#if i say ‘okay tonight you are not going to start talking about that anime guy’s pussy. and you are not going to get possessive of the aux’

[ooblech]

i need to start writing out pre-hangout and pre-drinking affirmations otherwise i cant focus on more than one or two

[joelsgoldrush]

“crawl home to her” | 7.5k

old man!logan x f!reader

SUMMARY: Will he be able to control himself once he's near you? In this moment, he feels more animal than human. Creeping, on the verge of crawling, back to you. OR Like a sinner seeking absolution, he finds his way back to you after every absence, as if you're the only salvation he's ever known.

WARNINGS/TAGS: mdni smut 18+ cursing. drinking. dirty talk. some fluff. comfort. feelings. self-deprecation. miscommunication. sort of established relationship. age gap (reader's in her late 20s). petnames. religious imagery. logan's POV. chauffeur!logan. dom!logan. reader wears logan's dog tags and clothes. pussy pronouns. phone sex. oral sex (f and m receiving). 69. fingering. masturbation (he jerks off in the limo). one (1) single spank. sort of rough sex. unprotected p in v. creampie.

A/N: i wrote this as a part 2 of this story, but still, it can be read as a standalone (i'd recommend that you also read the first part as well 👀 you'll understand their relationship better). hope you like this one! <3

Logan is tired. Bone-deep, soul-crushingly tired.

He takes a slow, deliberate drag from his cigar, letting the smoke curl inside his chest, teasing his lungs. Doesn’t even bother to crack the window open—why would he?—before exhaling, the haze lingering inside the limo like a fog.

One quick glance at his phone screen just to make sure his vision isn’t screwing him over—no older notifications. A pang of disillusionment settles in his being.

Not only is he fighting to keep his eyes open, exhausted from driving the same family around for the past few days while they enjoy their quality time, but he’s also bored out of his mind. 

Where the hell are you?

He adjusts his glasses, pushing them higher up on the bridge of his nose, preventing them from sliding down to his lap. When his phone buzzes, he jolts, nearly hitting his head on the roof of the limo due to his excitement.

His poor heart gallops as he fumbles with the screen, unlocking it with the same urgency as a man starved for contact.

But it’s not you. It’s one of his passengers.

We’re getting out in half an hour, the message reads. By we, she means herself, her husband, and their two kids.

Logan can’t bring himself to type an actual reply, so he leaves her on read. She knows he’s not going anywhere, parked outside the arcade as if he’s rooted in place with no way out.

Family after family enters that hell on earth, kids of all ages bouncing on their heels, voices shrill with enthusiasm. He watches, half-heartedly, as parents get dragged by their little ones, who negotiate how much money they are allowed to spend tonight.

He almost feels bad for those parents. Almost. He hopes that at least they know how to say ‘No’.

All in all, he’s got another thirty minutes of solitude ahead. The radio has long since ceased to entertain him. He’s been parked here for two hours, and his mind is starting to drift. He could stretch his legs, walk around, or maybe grab a drink—but damn it.

He wants to talk to you.

You’d said he could call you after dropping the family off. That was three hours ago. The last message he received from you was still stuck in his head, replaying over and over like a lifeline. Logan knows you must be busy, probably taking care of Charles and—

Okay, he’ll get back to that later. 

You: Just got out of the shower. Call me in five?

Right now, he could die a happy man. Were he a dog, his tail would be wagging furiously, anticipation already building for the simple joy of hearing you.

Logan: Got it.

The next five minutes feel like an eternity. He finishes his cigar, flicking the stub beneath the seat without giving it a second thought. For now, he doesn’t care about being a messy fucker. He’ll deal with the mess some other time.

Priorities.

A quick spritz of some cheap air freshener he picked up from a gas station fills the car, masking the distinctive scent of smoke. God forbid the kids start whining about how ‘weird’ it smells in the limo.

With a grimace, he sprays a little more—floral, of all scents? It feels insulting.

How kind of him to still be this considerate.

His thumb hovers over your contact, and he presses the call button with an agility he hasn’t had in years (thanks to you).

One, two, three rings, and then—

“Logan,” you say softly, your voice a little breathless, like you’ve been hurrying all over the place.

He stops grinding his jaw, the tension in his shoulders easing. He unclenches his fists, fingers uncurling one by one, as if letting go of some invisible burden.

Outside the vehicle, people stop dying, babies stop being born, and the world itself pauses just for him to listen to you.

You can’t see him, but he smiles either way. “Hey, baby.”

“Gosh, I’m so sorry. I lost track of time talking to Charles. We had dinner, and then I just—I felt so gross, you know? From cooking and all that. Took a shower, and it got pretty late.”

You end with a sigh, and he imagines you rubbing a hand over your face. “Please tell me you weren’t sleeping when I texted you.”

“Not even close. Still waiting for them.”

“They’re really taking their time, huh?”

“You wouldn’t believe it,” he murmurs, his fingers drumming a soft rhythm on the steering wheel. “How was your day?”

“Great! I’m already in bed.”

“My bed.”

You laugh, that sweet sound making his heart stutter. “Well, yeah. Where else do you want me to sleep if I’m at your place? On the floor?”

If someone had told Logan a year ago that he’d let someone live in his space, let alone take care of Charles, he’d have scoffed. "Pathetic," he’d have said, rolling his eyes with that familiar growl in his throat. Pretty sure he’d also puffed his chest while saying so.

Because Logan Howlett wasn’t one for accepting help. He’s been on his own since the earth was still cooling down.

But for you? He made exceptions. Plenty of them. And if it weren’t for your altruism, he wouldn’t have accepted this job—a job that pays well enough to cover Charles’ meds and put food on the table. He needs this rich family’s money.

“You’ve got a girlfriend now?” Charles had asked, when Logan explained he’d be staying with you while he went away for a few days.

“Big word you’re using there,” Logan had replied, placing two pills into Charles’ palm. The old man gave him a death stare. “Don’t play dumb. It’s not like you don’t know the drill.”

Mumbling something incoherent before swallowing the pills, Charles had taken slow sips of water between each one, sinking back into the mattress with a weary sigh. “If she’s not your girlfriend, then what is she?”

“A friend.”

“That’s nice. Is that what they’re calling it now?”

He shakes that memory away, forcing his mind back to the call. “Try not to be so kind to him. What if he falls in love with you?” he inquires, a mocking tone weaving through his words. 

And that’s when you drop the bombshell. “You mean like you did?” 

You laugh, but Logan… doesn’t. He can’t do it. He makes sure he’s breathing on command: in and out, in and out, in and out. 

The mention of love unsettles him. He doesn’t feel safe anymore, doesn’t know what game you’re playing. Where’s the rulebook?

Is he—could he be—falling in love with you? Is that what you’re implying? And if so, do you feel the same?

In the long run, you mumble: “It was a joke.” Only then do his lungs fill with fresh air, untainted by the weight of his unease. But he can’t let it pass, the fact you sound disappointed. Defeated.

He promised himself he’d never hurt you. Though he doesn’t intend to, it feels as if he’s just stabbed you in the back, twisting the knife further into your frame—unwillingly.

