#i feel like i'm lazy for taking breaks when my mind needs it and i haven't yet learned what i truly need in terms of support

[starryeyed-apple]

a sunday morning

small town au xavier series part iii

synopsis: when you help your friend out at the sunday farmer's market, you try to do more than just admire xavier from afar.

★pairing: xavier x fem!reader ★wc: 6k ★content: fluff & light humor, slice of life. small town dynamics, childhood to adulthood crushes, pining, awkward tension. mention of reader's heart issues, she feels faint at one point from high emotions/excitement. ★an: I genuinely do not know how this chapter got so damn long, but uhh here it is!! I'm excited for the way it's heading hehe. hope y'all enjoy! <3 ★part ii ★read on ao3 ★series masterlist

In the early morning light of a lazy Sunday morning, there's nowhere better to be than tucked in your own bed, wrapped in your warm and cozy blankets, sleeping in to your heart's content.

Unfortunately for you, you're not in your bed. You're half-awake outside, shivering in the early spring breeze that refuses to let up, surrounded by carefully organized chaos and chatter on all sides.

The only relief to your half-lidded eyes and tired, overstimulated mind is the the warm coffee cup passed into your hands.

"Finally," you mutter with no bite, only exhaustion that begins to slip away the moment you sip the latte.

"Hey, I used my barista powers for evil to make this for you," Aarya responds as she nudges your shoulder, settling in beside you in the two chairs set up underneath the booth's canopy.

"You mean you used your shop keys to break in before opening in order to make these?"

Aarya takes a long drink from her mocha, making a satisfied sound when she pulls back.

"Exactly," she draws out with a little mischievous glint in her eyes. "You better hope I don't lose my job for this."

"You're not going to get fired," you reply, sipping your latte and humming a happy sound to prove your point. "You make the best drinks in town."

"Damn right."

"And you did promise me free coffee for a weeeeek," you draw out, grinning at your friend with a shimmy of your shoulders.

"Ugh. Stop that." She smacks at your shoulder halfheartedly, and you laugh, sipping more of your warm drink, made to perfection. "And it's a free drink once per day. Refills don't count, so don't even try it."

You both fall into a peaceful quiet as you sit together, enjoying your coffee with no need for idle conversation. The constant chit chat and bustling around you from the other farmer's market vendors doesn't let up, but it's easier to tolerate it with some caffeine in your system.

With each sip of your coffee, you find yourself grateful for Aarya's call dragging you out of bed this morning. The air is still crisp from winter's stubborn, lingering hold, but fresh with the scent of spring's arrival, sweetened by the carefully cultivated flower beds that surround the town's plaza.

It feels like home, and you didn't realize how much you missed just that scent until you came back.

Aarya sets her finished drink down with a sigh, then plucks your half-finished one right from your hands to put next to it.

"Hey—"

"It's already almost 6:30," she says with a sigh, standing up and stretching. "Market opens at seven. We gotta get to it."

You push yourself up with a groan, turning to the boxes of carefully packed crochet and needlework products. All vibrant colors to sharply contrast the black denim jacket and ripped jeans that Aarya was sporting today.

"Just let me know what goes where," you say cheerfully, feeling your mood already start to brighten when you kneel to rifle through the assorted sizes and color patterns of crochet rainbow ornaments.

"Doesn't really matter," Aarya responds as she moves about the booth around you, setting up the stands and racks along the tent walls to hang pieces for display. "I like when they're all over the place. People have fun hunting for different stuff."

You move together in old, familiar patterns, the rhythm reminding you of late nights studying for college entrance exams, or pulling together the final parts of a presentation project the next day. It makes you smile, listening to Aarya quietly hum songs she's loved since high school under her breath, while she frowns in concentration at the row of floral needlework she was hanging up.

Thirty minutes of diligent work passes as the morning churns on and the breeze warms with the rising sun. You're so content for a change, that you almost forget just what day it is, and where exactly you are.

That is, until you hear a chipper voice ring out from across the plaza, "Xavier! Over here!"

You jump, fumbling with the moon and star designed needlework in your hands, trying desperately to stop it from falling onto the ground. When you manage to hug it to your chest, clean and safe, you breathe a sigh of relief.

Then you whip around, shuffling to peer around the edge of the booth towards the cheerful shout.

You scan the market, a woman on a mission, and lock in when you catch a head of fluffy silvery hair gleaming almost golden in the sun's rising rays.

"Oh," you sigh as you watch Xavier move effortlessly along the stalls.

He nods towards each person that greets him as he passes—and it's nearly every damn person, making you wonder how exhausting all those idle chats might be.

As if on cue, he covers a yawn with the back of his hand after waving at someone, strolling through the market until he ends up with the vendor that called for his help, an older woman with knitted hats, and a booth not set up yet.

You sink into your chair, elbows on the display table, chin propped up on your hands as you watch Xavier roll up the sleeves of his ridiculously soft looking beige cardigan. Subtle muscles flex under flawless skin as he lifts each leg of the canopy, and you bite your lip.

He extends them one by one, showing little to no visible exertion despite the weight and effort, other than a small furrow of his brow when he reaches up easily with his height to lock each leg into place.

Xavier turns back towards the vendor when it's fully set up, and you watch them dote over him. A smile grows on your face as he nods intently or shakes his head gently at whatever they're saying, his long fingers brushing his hair from his eyes.

You swear a golden ray of light catches on the blue of his eyes, shining like peaceful waters you would gladly sink in, and you melt.

"He's so pretty," you murmur with a soft smile.

"He's alright," a voice chimes in next to your ear, and you yelp.

You turn to see Aarya raising her pierced brow expectantly, a teasing smirk curling up her lips, and you glance away with a nervous laugh.

"Still keeping that old flame alive, hm?"

"I don't know what you mean," you mutter, all but sticking your head in the last box of merchandise, just to find it empty.

"Mm, sure," she hums, and you push yourself to your feet, distracting yourself from her searching gaze by making sure each crocheted little forest critter on the table was priced correctly. Her voice is monotone as ever, but you know her well enough to recognize how it softens slightly when she asks, "What about your guy? Back in the city?"

Your shoulders stiffen, and you hope she doesn't notice. But you know better than to try and hide anything from her clever gaze.

"Didn't work out," you mumble, restlessly fidgeting with a little crochet bunny.

Thankfully, Aarya senses your discomfort enough to not push it. And you know she'll give you the space to come to you with whatever worried you.

Too bad you may end up just bottling it all up inside forever, your favorite go-to trick.

"How's Harper?" you ask, desperate to change the subject. "You two still together?"

"She's good," Aarya replies, and you turn back just to see the little lovesick smile that matches the rare warmth in her voice whenever she talks of her girlfriend. "Yeah, we're good. Really good."

"That's great," you say with a grin. "Is she still working on her mom's farm?"

"Yeah, she is." She checks her phone by reflex, and you catch a glimpse of the background photo of her kissing Harper's freckled cheek flash before she slides it back into her jeans pocket. "We do a joint booth sometimes. She brings fresh eggs to sell, and people go crazy for them."

"Is she stopping by today?"

"Nah, she's swamped with work on the farm. That's why you were enlisted."

"Well, I need to see her soon," you huff, hands on your hips to make your point. "It's been way too long, we need to catch up."

"She's been saying the same thing. She's super excited to see you." Aarya informs, and you grin. "But she's going to want to hear about everything you've been up to, and you know she doesn't take no for an answer."

The look in her eyes is a subtle way of letting you know she caught you switching the subject from yourself, but then she pats you on the shoulder and changes the topic again.

"Market's starting," she says, and you whip around, putting your best customer friendly smile on. "Look alive, I have a feeling it's gonna be a busy one."

When noon rolls around, Aarya's stall is already more than halfway out of stock.

Her prediction had been right, with not only familiar faces, but those from neighboring towns circulating the market all morning. By the time you manage to sneak in a break, your coffee has long gone cold.

Everybody seems more alive and chipper with the transition into spring, and nearly every vendor is having good business.

The only person who looks busier than you, or any other vendor around you, is Xavier.

He moves back and forth between booths, on odd jobs that have him constantly on a circle through the whole farmer's market. You haven't seen him get even a moment to sit down, and the more you see his eyes start to droop, the more concerned you get, even as nobody else seems to notice.

Maybe it's the way that he moves that has nobody suspecting he might be getting tired. He's always walking at a leisurely pace anyway, so it'd be hard to tell if you weren't really looking (and you were really looking). Even though somebody's almost always calling his name or has him sent on an errand, he stays calm, unhurried.

You never hear the gentle rhythm of his voice over the conversations of the market, even if you see him talking to someone. He's ever soft and in-control, which is probably why panicked small business owners always turn to him for help with so many mishaps.

With a rush of business at Aarya's booth, you lose sight of whatever Xavier's doing, the thought of him slipping your mind as you deal with customer after customer.

When you see her helping out the last one with their rainbow ornament of pink, purple and blue that makes you both smile happily, you let out a sigh in the moment of calm that follows.

You take the opportunity to scurry to the back of the booth, making yourself look busy by reorganizing the wall of leftover ornaments, just so you can take the time to breathe.

And thank god you could finally breathe.

"Hey, Xavier."

You jump with a squeak of surprise, whirling around to see him standing in front of the booth, pulling a rolling cooler along with him.

"Hey."

His eyes move from Aarya, scanning the booth to where you stand stiffly among the crochet ornaments in the back.

"Hi," Xavier says to you, and you tell yourself his voice is not softer, it's already soft and you're just crazy.

"Hi," you reply quietly with a wave, pressing your hand against your chest to calm yourself when he leans down to reach into the cooler.

Get a grip, girl! you mentally berate yourself, pinching your elbow to try and shock some sense into you.

When he straightens back up, it's with two wrapped sandwiches in one hand, and water bottles with condensation dripping down the sides in the other.

"Lunch," he offers simply, that calm, intent gaze of his fixing on you again.

You step forward, his attention drawing you in like a magnet. Not to mention your stomach's already growling when you reach for the sandwiches, but Aarya catches your hand.

"Who made them?" she challenges with a squint of her eyes at Xavier, and you blink in surprise when his eyes narrow back.

"Rob."

"From the sandwich shop?"

Xavier nods.

"Promise?"

He nods again, but not without a quiet huff under his breath.

Aarya assesses him for a moment longer before she releases your hand finally, taking the waters with a sigh of relief.

Xavier turns to you. He holds out the sandwiches, innocent and expectant, and you take them in each hand with a smile.

"Thanks, Xavier." It comes out quieter than you wanted, but his eyes widen a little anyway, the corner of his mouth twitching.

"You're welcome," he says with a nod, picking up the cooler handle and moving on to the next booth.

You melt a little when the breeze picks up and tousles the back of his hair, causing the soft looking strands to stick up.

And you freeze when he pauses halfway, glancing back over his shoulder at you.

Your feet shuffle in place, feeling the strongest rush of déjà vu for every glance you stole in high school, only for him to catch you looking. The fact that he still had that instinct with you was impressive.

Also worrying, solely based on how much you still sneak glances of him now.

The moment feels like eternity as you just stand there, caught red-handed and frozen like a deer in headlights.

But Xavier just waves before turning back around. He stops at the neighboring booth and reaches into the cooler again, with another quiet offer of "lunch."

You can already feel Aarya's smug look as you sink back into the chair next to her, and you quickly rush out before she can point out your obvious infatuation again, "I didn't know they gave lunch to vendors."

"They didn't used to." She opens her sandwich, holding it out wordlessly for you to put your unwanted tomatoes on it. "One year, a vendor got so busy that they didn't eat, and they almost passed out. Xavier convinced his dad to set aside a fund to give out basic meals after that. A lot of local restaurants pitch in just because the guy asks."

"Mayor Shen?"

"No." Aarya snorts at the suggestion, shaking her head. "Xavier."

She nudges you, and points at a booth for handmade soaps, lotions and bath bombs. The married couple that runs it is trying to give Xavier a little bag of merchandise in exchange for the sandwiches, stubbornly insisting as he shakes his head.

You watch with a smile on your face as he attempts to push it back. But just a minute later, he ends up holding it in one hand anyway as the other pulls the cooler.

It's a cycle that continues with each booth he ends up at. Little freebies are crammed in his arms; from handmade paper craft cards, to locally sourced crystal bracelets, to ornaments carved from wood. It gets to a point where his hands are so full that he's struggling to pull the cooler.

"Happens every market Sunday," Aarya says.

You begin to rise from your chair, hover, and sit back down.

When you do it for the third time as he tries to balance his gifts and tug the cooler along the next aisle of booths, Aarya elbows you in the side.

"Ow!"

"Oh, don't be dramatic," she teases, and pokes you again, jerking her chin towards where the owner of the knitted hat booth he helped earlier is now cramming two hats onto his head. "Go help him."

"But—" you look towards him as he denies a third hat, and then back at Aarya. "What do I even say?"

She shrugs. "Nothing. Xavier's chill, I'm sure he won't mind if you don't have anything to say at all."

You hesitate again, then take a deep breath, setting your half-eaten sandwich down.

Rising from your chair, you take a few steps forward, then stop. You immediately look back at Aarya to see her smiling faintly, gesturing for you to go.

So you do. You steel your nerves and ball your hands into fists at your sides as you walk.

"You can do this," you mutter, trying not to fidget or turn tail and book it.

You breathe deeply to calm your racing heart, and turn onto the aisle where Xavier is stuck with the two hats nearly pulled down over his eyes, trying not to drop anything and grab the cooler at the same time.

"He's just a guy," you murmur under your breath, hyping yourself up.

An impossibly cute guy whose cheeks you wanted to pinch and squish and smooch all over.

Still. A guy.

Maybe the illusion would be shattered if you actually did manage a full conversation with him. Maybe he'd say something that would make you cringe, or your personalities wouldn't mesh well together at all, and you'd finally move on. Quick, easy, simple. Painless.

"Xavier?"

His head snaps up, trying to see you over the brims of the hats, and you barely hold back a breathless chuckle as nervous energy sweeps through you.

Oh god, you were actually doing this.

"Um—" You reach forward towards the hats, then stop yourself. "Can I…?"

Why were you actually doing this!?

"Yes," Xavier answers immediately, shifting the goodie bags in his arms to hold them tighter as he leans his head towards your offered hands. "Please."

You slowly lift the top hat from his head, and gingerly adjust the second one until his eyes are free. Floppy bunny ears hang from the top of the fabric, and you bite your lip to hold back a smile.

Xavier sighs in relief when he can see again.

And he instantly sees you, eyes as bright blue as the clear spring sky above you, snapping up to meet yours.

You freeze, and he smiles faintly, half his mouth turning up in it before it's gone again in a blink.

But even when he's not smiling, his eyes still glimmer, like the stars you always doodled around his name in notebooks.

Xavier's head tilts to the side when he asks, "How does it look?"

You blink to clear the stars from your gaze.

"Huh?"

"The hat," he clarifies, his voice soft and nothing but patient with you as your wandering mind comes back to the moment.

Your chest begins to feel all warm, and your face along with it.

"Oh!"

You lean back, taking in the whole effect of his fluffy tufts of hair sticking out from under the white knitted fabric.

Hesitantly, you reach out to one of the strings dangling next to his face. Xavier watches you closely, almost scattering all your last nerves to the wind, but you brace yourself against the familiar urge to flee as you give an experimental tug of the string.

When one of the bunny ears lifts, you laugh, heart skipping a beat when his eyes light up.

"It's…good." You nod, quickly letting go and taking a step back. "Cute," you add, and try not to wince.

Cute? Oh, god, why did you say cute?

What if he hated being called cute? Some guys don't like that. He might not. What if he hated you calling him cute? Sure, he knew your name, but he didn't know you. What if—

"You should wear the other one."

"What?"

You look down at the matching hat with its own bunny ears in your hand, and start to shake your head.

But Xavier's already kneeling down, shifting his arms carefully so all the little assorted gifts land on top of the closed cooler lid.

When he stands, he takes the hat from you, then pauses with a question in his eyes.

Any refusal instantly flies from your mind at his searching gaze, and you lean your head down. There's no way you can keep eye contact, so you stare instead at the peek of his collarbone under his white tee when he leans in, before quickly looking away from that too because oh god oh no he's so handsome (no keep it together girl)!

His hands carefully brush any stray strand of hair back into place as he sets the hat onto your head. He does it so gently, ensuring that the fabric is snug enough without messing up your hair, and gives a light tug on one of the strings when he's done.

Xavier smiles when the ear lifts, a pretty curve of his full pink lips, and your breath catches in your throat.

"Cute," he repeats with a satisfied nod, and you just about explode into a million different lovesick pieces. "You should keep it."

"I couldn't—"

You cut yourself off, hands held out when he tries to scoop all his gifts back into his arms.

"Wait!" you exclaim, plucking the ornaments out of his stilled hands. "Let me help."

"You don't have to—"

"I want to," you interrupt hastily, already starting to balance the bag of bath bombs with the crystal bracelets, then adding a little pair of earrings made from salvaged sea glass to the mix.

You try and sneak a peek up to see if his ears are pierced, then quickly look back down when you see how closely he's looking at you.

"Ah—sorry," you mutter, awkwardly shuffling the gifts in your arms when you straighten. "I should've asked. Do you not want me to—"

"No," he interrupts you quickly this time, taking the cooler handle. "It's okay. Thank you."

You nod, daring to try and look at him again. When you do meet eyes, you can't help but laugh a little at how silly you both look with your bunny hats on, and he gives a tiny chuckle before you both quickly glance away.

Silence stretches between you as you follow him. Awkward, but not unbearable, at least.

He hands out lunches, and you readily accept any more gifts that the vendors have to offer. When they see you trailing after him, their eyes light up. They exclaim about not knowing you were back in town, and starting making small talk with you too.

You're all too aware of Xavier's attention on you whenever somebody asks how your grandpa is doing since coming back from the hospital.

In the lull between one booth and the next, your longtime crush quietly admits, "I didn't know your grandfather was sick."

You stiffen by reflex at the topic, and force yourself to relax with a slow exhale.

"Yeah."

He hands out another lunch, and the silence as you reach the end of the aisle is more tense than before.

But the atmosphere eases when Xavier offers gently, "I'm sorry."

"It's okay," you answer automatically.

"Is there anything I can do to help?"

You pause, and look back at him in surprise.

Your eyes meet his for the first time since you started helping him, and you feel the breath stolen right from your lungs.

Xavier's always been hard to read. You're sure it's part of his charm; that air of mystery, the feeling that you could only get so close to him while still feeling so far. That untouchable star in the sky. It made admiring him unattainable, but safe.

But when he looks at you now, his gaze is open, honest. The dip in his furrowed brow shows concern, but his eyes are more than sympathetic. There's understanding in those pools of blue.

And it suddenly hits you why every vendor has a gift ready for him, why each one calls to him for help.

Because he responds, without a question. He helps without complaint. He delivers meals that were his idea in the first place, just because it's the right thing to do.

You stop your trail of infatuated admiration, shaking your head before you look back at him. Xavier's still waiting patiently, not bothered one bit by how long you were taking to answer.

In this light, he is just a man.

But he's a kind one.

"I…don't think so," you admit quietly, blinking rapidly as you suddenly feel overwhelmed with indescribable emotion.

Because Xavier has been the first person who didn't just ask about Gramps, but offered to help.

The next words come easier than they ever have around him. Your voice is soft, as if this tender moment may break when you say, "But thanks, Xavier. I appreciate it."

"Of course," he murmurs, glancing over your face. Your chest feels lighter, butterflies dancing in your stomach when he tilts his head. "Just let me know if you ever do need help. Okay?"

"Yeah," you croak out, then clear your throat. "Okay."

He nods, turning onto the last aisle of booths.

And even though you know the moment is over, the air between you feels softer. Warm.

He gets another little gift, stickers from a local artist this time. When Xavier hands them to you, he says, "Keep them."

A glance tells you that they're all space themed. One sticker of a moon even has a little bunny on it, and you hold them close, not even trying to argue.

At the last booth, they ask about your grandpa again. The words come easier when you say he's doing better, the impossible knot in your chest since you'd come home a bit less tight at the thought of him.

"Here," the old man who runs the dairy farm says as he tucks an extra bottle of fresh milk into your arms. "Give him this from me, I know how much he likes his damn cereal."

A warmth rushes into your heart, and you laugh, feeling lighter than you have in days.

"I just restocked them the other day."

"She did," Xavier offers beside you, and your head snaps towards him in surprise. "I checked her out."

Greg, the dairy farmer, arches a bushy gray eyebrow at Xavier. "You did what now?"

Xavier's face is blank as yours gets hotter, watching you as a cough gets stuck in your throat.

Then he says quickly, head whipping back around, "Oh, no—at the store, I mean. I was working."

A loud guffaw leaves Greg's mouth, and he smacks Xavier's back with glee. Even in all your embarrassment, you can't stifle your snort when he stumbles forward with the motion.

Xavier's brow pinches together, rubbing the back of his head as he looks to the side, and you wonder if he's blushing again. You imagine his ears getting pink under the bunny hat, and smile to yourself.

"I know what you meant, son." Greg shoots you a not so subtle wink, and you quickly look down at the chilled dairy bottles in your arms, face burning as he laughs cheerfully again. "Tell your good ol' gramps to get back to bingo soon. I miss beating him at it."

"I'll pass the message along," you assure with a nod before scurrying ahead, beating Xavier to the end of the aisle so you can collect yourself.

You still feel hot, embarrassed and all out of sorts when he's back by your side. But somehow, the feelings ease a bit when his eyes meet yours.

That was…new.

"So is that why you're back?" he asks, following behind you now while you start the walk back to Aarya's booth. "To help your grandpa?"

"Mhm," you hum, skin buzzing just from the weight of his gaze on you.

"How long do you think you'll be here?"

"I…hadn't really thought about it," you answer honestly, slowing down in your pace.

You turn, allowing Xavier to catch up beside you, and you walk side by side through the stalls.

"He hasn't told me if anything's really wrong," you find yourself admitting, your voice hushed.

Xavier leans a little closer, shoulder brushing yours as you stroll through the market.

"I just need to make sure he's okay, and I can't do that from another city."

"That makes sense," Xavier hums, his gentle validation offering a warm rush of comfort to you.

"He's stubborn, you know?" you laugh fondly, even if it's a little strained, and look up to see Xavier smiling at you.

"Yeah," he murmurs. "I know."

The way he says it is warm, a look in his eyes that you can't make sense of as he glances over your face, and you quickly look away.

"So, yeah," you stutter, trying to clear your head. "I might be here for a while, I guess."

"Okay," he mumbles. Then he adds, in a softer tone, "Good."

Your head jerks back up at the casual way he says it, and you stare at the side of Xavier's face.

When he catches you staring, his head tilts to the side at your wide-eyed gaze.

And when he doesn't attempt to elaborate, your mouth opens, then shuts. Your lips form around words that all flee you the instant his eyes drop down.

"Xavier!"

You both turn towards the large booth of fresh produce nearby, and the older women waving him over with big smiles on their faces.

"We have fresh carrots today!" One of the ladies beams as she beckons him closer, and you follow him, feeling like you're burning up so hot you're about to self destruct.

"You have fresh carrots every day," he replies gently, and the women grin and laugh, gushing over how handsome and kind he is.

You can't help but smile at the praise and affection he gets, watching them take turns patting his head or his cheek while they put the little bag of vegetables into his hand.

"Oh," he says softly, glancing back at you, and towards them again. "Can I have a carton of strawberries? They're her favorite."

Your mind goes blank.

All three of the ladies glance towards you, and you freeze up further at their sharp attention.

Then in a blink of an eye, they're all smiling at you, the two in the back sharing a look you don't even want to think about as the one in charge moves towards the bin of fresh strawberries.

"How much—"

"Oh, it costs nothing for you, Mr. Shen."

"No, really, I insist—"

They banter back and forth, and you stand there, malfunctioning as your heart races so fast you worry you might just pass out. When Xavier eventually turns back to you with the carrots and strawberries, concern flashes over his face, and he rushes towards you.

"Are you okay?" he murmurs, hesitating before he gently presses a hand between your shoulder blades to steady you. "Do you need to sit down?"

"Oh, no, I'm—" you try and protest, flustered under the warmth of his large palm on your back.

