m looking for someone! he said he would stay for a second,” you whine.

he never actually agreed to that, but he’ll let it slide.

you grip the barrier of the roof and pull yourself up to stand on the ledge, putting your arms out to steady yourself as you survey the area.

“what are you doing!” jake shouts, running up to you and grabbing your waist to prevent you from falling. “you have terrible balance!”

“relax, i’m fine. maybe if i fall he’ll come back to swoop in and save me.”

and as if the universe took that as some sort of sick challenge, a huge gust of wind blows through, knocking your balance off. you tilt forward with a strained yelp, flailing your arms. jake tries to grip your belt loops but they slip from his fingers, and he lets out an exasperated yell.

bracing yourself for a horrendous fall, you let out a scream, squeezing your eyes shut.

but it never comes.

you’re suspended in the air, but there’s no rushing air, no sinking feeling in your gut, everything just.. stopped.

you pop an eye open, met with the rough red texture of the brick in front of you. you follow your arm that’s outstretched above you upward, expecting somehow to see jake’s grip wrapped around your wrist, but instead you see a bracelet of weaved white. you lock eyes with him, a terribly worried expression on his face, the same white around your wrist attached to the underside of his.

for the first time, it all clicks together.

the webs in his apartment. the way they have the same voice, same habits. the way the spider on the suit is jake’s favorite color. his change in demeanor these past few weeks. jake having a limp from the same leg spiderman had injured around the same time.

it all finally makes sense.

“you-.. you’re-..”

“surprise,” jake whispers, a small, guilty smile on his face.

“can you. pull me up, please?” you tremble.

“oh! yeah, sorry.” jake brings you in with ease, grabbing firmly onto your body until you’re sat on your knees on the safety of the roof. you lunge forward, trapping jake in a bone crushing hug. he feels that you’re still shaking, and wraps himself around you with equal fervor, holding your head to his shoulder and stroking your hair to soothe you.

how could you have been so stupid? so clueless? you had every single piece of the puzzle, yet you were so blind to the placements.

it hits you then, that you had confessed to him without knowing it.

jake pulls you back and holds onto your shoulders, scanning you for any injuries. “are you okay?”

when he locks eyes with you, he sees how flustered you look, the blush on your face, and he has to bite back a smile.

“well, this is a little awkward,” he chuckles.

“you’re such an idiot,” you scoff, a common phrase nowadays it seems, but he hears no real weight in your words.

“i should have known. no ones favorite ninja turtle is leonardo except yours.”

“don’t bring my boy into this.”

“why didn’t you tell me?”

“well i think spiderman already explained that,” he says with a shit eating grin.

you roll your eyes. “yeah, he told me quite a bit, actually. some pretty gushy stuff.” jake whines nervously, scratching the back of his neck.

“big mouth on that guy, huh.”

“jake.”

“hm?”

“i have something to tell you.”

he smiles shyly. “yeah?”

you grab jake by the zipper of his jacket, pulling you together to connect your lips in a kiss. his hands immediately find your waist to pull you closer, practically falling on top of him. he tilts his head to kiss you deeper. you sigh happily in tandem.

after a second your hands find the sides of his face and you pull away, giggling at how you both can’t stop smiling and its making it hard to continue.

“i love you.”

“i love you, too.”

you run your thumb across his bottom lip, admiring the contours of his face and how his goofy grin and lidded eyes are so full of warmth.

“don’t you have something to confess to me, too?”

“i still don’t like spiders.”

“jake!” you push him back by the chest and he laughs, wrapping his arms completely around your torso.

he wiggles his fingers up your spine in a crawling motion, making you shiver and swat him away in a fit of giggles. he leans in close to your ear, and whispers-

“i’m spiderman.”

[corinthianism]

SOMETHIN' STUPID || VIKTOR

pairing: viktor (arcane)/fem!reader additional tags: viktor's pov, viktor is a certified yearner, maybe ooc, unrequited love that's actually requited, no physical descriptions for reader other than having dainty fingers and being shorter than viktor, hopefully correct use of czech pet names, barely proofread synopsis: the ever-brilliant viktor finds himself drowning in feelings for his colleague, so what does he do? bury them, of course.... until he learns that love is not something you can just ignore.

author's note: hello everyone! it's been a long, long while since i've written anything so i thought i would try and see if the ol' writing machine (aka my brain) still works lol. this is more of a blurb than anything so please go easy on me. also trying out something new by writing in present tense (lmk if it flows well!) viktor might be a little ooc but i'm still trying to fully understand him. hopefully my characterization of him in future fics (if any) will be more faithful to the viktor you're all familiar with. anyways, enjoy 2k words of viktor yearning like CRAZY 🫶🏼

Viktor doesn’t know how much more of this he can take. How many more times would your eyes meet from across the room at one of those parties he never really wanted to attend in the first place? How many more times would your fingers brush in the early morning, when he accepts the steaming sweetmilk that you so kindly got for him? How many more times would your laughter intermingle softly late into the night, when exhaustion took over and your writing started to look more like chicken scratch rather than letters?

He might just go insane.

How was it possible to want someone this much? Maybe he’s experienced something like this before, in tiny amounts, for people he hasn’t thought about in years. Deep down, he knows that even if he added all of those fleeting romances together, it would still only be a fraction of what he feels now. For you.

He can’t pinpoint that exact moment in time when everything changed. There were definitely a few of those moments that stood out more than others, but none of those instances were the catalyst for whatever this is. But they certainly don’t help his case.

A few words of encouragement.

A book recommendation.

A smile— so soft, so intimate, he briefly allows himself to believe that it was meant just for him. Something precious for him to keep, to be his and his alone.

In the dim light of the lab, he finds you asleep on your desk. The humming glow of the hex crystals leaves you blanketed in a gentle blue. He’s heard tales of this before, from when he bothered to listen to such things. It would happen just like this, they said: his heart would beat so fast, it threatened to leave his chest entirely. His skin would burn with something unmistakable, a feeling that left one in a state of simultaneous confusion and clarity.

He feels it all now and he finds it polarizing. It’s too much and not enough. He chases and runs away from it at the same time. A part of him wants it to stop, to go away and leave him forever for the sake of ending this game he’s painfully losing… but a greater part of him hopes that it will grow and grow to the point where maybe you’ll notice and do something about it. His palms get a little sweaty just thinking about making the first move. Symptoms of a lovesick fool.

The soft sound of your breathing quiets the pounding of his heart, prevents the wretched feelings from overflowing and spilling everywhere. Even if it was just for tonight. Tonight, he keeps his lips sealed, fights to keep himself from reaching for you. It would be unbecoming of him.

His eyes land on you again, observing how your head rested on your arms. Understanding hits him then, why you’re so bothered by seeing him stay at the lab so late that he ends up falling asleep. That position couldn’t have been comfortable. Of course, he knew that from experience, but it’s your comfort he’s thinking about right now. He wonders if this is what you felt whenever you woke him up and implored him to go home.

Surely not.

No, he can’t wrap his head around you possibly viewing that act the same way he does. Not when he wants to bottle this moment, wants to capture the preciousness of seeing you like this. It just can’t be the same.

So can you really blame him if when he finally rests a hand on your shoulder to wake you gently, he lets it linger there for just a little longer? An infinitesimal piece of time that he claims for himself. He never thought himself to be the sentimental type, but he cherishes it all: he cherishes the way you blink slowly as you returned to the waking world, and your tired murmur of his name that makes his chest tighten.

It’s just a wisp of a moment, never really tangible enough for him to hold in his hands, but he cherishes it all the same. It’s burned in his memory, in his very being, the same way everything else about you is. Every piece of you that you so generously gifted him.

“You should go home, darling.”

The word slips past his lips before he could even think about it. But he allows himself this one indulgence. He can’t help it. He’s always been a bit greedy.

“What time is it?” you ask.

“Far too late for you to be here,” he answers.

You huff out a breath of a laugh, “That’s rich coming from you.”

He finds himself smiling. How does someone manage to be so endlessly endearing without even trying?

It takes an embarrassing amount of effort for him to pull back his hand from your shoulder. Had you been more awake and had the room been brighter, he might’ve schooled his expression into something more neutral. Something to hide the unbridled adoration in his eyes. He doesn’t do that now. With the shield of darkness to protect him, he lets the mask come off. He lets his affection for you wash over him in waves. It would’ve been liberating, if it wasn’t for the tiny detail that that affection was unrequited.

Still, he says your name with utmost care. “You must go home and rest.”

To his surprise, you listen. You mumble a tired "okay” and gather your belongings, slipping on your coat. “You should go home, too, Vik.”

“I will. Soon. I just need to finish a few things.”

Your face twists into a frown, “No, you’ll do that tomorrow.” Before he can interject, you speak up again, “Just… come with me? It’s late and I don’t want to walk home alone.”

His brain refuses to reconcile with what his eyes see: the trepidation written all over your features, the way you clutch the lapel of your coat just a little tighter. He knows it’s a trap, you just want to get him out of the lab but how could he possibly reject the promise of a few more minutes with you? The chance to pretend, even if it’s just for those precious few minutes, that he was taking you home as someone more than a colleague? More than a friend? Only a fool would say no to you. Or perhaps he was a fool either way. He really must be going insane.

He says yes almost instantly.

It’s cold in Piltover tonight. It makes his bad leg ache more than it already does, and so his strides are a bit more careful. He doesn’t say anything about how you also slow down to match his pace but he appreciates your considerate gesture nonetheless.

The moon hangs in the sky big and bright, making everything around you seem softer. It’s picturesque. Almost romantic. He tries his best not to entertain that thought for much longer. Instead, he focuses on what you say to him so he could ignore the traitorous thoughts his mind conjures up and the way his knees were protesting because of the cold.

Conversation with you is easy— terrifyingly so. It was one of the first things he noticed about you when you first met.

Early on in the process of finding sponsors and securing funding, him and Jayce quickly realized that they needed help. Yes, Jayce is a friend of the Kiramman family. Yes, Viktor is Heimerdinger’s protégé, but they’re academics. At the end of the day, Jayce’s warm personality could only do so much when he was still greatly inexperienced with navigating these more political spaces and for all of his experience and perceptiveness, Viktor knows he’s no good at sweet-talking sponsors, either.

Enter, you.

Caitlyn Kiramman was the one to recommend you, her former tutor. Jayce was quick to back her up, remembering that you were also Academy alumni; a particularly strategic businesswoman. Viktor was hesitant at first, knowing that a third party could complicate things. Hextech was born out of the dream to help people. He worried that bringing business and politics (even though he knew it was necessary) into the mix would warp Hextech into something it wasn’t. Jayce convinced him to take a gamble, and it seemed that the potential of Hextech was enough to bring you back to Piltover from your travels across Runeterra.

It took him a while to warm up to you. You weren’t nobility, but most definitely well-off. Even more so after your years as a business consultant to organizations all over the continent. He respected you, sure, but Viktor had a hard time trusting someone who was so… privileged. How could you possibly understand how important it was that Hextech remained a beacon of hope for the less fortunate? Perhaps it was naive of him to think that way, as much as he hated to admit it.

But true to your reputation, you delivered exactly what they needed. You bridged the gap between Viktor and Jayce’s hopes for Hextech and the support they needed from sponsors, protecting them and their inventions from being taken advantage of.

Suffice to say, you earned his admiration.

Never in a million years would Viktor imagine that you would captivate his entire being, too.

It was daunting. Scary, really. Especially now that he’s beginning to understand the full extent of his affections. Years and years of burying that softness from his youth deep beneath the armor of his intellect— all that hard work diminished by a pretty girl. Gods, he really is just a man. Not even that. With you, he feels like a highschooler with a crush. It’s painful. Downright humiliating. But he wouldn’t trade it for anything. Not when you link your arm around his, laughing at something he said. Was he really that funny? Probably not. He’s just happy to make you laugh.

“You don’t have to be nice about it. Salo is a grade-A asshole,” you grinned. “We both know it. If I have to spend another dinner with him present I might actually stab a fork in my eyes.”

He smiles, “Ah, but that wouldn’t save you from his incessant chatter.”

“I’ll stab the fork into my ears too."

“I might just follow after you,” he hums, “you’ll have to check if it works first, though.”

Your friendship blossomed when your visits to the lab became less for work and more for leisure. You wanted to visit, wanted to learn more about what he and Jayce were working on and why. Everything after that was just dominoes. You, with all your fiery passion and sharp wit, have become a permanent fixture in his life and now? He could hardly imagine life without you in it. You're one of his dearest friends and, much to his dismay, that makes his current predicament even more challenging than it already is.

Before he knew it, the two of you were standing in front of your apartment building— one of the most luxurious in Piltover. He could only imagine how much it cost, though he knew for certain that your penthouse probably barely made a dent in your wealth. He’s gotten somewhat used to your differing lifestyles, but he’s never completely able to not marvel at it. A gust of wind kissed his skin once more as he turned to look at you.

“This is me,” you say, gloved hands in your pocket and your lovely, lovely face framed by your hair and ruby red scarf. He recognizes it as the gift he gave you a year ago now. A spur-of-the-moment purchase on one of the rare occasions he was actually outside Academy grounds. He remembers thinking that the color would look nice on you. He was right. He finds himself holding onto the seconds before he has to go. “Thank you for walking me home, Viktor.”

“Of course,” he nods but the calmness of his voice don’t match the way his eyes bore into yours. “It’s only proper.”

“Proper?”

“Yes. Proper. I am a gentleman, after all.”

His accent comes out thicker, emphasizing the words more than he means to.

“I didn’t take you for someone who cared much about propriety,” you tease.

“Is it because I’m from the undercity?” he deadpans and he relishes in the look of horror on your face that replaces your grin.

“What? No!” you exclaim, smacking his arm when you realize he’s just joking. “You. Are. Impossible.”

A laugh bubbles out of his chest, “Oh, that’s cruel. You would hit a defenseless man? How heartless.”

“Shut up. That cane of yours is a weapon of war. Don’t think I haven’t seen you smack Jayce with it.”

“If I hit him with it, he probably deserved it.”

“Poor Jayce,” you laugh as well. “Remind me not to get on your bad side.”

Viktor smiles.

“I do not think you could even if you tried, lásko."

He freezes and so do you. The laughter—the music—that you shared for the briefest of moments was thoroughly snuffed out, leaving you both in a silence that threatens to swallow him whole. He didn’t mean to do that. He didn’t mean to speak so gently, but there is not a part of Viktor that could withhold this sincerity from you. Specks of the truth, of the confession he’s barely managed to wrangle into submission and lock away somewhere dark and unreachable.

He pulls back on instinct. He’s shown too much, said too much. You don’t move. He is petrified.

Your eyes widen and he sees his reflection in them, staring back at him. This is it, he thinks. He’s crossed the line and he’ll have to deal with the crushing blow of your rejection.

You manage to compose yourself and what you say next is… well, unexpected. Your tone is light, clearing the air and allowing him to breathe again.

“Do you say that to every woman or am I a special case? I’d hate to be part of a roster.”

He’s taken aback, but he feels a weight lifted off his shoulders. You are a miracle in his eyes. Washing away his worries with a kind smile and a few choice words. He laughs again and this time, he doesn’t stop himself from speaking the truth. It’s now or never.

“Surely you know by now that you are singular,” he whispers, his accent a pleasant drawl in your ears. He takes a step forward. It is gravity that pulls him in, not the Earth’s, but yours. A force that he can’t help but be drawn to. Not that he would ever dare to resist it now that his fear has shrunk down to something a little less debilitating.

His face is inches from yours. You don’t move. He gets a little braver.

“I do not appreciate your implication that I would pay attention to anyone else,” his voice is low, honest. “As if anyone could compare to you. As if you don’t hold my very being in the palm of your hand. Miláčku, I adore you. Don’t you know that?”

There is a hint of pleading in his tone, begging you to understand the full scope of his feelings from those few words so that he wouldn’t unravel before you, a bundle of nerves and petals the same shade as your scarf.

“Say something. Please,” his fear rears its ugly head once more. “Say the word and we’ll pretend this never happened. I will remain your colleague and nothing more. A friend, if you would allow it.”

“What if I don’t want that?” you ask, your own voice a little shaky with uncertainty. Maybe it was also fear. That, he’s not quite sure.

Viktor doesn’t fully trust what he’s hearing, thinks it to be a figment of his deluded imagination, but his heart is screaming at him now to push forward.

“What is it you want, lásko? Tell me and it shall be yours.”

You're almost breathless when you finally respond, “You. I want you."

The world stills. Time itself screeches to a halt. There is only you and him, together in this moment that he knows will be woven into the threads of his soul. He has never known euphoria quite like this. He can’t name it yet, doesn’t know if this is love. He can only hope that it will be.

When he looks into your eyes again, he does not see his own terrified reflection. He just sees you. And the sheer intensity of your gaze that rivals his own. Have you always looked at him that way? Was he just too blind to see it?

“Do you mean that?” he finds himself asking. He has to— has to make sure that this is real.

You smile again, dainty fingers intertwining with his. It is a gentle smile, a hopeful smile that answers his question before you even open your mouth.

“I do,” your voice is so gentle and yet it squeezes his heart. “I’m yours, Viktor, if you’ll have me.”