“Remember the—” he pauses a moment, throwing his head back in frustration, silently cursing himself. “The pills. You’ve been giving them to him, right?”

“Yes, Logan.”

“Please, remember it’s only—”

“Logan,” you try again, cutting through the wave of his spiraling thoughts. He can picture you behind closed lids, looking at him through your lashes, your hand resting gently on his chest. “I have it under control, okay? He’s doing alright. I swear I’m taking good care of him.”

“I don’t doubt that, honey.” Casting a glance at the rearview mirror, he feels an unexpected sense of longing for your presence there, like a ghost haunting his every move, confined to the limits of his brain. “Can’t help but worry. That’s all.”

A soft hum reverberates through the line. He hears the rustle of sheets, the sound of you tossing around in his bed, and his pulse quickens at the thought.

“You said you’re sleepin’ on my bed.”

“Good memory you have.”

“You wearin’ my clothes as well?”

 Thick silence, the kind he relishes.

“Yeah,” you finally reply, shifting the phone from side to side. You take a deep breath, and add: “I forgot to bring mine.”

He hates how you easily find a way to get him riled up despite being miles away. It must be the power of words.

“I don’t believe you.” He knows he shouldn’t, hates himself for doing it, but one of his hands palms the half-hard bulge in his black slacks, suppressing a low groan. “Think you did it on purpose.”

A rush of heat, sharp and urgent, washes over him. Is he really about to do this? Get himself off in the very car he uses for work? Twisted, incredibly sick of him, he thinks.

Still, he craves more. “Tell me what you’re wearing.”

You laugh at his demanding tone, fanning the flames of his desperation. “When did you turn into a horny teenager?”

“Always been, baby,” Logan purrs, undoing the button of his pants, followed by the fly. His eyes flick upwards for just a moment—no cars, no one in sight. He’s presumably alone. It’s all the confirmation he needs to say: “C’mon. Tell your old man what clothes you stole from him.”

He’s never done this before—phone sex. He’s heard about it, sure, but never imagined he’d fall so hard for the idea. The thrill of it sinks into him, electrifying.

What are you doing? Is your lip caught between your teeth? Do your eyes wander down your own body? Maybe your fingers are already skimming over your skin.

“It’s just a random shirt,” you murmur. “Plain, white.”

“What else?”

“There’s nothing else.”

Logan’s breath hitches as his hand moves to his cock, spotting the damp patch on his briefs where the tip has already started to leak. The moment he slides the elastic down past his balls, he fists his shaft in a slow stroke, going from the base to the head. “No panties? And you expect me t’believe this wasn’t planned?”

Your muffled whimper is like molten lava spilling into his ear, bringing him to full hardness. More shuffling follows on your end, driving him wild with the anticipation. “Why do you do this to me if you’re not here?”

“‘Cause I want you touchin’ yourself just like I’m doin’.” He thumbs the head, hips jerking involuntarily at the sensation. He aches to feel your mouth there instead. “Bet that pussy’s been cryin’ out for me, huh? Must’ve got used to me fillin’ her every other night.”

Your breathing grows more uneven, small gasps filtering through the speaker. “I need you here with me. This is—ugh—not enough.”

“What’s not enough, sweetheart?”

There’s a pause as the sound of your phone shifts again, and then he hears it clearly—the wet, needy sound of your fingers working between your legs, filling the silence with the loud squelching of your cunt. “My fingers,” you blurt out, more distant than before, like you’re merging with the bed, dissolving with every touch.

Logan spits roughly into his palm, the slickness of his saliva easing the drag of his calloused hand along his length, good enough to make the movement more satisfying.

He moans aloud, eyes shut tight, your name slipping from his lips, a whispered prayer, as if saying it could somehow summon you to his side. “I spoil you too much,” he rasps, wedging his phone between his ear and shoulder, using every resource available to him, anything to feel something real. “Seems like you’ve forgotten how to make yourself come.”

Your moans follow his, the breathy sounds a clear sign of how close you are, hanging on the edge, your release just a heartbeat away. But it’s not enough, and you need him. He wonders if you can feel his thoughts from miles away, because— “Want your cock so bad, Lo. I m-miss you.”

He has to stop jerking himself to hold off his orgasm, stomping his foot against the pedals. “Fuck, darlin’. You keep sayin’ those things and I swear I’ll be back with you by morning.”

His sole focus now is you—getting you to come. Driven by his growing frenzy, it’s the only coherent thought that claws through the haze in his mind. “Keep talking, please,” you plead, fingers still lost in the heat of your body. “Tell me what you’ll do to me when you see me.”

Logan picks up the rhythm again, his movements faltering as his chest heaves, ragged breaths spilling out while his hand works faster. “Gonna fuck you slow and deep, just how you like it. Face to face, so you can kiss me as much as you want, ‘cause I know my girl loves that, am I right?”

My girl. He’ll regret that one the second the high fades and clarity sets in.

Word after word falls from his lips without thought, uncontrollable, as though he’s surrendered to the storm of desire raging in his being—a storm in which your name is the eye of it all.

You are everywhere, and you take up all the empty spaces he thought were impossible to fill, sinking into the depths of his unconsciousness.

Not a single part of him is left untouched by you, by the power of your presence in his life, consuming him in ways he never imagined.

Your airy mewls ripple through the line, feeding his ravenousness, adding to the tightening knot of pleasure coiling low in his abdomen. His muscles strain, thighs tensing. Each stroke of his hand prolongs this sweet torture. 

“Come for me, princess. You’d make me so h-happy if you came right now.”

And you do, because it’s not just his touch anymore—it’s his voice, and the way he commands you without force. How you’ve become accustomed to him, nodding along to each instruction he mutters.

Beneath your fingers, your swollen clit pulses, and though he can’t see it, he imagines it perfectly, having spent enough time worshiping it.

He knows, even from a distance, what your body must be doing. Your back arching off the bed, thighs quivering and clenching tight around your own hand. Those perfect legs of yours trembling as you reach your so-desired climax.

Loud and unrestrained, you moan, and for a moment, he wants to be with you so badly that he ponders if the theory of traveling across time and space sounds that far-fetched after all.

Logan doesn't need much after that for the thread to snap at long last, his groans dying on his lips as he stares in awe at the spurts of his seed landing wherever his eyes fall: a bit on the top of his pants, on his hand, his briefs. His cock twitches in his grip as he continues stroking himself through the aftershocks, gulping when it becomes too much to handle.

So phone sex is off the list now. Great.

“Miss you, too,” he mumbles once he’s caught his breath, tossing his glasses onto the passenger seat. His forehead feels damp to the touch, and he contemplates when was the last time he came this hard.

The elephant in the room hasn’t been addressed yet. He knows you expect him to say more, something deeper and rawer, but that’s all he can force himself to spit out.

Sometimes, he forgets that you can’t read him all the time. Although you know him better than anyone else, there are certain thoughts and memories locked tightly inside him, things you'd never discover on your own. Secrets he admits he should share with you, but he’s at a loss for how. Words aren’t doable when he needs them the most.