But he's quickly and carefully extracting the gifts from your arms, juggling them in his own again, all while you're still trying to process what just happened so casually.

"I'm okay, Xavier, really," you insist, hating how your high emotions could trigger your heart arrhythmia. It'd been a while since you'd fainted from it, and you'd be mortified if it happened now.

He pauses at his name, looking up at you and oh, his eyes are so big and blue that you might just drown in them.

"I just got a bit overwhelmed," you explain sheepishly, pressing your hand to your chest, willing yourself to calm down. "I'm sorry."

"Don't be sorry," Xavier says softly, and that same rush of warm, indescribable emotion washes over you again. "Have you eaten? Did you drink your water?"

"I ate half of the sandwich you gave me," you admit, unable to meet his eyes. "I don't think I opened the water."

"Here, lean on me," he offers, and after a moment of hesitation, you allow yourself to rest against him, quickly grabbing the cooler as you walk. "I'll get you back to Aarya."

You let him help you, too embarrassed to ever try and explain that it was him making you get overly excited (even if feeling how soft his cardigan really was under your hand was not helping).

You walk slowly, in silence, until the words that don't stop flashing in your mind like neon lights rush out of your mouth in a jumble, "How did you know that?"

"What?"

"Strawberries," you say bluntly, mind still playing catch up to that moment. "How did you know I liked strawberries?"

He looks at you, then down quickly, and off to the side.

"You don't like them anymore?" he asks quietly, not meeting your eyes.

"No," you say quickly. "No, I do. I just…didn't expect you to know that."

"You used to drink strawberry milk with your lunch every day," he mumbles and, yeah, you must be dreaming. Or, like, dead.

Because in what fucking alternate universe did you just slip into, where Xavier Shen knew which damn drink you were obsessed with all throughout high school?

Xavier glances at you from the corner of his eye, then looks ahead and announces, "Oh, there's Aarya."

She's darting up from her chair the moment she sees you, urging you to sit down as you're still stuck in your moment of shock.

"What happened?" she asks, glancing over you, twisting the cap off your water bottle and putting it in your hand.

"Nothing," you mumble, embarrassed again as her usual indifference disappears in hovering over you. "Just felt a little faint, is all."

Your friend huffs, putting the rest of your sandwich in your other hand. "You need to hydrate. And eat, you didn't finish your sandwich."

You almost laugh at the fact that she and Xavier both thought the same thing.

Sipping at your water and taking a few bites out of your sandwich, you look over to see Xavier dividing his gifts into two piles on the table. You watch him put the strawberries down on one side, staring at the fruit as what he said repeats in your mind.

"Damn, Xavier," Aarya whistles, looking over it all. "Still most popular years after high school, huh."

Xavier scratches the back of his head, pouting a little. "I wasn't popular."

He…what?

You and Aarya exchange a look of disbelief, then turn back to him.

"Here," he says when he realizes he has your attention, pushing the bigger pile closer to you. It's led by the strawberry carton, along with the bath bombs, crystal bracelets, and the stickers he'd already given to you. "These are yours."

"Oh, I can't—"

"Yes, you can," he interrupts gently. "It's to thank you for your help. I insist."

Somebody calls his name from across the market then, and he frowns. His eyes dart over your form, hunched in your chair as you recover from too much excitement, and he hesitates.

"Are you okay?" Xavier asks you, and you blink in surprise.

"Yeah," you reassure him with a smile, and his shoulders relax. "Yeah, I'm good."

He nods. "Let me know if the strawberries are good," he insists gently, eyes so wide they were almost pleading. "Okay?"

You manage a nod, and then he's gone.

"So what was that all about?" Aarya asks as you watch him disappear further into the market, and you lean against her shoulder with a groan.

"He knew I liked strawberries and I swear I almost passed out," you mumble, face hot in embarrassment. "I never want to talk about it ever again."

Aarya laughs as she pats your back, then tugs on one of your hat strings, making you groan because oh god you almost passed the fuck out in this bunny hat!

"Oh, girl," she sighs fondly as you yank the fabric off your head, and she taps over your heart. "Wouldn't be the first time you passed out from too much excitement. Don't be too hard on yourself, it happens."

You groan as you remember the other incident, the memory flashing in your mind as you look at the little carton of strawberries.

"I probably looked like the biggest fool."

"Maybe," Aarya says, and you punch her shoulder, making you both laugh. "But a cute one. Now hush and eat your damn sandwich before I steal all your precious Xavier Shen strawberries."

"Don't you dare!"

taglist: comment here if you want to be added! blank blogs will be blocked ⭐️ Xavier fics: @santaluna @itsmysmut @onigiriinthecorner @inzayneforaj @biblioth-que 💖all fics: @frostbitten-cherry @asiatic-apple @heartyluv @floatinginaer @sweetcalebb @princessofenkanomiya @lazygelpen @deepspacebunnieblue @cherryartchaos @kireeen @stargirlygirl @draftbeerbibi @pastelsweaters-and-bubble-t @slovesyouuu @ineffabl-y @grlyeetswrld @toelady @asiaticapple @aenishas series taglist: @peascribbles @beaconsxd @plasticcardholder @mochibunnies3 @sylusgirlie7 @creator-freak (let me know if you just want to be tagged for the series!)

[oldermenfucker]

Holding You, Holding Me / M. Robinavitch

Prev / masterlist / next

TWO: Sparks Fly

Summary: your parents’ wedding anniversary brings you and your mom’s friend closer to each other, closer than it should be, but there is no harm if no one finds out, right?

Warnings: kissingggggg, lots of tension, tiny bit of angst cause it’s Robby c’mon, English isn’t my first language<3

Word count: 3.47k+

an: things WILL get steamy and the drama will start when it’s dueeee🤭 please comment and tell me what you think of this chapter!!

If you wanna be tagged in the next chapters, fill this form<3

My mind forgets to remind me you're a bad idea You touch me once and it's really something You find I'm even better than you imagined I would be I'm on my guard for the rest of the world But with you, I know it's no good And I could wait patiently But I really wish you would

“Of course I’ll bring it to you, Mom,” you sigh, humming incoherently as you drop your bag and white coat in the passenger seat before you march toward the door of the PTMC. “You’ve called me three times already. I’m pretty sure I have your badge in my hand. Don’t worry about it, I’ll be there in a few minutes, alright?”

Hospital is an extraordinary place to work in, ER is even worse; you heard from your mother and her friends, not only because of the patients, but because of the strange layout it has. It feels like you’re trapped in a maze as you wander around the hospital until you find the elevator — embarrassing, really, because it is not the first time you're stepping into this place.

You count yourself lucky as soon as you spot a familiar face among the crowd, fingers twitching as the memories immediately flood back into your head.

Robby. The man you kissed a few days ago and had to break apart before your mom could catch you. The same Robby who you have grown to be familiar with throughout the years.

“Hey, sweetheart,” he notices you as well, giving you one of his heartwarming smiles when you reach the central, “What you doing here?”

“Mom called me at five in the fucking morning and said I need you to bring me my badge and hung up,” you shrug and smile back, nearly melting on the spot with how soft he looks at you, “But she made sure to call a few more times to check if I was really going to show up.”

“Typical Dana,” he leans on his forearm on the counter, scratching the back of his neck as he looks around, “I think she went to the break room, let’s go find her.”

“Don’t you have patients to take care of?” You ask, frowning at how eager he seems to be to get away from all this stuff, “You don’t have to come with me, I’m sure you’re pretty busy, so I’ll just go find her—“

“I’ll be more than happy to get away from this place, it’s a lazy day anyway,” he puts a hand on your back, stepping closer to lead you to the breakroom, but he can’t, nor can you with how this closeness brings back memories of the last time you were together. 

You clear your throat, “I don’t want to take your time for something so silly—“

“Stop overthinking it, alright? I’m a grown man and I have ten other people handling everything, let me show you there,” he doesn’t let you dwell on it much longer and with a gentle push, he is walking you through the floor, “I’m not sure if your mom’s there but that’s where it’s most likely.”

“I can wait a few minutes before I have to leave for work,” you reply, thanking him when he opens the door for you to the breakroom, letting you step in first, “I just wanna make sure she gets the badge and stops calling me.”

“I’m sure she’s around,” he closes the door and walks to the countertop, washing his hands while he looks at you over his shoulder, “Coffee?”

“Yes, please,” you smile, dropping your mom’s badge and your phone on the table, walking around the room slowly while he fills the coffeemaker, “You know… we never got to talk about that night.”

“Yeah, well, I don’t think there is anything to talk about.”

Your heart drops to the pit of your stomach. You freeze on the spot with your back to him on the other side of the room, arms going slack next to your body as you turn around slowly to look at him.

“Wha–what do you mean, Robby?”

Gosh, you sound so pitiful. Of course he thinks it was a mistake, of course he is not attracted to you, of course, of course of course ofcourse—

“Sweetheart, look at me,” suddenly he is in front of you with a mug of coffee, tilting your head up with his finger under your jaw, “Don’t do that.”

“Do what?” It comes out as a whisper, but he hears you loud and clear and smiles a little when you try to turn your head away, but he keeps your face locked in place as he stares into your eyes.

“Don’t get lost in your head.” his thumb caresses your jaw so slowly that you might think you are hallucinating. “There’s nothing to talk about because—“

“Because nothing happened, right?” Your voice quivers, and you think he might lose his temper and shut you down completely, but instead of getting mad at you, he just shakes his head and leans down a little, “What are you smiling about?”

“Sweetheart, so many things happened that night,” he lets go of you for a moment to put the mug down so he can cup your face, his large hands covering your cheeks fully, “it doesn’t mean they were the right thing to do.”

“But they felt right,” you reply quietly, swallowing the lump in your throat as you try not to get lost in the way his gaze softens even more, “Why do you regret it?”

“I don’t regret it, sweetheart,” he shakes his head, leaning down to press his forehead against yours, “But we shouldn’t do it again, I can barely look at your mom anymore–“

“This isn’t about how she might feel, Robby, this is about us–“

“I know, I know–“ he leans down to peck your lips suddenly to stop you from talking. Wrong move, now he can’t stop kissing you, not when you taste so familiar like a book he has read ten times already.

He deepens the kiss, tilting his head to the side while one hand goes to the back of your head to keep you close, slowly backing you up to the wall of the breakroom without breaking away from your lips.

You reciprocate the kiss with the same passion, hands traveling up to his neck and then shoulders, pulling him as close as possible when he presses his body to yours and corners you, swiping your bottom lip with the tip of his tongue before you grant him entrance. His tongue moves over yours, battling for dominance, which you lose pretty quickly and let him take the reins again.

Voices are approaching, and they make him pull away slightly, glancing at the door quickly before he pecks your lips one last time and pulls away, walking to the other side of the room before you hear the footsteps behind the door.

“We’ll talk later, alright? I’ll text you, sweetheart.”

“Okay, yeah, yeah,” you reply breathlessly, running a hand down your face, rubbing your neck as you try to steady your breathing.

What was he thinking? He kissed you like he couldn’t stop himself, and he didn’t even try to stop himself. The more you think about his words, the more confused you get about his actions; he says it’s wrong, yet he can’t keep away from you. He says he can’t look at your mother anymore, but he pulls you closer the second he is sure she isn’t looking.

“Robby, have you seen— oh, honey, hi! I was looking for you everywhere,” Dana pulls you in for a quick hug, kissing the side of your head before she pulls back, “What are you still doing here? Aren’t you going to be late for work?”

“I thought I’d see you too, now that I’m here,” you shrug, trying so hard not to glance at Robby and give yourself away, “Your badge is on the table.”

“Thank you, honey, you’re a lifesaver,” she squeezes your arm, looking at Robby with a raised eyebrow, “What are you doing here? Go out there, you’ve got patients to treat.”

“I was the one who helped her find the breakroom, you should thank me too,” he shrugs, grabbing a plastic cup to fill with coffee, “I also needed coffee.”

“That’s your second cup, and it’s only been two hours since you arrived.” Dana crosses her arms over her chest, glaring at Robby, “Are you alright?”

“Of course, I’m fine,” he nods, taking a sip from his cup before he strides toward the door, “As fine as I always am. Goodbye, sweetheart.”

“Goodbye, Robby,” you smile at him, watching him flush a little and leave the break room with one last wave before you turn to your mother, “What’s going on? Is he okay?”

“Yeah, he’s just been a bit weird these past few days,” she shrugs, grabbing her badge and moving to the counter to pick up a mug for herself, pouring coffee before she takes a sip, scrunching her nose at the taste, “How did he drink this? It’s fucking cold.”

“Oh,” you whisper, mind reeling with the thoughts of how Robby’s behavior changed after your encounter at your mom’s party. He masks his emotions pretty well, but nothing really goes unnoticed by your mother’s sharp, curious eyes, and he has been her friend long enough for her to know how and when Robby’s behavior changes — even if it's something so little and subtle.

You just hope she doesn’t notice your change of behavior. Because if she does, you are fucked . 

“Alright, imma head out,” you exhale deeply, running your palms over your pants to wipe off the sweat as you walk to her to give her a final hug, “Have a great day, mom. Call if you need anything.”

“Will do, honey,” she kisses your head, hugs you back, sending you off, “Have fun at work.”

“Absolutely,” you grin and push the door open, holding in your breath as you walk through the ED, eyes finding Robby’s frame quickly, watching him talk to his new students before he glances at you and looking back to the crowd in front of him, but you don’t miss the way his eyes shine a little bright and his cheeks turn red.

Maybe the talk will clear up everything.

  ••••••

  “Fancy seeing you here, Doctor Robinavitch,” you say, finding him with two bags full of Thai food as he walks out of the restaurant. Smirking to yourself, you lean back on the door of your car, waiting for him to finally reach you, “You have a date?”

“Absolutely fucking not,” he chuckles, leaning down to kiss your forehead as soon as he reaches you, “Thank you for picking me up.”

“Of course, I’m always nice to broke men,” you grin when he groans and opens the back door, placing the bags on the backseat with care before he turns around and stands in front of you, placing one palm on the hood of the car.

“It seems humor has nothing to do with genetics, and I have a pretty fancy car in my garage, thank you,” he smiles when you look down at your shoes with a bashful smile, “I don’t wanna talk about things here, so,” he extends his hand to you, waiting for you to give him the remote, “Gimme the keys, I’ll drive.”

“This is an automatic car, Robby, you don’t need keys to unlock the door.” You duck under his arm and move towards the driver’s side, “I don’t trust you with my car, you might get us killed, old man.”

“As if you haven’t been in my car before, kid ,” he rolls his eyes but gets into the passenger seat, watching as you start the engine and fasten your seatbelt, “Just don’t get too excited about the food, I paid for it.”

“Don’t make me throw you out of my car, Robby.” You narrow your eyes at him when you hit the stop at the red light, “My place? It’s closer.”

“Sure,” he shrugs, leaning back on the seat and turning his head to look at you, “What are we doing, sweetheart?”

“Things that are… worth doing?” You crane your head to stare back at him, “Hopefully, I mean. There’s nothing wrong with trying.”

“That’s for normal people who meet on the streets, not us,” he sighs, looking outside the window, scratching his chin, “It’s just wrong . Morally wrong, I am much older than you—“

“Have you ever heard me complain about your age?” 

“We kissed a few days ago, sweetheart, you didn’t have time to think about it at all,” he chuckles and closes his eyes, listening to your soft breathing, “I’m not saying to discourage you, but—“

“My god, has anyone told you that you talk a lot?” You whine playfully, “You’re not discouraging me. Upsetting? Yes, but I’m not gonna lose hope this soon because you think it’s immoral for two adults to kiss.”

“One of the adults is twice the age of the other one and is the said adult’s mom’s friend,” he explains, running a hand down his face again, pulling on the edge of the seatbelt as you drive to your place, “Let’s just have dinner first then we’ll talk.”

“Right, you get hangry, how could I forget?”

“You’re insufferable. What the fuck does that even mean?”

“As you said, humor is not passed on by genes,” you look at him, winking as you pull into your apartment’s parking, “Okay, get the bags and I’ll get my boxes.”

You pull into your spot, cutting off the engine before you both get out. He follows you into the elevator quietly after he insisted on carrying your boxes for you while you held the food.

“What are these anyway?” He asks, shaking the boxes a little to hear what’s inside, “New purchases?”

“Those are my new toys, Robby,” you tell him as you both walk out of the elevator, unlocking your apartment door before stepping inside, holding the door open for him to join you as well while you take off your shoes, “New splints, needles for needle therapy, muscle tapes, and a new vibrator!”

“What?!”

“Wha– oh, no, no , hahah, no!” Your eyes widen so much you think they might pop out of your skull. You nearly drop the bags on the floor as you whip your face towards him, finding Robby blushing deeply as he stares at you with parted lips, “For muscles, a vibrator for muscles and limbs and rehabilitation, fucking hell , can you stop looking at me like that?”

“Like what?” His cheeks get redder, but he is no longer shocked, except he is grinning like an idiot, and you wanna wipe that smug smile off his face, “I’m not doing anything.”

“You know I know what you thought, so stop being an arrogant little boy about it,” you hiss, glaring at him as you march toward your kitchen to wash your hands.

This is so embarrassing , you think, because if this happened a month ago, you would have also rethought your entire life, but you wouldn’t be this flustered over it. This time it’s different, it’s worse, it’s more mind-wrecking because you have kissed Robby. He is no longer just your mom’s best friend who you had a crush on, he is the man who was sucking on your tongue only a few hours ago.

“No one’s called me a boy in the past twenty years, sweetheart,” he lowers the boxes on the ground, kicking off his shoes and placing them next to yours, “Also, I didn’t say a thing about your new vibrator, in fact I would love to see what it really is.”

“Fuck off, I’m eating all your food after I kick you out of my house,” you reach for the tissue paper next to the sink, drying your hands and turning around to look at him, “But if you are really interested…”

Robby leans back on the countertop on his elbows, eyes following all your movements as you start to pull out two plates and move to the coffee table in front of the couch.

“Don’t just stand there, help me or I’ll start calling you uncle again.”

“We’ve kissed, and you still wanna call me uncle? Disgusting ,” he makes a weird face before he brings the food to the table, sitting on the couch next to you and helping you unpack them. “What did Dana say after I left?”

“Nothing really, just that you’ve been acting weird for a few days.” You grab your plate and lean back on the couch, twisting your fork in the noodles, smiling when his ears turn red, “I wonder why.”

“Don’t flatter yourself, it’s not because of you,” he gives you a sharp look, trying to be convincing, but he is not even doing a good job at convincing himself, “I can’t look at your mom the way I used to.”

“Come on, it’s a decade-long friendship, I’m sure I’m not the only secret you’ve had to keep,” you shrug, but you know what he is really saying. It is hard to keep a cool persona around your mom when she is too quick to catch up on things, not to mention how easily she can pull the words out of your mouth.

“It’s not about that,” he puts his plate down and you do the same, turning around to look at your hands on your thighs first, not really ready to look you in the eye, “It’s about losing what we have created, and also your parents will skin me alive if they ever find out.”

“They won’t! Robby, what are you scared of?” You scoot closer to him, cupping his cheek while he leans on his side and reaches to caress your thigh, the distance between you slowly getting invisible, “We don’t work together, we don’t see each other as much as you see my mom. There is no reason for her to get suspicious.”

“Because!” He groans, dropping his head on your shoulder, pulling you closer as much as he can by throwing your legs over his thigh, “It’s not because of her, it’s… It’s us . I don’t want to ruin what we have if this doesn’t work out in the end.”

“We won’t know anything if we don’t try, Robby.” You can feel how your heart is beating faster, the doubt you have been trying to bury throughout the day is crawling back into your head, “You just have to… let yourself feel it.”

He doesn’t reply, not immediately anyway. But you can feel the hot exhale he lets out over your neck, his fingers tightening around your thigh. You scratch the back of his head, your nails working through the thin strands of his hair as you wait for him to say something.

Robby slowly pulls away enough to look into your eyes, the tip of his nose brushing against your cheek. The hand on your thigh moves to your jaw, thumb stroking the length of the bone, moving up to gently press down on your bottom lip.

He closes the distance in the blink of an eye — so much for a man who was telling you ‘Oh but it’s wrong’ and now is kissing you like he is starved for you. 

You kiss back instantly; there is no reason not to do so. Tugging on his hair gently, you let him tilt your head in the angles he wants to, deepening the kiss with so much intensity you have to wrap an arm around his shoulders to keep yourself from drifting away.

His teeth clash with yours, and his lips move with certainty you didn’t know he had in him. The kiss turns messy when he pushes his tongue into your mouth, humming at your familiar taste. 

You let out little gasps and sighs whenever you can breathe, both arms looped around his neck as you pour everything you can into this, letting him know you want him badly.

He lowers you onto the couch, maneuvering your body to his liking until he is as close to you as possible, making home between your legs without breaking apart from you.

But perhaps you should have listened to the doubt in your gut earlier today; maybe it would have helped to make this moment hurt less. He pulls back suddenly , face flushed and lips swollen, but there is a pain behind his brown eyes.

“I can’t do this.”

The way he whispers breaks you, and it only hurts worse when he sits back up to run a hand through his hair and stands up. 

You don’t have the energy to get up. You just lay there and watch him pace around your house, collecting his stuff before he stops and looks at you with a remorseful expression. 

“It’s wrong, sweetheart.”

You can’t say anything to him because he is out of your door in a second with his belongings gone. So you stay on the couch with a racing heart and a head full of foggy thoughts.

[oreo-creampies]

𝐰𝐡𝐨𝐬𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐝𝐚𝐝𝐝𝐲?

𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: Daddy/mama/brat etc…., overstimulation, breeding/creampie, riding, wall sex, full Nelson, mirror sex, praise/degradation, some mind break/dumbification, mention of a belly bulge (from satoru’s cum and cock), begging, possessive, size kink, squirting, knife play (no blood or cutting)

𝐫𝐞𝐪𝐮𝐞𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐝 𝐛𝐲 my pussy ✨

𝐊𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐨

Lining Kento up with your sensitive wet little hole. Losing your mind over how thick he is. Too big for your fingers to touch. “My hungry little cock sleeve missed me this much? Barely letting me take my clothes off before your licking the sweat off my cock and trying to take me in your soaking wet cunt.” Messaging your cheeks with his large rough warm hand. Holding your hip, slowly swiping his thumb in small circles.

You can’t get enough of how it feels to be touched by Kento Nanami. His touch is firm, gentle, warm, comforting and exhilarating. “Been thinkin’ ‘bout you non stop daddy!” The pinch in his brow smoothes, a lazy smirk tugging on his slips.

Tightening his grasp on your hip, his thick fingers sinking in your hip’s squishy crease. Kento roughly sliding you down on his fat, veiny cock. “Who am I?” Roughly smacking your ass, once, twice, your cunt clenching on the third.

Firmly grabbing your hips, guiding your tight hot cunt on his cock. Sliding your hand down his rock hard, cheilsted chest. Sinking your nails into his abs when he flexes, the lines deepening. “Tell me or I'm stopping, who’s fucking your tight cunt into a sloppy mess?”

You whine, “Daaaadddy isss! Daddy’s fat cock is stretching my cunt out, reaching so deep. I can feel your veins pulse, the shape of your head, nnnn you’re so deep! Right there daddy please keep bouncing me on your cock! You’re so strong!” Wrapping your arms around Kento when he stands.

Softly tugging on his soft blond hair, scratching his freckled backside. “You’ve been such a beautiful house wife, it due time I make you a mama.” Your cunt throbs, fluttering around him at the thought.

Needing one arm to hold you up, he wraps grabs a handful of your hair. Pulling your head back, looking up into his beautiful face, relaxed in pussy drunken bliss. He croon, “Am I your big strong daddy? Does my beautiful mama love it when I fuck her like a slut?”

𝐓𝐨𝐣𝐢

You’re helpless in his firm grasp, your legs pinned by your sides by his muscular arms. Toji’s large hands are clasped behind your head forcing you to look into the vanity mirror. “Look at ya sloppy little cunt, it was so small now it's taking my monster cock like it’s made for it.”

His cock always looks too big to fit, yet your soft squishy cunt takes him perfectly every time. You’re split open in a perfect circle, your puffy lips dragging along his cock when he pulls out. His heavy balls bouncing with each thrusts memorizing.