He brings your knuckles to his lips, places a reverent kiss on them like you’ve given him the world. In a way, that’s exactly what you did. Maybe his lips were always meant to be on your skin, worshipping you like the goddess you are. It feels too natural for it to mean anything else.

And for the first time in a long time, he allows himself to hope.

“I would love nothing more.”

[punkkture]

Haii i love your work!! not many ppl on tumblr use the style you do and i love it smm

How would simon feel about his doll getting sick or having a fever? I jst got over the flu myself lol so and i was thinking abt that like the WHOLEEE time. EEEEK like imagine him coming home from a short deployment only to find the reader sick? If you wanna turn it into smut you can : D

eeek love this idea and you, youre so kind schnookums

going for some sweet and caring simon with this one, hate to say its been a couple days since ive written and I have to warm back up to it. dis lowkey ass

wc: { 986 }

— simon loves pampering you. always has and always will. he's utterly smitten to the idea of having you desperately needing him. his poor dumb baby needed him more than she already normally did and he was in heaven.

it started off with your sniffles. he first noticed when he was braiding your hair after a shower. his thick fingers making even and delicate strands curve around one another.

you were sitting down on the floor, between his legs while he sat on the couch. simon kept hearing you sniffle it all up. the first couple times he didn't think much of it. but by the fourth time, he's tying the elastic band around your hair and speaking up.

"you feelin' stuffy, hun?"

he didn't know what he expected when you shook your head 'no'. you understood what it brought when you were sick. but he wasn't convinced for long.

the rest of the day he's holding tissues to your nose and saying, "blow it out . . . doin' nothing gettin' it stuck all in your head like that."

the next day it didnt get any better, and it was certainly not just a headcold he originally thought it was. you were more sluggish than usual to get out of bed. he felt bad for you, a stuffy nose and bad headache was soon met with a fever.

simon put in work to get you comfy in bed. every time he came back upstairs to take your temp, he had to pull away the many blankets you were trying to burrow yourself into.

"baby c'mon, you gotta break the fever . ." he grumbles while grabbing your water cup to refill. and every time he set a new cold glass down, he marks a little line on it, "drink this much by the end of the hour, mmkay?" gently scratching your scalp with his fingers, "don't want you to get dehydrated."

he was starting to get worried by the evening and nothing seemed to be working, a tummy ache was the last thing you needed with all of this. a pounding head, sweaty skin, stuffy nose, and now nausea lingering around and threatening to really ruin your night.

he kept refilling your water and making sure to keep the damp washcloth cold, pressing it on the back of your neck and the top of your forehead. warm fingers rubbed over your tummy and traced gentle patterns on the flushed skin of your back, trying his best to keep you distracted and focused on the sensations he could provide.

the entire day you had been in and out of a useless sleep. a long day of tissues, ice cubes, and popsicles. it was like you were just on the verge of rest the entire day, each time you got close, a harsh wave of nausea came through or a new painful headache came by.

after some convincing, he got you up to the bathroom.

he understood it was at its peak when he was sitting on the bathroom floor with you. the comfort of the cold tile just seemed perfect for your clammy skin right now. but simon kept assuring you that once you got sick and got it all out, things would start to feel better.

but if there was one thing worse than nausea, it was the actual act of throwing up. the entire room was filed with your incessant whines and pleas of denial.

and he had gotten close a couple times, helping you pull your hair back and telling you to 'get it out'. though nothing seemed to be working. he felt bad about what he was about to do, but you needed it.

warm and secure hands helped you sit upright, holding your hair in his grip. the same hand that was wrapped around you now wiping your tears.

"open your mouth"

soft pants left your lips when you opened your mouth, not registering what was happening until his fingers shoved all the way back into your throat and he got you to gag. the thick pads of his fingertips pressing down onto the back of your tongue. getting them all soppy with drool. pulling them out after you jolted and grabbed at him.

the cycle started, and you could feel that it was going to happen. looking at him with tired eyes that harbored so much malice at what he had just done. telling him a shaky and quivered 'fuck you' before finally getting it all out. he rubbed your back and held your hair the whole time.

"sorry baby, you'll feel better after i promise."

he was able to withstand your petulant words, you'd be thanking him later when the nausea was gone because you finally stopped fighting it. or was rather forced to.

of course after that awful interaction, he took time giving you a sweet and loving bath. the lukewarm water being just what you needed. he helped you brush your teeth a couple times, the bubbled water swiping over your skin and getting off all that sickness that harbored on your body.

he let you have some alone time after being up on you for the past two days - making sure you had a nice clean bed to get back into after the bath. misting over the covers and pillows with some lavender spray and retrieving a big glass of water with some tylenol next to it.

and you hated to admit how it really did feel better after getting sick. excited to get some sleep after a long day of being teetered on the edge of it for hours.

he shoved the two pills into your mouth and held the straw for you to drink water from.

"good baby . . . feelin' better?" his warm voice purrs while pushing your hair out of your face.

he was happy to see you nod and close your eyes, spending no time waiting around to get some rest.

ೃ࿔* tag list: @vanillarosekiss @simonskitty @cu456 @silverwoodlynx @mlthree @vint4geroses @ktmjoslin @darlingchanse @xangelbnnyx @tslmvn @1pps @jgissle12 @asherscove @bunty-girl @yu-rikaa @diorpar @sky-robin @ray-19 @ldrtypeofgirl @mentalhorror @teranya @chawitea @all-by-myself98 @jinx53 @alfiestreacle @annierosesposts

[baticeer-sims]

honestly can people making a default vampire skin please show it on a darker skintone in the preview (or at least include a before/after of whatever sim you show) bc the main thing i'm looking for with vampire default is that it doesn't make darker skinned sims look way too washed out...

[rosenclaws]

XXX.Com || Pornstar Worst!Logan Howlett smut

summary: Logan needs money and work is hard to find when you're from another universe, luckily he lands himself a job as an adult film actor. Lets just say, he's a natural.

warnings: SMUT, MINORS DNI!!, 18+ ONLY, fem!reader, porn (obvi lol), jerking off, dirty talk, unprotected sex, cream pie, scratching, oral f!receiving, rough sex, fake professor x college student (its the porno they're filming), he calls you teach in the porno, reader has a stage name (sunshine), flirting.

a/n: This was inspired by the delicious pornstar logan fics by @bpmiranda I wanted to try my own twist on the trope but plz go check out their fics they are amazing!!

Coming from another universe had its fair share of problems. For one his other self was a very well known hero so people were constantly staring. The other issue was working. He needed money if he ever wanted to move out of this god forsaken place. He’s sick of seeing wade walk around naked at 8 in the morning.

He needs his space and to get that he needs money but getting a job with none of the required paperwork was hard. He had to settle for doing odd jobs that paid cash under the table. Those were fine but he needed something more stable.

When Wade suggested he turn to adult films he rolled his eyes at another attempt at shitty humor from his roommate but the more he thought about it the less it seemed like a joke. The money was good and hopefully they didn't ask too many questions. So fuck it. How he found the right place was a long story but he ended up getting hired pretty quickly.

As the director put it. He's sexy and big in more ways than one. To Logan's surprise they didn't seem to care much that he was from another universe but they did have to make sure he wasn't a total creep which he understood.

The first video he was assigned to was pretty basic. Just fucking a girls brains out or something. Whatever the hell people were in to these days, he didn't really care. As long as he got paid. He had to get used to the prying eyes of the cameras.

Still he said his lines, albeit it took him a couple takes to say them naturally. His gruff voice and rippling muscles skyrocketed him to the top. Despite being a rookie he attracted a lot of attention and even garnered a reputation within the studio. No one could deny the raw animal magnetism this man seemed to have.

"Logan! Good news, your next video is going to be a with one of the most popular stars in our studio." The directors over the top enthusiasm makes Logan's eyes roll but he grunts out a response.

"Her name is Sunshine. Look her up. Anyways be here tomorrow by nine." Sunshine? Logan chuckles to himself as he leaves the studio.

Fake names are not uncommon but he's yet to find one that sounds so...perky. Still his curiosity gets the better of him as he steals Wades laptop in the dead of night. Searching in the name and scanning the results. Logan works with many attractive people in this job but the moment he lays eyes on you something shifts.

You aren't just attractive, you're drop dead gorgeous. He clicks on a video and his cock tightens in his pants. The faces you make don't look over the top or rehearsed. They almost look real. But Logan can tell you're faking it.

Your moans are sweet but he can tell whoever this boy is that's got his cock in you isn't doing his job very well. Still ever the professional you are you make it work. He falls down a rabbit hole of video after video. Shutting the laptop as the clock reads two in the morning. His cock is hard and painful as he puts Wades laptop back on the counter.

Fuck he needs a shower.

The ice cold water hits his back but it's not helping. He wraps his hand around his cock. Keeping his noises to a minimum as he jerks himself off to the thought of you. He bites his lip as he thinks of every way he can make you scream tomorrow. Show you what it's like to be fucked by a real man.

The sinful thoughts that fill his head drive him over the edge. He slams his hand against the shower wall as he comes. The water running down his back as he catches his breath. You've already got him interested, he just hopes he can put on a real show tomorrow.

-

When Logan gets to the studio the director tells him the "plot" of this video. Plot being a very loose term here. He's supposed to be the failing college senior while you play the hot young professor. They hand him a white button up a size too small and some fake glasses. He laughs as they place the glasses onto his face.

"No one's going to fucking buy this." The buttons threaten to bust open as they start to fix his hair.

"I don't know, you look pretty convincing to me." He looks up to see you smiling at him.

Already dressed in your shoot clothes with your makeup and hair all done. He shamelessly looks you up and down, licking his lips as his eyes settle on your cleavage.

"I'm a little old to be playing a college student don't you think?" You shrug and walk closer to him. You take your hands and run them through his hair, trying to flatten the parts that stick up but they don't want to listen.

"Don't think any one is watching these for the realism Logan." You wink as you then move to fix his glasses.

He clenches his jaw as he tries to contain the raging boner. He shouldn't be hard yet but here he is. You're driving him crazy.

"Promise to go easy on you, don't want to scare my new favorite coworker." You tease. Your nails scratch along his jaw, just for a moment but it's enough to drive him wild.

"I'm your favorite already Sunshine?" Logan says with a grin.

"For now, don't prove me wrong when the cameras are on us." You walk away and Logan enjoys every second of it. Oh this is going to be fun.

-

"Come on teach, your class is the only one I'm failing. I need to get a C to graduate." Logan's massive frame towers over your desk. His lines come out much more flirty than its supposed to but you roll with it.

"You need a lot of extra credit to make up the missing assignments Mr. Howlett." You stand up and walk over to where he was standing.

Pushing on his chest to get him to sit. You smirk when you see the buttons on his shirt fighting for their life. You sit on top of the desk and pretend to think.

"I'll do anything you want. Anything" Logan growls, his hand resting on your thigh now. Slowing inching up your leg, stopping right at the hem of your pencil skirt. You place your heel onto his shoulder. Spreading your legs so that Logan and the camera can see your lack of panties.

"Well, lets see how bad you want it." You taunt.

Your voice is smooth as butter and it drives him nuts. Logan gets on his knees. Ripping your skirt apart with ease making you gasp. That wasn't in the script but fuck it made you wet. His muscles are bulging in that damn shirt and you want to see what's underneath in person. Sadly that was going to have to wait as he trails kisses up your legs. Wet and sloppy as his grip on your hips is ironclad.

The camera moves to capture Logan's face. Seeing the primal hunger in his eyes as he grabs the hem of your panties with his teeth, dragging them down. He stands up with them still in his mouth. You grab onto his shirt and rip it open. Raking your nails down his very toned chest. You grab your underwear out of his mouth and toss it to the side.

"Good boy." You purr as you push on his shoulders.

He gets back onto his knees and wastes no time diving into your cunt. You fall back onto the desk as Logan takes you apart with his tongue. Moans and whimpers fall from your lips with ease. There is no need to fake your pleasure with him between your legs.

He's hungry, ravenous. Logan can't get enough. He holds your legs apart, keeping you from closing them as he zeros in on your clit. He's ruthless. Refusing to give you a moment to breathe as he loses himself in your pussy.

"You taste sweeter than I imagined." He growls off script. If he wasn't bringing you to orgasm you'd wonder what he meant by that. You wonder if he watched your videos just like you had.

"Logan!" You moan as your legs start to shake under the intense pleasure.

"That's it teach, let me taste you come on." His dirty mouth makes your head spin.

Your eyes squeezing tight as he pushes you over the edge. You barely even notice the camera as it positions itself over Logan's shoulder. Logan resist the urge to break the damn thing as it gets in his way. He feels a push on his shoulder and he growls. Reluctantly he gets out of the way and uses his thumb to rub your clit.

"I have an idea teach," Logan purrs. He pulls you off the desk. Wrapping an arm around you and grinding his clothed cock against your thigh.

"For every orgasm I can pull out of you, you raise my grade by a letter." He breathes into your neck, inhaling your scent. You sigh as his hands start to grope and squeeze your breasts.

"What do you say?" He grins as he feels you squirm under his touch. He unbuttons your blouse and tosses it to the side. Mouth watering as he buries his face in your breasts.

"You better get to work then Mr. Howlett. You're at a D right now." You turn around and bend over the desk. His hands run along your body before he unbuckles his pants.

"I'll show you a D." He grumbles. You have to stifle a laugh at his words.

The camera moves to show your face as Logan slides his cock inside of you. He throws his head back in pleasure as he gets to feel your tight cunt. Now this is what he was waiting for.

"Come get a shot of this." He whispers to himself.

He drags his cock out slowly. He watches in awe as your cute pussy just sucks him up. Your hands are digging into the desk, clawing at the wood as Logan's massive cock pushes its way in. You knew he was big but to actually feel it in person. Fuck.

"That feel good? You like my big cock hm?" Logan's cocky tone makes you moan as he picks up his pace. He's pummeling your poor pussy with no mercy. Your moans are as real as they can get as you cry and whine with each thrust.

"Logan oh god!" Your eyes cross as his cock hits a sensitive spot.

No one's ever hit that before. You're falling apart. Your chest heaves as you try and catch your breath but your moans quiet down because of it. Logan doesn't like that one bit. You groan as you feel his hand grab your hair. He pulls you up so that your back is arched. His cock somehow pushing its way deeper.

"Come on baby, don't hide from me." He whispers in your ear. He wraps an arm around your chest to hold you up. Your nails dig into his arm to ground yourself.

"Feel so fucking good, jerked myself off last night to your videos." He mumbles so only you can hear. You don't understand how a man can have so much stamina. He doesn't even seem tired.

"So fucking close I can feel it baby. I can feel the way your cunt clenches around my fat cock. I can hear her pulsing for me." His eyes grow dark as he feels you start to lose it.

His rough fingers sliding down to play with your cunt. It's a filthy sight to watch. You've forgotten about the cameras and the crew. The only thing you can feel is Logan. He's taken over your mind, your senses.

"That's it pretty girl." He bites your shoulder and the pain mixes with pleasure.

"Fuck!" You wail as you come hard around his cock. Logan groans in pleasure and comes before he can really stop himself. Filling you up nice and full as you babble incoherently. You can barely get your lines out as you float between the real world and cloud nine.

"You got your C Mr. Howlett." You've never been this wrecked after a scene before but Logan has completely ruined you. You grin at the feeling of his cum seeping out of you.

"You know, I've always wanted an A." He's grinning like the devil as he thrusts his hips once more making you cry out.

He's still fucking hard. He really is every porn studios wet dream. Hot, sexy, can go for round after round. The director calls cut but Logan doesn't let go of you. You've got this dazed look in your eyes and he gently lays you down on the desk.

"You alright?" He grunts as he slips out of you. His cock still standing straight as someone brings him a robe. He grabs a towel from one of the PA's and gently wipes up your legs. You whine as the rough material brushes against your poor pussy.

"Sorry." You just smile in response. You haven't had a fuck this good in a long time. A crew member brings you a robe and you put it on.

"You really know how to use that thing. For a second I thought you were the seasoned professional." You joke as you try and get off the desk. You stumble and Logan is quick to catch you.

"What can I say Sunshine, you made it easy." He flirts. The director calls his name and he rolls his eyes.

"Don't keep him waiting Logan. I'll see you soon." Another crew member comes to help you as Logan lets you go.

Thankfully this was all you had for the week and you could go home and soak in a bath. Your poor legs are going to need it. After signing a few things and getting next weeks shoot list you can finally go home.

"Sunshine, hope I didn't fuck you too good." Logan says with a wink. He's waiting outside of the studio, a cigar in his mouth.

"I regret whatever I said before, your ego is going to get too big." You joke. He shrugs and puts out his cigar on the ground.

"You got any plans?" He asks. Your dressed in normal clothes now, nothing remotely revealing but Logan still thinks you look gorgeous.

"I could take you to lunch, if you're interested." He offers.

You haven't thought about dating since you started working in this industry. You didn't need a partner and it could be hard trying to find one who understood your job. But Logan flashes that handsome smile and for some reason you can't resist.

Maybe your working backwards here. He fucks you and then you go to lunch but hey, nothing about him is conventional anyways.

"Yeah, lunch sounds good."