Maybe it's a matter of age—you’re a natural at voicing your feelings.

At some point, you ask: “When did you say you were returning?”

One thing’s clear: he can’t afford to lose you. He’d be an idiot if he let that happen.

“In five days, I think.” Were he with you, he'd hold you in his arms, kissing your lips. God, how he misses kissing you. All of you. “I’ll keep you updated.”

“It’s okay,” you respond, and in his mind, a blank canvas fills with the familiar image of you lying on your side, curling into a ball the way you always do. “I should go to sleep. Talk to you tomorrow.”

“Sure.” Thank you for everything. “Get some rest.” Are you still in love with me? “Bye.” I’m coming back. You know how I feel about you, do you?

So much left unsaid, words he lacks the strength to speak. That, along with his come-stained clothes. And, of course, the limousine now perfumed like a flower shop.

Exhaustion clings to him again.

His luck has never been this good.

The next afternoon, one of the couple’s kids falls ill. Must be something he ate, the woman tells Logan, her voice light, though he can hear the shuffle of urgency behind her words.

Her husband packs their bags in the background, the muted thuds of luggage hitting the floor. You know how children are. Their hands are always filthy!

What she doesn’t realize is that Logan, in fact, doesn’t know how children are, because how could he?

He’s holed up in the hotel across the street, his only responsibility being to wait on their call, ready to drive whenever they needed him. Needless to say, his accommodations are nothing like theirs. Not that he minds it—he’s not one for luxury, has never needed it.

Truth be told, he’s no stranger to beds that groan if you shift slightly, clogged toilets that spit back water like they’re alive.

Joy rushes through him when he hears the news. He’s coming back earlier than expected, a thrill building in his chest. Twelve days he’s been away, his greed growing with each second in that desolate hotel room.

Now, the beating of his heart quickens, a faint thrumming as he stares out the window. He debates whether to let you know about his early return or keep it as a surprise. Would it be better if he just showed up?

How would you feel, knowing that, by the time the lights are out, he’ll be yours again?

He knows he should feel sorry for the poor kid, but all he can muster is a look of concern that barely reaches his eyes. Each time they pull into a gas station, he listens to the hurried slap of footsteps as the boy rushes for the bathroom to empty his insides.

He watches in the rearview as the kid’s father shakes his head, clicking his tongue with disapproval. “Do you have kids?” he asks, his voice forced into a casual tone, like he’s trying to break the silence that’s settled between them. 

Logan’s only response is to turn up the radio, some pop song he’s never heard spilling from the speakers. The lyrics are a blur of nonsense to him, but it’s enough to drown out the man’s words and the boy’s misery.

Some things never change.

As the sun dips below the horizon, he’s finally free, no longer at anyone’s beck and call. He contemplates the possibility of getting a speeding ticket, weighing his options. It hardly matters. The pull to see you, to feel you, is stronger than anything else.

Even though he tries to think of another time in his life when he felt such a raw need, no memory comes close.

When he does pull up to his place, he does it quietly. Parking the limo, he doesn’t honk, doesn’t announce himself. Fumbling with the keys ever so lightly so as not to wake you up, fitting them into the lock.

His wrist twists, and the door gives way with a soft creak.

Anxiety ripples through him as he steps inside. The smell of freshly cooked food hits him, but it only tightens the knot in his stomach, reminding him of how long it’s been since he last ate.

Later, he tells himself. After. Once he’s sated his true hunger—the kind of hunger that can only be satisfied by sinking his fingers into something real, fleshy, malleable. 

Hunger—yes, it’s animalistic, feral even. Will he be able to control himself once he’s near you? In moments like this, he feels more animal than human. Creeping, on the verge of crawling, back to you.

His feet take him to his bedroom, knowing the path to it very well. Fingers hovering over the knob, he takes a deep breath.

It’s already late, past midnight, yet energy courses through his veins as though he’s just woken from a long, ethereal dream.

He finds you asleep, your body wrapped snugly in the sheets, clutching a pillow close to your chest. Your cheek is pressed into it, breathing soft and steady, lulling him in. Kneeling on the edge of the bed, he kicks off his shoes, then slips in beside you, mirroring your position. 

A lamp sits on his nightstand, one that isn’t his, and he figures you must have brought it from your apartment. There has to be a symbolism for that.

It’s incredible how his entire world can fit into such a narrow bed.

The smart thing would be to let you sleep, to simply watch you for a moment longer. But he can’t help himself.

His thumb lingers near your face before gently cupping your cheek, and the very first contact with your skin sends a shudder through him, the warmth of your skin grounding him. He trails his fingers down to your chin, holding it with just enough pressure to remind himself that he’s here.

Leaning in, he presses his lips softly against your forehead, your typical perfume wrapping around him like a welcome.

Welcome home, Logan.

For the first time, he feels that someone’s been counting down the minutes until his return. He’d always believed a person like him didn’t deserve this. That he just wasn’t built for it.

Countless years had he spent convincing himself he’d never be the kind of man who could inspire love. His life had already been written long ago—predetermined by some cruel hand in the sky.

Destiny, fate, call it what you want—once the cards are laid out, there’s no escaping them. Or so he used to think.

You had taken that pen into your own hands, rewriting his future. You, of all people, had changed his life. No matter what the future held for the two of you, he’d always be grateful. Grateful that you’d seen the dim spark in him that others had chosen to ignore.

Thoughtlessly, his fingers continue their gentle strokes along your cheek, your hair. You stir beside him, shifting in your sleep. Your eyes flutter open, close again, and then open once more, blinking in confusion.

“Logan?” you croak, voice still groggy and thick with sleep, coming to your senses. Before he can respond, you throw yourself on top of him, smothering his face with kisses. “Why—how—”

“Sweetheart,” he says, attempting to hide his grin, but failing when your kisses shift to his neck, your nose nuzzling against his skin. A laugh slips out, warmth flooding his chest.

“You didn’t tell me you were coming home early!”

Home. Had he heard right? Had you used that word knowingly?

Peering into your eyes, he catches his reflection in your pupils, tiredness etched into his features. “Wanted it to be a surprise.”

“You could’ve told me,” you reply, fingers threading through his greying locks, massaging his scalp. You place a tender kiss on the tip of his nose. “I would’ve waited up for you at least.”

“Well, I’m here now,” he whispers back, gaze drifting to your lips, and you close the space between you, his sigh mingling with yours as one hand cradles the small of your back, fisting the fabric of his shirt. His other hand tilts your head, inviting your tongues to greet each other in an unhurried dance.

You move languidly on top of him, and he notices, breaking the kiss and pulling back. “You’re gonna fall asleep on me, are you?”

The way your lashes flutter in response should be illegal. “I could use a human-size pillow.”

“I should shower first.”

“No.”

“Baby, I smell like gas.”

“So?”

A smirk tugs at his lips at your insistence, and he gently lays you back against the mattress. Drawn to your charm once again, he licks into your mouth, mentally scolding himself when he gets carried away, letting the kiss linger longer than intended.