He gruffily demands, “Who’s slut are are you?” Your cunt flutters around his cock, spasming, gushing thick cum. Squirting all over his bed, some of your slick trickling down soaking his cum filled balls.

His cock head hitting your already aching bruised cervix threatening to do deeper. Could he? Loudly moaning, “Daddy’s! I'm daddy’s slut! Please! Please cum!” He groans, his fat cock’s veins throbbing.

He glides his cock out, “Fuck! Ya daddy’s little slut huh? Keep talkin’ like that and ya gonna make me cum too quickly. N’ after I made sure to jerk off with your panties so I can last longer in your lil super soaker.” Effortlessly sitting up, easing you out of the full Nelson. Holding you up, lining his cock up, gliding himself into your soft, squishy cunt.

Curling your toes, eyes rolling back, jaw dropping. “Too much! Please don't stop wanna be a good girl for Daddy! Please! Cum! Daddy! Please! Cum daaaaadddy!” Attempting to wiggle off Toji’s thick cock, your attempts are a pathetic shifting of your hips.

Toji stands up, fucking his thick, veiny cock into you harder. “Damanding little brat, after I cum I’m taping a vibator to your clit so I can smoke n’ have a drink watchin’ you whine and cum till your lil cunt breaks.” Tightening his grasp on your thigh, grabbing your hair holding your head still.

“Watch daddy fuck his cunt into a gapping cum filled mess.” He groans, looking handsome balls deep in your cunt. His thick arms, broad chest, and muscular thighs, Toji is a massive beautiful man having his way with your cunt.

𝐒𝐚𝐭𝐨𝐫𝐮

Tightening his grasp on your neck, pinning your thigh to the wall. Your other leg hooked around Satoru’s waist. “Dont even need to listen to you beg, your cunt is doing it for you. Hear how wet she is? Your little cunt keeps on cumming, soaking n’ gripping my cock.” Your cunt loudly squelches when he glides his long veiny cock in.

“Seems like no matter how much I cum my cock is keeping getting hard again. It’s all your fault. Sending me those sexy pictures and videos of you playing with yourself making my cock and balls ache.” Some of his thick cum is dripping out, your stomach’s bulge grows when he stuffs you with his cock.

Loosening his firm grasp on your neck, grabbing your other thigh. Pinning it and leaning back looking down watching slowly his thrusts down. He croons, “Aw I filled my your little cunt is too full of my cum, it's all dripping out no matter much I fucked it deeper!” He groans, it’s breathy ending in a needy whine.

Barely catching your breath, whimpering “Daddy please! I can't cum anymore!” Rapidly picking up speed with each hard thrust, till he’s moving faster than than the machine he’s gotten to watch you get fucked with.

Leaning in close, grabbing your chin, tilting your head back. His messy white hair falling into his beautiful sky blue eyes you swear have clouds in them. “Oh you can't? That’s too bad my poor little princess will have to keep taking Daddy’s cock in her broken little cunt anyway.” Roughly kissing you, slipping his tongue into your mouth, tasting of sweets and your cunt.

Biting your lip, stopping when you cry, your cunt clenching his sensitive cock. You can feel his veins throbbings, he’s close but that doesn't mean he’s done. Tilting his head back, his beautiful neck covered in lipstick and red hickies he won’t cover.

His jaw drops, he drops his head, pressing his forehead to your’s. “Fuck, fuck fuck fuck! You’re getting so tight! Mmmm you’re daddy’s little slut, my beautiful whore. Tell me who I am when I’m fucking your cunt into a sloppy mess.” Leaning back, stroking your clit with his thumb.

“You’re my-my! Nnnn!” You’re too cock drunk to get the words out. Whining, your cunt spamsing the intensity of your sore, sensitive cunt cumming for an unknownth time too much for you.

Satoru croons, “My my what? You said it? Whined it so beautifully it almost made me cum. You’re so fucking adorable, sexy, beautiful and needy, who else better to make me a daddy?”

𝐒𝐮𝐠𝐮𝐫𝐮

Holding a knife to your neck, fucking your your sloppy cunt like he hates you. Suguru’s harsh, quick thrust too intense for your poor sensitive cunt to take. Closing your eyes, “Daaaady nnnn you feelsooogood! You’re cock! Nnnnn you’re!! Ahh!! Daddy!!” He fucks you harder with every word you utter till you’re a whimpering mess.

Dragging the sharp knife’s tip down your neck, between your breasts. Slowly sliding it closer towards your nipple, grabbing your jaw. “I need you to look your daddy in the eyes beautiful, it gets me off seeing the sexy look on your pretty face when you cum, let me see you cum for the tenth time.” You’re so close.

His pierced tongue, his thick fingers and his beautiful fat cock have spoiled you. Swiping the cool knife over your sensitive nipple. “Ahhhnnn dadddy.” You can feel the strong vibrations of your butt plug in your cunt.

His thick, being cock stroking all the right spots. “Squirt on Daddy’s cock.” Gushing on Suguru’s thick cock, soaking his balls hitting your ass. Slick trickling down to the toy pulsing in your other hole. He relentlessly, fucking you through your intense high.

Your mind shattering, eyes rolling back. Suguru groans, “That’s it! Good lil’ cock slut!” His smirking, groaning he knows how beautiful he is.

Holding his long, luscious hair back, thick longs framing his beautiful, angular face. A hungry, cocky smirk on his parted lips, the pink flush of his cheeks. And the loving passion in his warm honey brown eyes.

Tightening his grasp on your hip, stopping your pitiful attempt to run away from Suguru’s cock. “Where you going? Daddy isn't done with you yet, you got me hard for another round now ya gotta be a good girl n’ take it.” Setting the knife aside, grabbing your hair leaning down.

He’s too tall forcing you to look up. Using his weight and his firm grasp on your hip to keep you pinned beneath him. Legs spread for him to beat up your sloppy cunt with his hard cock. You can't believe he is all your’s.

“Nnn I can take it, wanna take daddy’s fat cock, wanna be filled with your warm cum. Please daddy, you didn't fill me up last time. N’ I've been good! Wanna! Wanna feel you cum, please!” Letting his hair go, swiping it to one side to make a thick curtain.

“That’s why you’re daddy’s good girl huh? Nnnnfuckmamafuck tell me who’s gonna make a beautiful mama.” His thick veins pulsing he’s so close.

[mssorceressupreme]

Take Care of You | F.W

———

Pairing: Fred Weasley x reader

Summary: you wake up realising you’ve stained your boyfriend’s bed with period blood, and you feel terrible. later, while playing a friendly quidditch game, you get deadly cramps again and fred takes care of you for the rest of the day.

Warnings/content: reader gets her period, mentions of blood, pimples (lmao), insecure!reader, period cramps, fluff, fred weasley is THE standard :,), molly and arthur being the sweetest gems

———

The Burrow was quiet in the early morning, the golden glow of the sun barely peeking through the curtains of Fred's bedroom. The soft rise and fall of his breathing filled the room, his arms wrapped securely around you as you lay nestled against him. His warmth, his scent—fresh, like cinnamon and a hint of something mischievously sweet—made you want to stay here forever.

However, during this particular morning, something felt...off.

You shifted slightly, your brows knitting as you became aware of a slight discomfort in your lower abdomen. Your face scrunched up in confusion, and as you moved your hand to touch your face, you felt a few bumps along your skin—pimples, no doubt. Great. Just what you needed.

Then, you felt it. The damp warmth between your legs. A sinking feeling settled in your stomach. Panic shot through you as you carefully lifted the covers, heart pounding as you caught sight of the undeniable red stain on Fred’s bedsheets.

Oh no.

Your breath hitched, eyes widening in sheer mortification. Not only had you woken up to pimples, but you had gotten your period in your boyfriend’s bed.

Your boyfriend’s bed. Sure, if it was your own bed, you didn't mind, as it would be your problem to deal with. This, however, was an entirely different case. Godric, you wanted to hide, to run away, to retreat into your shell.

The urge to disappear entirely took over as your face burned with embarrassment. What were you supposed to do? Wake him up and tell him you’d basically bled all over his sheets? You felt a lump in your throat and your vision became teary. Especially with pimples all over your face now, what would Fred think? Would he get grossed out, horrified, disgusted?

Maybe if you were really quiet, you could sneak out and fix it before he even noticed—

Time seemed to slip from your hands when all the shifting you did stirred Fred from his sleep. Shit, it was too late to move.

He groaned softly before his arms instinctively tightened around your waist, pulling you back against him with a lazy smile.

“Morning, gorgeous,” he mumbled, voice thick with sleep. He pressed a sleepy kiss to your cheek before pausing, sensing the tension in your body. His brows furrowed, and he blinked, still groggy. “You alright, darling? You seem a little tense.”

You buried your face in your hands, groaning. “Fred, I—” Your voice was small, laced with hesitation. You inhaled deeply before revealing your dilemma, “I got my period.”

Fred blinked, confused for a second, before his lips curled into a small, lopsided smile. “Alright, love, no need to sound so distressed about it.”

You groaned again, this time with frustration. “No, you don’t understand,” you mumbled. “I stained your bed.”

With a deep breath, you lifted up the duvet and hesitantly pointed at the small red patch on the sheets. You felt your heart hammering in your chest as you dared to glance at his face, bracing yourself for—well, you didn’t know what exactly. Disgust? Annoyance? Irritation? But instead, all you found was Fred sitting up, stretching before looking at the stain with mild curiosity, then back at you with a soft chuckle.

“Is that all?” he said, completely unfazed. “Thought you were gonna tell me you’d hexed my eyebrows off in my sleep or something.”

You stared at him, dumbfounded. “Fred, I just bled on your bed,” you repeated, incredulous. “How are you this calm?”

"I just got my period...and I'm breaking out all over my face, I feel like a mess right now, I—" You continued rambling, all your worries spilling out at once.

He rolled his eyes fondly and pulled you into a warm hug, his chin resting on the top of your head. “Shh, shh, shh, it’s okay, love,” he murmured, rubbing soothing circles on your back. “It’s normal, yeah? Not like you did it on purpose.” He pulled back slightly, his hands gently cupping your face. “My poor baby, let me take care of you.”

Your heart melted at his words, but you still couldn’t shake off the embarrassment. “But your sheets—”

“Easily cleaned,” he interrupted, waving a hand like it was nothing. “Mum’s got stain removers, no big deal. What is a big deal, though, is that you’re clearly not feeling great.” His hands dropped to your waist, tugging you close again. “And my girl needs to be taken care of.”

You opened your mouth to protest, but before you could, Fred was already hopping out of bed. “I’ll be right back,” he said, tossing on a shirt. “You go to the bathroom, get cleaned up. I’ll sort everything else out.”

Still in a daze from his reaction, you hesitated before nodding. You slipped into the bathroom, heart still pounding as you peeled off your clothes, carefully cleaning yourself up. A few moments later, there was a soft knock at the door.

“Here, I’ve got some pads for you,” Fred called from the other side.

You cracked open the door, peeking out to see him holding a small stack of pads in his hands, a sheepish yet triumphant grin on his face.

“Ginny might have thrown something at me when I woke her up to ask, but worth it,” he teased, handing them to you.

You laughed, shaking your head. “Thank you, handsome.”

“For a pretty girl like you, anytime.” He kissed your forehead gently before stepping back. “Take all the time you need, I’ll be waiting for you.”

Once you were done, you returned to Fred’s room to find the bed already spotless, the stain completely gone. He grinned when he saw you. “Told you I’d sort it.”

You launched yourself at him, hugging him tightly. “Ugh Fred, you’re too good at this.”

“I know,” he said smugly, earning a light smack on the arm. He chuckled before pressing another soft kiss to your forehead. “Now, let’s get some breakfast in you, yeah?” There was something comforting about his kisses, every time he planted one on you, it felt as though everything was going to be alright.

Downstairs, the Burrow was already lively with chatter. Molly beamed as she hugged you good morning before returning to cooking, and Arthur greeted you warmly.

"Ah come join us, you lovebirds." Arthur teased, Fred's ears turning a light shade of red in response.

"What took you guys so long today? Busy eh?" Ron teased, wiggling his brows before taking a bite of his toast.

"Shove off, what's the point in rushing downstairs? Not like we've got somewhere to be." Fred retorted, a bit more harshly than he had intended.

Ginny shot you two a knowing look, giving you a sympathetic smile, "You won't understand the pressures of being a woman Ron, takes a lot to look this good every day." She joked, though laced with a comforting undertone, indirectly defending you. You tilted your head and smiled warmly at her, a way of showing gratitude.

"Come Y/N dear, you must be starving." Molly placed two eggs on your plate next to your toast, "Percy, pass her the butter will you."

"This looks delicious, thank you Molly!" You beamed, her food was always made with love; a mother's love, and that's what made it extra tasty.

Though you smiled, and occasionally shared quips with the others, only Fred was able to see right through you. He kept sneaking glances, his hand resting on your thigh under the table, stroking it gently.

You turned to give him a reassuring smile, but he still worried for you, wanting to ensure you felt better.

___

Later that afternoon, you and the Weasleys were playing a toned-down version of Quidditch outside the Burrow.

The sky was clear as day, the air crisp with a cool breeze occasionally blowing your hair, and laughter filled the open field as Ron, Fred, and Ginny zoomed around on their brooms, chucking the Quaffle back and forth.

Meanwhile, you, Percy, and George remained on the ground, running, dodging, and attempting to intercept the ball whenever it came your way.

At first, you kept up, laughing as George nudged you playfully and you pretended to dramatically fall or trip, making him burst into laughter.

"Woah, when did you get so strong?" Sarcasm lingered in your tone.

"Puh-lease, this is like twenty-percent of my strength. You're lucky I'm going on easy on ya." George ruffled your hair messily, it was safe to say the two of you definitely had a sibling-like relationship.

Though as the game went on, you started to slow down. The cramps you’d been trying to ignore all day crept in with full force, sharp and unbearable.

It felt like your insides were twisting, a deep ache radiating through your stomach and back, growing stronger by the minute. You bit your lip, pressing a hand to your abdomen, willing the pain away. But it was no use.

After a few more steps, you stopped completely, crouching down with a sharp inhale.

Fred, who had been mid-air, immediately noticed. He veered off from the game and swooped down toward you, concern flickering across his face. "Love? What's wrong?" he asked, his voice softer now as he handed his broom off to George, who had also stopped running and looked at you with concern.

“You alright, Y/N?” George asked, his usual teasing tone replaced with genuine worry.

You tried to wave them off, not wanting to make a fuss, but Fred wasn’t having it. He crouched beside you, his large hands gently resting on your arms as he searched your face.

"Cramps," you admitted in a whisper, wincing slightly.

Fred was up in an instant. "Alright, that’s it. You're going inside." He stood, helping you up carefully, his arm wrapping around your waist protectively. George gave you an encouraging nod before returning to the game, and as you and Fred walked toward the Burrow, you leaned into him, grateful for his warmth and steady presence.

As soon as you stepped inside, Molly turned from the stove, immediately noticing your pale face and Fred’s worried expression. "What’s wrong, dear?" she asked, wiping her hands on her apron as she approached.

“Cramps,” Fred answered before you could, his voice carrying that soft, caring edge that made your heart ache in the best way.

“Oh, sweetheart," Molly cooed. "You sit down and rest. I’ll whip up some soup and a cramp relief potion right away.”

"Thank you, Molly," you said softly, feeling a rush of gratitude for the warmth and kindness of the Weasley family.

You always secretly hoped you'd marry into the family one day, but you didn't want to admit that aloud, or pressure Fred into such things yet.

Fred led you upstairs to his room, insisting you lay down. "Rest up, yeah? I’ll be back in a bit," he murmured, pressing a kiss to your forehead before slipping out of the room.

A little while later, the door creaked open again, and Fred returned, carrying a small basket filled with chocolates, a heating pad, some of your favourite snacks, and—to your surprise—a teddy bear.

You blinked at it, smiling despite your discomfort. “A teddy?”

Fred set the basket down, and held the bear up, making its little arm wave at you. "To cuddle with."

You giggled, looking at him with awe. “Come here. I’d rather cuddle with you, baby."

He grinned before climbing into bed next to you, immediately wrapping you in his buff arms. His embrace, his scent—everything about him was comforting, you could only melt right into him.

He pressed a soft kiss to your forehead before pulling back slightly to face you. But after a moment, you grew shy, burying your face in his chest.

“Don’t look at me,” you mumbled, insecurity creeping in. “I don’t feel pretty right now.”

Fred’s brows furrowed, and he cupped your cheek, tilting your face back up to him. "Don’t you ever say that," he murmured, his gaze filled with so much love it made your heartache.

"You’re perfect. You’re gorgeous. These little things, flaws you might call them—they don’t matter. If anything, they make you even more beautiful. To me, you always look good, angel."

Tears welled in your eyes at his words, and you let out a shaky breath. “I love you, Freddie.”

His expression softened even more, his thumb brushing against your cheek. “I love you too.”

With that, he pulled you closer, your eyelids feeling heavier by the second, drifting off into a peaceful nap in his arms.

___

An hour later, Molly walked in, a tray in her hands carrying a bowl of warm soup and a small vial of cramp relief potion. But as soon as she saw the two of you curled up together, fast asleep, a tender smile spread across her face. She stood there for a moment, simply watching, before turning to call Arthur over.

Arthur peeked inside, his eyes crinkling with affection as he took in the sight. “Reminds me of us back in the day,” he murmured with a fond chuckle.

Molly playfully swatted his arm before she placed the tray on the bedside table, snapping a quick photo of you and Fred with a knowing grin. Then, hand in hand, she and Arthur quietly slipped out of the room, leaving you both to your peaceful afternoon nap.

____

A/N: currently on my period and thought a fluffy fic would be healing rn <3 lowkey feeling a smut one soon? not sure though hehehe (help I'm so indecisive 😭😩)

[wordsofwhimsy]

(っ◔◡◔)っ ♥ The MASTERLIST ♥

Hope this is helpful for navigating my page!

Just a few things to keep in mind when perusing my stuff:

All my works are Mark Grayson x f!Reader

If the piece is for a variant I'll specify that after the title

I don't really take requests but if I post something that you want a continuation on, or maybe you want to see more from a specific variant/genre [fluff, angst, smut, etc.] I'm all for that!!

you can find my replies & other random thoughts under the tag "whimsical words"

The headcannons section isn’t necessarily just headcannons lol but also just random thoughts that didn't quite fit into the 'drabble' genre

Lovers in Mourning [Prisoner!Mark]

Supposed to Live Forever

Mark is a Nerd

Vertically Challenged

Immortal

Break Ups Hurt

Thoughts [Moustache!Mark]

Vibes for Dinner [Lensless/No Goggles!Mark]

Favorite Position

Mark Loves Praise [Variants!Mark]

Everything With Music [Mohawk!Mark]

Pre-Powers & Panties

Manscapping [Main!Mark & Variants]

Helping Hand in the Restroom [Main!Mark & Variants]

Blindsided

Dancing Queen

Starry Night

Focus, Mark!

Congratulations

Pomegranate [Viltrum!Mark]

Just a Baby [Mohawk!Mark]

Your Story

Time for You

Dying By Your Side [Variant!Mark]

You Got a Cat! [Mohawk!Mark]

The Way I See You [Blind!Reader]

As Long As You Need

Couldn't Say it to Your Face [not 18+ but a brief description of a sex scene]

Unhinged Tech Support [No Goggles/Lensless!Mark]

Call Me Next Time [Multiple!Variants] [the part for each variant is more like a drabble but if read collectively is definitely a one shot]

I Can Feel a Hot One [Sinister!Mark]

Walk Through Hell

Built Different [No Goggles/Lensless!Mark]

Your Best Friend is Built Like Adonis

Human Creativity

One Text, One Photo

Lazy Mornings

For You, Anything

Empire of Two [Sinister!Mark]

My Hero

Power Play [Omni!Mark]

How to Slay a Dragon

The Cycle of You [Shiesty!Mark] [not 18+ but mature themes throughout]

The Mask We Wear

If I Was Your Girlfriend...

The Ghost of You [Omni!Mark]

We Start Here [Viltrumite!Mark]

All the Pretty Girls

Glide, Spin, Kiss, Repeat [Main!Mark x Reader x Eve]

Honey & Ashes [Sinister!Mark] [not 18+ but he gives a pretty graphic recount of his kills for the day]

The Ex Games [Mohawk!Mark]

Call Me Next Time [Multiple!Variants] [the part for each variant is more like a drabble but if read collectively is definitely a one shot]

Overtime

Handle With Care (Or Don't) [Lensless/No Goggles!Mark] [tall!reader]

Claim or Rot [Retro!Mark]

Sweet Innocence [Mohawk!Mark | No Goggles/Lensless!Mark | Viltrum!Mark]

Beach Day Blues [not 18+ but there's a couple scenes that might not be suitable for all audiences]

Thank You

40z and Shorties [Unspecified Variant!Mark]

Out of My Mind [Mohawk!Mark]

Man of the Year [Sinister!Mark]

Body Language

Where the Blood Stays Warm [Sinister!Mark]

High Heels, Higher Standards [Omni!Mark]

Shy Girl Supremacy [No Goggles/Lensless!Mark]

Irresistible [Shiesty!Mark]

I Love You So [Sinister!Mark] [super dark!!]

Find the Masterlist here!

Find the Masterlist here!

[daenysx]

Maybe some James potter smut since it’s his birthday? (Idk if it’s still his bday where you are but whatever)

happy birthday to the loveliest boy ever ♡

-send me drabble requests!

james potter x fem!reader, smut

James tells you he's proud of you all the time.

Every time he does it, his words leave a gentle rush of waves in your stomach. Something crawling slowly, like he's gonna ruin you. He looks at you with widened eyes, a small smile curled up on his lips, and you are dying to kiss him.

He whispers it, the first time in three days, and your fingers on the keyboard slow down. His voice sends shivers down your spine and it's a delicious feeling how he can make your mind go blank with only a few words. You press your cheek on your shoulder, a lazy attempt to get back to your senses. James takes the opportunity to kiss your exposed neck.

"Jamie," you murmur. He knows what he's doing, never clueless when it comes to you. "I have to finish this."

"You've got an entire night ahead of you, angel," he mumbles. "Can I maybe have some of your attention?"

Fuck him for being so sweet. He plays his part well to distract you, craving your attention like he's been starved for it all day.

"I can help you with your work later," he offers when you stay silent. "If you take a break with me."

James has a pair of convincing eyes and when he watches you like he needs you, you can't keep doing your work properly. You turn your face to him, recognize the vulnerable look in his face.

"Are you okay?" you ask with concern. He nods.

"Just tired," he replies. "I, um, kinda had an argument with Tom today."

Tom is one of his closest friends on the team, a person who makes his long training sessions more bearable. They don't really argue, this might even be the first time. Your brows get together with worry.

"I'm sorry, Jamie," you say, standing up and leaving your laptop.

"That's okay, we'll probably fix things tomorrow," he says. Sunshine personified, your favorite person in this world. "I just don't want to think about it now."

You take his hand, lead him to bed. It's messy with the blankets thrown over four different colored pillows. A silent practice, how you get your body tangled with his. He lifts his leg to settle it down between your thighs and you press yourself without being embarrassed at all. No need for that, he keeps telling you.

"What were you whispering?" you decide to distract him with a lazy tease. "Before you took me away from my stuff?"

"I'd say you willingly left, but the details are not important, huh?"

He gets on top of you with half of his body, looks at you with hazy eyes. Gorgeous boy.

"And I was just talking about how good you are at what you're doing," he whispers and kisses your cheek. "With that frown on your face when you're upset with it. Or with you biting your lip in pride when you got something right."

"You were watching me."

"I'm always watching you."

You kiss him and he closes his eyes. It's been a long day. He got through it somehow, but being able to relax after a day like this is not easy. Even James Potter needs to be taken care of sometimes.

His fingers are wanting, stroking your waist eagerly. The kiss lasts for a few minutes, whispers of affection lingering in the air between you. Your hands play with his hair, big waves falling in your palms as you move.

You take off your shirt. Nothing happens too fast and it's a good thing. How could he rush this when he got it after wanting so much? Desire pooling in his belly, legs shaking and James swears he could moan when you rub yourself on his thigh.