Its just lunch, you tell yourself. It's only a meal with your hot coworker. If things were to go further though you wouldn't complain. Certainly not when he's as handsome as he is. You definitely wouldn't mind taking him back to your place and you're certainly okay when he promises he can go for more rounds away from the prying eyes of the camera. But for now it's just lunch. He pays and you give him your number.

Logan and you part ways and he prays he sees you again. Not just at work but outside of it too. You've got him hooked. The video gets uploaded and explodes in popularity. Praising how realistic it felt and how hot both of you were. He gets a call from the director, expecting another update on his next shoot.

"Great news man! Sunshine wants to do exclusive shoots with you. Oh this is going to make us so much money." He tunes out the rambling as his phone dings. A smirk appearing on his face when he sees a text with your name pop up.

Want to rehearse our next scene? my place 7pm <3

[wuntrum]

can you speak on your severance s2 opinions? i promise this isnt in bad faith or anything, im just anon bc im shy lol, im genuinely curious

i'm gonna put this under a read more because it's gonna be long but...yeah [scratches head] if YOU the person reading this looooved this season and see nothing you didn't like about it, thats awesome and i'm happy for you. i also liked things in this season, and also its normal to be able to critique things you like, love and light <3 its literally just television

generally, yeah, i found myself disappointed with it. i think the writing this season, both the dialogue and then the actual character/world writing, fell flat and/or seemed like it was completely incongruous with the characters and world that we had seen in season 1. i think something i really appreciated about season 1 is that yes, mark was our main character and the lens we got introduced to both the inside and outside world, but both felt so much BIGGER than just him.

season 2, the entire plot and world and characters bend and contort to make mark like, the center of the universe lol. it's kind of ridiculous, the extent to which the world revolves around him now. it makes the world feel SOOO small. parts of my favorite worldbuilding aspects are seeing how the outside world feels about severance--i think the part where we see how working as a severed employee makes it almost impossible to work anywhere else is great! and in concept i like seeing other towns that have been devastated by lumon's industrialization, though i don't love the execution that we got. so like...everything lumon does is about mark? ALL of it? i know we don't know exactly how long lumon has been operating but like...they've been working on this stuff for longer than two years, lol. like, how many files have dylan completed? irving? petey? that girlie who wrote the lexington letter? is all of their work literally meaningless? like i get that there were people before gemma who failed the tests and they died, sure, but what about when mark started working there? what about the files that irving started and didn't finish, why don't they care about those? ohhhh right, because that's not the one that mark's working on. i get that it'd be a big deal if they got it to work fully once, but surely they'd want to make it work AGAIN, right??? like a science experiment?? i just wish we got like, A nod to other people on the testing floor, because i think the implication is that all of them are working on files connected to…different people, but maybe they're all just different versions of gemma?

honestly all of the innie stuff this season just felt so…idk, aimless? it feels like parts of the building only exist when the writers want them to, and just generally are not interested in exploring anything outside of the romantic aspects for all of these characters. like sure, after the season 1 finale, their asses are not gonna wanna work (EXCEPT FOR WHEN THEY DO? TO MOVE THE PLOT ALONG?), but where's the camaraderie? what about all those other people in O&D, they literally export things to the testing floor, maybe they know about gemma? fundamentally i think the thing that's the most frustrating about innie mark is that they keep telling us that he doesn't care about gemma. which, sure, outie gemma, he doesn't have that same connection with as helly, whatever. but also, he DOES care about her, he literally knows that that's ms casey and that lumon was just going to do what they always do when they fire people????? like s1 mark cared soooo much about his coworkers, ALL OF THEM, even the ones that weren't there anymore—seeing petey and then ms casey get removed was like, a HUGE deal and vital to his growth as a character!!!! and the way that they constructed this whole season basically to remove everyone that isn't mark and helly by the end. lol. i'm honestly shocked that they didn't make a new version of the desk that was just two chairs, like dylan was just excluded from the finale except for when they needed him to come in and hold the door against mr. milchick. again. lol

i don't inherently have a problem with exploring the romantic stuff, i think that could have been done well, but i just don't think it was. and that's primarily because, i think the writing this season for helly was ass! they took away her agency and subjugated her to be just the love interest for mark! especially with the finale, i just feel like the helly i know would've been like mark, what are you doing??? go?!? like she wants to take down lumon, THAT's what will take down lumon! like whatever, mark made the choice that he did, but helly playing along with it makes no fucking senseee. like they want us to think that it's the same ol helly we know and love, they give us crumbs of her anger, like when she's rallying the marching band people or whatever, but again, only when it's plot convenient. WHY WOULD SHE NOT ATTACK JAME? he's like 90???? and helly doesn't like this man???? she has nothing to lose???? fucking THROW something at him helly!!!! the helly that tried to chop her fingers off and hang herself and gave that speech in the s1 finale is not in the room with us. and i don't mean this in a way where i think it's helena again, it's not. they've just completely fumbled her character because they want mark and helly to be together at all costs. and honestly, i think it's so reductive to make this show just about ships, but textually it feels like that's what they want us to do, and i think that's sad. again, it makes the show feel so SMALL, when the world within it used to feel so BIG and like we would want to learn more about it. i care about mark and helly--before they kissed!! i think it was rewarding to see the ways they challenged each other and grew as people!! them as a romantic thing could work but they haven't put in the work to MAKE it work. and, it feels like of redundant even to say, but i do think it's fucking ridiculous to write a story where we get kissing and fucking for allllll the straight characters and then the one gay couple doesn't even get a kiss before separating them completely and writing irving out of the show, basically. like what are we in, hayes code era television?

but yeah, the information they chose to reveal vs what they didn't was also frustrating. i honestly wish they revealed less! there's so much TELLING this season. it feels like they think we're stupid (which, i can't speak for the entire population watching the show, maybe some people literally do need mark to look at the camera and explain everything, idk). like there's sooo much clever storytelling in the first season that just, completely gets snuffed out from overexplaining. i understand in the finale that oMark needs to tell iMark about why he did all of this but like, WE as the audience already know??? we don't need to see this?? and cobel confirming stuff i feel like we already knew about how the numbers work and like, i just don't knowwww. like you can just show me it, i was picking up on it. like we know about the four tempers, you show it to us all the time, cobel having to look dead in the camera and explain it just made me feel like there was a better way we could've done this. i do think some stuff benefits from a "hard" confirmation. like i'm glad they confirmed the helena thing, BECAUSE it backs up and supports all of the lovely and subtle things they had already shown to prove that it WAS helena! like i've known since the first episode LOL, so they do KNOW how to do subtle storytelling. and i think the gemma episode was great, i loved seeing her as a character and thought it gave her so much depth. but again, i think allll of the explaining they do this season not only snuffs out the fun of speculating on the viewing end, but from a writing perspective it just kind of writes them into a corner. i think they're focused too much on making these elaborate set pieces and events take place without thinking of how they fit together, not only on like a writing/episodic level but just the world of lumon at large.

i think a great way they showed story in the first season is through the paintings, and through irving and burt bonding over the paintings! like it not only establishes the lore of kier and then we get to learn more about them as characters through their reactions to the paintings. the paintings this season, honestly, were weak, they were so heavy handed. love and light to whoever painted them, but they were nottt doing the job for me.

(this is a small thing, but like…the intake questionnaire asks them to "name a US state or territory," so they KNOW that delaware is a state. so why would they think the equator is a building? again its just like. a cutesy moment for mark and helly to banter but they could've done it in a way that isn't contradictory to like, our understanding of what information crosses over the sever and what does not).

i keep thinking about the ORTBO, and it just seems fucking CRAZY to me that they aren't freaking out about SEEING THE SKY? BREATHING FRESH AIR? FEELING FIRE? SLEEPING?? WASN'T THE WHOLE THING THAT THEY COULDN'T FALL ASLEEP???? i guess my impression of how the chip works is that the technology doesn't know how to handle when they enter a subconscious/asleeep state, so the innie and outie memories begin to bleed together, hence why dozing would be a bad thing on the job. but again, they clearly had this idea of how they wanted irving to reveal that it's helena in the waterfall, and yes, i did enjoy the spectacle of the episode, but its another example of how they'll build these moments and only focus on what they want to see. like there's so much interesting stuff that they could explore and just choose not to, because (usually) it doesn't involve mark, or mark and helly.

also, i'm just gonna say it, i feel like the writing for the women this season all was kinda bad! it's, again, a byproduct of the world revolving around mark now. reghabi is brought into the story when mark needs her, and cast aside when he doesn't want her anymore. devon has been completely reduced to mark's lackey, like i guess ricken and the baby are fucking fine or whatever??? because she only exists when mark is around, and her only job is caring about mark (which obviously yes, they're siblings, of course they care—but s1 devon had a life outside of mark as well). cobel is only brought back into the story to explain to mark how cold harbor works. i said this before but honestly i like the concept of her little solo episode, though the execution wasn't great, because at least she was doing something on her own (except for when she needs that guy to help her. heaven forbid a woman does something of her own accord without a man to help). and again, helly is completely flanderized to be mark's love interest. i think there's a way to have mark and helly be together and them be their own people, but for the length of the season they did not have the proper time to unpack all the shit from the ORTBO episode so everyone just…conveniently gets over it very quickly, like in the span of a day. like i do think it's a jump to go from "i don't trust you, are you even you?" to missionary under plastic tarps that quickly, i'm sorry. and i think even gemma suffers from this fate as well. i think with hers it makes more sense, like she fucking loves her husband, but i wish she was given opportunities to like…want things for herself, too. like she hasn't been outside in two years! i bet she misses her job, her students, her family, devon, ricken, like anyone outside of mark? but she has to be the tragic love interest that can't be with mark but can't run away from mark, either. she's reduced to set dressing for mark and helly by the end.

they constructed this season i think, with the hopes and knowledge that they'll likely get a season 3. which yes, we know now that it's been confirmed and approved or whatever, but they didn't know that when making season 2, and it feels like no one got a full character arc. it's all start and no follow through. we've had the same "mr. milchick experiences racism in the workplace" moment like what, five, six times, and yet we haven't even started to see him DO something about it yet? like sure he told mr. drummond to eat shit, but then to play along with the minstrel show cold harbor shit, they just didn't care about giving that plot line any action so it'll just get brushed along to season 3. (and while there's intentional commentary about race in the show, it also feels like there's unintentional consequences to their writing choices that upholds the whiteness. like, natalie is just forgotten about, reghabi is dropped as soon as mark doesn't want to play with her anymore, ms. huang barely gets to do anything before being written off and sent away, and yes, i do think having gemma suffer as mark and helly skip away is part of it. it leaves a bad taste in my mouth, sorry!). i think dylan is maybe the closest we get to an interesting arc, and i enjoy the inclusion of his wife, but even he's reduced to JUST this story, only getting to talk to mark or helly when the writers need him to, i guess. and the stuff with burt and fields is so nothing, like it feels like it should be going somewhere but they're just leaving it open for season 3 (i guess??? even though it seems like irving isn't going to be in it at all, so why would we be following burt and fields??? and also don't even get me started on how the outie irving stuff is just NOT EXPLORED AT ALL. like whatever sure who the hell cares, sorry for wanting to see that go somewhere or whatever).

it's too early for full reintegration to happen so, we'll just finish that in season 3. (then why introduce it so early in season 2? ohhh right, we need cliffhangers to end every episode on). it almost feels like they don't have faith that people will keep watching without introducing these dramatic moments, but it's all just gasps of breath, there's no actual momentum. like, i've already watched the first season, you don't need to bait me with the prospect of seeing meaningful progression and then take it away from me when the next episode starts. the structure of how episodes speak to each other is that they…don't? like obviously i don't need every episode to pick up on the exact moment the last left off, but the timeline of this season is just soooo strange. the first two episodes are in the same span of time, and then there's gemma and cobel's episodes back to back…it genuinely just feels like they didn't consider the season as a whole which, considering how much money and time it took to make it happen, makes no sense.

and to continue on the timeline aspect, it feels so confusing as to how much time has really passed. it feels like the wanted the structure of the first season, but the pacing mechanic of the first season (working up to the end of the quarter to get to the waffle party) makes the pacing of the second feel even worse. like a.) mark's completed like 3 files a quarter (if we assume he's worked there for 8 quarters, i.e. two years), so making THIS file the super special final one truncates the possible time by at least a third.but then also, b.) he's been at like 95% complete since like, episode 5..? again, i just think it should've been considered more during the planning stages. and it kind of boggles my mind that the creative team views the marching band in this finale to be analogous to the waffle party in s1 when, it's way closer to the music dance experience? (they said this in the like behind the scenes for the finale ep). and in that regard, it really does kind of feel like a retread that doesn't work as well because, again, it's all about mark! especially after the shit with the kier statue, why would mr. milchick play along with the song and dance, like it just feels like they wanted to use tramell tillman's dance experience again, and they wanted to use the colored lights again. he could've just stood by the door to make sure mark and helly stayed there, which was obviously the goal of having all those people there. and yeah, i get the work is mysterious and important or whatever, but the implication that they have ALL OF THESE PEOPLE whos sole job is to be a marching band makes no fucking sense, i'm sorry. i find it hard to play along with the worldbuilding, again it makes lumon seem like its run by like dr. doofenshmirtz or something, it's so cartoony. like are they a global and successful company, or are they incompetent and leave gaping holes for their employees to undo everything? this is THE MOST IMPORTANT DAY IN LUMON HISTORY and they couldn't…shut the door to MDR like they had before? the goat sacrifice room is directly outside the exports hall door? the music dance experience works so well as a catharsis moment because everyone has their own shit going on, and we get to see the guy who hasn't really disobeyed yet (dylan) finally snap, and we see the others come and support him as a TEAM. it's just spectacle for us, the viewer. and especially the thing where they make the panels with mark's face on it—HE CAN'T SEE IT???? i don't need fan service winking moments like that, i dunno, that just annoyed me lol.

anyway, i feel like i have more to say probably but i gotta go do things so, i'm gonna leave it here. in conclusion, i'm missing my friends from s1 MDR sooo so bad, i feel like i haven't seen them this season at all. i did like parts of this season, but overall it was not what i was hoping it would be. (i don't even really KNOW what i wanted it to be, and of course it doesn't matter what i "want," but i feel like what i "want" lined up with what they wanted to do explore with season 1 so…maybe that's where the dissonance is coming from). and whereas at the end of s1, where i left it being like "where are they going to go from here?? (as in, theres so many possibilities", this season finale has left me asking "…where are we gonna go from here?" because i'm left like, inherently incurious about the people we have left and the choices they've made. and, i feel like THEY (as in the executive team making it) must feel this way too, because apparently they've completely scrapped the writers room from this season and added on two new showrunners. good luck to whoever that executive story editor is LOL

[jinx-xxed]

Omg this idea has been simmering in my head for days SO, we've seen protective Remmick and we love but I'd love to see protective reader ngl! I'm thinking like obviously Remmick is the more experienced vamp here BUT I feel like sometimes he gets cocky and plays around too much and he'd get himself into trouble sometimes, in comes feral no-nonsense reader, on some guard dog shit lol. I think it'd be interesting to explore how he'd feel about being protected after he's been alone and had to be independent for so long.

And I just wanna finish this by saying thank you! I love your writing, its so comforting. <3

Wrangled Heart

☆.。.:*・°☆.。.:*・°☆.。.:*・°☆.。.:*・°☆ .。.:*

A/N; Tysm for giving me this request!! I really appreciate you thinking my writing is comforting, that’s the biggest compliment <33 I had tons of fun writing this one and exploring the reader character!! It’s a little different from my normal stuff and I enjoyed it! Also I’ve been watching a lot of Godless recently so I couldn’t help leaning into that western vibe a bit :^) I hope I’ve done this idea justice for you <3!!

Summary; Remmick gets himself into trouble, but luckily he has you to save him.

Content; NSFW 18+, AFAB reader, angst to fluff, cowgirl reader, vampire reader, you own a farm, vampirism, hive-mind, shared pain, getting turned, Remmick saved your life, now you save his, protective reader, stubborn reader, vampire hunters, blood and injury, you get kinda fucked up, sharpshooter reader, you chew Remmick out, very pathetic Remmick, eating out, fingering, slight dom reader, Remmick cums in his pants, heavy aftercare, soft Remmick

Wc; 7.9k

☆.。.:*・°☆.。.:*・°☆.。.:*・°☆.。.:*・°☆ .。.:*

It’s two hours until sunrise when you feel it.

A sudden, sharp pain in your side that makes you gasp, makes the bowl you’d been holding fall from your hands and shatter on the wooden floor. You clutch at the unseen injury, wondering if some organ inside of you just ruptured, if that’s even possible for a vampire. The next one hits your left leg, right below the knee, nearly sending you to the ground with a loud curse. You grip onto the counter for balance, your claws coming out on instinct to scratch at the polished linoleum.

You hunch over, your fanged teeth gritted and your breath coming in shallow pants as new phantom injuries bloom along your body. You have to struggle to push through the forefront of panic in your mind, quiet the alarms so you can think rationally. You force yourself to calm, to realize you aren’t being attacked as the pain quickly dulls to nothing more than an itch beneath your skin. You understand these sensations, have felt them enough times before for there to be a sinking feeling in your gut.