“I’ll be quick,” he promises, pulling the sheets over your body. Resigned, you simply nod, settling on your side.

Ten minutes later, you’re dozing off, teetering on the edge of unconsciousness when he slips into bed, wrapping himself around you from behind. One arm drapes over your waist, the other cushions your head, and there’s not a patch of skin between you left untouched.

Fatigue begins to delve deeper into his bones the longer he stays curled around you, but before the weight of sleep takes him, and the silence steals his chance, he huffs: “I missed you.” His beard grazes your skin in a soft, unintentional caress.

You pull his wrist to your lips, pressing a short-lived kiss to the inside of it. “Missed you, too.”

How the roles have reversed.

In the quietness of this starless night, you leave him no other choice but to believe you.

3:34 a.m. Still hostage to the lack of light outside. The world remains submerged in the gentle tides of sleep, undulating between dreams, except for him.

Logan wakes up at 3:34 a.m. because he’s rock hard, and being flushed against your back wasn’t helping him with his situation at all. If anything, it only heightened it.

He sits at the edge of the bed, his mind running in circles, debating whether he should jump to his feet and head to the bathroom for another shower—this time, a cold one. Returning to sleep, at least in this moment, is not a viable option.

His gaze drifts to the moonlight spilling through the window, casting its pale glow across the room. Is this your doing? The question lingers, unshakable, in his thoughts. It remains as just that: a question.

When you quietly rest your chin on his shoulder, he stifles a sigh, biting the inside of his cheek. Your voice breaks through the quiet.

“What’s wrong? Can’t sleep?” Wrapping your arms around him from behind, you circle his frame, in an effort to persuade him to sink back into the mattress.

“It’s nothing,” he says, pulse accelerating. Please, don’t look down. “I’ll be back in a second.”

“But what is—”

He doesn’t get to hear the rest of your sentence. You do look down, finding the outline of his hardened cock straining against his briefs, stealing your full attention.

“Wow.”

“Go back to sleep.”

“And leave you like this?” One hand creeps toward his waistband, your breath warm against his ear. “Wouldn’t miss this for anything in the world.”

Your nails trace a path through the coarse hair at his navel, and Logan tenses. His legs feel like jelly as you cup his balls, fondling them gently between your fingers.

Behind him, your low chuckle stirs something primal in him, making his blood thrum hot beneath his skin. He should be the one doing this to you, not the other way around.

“Darlin’, I don’t—” He’s cut off by his own guttural groan when you fist his length, pumping him in rhythm with his uneven breaths. “I don’t need this.”

“Seems like you do,” you whisper, momentarily halting your ministrations to place your palm in front of his face, hoping he takes the hint. You kiss his stubble, pausing just short of his mouth. “I want to take care of you. Always do.”

Your palm hovers before him, inviting. Grabbing your wrist, he licks it, coating it in his spit and guiding you back down to him. Together, your hands glide along his length, and his gaze locks onto yours, the intensity of it making his neck tense.

You beam with delight under his stare. That red organ caged within his ribs—a blood-pumping machine of passion—surges back to life as he sees you.

He had won the battle. He had triumphed over his past; had lived enough lives, endured enough years, to arrive at this moment.

This had to be the purpose of his existence: to share this part of his stay on earth with you.

“You’re so hard,” you say, twisting your wrist at the tip of his cock, reveling in every buck of his hips, each movement a reflection of his exaltation. “Guess you did miss me.”

With a quiet growl, he reaches behind, nudging your thighs apart until they find your mound, cupping you through your underwear. “I’m not the only one who’s been missin’ someone.” He pulls the fabric aside, sliding his fingers through your wet folds. His nostrils flare as he feels how ready you are. “Why am I not surprised?”

Your breath hitches, and you press yourself closer against him, your tits against his back, mouth teasing at his neck. “That’s what happens when you’re gone.” Another kiss on his nape. “You could take me with you next time.”

“Can’t do that,” he answers, teasing your entrance. “No work would get done.”

His movements cease to a stop. Yours do too. Turning his head just enough to glance over his shoulder, he scrutinizes your expression, pride swelling in his chest as he takes in your affected state.

“You’re not goin’ back to sleep, are you?”

There’s the shake of your head. A single word escapes your lips, imbued with pure fervor: “Please.”

He captures your mouth in an ardent kiss, tugging at your shirt (which is, in fact, his) to undress you, his wandering hands roaming beneath it.

As his mouth meets your neck, something cold brushes against his lips, drawing his gaze down to what’s hanging from your neck.

His dog tags. The ones he had given you before leaving for that job, as his way of telling you I’m coming back without having to say it aloud. And you, as always, understood; had even promised to keep them safe, though he hadn’t expected you to actually wear them.

Now, with your shirt discarded, they lay against your bare skin, his name resting in the valley between your breasts.

“You like ‘em?” His fingers grip the chain and give it a gentle tug, drawing you closer so he can breathe over your lips, his breath mingling with yours. “Like knowing you’re mine? You get off on it?”

You nod in agreement. Of course, you do. Though emotionally constipated and not the most expressive, Logan is a lover who knows how to awaken desire—a good lover, indeed. A decent one.

Which is why he agrees to any idea that crosses your mind, like the one you just whispered in his ear.

He may be older than you, but he’s always been more on the traditional side. You, on the other hand, are continually searching for new ways to innovate.

The round globes of your ass jiggle over his face as he spreads you apart, entrenched by how your skin moves above him, your glistening hole clenching around nothing, as if your body itself is calling to him.

With his head propped against the headboard, he watches you take him deeper, your saliva dripping down the wiry hairs of his cock. The slick heat of your tongue traces over his slit, back and forth, driving him to the edge.

When he hears you gag, it stirs something inside him—a deep need to return the favor, to match your devotion.

At the end of the day, he’s a man on a mission, and right now, that mission is you.

Right there, with his nose and mouth buried in you, he wonders why he hadn't thought of this sooner. If he could choose a natural end like any other man, he'd wish for it to be by suffocation—your body his last breath.

Logan inhales deeply, like a man starved, working two of his fingers inside your throbbing center, his tongue flicking relentlessly over your clit, punching moan after moan out of you. Each thrust of his fingers, each stroke of his tongue, sends waves of pleasure coursing through you.

His beard, streaked with gray, leaves a trail of fire wherever your hips meet his face, pushing back against him. Every so often, you pull off his cock just to ramble, panting, about how good he's making you feel.

From where he lies, you’re a sight to behold, nothing short of divine. “Just what I needed, doll. You taste so fuckin’ sweet,” he blurts out, your frantic cries pouring into his ears as he sucks the swollen bud between his lips. “Can’t believe you let me do this to you. You love makin’ your old man happy, don’t you?”

He used to think he'd burn in hell for indulging in the desire to know you like this—raw, ungraceful.

His judgment must be fucked up, because now, all he sees in you is heaven incarnate. You must be the closest thing to it he’ll ever find.

“Shit, I…” you trail off, gasping as he replaces his fingers with his tongue, drinking from your arousal and tasting every bit of you. “I thought about you every day.”