His shirt's on the floor, too. Every piece of clothing on both of you gets lost and James kisses your inner thigh.

"Get under the blankets," James tells you. "It's cold in here."

You do as he says with his help, pulling his naked body under the soft fabric with you. "I'm feeling really warm," you tell him with a sneaky smile that usually belong to his part of teasing.

"Yeah?" he asks against your collarbones. "Can you show me where?"

You take his hand and drag it slowly to your belly. He does the rest of the job and moves his fingers to your wetness. Sticky sweet under his touch, lazy and wanting. You close your eyes and let him play with you.

James has long fingers and they are thick, but he makes sure they are warm enough every time he touches you. His thumb spends a few second with your clit and he uses others to spread the wetness all over you. You lift your hips when he presses just right, his eyes are glowing with something both exhausted and excited.

"Pretty," he whispers, his fingers find a nice rhytm. It's lazy and slow, a gentle touch on your body and he feels like he belongs here. Right here on the bed, under blankets and his hand never stops touching you. He keeps moving until he has you shaking with a tender wave of shiver.

"It's not gonna end," he murmurs on the side of your neck, his lips not kissing and letting you go mad. "I promise I'll keep going."

He sounds so in love, but so tired. You don't even try to stop yourself from accepting the rush his fingers bring, it's strong and you arch your back. Pleasure has you trembling, it's delicious, and you let out a songlike breath. You want to beg him to kiss your neck, he understands your shaky breaths and finally parts his lips against your pulse point.

His fingers keep moving the way you like. You can't see his face as he's kissing your neck, sucking a little bruise there, you hold the back of his head gently to look at him. A pair of lovesick eyes, his lips are swollen and cheeks warm with desire. You can almost feel him rubbing himself on the sheets, the thought of it is enough to let go.

"James," you whisper, desperate to touch him with your free hand. He stays still. "Don't do it yourself, I wanna help. Please, oh-"

He doesn't listen. He can't. His hands are busy and he can't breathe, he needs to come undone. Adjusting his hips, he gets some stimulation from the sheets, enough to make him moan. "I'm so tired, I need to come with you. I can't- can't wait, sweetheart, I'm sorry."

"Let me touch," you say in a demanding but soft voice. "Let me help."

James listens to you this time, he knows you'll do a better job. He comes up a bit higher in bed for you to reach him, you eagerly extend your hand to feel. It's not difficult to get him right there with you, the moment before the peak. He closes his eyes and puts his head on your chest, lazily sucking on your nipple to ground himself. He's moving his hips against your hand, a big breath ready on his chest.

You come with a moan. James thinks it's the prettiest sound ever. With the rush of the moment, you move your hand faster and he follows you. Your mind goes blank, the world gets blurry. James stays on your chest, his body feels heavier now that he's relaxed. You love seeing him like this, without the anxiety his day left behind.

"Need to clean us up," he mumbles. He's half asleep. "It's uncomfy."

You smile softly. He doesn't even have the energy to blink. "Stay for a while," you tell him, your hand in his hair to fix his waves. "We can do it later."

It's tempting and James is easily convinced. Your chest is the perfect pillow, his head moves as you take calm breaths. Rubbing the tired muscle between his shoulder and neck, you urge him to fall asleep. He forgets everything other than your touch.

[countdykulaa]

Ok I know you probably mean new requests but I am genuinely in love with obsessed reader and dark sevika I LOVE when both characters are crazy I need to see more, would you want to write maybe either sevika thinking about obsessed reader's voice for a while or maybe her trying to track reader down?? Or even Sevika organizing a meeting???

cw : sexual content. breeding kink . referring to strap on / dildo as cock. dom!sevika. mean!sevika. overstimulation. porn with absolutely no plot

Sevika wouldn’t be able to stop thinking about you, no matter how hard she tried. She’d throw herself into work, bury herself in stacks of paperwork, and even humor her family more than usual, just to keep her mind occupied. She’d sit through mindless meetings, hands twitching as her focus drifted again and again to the same thoughts. your voice, low and breathy, whispering against her ear. Begging her for more. It played like a broken record, over and over, no matter how much she tried to drown it out.

Her phone would become her greatest enemy. Every buzz, every notification would send a jolt through her, her stomach twisting with a hope she couldn’t shake. Her eyes would flicker to it more times than she’d ever admit, and when it wasn’t you, a frustrated snarl would form on her lips. Leg bouncing, jaw clenched, she’d curse the way you’d wormed your way under her skin.

But then,   you'd call.

For the first time in two weeks, the "No Caller ID" would flash bright and wide on her phone at midnight. Sevika didn’t hesitate. The call connected on the second ring, her breath short and uneven as she brought the phone to her ear.

She didn’t speak at first, didn’t trust her voice not to give her away. She could hear you on the other end, though ...the faint sound of your breathing, hitching in a way that sent heat prickling up the back of her neck. The silence stretched, taut and electric, before you finally broke it.

“Sevika.”   

You breathe out her name as if it were your one salvation. She leans forward, desperate for more.

“What are you doing right now? ”   

A moment passes between you two that feels like a scenary . the faint sound of something sqelching can be heard in the background after your ever growing moans .

“I'm … i'm fucking myself on your cock … i added lube but it's so big i can't.. it wont fit . and im so wet”   

your voice breaks by the end and sevika's pants feel tighter than ever as she twists in her seat . her eyes flutter for a minute and she swears she can see you , the unamed , unshaped mess riding her into an oblvion . she can see the tears welling your eyes through the pleading in your voice .

“ride me harder. faster.”   

“Sevika., i can't , i can't my thighs are shaking . sevika it hurts.”

"Yes, you can. And you will. You wanna be lazy, call someone else."

She gives you little options or mercy, and judging from the slight hiccup in your voice, you comply.

“sevika  ,   sevika you're sobig .  please ,  please touch me i  need you  to grab me and pull me down i  can't  ...   sevika please ”      

fuck .

she lets her head lull back and her hand roughly grab her crotch  .   she can't bring it in her to touch herself  ,   but the shame carries through her when she grinds down . she feels a million muffled sparks shoot through her thighs , all inhibitions lose as she groes desperate . she was going to cum , soon and hard . and it was like you could tell . could hear the slight in her voice judging from the way you moaned her name so heavenly.

Your next words are whispered and barely audible, but they catapult her to new heights.

“  sevika   ...   please cum in me .” 

her voice staggers and if she wasn't close before she is now  .   the   only sound that echoes is her laboured breath.  a pit forms in her  ,   she can feel it growing  ,   expanding until it holds her entire   beings attention  . her body goes rigid  , a groan shot out of her mouth as she clenches around nothing .

it takes almost two minutes for sevika to breathe out the next words .

  “tell me where you are .”      

She throws her phone against the wall and watches it shatter when the only answer she receives is the static of the disconnected phone.

And now she was here.

After days , weeks of those calls , of surrounding to your darkest desires every time your hand so much as touched your clit, your day of reckoning had finally arrived .

Your heart stops in its tracks as her face fills your vision. It’s like seeing a ghost, an imposing, unshakable ghost that you’ve dreamt about and dreaded in equal measure. Blood rushes from your face as a wave of panic surges up your spine. Sevika takes a step forward, her sharp eyes pinning you in place, but the heavy weight of her presence sends your instincts into overdrive. Your feet betray you, stumbling backward in shaky, uneven steps.

Her gaze doesn’t falter, and you swear you catch the faintest twitch of amusement at the corner of her mouth as she watches you retreat. It’s predatory... intense, deliberate, and knowing. The apartment feels too small now, like there’s nowhere to hide, nowhere to escape her.

And so, you run.

The click of your heels against the floor echoes louder than ever, each step ringing out like a countdown to your inevitable fate. Your chest heaves as you turn the corner, adrenaline burning through your veins. You feel like prey, hunted, cornered, and entirely at her mercy. Your mind screams to keep going, to find a way out, but your body betrays you with a craving you can’t ignore. Deep down, beneath the panic, is a desperate, unspoken desire for her to catch you. To claim you.

And then she does.

It’s only a matter of time before her hand wraps around your arm, rough and unrelenting. With a force that knocks the breath from your lungs, she slams you against the wall, face first. The cold surface bites against your skin, but it’s nothing compared to the heat radiating off her body, so close behind you.

“This is what you wanted, isn’t it?”   her voice is a low growl, 

You shake your head, a feeble denial that’s betrayed by the wetness pooling between your thighs. You can feel her smirk even without looking at her.

“Don’t lie to me,” she says, her breath warm against your ear. Her free hand snakes up to your neck, her touch firm but teasing. You feel like a doe caught in the jaws of a lion, trembling under her gaze, powerless yet willing.

You shudder , feeling her grip tighten just slightly , enough to remind you that she’s in control .

And then, with the ease of someone who knows exactly what they’re doing , she drags you to the bedroom . Her hand stays at the back of your neck , her touch like a leash , and you stumble behind her , unable to find the will to resist.

“That’s why you called all those nights,” she spits out. “Begging me for this.”

She’s harsh in the way she handles you , no ounce of tenderness softening her grip . The final shove sends you sprawling onto your own bedroom floor , the impact reverberating through your body with a solid , jarring thud.

Your palms press against the cool surface as you push yourself up slightly , trembling. But then your gaze lifts … and there she is.

Her shadow towers over you, broad shoulders squared, her chest heaving faintly as her predatory eyes rake over you. She doesn’t move right away, and somehow that stillness is worse. It gives you time to take her in, the taut set of her jaw, the dangerous curve of her lips, and the way her presence seems to fill the room, leaving you no space to breathe.

Your body shudders violently, not just from fear, but from something deeper, something primal that you can’t seem to wrestle into submission. That commanding aura of hers, it pins you to the floor more effectively than any hand could.

She tilts her head slightly, her eyes narrowing. “Look at you,” she says, her voice dripping with disdain, but there’s something else lurking there, something that makes your stomach twist.

Your lips part, but no words come out, only shaky breaths. Every instinct tells you to move, to do something, but you don’t. You can’t. All you can do is kneel there, trembling under the weight of her dominance, as if she’s already claimed every part of you without lifting a finger.

“Please,” you gasp out, voice barely above a whisper.

“Say it.”   

“Please don’t make me…” Your words falter, and she laughs softly, a deep, rumbling sound that vibrates through you.

“Say it,” she repeats, more insistent this time.

Your lips part, and the words spill out before you can stop them. “Please touch me.”

The dam bursts, shattering every last inhibition you’ve tried to hold onto. The confession hangs in the air between you, thick with tension and raw desire. It’s as if those three little words have unleashed something primal within her, something that craves, consumes, and devours. And as she lets herself indulge in you, you realize you’ve never felt more alive.

she exhales slowly, her   hands moving to her belt with a quickness . she unbuckles her belt , shoving her pants down to reveal boxers . your eyes eagerly trail down her thick thighs , before rising back up . Your desperate words are caught in the back of your throat . Your eyes freeze at the obvious bulge and you can't believe this is happening and you can't breath . to breath in her presence would be the greatest sin in your eyes as you bestow upon her .

you need her . you need her so bad you can hardly see . you need her so bad you can hardly think . you've been reduced to a thing that needs sevika .

“take it baby.”

Your hands wobble and shake as you reach for her underwear . you tug on her band until the cock bounces free . the first thing you notice is the way it slightly bounces in the air , your own breath hitches . you're certain that a woman like her wouldn't dub this her most largest toy and the simple fact sparks a sharp , icing pain through your chest . you had to show her how much everyone who so much as touched her didn't matter before . didn't matter anymore .

you trailed your fingers along its length , noting it's rubbery and smooth texture , right to the tip , which you lightly stroked; and then, amazed by your own boldness, moved back down a little , to grasp her cock firmly . you lean forward , a hesitent lick being given to the tip . the sharp inhale it receives spurs you to wrap your lips around the head . your hand strokes the silicone toy as your head slowly bops .

her hand grabs at your braids , rough calloused fingers tightening the grip as she thrusts into your mouth . you relax your jaw , a vigor running through as you quicken your pace . Your gags echo the room as she shoves you deeper , longer and your fighting every urge to grind your thighs together . you can almost smell it . the taste of her musk . the rougher she thrusts, the deeper you take her , her scent lingers in your nose . at least you swear it does . you can almost taste it . when she comes minutes later , pushing your head as deep as it goes you can almost feel the cum shooting down your throat .

You barely even make it to the bed after that .

she grabs you by the arm and drags you by your wobbly and thrumming knees and grabs the back of your thighs . the squeak , doesnt leave your mouth but your nails dig into her shoulders the same .

sevika walks you to the bed and thrusts you onto the bed . your body barely has enough time to bounce before she climbs onto of you . you feel her cock on your thigh . your bare thighs . your night dress is high nearing your hips and you're sure she has a view of your pearly pink panties and you can't breathe .

you feel her touch before you see her hand moving towards your thigh . you feel the way it hovers over your under , the gentle strokes it gives to your clothed clit . before you can beg , plead , speak , you feel her thumb slightly press down on your clit . you slightly jolt , your eyes never leaving hers and your slick pooling down the same . she presses circles and you can feel how wet you are . how much you've been begging for this moment .

"se - sevika."

you barely breathe out her name before she pushes your underwear to the side . her fingers , now presumbly slick , rub on your clit gently before pressing down . you almost feel your body go rigid , your jaw go slack as she inserts two fingers . you don't have it in you to feel ashamed at how you open up to it , to her . she fucks you in a way so gentle you almost float off .

"pretty little thing aren't you." she whispers in your ear , the only response she gets being a whimper . a moment later , before you can even thrash and shake , she pulls them out of you.

you feel the head of her cock near your entrance and sink your claw like nails in her back when she puts it in . you almost feel small tear drops of blood the longer you sink in but your eyes are shut and she's so big . you wrap your feet tightly around her back so she can’t get away .

 she begins a rhythm , rhythm quickly accosted with the creak of your bed slamming against the wall . she's not nice in the way she fucks you . rough , deep strokes dragging you further down until you're almost suffocating . you can't speak , can barely function beyond punched out moans and she doesn't try to fill in the silence .

The longer she fucks you the more quiet you get  .   your eyes flutter shut  .   a growing intensity settling in your lower half.

“Tell me something doll.” she whispers in your ear . you feel something building inside you , your breath staggering and almost coming to a halt. “Did you get the chase you needed?”

“Oh.”   you whimper out  ,   voice high pitched   and downright   pathetic in sevika’s eyes . an orgasm rumbled through you and your nails sunk in your palm as you writhed and clenched around the toy .

static washes through your ears and it takes a minute to realize sevika hasn't stopped fucking you . her hand moves from its position of make shift bound and cups your jaw . your arms ache as they remain in their position

you slump into the sheets , unable to suppress the whimpers that crawl from you . your eyes are shut , babbles and moans overtaking any sense and you in your oversensitive state can feel the edge she drags you to . your clit pulses , limbs shaking .

“look at me.” she softly commands

yours eyes flutter open as you look at her through tear welled eyes , the sweat clinging her hair to her forehead , the way her lips part slightly , the pleasure that tremors through her body. the darkness in her eyes that greets you immediately sets you off before you can control yourself . your whine shatters through the air like glass and your face scrunches as you're shoved into your next orgasm .

TAGLIST : @saycubed , @r3starttt , @cyb3rdino

[dollyforever]

the shifter laziness epidemic ✶ (and how to escape it)

- a rant by dolly

I have been involved in the shifting community since november 2024 and throughout the months I noticed a constant issue in many of the people both on here and on tiktok that haven't been able to shift, even after trying for years.

I want to comment on the issue because I've seen how many shifters (me included) have a tendency to go through phases with shifting. First it's coming up with a dr idea and spending hours excitedly scripting and making pinterest boards. Then it's daydreaming about the dr. Finally, It's time to actually try and shift there, right?

And you try for the first time. You spend a whole hour laying down in an awfully uncomfortable position on your back, listening to subliminals on your earphones while you try to ignore your family's annoying noises from the living room. But you try anyway. You get tingles and maybe even feel your surroundings starting to change, or whatever that means. Something changes.

And you wait, and you wait, wait for something to happen. Like, come on, I've been sitting here for an hour, my legs are numb, so why am I not there yet? Still, nothing happens and you can still hear your brother yelling from his room while he plays fortnite.

So eventually, you get frustrated, curse at the universe for doing this to you, and go to sleep because "maybe if I set intention, I'll shift". But you don't.

And the next day you wake up wanting to cry, and you say "whatever, I'll try again tonight." So you do, and it's the same as yesterday. And the days go by, and desperation is starting to take over. Because you just want to shift and others are doing it on their first try and why can't I?

Eventually this loop of trial and error is just straight up error. So you continue reading through tumblr posts, and keep saving tiktoks on "shifting tips" and "motivation" which in reality are all saying the same exact thing, just worded differently. And you script for hours. And you daydream for hours. But when it's the time of truth, which is actually shifting, you can't bother doing it for more than 5 minutes because, what's the point?

And that's the issue. You're spending your whole life planning on shifting and dreaming about shifting and crying about shifting and EVERYTHING is shifting. You're treating it like it's this fanfiction. But are you shifting? Actually, actively shifting? I feel like many of the people who can't shift don't realise how real it is. By trying for 10 minutes every day and giving up each time you're just telling your mind "This is how it's supposed to be". "This is our normal".

I hate to say this, but my biggest advice is to take a break. Seriously, take. a. break. Forget about your dr for a little while. Even if it's just for a week. Do some self care, PRACTICE MEDITATION WITHOUT THE INTENTION TO SHIFT during it! Seriously, gosh I beg you guys, meditate for the sake of relaxing and learning about yourself in different meditative states. Read about manifesting (ahem, ahem, Joe Dispenza), watch videos, go learn, research, whatever. You need to realise that life, consciousness and shifting don't make sense. And they don't have to. There's so many things left to explain but you need to let go of your rational mind when shifting.

I'm sure you always hear about letting go. I never understood what that meant until I shifted. And it's real advice, let go. It's also a bit of a problematic phrase, because trying to "let go" probably does the opposite, because you start obsessing over wether you're correctly letting go or not. Sigh. What I mean by letting go is, stop looking for evidence that you shifted. Stop looking for evidence that you're close to shifting. YOU ALREADY HAVE! And stop trying to shift if you know that you're going to give up after 5 minutes because "nothing is happening".

Shifting doesn't make sense. And it doesn't have to for you to shift.

[claramelooo]

HEYYY! It's me again! I'm so happy with all the support words and the great proportion this story is taking that I got excited and I just want write more and more to you guys!! (I'm vacations btw lol)

First of all, I would like to say that I don't know much about the US admission system, so if I got it wrong, please correct me.

Second, if you have any suggestions to improve the story's progress or speed up my writing, feel free to contact me.

Last but not least: enjoy it and comment plsss <3

MINORS MUST NOT INTERACT

Paring: Mommy Dom Wanda x Brat Fem reader

WARNING: +18

Summary : Wanda wraps you in the web she has created.

Read here: Prologue | Part 1 – Predator | Part 3 - On your knees

Velvet Chains

The Prey

It was around 3 a.m., and Wanda sighed, staring at the ceiling of the bedroom. The silence was broken only by the lazy whirring of the fan. Vision lay asleep beside her, turned away, breathing deeply. The space between them on the bed felt like an unbridgeable chasm. She turned her head to look at him for a moment but felt a weight in her chest as she realized there was no warmth there, no real connection.

Sex with Vision had always been… functional, almost mechanical. It was always about him—his needs, his desires. There were moments when she tried to convince herself that this was normal, that love was above all a commitment, but nights like this made it clear: something was terribly wrong.

Wanda shut her eyes tightly, trying to push away the frustration building up inside her. It wasn’t just the sex. It was everything. The suffocating predictability, the lack of intensity, the absence of something she had never been able to name but missed with an almost painful ferocity.

And then there was you.

The memory of your face, the way you looked at her during dinner, came rushing back like a storm. Your eyes held a mix of defiance and uncertainty—something Wanda couldn’t get out of her mind. Since seeing you, there had been a growing need inside her, something primal and overwhelming. It wasn’t just desire—though that was undeniable. It was the way you made her feel, as if she were alive for the first time in years.

Wanda sat up in bed, running her hands through her hair, frustrated with herself. It was wrong. That much was obvious. You were young, inexperienced—a delicate soul who deserved freedom, not the weight of the obsession she felt growing inside her.

But the more she tried to rationalize, the more inevitable it seemed. There was something about you—your innocence mixed with a quiet resilience, as if the world couldn’t break you, no matter how hard it tried. It was hypnotic. She wanted to shape you, to dominate your strength and fragility all at once, to explore every nuance of you until there was nothing left to hide.

A shiver ran down her spine, and she pressed her fingers against her temples, trying to stifle the thoughts.

“This has to stop,” she murmured to herself. “This isn’t who I am.”

But the truth was, she wasn’t sure who she was anymore. With Vision, with the life she had built—it all felt so distant, so colorless. And then you appeared, and the entire world gained a new vibrancy, an intensity she hadn’t realized she craved until she felt it.

She looked at Vision again, still turned away, still oblivious to the storm raging beside him. For a moment, Wanda felt a wave of guilt, but it disappeared as quickly as it came. Because the reality was clear: she would never feel whole with Vision.

The clock read 3:23 a.m. when Wanda slipped out of bed, her bare feet meeting the cold floor. She needed space, needed to think, but she knew that every step she took was leading her deeper into dangerous territory—a path of no return.

Reaching the living room, she grabbed a bottle of whiskey—Vision only drank it to celebrate work promotions—and took a swig straight from the bottle, hoping to drown out the chaotic thoughts of you, of Vision, of herself.

But they didn’t go away.

As the alcohol coursed through her veins, Wanda felt her body float. And then, she felt ready to do something she had never done before. With trembling hands from adrenaline and excitement, Wanda picked up her laptop from the coffee table and searched for what had been on her mind since the moment she first laid eyes on you.

The video was artificial, the expressions of pleasure fake, the moans hollow. But the scene itself sparked Wanda’s imagination.

She pictured you moaning beneath her as she slid a good, thick strap inside your tight little pussy, pinning your arms above your head, leaving you completely at her mercy. She imagined slapping your pretty face until you gave in, sticking your tongue out to accommodate her fingers, letting her lubricate them before slowly sliding them into your tight little ass, driving you wild.

Denying you orgasms until you begged her with teary, pleading eyes. Pushing you until you finally said the one word you so desperately needed to say—and that she so desperately needed to hear.

Wanda also fantasized about riding your face, making you drown in her wet pussy, suffocating on her juices. Marking your neck and chest with bruises she would proudly touch the next day.

These thoughts alone were enough to make Wanda forget the adult film on her screen and focus entirely on you. Her fingers worked diligently over her clit, her body trembling as the signs of orgasm built within her. Moments later, she came, her eyes rolling back, her legs shaking.

Oh, fuck. She had to have you soon.

 [...]

The city library was a sanctuary of sacred silence, where whispered voices mingled with the soft rustle of turning pages. You had returned to the country with a single purpose: to study. Your mother never missed a chance to remind you that your bright future hinged on a prestigious university. But after everything, Yale felt like an unattainable dream.

Not anymore.

You still had a chance to transfer and adapt to a new routine—though adjusting had never been hard for you. You’d spent your 18th birthday alone, blowing out the candle on a strawberry cupcake someone had given you, wishing for the power to change your life.

And now, here it was.

Determined, you worked tirelessly to achieve an excellent GPA, nurtured relationships with your professors, and spent the remaining months meticulously preparing your early decision application.

Then came the waiting—waiting and waiting for that damn call. Time passed. You turned 20—too old for a Christian boarding school, too young to face the world—and found yourself staring out of the same window.

When your father finally called, his expressionless voice carried the weight of your shattered dreams.

And now, here you were, standing before an old building with beautiful architecture that probably held some intriguing history. With a pile of notebooks and a battered binder in hand, you pushed open the heavy doors and stepped into the library's main hall. The comforting scent of aged paper and polished wood enveloped you.

The plan was straightforward: find a corner, avoid distractions, and lose yourself in formulas, essays, and reading lists for the next few hours.

But fate, it seemed, had other ideas.

As soon as you entered, your eyes locked onto something—or rather, someone—that made your stomach churn. Behind the lending counter stood Wanda Maximoff.