You reach out towards the bond, the invisible tether that ties you directly to the beast that turned you, to Remmick. You follow it across the distance between you, the thing pulled tight like a bowstring, quivering with each other’s thoughts, emotions, and memories. Your head swims with flashes of the night through Remmick’s eyes, of unfamiliar men surrounding him, the scent of his blood thick in the air, his fear laced through it like a toxin. He struggles against the men but it’s futile in his state, his fangs flashing in attempts to fight them off. He gets punched in the jaw so hard that it snaps you back into your own body, the ache of the hit resonating in your teeth.

“Goddamnit, Rem.” You snarl under your breath, already turning on your heel and dashing upstairs. You’re quick to shed your nightgown, swapping it for your well-worn pair of work pants and a button up, then shoving your feet into your sturdy boots. You grab your cowboy hat off the hook you always put it on, securing it onto your head and snatching your hunting rifle resting just above it. You sling the strap of it across your chest because even with your claws and fangs and inhuman strength, you’ve never been able to give up your gun.

You burst out the front door of your farmhouse, immediately running towards the stables around the side. You haul the gate open, hurrying to the stall of your trusted horse, Ranger. She’s the granddaughter of the horse you’d had thirty years ago, each line of her family always being your chosen favorite. Ranger’s brown and white pelt is sleek and well groomed, her dark mane straightened, and her hazel eyes wide and alert, like she was ready for you. She huffs at you, her foot stomping once at the fact you’ve disturbed her rest. “I know baby, I know. I’ll make it up to ya, I promise.” You coo as you secure the saddle to her back with practiced ease.

As soon as you’re seated atop her, you bring her out from the stables and press your legs against her sides to urge her into a full gallop. Her hooves pound into the dirt as she breaks your property line, following your guidance towards the woods in the east. You let your bond chart your course, the rope that connects you to Remmick getting shorter and shorter by the minute. The remnants of the moon just barely illuminate the forest path, the one that’s been walked and trodden hundreds and thousands of times before. It runs miles into the untamed trees, lined with thick underbrush that rustles with the inhabitants of these woods that fall silent as your horse sprints past.

The deeper you go, the thicker the scent of panic and terror becomes. You can taste it on the roof of your mouth, can feel the way it makes your muscles tense like you’re the one being hunted. Your breath is sharp in your lungs, each one a little constricted with anxiety, not knowing what you’ll find at the end of the tether. It’s when there’s only a good fifty feet between you that you pull on Ranger’s reins, bringing her to a halt to dismount. You hide her amongst the bushes, tying her lead around a tree to keep her in place.

You soothingly run your hand along the bridge of her nose. “Be good for me, sugar. I won’t be long.” You promise, placing a kiss on her muzzle, Ranger’s head leaning up towards your touch.

Your steps are careful as you continue forward on foot, each step too light to possibly be human. You take off the strap of your rifle in a smooth motion, the weight of it familiar in your hands, loaded and ready. It feels like every part of you is on edge, your eyes wide, ears perked to any possible sound. You veer off the path to the right, concealing yourself in the underbrush, following the smell of blood and the constant, invisible tug that you accepted a long time ago.

Your grip on your gun tightens when you begin to hear snippets of conversation, of voices who aren’t concerned with disturbing the sanctity of night. They’re loud, crude, tinged with cruelty, and ones that you don’t recognize. You sneak forward until you reach a small clearing, stopping just at the edge of it, anger bubbling inside you at the sight of what’s before you.

Remmick slumped against a tree, his weakened body bound with thick rope, blood staining his torn clothes and skin, one eye swollen shut. He’s surrounded by five hunters, each of their outfits like an armory against your kind. Silver blades and bullets, wooden stakes, bits of garlic, and crosses around the necks. They laugh with each other, their faces concealed in shadow, their horses clearly uneasy.

“Can’t we talk this out, fellas?” Remmick coughs, his voice strained and cracked.

“Ain’t no talkin’ with the devil.” The man still sat on his horse sneers. You immediately connect that he’s the leader, something shiny like a badge pinned to his breast.

One of the hunters, the youngest one by the looks of him, crouches in front of Remmick. He digs his fingers into the vampire’s short black hair, his boldness near startling as he yanks Remmick’s head back. He winces at the rough motion, his fangs showing from his drawn lips. “This the one we been lookin’ for, ain’t it?” The hunter asks. With his free hand he draws a phantom line across Remmick’s neck, calculating. “Should we bring his head back for the sheriff?”

Another one scoffs. “If we can keep it from burnin’ up.”

“Easy enough. Just wrap it in one of them tarps or somethin’.” A third chimes in.

The younger man holding Remmick releases the vampire, leaving his head to fall limp with a small groan. The hunter motions to one of his companions. “Here, gimme yer knife.”

The other one, the lower half of his face covered in a thick beard and mustache, grumbles. “You ain’t bring yer own, boy?” He says while reaching back to his sheath.

“I forgot it, now just give it to me.” The other one says with an eye roll, making a grabbing motion with his hand.

The knife never gets to reach his grasp before a bullet cuts clean through his skull.

You’re quick to reload, shooting a second one dead before true chaos ensues. The hunters yell as their two buddies fall to the ground with blood splattering against the grass and horses rear up, shrieking to the skies. They search for the source of the gunfire before seeing the gleam of your eyes between the trees. “There’s another one of them monsters!” The hunter on the horse shouts, immediately aiming a pistol at you, firing without restraint while trying to keep his animal steady.

The bullets splinter the trunk you’d darted behind, following your path as you dash through the bushes. One manages to catch your arm, cutting through your shirt and burning the skin beneath with a hiss. You toss your own rifle aside, charging the clearing with sharpened teeth and extended claws. You jump up to tackle the leader off his horse, his surprised scream ringing in your ears as you both hit the ground hard. He thrashes in your hold, kneeing into your stomach, slamming the butt of his gun against you again and again in a desperate attempt to shake you off.

It doesn’t work before your fangs are digging into his neck, tearing his skin apart, letting his blood fill your mouth like it’s fresh water. It lights up your veins with a newfound strength, quieting the hunger that’d been pricking the edges of your mind. So focused on the man below you, you barely have time to react to the one that had come up behind you. You try to roll out of the way, but it doesn’t stop the knife from being buried in your side.

You screech as agony explodes through your body, your own blood pouring out around the blade as the hunter withdraws it. You attempt to lunge at him, to take him down like you did their leader, but you’re slammed into before you can. You’re shoved harshly against a tree with enough force to make something crack, the bearded man’s face a whirlwind of fury, his fists hitting your abdomen. He pulls you forward only to ram you into the trunk once again, your right shoulder dislocating with a loud pop. You see stars for a split second, your voice leaving you in a whoosh from the pain.

Remmick is fully alert now, straining against the ropes that bind him, your appearance giving him a new vigor. His red eyes are wider than the moon as he watches you, his mouth dropped open, fangs glinting and shiny with his saliva. His own thoughts are a chorus in the back of your mind, full of rage and awe:

My love. Don’t hurt her. Kill them all. My wife. So strong. Mine. Kill them, kill them-

“Shoot her!” The bearded one shouts, gritting his teeth as your claws drag along his arm.

Just beyond him you can see the other one taking aim, hoping to get you between the eyes. Right as his finger rests on the trigger, you bring your knee up into the gut of the man holding you hostage, a choked sound coming from him. You use the blaze of your pain as energy, dragging him forward as a gunshot rings in your ears. The bullet lodges into the man’s back, right above his heart, his yell being cut short. You let him fall to the ground, leaving the last one shaking in his boots, indistinguishable prayers whispered through his teeth.

His hands are quivering too much to take proper aim, so even in your bruised and bloody state you manage to dodge his bullets. You bring him down, ignoring the pain he tries to inflict with kicks and hits, your teeth opening his neck for you to drink from until he goes still.

Silence rings in the clearing as you sit up, your chest heaving, every part of you feeling like it’s covered in blood, and you have no idea what’s yours and what isn’t. You stagger to your feet, stumbling towards Remmick. You pick up your hat that had fallen off along the way, placing it safely back atop your head.

“Yer the hottest thing I’ve ever seen in my whole life.” Remmick says when you reach him.

“Will you shut your damn mouth?” You snap, in no mood for his syrupy flirting while trying to undo his ropes with your one good hand.

His response is near instant. “Yes ma’am.”

As you work, you notice the man who got shot is still twitching on the ground. You can sense the way his life is quickly thinning, his quiet gurgles a plea for death. “Go eat.” You tiredly tell Remmick as you finally get his binds undone, sicking him on the hunter like a dog. It’s not like he deserves the free meal, but it’ll keep you from having to deal with him bitching and moaning about his injuries all day long.

Remmick visibly swallows, almost in disbelief of your graciousness. “Th-thank you, baby- yer so good t’me-”

You roll your eyes, watching as he latches onto the hunter, his noises finally going quiet as Remmick finishes him off. The sloppy sounds of his eating breaks the quiet and you see the way his numerous wounds steadily begin to heal. The discoloration on his skin disappears, the worst of his cuts closing at the edges. When he’s effectively sucked the man dry, you yank him up by the collar, blood soaking his front, a new shine to his eyes.

“Let’s go.” You say, ignoring the way Remmick bristles when you sidestep his offered support, his desire to try and help you in your injured state. You’re still too pissed to take it, to let your pride fall any further.

There’s two horses that ended up sticking around for the bloodbath and with a whistle, you get them to follow you. There’s always been something about you that draws animals to you, even with your supernatural attributes. You pick up your rifle you’d tossed aside when you pass through the bushes you’d hidden in just minutes prior, securing that strap across your chest once more.

With the horses on one side and Remmick on the other, watching you carefully, you make your way back to Ranger. She’s waiting for you right where you left her, ears swiveled forward, tail swishing behind her. You pet her with your working hand. “That’s my good girl.” You coo at her, undoing her lead. You swing yourself onto her back with some effort, hissing as the wound in your side oozes more blood, healing ever so slowly.

Remmick and Ranger watch each other uneasily, neither of them ever being real fond of the other. She takes a single step away from him, a snort blowing out of her nose with a shake of her head, making him hesitate. You grit your teeth together. “Remmick, so help me God, if you don’t get your stupid ass on this horse I’ll leave you out here to burn.”

He grumbles indistinctly but he steps forward and braces his hands on the saddle, not wanting to face any more of your wrath. He tries once but between his injuries and Ranger’s shifting, his foot slips and makes him stumble. The same thing happens a second time. “It’d help if you kept this damn thing steady.” He snaps.

You scoff. “Not my fault she don’t like you.”

He finally gets up on the third try, situating himself behind you, his chest comfortably pressed to your back. His hands come to your sides, some of your blood sticking to his palms but it doesn’t bother him any. You allow yourself to relax into his touch as you nudge Ranger into a trot, the other horses following behind. Part of you is relieved to feel Remmick’s body weight against yours, his thumbs drawing gentle, apologetic circles on your hips, knowing you very well could’ve lost him tonight. His presence has become so oddly steady and important in your life, it has been for years, and you don’t quite know what you’d do without it anymore.

It was a long time ago when you first met him, found him bleeding in your barn, not looking much different than he does now.

It had been the middle of the night when you were woken by the pigs causing a racket, squealing to the high heavens. You’d jumped out of bed, not even changing out of your night gown before you were grabbing your rifle, putting on your boots, and running outside. You’d thought for sure some big bad animal had managed to weasel into the barn, had gotten past your fences and locks.

The barn door was ajar, unlocked like someone or something had slipped inside and didn’t bother closing it behind them. You’d scowled and tightened your grip on your gun, holding it steady in front of you as you stepped past the doorway. There was only one light, a dim overhead that you kept on during the night, illuminating the place in a sickly yellow glow. The first thing you noticed were the splatters of red on the concrete floor, like somebody had dragged something bleeding across it. It led all the way to a back corner, the one closest to the goats.

The pigs were still throwing a fit, running around their pen, squealing to each other. Some of the other animals had joined in; goats were bleating, chickens were clucking in their coop, and from the smaller barn outside, you could hear your two cows mooing with everything they had. It was a proper cacophony. A few of them quieted when they saw you, knowing you were here to take care of whatever threat had invaded their home, giving you a chance to think above the noise.

The closer you got to that corner, the more you could make out some kind of lump that wasn’t there before. The stench of death and blood wafted from it, making your stomach churn. At first, the lump didn’t budge… but you moved a little too loud, your boot crunching a loose clump of hay, and then there was a flash. A flash of red eyes, more animal than human with the way they reflected the light that barely reached, a flash that had you gasping and your finger flying to the trigger. The red faded into a deep blue so quickly you thought you imagined it, now left with a babbling man instead of a monster.

He shied away from your gun, backing himself up even further, shaky hands in front of his face like protection. His body was laced in wounds, beaten, bloody, and bruised, his clothing torn and soaked with red. His voice was fractured, coated in a thick southern drawl. “Please- please have mercy I- I ain’t have nowhere else to go they- they was chasin’ me I- just for the night ma’am, please-“

You nearly shoved the barrel of your gun to his forehead. “Who? Who was chasin’ you all the way onto my damn property?”

He was almost crying now, his words stumbling over one another. “Real- real bad men, ma’am- they wanted to rob me- take everything I got I- I didn’t know where else to go-“

“And you ain’t come to the house? Decided to crawl into my barn instead?” You demanded.

“I- I didn’t wanna bother ya- just needed somewhere to hide-“

You glowered. “Bothered my pigs plenty.”

“And I’m very sorry ma’am I- I promise I won’t bother ya none just- just let me stay for the night I- I’ll be gone by mornin’-“ He said, his whole body shaking like a dog left in the cold.

With the way he was bleeding, you didn’t know if he’d even last until morning. You kept staring at him, studying his dark hair, his sturdy features—he looked as if he’d known what it was like to work on a farm. “What’s your name?” You finally asked after a minute of tense silence.

He gave an uneasy smile, one that seemed too sharp instead of polite. “Remmick, ma’am. Yours?”

You hesitated before giving him your name, figuring you might as well return the pleasantry. You didn’t trust this Remmick fellow for shit but if you wanted to not deal with a dead body by sunrise and for your animals to have some peace, you needed to get him out of the barn. Regardless, your papa taught you better than to leave anyone—man or animal—to suffer. Plus, you had a gun and perfect aim and he didn’t.

You sighed, lowering the rifle by just an inch. Remmick noticed, something sparking behind his eyes like some twisted sense of hope. “C’mon then. I’ll patch you up and then send you on your way. Don’t want you ‘round here longer than you need to be.” You said, nodding towards the barn door.

His mouth dropped open just barely in disbelief, his hands coming together like he was praying. “Oh, thank you- thank you ma’am I- I owe ya my life-“

“Don’t be sayin’ that just yet.” You muttered.

You made him go ahead of you, still keeping your rifle tight against your chest as you both walked towards the farmhouse—well, more like you walked and he stumbled. You stepped into the house, expecting him to follow you, only to find he halted at the doorway, looking at it nervously. You arched a brow at the weirdo. “C’mon, what are you waitin’ for?”

You caught the subtle way his whole body seemed to react to your words, a barely there shudder and another flicker in the blue depths of his eyes. His hesitation was gone after that, immediately joining you inside with sure footsteps. You brought him into the kitchen, had him sit at your table while he looked around and you dug through a cabinet for the first aid kit. You got a bucket of water and a few rags before sitting yourself in front of him.

Remmick let you touch him without reservation, watching intently as you scrubbed the blood off his muscled arms, dabbing whatever wounds you found with antiseptic. There weren’t as many as you thought, and the ones that had seemed bad had miraculously started to close. You tried to ignore it, thinking instead that maybe he’s just a strangely fast healer.

While you were busy, his eyes had locked on to the old wedding ring on your finger, the way it caught the light drawing his attention. “Your man somewhere ‘round here?” He asked, breaking the silence so suddenly that you flinched. His voice had changed, holding more confidence, no longer a whimpering mess.

You met his gaze for just a second. “Why’re you askin’ about him? Thinkin’ of tryin’ somethin’? Think I can’t kill you myself?”

Remmick chuckled at that, a deep, throaty sound that sent a shiver up your spine. “Oh I know ya could, sweetheart. I was just wonderin’ what kinda man sends his wife into the barn alone with a gun to fend off a beast.”

You looked at him skeptically. “Yeah? And what kinda beast are you?”

He hummed low. “Maybe the worst kind, darlin’.”

You scoffed, nearly laughing in his face. “Yeah, right. You’d die to a bullet just the same.”

Before he could respond, you took his face in your hand, bringing him closer so you could wash off the dirt and blood. “My husband ain’t around anymore.” You said. “Hasn’t been for five years. Sickness took him.”

“M’sorry.” Remmick managed to say despite the way you squished his cheeks.

You shrugged. “Don’t be. I miss him every now and again but I’ve been handlin’ myself and this place just fine.”

You sat back when you deemed him clean enough, free of all the blood on his skin with a couple patches over the worst of his injuries. You gave him a pair of your husband’s old clothes, ones that fit him surprisingly well, and brought him into the living room, showed him the couch. “You can stay here for the night but if you move from here I’ll shoot you, understand? And I want you gone by mornin’.”