“Bet you did, just like that night I called you. You know how I felt when you told me you were wearing my clothes?” His hand comes down with a firm slap on your right asscheek, drawing a whine from you as your movements falter. “Can smell you all over these sheets. Makes me wonder how many times you made yourself come while I was away.”

You slip the tip of his cock back in your mouth, your hands and lips working in sync. His nose brushes against the plush skin of your thighs before his teeth graze your flesh, biting down just enough to leave a sting. His fingers curl inside you, hitting that perfect spot again and again, and you moan around him, your throat vibrating against his length.

He makes you come like this, knuckles deep inside you while his thumb circles your clit. Overwhelmed by pleasure, you let go of his dick, and it hits Logan’s stomach with a wet pop. His strong arms tug you closer to his face, eyes falling closed as you ride the wave of your orgasm against his mouth, palms pressed flat on his chest.

For a brief moment, he can’t breathe, can’t feel anything but you, your scent, your taste filling his senses.

Later, he rolls you onto your back and climbs on top of you, uncertain of how much time he has spent lapping at your wetness. His hard length glides along your folds, and he lines himself up without pushing in, looking right into your eyes. 

“Remember what I told you that night over the phone?” he asks, his breath coming in quick bursts, and you nod, head lolling back as he pinches your lower lip between his fingers. “Repeat it.”

“Logan—”

“You say it, and I’ll make it happen.”

Perplexity clouds your features. “You said you’d fuck me slow and deep, just h-how I like it. Face to face, because—”. The words escape you, a sob tearing through your throat as he eases the first few inches of himself inside you, your walls instinctively making space to wrap around him.

He’s home.

“Go on. What else did I say?” he teases, relishing in it. He’s guilty as sin. “Or were you too lost in thought touchin’ yourself?”

“F-face to face,” you slur, nails digging into his scarred back, and he keeps plunging his length into your interior to the hilt. Your lips part slightly, craving the kiss that only he can give you. “You said you’d do it face to face so I could kiss you whenever I wanted.”

He hums, low in his throat, as he gives the first thrust of the night, taking great pleasure in your expression: open-mouthed, eyes scrunched, and a slight crease forming between your brows.

Smoothing his thumb over your forehead, he tsks, pausing his movements. “None of that, princess. Look at me, c’mon.”

You obey, forcing your eyes open, and in that instant, he swears he can feel every tremor coursing through you. “Logan,” you coo, your voice aching as you stretch your neck toward his mouth.

The way you say his name—seductively, charged with a fascination that riles him up—manages to ignite a fire only you can kindle. It’s all the invitation he needs.

“I know. Too much, huh?” His tone drips with condescension, teasing in a way that feels almost cruel. He can’t help it, though: it’s in very his nature. “Need to hear you say it. Need you to tell me how much you want this.”

Like everything else in your world, your patience begins to wither, hips instinctively bucking beneath him, seeking even the slightest bit of friction. But he still withholds the kiss you long for, dangling it just out of reach.

“Please,” you beg, voice breaking as you plead. “Fuck me, baby. Missed you so much while you were away. Please, please, please—”

Logan enjoys hearing you beg. He won’t pretend otherwise. There's a satisfaction in knowing he holds this power over you, that he's the only one who can unravel you this way, your body splayed open beneath him.

The thought of others who may have once been in his place, making you fall apart just like this, sets his blood on edge.

Jealousy, sharp and corrosive, crawls up his spine, and it spurs him on, guiding the tempo of his thrusts.

He wonders if he’s ever fucked you this fiercely before, with a passion that pulses from every part of him. You’re given no space for thought, no moment to catch your breath—just his unforgiving pace and the sounds spilling from your lips.

He has a way of breaking you down, turning you into a trembling, whimpering mess beneath him, and you surrender willingly, craving each second of it.

So fuckin’ tight. Can y’hear her? How badly she needs me?

Sex had never felt like this before. He’d grown accustomed to quick, meaningless fucks in poorly lit bars, fleeting encounters that left him questioning if this was all there was. If this wasn’t the best he’d ever know. 

For a while, he’d tried to solve that emptiness, searching in nameless lovers and hollow hearts for the very thing he feared most: love.

And yet, he wanted it, yearned it, guarding his desire like a secret he barely admitted to himself. Until one day, you stumbled into his life, and all the strength he thought he had wasn’t enough to push you away.

He presses deep into the back of your thighs, bringing your chests so close they're nearly brushing. Claiming your mouth in a maddening kiss, all teeth and tongue, leaving no space for softness. As he nibbles at your bottom lip, he feels you tighten around him, your cunt pulling him under, clouding his thoughts.

“Close?” he murmurs, hips snapping against you with an utterly obscene rhythm that drowns out the world, better than any song ever made. “Such a good girl. Gonna come, sweetheart? Let me see how gorgeous you look when you fall apart, making a mess just for me.”

The constant, steady drag of his cock doesn’t seem to get old for you. He’s leaving his mark within you, inside you, carving a space for himself. His tip keeps hitting all the right spots, prompting you to tilt your pelvis to meet him halfway, telling him there, yes, there. More, please.

His hand slides down, rubbing your clit with his fingers. Doesn’t need any extra help when doing so, your arousal providing all the slickness he needs. He feels like a runner on the final stretch, the finish line within reach, so close he can almost touch it, savoring the euphoria and bliss of crossing it.

The way you sing his name never loses its allure, despite all the times he’s heard it spill from your lips. Especially at this moment, with him buried deep inside you, every thrust a promise to make you feel good.

You shamelessly come while he keeps driving into you, vigorous and untamed—like a caged animal unleashed, tasting freedom for the very first time.

Ankles digging into his lower back, a trail of persistent kisses along his beard. You want him inside, that much he can tell.  It’s not like he ever finishes anywhere else, but the reminder doesn’t bother him. It only serves as a reassurance: that you still want this, want him. You haven’t changed your mind.

He sinks his teeth into your neck the instant he feels his orgasm tearing through him, hips stilling and sagging as a string of grunts abandons his being, dampening your skin even more.  He loves to fill you up, it consumes him entirely.

Such an intimate, visceral act, and then he gets to see his seed trickling down your thighs. He realizes that he doesn’t need much to be happy.

You keep kissing him, his neck, his face. It may seem absurd to say that every kiss feels like the first, yet it’s true.

Even after he’s traced all the contours of your mouth and committed every detail of your body to memory, he can’t help but feel that same thrill of excitement he experienced months ago when he dared to push beyond the boundaries he had set for himself.

Staring at each other, naked, all the love in the world seems to fill these four walls. The compassion and tenderness in your gaze remain unchanged. You’re a dream come true.

It can’t end like this. He can’t allow you to drift back into sleep without saying what needs to be said. Something has to happen, something only he can conjure.

“I think…” He hesitates. Starting with I think carries an air of uncertainty. “I don’t—”

“Logan,” you interrupt, your hand finding his. “I know.”

Yes, you do. You always seem to know everything, but that can’t be enough. He can’t lean on your unspoken understanding of his feelings.