She wore thin glasses that only accentuated the intensity of her piercing gaze. Her hair was tied back haphazardly, loose strands framing her face. When you walked in, she looked up, and a dangerous spark flashed in her eyes—something intense, hypnotic, and unnervingly expectant.

It was as though she’d known you were coming.

You felt the shift in the atmosphere before you could process it. Her eyes gleamed with satisfaction—dangerous, predatory.

"Oh, my, my… What a surprise," Wanda murmured, her voice low and sweet, yet carrying an underlying weight that twisted your stomach. She left her computer and moved toward you, hands clasped in front of her like she owned the place.

You cursed softly.

“And to what do I owe the pleasure, Dekta?” she asked, her accent curling around your name in a way that made your core tighten despite your best efforts.

“I’m here to study.”

“Ah, yes… Yale, isn’t it?” Her lips curved into something between a smirk and a sneer, making your fists clench at your sides. “Your parents mentioned it,” she mused. “I admire ambition—though ambition without focus is a waste, don’t you think?”

Your eyes narrowed. "I have focus."

She took another step closer, her presence suffocating. “Do you now?”

“I’m not a child, Wanda,” you snapped—perhaps a bit too loudly for a space that demanded quiet.

For a brief moment, her pupils expanded, eclipsing the green in her eyes. If you weren’t so innocent, you might have seen the excitement pooling in her gaze. But you felt it—the way your body betrayed you, heat pooling low in your belly, your nipples hardening beneath the thin fabric of your bra.

Her expression shifted, the intensity replaced by a false, sugary smile.

“Oh, of course, because you’re such a big girl now, aren’t you?” Wanda tilted her head, her tone deceptively kind but dripping with condescension. Her eyes seemed to dissect you, reading your every reaction like an open book.

“I’m an adult,” you retorted, forcing your voice to remain steady. “I don’t need anyone treating me like I’m still in a school uniform.”

Wanda’s steps were deliberate as she sidled past you, gesturing lazily to a nearby table. “An adult, you say? Funny, because what I see…” Her gaze swept over you and then to the table, “…is a little girl with big dreams, crumbling at the slightest challenge.”

Your entire body tensed. You loathed the way she spoke to you, as though she had the right to dissect your maturity.

“You don’t know me,” you shot back, defensive.

“Don’t I?” She raised an eyebrow, her smile slow and menacing. “Then why are you trembling, Dekta?”

You opened your mouth to deny it, but the words caught in your throat. She was right. Your hands, clutching the binder, were trembling slightly, your heart pounding too fast.

Wanda noticed. Of course, she noticed.

“See?” she whispered, stepping closer, her voice soothing yet laced with control as she reached out to brush a strand of hair from your face. “Adult or not, you still have a lot to learn.” Her words dropped to a murmur, almost too soft to hear: “And I’ll teach you everything.”

Before you could react, Wanda straightened, creating distance as she adjusted her glasses—a deliberate motion that left you inexplicably yearning for her touch again.

“Now, find your table and study. Show me this sharp ambition of yours.”

“You don’t control me,” you snapped, anger flaring briefly.

She chuckled, the sound devoid of warmth. “Oh, Dekta… I don’t have to. You’re already doing exactly what I want.”

With that, she turned and walked back to the counter, leaving you trembling and unsettled, as though you’d just lost a game you didn’t know you were playing.

After 40 minutes of calming down and trying to stop thinking about the woman, you finally manage to focus and regain control of your thoughts. Math had always been something very abstract to you, perhaps even more so than philosophy. There was something about numbers that seemed to elude the logic of your brain, as if every equation were a puzzle with its solution written in a language you couldn't quite comprehend.

You sigh, your eyes fixed on the book's page, where a series of elegantly aligned formulas stared back at you with an almost cruel indifference. It had always been this way. Essays were your forte—your words flowed like a river, structured and persuasive, but numbers? They slipped through your fingers like sand.

With the pencil in your hand, you begin to scribble what seemed to be the first step toward a solution, but your mind soon wavers. Math, with all its precision, left little room for intuition. Every mistake was exposed, every misstep impossible to hide. You had always hated that.

Suddenly, Wanda's presence invades your thoughts again, like a shadow you can't escape. The way she looked at you, as if she knew exactly where your weaknesses lay. Worse, as if she was willing to exploit them.

You shake your head, trying to banish her image, but it’s useless. It’s as if she were still there, standing behind you, watching, waiting for you to fail.

And maybe that was exactly what you needed.

"Okay," you whisper to yourself, turning the page of the notebook with more determination. "This isn't about her. This is about me."

Your strength had always been your ability to adapt and overcome challenges. No matter how impossible something seemed, you had an inner resilience that kept you trying. That was what made you special, even when everything seemed against you.

But that strength came at a price. You were stubborn, almost obsessive, and the idea of failing—for yourself, for your parents, for Wanda—was intolerable. That need to prove your worth, to be good enough, was both a gift and a curse.

Feeling a touch on your shoulder, you jump as if you’d been shocked. Looking at the hand that touched you, it belonged to an elderly woman with a friendly expression on her face.

"Looks like your study session was productive, right?" the lady asked in a voice trembling with age. You simply nodded, still confused by the sudden approach. "But I must inform you, dear. We’re closing now."

"Oh. Yes, of course… I’m sorry," you said as you stood, hastily packing your belongings. "I didn’t even notice the time." You offered an embarrassed explanation.

The lady just laughed, sweetly.

"It's all right! Wanda asked us not to disturb you," she said as if it were nothing, but for you… you felt your pulse quicken with your heartbeat, felt your heart warm at Wanda's indirect gesture.

You looked around, hoping Wanda would appear again to provoke you—to make you surrender to her dominant aura.

But with a click, the library lights turned off, leaving you alone with your confused thoughts.

Letting out a tired sigh, you enter your house. Today had been exhausting, but your mind was at peace from finally breaking out of your loop of procrastination and self-sabotage. It was draining, but it was gratifying—enough to make you proud of yourself.

Arriving in the living room, you see your mother smiling, which makes you raise an eyebrow at her unusual gesture. Noticing you, she stood up, laughing.

"Sweetheart! Come here!" she called, making grand gestures that filled the room.

As you reached the center of the living room, you saw her.

There she was. Wanda Maximoff, sitting in your living room as if she owned the place. Her posture was impeccable—relaxed, but not sloppy. Long legs crossed, her expression composed. She held a teacup in her left hand, her long fingers resting on the porcelain as if it were a luxury item.

Your heart raced. You froze in the doorway, looking from your mother to Wanda and back to your mother.

“Oh, sweetheart, finally!” your mother exclaimed, her voice full of enthusiasm. "I can hardly believe our luck. Wanda offered to help you with your studies! You know how much I worry about your preparation for Yale, and now she's willing to guide you!"

You opened your mouth to protest, but no words came out. Everything felt like a blur. Wanda? The woman who had just turned your afternoon into an emotional whirlwind? Now she was here, in your house, looking more dangerous than ever?

"I simply did what anyone would," Wanda replied, her voice soft but firm. The tone carried a duality: apparent humility, but a pride you could feel beneath the surface. She rose slowly, placing the teacup on the coffee table. Her gaze met yours, and you felt that same shiver from the library.

"Good evening, Dekta," she said with an intonation that made your skin tingle. “I hope you don’t mind my visit. Your mother and I were discussing how I might be helpful for your academic ambitions.”

“Of course,” you responded automatically, trying to keep your composure. “Thank you so much for your help, Wanda.”

Wanda smiled, a small, calculated smile. There was no genuine warmth in it, only something... satisfying. As if she were celebrating an invisible victory.

"In fact," she continued, taking a step closer to you, "I thought we could make this mutually beneficial. Your studies require dedication, and I noticed you have potential. In exchange for my guidance, perhaps you could help me a few hours a week at the library. There are tasks that require... youthful energy."

Your mother seemed more than thrilled with the idea. “Oh, that would be wonderful, wouldn’t it? You’d spend more time learning, in such an inspiring environment!”

You knew you had no choice. Your mother was already beaming, and any refusal would be a family disaster. But above that, there was Wanda, with that look that seemed to pierce your soul, as if she knew that deep down, you didn’t want to refuse either.

"Sure," you finally replied, trying to sound neutral. “That sounds great.”

Wanda took a small step back, satisfied. "Excellent. We’ll start tomorrow."

Your mother clapped her hands, excited. "I’m so proud of you, sweetheart! And so grateful, Wanda, for being willing to help my baby.”

Hearing your mother’s last words, Wanda’s body tensed, clearly disliking the way she referred to you.

Wanda looked at you again, placing a light smile on her face, but her eyes... they had an almost predatory gleam.

“It will be my pleasure,” she said, but you knew there was much more to that phrase than your mother could understand. "Well, it’s late, and I still need to put Tommy and Billy to bed. S/n, would you walk me to the door?"

Finally, you snapped out of your trance upon hearing your name. "O-of course."

As the older woman passed through the door, she turned to look at you again, her eyes gleaming. “You looked beautiful today, darling.”

The compliment made you blush, and the air felt thin, making it hard to breathe.

“Hmm, what do we say when we’re complimented, Dekta?” Wanda broke your trance once again, touching your chin in a firm grip, forcing you to look at her.

"Thank you, Wanda," you replied softly, in an almost submissive tone. Almost. The exhaustion of the day weighed on your shoulders, and Wanda’s sweet voice left you weak, hypnotizing you and slowly turning you into a needy kitten.

"Good girl." She caressed your face with her fingertips, almost as if you were a raw diamond—precious and ready to be shaped. By her. By her hands.

You hadn’t noticed—perhaps due to exhaustion—but Wanda's hands were trembling. The woman trembled as she touched you, as she felt the warmth emanating from your fragrant, untouched skin. Wanda felt blessed, as if finally that scared kitten was learning to trust her.

"We’ll see each other tomorrow, yes? Good night, beautiful girl." She didn’t want to say goodbye to you. She wanted to stay, make you kneel, rest your head on her lap, and stroke the top of your head to hear you purr.

The mark she left on you lingered until you fell asleep, embedding itself under your skin, making you dream of her, of her floral scent—it was something citrusy. Orange? Lemongrass, perhaps? The fragrance clung to your body, your mind, and suddenly, Yale seemed like a distant dream, and Wanda was the only thing you could dream about.

~*~

Poor S/n... A milf caught her.

Tag list <3

@rosekjsses @vyvvycg @3liyuh

If I forget someone, pls remind me in the comments!

[jinxvex]

PLEASSSSEEEE SOME MEL APPRECIATION!! I WANT SOME SMUTTY SWEATY SMUT WITH AFTERCARE PLSOSL

♱ insatiable. ♱

I LOVE THIS REQ!! TY!! + i am still alive, i promise! i've been lazy w/ writing but i'm getting back on the grind!!

(ALSO! i'm not ignoring your asks (i swear!!))

syp. messy tribbing with mel....

cw: nsfw content!!, tribbing/scissoring, dirty talk, sub-ish!mel, dom-ish!reader, praising/sweet sex, lil bit of teasing, lil bit nasty, vulgar language, AFTERCARE!!! she’s needy for u!

mel medarda is insatiable when it comes to you—completely, utterly, and truly insatiable.

mel is usually one to be perfectly put together. you marvel at how perfect she is; not a hair out of place, no stains on her designer clothing, and not a single piece of gold jewelry twisted or mismatched in any way. she takes pride in her appearance and how people view her as a spectacle; someone to admire and strive to be.

oh! what the people would think if they saw her now…

mel is perched comfortably above you, having found the perfect position to pin you down and grind her sloppy wet pussy against yours. her hands grip your shoulders while yours dig into her hips so she can't run. she’s propped one of your legs up on her shoulder to get as close as possible, mouth open wide in the shape of an O. she’s dripping wet, cunt sensitive, and stretched out from the various ways in which you fingered her, fucked her with the strap, and then some.

she still can’t get enough.

“god! f-fuck, you feel incredible. s-so good,” she’s repeating herself over and over, brain blurry and filled with only images of you and the way you make her fully feel. the way your pussy, which is almost as wet as hers, feels against her has her mind reeling.

your shared wetness is leaking down onto the bed, creating a large, cold wet spot below you. you're groaning at how her pussy kisses yours, a short string of cum gathering between you two each time you meet. her pace is slow, and calculated. like everything she does.

you laugh, enthralled at her desire, “yeah, baby? you fuckin’ like grinding your needy little cunt on me? after all the times you came? you’re all stretched out ‘n you’re still begging for more, ‘s cute.”

the tone in which she responds is nothing short of pleading.

“hmph. mhm! fuck yes, babe. i need you. need you to let me come all over you. wanna make a mess f’you."

“p-please…”

her need—her longing ignites a new sense of urgency in you. you need to make her gush, make her pussy cream over yours, and create something so fucking messy but still beautiful nevertheless.

you want to paint her in you.

you quicken your hips that hastily move upwards to meet hers and find your head lifting off of the bed to stare deeper into her eyes. your grip on her hips grows slightly painful. mel lets out an abrupt yelp, resembling a scream, signifying her surprise.

“keep goin’, melly. wanna feel that pussy cum. you’re gonna fucking make a mess all over me, princess.”

you continue.

“make yourself cum. gimme that shit, babe. yeeeah, gimme that pretty fuckin' pussy.”

she stills, hips stuttering and eyes rolling to the back of her skull.

“f-fuhh- oh my god! m’ cumming!”

“me too, baby, fuck! can feel you throbbing.”

and with those words alone, she’s gushing against you, clutching your leg in her hands in a silent scream and mouth wide open. she rides out her high, broken moans and cries falling from her lips, breaking her pleasure-induced silence.

“that’s it, melly, f-fuuuck. give it to me."

miraculously, her pussy is drenching your lower half in her cum—mixing with yours and it’s beautiful.

white clouds her vision, droplets of sweat dripping down her brows as she collapses on top of you. she quickly wraps her arms around you and she’s breathing heavily.

she’s definitely done for the night.

as she buries her head into your shoulder, your arms cage her in and wrap around her back. you break your own silence to praise her, worship her like she deserves.

“mm, good girl. you did so good for me, gorgeous.”

“you came so hard, didn’t you, baby?”

she nods, unable to speak.

“yeah, babe. you deserve it.”

mel then looks up, eyebrows furrowed and capturing your eyes with her fucked-out gaze. her lips part.

she inches closer to your lips, “kiss, please.”

“of course, c’mere.”

when you kiss her, you do it softly by cupping her smooth face in your hands and gently guiding her lips along yours. she can still taste herself on your tongue and that makes her close in even deeper, appreciating the closeness and intimacy of truly feeling herself within you.

you break the kiss to look at her, you smile and stifle a laugh at her disheveled state although you still see her as the most beautiful, magnificent gift the world could ever offer you.

“wha-what’s so funny!” she jokingly accuses you of nothing and everything all at once.

“nothing, you just- you’re beautiful, melly. i love you.”

“and, i love you, sweetheart.”

your smile deepens, “good. now let’s go shower.”

…

lmk if y'all want more aftercare for future writings... i need to practice with it!!

[existence-is-a-pain87]

MONSTER AU AS I TRY TO CRAWL OUT OF WRITERS BLOCK!!! (Haha ima totally hate anything I write for this BUT I NEED TO TRY MY BEST!!)

Here Be Monsters

Yandere!Monster!Dandy's World x Toon?Reader

Wanrings: Obsession and other general yandere behaviors, gore, blood, swearing

IMPORTANT NOTE: I do not own all the monster versions of the Toons in this! Fxnn the Fishbowl and Faceless Shrimpo belongs to KC99 (marsol2099 helped create Fxnn though). I'm just using them in this AU because I think they're cool, hope yall don't mind. <3

Also, if yall don't want to create a special Toon for the reader in this, feel free to just use my OC Endri (ima make her the canon protagonist in this because... eh I'm too lazy to create a reader-centric Toon rn, hope yall don't care too much). (Also yes she shares my name, she's a self-insert <3)

Furthermore, I'm planning on this to be like a Part 1 where not all Toons are showed. You wanna see more of this? Then request a Part 2 or smth, idk. Hehe.

--☆☆☆☆☆--

You've been stuck in that basement for 20 years.

It wasn't like the depths of the facility you were used too, as a scrapped Toon. You were used to roaming around, being made to help out with the handlers and human employees with moving equipment or helping clean up spills of ichor.

But after your Incident? After you drowned in that... Ocean of Darkness?

...they put you in a basement you learnt was made for Dandy. Because they thought you were a Monster.

And you believed them. Why?

Because you weren't a Toon originally.

No, you used to be a human. You died in a car accident, and was reborn as a Toon.

Why?

Probably for some sick and twisted beings' amusement.

Because the Toons were obsessed. Whether romantic or platonic, it did not take them long after meeting you to show a crazed obsession with you.

Yet they contained themselves, to an extent. To the point you could call them your friends.

But you haven't seen them in 20 years.

You were painfully used to the small series of rooms that trapped you in. Allowed you to dwell, and remember your life as a human. Allowed you to learn how to return to the form of a Toon from your giant Twisted form, and to return to that form at will.

You learnt how your eyes had little white pupils at all times now, and would turn red when you got dangerously close to turning unwillingly.

But you learnt. You had to.

...

It was easy to figure out when you were abandoned.

You weren't angry. You knew Gardenview shut down at this point, you played Dandy's World when you were human. It probably shut down shortly after they locked you away and no one could find you.

It was fine, you didn't die. The ichor within you forcibly kept you alive, despite years of starvation and tons of dehydration.

You managed to break through a wall enough and find a pipe, and through a stroke of luck you managed to break it in a specific way that allowed water to come through, so the dehydration issue was solved.

But god, you were hungry.

You did try to ration your food, but 20 years is a long time.

After the food ran out and you broke the wall, you turned your focus to the door.

It was heavily reinforced, more so than the wall with the water pipe.

It took practically 15 years to break through.

15 long, grueling years.

And when you finally got through?

You turned back, desperate to not scare anyone, and immediately began hunting.

No other Toons knew of the little research facility within Gardenview they were born from. You did, though. And you scrounged for food.

Thank whatever evil deity that did this to you because there were tons of canned food that were designed to last this time.

You were never more grateful the cans of soup lasted over twenty years until they expired. You ate tons of canned soup that day.

And the next day. You were bringing that soup with you, you were not starving anymore.

You refused to starve again.

You had a plan. One to leave Gardenview.

It would mean reaching the top, but you could do it. And you could get out and form a life outside of thie facility.

Why?

Because you learnt how to turn into a human.

--☆☆☆--

Your initial plan was to try the elevator.

Unfortunately, it seemed to almost... lose power and plummet down.

Thankfully you survived, but you knew you had to find a new elevator.

You remembered the mines. Even lower down in the earth than your prison, but filled with five generators that would power a backup elevator in emergencies.

...you did not like roaming through these empty depths. You found and grabbed some random items on the ground, and kept going.

When you found that first generator, you quickly booted it back up. It wasn't hard, you've done it before.

But when it booted back up the power, you heard someone.

"What's that? Someone's here?"

You paused, looking back from where you stood in front of the generator.

"It's been a long time since I've sea-n someone..."

Finn..?

"Oh. You must be apart of those lunatics that did this to me... I'll make this quick."

...what?

...

You acted quickly. You knew the implication behind those words.

But... lunatics? Why did he assume you were not a Toon? What even happened here?

You knew better than to stop and dwell right now. You just ran.

But dammit, your stealth was never that great.

And when you saw him?

...that wasn't Finn anymore. A chunk of his head was gone, one hand had large claws, and he carried a bloodstained axe.

...Why was his head leaking blood, though? And why would he charge at anyone with an axe?

You knew he wouldn't kill you, but you were immediately scared you'd kill him if you entered your Twisted form.

So you just ran, your feet thudding against the ground. And he chased.

God was he faster than before, and laughing. Why was he laughing? Why was he taking joy in the idea of hurting another?

What happened to the Finn who would crack fish puns at you and ask you to take care of Barnaby Wilikers when he was being taken away somewhere for a bit.

Then you drowned.

...was this where he was taken? And they did this to him?

...wait.

WAIT!

You still have Barnaby Wilikers on you, don't you? You cleaned off all the ichor from him and kept him safe and close.

What if..?

"GO AWAY!" You yelp out, pulling out Barnaby Wilikers and gently tossing the toy fish at...

Fxnn. That's what he is now.

Barnaby lands square in Fxnn's bowl, staying in neatly despite the damage. Immediately, Fxnn freezes and reaches into his head, giving you a chance to get away and find a new generator.

"...How did you get him?" You hear him ask, "How?!"

You don't dare respond, focusing on the machine. You hear him mumble to himself, but can't make out the words.

"...did you do something to them?"

...uh oh.

"WHAT DID YOU DO TO THEM?!"

OH SHIT, YOUR PLAN BACKFIRED.

Did he think you weren't yourself? How couldn't he piece together that this was you?

HOW BLIND WAS HE?!

You quickly fixed the machine and bolted, right as Fxnn charged in, readying the axe to chop off anything from your body until you died.

You kept running, didn't dare to stop, as you desperately fixed machines.

You fixed four by the time he cornered you.

"There you are, you bastard..." He breathlessly says, "Haha, you're a quick one, you know that? Reel hard to catch... but no more games. I'll kill you for what you did to them, because there's no other way you'd get Barnaby Wilikers..."

"...Finn, are you fucking blind?" You blurt out, "Like, how? How do you not recognize me as a Toon? I'm fucking tiny compared to a human! I'm not a human!"

He freezes, eye widening as he lowers the axe.

"...Angelfish..?" He weakly croaks out, sounding almost relieved yet even more terrified, "Is that... you?"

You quickly squirm away, managing to avoid the hand he reaches for you with.

"Stay back!" You yelp out, shaking a bit. You were terrified something would go wrong and you'd hurt him.

"Angelfish-?" Fxnn asks, looking panicked when you start running, "Angelfish, WAIT!"

He kept calling for you as you fled, searching for you as you rebooted the last generator and got the spare elevator running.

"NO! NONONO!" He roared out as you made a mad dash, "GET BACK HERE! I'M NOT LOSING YOU AGAIN!"

...How long as Fxnn been down here? As long as you were imprisoned?

How could they do this? Why could they?

You becoming a Twisted was an accident. This had to be on purpose. There were no machines of blood, unlike the pit of ichor you drowned in.

...You got an idea.

You didn't need to take an elevator, necessarily. Your Twisted form was primarily ichor, not to mention huge. You could climb into the vents and clamber through like you were Yatta.

So as Fxnn reached for you and you got to the elevator, you hopped to the side and shoved Fxnn in there.

He stares at you with a wide eye, and you sheepishly grin back as the elevator slams shut and starts going up.

You wheeze a bit, horrified by what you just experienced, but just want to leave.

So you go into the vents, and start climbing through.

Completely unaware of Fxnn's shaky laughter, his broken mind thinking you sacrificed yourself for him for some reason, and his desperation to see you after seemingly losing you again.

Cod, he loves you.

--☆☆☆--

You didn't know Yatta would be in the vents.

Or... what remained of Yatta.

It started with you seeing dark ribbons in the vents, randomly laid over each other, some knotted together.

You tried to ignore it and keep moving. Ignoring the faint clanging you heard in the vents you swore wasn't you. You tried to ignore the feeling of being watched that came later, and the feeling of being followed.

Then, you found pieces of ichor-stained candy wrappers in the vents.

When you paused in your crawling to pick one up, you heard a quiet chitter.

It made you tense and move a little quicker.

And made what was following you quicker. And giggle.

Then you felt a hand grab your ankle. You squeak and glanced back, seeing Yatta.

Her head was bashed in, one eye hanging by a tendril of ichor, but both staring intently at you. Her mouth is curved up in a grin that feels too big, until you realize she no longer has lips.

You barely see her legs, but all you can really see are stumps. Her ribbon tail is too long, disappearing into the darkness as you realize those black ribbons are her tail, and it seems like it's constantly growing.

She lets out a chitter, opening her mouth as candy spills out, gargled, excited words, desperately trying to leave her candy-stuffed throat.

You let out a screech, and drag your leg away and start crawling.

She's much more skilled at crawling through vents than you, though. So she easily catches and grabs onto you, arms wrapping around your waist as she pulls onto you in a hug.