Remmick nodded earnestly. “Yes, ma’am. Thank ya for your kindness. If there’s any way I can repay ya-“

“You can repay me by bein’ gone, and not bringin’ anymore trouble ‘round here.” You said sharply, to which he just nodded again and took his place on the couch.

It was over for you after that night, because Remmick never left. You didn’t know what it was about him that made you let him stick around, to turn your home into his as well. It didn’t help that he was already enthralled with you from the first moment he saw you. With your rugged and earthy scent with a hint of something sweet beneath it like it was buried a long time ago, your complete lack of fear, and those sharp edges that he wanted to see every side of, he couldn’t get enough. It made him stay, made him watch you curiously and follow you around to see what you did.

He fit into your life like some puzzle piece you didn’t know you were missing. Though he was definitely an odd one, you didn’t question it. Didn’t question the way he never ate the meals you cooked, the way he stayed far from open windows, the way he always slipped out in the middle of the night when he thought you were sound asleep, the way his eyes caught the candlelight wrong. You didn’t question why he never stepped foot outside during the day, or why he came back smelling like rusty metal in the morning.

You two lived in easy cohabitation for close to a year, with you spending your days out in the fields with the animals while he remained safely tucked inside the farmhouse. Remmick fell into farm life easily, as if it was something he’d been doing for longer than you could understand. He eagerly helped however he could when the sun went down—hauling bags of feed into the storage shed, wheeling in bales of hay, grooming whatever animals would tolerate him. Most of them didn’t like him, didn’t trust him, like they knew something about him wasn’t right. It made you laugh harder than you had in years when one of the pigs rammed into him and knocked him over.

There was one night you were in the barn together, Remmick giving a few of the animals their dinner while you were high on a ladder, trying to fix some faulty wiring for the heater that had been acting up. You had been so focused on it that you didn’t realize how far you’d been leaning forward, or that the ladder had been resting on an uneven part of the floor.

Remmick wasn’t quick enough to catch you, to notice the way the ladder wobbled so dangerously, the thud and crack of your body making him violently sick. Bag of feed dropped and forgotten, he’d ran to your side. You’d never seen him so horrified as he fell to his knees, whispered no’s falling from his lips over and over while he cradled your broken body close, something within it shattered beyond repair. You couldn’t speak, could barely breathe, trembling hand just barely finding his sleeve to hold while you stared at the ceiling. You knew you didn’t want to die, especially not like this, but you were glad you weren’t dying alone, at least.

He couldn’t stand it—you, who had taken him in, cared for him so, who didn’t ask questions, now lying in his lap as the light visibly dimmed from your eyes. He wouldn’t let it happen, wouldn’t let you die right in front of him while there was still something he could do. He’d save you in a different way, the way he knew best, with teeth and blood and the tearing of flesh. The last thing you saw was those fangs you always tried to ignore, red eyes burning bright and fierce with desperation and need.

You woke up as something else, something new and as bloody as the day you were born. You were still you, but you knew you weren’t the same, that you never would be again. Your eyes opened to the sound of humming, a tune you didn’t recognize but felt older than the earth, a tune to lead you from death. Your breath came through your lungs in a strangled gasp, like your unfamiliar body wasn’t used to the action. You jolted harshly, your hands scrabbling at the air before a comforting, calloused hand found yours and held tight. “I got ya, baby, I’m here.” Remmick said soothingly, his other hand brushing the hair from your face. You were still in his arms, him holding you close like he was scared you’d drift away. There was nothing but relief in his crimson eyes when he saw you blink up at him, when your bones snapped back into place.

You sat up slowly, finally able to get a good look at Remmick, to see what he truly was. Blood stained his front—your blood, coating his chin and neck and the sharp teeth in his mouth. You felt your connection to him almost immediately, like the tightening of a knot, tying you to him in the deepest way possible. Every one of his memories was now yours, every thought and emotion shared between you like the flowing channel of a stream, able to flip through him like an open book.

“Re- Remmick- what-“ You tried to say, your throat struggling to remember the shape of the words or how to speak them without making them crack, like they became shredded by your new fangs on their way out.

“Easy, baby, just take it slow.” He told you, a hand gentle on your back. “Yer like me now, darlin’, hungry and wrong and violent and m’sorry- I- I just couldn’t let ya go, it was the only way. These animals need ya, I need ya. I’ll show ya everythin’ I know, I promise. You’ll always have me.”

You were slow to take to being a vampire. There was still part of you that was disgusted at having to drink blood, though you were no stranger to it because of the farm. You hated the way hunger constantly prodded at the back of your mind, you hated not being able to feel the sun on your skin anymore, not being able to sweat out in the fields with the horses.

Now unable to work during the daytime, you had to hire farmhands. Ones that didn’t question the fact they never saw you, ones that just quietly did their jobs, took their pay, and went home. You also had them take your produce into town, to sell it at the markets and bring back the profit so the townsfolk wouldn’t get too suspicious. If anybody did ask, you always said you got too busy, too caught up with caring for the farm to venture out. It made it stupidly easy for you and Remmick to slip out and find food without being discovered.

No matter what, you weren’t alone because Remmick held true to his promise, he taught you every little thing he’d learned over his impossibly long life, eager to finally be able to show you something new for once instead of the other way around. He always caught you when you stumbled, held you close when it got hard, kissed away your frustration, made all of it seem okay, made you believe in him.

It’s gotten better with time, just like it always does, and you think you’ve finally fallen into a cycle you could get used to… until there’s nights like tonight when Remmick decides to cause trouble.

You’re broken out of your thoughts as you gain view of the farmhouse, as you lead the new horses to pasture and Ranger back to her stall, freeing them of their saddles and gear. With your wounds still open and tender and closing slowly, you stagger towards the house as the sun threatens to rise over the horizon. You let the door slam shut behind you both, roughly propping your gun on the ground.

“The hell were you thinking, Remmick? The fuck did I tell you?” You demand, watching as he flinches at your raised tone, the rage simmering in your eyes.

He holds his hands up as if in surrender. “I’m sorry, darlin’, I know-“

“No, you clearly don’t know! It don’t get through that thick fucking skull of yours that you can put both of us, all of this,” you motion to the house, to the farm outside, “in jeopardy, bringing those damn hunters ‘round here, putting their bodies this close to my fucking property line. You better pray to whatever god damned you that nobody finds them before I can go back and get rid of them.”

Remmick’s face is full of regret, knowing how badly he fucked up, knowing he’s the reason you got hurt, the reason you’re so upset. “Baby please just- I didn’t mean t’bring ‘em here I- I tried to draw ‘em away but they kept chasin’ me-“

“I told you not to go east! I told you so many fucking times that there’s hunters that way, and what do you do? The fuck were you doing over there anyway, huh?” You snap, your teeth glinting with every word, your clawed hand gesturing wildly.

His body hunches in on itself like he’s trying to look smaller, more apologetic. “There wasn’t enough food ‘round here, I just-“

“God forbid you listen to me, right? I been doin’ this shit for nearly fifty years now and you still seem to think that means I don’t know what I’m talkin’ about. Why do you think I ain’t fightin’ for my life every week, huh? I ain’t runnin’ from hunters and wooden stakes and holy water, I ain’t dragging them back to my goddamn home. How d’you think I do that, Remmick? I’m quiet, I don’t bother anybody, and I stay where I’m s’posed to.” You’re inches from him now, tension sparking between you, your eyes ablaze. You flinch back when your shoulder sends a jolt of pain through your body, making you groan. “And now my shoulder is fucked—again.” It’s ironic that the one that got dislocated is the same one that’s always caused you trouble, even now in your immortal life.

Remmick reaches out towards you, but you step away from his hold, making him pause, even though his frustration is clear in his expression. “Baby, just let me help-“

“Go get some water and a rag.” You tell him sharply, already making your way upstairs without another glance.

Though Remmick would usually argue, would stake his place, he knows you better than that, knows to let you have your space when you need it. He lets you disappear upstairs while he does as you told him. It’s not unusual for you to act like this, to use your anger as some type of shield against worrying about him. The anxiety that had been clenching your lungs ever since you found him in the woods has finally let go enough to allow you to breathe. In the safety of your home, you feel like you could collapse at any second, and there’s still some guarded part of you that doesn’t want to do it in front of him.

Once in your bedroom, you allow yourself to take a deep, shaky breath. You shuck off your bloody and torn shirt—another one to throw away—leaving you in your bra and pants. The cold air kisses your skin, leaves goosebumps in its wake, and reveals the mess of your other injuries. The worst is your stab wound, though it’s nearly closed now but still pulsing beneath the surface.

You move towards your record player, putting on one of your favorites, the soothing melodies filling the room and calming the fire burning in your gut. You then stand in the doorway, bracing your shoulder against the edge, drawing breath into your lungs for some kind of courage. You hold it tight as you slam your shoulder as hard as you can into the wooden frame, a choked yell and a curse forcing its way out of your throat and a newfound pain bursting through your limbs. There’s a successful pop while your vision spins and you think you’d fall to the floor if Remmick didn’t catch you in his arms first.

“Now baby, why would you go and do that?” He demands, full of concern. “You should’ve let me do it-“

“I got it just fine on my own.” You say, though your words sound strained. You make yourself stand, pushing away from him, rolling your shoulder experimentally. The functionality is back, though you can feel the residual ache that makes you wince.

You avoid Remmick’s gaze despite how he tries so desperately to catch yours, instead pretending to be focused on your blood-stained arm and god- it breaks him. He takes your hands roughly in his, making you turn towards him. “Darlin’ please- please just look at me- I’m sorry baby, I know I messed up- yer right I- I shoulda listened to ya just please look at me-“ He begs, practically falling apart at the seams at the thought of you not gracing him with your affection. “I- I can’t live in this world if yer mad at me- you can’t do that to me, baby- we’re together in this you promised me-“

The pure desperation in his voice, the undercurrent of real fear, makes you finally meet his eyes. You reach your hands up, cradling his face between your palms, watching as he shudders at the action, a shaky sigh leaving his lips. “Damnit, Rem, you scared me.” You whisper. “You got into real trouble tonight.”

His hands eclipse yours. “I know, m’sorry-“

You break off his apology with a kiss, one fierce and bruising, relishing the way he instantly leans into it. You can feel how grateful he is for your touch, like he wouldn’t care if the entire world burned down as long as you kept holding him. Your tongues brush against each other, swiping off the last remnants of blood, tasting the iron tang that’s a constant between you. He groans appreciatively, his hands finding their place on your waist, the weight of them steady and familiar.

Remmick leads you to the bed while keeping his mouth on yours, swallowing every sound you make, drinking your spit like it’s water. He sits you down gently, nudges your legs apart with his knee before his lips are trailing down your body. “Lemme make it up to ya, baby. Lemme treat ya good.” He murmurs, kissing along your jaw and then down your neck, past where he bit you all those years ago. He cleans the blood off of you as he goes, the water and rag you’d told him to get long forgotten as he licks you like you’re his dessert. He kisses over your injuries, quietly urging them to heal faster, cursing the men that dared lay a hand on you.

He shimmies your pants down your legs so that all you’re left in is your hat and undergarments, though those don’t last long. Your bra and underwear find themselves on the floor, your nipples perked in the sudden chill. His palms smooth up your thighs as he sinks to his knees between your legs, spread wide to reveal your glistening cunt to him. His eyes gleam in the darkness, full of a different kind of hunger, drool pooling at the corners of his mouth. “My pretty girl.” Remmick tells you, kissing the insides of your thighs, steadily building up to that first lick through your folds.

As soon as his tongue is on you, your head falls back with a sound caught between a hum and a moan. With your arousal now heavy on his taste buds, he knows there’s no holding himself back. Remmick dives into your pussy like a man starved, collecting every drop that you give him with the flat of his tongue, dragging it up through your cunt and to the bundle of nerves at the top. He sucks your clit into his mouth, sending sparks of pleasure up your spine, your whines becoming louder as your hips begin to move in rhythm against his face.

Your fingers tangle in the black waves of his hair, keeping him right against your pussy—though he wasn’t going anywhere anyway. You know he loves when you pull at him, when you use him like a toy for your release. “That’s it, Rem, doin’ so good-“ you gasp, making him groan at the praise. You can feel the reverberations in your core, nothing but pure desire in them as he sucks and licks and kisses, the tips of his claws digging into the plush skin of your thighs. His cock strains painfully against his pants, and he can’t help but grind against your leg at the same time, desperate for any kind of friction.

You moan loud when he adds two fingers, stretching you open and pressing in all the right places. His tongue focuses on your clit, drawing patterns in a mixture of slick and spit while his fingers pump in and out of you with a steady pace. “Fuck- yes- such a good boy-“ You whine, Remmick shuddering from the petname, grinding his dick against you a little harder.

Remmick knows you’re close with the way your muscles tense, your pleasure becoming his pleasure between the bond that connects you, a knot forming in your lower abdomen and a fire raging beneath your skin. It only encourages him, his tongue licking across every inch of you, his fingers scissoring your plush walls, feeling the way they pulse and flutter. He whines into your cunt, humping you like an animal, chasing his own release at the same time.

With a final suck of your clit, you’re cumming around his mouth and fingers, nails digging into his scalp and your moan echoing in the room. He’s quick to follow, groaning brokenly as he soaks his boxers with his cum, the hot, wet mess pressing through to his pants, his whole body trembling. He doesn’t stop licking at you until he’s sure he got every ounce of your cum, until you have nothing left to give and you’re twitching in his grip. “Can’t get enough of ya- taste so goddamn sweet-“ Remmick pants against you when he finally pulls away to rest his head on your thigh, his chin shiny with your cum and his drool. You hum, brushing the sweat soaked curls from his forehead, his eyes closing like a content cat.

There’s a moment of pause where the room is only filled with the sounds of your shared, heavy breathing before his hand finds your knee, his thumb rubbing circles against your soft skin. “Yer still upset with me. I can feel it.” He mumbles, eyes opening again slowly so they can reach yours. One tug at your bond and he can feel the way you’re still tender from the night in more ways than one, even as you act soft with him now.

You sigh and cup his face once more, holding the weight of it in your palms. The red of his irises has begun to fade, blue starting to poke through as his adrenaline dwindles. There’s so much emotion within them as he looks at you, silently begging you to be honest. “You almost got killed.” The words are quiet, like an admission of a fear you don’t want to speak into the world.

“And you saved me.” He responds, equally as quiet but with reverence woven in.

“I might not always be here to do that.” You say bluntly, forcing yourself to speak hard truths, even despite how they threaten to make him crumble. You can see the way alarm sparks in his eyes at the mere suggestion. Your thumbs rub against his cheeks. “Why didn’t you call for me? Why did you leave me to guess at what happened?”

Remmick’s face turns just slightly so he can kiss your palm. “Because if I was gonna go out, I wanted to go out knowing you were safe. But I shoulda known better.” He huffs a laugh. In truth, he’s still not used to having someone care for him deep enough to actually come for him, to be there when he needs it most after hundreds of years of being brutally alone. Even now, he struggles to understand why you do it, why you put yourself on the line for something like him.

You’re quiet for a moment, and then, “I could’ve lost you.”

“I ain’t goin’ anywhere, baby, I promise.” He says with nothing but an earnestness so deep you have no choice but to believe him. “M’sorry, please don’t be mad, darlin’. I’ll do anythin’.”

Remmick knows he probably shouldn’t have said that as soon as you get a gleam in your eye. Your smile is soft but teasing. “If you really mean it, then you can wrangle the pigs inside later tonight.” You tell him, knowing how much trouble they always give him, running circles around him like he holds no authority at all.

His head hangs dramatically with a sigh. “Fine…anythin’ for you, baby.”

“And the goats.” You add. “Oh, and collecting the chickens. The horses too.”

He immediately sits up at that, expression terrified as bad memories spring to the forefront of his mind. “Now hold on, nuh uh, I ain’t gettin’ kicked again. I’ll do everythin’ else but those beasts.”

You laugh, taking your hat and pulling it down over his eyes, making him smile. “Alright, that’s your one exception.”

He always looks good with your hat on, especially as he tilts it back up over his forehead to rest properly on his hairline. You pull him up to kiss him, a soft, loving thing between you this time. It’s broken when your right shoulder smarts, still recovering from being dislocated, making you wince. Remmick frowns, kissing your shoulder like he could make it better with just his adoration. “How ‘bout I run you a bath? Get you cleaned up?” He offers quietly.

You hum your agreement. “Only if you join me.”

He smirks. “‘Course darlin’.”

Remmick helps you up, enjoying how you finally lean your weight against him, letting him lead you to the bathroom. He runs the hot water until the tub is full, adding the soaps and oils you like the best, holding your hand as you gingerly step into the warmth and he slips in behind you. You relax into his hardened body and gentle touch as he scrubs all the grime of last night off of you, as he rubs your shoulder with experienced hands to try and get out the aches and knots.

You stay there until the water starts to run cold, until Remmick is drying you off and putting you in your softest robe and nicest pair of pajamas. “You don’t have to treat me like I’m ’bout to break, y’know.” You tell him, even though you do appreciate the extra care. Now all clean and comfortable and your wounds gone, you can finally be at ease.