“You still deserve to hear it.”

“It’s not necessary.”

“It is.”

More silence. The moon is the solitary spectator of his upcoming declaration. 

“You were right,” he begins, drawing your intertwined hands closer to his face, pressing a soft kiss on the back of yours. His voice drops to a murmur. It’s not just his body that feels completely exposed anymore; something deeper within him stands bare. “I’m in love with you.”

You scrutinize him as if he’s revealing the secret to eternal life. Again, you kiss his cheek, cupping it gently with your palm.

“It won’t get any better than this. There are no more layers to peel away, okay?” He offers explanations you never even asked for in the first place. “This is what I am.” Much to his dismay, you overlook his choice of words: what instead of who.

He glances away, his gaze landing on the dog tags resting against your skin. The same old guilt threatens to engulf him, as it does each time without fail, and that seems to be your cue to lower yourself to his eye level, eyebrows raised.

“I’m not with you because I’m waiting for you to change. I like you just as you are, Logan. And I want all of you, both the good and bad stuff.” A gentle smile breaks across your face as you stretch your arm to retrieve his glasses from the nightstand. Placing them on your nose, your eyes twinkle with contentment. “Do they look good on me?”

“You don’t need them yet.”

“That doesn’t mean I can’t pull them off.”

“Come here,” he mutters, sighing when you nuzzle his chest, cradling your head between his hands. He ponders what to say, what to do next, but no clear idea sounds promising.

And so it gives you the chance to speak up: “You’re not getting rid of me that easily.”

I hope I don’t, he thinks to himself as he brushes your hair away from your face, fingers caressing your temples. I hope I never do.

dividers by: @/cafekitsune thank you!!! <3

[spencerreidenjoyer]

let you lock me down (tonight) | spencer reid x reader

You'd never really thought about having kids, but Spencer just might change your mind.

wc: 600, rating: explicit/18+

tags: breeding kink (this is the whole premise of the fic. oops?), talk of having kids/pregnancy, established relationship, fem!reader, set in s10-11

a/n: no reason for this other than the fact that sabrina carpenter's juno is one of my fav songs off the short n' sweet album. also i was probably ovulating when i started this drabble sorryyyy

You know Spencer had wanted kids since you first got together.

It hadn’t come up until a few dates in, where Spencer had been a little late to dinner because he was helping to watch over his colleague’s kid. He’d talked for half the night about how much he adored her kid as his godfather, with his colleague having a second one on the way, and how he wanted to be a dad someday.

You would’ve found it more creepy if you weren’t extremely endeared. Spencer was undeniably loving, caring, and impossibly sweet, and dating him was easy. Being with Spencer is easy. You get him, and he gets you.

You know Spencer wants kids, and that’s why when you mention it you’re not surprised by how he reacts.

It just happens to be in the middle of sex.

“Fuck, baby,” you giggle, Spencer being extremely eager as he pushes into you. “You’re so needy. It’s like you wanna put a baby in me.” 

Spencer chokes, his hips stuttering at your filthy words, and it just pushes him deeper into your tightness. “Oh, my God.”

“Does that sound good? You filling me up with your cum until it takes?” you moan, as Spencer rolls his hips into you. It shoves his thick cock deeper inside of you, bullying his way past your tight walls. 

“You make me sound like an animal,” Spencer complains, but his breathlessness tells you that he’s into it. He’s still fucking into you – hard, eager, desperate.

“You could fuck me like an animal,” you swoon, just a little, rather pleased with yourself and the fact that Spencer is so into this, so into you. “Wanna claim me as yours?”

Spencer laughs, shaking his head. “You’re going to be the death of me.”

“Not before you get me pregnant,” you tease, waggling your eyebrows. “Come on, you know you want to.”

”You are literally insane,” Spencer says, stilling his hips. They’re pressed flush against you, but he looks down at you sternly. “Are you being serious right now?”

You purse your lips, considering Spencer’s own concerned look. “Kind of?”

”Kind of?” Spencer parrots back. “Be more specific.”

”Maybe I just wanna enable your breeding kink,” you smirk, locking your legs around Spencer’s waist. The movement pushes him inside of you a little deeper, and he whines. 

Spencer rolls his eyes, half exasperated and half endeared. “I don’t have a breeding kink.”

“You do, baby,” you giggle. “And getting pregnant wouldn’t be so bad.”

Spencer’s eyes are so wide they look like they could pop out of his skull. “You– You can’t just say things like that! And we are not having a conversation about family planning while I’m inside of you.”

”Now would be the perfect time to talk about having kids,” you offer, but Spencer glares at you.

Smiling, you wriggle your hips just to get a rise out of Spencer. It works, you note, as he whimpers with the movement. ”Okay, so after you’re done with me?” 

“We’ve only been dating for three months,” Spencer says, furrowing his brows. 

“I know,” you nod. “And I mean it. You— You make me want to. Consider kids, I mean.”

Spencer sighs, but you see the way his eyes soften, hear the warmth in his voice as he tries to seem normal and calm about all of this. “Okay. I’ll make you cum and then we can talk about kids.”

“Aww. How romantic,” you say, as Spencer leans forward to kiss you again, and to fuck you again.

While you’d never seriously thought about having kids, Spencer is certainly making you reconsider.

[yieldtotemptation]

ANIMALS ft. Natty

natty x male reader smut

10k words

“All I’m saying is,” Natty starts, like she always does, with more unsolicited advice than you can handle at 2 AM, "for someone that complains so much about not having a sex life, you really don’t do much to fix it."

“And what, oh wise friend of mine, is your recommendation.”

“I don’t know. Get a haircut. Dress better. Try not being a massive pussy?” Natty shrugs. Or at least you think she does. Only so much you can tell over the phone.

You sigh. Bite back the urge to tell her to fuck off. But then, who else would talk you to sleep at this ungodly hour? So instead, you concede the point. “Noted.”

“Or, you know, if it’ll stop you from being such a little bitch,” and now she’s laughing, cackling really, and not once has that ever, ever meant anything good. "You could always just fuck me."

—

Two weeks and twelve hours post-Natty’s incredibly unhelpful suggestion that did absolutely nothing to alleviate you of your insomnia, and you’re back on the phone with her.

Only this time, there's video.

So, yay.

"Help me, please."

It’s a Friday and Natty's begging, again.

Because she knows she can count on you, knows that you’ve long since resigned yourself to your fate as Natty’s on-call ‘fixer’. There for everything from life-changing career decisions to helping her figure out what show to stream next.

And now, apparently, choosing her outfit for tonight.

“Help me, help me, help me, help me.”

God, this woman and her begging. Knowing full well that it’s your kryptonite.

"Okay, okay, okay," you're relenting, much earlier than usual. Mostly because as far as Natty’s petulant requests usually go this one’s a walk in the park. “But don’t you have people for this sort of thing? People who don’t, and I quote, ‘have a dogshit taste in style?’”