She tries to say something, and candy falls onto your back. She rests her head on your back, and you feel her eye- wet, uncomfortably wet- press into your neck.

You shake slightly, as Yatta lets out a content purr.

"Yatta, let go."

You assume she replies with a garbled 'no'.

"Please, Yatta, I could hurt you."

Her eye narrows, as she looks a tad bit skeptical.

"Yatta, please. I may not look it, but I've become dangerous. I could hurt you, even kill you."

She may be a Twisted now, but it's not to your extent. You're terrified for her.

Yatta drags herself more onto you, clearly uninterested in letting go.

She just found you after TWENTY years, and now you're leaving? How RUDE!

"...Yatta, please."

She ignores you.

"...Would Looey approve? Or Blot? I'd think they'd ask you to let go."

Yatta looks up at you, tilting her head.

"What if you let me go? Wouldn't they like to see me again? You can show me where they are!"

Yatta hesitates, before letting go.

"...Thank you. You can show me the way now."

She turns and starts crawling away, expecting you to follow.

You don't follow. You move the opposite direction before she notices you aren't following and keep moving up.

You manage to get out on a higher floor as Yatta realizes you didn't follow her and immediately starts searching for you again.

You left her? AGAIN?! Why?! How DARE you! She's going to drag you back into the vents and NEVER LET YOU GO!!!

--☆☆☆--

You ended up in Astro's room.

He used to bring you here all the time. Mostly for naps with him.

You were glad to be in a familiar place, though.

You immediately started moving to go find one of the elevators, trying to ignore the eyes in the wall. Why did the walls have eyes? And why did they all snap to stare at you as you went, and you felt... exhausted.

You yawned but kept moving, mumbling weakly under your breath.

Then you saw it in the middle of the room.

Its top half looked like Astro without his blanket, even if it was larger than how he normally was. But his lower half looked like a slug's body made of ichor, blankets, and eyes, with his hat seeming to blend into it.

He was staring at you, and you felt even more exhausted. Your legs started shaking as this Twisted form of Astro seems to slowly start approaching you.

You try to hold yourself together as Astro manages to approach you, all four of his arms wrapping around you as you almost fall asleep.

"Starshine..."

You glance up at Astro, trying to push away.

"Let... go..."

"Why? It's been so long since I've seen you, please don't make me lose you again..."

"Astro... please..."

His gaze is usually soft, as he presses your face to his chest.

"Shh... You're exhausted. Just sleep."

No...

"I promise your dreams will be perfect."

No..!

"You'll barely tell you're asleep. You'll be completely okay. I won't lose you again."

NO!

You barely processed when you were in your Twisted form, dragging yourself out of Astro's arms. You could barely recognize how his eyes widened, the way his mouth opened and closed as his mind reeled.

You let out a snarl, being unable to speak from the ichor leaking from your mouth.

Astro wasn't too fazed. He just reached out and took your hands, staring at you with a mournful look.

"...I'm sorry I couldn't stop you from becoming like him."

You pause, giving Astro a confused look, as your Twisted form makes his exhausting effect notably less effective. He brings your hands to his face and buries his face in then, looking absolutely mournful.

"I'm so sorry, starshine."

You try to pull away as his grip tightens slightly.

"Please stay, starshine. I don't want to lose you again. I love you."

You hesitate, grimacing.

"I know you don't love me back. But I'd love you no matter what happens. Please don't leave me."

--☆☆☆--

You managed to get away from Astro after lying about you planning on returning to him.

As you turned back to your Toon form and entered the elevator, you let out a quiet sigh as the door shut.

Finally. You're almost out. Just have to ride the elevator to the top and leave the building.

You're so close to freedom. Freedom from the obsession, freedom from this prison, and freedom from living life as a Toon.

You can be human again.

Then you hear a click behind you, the sound of something rolling up from the floor, and the sound of uncomfortably familiar music fill your ears.

...no...

You don't dare turn around. You just hope your mind deceives you.

"Hello, dewdrop!"

Pretend you didn't hear.

"Dewdrop, turn around~"

Don't move, don't move...

"..."

Please go away, please go away...

"Dewdrop. Turn around. Before I make you."

You slowly look behind you. And like a light switch, Dandy's scowl turns to a happy grin.

...Not him...

"Oh dewdrop, it's been so long since I've seen you!" He says, standing behind the counter of his shop. "You have no idea how much we've all missed you!"

He leans on the counter, staring at you with adoring eyes. "How much I've missed you."

"...Hello, Dandy." You quietly murmur.

"...Oh, come here, you." He instructs, beckoning you closer, "Let me show you just how much I've missed you~"

You cringe at his tone- attempting to be seductive- and his lidded eyes, or the way he tries to beckon you closer.

"No Dandy. I need to go to another floor."

Your reply is curt, and you look away as his expression immediately sours.

"...How are you not like the others?" You suddenly ask, "Not... Twisted? Or Broken?"

Dandy laughs. "Well, because I was waiting for you to come back, of course! I searched high and low for you, you know? But I couldn't find you. But that didn't mean I gave up, no most certainly not!"

You try not to scowl as his tone almost goes smug. "Isn't that what anyone who loves you would do?"

You look away from him, taking a breath to steady yourself.

"I don't love you, Dandy."

"...what?"

"I don't love you." You repeat, "I never did, and I don't think I ever will. Please leave me alone. I need to go."

"...No."

Then, a sickeningly wet crack fills your ears. And another. And another.

Before you can even look back, you let out a screech as you're forced to hit the ground as... he lands on you.

Oh god. He's like you.

A Twisted version of Dandy- even bigger than your own Twisted form- looms over you. He takes up most of the elevator. And one of his ginormous hands- with those sharp and almost dagger-like claws- wrapped around your throat.

"Oh dewdrop, my sweet, stupid dewdrop." He snarls out, a faux grin of sharp teeth plastered on his face. "Why must you lie? I know you adore me. Not as much as I adore you, but still."

His grip on your neck tighten. You choke slightly, tears welling in your eyes as you tightly squeeze them shut.

You do not dare to let him see that you're like him.

You do not dare let the delusions that will bring come to your reality.

"Perhaps I need to show you my love." He muses, as his other talon gently runs down your arm, a claw twirling across it and pausing uncomfortable close to your waist, "Drill it into your silly little head that we are in love. Make you accept these feelings you are so unused to."

You shake as his hot breath caresses your face.

He laughs, nuzzling into your cheek. Your breathing becomes far too ragged for your liking.

"...I see you shake. You're scared." He lets out a curt laugh, "Oh, what are you scared of? I'd never dare harm you! You're just my little dewdrop. A tiny drop of water that can barely stand on its own! I'd never dare to evaporate you, you pretty little thing."

Should you turn into a Twisted? Risk the delusions to fight him off?

No, are you stupid? He would kill you!

...or worse.

"No, I'll wait to teach you the extent of my adoration." Dandy tells you with a smirk, "You aren't quite ready for it, my dear dewdrop. But I won't take you to the surface, I know that's where you desperately seek to go. Not yet, at least."

His other talon gently trails down your side as he hums.

"Get me tapes." He instructs you, "As many as you can get your tiny, little hands on. Bring them to me, and I'll take you to see the sun. Would you like that?"

You weakly nod, not daring to enrage him more.

"Good." He coos at you, giving you what you can only guess is a kiss on the cheek. "I love you, my little dewdrop~"

You weakly mutter back something similar, not meaning a word you said. However, he seems content.

You don't dare open your eyes as the pressure on you subsides. Nor as the wet cracks signifying Dandy's return to Toon form. Nor as the sound of Dandy's shop leaving fills your ears.

You only open your eyes when the elevator stops and opens.

You've never left an elevator faster.

[taurasiluvr]

how you can help palestine

★ been thinking about high sex with paige bueckers...

 ⠀ ── ⠀warnings ;; nsfw under the cut, mdni. fingering and substance usage (blunt/weed)

the blunt was in between paige's pink lips, her eyes fluttering shut as she inhaled. you watched her carefully, taking note of everything – the way her blonde hair was pulled into the loose bun she knew made you go insane, the way the smoke curled around her face, highlighting the soft curves of her cheeks and the delicate line of her jaw.

she exhaled slowly, the cloud drifting lazily towards the ceiling. paige opened her eyes and caught you staring as a smirk began tugging corners of her lips.

"you always watch me like that," she said, her voice a low murmur, sending shivers down your spine.

"can't help it," you replied, leaning back against the couch. "you look so damn beautiful."

paige laughed, a sound that was both light and intoxicating. she took another drag from the blunt and leaned forward, her gaze locked onto yours. the air between you felt charged, the room suddenly too small for the both of you.

"c'mere," she whispered, beckoning you with the tilt of her head. you moved closer, feeling the magnetic pull that paige always seemed to have on you.

she then handed you the blunt, her fingers brushing against yours. "your turn," she said, her eyes foggy as her lips turned upward into a lazy smirk.

you took the blunt and brought it to your lips, inhaling deeply. the smoke filled your lungs, and for a moment, everything else faded away. when you exhaled, paige was still watching you, her expression unreadable.

"y'know," she said, her voice soft, "i think about you, like all the time."

your heart skipped a beat. "yeah?"

"yeah," she hummed, her fingers trailing lightly along your arm. "you're always on my mind."

you set the blunt aside and cupped her face in your hands, your thumbs brushing against her cheeks. "'m crazy about you, p."

she leaned into your touch, her eyes fluttering shut again. "then show me, baby," she whispered.

you didn't need any more encouragement. your lips met hers in a slow, lingering kiss, the taste of weed and desire mingling between you. paige sighed into your mouth, her hands tangling in your hair as she pulled you closer.

she pulled you into her lap, your legs wrapping around her as if trying to meld your bodies together. the kiss deepened, growing more needy. paige's fingers trailed down your back, sending shivers through your entire body. you could feel the rapid beating of her heart against your chest, matching the rhythm of your own.

her lips moved to your neck, planting soft, wet kisses along your jawline and down to your collarbone. you let out a soft moan, your hands gripping her waist, pulling her even closer. paige's breath was hot against your skin, each exhale sending waves of warmth through you.

"you're driving me wild," you murmured, your voice breathless and filled with need.

paige looked up at you, her eyes red and dilated. "good," she replied, her voice a seductive whisper. "cause i want you just as much."

you captured her lips again, your kiss filled with all the passion and desire that had been building between you. your hands roamed over her body, exploring every curve, committing each sensation to memory. paige's touch mirrored your own, her fingers tracing patterns on your skin, igniting warmth wherever they went.

the world outside ceased to exist; it was just you and paige, lost in each other, in the intoxicating blend of smoke and lust. your movements became more frantic, your bodies pressing together, seeking relief from the burning need that consumed you both.

"god, i need you," paige rasped, her voice breaking the silence that had enveloped you.

you pulled back slightly, looking into her eyes. "'m here," you said, your voice steady despite the storm of emotions raging inside you. "i'm yours, paige. always."

her hands found your hips, looking up at you as she sniffled. paige grabbed your wrist, pulling the blunt into the mouth as she inhaled. after she took a hit, she grabbed your head and blew the smoke into your mouth before pulling you into a deep kiss. the combination of her lips and the lingering taste of weed made your head spin in the most delightful way.

you began grinding against her lap, desperate for any kind of friction. paige hands gripped your hips, guiding your movements as she kissed you with a fervor that matched your own. she grabbed the blunt, placing it in your lips. you inhaled, feeling the smoke fill your lungs as you moaned. the sensation of her body pressed against yours, the heat between you both, was almost too much to bear.

"feel so good," you whispered against her lips, your voice trembling with need. the blunt was now long forgotten, placed on the coffee table.

paige's eyes fluttered open, her gaze intense and filled with longing. "want you so bad," she murmured, her hands sliding under your shirt, fingertips dancing across your skin before she found your bra.

she began gripping your boobs, your head falling back. every touch was heightened, you knew it was because you were both high off your minds but still. the touch sent a shiver down your spine, and you arched into her, craving more as your hands tangling in her hair, you pulled her into another kiss.

paige responded with a low growl, her hands exploring your body with a newfound urgency. she tugged at your shirt, pulling it over your head, and you followed suit, eager to feel her skin against yours. the moment your shirts hit the floor, paige's lips were on you again, trailing kisses down your neck and across your collarbone.

you let out a soft moan, your hands roaming over her back, feeling the muscles tense and relax under your touch. the need for her was almost overwhelming, every fiber of your being aching for more of her.

paige's mouth found its way to your boob, her tongue teasing your nipple, sending waves of pleasure through you. you gasped, your fingers digging into her shoulders as you ground harder against her lap, the friction driving you wild.

"please," you whispered, your voice barely more than a breath. "need you, p."

she looked up at you, her eyes dark with desire. "need you too, pretty," she replied, her voice husky. she shifted, guiding you to lay back on the couch as she positioned herself between your legs.

her hands trailed down your body, her touch both gentle and commanding. she leaned down, capturing your lips in a kiss that was both tender and demanding, her body pressing against yours in the most delicious way.

you wrapped your legs around her, pulling her closer, desperate to feel every inch of her against you. the world around you faded into oblivion as paige's fingers found their way between your thighs, her touch sending shockwaves of pleasure through you. she dipped her finger in your waistband, before she pushed a finger into your sopping pussy.

you arched into her, your breath coming in ragged gasps as she moved her fingers with expert precision. "oh, fuck," you moaned, your body trembling with the intensity of your need.

paige's lips found your ear, her breath hot against your skin. "i've got you," she whispered, her voice a soothing balm to your frayed nerves. "just let go."

with those words, you felt the tension within you snap, your body convulsing with pleasure as you cried out her name. paige held you close, her touch never wavering, riding out the waves of your climax until you were spent and trembling in her arms.

she grabbed the blunt from the table, taking a deep inhale before passing it to you. the room was filled with a hazy glow, the remnants sex mingling with the lingering smoke. you took the blunt from her, your fingers brushing against hers, and brought it to your lips, the familiar warmth of the smoke grounding you in the present moment.

if you enjoyed, any interaction is greatly appreciated!

with love, rylin 𝜗𝜚

[cece693]

GENTLEMAN'S AGREEMENT

pairing: steve rogers x male reader synopsis: You and Steve had been dating for a few months now, and you treated him like a king. Opening doors for him, keeping PDA to a minimum around others, watching your language around him—anything and everything to not make Steve uncomfortable. However, is Steve really that innocent as people think he is? No.

You had rules. Not ones carved in stone, but worn into your bones over years of disciplined self-control.

Rule #1: Never push Steve Rogers.

The man had seen war. Frozen, thawed, time-skipped, and then tossed headfirst into a world of smartphones and sex jokes on Twitter. You weren't about to be the reason he short-circuited. It was easy to keep your touches brief, your kisses chaste, and your compliments confined to respectable territory.

"You look sharp, Cap," you'd say, adjusting his collar with a practiced touch. Never hot. Never devastating. Never do-you-have-any-idea-what-you-do-to-me? Because that would break:

Rule #2: Don't let Steve know you're constantly on the verge of losing your goddamn mind over him.

So yes—your relationship was filled with old-school charm: opening doors, polite forehead kisses, sleeping with a gap between your bodies like it was the 1940s and touching too much would summon divine punishment.

You thought you were protecting him. You thought he needed it.

He proved you wrong on a Thursday night.

Tony had generously given you and Steve a whole floor of the tower after four months of dating ("For the sake of everyone's sanity," he'd said). You came home late, dressed down in a black sweater and slacks, toeing off your shoes by the door when you heard the unmistakable sound of ice clinking into a glass.

Steve rarely drank. But there he was, framed in the warm glow of the living room, shirt unbuttoned halfway, sleeves rolled, nursing a glass of bourbon like it was his second language.

He glanced over. Smiled. Something lazy curled in that expression, like he’d caught you sneaking into his bedroom. "You always this quiet when you come home, sweetheart?"

“Didn’t want to wake you.”

Steve hums, taking a long sip of his glass before moving towards you. He wasn't drunk; no liquor can affect the captain, so what he says next shocks you: “Y’know, for a man who can bench-press a quinjet, you’re awfully delicate with me.”

“Delicate?" You repeat weakly, "I’m trying to be respectful.”

“Respect is lovely.” A calloused finger traces the seam of your sleeve, causing you to shiver. “But it’s starting to feel like you’re handling me with museum gloves.”

“I just didn’t want to overwhelm you.”

Steve’s grin turns lopsided—too knowing. “Sweetheart, you think I’m going to short-circuit if you let your hands wander below the Mason-Dixon line?”

You stiffened, suddenly aware of the heat crawling up your spine. “Steve, you’re not—”

“What?” he challenged, voice dropping. “Not like the men you're used to? Not dirty enough? Not shameless enough?”

Your breath caught. “No—just…you’re old-fashioned.”

His smile turned sharp. “So are brothels. Doesn’t mean I don’t know what goes on inside them.” You choked on air, yet he continued as if he didn't just drop a bomb on you. "Do you think I'm innocent when I spent three weeks in the 40s sharing barracks with hundred-and-ten men who had very creative pin-up collections?"

He takes another step forward; you step back until sunlight-colored hardwood kisses your calves. His palm lands on your hip, grounding. “Or how Peggy snuck a Kinsey Report into my footlocker before D-Day and told me to ‘study hard.’”

That mental image nearly short-circuits you. “You...read the Kinsey Report?”

“Cover to cover.” He leans in, lips grazing the shell of your ear. “Chapter Six was my favorite.”

Your brain scrambles for the table of contents—Chapter Six covers homosexual behavior in males. Oh. Steve eases back just enough to watch realization dawn across your face. He looks dangerously pleased.

“For the record,” he says, “my innocence was mostly marketing. Howard figured the public liked its heroes apple-pie pure.”

“Howard Stark staged your personality?”

He shrugs. “Gave me media training between weapons demos. ‘Smile, wave, keep it wholesome.’ He’d be livid if he knew I planned on letting my very modern, very adult boyfriend kiss me like he means it.”

The words spark along your nerves. You catch a handful of his Henley, pull him flush. “Kiss you like I mean it, huh?”

“Unless that’s too scandalous for 2025.”

The challenge in his tone flips a switch you’ve been guarding. Your mouth finds his—slow at first, savoring. Steve hums approval, guiding your hips until you feel the warm press of him—nothing innocent about that.

You deepen the kiss; his tongue tastes like bourbon. When you finally break for air, his pupils are blown wide. “Still standing,” he teases.

“I can fix that,” you whisper, and his answering laugh vibrates against your sternum.

[miange1]

ELWOOD DALTON

male reader, bar sex or smth, being ex's, dalton trying to make up for being a dick, he wasn't abusive, just a dick, letting fame get to you, leaving, rough sex, anger issues, kind of hate sex but it's one sided, reader calls dalton 'el' a few times, the bar is empty i just got lazy, i was listening to justin beieber while writing this

he had been watching you from across the bar this whole time, and each time you caught each other's eye, you wouldn't fail to glare at him. what was this prick doing here? why the hell was he staring at you? and like that.

you weren't at all happy about him being here. sure, those other guys fucking with the bar were being less and less frequent but that didn't change anything. it didn't change who he actually was, now did it?

"el, all im saying is that you need to take a break— you aren't even in the right mind to fight!" he wasn't, he was getting into more arguments with you which ended with something random broken. he would never hit you, not now or ever but harming your things still wasn't okay.

"fuck off." he'd comment on how you were practically riding his dick at this point. "oh, so is riding your dick being a worried boyfriend? i'm sorry for caring about you!" you really would have left him alone, but this wasn't the best time. if he went out and fought, he could really hurt that person and his own self. whether it would be physical or mental, he would get himself hurt and that's all you were worried about.

"jesus, just leave it alone! this is the shit i do, so im gonna keep doin' it, you understand? you aren't my fuckin' mom." he was being unbelievable. if you could fight him you would. "this isn't about whether or not i'm acting like your mom, it's the fact you aren't listening to me—" your words cut off with your own gasp, feeling his arm tightly grip around your shoulder.

"leave it the hell alone."

it wasn't the biggest argument, but it was the worst one to you. he broke nothing, never harmed you. it just seemed like he genuinely hated you. things ended once he retired, because he just left and made you assume the status of the relationship.

but if he no longer had feelings for you, what the fuck is he looking at you like some lovesick teen. it was getting annoying, you finished cleaning the glass as you let yourself walk over to him.

"you haven't touched your drink." why are you doing this, you should have just went home. why are you talking to this man. his eyes met your instantly, beautiful and blue orbs staring at you like he had just fallen in love all over again. he seemed to save out for a moment before you snapped you fingers at him.

"hello? you gonna drink it or get out?" way too harsh, you practically saw his facade fade into something less hopeful. "of course. you made it for me." he gave you a small smile, taking a sip of it though it was watered down. it made you gag as he drank it, it was practically just juice mixed water at this point.

shaking your head, you snatched the drink from him and headed behind the long table to remake it. your eyes glanced up at him, cocking your head to give him a hint to come over towards you.

his smile got wider as he headed over towards you, sitting down acting so giddy. "here you are." you would have thrown it at him, but you just slid it over towards him.

"enjoy." you couldn't leave till he finished, when he was done you'd have to wash another glass and only then could you head home. he was taking occasional sips, only taking the rest of the time just to look at you. it got you frustrated.

"look, you gonna drink it or not? i got places to be dalton."

"dalton?" finally, the man speaks.

"yes, that's your name ain't it?" he shook his head, setting the drink down for a moment. "thought it was el, is it not?" your mouth turned into an annoyed snarl, you expected him to say this.

"don't give me that shit, dalton." you purposely emphasized his name. you had this entire racing thought in your mind that he was still the exact same person. he hasn't changed, not at all.

"well, i tried." this agitated you, how calm he was but you could tell he was upset himself. you leaned on the wood slightly, your elbows hurting due to setting yourself down too hard. "fuck are you trying to do, hm?" your voice lowers though no one else was inside. he acted clueless, "what am i doing?" your hand slammed down on the surface. "don't give me that!"

you had a full right to be upset, this couldn't just be some coincidence, was it? "we end things, and i move and you knew where i was going- now all of a sudden you're here too?" it didn't add up. "what do you want."

he had finished the drink by now, it was out of the question. "this was all a coincidence, im not going to lie about that," he looked down for a moment, as if he was shy.

"but sooner or later, i would have come here to see you again." his long eyelashes practically batted at you, beggingly. "you.." your guard was let down for a moment, feeling a sense of longing the more you were around him. he was a terrible person— he let fame get to him, and that's all he ever cared about. right? right.

"go home dalton." he seemed as if he was going to say something, but he stopped and allowed himself to nod and take his leave.

"please, el pick up.." that was the 50th voice note you've sent, and he still hasn't answered you. you've sent various messages and he hasn't even responded to them.

you didn't know where he was! he just left you in this big ass house and expected you to take care of yourself? what were you supposed to do?

"el, please! i'm sorry about what happened, but you could have at least taken me with you!" sadness, anger, confusion had all ran through your veins. where was he..

"i'm not mad if that's what you think..please, el, i love you and i miss you. but i can't stay in your house, i don't have the money to pay it.." a sniffle came through, more sobs coming out. "just— meet me in glass keys. okay? bye." and you sent the voice note. you hadn't been blocked, because you knew he saw it. did he even care?

he did care. his heart aches being away from you even if he couldn't admit it. he made sure that was the last voice note you sent, before throwing his phone some place else and leaving it there.

oh gosh, he wasn't sure how this happened. one moment, it was all going well— sort of. you refused to really look at him, but you were sort of paying attention to what he had been saying. a few hums, and even some chuckles. it felt nice, but it didn't really feel like old times.

then he found himself in front of you, while you rambled about how stupid he was to even fight a guy like that. it was some irish fucker, you didn't even care about him, but you definitely cared about daltons well being.

"the fuck is wrong with you— he was clearly a lunatic! do you understand that?!" the way you patched him up hurt more than the wound itself, but he knew it'd feel better later. he feels good right now, having you as close as ever and you were willingly touching him.

"you've always been stupid, so damn stupid! see this? this, is why we didn't work out! cause you're an idiot!" he had such a stupid smile on his face, eyes hooded like he was in a dream.

"mhm.." the man was just happy to be here.