He kisses your cheek as he brings you back to bed, the sheets freshly changed and smelling like soap. “I’m just treatin’ ya like the woman I love, darlin’.”

Under the covers he brings you into his arms, holding you tight as you do the same, fingers clutching at his shirt. Your eyes drift shut, and the last thing you think is how grateful you are that you get to have him for another day.

[anundyingfidelity]

ESCAPADE — Logan Howlett

Summary: For a weekend, you and Logan decide to travel away from the school. Needless to say, you can't keep your hands off each other.

Pairing: Established Logan x female mutant reader. Also teacher!reader at Xavier's school. Set after DoFP ending where everyone is alive because I say so, but can be read however you want lol.

Warnings: pure smut, unprotected p in v, sex at a motel, reverse cowgirl, dirty talk, all the smutty stuff.

Notes: main language is not English, but hope you enjoy this filthy drabble. I need him to rail me so bad, bye.

GEN MASTERLIST!

God, he missed this so fucking much.

Logan groans, hands grabbing tightly your hips as you fuck yourself on top of him. Your ass against his skin every time you lower down to impale on his cock, over and over.

The sight is just completely perfect, holding yourself against his abdomen, back against his chest as he rests by the head of the bed.

And shit, he loves to hear you so damn much. Hear you whimper, moan, and sigh with every thrust he gives up to meet your flesh. He even would love to see your tits bouncing in front of him...

“Fuck, yes!”

That sweet out-loud moan leaving your lips causes him to pick up the pace. Your praise never fails to make him go feral, going rough and faster than before.

“Shit, right there- fuck! Feels so good!” Your pussy walls welcoming his cock, glistening with your arousal every time he almost pulled completely outside your hole.

It was your second day in that same motel room, fucking like animals. This wasn’t the plan at all when you originally left the mansion. Both of you just needed to be away at least for a couple of days to have time for yourselves, far from everything and everyone. You wanted to have an actual trip with nice dates, good food, and see the city, but the short time you two had was enough to just have you there on the bed, round after round. He missed your sweet sounds, that dirty side of you when no one was around. How you’d let him rail you as he pleased.

This is all he wanted. It is all he needs right now. You, on top of him, spread and ready for his cock to fuck your guts all day and night.

“Shit, you’re right there already again?” he grunts, feeling himself squeezed by your cunt.

He knows you’re close. And you just came again a couple of moments ago. Neither of you is counting how many times you already came as he fucked you. You whimper again, biting your lip and scratching his skin with your nails.

“Yeah, you there again,” he chuckles with that raspy voice. Immediately, his hands take you by the back of your knees, accomodating you on his lap. You yelp and stop for a second, letting him guide you again. Logan doesn’t give you a moment to get adjusted to new angle, instead thrusting up and fucking you so good that he knows the whole place is now aware of what is happening inside your room.

“I love how you feel around me,” he bites the shell of your ear as you arch your back, head on his shoulder, feeling a sweet release hitting you. “So fucking warm and wet, always ready for me…”

His voice does things on you and finally, your legs start shaking, pussy throbbing around his still hard cock.

“Shit-shit-oh!”

You try to close your thighs together but he does such a great job on keeping you spread for him, your hands are on his wrists trying to keep him away, but as much as you are a mutant yourself, Logan is too fucking strong even for you. You feel that familiar sting on your belly, crying out loud due to the overstimulation. The sensation is everywhere, taking upon your senses.

“Fucking come around me, baby,” Logan hisses, hips stuttering before finally spilling inside you with a low grunt, filling you up to the brim. His thrusts slow down, just enough to make sure you take his hot seed inside your cunt.

And then, in the aftermath, he leans against your cheek, placing soft kisses and mumbling against your ear as you take it all.“Yeah, that’s it… Such a good girl…”

“That was so good,” you mumble, angling your face so you finally kiss him, slow and wet, until he softens inside you. The feeling of his beard burns your skin deliciously every time you kiss. “Tired already?” you tease with a smirk once your lips are apart.

But he is thrusting into you softly again. You moan but smile back at him.

“Y’know I never grow tired of you, I might have to show you again, sweetheart.”

You clench around him, teasingly.

“With pleasure.”

He grunts in response. If only you had more time...

[navydoves]

Estranged

✎ᝰ summary. a fight with you leaves caleb with lingering, frustrating feelings. feelings he can only express one way.

✎ᝰ cw. masturbation, sex toy, orgasm denial, just regular denial lol, desperation, whimpering and whining

✎ᝰ a/n. i had to give y’all some caleb food lmfao. not proofread, spare me.

࣪𖤐

by morning you had already taken off. no goodbye hugs or wishes, just a simple glance and a hum was all you left caleb before you scurried out of the house with your duffle bag.

the night prior, with great excitement, you informed caleb about your plans to attend this new academy. you usually wouldn’t wait until the last minute to tell him about such a big change in your life, but you knew how he was. protective, worrisome, and a little hovering over you.

and just as you expected, the whole ordeal ended in an argument with caleb upset you didn’t tell him sooner, and you upset that he couldn’t understand why you didn’t.

expectedly, he didn’t want you to go. he practically begged for you to stay, maybe at the very least delay until next training season so he had more time to with you right now, but you fought back. you were passionate about being a hunter, and accommodating your life for caleb to this extent was unacceptable.

and as much as caleb wanted to scratch at the floors and walls and get on his knees to grovel like he was at gunpoint, he knew you’d lose respect for him. so after a few hours of fighting, he let go. the one thing worse than not seeing you was knowing you didn’t want to see him.

the night after that was quiet, and the morning even more so. nothing about your shuffling through the house walls was comforting. he knew you were about to take your leave. as much as it hurt him, he did really want to see your face before you left.

so when he peaked out his bedroom door and caught a glimpse of you down the hall, uninterested and dismissive of his existence, a hole was shot right through him. it was best to leave you alone now. you couldn’t ignore him forever, even if you were leaving for the time being.

the front door closing was painful too, but it gave caleb a space to think over his thoughts now. he replayed every moment of anger you displayed the night before. the hurt in your eyes and voice had him rethink his role in your life. he didn’t want to let you go, never ever. not even if you were old and greying, he wouldn’t be able to let go.

while compartmentalizing was easy in the space fleet, it was harder when it involved you. you were caleb’s life, his reason for existence. even this argument was making him sick just from mere memory.

the full day went wasted with caleb wallowing in his own regret and frustration, and by the time night hit, he was at his wits end.

lights dimmed and body stripped of his loungewear, caleb could do nothing but force himself into the slippery hole he bought for himself.

his face was planted into his pillow right by a polaroid of you taken at one of the arcades you two frequent. you loved those photobooths, and despite most of the prints being him and you, caleb made sure to snag a couple with only you in them. for mementos sake, of course. he didn’t see himself using them for this…

each aggressive thrust into the pocket pussy threatened to pierce it entirely. the outline of caleb’s cockhead pushed into the rubber silicone of the toy and stretched the material out a little bit more with every moment. emotion was not devoid here, he was giving it—you—every ounce of his frustration.

“agh, im so sorry, im so sorry,” he whimpers. “come back… i need you to come back. i was so—ngh—fucking stupid. please… please please…”

the concoction of his emotions and the sensations of pleasure made it hard for caleb to keep his eyes open and on the picture of you, but he forced himself to anyway. he forced himself to be reminded why he was doing this—for what he was doing this for. to reprimand himself, to hope you’d somehow come bawling back to him.

“you wanna be a—ah—big girl, go doing stuff on your own… but you forget that i need you…” caleb hisses while shaking his head at the polaroid of you. “i need you… why don’t you need me the same? i’m the one who takes care of you.”

the sounds of pleasure in the room were abundant. not just of caleb’s rough groans and needy whimpers, but also the wet slaps caused by his thick cock insisting into the silicone of a pussy.

see, caleb had intentionally picked this specific design of toy out. it was a pocket pussy that most closely matched your skin tone and most closely resembled your folds. this way, he could imagine this was truly you and that he wasn’t pathetic enough to seek faux warmth in a sex toy. but he could never, ever replicate the true warmth of your body, of your insides. not that he knew what you felt like, of course, you’ve yet to let him in. he’d only briefly seen you bare and vulnerable, but that sight was etched into his mind like knife to wood.

it only made this whole ordeal more frustrating.

“i… fuck, i know you what’s best for you. couldn’t you at least have told me earlier? dumb girl—ah, ngh—you don’t know how much i love you.”

the sloppy wet noises coming from the pocket pussy only seemed to grow more desperate. what started off as a completely dry and somewhat tight toy had become a mess of sloshy arousal, simply from caleb’s pre-cum. the more he fucked it, the less it seemed like you. in caleb’s head, maybe you would writhe and moan, even reciprocate and squeeze around him every time he did something you liked. he wouldn’t be fucking the cum into silicone sadness, but instead, a warm and loving womanhood that was built to fit him perfect.

but fuck, fuck, fuck. he couldn’t have that. you weren’t even here.

“mngh, fu… i-i have to… cum… fuck!”

caleb hisses and quickly yanks the fleshlight off of his cock and let’s out a low groan of frustration at the sudden orgasm denial. his knees shook gently and almost gave out from weakness but he stills himself. his other hand grabs the picture of you and brings it to his lips for a gentle kiss, almost as if to release that frustration in the form of affection for you. he spends the next few minutes catching his breath and making out with the polaroid of you, weakly murmuring praises and apologies as if he was by your ear.

below, his cock throbbed angrily at the rejection. it bobbed up to his stomach and dribbled more obscene drops of precum onto his abdomen. it was practically jumping, reminding caleb of his neglect.

gently, caleb turns over and lays on his back, legs spread and cock aimed at the dripping entrance of the pocket pussy. he keeps the polaroid of you in his left hand while his right moves the silicone toy over his cock, punishing it again for not being you. the movement was slippery and wet and coated caleb’s cock in leftover precum. immediately, pleasure jolts back into his body, causing his eyes to roll back.

“ah, fuck, oh god,” caleb whines, “fuck i wanna cum again… fuck fuck fuck, don’t cum, don’t cum, don’t cum.” he squints at the polaroid again and feigns a loud groan. “ah… ah, i almost came. fuck, d’ya’see what you do to me, my dumb girl? oh god…” caleb doesn’t relent in his masturbation, though. he continues moving the fleshlight over his pulsing cock in the same rhythmic movement, again, letting the cockhead spear the top and stretch the material in a filthy manner.

the polaroid of you was shaky in his hand. this cruel game he was playing with himself with denial and regret was overwhelming just as much as the physical pleasure was.

“i miss you, i don’t even know when you’re gonna be back. i spent all that time—“ caleb hisses in pleasure,”—all that time fighting with you, couldn’t even get a few dates out of it.”

he squeezes the flashlight to bring back some tightness, causing him to groan once more. he lays the polaroid slightly on his face and almost whimpers from seeing your face so close. “fuck, don’t hate me. don’t hate me, my sweet girl. i just… ack—“

the sloppy strokes and squeezing of his cock caused caleb’s cock to ache once more and threaten to release an intense orgasm. he stills the pocket pussy once more and cries out soft sounds of your name. it only took another minute or so for the ache to go down, but the frustration within him did not quell.

once more caleb shifts positions. this time on his knees and elbows again. he puts the pocket pussy right underneath his cock and the polaroid of you on the pillow right where he could look down on it. without hesitation, he slips himself into the pocket pussy and almost curses at the feel. it was overstimulating to say the least, but he didn’t want this to end. this was his repentance, his devotion.

“fuuuuck,” caleb drawls out, his voice raspy and low.

he starts thrusting into the pocket pussy with slow, rhythmic strokes to ensure he didn’t build an orgasm too fast again. over your picture like this, it was easier to imagine the real you underneath him, taking his cock nice and deep just like the fleshlight was.

the mere visualization was enough to push caleb to a core shattering orgasm, but he withheld it with every muscle in his body.

slow, deep pounds was what he was giving the silicone pussy. it wasn’t just masturbation, it was practice at this point.

this is how he’d do it for your first time. as soon as you were trained to take him fully, he’d thrust himself nice and deep, battering you gently with his girth until you had no choice but to orgasm.

ideally it’d be raw, no barriers between you and him. and ideally, he’d cum inside you, but you might adverse to those ideas. but none of that mattered, not when you were hundreds of miles away and with your friends, training and bettering yourself as a person instead of being with caleb.

“mm, that feels so good, sweet girl. feels so so good,” caleb huffs, pretending to praise you by looking at your smiley photo. “if you’d let me, i’d apologize to you like this—ngh—but you won’t right? won’t let me pleasure you yet, won’t let take care of you, won’t tell me where you’re going, won’t let me love you properly.”

a new wave of frustration was building again within caleb. his judgment was clouded and impaired even all these hours later. he tried to hold back his passion, but the thrusts just kept getting harder and harder.

“i’ll beg baby, i’ll beg for your forgiveness,” caleb growls softly. “i’ll beg and once you do forgive me, cause i know you will, i’ll make it up to you and teach you that everything you need is right here.”

he gives a punctual thrust to emphasize the last word. the pocket pussy at this point was nothing short of ruined and beaten up by a man’s fervor. and yet, it was the closest he could get to you so wear and tear was not on caleb’s mind.

he leaned down slightly to the polaroid of you and gave it a gentle kiss as if he was actually kissing your cheek. he nuzzled the plastic and whined as he felt his orgasm approach again. but this time, it felt more powerful and greedy than the last two he denied. interrupting this one would send pain throughout his body, it’d break his spirit in the moment.

caleb’s hands clenched onto the sheets to steady himself and his thrusts. the fleshlight stood no chance against his strong cock, and soon, it would be completely owned and claimed in desperation.

“hah… ah… ahhhh, fuck fuck fuck, i need to cum!” caleb cries out before planting his face into the pillow right beside your photo. his body could no longer take the denial and pain and it punished caleb with an intense orgasm that ripped right through his cock and into the pocket pussy.

the entire lower half of caleb’s body twitched and jolted at such an intensity that he could barely steady himself. several spurts of cum filled the sex toy up with ease and soon it was oozing out of the stretched hole and dripping onto the bed sheets. he gave a few more half-hearted thrusts into the hole before pulling out completely and collapsing onto the bed.

the pocket pussy was just as spent as caleb was. it’s stretched material was milky white both inside and out. it had been punished senselessly.

caleb had also been punished, but by you. an orgasm so strong could only be mended by thinking of you, but that was too painful right now. he rolled to his side and took the polaroid of you in his hands and smiled at your printed expression. it was bittersweet, to say the least.

a part of him wanted to reach for his phone and text you just to check up, but realistically he knew you wouldn’t respond. wounds were still fresh and he’d have to wait at least a few days. he just had to try not to kill himself in that time.

the smile from him drops and a somber face replaces it.

“i miss you,” caleb whispers, “and it’s only been a day. i’m the worst ever, right? my whole job is to keep you here and safe, to protect you from everyone else out there, but… the fact that you’re gone means i failed. i don’t why you’re so eager to leave me, sweet girl. you’ll find out independence isn’t that fun, you’ll come back to me again and i’ll say i told you so. but, until then, learn how cruel everyone else is.”

the smile reappears. he doesn’t make an effort to get up and clean himself or the fleshlight. he just stays where he is, admiring your photo.

gently, he places it down next to him on the pillow and pulls up the bedsheets to cover half of the photo—still leaving your face visible.

“goodnight pip, i’ll make you breakfast in the morning.”

࣪𖤐

[pankesitopank]

oh i have a poly request if thats okay.

minhwa or yunwoo or yunhwa (you pick) being roommates with reader and theyre doing it without the other knowing. like reader is sleeping both of them but they didnt know. until they do know and que the threesome lol

i love roommates trope

What They Don't Know

pairing: Mingi x Reader x Seonghwa

wc: 5k

cw: poly!mingixreaderxseonghwa; smut without plot; secret "relationship" (like, they are no a couple, they just fuck); threesome duh (mxwxm); double penetration; possessive behavior (mingi); no condom (a true diva use one); idk, if i missed something let me know!!!

note: It took me so long to finish this.... m sososo sorry, I hope it's what you had in mind and I hope you like it! It's the longest piece I have!!!

You’d told yourself it was a one-time thing.

The first time you fucked Mingi, it was reckless and fast and shouldn’t have happened—but the problem was, it didn’t feel like a mistake. It felt like something you’d both been building toward since the moment you moved in.

Now it’s the third time, and he’s got your leg slung over his broad shoulder as he fucks into you on the living room couch. The TV is still on—some mindless show playing in the background—but it might as well be silent for all you can hear over the wet, messy rhythm of his hips meeting yours and the low groans escaping his throat.

“Shit,” Mingi pants, leaning forward until his chest is brushing your knee, the new angle making you gasp. “You’re so fucking tight today. You miss me?”

You bite your lip, trying not to moan too loudly. The walls aren’t that thick, and Seonghwa’s bedroom is just down the hall.

“Mingi—” you whisper, breath hitching when he grinds into you, staying deep and rolling his hips slowly.

He grins like the devil. “That’s not a no.”

You’d like to say you’re in control of this. That the two of you falling into bed was a power play, a casual thing, an itch scratched. But every time you let him in—literally and otherwise—you’re left feeling less like the one calling the shots and more like a girl who keeps saying yes to her cocky, loud, stupidly hot roommate who doesn’t know how to wear a shirt.