“It is dogshit!” Natty calls out, already turned around and leaving you (her phone) on the vanity, facing out to her bedroom and all its hideous pinkness. She disappears from the screen, diving deep into her closet for yet another pair of shorts that will most certainly hug way too close, or a top that dips way too low, or a pair of heels that scream—'hey, I have legs, would you like to spread them?' "But!"

Natty returns to the camera with a leather belt—oh no, that's a leather skirt—in hand; clad in nothing but a casual cotton bra/underwear combination that she’s filling out far too well for your sleep-deprived brain to handle.

She holds up the skirt against her waist for your consideration. Poses. It wouldn't cover a thing. Or maybe that's the point—again, you don't have any fashion sense, whatsoever.

“You’re a man, and I need a man’s opinion because I’m hoping to take one home tonight to fuck my brains out until I forget about this shit-storm of a week. So, you know—help a girl out?”

“As always, you have quite a way with words.”

Natty leans towards the camera, bending down to stare right at you. It makes entirely too much sense that she’s built an entire career around doing just this.

“It’s my third language, asshole.”

The insult lands softer than she likely intended, considering well, you’re a little too distracted to take it. It’s entirely her fault. The angle makes her tits look far too immaculate to pay any attention to her mouth.

Maybe she should consider going out just like this?

Yeah, that’d definitely get her fucked.

But, she frowns before you can make the suggestion, turning on her heels and sashaying back to her closet, leaving you to choke on air at the sight of her ass stretching out her favourite pair of panties. (The white pair with the pretty-pink bows. The one that rides up her ass when she stretches, bends, sneezes—basically any time she’s not standing perfectly still. And even then.)

Anyone else and this whole thing would be weird. Well, weirder than it already is.

See, you and Natty have this thing; this odd, cat and dog relationship that’s been going on since what feels like the dawn of time:

You’ve watched her shamelessly cycle through men faster than a teenager through a box of tissues, leaving a trail of broken hearts and broken cocks in her wake.

While she’s been forced to witness every time you’ve met ‘the one’, only to be there months later to help pick up the pieces when you’re burying your feelings in video games and alcohol and porn, wondering how it all went so wrong.

All this to say that seeing Natty bouncing around in her underwear with that laser-beam of a smile of hers; with all of her soft curves, thick thighs, her ridiculous ass and again, those immaculate fucking tits isn't that unusual.

In fact, it doesn't really do anything for you at all.

(Fucking liar.)

“Here, how about this.” Natty appears from the corner of the screen, having found a top that’s somehow made of even less material than the bra she’s already got on. The gall of her to ask, "Too much or not enough?"

You deadpan. “Does it come in adult sizes too?”

Natty grins, because she can read it right on your stupid face. She looks so, unbearably hot. Without even trying that hard. This bitch. “So just right, then.”

And then she twirls, leaving you to face her back, and before you even have time to blink, Natty’s bra has fallen down her shoulders; and you’re hating how you lean in to look because this damn app has no zoom feature to save your sorry eyesight.

Her fucking tits. Perfect, bouncy. Even through the pixels, even from behind, you can still see the way they spill.

She slips on her chosen top for the evening—a tiny, strappy number—and spins back around to face you in all her Natty glory. By the skin of your teeth, you’re looking away and leaning back, feigning nonchalance and leaving her none the wiser.

You think.

“You know,” Natty says, tilting to one side, hand on hip. Fuck, even that slightest movement makes them bounce. Utterly, utterly obscene. “You should just come tonight.”

You’re saying, “Fuck no,” before she’s even finished her sentence. ‘Coming tonight’ means ‘clubbing’, and ‘clubbing’ means being stuck listening to the shittiest music, surrounded by the worst people in all of Korea, drinking overpriced slop and watching Natty turn down a revolving door of douchebags on the dancefloor.

So, yeah.

If ‘fuck no’s’ were bricks, you’d be building the Great Wall of ‘Fuck No’, big enough for aliens on the other side of the galaxy to see with a fucking telescope and have their first contact with the human race be a giant ‘Fuck No’.

And that’s your polite way of turning her down.

Yet somehow, Natty’s hardly deterred.

“Come on, it’ll be fun,” Natty sing-songs, shuffling on her tiptoes, shifting her weight from foot to foot, making her entire body jiggle. It’s like she’s intentionally trying to sell you on the idea with every little movement. Make you believe that if you came with her, you’d be able to find someone who comes close to looking half as good as she does in that… whatever-the-fuck that is. Bralette? Crop top? Whatever. Fat chance. "Come on, come, come, come. Be my wingman please!"

You already have your second ‘fuck no’ queued up, but Natty just won’t stop fucking talking.

“Don’t you want to get laid? Don’t you think you need to have fun after what’s-her-name?” Natty continues, pouting at you through the screen.

And there it is, a study in how Natty usually gets her way—jutting out her bottom lip, digging her thumb into the waistband of her panties to expose just a smidge more skin, leaning just right to make her tits look like they’re about to pop out. It’s like she’s got a fucking manual.  

“Don’t tell me you’d rather stay at home with Handalf the Grey than come out with me and all my hot friends?”

“You mean having to clean up after all your ‘hot friends’ and their bullshit while you run off to score free drinks?” You retort, recalling all the other times when she managed to entice you out of your self-imposed isolation and into the deafening, sweaty hellhole known as a nightclub.

“Said hot friends that you’re too much of a pussy to hit on, mind you,” Natty chides, and then oh-so-casually decides to drop this nugget: "They all like you, you know, they'd be more than happy to break this dry spell of yours if you just asked. Don’t act like I haven’t seen the way you look at Julie."

You can feel your cheeks reddening. You’re not a teenager. You shouldn’t blush at this shit. But here you are, falling for Natty’s words and their magical abilities to needle at your insecurities and fill your head with thoughts of her friends and all their... well, incredibly positive attributes.

Natty pounces on your lapse in composure and gets closer to the camera, crouches. Drops down so she’s on her heels and all you can see in that tiny window of your phone is the red of her plush, plump lips.

“Come, you pussy—”

“Natty—”

“Do it pussy—”

“Natty, if you think that’s going to work—”

“Pussy, pussy, pussy—”

You’re yelling down the phone: “Fuck, fine!”

Natty’s victory dance is already in full swing before the words have even left your mouth. Bouncing around her room in pure joy at once again having ruined your evening. Dancing in that barely-there outfit, treating you to entirely sinful ripples across her curves and dips, pure sex on a pair of toned legs. Really makes you wonder how the fuck is she not illegal in at least fifty different countries.  

You hide your face in your hands, because there it is, the reason you’ve never really been able to deny her:

Her laughter, her energy, her fucking shameless glee whenever she manages to get her way (which, if you’re keeping count, is every single time).

She’s just so frustratingly adorable.

Somewhere in her celebrations, Natty finds exactly what she was looking for. Reaches down to the floor, picking up a belt—no, that’s another skirt—this one even tinier than the first.

“Oh, this is perfect,” she preens, holding it out to the camera (to you), before stepping right into it. She spins around, making it dance around her hips. It does wonders for her thighs. "How do I look?”

You swallow. “Like you’re going to get fucked tonight.”