"el, are you even listening!" well now he was. he nodded, smiling even more. "yeah, yeah i am." you caught yourself smiling, feeling your heart beat faster and faster. it was quiet for a moment , your hands leaving his face and resting in the front of you.

a glob of spit rushed down your throat from how nervous you were. he was so handsome still, only thing changing was how much he really did want to change. your body leaned forward, going up a bit to reach him and you quickly placed a small kiss on his lips. fuck, what were you doing.

"i..uh.." you quickly wiped your lips, feeling tears of embarrassment threaten to rush out but you did your best to swallow them down.

his hand found your wrist, gently pulling away. "why'd you wipe it off?" you tried to pull your arm away, but his hold tightened as if he was really scared you'd permanently leave him.

"..what?"

from a small kiss, to a make out session, to your shoes being kicked off and your pants being to your ankles and almost completely on the floor, they practically hung from one singular ankle.

your moans echoed throughout the bar, wet slaps of skin mixing and daltons groans of pleasure gave you pure bliss. it felt so good, after so long having something finally fill you up this way. he had practically stretched you out again, making you feel like the first time the two of you fucked.

"el— oh god, yes, yes yes,.." when dalton spoke to you, he was so soft with his words yet his actions differed. your back arched into his movements, sending a shock through your spine and making it feel tingly and weird, but fuck it was good.

"mnghhh, fuck just like that.." eyes rolled back, saliva almost dripping from how hard he was going— damn, did he miss you that much? cock pulsing, already having cum far too much due to him. he had changed, but this hadn't. calloused hands holding you tight, most likely bruising your skin , and his fingers nails digging inside.

his lips kissed along your neck and back, whispering the sweetest things to you, like how good you were being for him, how much he missed and loved you and that could make you cum alone.

he stopped his actions for a moment, jolting a bit at his own actions. you slightly regained yourself, thinking you were done, but when you tried to lift yourself up he forcefully put you back down into position.

"all i did was take a small breather, you thought we were done?" the stamina this man had was utterly insane. "c'mon, you know me much more better than that." you did, he would always made sure you came as many times as you could before he was done and he would maybe wait till you shot blanks to stop.

but he wasn't sure he could stop this time, he missed more than your body of course but it was still apart of you and he wouldn't ever let it go. "fuuck..i can't, no, no.." he chuckled, sending another shiver through your body. "mhm, yes you can. i know you can because you have, and you will." didn't mean you were used to this again just yet.

"you'll get used to it." he slid it out for a moment, you let out a breathy and strained moan because he did it so damn slowly and all he needed to do was spit on it a bit so it could hurt much less.

dalton flipped you over, so you could look at him. "i like this better." he wanted to make sure you were looking at him. "missed your pretty eyes.."

[cryptfile]

Ꮺ˖˚₊ leeches, [ logan howlett x vampire!reader au ]

summary — logan howlett lacks of patience (and he can also be a nice little blood-bag while losing his temper). 8k+

warnings — 18+ mdni, fem!reader implied, blood kink (keep in mind you’re a vampire! not twilight but more of a true blood kind?) downright filth im sorry, dead dove do not eat, smoker!reader, endless tension, manhandling, praise kink, kind of porn without plot (LIES CAUSE IT HAS ONE THO??) my boy's into paaaaaain can't help it it's canon, age-gap at first (reader is her 20's but again, vampire), public sex (it just happened), daily reminder to wrap it before you tap it, p in v, choking, filthy mouth, pet names.

side notes — thought this could take place after days of the future past? au cause why nottttt ,,currently on ovulation season so bare with me,,, been a little mia cause i’m surviving aka going through the worst semester of my life at uni? internships are breaking my ass currently so well, here i am just existing, also, english’s not my first language and everyday i’m grateful for it, so any mistakes i’m not sorry in advance lol i’m also too lazy to correct once published,, feel free to send more logan requests since i've basically been a slut for him for a while now (i'm rotting in hell).

He could swear the mansion got ten degrees hotter when you came in.

It’s inevitable. It’s this thing you carry, the way you move — Graceful, elegant, almost compelling as the air fills the room. It’s not public knowledge that you’re not a mutant itself, yet you’re presented like one, like you have healing factors and age painfully slow, but human after all, a subtle lie, one that can harm no one.

It’s safe to say you catch his attention in the most annoying way: How couldn’t you? All you do is this weird seduction he’s appealed to, whether you’re conscious or not it’s just captivating, an invisible force that even when you ignore it is there, there waiting for the perfect moment to flood every time you happen to be in the same room.

Captivating. That’s the word.

The room becomes smaller after, the air grows thicker, and it’s almost like a ticking bomb, the way you wouldn’t even look at his face while he’s noticeable pinning after Jean Grey, the mystery that surrounds you and he cannot seem to resolve no matter how much time he puts into it.

It’s like he's the plague. You don’t really try to exchange more than just a few words, only when it's needed and you cannot avoid him any longer, and he didn’t say anything at first, keeping his distance too cause he don’t see how you’d become friends, cause after all, what he could have in common with a girl that doesn't surpass the twenty years?

But soon he's upset about it, even when he doesn't really say anything out loud, it's a spike he cannot reach under his skin. You seem to become friends with anyone but him, mutant kids in your history lessons, the rest of the team, even the damn mailman when he delivered a package — You'd say hello like it's a long time lover or so, greeting people like they mean the world to you.

He has students now that are asking for a transfer from his class to yours cause it seems you're fun to be around, more like he is, and he fucking hates it.

It's fair to say it's been getting into his mind lately. That thing you do with your hair, twisting it in your index finger on a lock as you speak, the subtle red glow in your eyes he always catches by mistake, not enough fast to stop looking at you, pretending he didn't even see in your direction at first.

Tension. Logan just happens to hate tension.

In fact. He's almost sure your problem is personal, that you might hate him enough to act like he didn't exist at all, enough to avoid him like he was not there.

That's why it's just so weird.

When he finds himself walking down the hallway to the kitchen and he smells this cherry-scented aroma that settles under his nostrils, he changes the direction he's walking to, to instead, follow the path to the person that was silently smoking outside. Hiding. Maybe, a student he'll have to scold like the old man he was turning into.

No smoking in the mansion!

However, as the night is just settling, he doesn't recognize a little mutant, but instead happens to recognize you in the middle of the gardens of the mansion, close to the maze; escaping the comfort of the inside to enjoy a self-rolled cherry tobacco he has smelled before in the air. He's a victim mostly, cause his legs move on it's own as his mouth go dry, approaching you in silence.

"What do you want?" you ask when he's halfway there. And your tone is just cold as ever, not an ounce of feeling as he contemplates your side profile, the way the tobacco sticks out of your parted lips, seated on a bench hidden between bushes and trees — "Is Scott bitching about the smell going into the mansion already?"

No. He's not. But he doesn't have enough reasons to explain exactly why he's outside if you asked, why, all of sudden, he followed the scent of cherry knowing it was you the only one who carried a colts package in the pocket of every single jacket you wore, constantly asking Storm if she could hold on to the bag of filters for you while you rolled in the worst moments.

It's distracting, to say the least.

"Yeah," he quickly says, lying cause in reality he hasn't seen the guy in the whole day, yet it sounds like something he would say. "Do you happen to have another one of those to share?"

You don't talk much, hand reaching his as you offered him from your tobacco without a single word, the same that was placed between your lips and now was on his in what seemed to be something more intimate than what he'd like to admit, the cherry taste filling his lungs as they weirdly enough, shared a cig.

"Aren't you too young to be smoking?"

You laugh, and the sound sends a shiver down his spine cause he has never heard a sound quite like it, nothing that resembles that throaty, raspy sound that came out of your lips in amusement thanks to his words. He, out of all people, has never seen you like that — "And how old you think I am?"

He seems to think about it for a second, carefully picking his next words. Logan knows that women and their age are a tricky thing, you cannot say a number that's too compromising, nor act stupid and say something that's clearly not correct — "Not a day over twenty-two."

The answer pleases you, and he just knows he's wrong, but you don't seem bothered by it, instead, you nod pretending he's right, like he just got the answer right away.

He can see why everyone's switching classes now. Cheeky bastards.

"Twenty-two is not young at all, but i'm twenty-seven though," you say, and he scoffs at the statement, seeking for any change in your heartbeat, any sign of a lie. The strange thing happens when he cannot pick any heart at all, any sign of pulse.

"You are pretty young still," he says, against his age, you’re just starting out living—. "You don't look like you are twenty-seven at all."

"Cause I age slower than the rest," it's a practiced lie. One you know from repeating the same explanation over and over again, the priced answer of why you haven't changed a single bit in the past few years and made you a mutant — "I never looked my age."

Such a fucking liar. He doesn't need any heartbeats to confirm it cause deep down you are a terrible actress, he can see it so clear, how you're calculating every answer, thinking about the correct thing to say, the normal thing to say.

"Is that your thing?" he asks, playing pretend almost as bad as you do. Tilting his head to the side as he questions you — "Age slowly?"

"I have healing powers," you explain as he tossed you the joint once again. "My saliva kinds of help healing wounds. It's pretty boring."

"Boring" Logan repeats. The word itself sounds so damn fun in your lips it's contradicting. "That doesn’t sound really boring."

There's a moment of silence after that. Where you smoke in silence taking in the taste of the cherry, and he is having a hard time wrapping his head around the fact that your lips also touched the side of the cigar he was smoking before, the plain lies you've been repeating over and over the last ten minutes.

It's almost infuriating. Makes his blood boil without question, he surely endures your treatment of silence, but being lied to? That's a whole different level.

“How old are you, kid?”

Your brows furrow in response, a clueless face. You are pulling out this show once again Logan don’t buy for a damn second. Something about the scrunch in your nose, the way you dismissed your own powers as if they weren’t enough. He knows it’s all a lie. He knows it even when he doesn’t really know you at all, when it’s the first time you’re truly speaking to him after your arrival to the mansion almost a year ago.

“How old you really are?”

You laugh at the question once again, and he just knows it, knows it when he sees you barely illuminated by the dim light of the moon, the act you always keep up, a web of tangled lies you have to be into— “Told you i'm twenty-seven already, didn't you hear?”

“Is it now?” he asks, amused by the sass, exhaling the smoke of the low-quality tobacco he doesn't understand why you're so invested in when passed it to him—. “Cause you don’t seem very convinced, it really sounds like bullshit to me.”

You're almost offended. By the look you give it's like the worst mistake he could ever make, yet you remain silent, not giving the satisfaction of an honest answer yet. Testing his patience like he did have one to begin with.

"Is that why I can’t hear your heartbeats, darlin'? Cause you age so slowly?”

The nickname scratches a part of your brain, and you hate him for it. The word rolls out of his tongue with an accent, smoking your cherry tobacco cause you happen to be nice.

“You can’t?” you’re good at faking it suddenly, at least, that's what he thinks when your brows furrow in alleged curiosity, stiffening your back, uncomfortable. “How weird.”

“Damn right it is” that's when you realize he knows you are lying. Even when you don’t talk much, even when you act all stiff and bothered when he’s close, he knows that you are fully invested in lying. In whatever twisted little lie you've planned, like it was your real life and not something you made up. “Are you going to tell me truth, then or do I have to find out? Does the professor know that you're lying?”

The smoke lingers in the air.

“How old are you?” he asks once again, demanding an honest answer this time — "Thirty? Thirty-five?"

You find his questions annoying, mostly cause he won't stop until he gets an answer, one that pleases him enough to leave you alone, the other part cause you happen to like the playful banter you two keep going, dangerously much. You don't hate attention it's clear, what you do hate it's the way he seemed to see pass the lie, to demand more even when he has no right to.

He enjoys being the one who's right though, Logan cannot help it. He's pleased to catch that look on your face who says everything but nothing at once, to have you where he wanted, almost at the edge of admitting a truth.

Is it payback because you've been stealing all of the little mutants from his class? He's jealous cause kids like being around you? It does not make much sense, but he is fully invested. Questioning all.

Even when you're outside, it seems like the air grows thicker. And Logan finds himself seeking for your breathing, cause he don't know nothing, nothing about you more than the fact you don't seem to have a heartbeat, or pulse and now, breathing.

“If you really are that eager to know, i'm a hundred and twenty-seven” the words float in the air for a while, and he's sure you're just messing with him, cause there's no way a pretty little face like yours had endured a century. “I've been alive for quite a while.”

He doesn't fully believe it first. Of course he doesn't. Logan's sure you're messing with him also, distracting him about your real age.

“And I supposed this do come from you slow aging powers” He tries to give you a point there, but it's difficult to be serious when you're just playing with him—. "How so?"

To be honest, you do have a little temper yourself, you've learned to stand up for yourself most of the time, so when you happen to notice he's teasing you, that he doesn't really believe you, you adopt this attitude of defense he notices as you shift over the wood you're seated in.

"No, it doesn't" you steal the joint from his hands to have a smoke yourself. "You really aren't as smart as I thought you were, huh?"

Do you happen to have a dead wish? His muscles tense beneath his shirt, and in contrast of his problem, you can hear it all. All the sounds his body makes when he's all bothered just by the beat of his heart, that annoying sound his bones make each time he moves.

"What are you?"

"That's it," the praising goes directly into his chest, the tone you use to tell him he's going in the right direction it feels just so right he forgets why he got mad in the first place—. "That's what you should be asking right there."

It's almost a shame having to admit he would also switch classes. That he would also go through all the paperwork himself without a second thought and that right there, is pathetic, but you're smiling at him as if you're encouraging the man to try harder, to find the answer himself, and fuck — He's old, too old, he's tired, he's in a bad mood as fucking usual, and he happens to dig a drink in the quiet of his own room, but he's pulled by something as equal as devastating as the gravity force, shoot towards you in pure need to have some answers even if he has to make you spit them.

"I find it strange, cause when you don't have a heartbeat, you aren't usually alive" Deep down he's fascinated, hazel eyes glues on your face trying to understand. He feels like he has it in the tip of his tongue waiting to leave his mouth as a catastrophic answer, but he doesn't find the right words.

"That's cause i'm not," you state it like it's something obvious. And just as he knows you're lying, this time, he knows you're telling the truth, blowing the smoke in his direction just to bother him — "Why do you think i'm teaching history after all huh?"

He hasn't seen it all, it seems.

Yeah.

He's losing it after that night.

It’s known that Logan has sleeping problems, but that night specifically he thinks about something else rather than what usually torments him, a truth he also has to keep a secret now that he's learned more about it.

See, Logan doesn't expect you to be really dead. Much less to hear what you are and have been hiding this whole time from the rest of the people in the mansion — He also learns that you feed on blood, that vampires are a common thing in the world and that he shouldn't, at least, be that surprised when he's a mutant in a world full of humans himself.

You are a folklore myth on small villages, stories in Rumania and horror character in films, so you don't blame him when as you spoke, he finally understands why you're so damn attractive, so damn seductive as you explained more about your way of living, some memories you've been keeping to yourself since being a vampire was so damn solitary, memories he listens to cause he knows what it's like, to be misunderstood, to be eternal, to be alone as well.

It makes the two of you grow closer by the next weeks. You now talked during broad daylight about random shit at first, about the war sometimes, about your condition as he refers to when people is around, eaves-dropping on what you two are talking so invested in. Friends.

Simple as that.

And it's safe to admit also that in the course of the next days, Logan Howlett is a fucking mess, and he knows it, but he won't do anything about it.

He won't flirt cause he knows you're a hell of a woman, in every good sense of the word, that he's way too damaged for a vampire even, for all kinds of people out there, and as much as he'd like to say anything, he values your attention, how you switched the attitude of acting like he didn't exist to be a friend, one that you came to share secrets with a cherry aroma glued in their skin.

It gets him insane, to the point he's no longer spending much time with Jean and people start to pick up on it as if he didn't have enough headaches already. He doesn't care. Shit you are not bothered by what people say, and to be honest, he cannot seem to care either.

At first, he's reluctant of keep on talking to you as normal as it is. He's not really invested in religious themes, but he sure admits you're a sin by all meanings, a religious experience of some kind if anyone asked him — He agrees with what he has heard also in the hallways. Innocent conversations of teens and their platonic crush on their teachers. You are pretty hot.

He's so interested in knowing more about you, about the nights you spend in Rumania, when you leave to Canada, the different lives you've lived across the years. He finds himself looking forward to share his stories too, weird enough, cause he's over two centuries himself and he just craves to talk about it with someone who also gets him in a deeper level, that weariness that fills your body when you age so long.

You got the best of immortality, and instead of feeling envious, Logan finds himself attracted to you so much like he's never been in his whole existence. Not at the point it happened with you at least.

By the end of the first month he knows your little treats. You use a lot of sunscreen, and avoid activities outside as much as you possibly can with those classic, tiny black sunglasses that hided you from the rays of the sun, always in the shadow so unapproachable; how you'd usually dismiss food offerings from anyone who's kind enough to even offer you something, and when you haven't fed well during the course of the week, you'd become the most maddening woman he'd ever met.

Maddening.

"What wrong with you, Leech?" Leech. You've been in such a bad mood lately that when he's seating next to you in another random smoking session outside, your fingers twitch, clearly pissed at the nickname after saying multiple times you don't like it.

"I'm not in the mood for plays now."

He can tell from before. When you talked to him that very morning and stared at the collar of his flannel for what it seemed a good, nice minute, he realizes the same moment that you were staring at that pulse point in his neck, where the flesh blood was pumping in his blood flow: You're hungry, as any living creature would be and at your own manner, in constant control as you fight the sense of hunger.

So instead, the mutant ask, like he always does when he’s curious about something that involves you:

"When did you last feed?"

"A couple of weeks ago."

That would explain it. You don't talk much about your meal plan, he knows the professor is in charge of all of that. You've told him about blood bags and hospitals, but he's not really aware of how constant you need to eat, how the blood supplies most of your energy, makes you stronger, gives you vitality, so Logan at first, don't really know what its like to not drink any blood in the course of two weeks.

"What happened with the blood bags from the Hospital?"

The mention of blood out loud seems to triggers you. A groan escaping your lips as you can swear you feel the taste in your mouth — "Don't know. Haven't seen a single one this week, Charles said something about next week, problems in the bank I guess."

You're clearly worked up. It's a new look he hasn't registered before, your hair is tangled in a less-composed look, and there's a slight shake in your hands as if you're going through withdrawal, deprived for what you needed the most.

"And animals?" he questions, trying to find a solution. “Can’t you eat a cat or something?”

"Like shit i'm going to feed from a fucking animal," you're almost immediately grossed out, scrunching your nose at the idea. "I can barely handle being so close to a damn human but animals? I'd rather fucking die this time for real, no waking up."

"That bad huh?" the mutant asks, taking a sip from the beer he sneaked outside, chucking lightly afterwards. "So you're a leech with elegant taste, huh? Of course you are."

"Clean blood is rare," you explain, rolling your eyes. It's inevitable. He knows you hate the nickname so much that he insists to keep on calling you that way just to get a reaction—. "Humans nowadays taste like dirt. They consume drugs among other substances, pills, food supplements, even damn vitamins, don’t get me started about blood diseases cause it gets me in a bad temper. Every single thing affects on your taste, even what you eat. It's all registered there. Clean, good blood is rare to find. Call me elegant, call me picky. It's a damn fact."

"And what about mutant blood?" he questions. And it seems like a mere phrase at first, one with no subtle tones, he’s usually curious about your nature so you don’t pay much attention as he spoke—. “You’re picky about mutants too?”

“No, i’ve never had a mutant before.” The truth is, you hate feeding from people, the act being something so intimate, so damn personal, you refrain yourself. Killing humans, picking a next victim to fed on, is considered now a treat you don't appreciate from your kind, making you steal from hospitals and any kind of blood bank before Charles offered you help. You haven't fed from a mutant, cause you avoided everyone equally, but you don't want to be rude about it. “You all smell different, but i’d be lying. Maybe yes, i’d be picky about it too, feeding is something intimate.”

It's an undeniable admission, and now that he's trying to be in your position, he would also be picky about someone's blood. Logan remains stoic cause he’s suddenly filled by the thought of something else, a glimpse of his own weird creativity he forces himself to push aside, to really suppress now that it's not the time or the moment.

“How do I smell?” It's too late to stop the words from coming out of his mouth when he asks her. And at first, is out of pure curiosity. He has never encountered a vampire in his life until you, let alone had someone talking about the subtle tastes of the blood being undead, so he doesn't want to let the opportunity slip — Of course he wants to know if an over two hundred mutant like himself would be as remotely good as a fresh, clean bag from the hospital.

"You stink like wet dog," he surely deserves it after all the times he’s been calling you a leech — "Like those cigars you tend to smoke, alcohol, and musk. It's similar as wood. That smell you got when you're in a forest and it's not raining but straight pouring."

"Is this a way of telling me i'd taste bad, peach?"

You make a mental note to let him know after you like peach way more than leech.

"If i'd found a human smelling like that, you won't be hearing from me anytime soon" you're just messing with him. A playful banter you enjoy more than ever, the distraction you needed to think in something else rather than the blood bags you craved so deeply — "Hell, i've would just walked the other way."

"So i'm taking you won't be feeding from me anytime soon."

It all takes a dark turn there. You're very aware of the tension the last month now that you talk to him in daily basis, but it’s just mere tension, nothing that ever goes beyond the limit. Logan has never said something to flirt with you despite the million chances he got, and he always remained like a friend, one that you enjoy spending time with now. Cannot be blamed when you're taken aback.

“Cat got your tongue, kiddo?” Man. You're about to whine about the name before you remember he is indeed, older than you are. Vampire or mutant.

"You want me to feed from you?"

He seems so willing when you ask. Even when you teased about his smell calling him a wet dog. He just seems so eager to let you just do it, try a mutant for the first time.

"Yeah," he dismisses it like it's not something so deep — "I doubt Charles is going to let you take a bite since you could clearly kill him, and I'm not sure the others would be pleased with the idea of you sinking your teeth in them, so yes. Me, leech."

Logan Howlett doesn't really smell bad. And you don't know why cause he has all the ingredients to fucking stink, yet, you'd call him interesting. That's what you thought when you find his pulse point again, the vein in his neck you looked earlier in the morning, thinking just as the same you were thinking now.

Of course you would feed from him. Is it a good thing to do? No, in any other circumstances you'd decline. He's your friend.

Now? You’re having a hard time.

"So I'm guessing that you're pleased with the idea, then," Real talk?, you just want to hear him say it. He doesn't talk much usually, but now that he's very vocal about what's on his mind, you have to take advantage of it—. "I'm not sure either. But I do think Storm may be interested too."

He seems content with the response, taking a long sip from his beer before adding — "Please, go and ask her so you're less annoying."

You're almost completely sure he doesn't find you annoying. You also don't care about Storm. And maybe he knows you're not going anywhere, that you're not moving.

"You really want me to bite you?"

"I dunno now, princess" he looks at you pleased now cause he got you where he wanted to, cause he managed to awake all the interest now that you're looking at him "Are you going to pull a Dracula on me?"

"No, i'm not going to suck you dry if that's what you're asking."

Logan chuckles. He's a damn masochist. It's been like that as long as he can remember. It may have to be with his healing powers cause he likes it more than usual, but the idea gets to his head soon enough, all falling so damn fast: Your breathing would be against his neck and he'd take the bite like a damn champ.

"Yeah I can handle you," he says, aroused. "You're not gonna hurt me if you take some blood. I'll be fine and you won't be a pain in the ass."

He acts so gruff about it but you hear the sound of his heartbeat already high enough to wake the entire mansion, his labored breathing since he suggested the idea himself. He digs it, strange enough. Thrives on the idea.

He's a grown man already, and he can take a little leech like yourself.

It's clear you're hungry, cause it doesn't take much for you to accept, nodding like you're defeated, like you just lost the war entirely, cause there's no many options here to take and even if it were, you are now interested in have him more than any other blood bag. In fact. To hell with the hospital.

"Okay."

It's a simple answer, and it sure works with him as you get close to him, the bench you always used to sit now seeming so small as you look around confirming you guys really are alone—. "You won't tell anyone?"

It's something stupid to ask, cause after all that time he has never said anything, keeping your secrets as if they were his own, saving you from weird questions people get sometimes as they didn't know much about you. He's clearly not going to say nothing at all.