Or close a door.

“Mingi—faster,” you whisper, fingers tightening in the fabric of the couch.

“Oh, now you wanna tell me what to do?” he chuckles low in his chest, but he does it anyway, pulling back to snap his hips in hard, quick thrusts that make your head fall back against the cushions.

The sound is obscene—wet and rhythmic and too loud—and the fact that Seonghwa could walk in any second only makes it hotter.

You shouldn’t like this. You shouldn’t crave the danger, shouldn’t enjoy the way Mingi’s hand clamps over your mouth as he fucks you harder, muffling the sounds that threaten to slip out.

But you do. You like the way his fingers curl around your face, how he doesn’t stop even when your eyes go wide and your legs twitch around his waist. You like that he gets off on it too.

“You’re dripping,” he groans, dragging his thumb over your cheekbone. “Like this pussy knows who it belongs to.”

He’s possessive, but in a way that feels addictive—like he wants to ruin you just enough that no one else could ever compare.

(Not that he knows someone else already is.)

You whine under his hand, your nails digging into his bicep as your hips jerk up into his, chasing your high.

“Almost there, baby?” he murmurs, pulling his hand away just enough for you to gasp for air. “Come for me. You always get so fucking wet when I talk like this, huh?”

“Mingi—fuck—” your voice breaks, and you arch under him, thighs trembling.

“That’s it,” he growls, grinding deep into you with a stuttering rhythm as you clamp down around him. “God, you’re perfect.”

You don’t hear the front door open.

Or the way Seonghwa’s bedroom door clicks shut from down the hall.

But Mingi does.

He freezes.

Your eyes snap open just as he covers your mouth again and leans down, his hips still buried inside you, sweat dripping from his brow. His lips brush your ear.

“Stay quiet,” he whispers, barely audible, “or he’s gonna find out what a little slut you are for me.”

Your whole body tightens at the words, arousal pooling again even as your mind screams at you to be more careful.

Footsteps in the hallway.

You and Mingi don’t move.

For a breathless second, it feels like everything will fall apart.

But then the bathroom door clicks shut and the shower starts, and Mingi—smiling like a boy who just stole candy from the store—starts moving inside you again.

“Missed you too much,” he mutters, kissing your neck. “Gonna finish, then I’ll clean you up.”

You wrap your legs around his waist, biting into your lip as he picks up the pace again.

This isn’t just a fling. It isn’t just a secret.

It’s a time bomb.

You don’t remember how it started, exactly. Maybe the night you came home after drinks with Seonghwa, tipsy and giggling and falling over your own feet. Mingi had been awake—shirtless, of course, sitting on the counter and eating noodles like he didn’t have a care in the world.

“You look hot,” he’d said, blunt as ever. “You’re lucky Hwa’s not a little braver.”

You’d laughed, thinking it was a joke.

It wasn’t.

He’d kissed you before you could put your purse down.

And you’d let him.

That night, he’d bent you over the kitchen counter and told you not to be loud. You came twice and almost knocked over a glass in the process. He didn’t even ask if it was a bad idea.

He knew it was. You both did.

That was two weeks ago.

Now, it’s become a game—secret glances over breakfast, brushing hands on the couch, sneaking into his room in the middle of the night while Seonghwa’s fast asleep. It’s messy, addictive, and exhilarating.

But sometimes… you feel guilty. Because Seonghwa isn’t just your roommate too. He’s sweet. Gentle. He makes you tea when you’re stressed, brings you snacks when you’re working late, and always knocks before coming into your room.

He’s not the type to throw you against a wall and make you scream—but you’ve wondered, late at night, what would happen if he did.

Sometimes, the guilt hits while Mingi is asleep beside you, one hand curled possessively over your hip.

Other times, it hits when Seonghwa is smiling at you over his coffee mug and calling you “angel” like it means something.

You shouldn’t have slept with either of them.

But you did.

And you’re not sure you can stop.

Not when Mingi pulls your panties down in the laundry room because you teased him too hard during dinner. Not when he whispers filth in your ear when Seonghwa is in the room, watching you with those soft eyes like he doesn’t have a clue.

Only… you’re starting to think he might.

Or worse—Mingi’s going to find out that he’s not the only one who’s had you moaning into a pillow behind closed doors.

And when he does?

You have no idea what’s going to happen.

It starts with comfort.

A quiet night, both of you curled up on the couch under the same blanket, legs tangled, half-watching some drama neither of you are really following. Mingi’s out with friends and the apartment is calm for once—no blasting music, no yelling from the kitchen, no sudden crashes.

Just the sound of rain against the windows and the soft, steady beating of your heart as Seonghwa’s fingers stroke over your shin where it rests across his lap.

You should move.

It’s too familiar—too cozy—and you know what’s been happening with Mingi, what’s still happening, but…

But Seonghwa looks so beautiful tonight.

Hair pushed back from his face, wearing that oversized white sweater you once teased him for because it made him look like someone’s boyfriend.

He didn’t argue.

He just smiled and said, “You’d look better in it.”

You told him he was full of shit.

He said he wasn’t joking.

That was the first time you looked at him a little differently.

This is the first time you kiss him.

His lips are warm and soft, and the way his breath catches makes your chest ache. He doesn’t rush. Doesn’t push. Just cups your cheek like he’s afraid you’ll vanish and kisses you again, deeper this time.

Like he’s wanted this. For a while.

You moan without meaning to, and he pulls back just slightly, eyes dark but uncertain.

“Tell me to stop,” he whispers, thumb stroking under your jaw. “If this isn’t—”

“I don’t want you to stop.”

It’s too easy to say. Too honest. And it’s not a lie. You don’t want him to stop.

Even if it’s wrong.

Even if Mingi was inside you three days ago with your hand over your mouth to keep you quiet.

Seonghwa doesn’t know.

And he kisses you like he wants to worship you.

You don’t sleep with him that night.

You kiss until your lips are sore and he touches you over your clothes, hand down your pajama shorts and fingers moving so gently it makes you shiver.

He makes you come with slow, teasing strokes, murmuring soft praises against your temple the whole time, and then lets you curl up against him under his blankets, warm and trembling.

In the morning, he makes you breakfast. Kisses your wrist when he hands you coffee.

Mingi walks in halfway through the meal, yawning and rumpled and clearly nursing a hangover.

“Why’s everyone so happy?” he groans, flopping into a chair.

Seonghwa just grins.

You almost choke on your eggs.

The guilt is different this time.

With Mingi, you felt like you were playing with fire. Like it was a game of who could sneak around better, who could take more risks without getting caught. And you loved the danger of it. Still do.

But with Seonghwa… it feels more like you’re breaking something sacred.

He doesn’t treat you like a fuck.

He treats you like something he wants to hold onto.

There’s less noise. Less desperation. But so much more meaning.

Like the night he has you on his desk, the one covered in sketchbooks and open novels. He’d spent the whole day working on a song, headphones on, completely zoned out—and you’d wandered in, sat in his lap, teased him about how long it’d been since you’d had his attention.

He kissed you so deep your toes curled.

Now your shirt is halfway off and his hands are dragging your panties down your thighs while you sit on the edge of his chair.

“Hwa—” you whisper, but he hushes you with a kiss, tongue slipping into your mouth as his fingers glide between your legs.

“Need you,” he says against your lips. “I’ve been thinking about this all day.”

You whimper when he slides two fingers in, curling them just right, and you’re already so wet that it’s shameful.

“You always get this wet for me,” he murmurs, kissing your jaw. “You know how good you feel? How sweet?”

You nod, even as your eyes flutter shut.

“Look at me, angel.”

You do.

And when you come on his fingers, biting into his shoulder to stay quiet, he holds you through the aftershocks like you’re something fragile.

You shouldn’t want this.

You shouldn’t crave the way he touches you like you matter.

But you do.

And you can’t stop.

It doesn’t take long for patterns to form.

Mingi gets your body. Seonghwa gets your heart.

Or maybe you’re just lying to yourself to make it feel better.

Because sometimes, you see Seonghwa look at you like he’s sure he’s the only one touching you like this. The only one who’s kissed your thighs, your stomach, your lips with so much care. The only one who’s fucked you slow in the shower and whispered that you’re the only one he thinks about when he’s in bed alone.

Sometimes he brings you flowers on random days. Sometimes he cooks for you, then leaves a plate out with your name on it if you’re working late. Sometimes, he lingers in doorways with that look in his eyes like he’s about to say something important, but never does.

You want to deserve that.

But when Mingi corners you in the kitchen one night and fucks you over the sink because you moaned his name in your sleep the night before, all of it comes crashing back.

You’re caught between two men who think they’re the only one.

And you’re falling for both of them.

The scariest part?

You don’t want to stop.

Seonghwa makes you feel wanted. Needed.

He’s the one who makes your heart race when he brushes your hair behind your ear. The one who memorizes your drink order and buys your favorite snacks. The one who holds you like you’re more than a warm body in his bed.

But he’s also the one who never asks where you go late at night.

Never questions why you come out of the bathroom with Mingi’s hoodie on.

Never stops to think that maybe—just maybe—he’s not the only one who has you like this.

And maybe it’s because he doesn’t want to know.

Or maybe he already does.

One night, after Seonghwa’s made you come so hard you see stars, he tucks the blanket around you and brushes a kiss over your forehead.

“I wish we could tell him.”

Your stomach lurches.

You shift to look at him, heart hammering in your chest. “Tell… who?”

He smiles, eyes soft but sad. “Mingi.”

“I—”

“I know you’re scared,” he says gently. “But he loves you, too, you know. Just in his own way.”

You’re frozen.

Seonghwa doesn’t push. He just kisses your knuckles and pulls you close again.

You don’t sleep at all that night.

And the next morning, Mingi watches you across the table with something unreadable in his eyes.

It was supposed to be a quiet afternoon.

Mingi had left that morning, a little earlier than usual—just said he was grabbing coffee with a friend and maybe hitting the gym. You'd kissed him goodbye with swollen lips, sore thighs, and one too many bite marks on your neck from the night before. Seonghwa had only smirked at the sight when you wandered into the kitchen later, shirtless and stretching like nothing was out of the ordinary.

You thought Mingi would be gone for hours. Enough time. Plenty of time.

You thought wrong.

The front door cracked open softly. Mingi stepped inside, earbuds still in, phone in one hand, keychain swinging in the other. He kicked off his shoes without a sound, half-listening to a voice message—until he heard it.

A soft sound. A moan, muffled.

He paused.

The hallway stretched toward the bedrooms, and everything about the apartment seemed normal. Quiet. Peaceful.

Except…

Another sound. Louder this time. A gasp. Faint, but real. And yours.

Mingi frowned, pulled out one earbud. His feet carried him slowly, cautiously down the hall. Something in his gut twisted—confusion first. Then something colder. Something hotter.

And then he heard it again.

Your voice. Breathy. High. Seonghwa's name.

A crack of skin on skin.

The rhythm of it is unmistakable.

Mingi’s breath caught. His whole body went still in the hallway.

No. No way.

He stepped forward, just once, and the view that met him through the barely ajar door made his heart stop.

There you were—straddling Seonghwa in his bed, riding him like you were fucking made for it. Hair sticking to your sweat-slicked neck, lips parted, moaning with every bounce of your hips. Your back arched, tits bouncing, fingers digging into his chest as Seonghwa held your waist and thrusted up to meet you.

Mingi couldn't move.

Couldn't breathe.

What the fuck.

Shock. Then fury. Then—

Lust.

It hit him like a truck. Because you looked so fucked out, so pretty, so ruined—and not by him. By Seonghwa. His best friend. His roommate.

He knew that face you were making. He knew the way you whimpered when you were getting close. He knew that you were about to come.

And it wasn’t for him.

You didn’t even notice him at first. Neither of you did. Too lost in it. Too noisy. Seonghwa was panting curses into your skin, one hand tangled in your hair, the other squeezing your ass hard enough to bruise.

Then your eyes fluttered open.

And you saw him.

Standing in the hallway. Watching.

Everything froze.

Your breath hitched. Your body stopped moving. Your mouth opened, but nothing came out.

Mingi’s jaw was clenched. His stare sharp and unreadable. Arms at his sides, chest rising slowly—too slowly. And then…

He stepped inside.

Silent. Stalking. Dark eyes locked on you like you were prey. Seonghwa sat up, trying to cover you instinctively, but Mingi raised one hand to stop him.

"Don't," he said quietly. A whisper. A warning.

You opened your mouth to speak, to explain, to beg—but he was already standing at the edge of the bed, eyes dragging over the way Seonghwa’s cock was still buried in you, your body frozen in place, your skin glistening.

“How long,” he asked, voice low, too calm.

You swallowed. “Mingi—”

“I said,” he cut in, stepping closer, “how long have you been fucking him too?”

You trembled. “Not… not that long…”

“Bullshit.” His voice cracked now, heated. “You think I don’t know how you sound when you’re close? How you look when you’re about to come?”

Your silence said everything.

Mingi laughed once. Dark. Bitter. But there was a curl to his lips that made your stomach flip.

"You've been fucking both of us. For weeks."

It wasn’t a question.

And when you nodded—small, sheepish, shivering—something in him snapped.

“That’s so fucking dirty,” he breathed, stepping closer to the bed. “You’re filthier than I thought.”

Seonghwa opened his mouth, maybe to defend you, maybe to apologize—but Mingi didn’t even look at him. His eyes were glued to you.

“You let him fuck you in our apartment. In his room. With my cum probably still inside you.”

You flinched.

“Oh,” Mingi smiled. It was not kind. “That’s what it is, huh? You like this. You like being caught. Being used. Being filled by both of us.”

He reached out and brushed his fingers over your cheek. You whimpered.

“Mingi, I—”

“I should make you get on your knees right now and explain exactly how many times you’ve done this behind my back.”

You shuddered.

“But you know what?” he whispered, leaning in close, mouth grazing your ear. “I’m so hard right now, baby. So fucking hard. You’ve been playing with fire for weeks, and now…”

His eyes flicked to Seonghwa, who was still breathless, wide-eyed beneath you.

“…now I think it’s time you burned.”

He backed up a step. Tugged his shirt over his head, slow and purposeful, baring the sculpted lines of his chest, his abs flexing with every breath. Your mouth went dry.

"You wanted this?" Mingi asked you, voice low and hot. "You wanted to be fucked by both of us? At the same time?"

You nodded. Breathless. Shame and desire tangled in your gut.

He tugged his sweatpants down, and his cock sprang free—hard, heavy, throbbing. The sight of it made your cunt clench around Seonghwa.

“Oh, you do like this,” Mingi muttered, staring at where the two of you were still connected. “Still dripping from him, and your greedy pussy’s already clenching again.”

He climbed onto the bed behind you, spreading your knees wider as he leaned in to speak low in your ear.

“I’m going to fuck you too,” he whispered, dragging his cock along the curve of your ass. “You’re going to sit on both our cocks before I’m done with you. You’ll take us like the little cock-hungry slut you are.”

You whimpered, head falling back.

Mingi bit your shoulder.

“Beg for it.”

You hesitated.

He slapped your ass once, sharp and fast. You gasped.

“Beg.”

“Please, Mingi… I want you both. I want you so bad, I—”

“Tell me who you belong to.”

You shuddered. “You—both of you—”

“No,” he growled. “Say my name.”

“Mingi,” you gasped. “I’m yours.”

His cock nudged your hole from behind.

Seonghwa gripped your hips tighter.

And you knew, in that moment, there was no going back.

Mingi kissed your shoulder—then looked over it, straight at Seonghwa.

“Don’t stop,” he said.

Seonghwa’s eyes burned. “You sure?”

“I want to watch,” Mingi whispered. “I want to feel her come on your cock. And then I’m going to fuck it back out of her.”

Your whole body trembled.

And just like that, the rhythm started again—Seonghwa’s thrusts, deeper now, more intense, as Mingi held you in place, cock teasing between your folds. He didn’t slide in yet. He waited. Made you feel the heat of him. Made you ache.

And just as you started to come undone, voice cracking, walls fluttering around Seonghwa—

Mingi grabbed your jaw and kissed you hard.

“You’re ours now,” he murmured. “Hope you’re ready.”

Because this was only the beginning.

Your knees are still jelly from being caught—fucked—against the hallway wall, Mingi’s hand on the back of your neck, the growl in his throat echoing in your ears. Seonghwa’s voice still haunts your skin, the way it trembled when he realized what was happening, when he saw what you had done. And now—now you’re laid out between them, thighs trembling, mouth parted, eyes wet and barely able to focus.

Mingi’s behind you. Seonghwa’s in front. And they’re both looking at you like they’re going to devour you whole.

“Oh, baby,” Seonghwa murmurs, dragging his fingertips along your jaw like he’s trying to memorize it. “You were really gonna keep this to yourself?”

“I didn’t— I just—”

“You wanted us both,” Mingi cuts in, low and molten, his hand skimming up the back of your thigh. “You couldn’t choose. So you didn’t. You let us both fuck you like it was a secret.”

“It wasn’t like that—”

“But you let it happen,” Seonghwa finishes for him, leaning closer, his breath hot against your lips. “And now look at you.”

Pinned between their bodies, naked and heaving, your skin marked by both of them already—bruises blooming along your collarbone, teeth indents in your thigh, slick smearing down your inner leg. You’re soaked, overwhelmed, and so close to tears from the heat of it all—and they haven’t even really started.

“Such a pretty little liar,” Mingi purrs against your ear, his voice full of dangerous affection. “But if you’re gonna be ours, baby, you don’t get to keep secrets anymore.”

You gasp when you feel it—his cock, hard and thick, pressing against the back of your thigh.

“Oh my god—Mingi—”

“Don’t worry,” he whispers, sliding one hand around to your front to part your folds, “We’re gonna fuck you so good, you won’t even remember your name.”

And just like that—he pushes in.

Your mouth opens in a silent scream as Mingi’s cock sinks into you from behind, slow but deliberate, stretching you wide—wider than Seonghwa had minutes ago. He groans behind you, head tilted back, the heat of your pussy pulling a low, broken sound out of him.

“Fuck, baby. You’re so tight after Hwa… still greedy, though. Still taking all of me.”

Seonghwa watches the way your face crumbles, leaning in to kiss the corner of your lips.

“You’re so pretty when you cry,” he says, his voice velvet and cruelly sweet. “Is that why you wanted us both? So we could see how wrecked you’d get with two cocks instead of one?”

“I— I can’t—”

“Yes you can,” Mingi growls, gripping your hips tighter. “You’re gonna take both of us. Right now.”

Your eyes go wide. “B-Both?”

Seonghwa smiles slowly. “Oh, sweetheart… You didn’t think we’d share you without fucking you at the same time, did you?”

You can barely breathe as Seonghwa slides down your body, shuffling between your shaking thighs. You feel him nudge your entrance with two long fingers, already coated in your slick, and then—slowly, teasingly—he slides them into your already stuffed pussy beside Mingi’s cock.

You scream. There’s no other word for it. The stretch is unreal, your walls fluttering and fighting to accommodate the width, the heat, the obscene pressure.

“Shhh,” Seonghwa coos, kissing your temple, “You’re doing so good. Just let us in.”

And then—you feel him line up lower. Lower. At your tight, untouched hole.

“Wait— Hwa—what are you—”

“Gonna fuck your pretty ass, baby,” he says, voice breathless as he kisses your cheek. “Fill you up from the other side. You want that, don’t you? Want to be completely ours?”

Your whole body trembles, but you nod. Whimper. Beg. Anything. Just do it. You’re too far gone to say no. You need them. You need all of them.

Mingi growls as he braces your hips. “God, you’re so fucking filthy.”

Seonghwa lubes you up with his spit, his fingers gentle but insistent, working you open with care—but you’re already so overstimulated, every touch sends sparks through your spine.

And when he finally slides in, pushing into that second tight ring of muscle with a low groan—

You break.

Your voice cracks, your hands scramble for something to hold, but all you feel is them—their heat, their cocks, their hands, their mouths. You’re pinned in place, fully impaled, filled everywhere.

Seonghwa kisses your shoulder softly. “You okay?”

You nod, sobbing, gasping—“Yes. Please. Move.”

And they do.

The pace they set is brutal.

Mingi rocks into you from behind, slow and hard, while Seonghwa thrusts up into your ass, perfectly timed so you never have a second to breathe—only to feel. Your body’s reduced to a shaking, crying mess, your legs unable to hold you up, your voice breaking from the overstimulation.

“Fuck, she’s clenching so hard,” Mingi growls. “You feel that, Hwa?”

“Every twitch,” Seonghwa pants. “She loves this. Our filthy little girl loves being double-stuffed like a toy.”

You moan loud, hips bucking, and both of them chuckle darkly.

“Oh, that’s the spot,” Mingi says, adjusting your angle and slamming in deeper. “Right there, huh? That makes you cry.”

Seonghwa leans in and licks your tears. “So pretty. So full. You were made for this, weren’t you?”

You can’t even answer—you’re sobbing through your third orgasm, and they’re still not stopping. Their cocks keep pounding into you, your slick running down your thighs, your walls clenching again and again as you lose all sense of time, space, sanity.

Your hands grasp for something—anything—but Seonghwa grabs your wrists and pins them to the mattress.

“You take what we give you,” he whispers, low and dangerous. “You asked for this.”

“Such a greedy little slut,” Mingi adds, voice wrecked. “Wanted both our cocks in you at once. Look at you now.”

You’re beyond words. Just gasping, trembling, coming again and again as they use you, wreck you, claim you.

When Mingi’s pace starts to falter, you know he’s close.

“Hwa,” he pants, “switch?”

Seonghwa nods. “Let’s finish her together.”

They flip you over—Seonghwa behind you now, Mingi in front, cock glistening and ready. He grabs your chin, tilts your head up.

“Open.”

You obey, mouth dropping open, and Mingi slides in with a deep, satisfied moan.

Seonghwa fucks you from behind, hips snapping against your ass, and Mingi thrusts into your throat at the same rhythm. You’re choking on him, tears running down your face, drool spilling onto your chest—and you’ve never felt more loved. More wanted. More owned.

Their pace builds, both of them panting, groaning, gripping your body like it’s the only thing keeping them from falling apart.

And then—together—they come.

Mingi spills down your throat with a growl, hand tangled in your hair. Seonghwa finishes deep inside your pussy with a gasp, hips jerking, his nails digging into your waist.

You collapse between them, trembling, sobbing, completely wrecked.

You don’t remember falling asleep. Just warmth. Hands. Kisses. Water on your lips. A towel between your legs.

When you finally stir, your body sore and ruined, you feel two warm bodies curled around you.

Mingi’s nose is buried in your neck. Seonghwa’s hand is laced with yours.

“You okay?” Seonghwa whispers softly, brushing hair from your face.

You nod.

Mingi smiles against your skin. “Ours now, right?”

You blink up at them, smile through the haze. “Always.”

And you swear—you’ve never felt so full. So loved.

So perfectly ruined.

[inzaynety]

he's a biter! ⤫

➢ summary: once you’re in his sights, hoshina has no choice but to leave a mark; or all the times he thinks it’s okay to sink his teeth in you and a time you return the favor

➢ content: hoshina x fem!reader, 2459 words, biting, some blood, suggestive & sex / nsfw, 3+1 things, friendship with okonogi & gen

➢ notes: so this man single handedly brought me back all motivated lol also i caught up on the manga ahaha and reader is a commander 🥴

check out the continuations!

You could say that being bit by a Kaiju was inevitable.

Everyday, going out and defending the public from them is your job and it always comes with risks. Hell, your arm was nearly chomped off yesterday if you weren’t quick enough to dodge right then and there.

Scratches, bruises, scars—all were familiar and just part of the job. It hurts, it stings, it stays with you until you do so much fighting you can just brush it off as another Tuesday.

They were Kaiju. They didn’t care.

You hiss at the sharp pain on your shoulder, your face giving way to an exasperated expression as you try to finish making breakfast.

That was not from a Kaiju. This one cared.

His teeth are sunk into your skin with enough force to leave yet another lasting mark. You can feel Hoshina smile against you before he pulls off, pressing small pecks to the dents and priding himself in feeling you shiver in his arms.

“You’re an animal,” you say, pushing an egg onto his plate but don’t make a move out of his arms. His bare chest is warm and you want nothing more than to fall back to sleep at the feeling. But that would mean commending his actions and his head is big enough as is.

“Am I, sweetheart?” Hoshina’s voice is low and gravely from sleeping so deeply only minutes before he decided to insert himself into your personal space. His hands trail delicately along your waist as he noses along the column of your neck, “Ya never push me away so I bet yer lovin’ it…”

You don’t say anything and he takes that as your answer, chuckling when you huff. He watches as you place the very hot pan down before he begins finding another suitable spot to continue. He settles on the back of your neck and while this time his bite isn’t so sudden, it still stings nonetheless.

“See?” He gently licks at the forming bruise and the lilt in his voice doesn’t go unnoticed. “It’s a lil too late and I know ya said I couldn’t leave anythin’ while you work, but please? Can’t let my girl go without a few more.”

Weighing out the options in your head, you realize you could never say no to him. So for the rest of the day you sport new red accessories that feel itchy underneath your gear.

Okonogi is a good friend of yours and she, along with the rest of the Third and at your own station, knew of yours and Hoshina’s relationship.

Your presence at the Third Division base wasn’t expected but was certainly not unwelcome from the multitude of members coming up and asking for tips or an autograph (Iharu was guilty of this and received a plethora of pushups as punishment). But your reason for being there was a secret to them.

“What are you doing here?” The familiar glare on her glasses catches your eyes first. Despite having your title, you were friends first and foremost so the flick to your forehead wasn’t a surprise.

“Ow! What the hell?” She only motions you out of her chair and places her items that you only shifted around in the mission of finding a pen to make some doodles to leave there for her to find. “Is it a crime to want to see my friend from time to time?”

Okonogi sighs but there’s no annoyance on her face upon seeing you again. It had been a while since you’ve talked in person but you supposed a time outside of work would’ve been better. If anything, you took the opportunity to tag along with your station’s operations leader and members to head to third.

Sora pokes his head in, still starstruck being in the presence of your friend while simultaneously being the professional he was. “Miss Okonogi? Do these numbers look right?” She stands up from her chair and walks over to him, hovering over his shoulder and giving pointers.

You take the opportunity to sit in her chair yet again and swivel around, looking at all the monitors and suits in the room below the control area. Feeling the stare of the third’s operation members beside you, you turn your head and greet them.

“Welcome to our base, Commander!” One of the younger ones says and you laugh at his enthusiasm. You were about to say something until you felt a rather unexpected sting on the top of your right ear. Immediately, you cover it only to have your hand caught by the culprit.

“Yes, welcome Miss Commander.” Hoshina has that grin he always bears and the surrounding third members avert their gazes upon the situation their Vice-Commander has created. Okonogi and Sora watch from the side, unimpressed with what was about to unfold yet again.

You hadn’t had the chance to tell him you were visiting as you thought it would be the day you could surprise him. He had been in training with one of the newer recruits so it wouldn’t hurt to visit and sneak up on him. So imagine your own when he did it instead?

“Sosh—Vice Commander Hoshina, what are you doing?” He only shrugs and stands back up, smiling oh so innocently.

“Nothing really.” And he just up and walks out of the room, leaving you in a flustered mess. You couldn’t even face the eyes on you and the look of unamusement from Okonogi.

The way back to your division’s building was full of teasing remarks while Hoshina felt no shame at all in the confines of his office.

Narumi Gen is the Commander of the First Division. The strongest soldier with the eyes of the oldest numbered Kaiju. Narumi Gen is also the bane of your existence.

“I didn’t come all this way for you to shit on me!”

"Well, if you didn’t play so shit, maybe I wouldn’t!”

You’re both cooped up in your apartment away from the outside world, and with him barging in on your day off, you had no choice but to let him in at his persistence. That and with the threat of losing your BS5 to him after his own miraculously broke.

You roll your eyes when he sticks his tongue out at you but quickly return them to the game at hand. It was 2-1, best out of five with you in the lead for keeping the console you so definitely paid for, but your car was miles behind it and it was already the last lap. Gen was radiating smugness from beside you and you couldn’t even reprimand him for it when he passed the finish line with ease, not even giving you time to throw that last blue shell for the hell of it.

“Why’d you play so shit?” If you weren’t such close friends.

“Shut up.” You groan and stand up to refill your glass before the final round.

“Get mine, too.”

“No.” He knows you don’t mean it when you’ve already grabbed his cup so he’s content with pulling out his phone and posting a story about his victory. Stepping into the kitchen, you pull open the fridge door for the juice. As you’re pouring both cups, there’s a knock on your front door.

You place everything back and leave the cups on the counter as you go to answer it and your mood shifts when you see him.

Hoshina’s holding up bags of snacks with a wide smile that you can’t help but kiss him. He reciprocates and you would’ve spent more time there if not for the annoyance in your background.

“Come on, I gotta be back before 10 or Hasegawa’s gonna be on my ass!”

“Good!” Hoshina chuckles and closes the door behind him, following you back into the living room as you bring the drinks. And right at the site of him, Gen shoots up from the floor and points at Hoshina.

“Hey, what is this asshole doing here?”

“Nice to see you, too!”

Gen’s eye twitches and he gulps down the entirety of his juice. You’re in the background looking through the bags Hoshina brought with the knowledge of their one-sided rivalry. See, before you even got together with Hoshina, Gen would talk your ear off about how much he hated the guy and you prepared yourself for the worst for if you ever had to meet him.

Well, that backfired for your friend.

They continue to bicker until you wave around your controller, catching both of their attentions, “Wrap up your cat fight so I can win.” Gen gives a final scowl and sits on the couch for the finale. Hoshina, in a mindful attempt to give the other more space, sits on the floor between your legs, his back leaning on the couch with his cheek resting on your thigh.

The race starts and it’s a map you’re not so good with. That’s already a disadvantage on top of it being one of Gen’s favorites. The race goes on and the closest you can get is 2nd with Gen reining in at 1st for the last few laps. You click your tongue and hope that one of the blocks would give you some sort of miracle item.

Hoshina watches as you get so close to becoming first and immediately loses it once you turn a corner, feeling the frustration from behind him. The first thought that comes to mind might have not seemed beneficial in the moment, but it would kill two birds with one stone. Or, well, three.

He turns his head just a little bit and bites your leg. You make a noise and distract your friend beside you who can see what’s happening in his peripherals.

“What the hell? Don’t do that when I’m right here!” That’s just enough time for Gen to miss his last drift and allow you to pass him right as the finish line comes into view. Gen sees this and curses under his breath, throwing his held item he manages to get in the middle of it all (a blue shell, figures) to stop you in your tracks.

Though, he didn’t expect the boombox you’ve been saving.

Suffice to say Hoshina’s plan did the three things he accounted for: getting you out of that frustration, annoying Gen, and satisfying himself.

You were just happy you got to keep your BS5 for that week and Gen wished his eyes could’ve told him what was going to happen.

With the job comes a busy schedule, but at least the nights were for you two alone.

It’s humid in the bedroom but neither of you cared amidst the hushed gasps shared. Despite being far from the station it seemed that these quiet habits were hard to break thanks to a certain someone.

Your eyes are glazed over and Hoshina places a hand on your face to keep your attention on him. “Tired out?” You hum into his palm but shake your head. You can feel him shift inside you, slowing his movements to make sure you were there.

“Just a ‘lil more, please?” Hoshina crumbles under your words and what kind of lover would he be if he didn’t indulge you? He kisses you softly before running his hands down to your hips, lifting them up slightly and you sigh at the adjustment. “Soshiro!”

“I got you, darlin’, relax f’me.” It's hard when his words fire you up more than you’d like, but for him to continue you had to oblige. Soft caresses on your skin and whispers of sweet nothings in your ear brings you so, so close.

But it’s not enough.

His pace is slower this round, him being mindful of how many times you’d come already but he’s also holding himself back and you can see. Through the tears in your eyes you look up and see the sweat on his face, his neck, and dripping down his chest. He’s straining, veins prominent in his neck and arms are telling.

Lifting your arms up you wrap them around his neck, pulling him down and burying your face into his shoulder.

“Faster, please. Soshi—“ You can’t even get his name out as he’s already fulfilling your wishes. Your moans are right in his ear, driving him to reach both of your climaxes as soon as possible. It’s been hours since you first hit the bed and the feeling never gets old. Especially when he finds that spot in you that has you seeing white, and especially when he releases his warmth soon after yours.

The feeling’s too much, your nails scratching down his back and your body shaking from the last of the night. It’s right there in front of you and before you know it, you’ve latched your teeth onto his shoulder. A hybrid of a whine and moan escapes him with surprise as he tries to ride out the aftermath.

“O-Oh, shit.” He chuckles and his hips stutter, “That’s dirty, sweetheart. Not fair for ya to be doin’ that.” You release him and lay back onto the mattress and with the energy you have left, you look at him again. You wish you could remember the view forever.

Hoshina’s covered in the sheen of sweat, either just his or both of yours, and there’s a sly smile on his face. His crimson eyes are right on you with the most mischievous yet adoring look in them—the color of which matches the liquid seeping from the mark you just left.

“Wait, baby, you’re bleeding—“ You feel weak and disoriented but still have half the mind to try and reach to the bedside table for a tissue, but he catches you by the wrist.

Hoshina presses a kiss to the inside of your palm and settles you back onto the sheets, “Don’t worry about it, I can tell ya like lookin’ so enjoy it a lil more.” He lets go of your arm and leans down to place a light kisses to your neck, suckling on the soft skin he can reach. You were already teetering on the edge of sleep and his ministrations were aiding in that.

Your arms come up to pull him down to you and he doesn’t resist. Not like he would’ve anyway.

“Soshiro?”

“Mm?”

“I love you.” Your voice is quiet and you think he doesn’t hear it. But Hoshina starts to smile against your skin and bring you impossibly closer to him. Lifting himself up a bit, he catches your half-lidded gaze.

You always say this after every night you spend together and he never gets tired of it. You couldn’t deny it even if you wanted to, but he cherished you just as much.

“I love ya, too.”

©inzaynety 2024