"Are you going to stop whining for a second and just eat darlin'? Cause I might change my mind here."

He's feeling overload soon after.

You don’t need a formal invitation to lean closer to his neck.

There's no way to describe it also cause he has never seen something like that, never felt a similar sensation more than when he's fucking, the cold touch of your fingers in his chest, taunting the vein in his neck without a previous warning before leaning in even closer than before—. "Stay still" you demand, face close against his bare skin, only one goal in mind. "Don't move for a minute. Just-"

You cannot finish the sentence, and Logan can experience the sporadic pain of the bite first hand when your teeth finally sink in his neck, piercing the flesh so easily as you let the blood fill your mouth. He grunts at the sharp pain, his face contracting momentarily before it's replaced by a nice wave of pleasure, one that hits him right in the guts as he grabs you by the nape of your neck, pushing you against him, almost demanding you to be closer, to keep on taking what you want, what you've been craving for two weeks.

When did he turned into this perverted sick? Getting off by something so primal as the fact you're feasting on him.

The feeling of your lips and the clear suck you gave when feeding are sending him into a spiral, and to be honest, he didn't expect to be so devastated by you, by the way your fingers stay against his chest to prevent him from moving, pinning the mutant between the wood bench and yourself so he won’t move, won’t do anything unless you want him to,pressing on the wound to draw more blood out.

"You heal so damn fast," you complain, looking at the traces of your bite with an unpleased face as they disappeared on his skin as fast as you created them.

"Then bite me again. I don't care."

You chuckle before leaning once again, and you can feel how the air grows hotter than how it was usually, the shift on his breathing as you bite him again, pressing on the wounds once again just to suck.

And you’re hungry, it’s the whole deal. His taste differs from what you believe at first, a huge change from what humans taste like, from what you’re used to deal with in hospitals. There’s a subtle taste of alcohol yes, but it mixes good with the sweet taste of honey, the weird taste you cannot put into words. It must be a mutant thing for sure cause it’s thicker than usual, a mix of flavors that explode in your tongue.

The headache you suffered from the whole week seems to dissapear as you drink in, feeding the monster you responded to in your stomach, demanding you to make him bleed more, to satisfy yourself until you can’t have any more.

Logan, on the other hand, is really fighting against his very own war.

You’re already close enough, but he just wants you damn closer, as much as he possibly can. It’s clear that well, it hurts slightly, but he has endured much worse, means nothing when it’s the pleasure that comes with it who strikes on his body, the light sucking, the idea you’re full of his blood, that you are not on trouble as you were before thanks to him. All because of him.

He's not used to acts on his impulses, but he does it anyway.

"C'mere" he says in a strangled voice, Logan's having no trouble moving you around, grabbing you by the hips to make you straddle him, keeping you glued to his neck as he doesn't want to disturb you—. "You really are a pretty leech, huh?”

You hum against his skin, pleased at the contact, and when he realizes you’re not complaining about his actions, he let his fingers grip your tights, keeping you against him.

You can hear him making this sound, quite like a moan but not exactly when you’re licking the holes you left in his skin, he does heal fast and don’t need any of your help when you’re done, but you coat his skin with your saliva anyway just to speed up the process, cause you want to do it, looking down to him after to check if he’s pale or nearly dead. You never really know.

And Logan himself is just fine cause his fingers gather the blood under your lip when he takes the sight of you sitting in his lap as the pearly white rays of moonlight makes your skin shine, and he pushes them inside your mouth so you don't waste any drop of what it can be considered food.

"So what's the final verdict?" he asks as his hands are now grabbing your tights, there's something so intimate about the moment, so personal, hot as he presses his fingers against the flesh of your muscles, he understand what you said before—. "Do I taste like utter shit?"

"Well, i’d need another taste to have my final decision" he laughs, and he don't really laugh often so the unexpected sound sends a shiver down your spine now that you’ve heard the sound quite a while now—. "Not much, just a little."

“Have you fill then, peach” He encourages you. “I want you full so you don’t whine the rest of the week.”

You don’t have any heartbeat, but if you did, it would be ragging in your ears at his words. At the warmth he’s spreading like a disease on her body that, despite being dead and cold, you can feel more than ever.

“I like peach,” you admit, this time pressing a soft kiss before directly hurt him—. “Leech is annoying.”

He’s going to say something, tease you about it maybe but he’s interrupted by the nice feeling of what he considers are your fangs tearing his skin apart, familiarity hitting him all sudden as he moans, a rough sound that comes from the deep of his throat, hands coming down to squeeze your ass, making you gasp against his neck when you experience the aching need physically forming in his pants.

“Still,” you say, concentrated on not allowing the wounds to close. But at the lack of complaints on what he's doing, Logan’s hands kept wandering around, making you move against his now clearly stiffed cock—. “Fuck’s sake I said still.”

“Stop being a damn brat. You can eat while I move you,” he grunts annoyed, shoving you against him, the friction of his jeans against the thin fabric of your shorts is enough to keep you quiet: Feeding from a stranger and feeding from a person you’re attracted to are two different things, especially in the position you find yourself in. “You don’t have to do anything. Quit whining about it.”

In response, your fingers press against the wound, not caring if it hurts or if it bothers him, but just enough to get him to bleed more and prevent the cut from closing, lapping at the blood that gathered over his collarbone, staining his white tank before you could even avoid it.

Your fingers grab the fabric just to pull it slightly down so it won't bother you, and the deep sound his chest make when he mocks about your desperation is stuck on your brain for the next couple of minutes, indulging in his taste, shutting up the rest of the world.

A moan comes out of your lips, muffling it against his skin. You're too zoomed out to hear it, but he's on a hell of a ride too, moaning as he demands more. It's been a while since the last time you did something like that, combine the pleasure of something as primal as eating with a mundane activity like sex, so you kind of forgot how good it felt, blaming yourself from depriving from something so needed.

"Do you always get this turned on when someone bites you?"

"No" Logan answers as you finish. He's rock hard beneath you, and he lets you know it when he's controlling the movement of your hips, working you against him at a slow pace—. "See, the woman i'm trying to seduce don't usually bite me, nor make me their main dinner plate."

You whine at the friction.

He looks down to the cause of all his damn problems just to notice his pants being damped with nothing but a physical form of need, soothing the uncomfortable fabric of his blue jeans — "So wet for me already, you’re making a damn mess, do you always get this turned on when feeding?"

Cheeky bastard.

He's using your own words against you, and you cannot be less bothered as you laugh softly, licking your lips only cause you know there's dried blood in them, drowned in his smell, the honey taste that lingered in your mouth.

“No, I don’t.”

At the sight, Logan's hand grabs your jaw in a rough movement, making you look at him before making you kiss him, deepening the contact as fast as you give him the chance. His tongue is soon invading your bucal cavity as he takes control of it, slow, intense and needy, as if he was holding on so much time before giving in to his own desires.

It is something like that.

You don't need to breathe in daily basis, but there's a burning sensation in your chest of wanting, of infinite lust you've been also experiencing by yourself.

The old mutant can taste his own blood in your mouth, a metallic taste as he keeps on kissing you until your lips are pink and puffed. He has thought so much about it that now that he has the opportunity, he devours as if he's a starved man having his first meal in what seems are ages.

"You didn't tell me if I tasted bad."

You think about it for a second.

"I'm afraid you're a rare breed cause it doesn't make any sense" You don't need any help now moving, cause you're rolling your hips on top of him at your own pace, allowing him to use his hands for something else—. “You have all the ingredients to taste like shit, but it's nothing but the contrary, even better than the fucking blood bags.”

“Sounds like your going to make me your meal plan, darlin. I’m here offering you a hand and you just take everything,” — “Such a greedy little vampire.”

He doesn't seem to care though, same as before he's nothing but willing to let you take everything as much as he tries to bark about it. He's more worried about his hands now that they're sliding down your oversized shirt, tracing patterns over your stomach, his touch so hot against your usually cold temperature.

"Logan," you whine,— "Someone can see us out here."

"Now you care about that?" his hazel eyes are a shade darker when he speaks. "After you're nice and full of my blood?"

His hands are big enough to take your whole cunt, allowing his digits to roam over the fabric of your underwear, almost thanking you for using those loosened pajama shorts he has seen before that very night as he just takes the fabric and pull it to the side.

"Nobody is going to see us. It's late and everyone's sleeping, leech" he teases you, and you cannot bring yourself to care about the nickname at the feeling of his hand taunting you from over the fabric—. "If you can bite me here outside, you might as well take my cock here too."

You cannot battle against that. You're deep in whatever spell he puts you into, giving in to the attraction and the tension that now needs to be taken care of. Logan's fingers touch you in nothing but experience, cause he knows how to please after so much time alive, how much pressure he needs to apply to leave you plain dumb, pliable for him.

"D'you think I need to stretch you out before fucking you?" he asks against your neck after leaving a reasonable-sized hickey in the zone, he likes the idea of people finding out about what you've been doing with him the next morning. "Or you're a big girl and can take me all by yourself?"

He'd like to take your time with you. Thoroughly enjoy you as much as he wants to, let everyone know you're his now, that you're shuddering thanks to him only, but he's too needy for that, too deprived of you to take his time.

"I want you to use that pretty mouth of yours and talk to me," he demands, coming up to look at your face while torturing you, his index and middle finger rubbing your clit from over the underwear—. "I'm not properly touching you yet and you're losing it already, peach. C'mon, you can talk to me still."

"I can take you," you say in a strangled voice. "Please Logan, please."

It's the plea of your tone that gets him, the soft begging of an ache he can only soothe, your face while you ask for more, not aware of anything else but him.

"Please what?"

"Please just fuck me already," you ask in frustration—. "I just need you to fill me up for a damn while."

You are starting to love the sound of his laugh. The deep sound he makes when he’s really enjoying something, his voice in damn general.

"Be a good little vampire" He says in a gentle tone. Logan’s trying to be kind even when his touch is so rough. "Unbuckle my pants and take my cock out. My hands are busy now, and you can do it yourself."

He is busy indeed. Toying with your underwear being the only thing that’s keeping him from the direct contact, pushing the fabric against your hole as it works as a barrier, preventing his digits to fuck you as he’d like to. He’s busy keeping you in place, preventing you from downright melt as your hands came up to unbuckle his belt first, the sound of the metal as it moves filling the air for a couple of seconds before you put all your attention in the button of his jeans, the zipper coming down with the force you’re using.

“Yeah baby,” he praises—. “You’re doing so good, keep going.”

When you pull the fabric of his briefs down, he’s already leaking for you, pink head, slightly curved to the side, moaning, erratically how much he needs your hands on him, how you're wet and ready for his cock. You close your fist around him, stroking slowly as your hips lift up enough to position yourself on top of him.

He’s big. Damn fucking right he is, you’d expected it from before cause sometimes you swear you can see his full length in his jeans, but taking him in your hand is a struggle but itself.

“Are you going to take me yourself or do you need my help? I know you can.”

Despite his words, he does help. Grabbing the black fabric of your underwear to finally make it to the side, the tip of his dick pushing against your clit before he's the one to place it in your leaky hole, forcing himself slowly, giving you time to take him in, inch by inch.

“Good girl," he says, head rolling backwards for a brief moment as he experiences the warm sensation of your walls surrounding him, clenching against his cock as he keeps one hand on your hip, helping you as you lower yourself over him. "Let me look at you.”

His fingers grab your jaw, squeezing you as he makes you look back at him, pushing you once again as you holded a loud moan. He's stretching you at his need.

"One more time," he begs. "One more time and you got it, peach. You're almost there."

Jesus fuck. You can feel yourself getting dizzy. You've drank a lot of blood and you're now overwhelmed by this intense pleasure that formed in your lower stomach, gathering there and waiting for the perfect moment to explode—. "Fuck I-"

Logan's pampering you with kisses as a mere distraction, his lips travelling through your neck to your collarbone before you're finally seated on top of him, a muffled moan you need to shut filling the calm of the night.

"Fuck you're tight," he exhales, and he's lost in the sensation, the way your velvety walls welcome him inside. He stays still for a moment, giving you time to adjust, to make you the one who starts moving on top of him.

You can see his veins popping up. All over his chest and coming down to his shoulders and his arms, and god gracious — He smells so fucking good you’re tempted to ask if you can have a bite again.

The moment feels longer than usual, the seconds pass slowly as you stay there. Logan’s hands are just touching your skin from under your oversized t-shirt, taking in the low moans you gave him, the almost perceptible whispers as you get used to him, to his size.

He likes the intimacy of it, the bliss. Man you look so pretty in his lap when the light of the moon is stripping you all to his eyes, even if you’re fully dressed an he’s seated in a damn bench, he cannot enjoy it more, pulling you in for a needy kiss, one that is rougher than the first one and leads you to move inevitably.

His cock pushes past that nice spot inside, and the friction is enough to make you move again, rocking your hips at a slow pace for a few seconds. The sound of your moans is silenced by his demanding kisses, and now that he knows you can handle him, his grip on your hips turn more firm now, squeezing the skin there so he can control your speed, the rythm of your movements now faster than before.

“Shh, don’t whine” what he lacks of vocal usually, he pours it all in just fucking, talking you through it when he feels you’re being too loud—. “Do you want to wake the others? We can’t have them seeing you like this, all fed up and cock-drunk.”

“Let me bite you again,” you ask soon enough. And it takes a lot to do it, cause you’re doing it out of pure greed, cause you can’t have enough.

“Take whatever you want, leech, just don’t make me faint” he jokes, his panted breathing betraying him as he moans, incredibly interested in the idea—. “Want to be conscious when you cum all over my dick.”

Logan’s sure your eyes glisten in a red color as you lean over his neck. And this time is less affectionate, much less gentle as you finally bite him again, teeth piercing the flesh so easily his hips jolts against you in response of the sharp pain your fangs create, the warm sensation of his blood in contrast of your cold touch, tongue-licking all you get from him.

And fuck it feels good.

He shrudders beneath you, shaking his head just slightly at reflex of pain before continue working his way with you, placing his hand between your tights as he lets his fingers rub on your sensitive clit, just enough to make you bite on his neck harder, the lewd sounds of your cunt taking him between holded moans as you suck on his neck.

“That’s it taking me so good,” He praises — “You like that, princess? Like how you’re full of me?”

You hum against his skin. The blood coates your chin as it goes down through his chest, staining his white tank for a couple of seconds before the holes your teeth made finally closes on their own.

It’s pure ecstasy. He can feel it when you clenching around his cock, cheeks red from his blood going now through your system, his vitality, his energy.

You can feel him fucking everywhere. So when you kiss him it’s all teeth, bite and his blood.

The pleasure’s taking control of you now, and Logan’s dizzy from the blood loss, his body covered now in sweat as his words slur together, not threading any coherent thought.

“That’s it,” he says, making you bounce of his cock. “Gonna’ have you in my room then, all spread out f’me.”

His hand wrap around your neck tightly, keeping the direct contact as he chokes you. Shit. You don’t need to say a word. Logan already got you.

“James-” he’s too deep to question why you’re using that name with him. How you facade is crushing down now as you let go.

When your body trembles on top of him he’s already cumming too, the squeeze on his cock sufficent to fuck him up personally, his bruising grip on your hips shoving you as deep as he possibly can as his release hits him like a brick falling from the damn sky.

He lets you work for it, ride each second of your high, milk him dry as a white circle of his own cum mixed with your juices coated the base of his cock, his underwear now slick with your orgasm.

He’s struggling to breathe, to properly say something as you’re finally coming down from your peak, looking at him through half lidded eyes.

“Did you called me James?” he questions, and you’re a damn bad liar, cause he knows imediately you’re hidding something cause of the look on your face—. “Do we know each other? From before.”

You don’t know how to respond at first, at least, cause you cannot lie in a position like that now.

“Well uh. It’s quite a long story here.”

Before you can continue he gets up, making you wrap your legs around his hips before stsrting to walk to the mansion.

“Logan-” you say in a strangled moan yourself, still sensitive as he’s balls-deep inside you.

“It will be less than two minutes, leech” he responds gruffily,— “Need to get you into my room so I can enjoy you the rest of the night, and you can tell me all of it.”

He don’t care if he’s bloody or a damn mess as he squeezes your ass climbing up the stairs, much less if anyone see the two of you in that state.

“I want to hear all the details, Cause I have a weird feeling that this has happened before.”

You cannot find a reasonable excuse to say no as the man’s already reaching the second floor.

Logan’s fucked after that night. When he learned about all that you were before, weirdly connected to you through the decades.

It must be the bite isn’t? Shit. He’s more in sync than ever now that you’ve been feeding from him a lot the last few weeks.

Ah. You fucking leech.

my masterlist

[brunettemarionette]

Stay Close, Sweetheart

💜 pairing. Eddie Munson x Fem!Reader

🔮 summary. When a drunk guy at a party won’t leave you alone, Eddie makes it clear exactly who you belong to.

🌙 tw. Protective!Eddie, Hurt/Comfort, Established Relationship, Harassment, Alcohol Use, Mild Violence/Threats, Sexual Tension/Suggestive scenes

✨ wc. 1.4k

You should've never let your friend drag you to this party.

Not that you didn't love her—she was your best friend, after all—but she thrived in social chaos, slipping through crowds with a kind of effortless energy you could never quite match.

Meanwhile, you were stuck dodging sweaty bodies, spilled drinks, and the occasional leering creep. Like the one currently hovering way too close, his breath thick with cheap beer and bad decisions.

"C'mon, sweetheart," he slurred, the stench of alcohol curling around you like a suffocating fog. "I've seen you around school. You don't have to play hard to get."

Your skin crawled. Instinctively, you stepped back, only for your spine to press against the edge of a sticky counter. Trapped. Your eyes darted through the sea of drunken partygoers, searching—where the hell was Eddie?

"I'm not playing anything," you muttered, forcing your voice to stay steady. "I have a boyfriend."

He waved off your words with a lazy grin as if they were nothing more than a minor inconvenience. "Bet I could change your mind."

A sharp laugh cut through the noise behind you.

"Yeah?" The word was casual, but the voice—low, edged with something dangerous—sent relief surging through you. "You feel like betting your teeth on that, big guy?"

An arm wrapped around your waist, tugging you back against a familiar chest. Eddie. His grip was firm and grounding; when you glanced up, his expression wasn't the usual playful smirk you were used to. He wasn't smiling at all.

In fact, he looked like he was seconds away from breaking something—preferably this guy's nose.

The creep's confidence faltered. "Dude, chill, we were just talking."

Eddie tilted his head, exhaling a slow, deliberate breath. His rings were cool against your hip as his grip tightened just slightly. "Oh yeah?" he drawled. "'Cause from where I'm standing, it looks a hell of a lot like you were making my girl uncomfortable."

Your stomach flipped at the casual possessiveness in his tone.

The guy lifted his hands in surrender, taking a half-step back. "Alright, alright, no need to 'freak' out," he muttered, his bravado crumbling. "Psycho freaks, man."

Eddie didn't even watch him go. His focus was already on you, dark eyes scanning your face, checking—always checking. His fingers traced light, grounding circles against your hip, a silent reassurance.

"You okay?" His voice was softer now, all sharp edges smoothed out just for you as he turned you, pulling your body closer to him so gently like he was holding something adorably fragile.

You exhaled, your body finally unclenching now in the safety of your boyfriend's arms. "Yeah. Just—ugh."

Eddie huffed a small laugh. "Yeah, 'ugh' sums it up."

And then, because he was Eddie, he grabbed your face between his hands, squishing your cheeks together. "You know I'd fight a hundred of those dudes for you, right? With my bare hands. No weapons. Just pure, unhinged Munson energy."

Despite yourself, you laughed, swatting at his arm as you rolled your eyes at his bravado, knowing the guy only backed down due to your boyfriend's rumored status as a 'cult leader.' "Sure...I believe you, baby."

His grin stretched wide at your words. "Damn right, you do."

And just like that, the tension cracked and melted away. He kissed your forehead, then your nose, then, finally —your lips, murmuring against your mouth, "Next time? You don't go looking for me. I'll find you first."

You melted into him, the warmth of his body a stark contrast to the lingering chill of unease still coiling in your stomach. Eddie's grip on you never wavered, solid and reassuring, his fingers tracing idle patterns against your waist as if grounding you both.

"C'mon," he murmured, pressing another lingering kiss to your temple before slipping his ring-covered fingers between yours. "Let's get outta here. Stay close, Sweetheart."

You nodded, more than ready to leave the suffocating press of bodies and the lingering stench of alcohol and sweat.

Eddie didn't let go of your hand as he guided you through the throng, his body a shield between you and anyone who got too close. His presence alone was enough to part the crowd, dark eyes flashing warning glances at anyone who so much as glanced your way.

When you finally burst through the front door, the cool night air was a relief, crisp against your flushed skin. You sucked in a deep breath, letting it cleanse the last remnants of discomfort from your system.

Eddie, ever in tune with you, rubbed slow circles over the back of your hand with his thumb. "Better?" he asked, tilting his head to get a good look at your face.

You nodded, offering him a small smile. "Yeah. Much."

Eddie gave an exaggerated sigh of relief, pulling you to his chest in an exaggerated hug. "Thank God. For a second there, I thought I was gonna have to start swinging."

You huffed a laugh against his shoulder. "I think you scared him enough just by existing."

"Damn right I did." He pulled back just enough to look at you, brushing stray strands of hair away from your face. "I mean, did you see that guy? One second, he's acting all big and bad; the next, he's running away from the 'resident freak'."

You rolled your eyes, but the grin tugging at your lips was undeniable. "You really love being my knight in shining armor, huh?"

Eddie gasped, placing a hand over his heart like you'd just given him the highest honor imaginable. "Baby, don't insult me like that."

You frowned; usually, he loves being called that and letting you inflate his ego with stupid words that you both usually mock when hearing it in cheesy rom-coms. "What?"

"Shining armor? Please." He scoffed, shaking his head. "I'm more like the rogue outlaw with a heart of gold. The misunderstood antihero. The badass with a soft spot for his girl."

Laughing, you wrap your arms around his neck and play with the small curls of his dark hair. "Oh, of course. How could I forget?"

Eddie grinned, wrapping his arms around your waist and swaying you side to side. "Exactly. Now, let's get out of here before I get the urge to go back in and punch that guy for real."

The thought alone sent a slight shiver through you—not of fear, but something else entirely. The way Eddie was always so ready to fight for you, to protect you, did something to you that you didn't quite have the words for.

You pulled him in for a passionate kiss, your lips lingering against his just long enough to feel his breath hitch. "Take me home, Eddie." You whisper tantalizingly against his mouth.

His eyes darkened, and something playful and dangerous flashed behind them. "Oh, sweetheart. You have no idea how good that sounds." He tugged you toward his van, and you followed, your hand never leaving his.

Eddie didn't let go of you the entire ride to his trailer. One hand on the wheel, the other gripping yours, thumb brushing over your knuckles like a silent vow.

When he finally parked outside his place, he shifted to face you, his expression serious now. "You sure you're okay?"

Your heart swelled. Even after the tension had melted away, even after you'd laughed and kissed and found safety in each other, he was still checking, still making sure.

You squeezed his hand. "I'm sure. Thanks to you."

His lips quirked, but instead of leaning in for another forehead kiss, his fingers tightened around yours, his eyes darkening. "Good." In the next breath, he was tugging you closer, his other hand slipping to the small of your back, pulling you flush against him in his seat, making you straddle his lap.

His lips brushed your jaw, trailing soft, deliberate kisses down the column of your throat. You let out a shaky breath, tilting your head to give him more room, your fingers gripping the front of his jacket.

"Eddie," you murmured, your voice barely above a whisper.

He hummed against your skin, his breath hot, his hands restless as they explored the curves of your waist. "Mmm?"

You swallowed hard, your pulse thundering as you could only think of all the bad things you wanted to do with him right now inside of this very vehicle. "We should go inside."

Eddie pulled back just enough to look at you, his grin sharp, teasing. "Oh, sweetheart, I'm already five steps ahead of you."

Before you could protest, he was scooping you up into his arms, making you squeal. He laughed, kicking the van door shut behind him, carrying you toward your front door with a gleam in his eyes that promised a very interesting rest of the night.

And, honestly, you had no complaints.