The glint in Natty’s eyes. Like you’ve just served up the finest compliment on a silver platter. You feel sorry for whatever poor soul crosses her path tonight.

Natty winks. “Here’s to hoping.”

—

Guess what?

Turns out you were right: this is the worst place in the world.

Only, you’re the sole person here that seems to think that.

Hours have passed since you helped Natty look perfectly fuckable and you’re at the bar, trying and failing to get the attention of the bartender. Unfortunately, he, like every other male with a beating heart and a boner seems far more interested in Natty’s little dance routine than his thirsty clientele.

You can’t blame him, really. It’s built in how she moves.

Strobe lights cutting through the air like knives, slicing her into this series of absolutely pornographic snapshots as she dances. And she’s not alone, she has friends—beautiful, all of them, in their own ways. They spin and twirl around her; but Natty’s the sun here, the star that everything orbits.

(You included).

You see it play out—the Natty effect. Men, even women alike gravitate to her, drawn by that magnetic force that is Natty at her very best. Trying to get a dance, maybe whisper a line they stole from some movie in her ear, even dare to reach out to touch or press themselves up against her.

But she’s a black hole, a dark star. Can’t get too close.

One by one, they’re swallowed up by the void of Natty’s disinterest. The shoulders slump, the smiles falter, and the hope in their eyes dies as Natty, with a simple flick of her wrist sends them stumbling back into the crowd, forgotten almost immediately.

And the whole time she’s doing this, she’s got you in her line of sight. A wink here, a smile there, a dance on its own; and all you can do is nod and pretend like you’re okay with all this.

You inhale. Deeply.

Her outfit looks even tinier in person.

You turn away for just a moment, shaking off thoughts of Natty, of her hips and their sway and her winks and her smile; attempting (and failing) to flag down the bartender once more.

This fucking night.

But, when you look back, Natty’s no longer on the dancefloor.

She’s standing next to you. Arms looping around your neck.

“Natty—”

But she’s not listening. Her eyes are darting around the room, searching for something—or someone—that you can’t see. Your stomach clenches, because that look on Natty’s face? That’s not her usual I’m-about-to-make-some-poor-soul-my-bitch look. That’s something else entirely. That’s fear.

“Shut up, I need a favour,” she’s in your ear, yelling over the thrum of the bass that’s rattling your ribcage.

You lean in, bend down to meet her, because, frankly, you’re worried. You’ve never seen Natty like this, wide eyed and shaky. Never seen her be anything but comfortable.

You’ve also never been this close to her. Felt her breath hot against your neck, felt her body press up against you, felt her softness, felt her—

Fuck, you should be asking her what’s wrong, but before you can even do that, the bartender's filling two shot glasses and sliding them over to Natty.

She takes one. You take the other. It tastes lethal.

Natty’s nails dig into the back of your neck, and she looks at you, intense. Words fast and frantic. “Just pretend we’re together, okay? For a bit. Until I can figure this out. Just—just keep playing along, yeah?”

You blink. The room blurs around you. You think you might’ve misheard. “What?”

“Be my boyfriend,” she says, taking a second shot before you can even digest the first. “I need you. There’s some creep and I need you. Now, please?”

You turn immediately, scanning the floor, but the lights and shadows make it near impossible to make out anything other than vague shapes and strobes of colour, let alone pinpoint a face. "Natty, where is he, I can—"

"No, no, no," she cuts you off with a shake of her head. “Focus on me.”

“Wait, why do I have to—”

“Oh, shit there he is—”

And then she’s kissing you.

Ending whatever argument you may have had, because she’s grabbing, pulling you in, and her lips are on yours and oh fuck, she’s really, really kissing you.

It’s a slap to the face, and you need to reel in from the sting. Because you’re already forgetting what you’re doing, forgetting how your limbs work, because Natty’s putting on the performance of a lifetime and you’re having trouble keeping up.

Her hands are in your hair, yours at the small of her back, and she’s pulling you close, squishing against you and the taste of her—sweet like candy and sharp like vodka—filling you all the way up.

Your tongue catches up, flicking against hers, licking inside of her mouth and she’s even convincing you—as if she’s the one that’s always been into the love at first sight bullshit and you’re the non-believer.

And it’s a problem, how right this feels. Because this isn’t what friends do—definitely not Natty and you. But still, you can feel her tension, her need for this to be believable; and you don’t dare to fuck it all up.

So you kiss her back, because that’s what you do for Natty.

You always do what she needs.

You’re about to pull away; this should be enough to have every single person here convinced that you’re hers and she’s yours. But Natty’s already sliding her tongue back in your mouth, pleading, “Keep going,” the moment a gap opens between your lips; and you’re diving back into the kiss without a second thought.

And then you hear it.

A flash of a camera.

A cheer.

A whistle.

Julie, Haneul, Belle—Natty’s friends, staring at you like proud fairy godmothers witnessing their own magic at work.

You break the kiss. You look down at Natty.

She giggles.

You feel like a fucking idiot.

"There is no creep, is there?"

Natty shrugs, looks up at you, and she actually looks—what is this? Shy? Embarrassed?

"There could’ve been," she says, her eyes wide and innocent, a mask. You see through her like you should have when she first wrapped her arms around your neck.  Oh sure, like she’s ever been innocent for a second in her entire life.

She’s far too smug for that.

You roll your eyes. You feel like every other idiot that’s ever fallen for a bat of her lashes and a peek at her tits. Hope is a hell of a drug, especially when Natty’s the dealer. And yet, despite yourself, the corner of your mouth quirks up. "You're fucking insane."

“Maybe.” There’s a long pause. She’s staring at your mouth. She presses a finger to your sternum. “But I had to do something.”

It takes a second. What?

What does that mean?

You stare at Natty, lick your lips. Her taste still lingers.

“Ask yourself the same question I’ve been asking myself for months now,” she says, louder this time, her voice cutting through the noise of the club and hitting your ears with a sobering clarity.

You know what she’s going to say—what she’s going to ask before she’s even opened her mouth. You’ve been asking yourself the same thing too.

So, swallow hard, try to ignore the way Natty’s friends have gone quiet. Try to ignore Natty’s hand still resting against your chest, her eyes burning a hole right through you.

“Why haven’t we had sex yet?”

The blood’s rushing to your cheeks; the music's too loud, the lights too bright, and the room's suddenly spinning around you like a carousel.

Fucking embarrassing.

But Natty doesn’t crack a smile. She just looks up at you. Hopeful. Searching you, searching your eyes for an actual answer; and you already know what it is.

“Because, Natty, we’re friends.” You offer up a weak smile, hoping against hope that she’ll buy it.

But she shakes her head. “Oh, please. Like that’s ever stopped anyone before. Besides, if you want to put a label on it, call it whatever the fuck you want. I just know what I need. Do you?”

You sigh. She gets closer. And closer.

Until your nose is brushing hers. Until her breath is hot on your face, until your heart is racing so fast you can feel it in your ears. Until her hand is sliding down, down, down, until it’s resting over your pants and oh, oh no, you’re straining.

You gasp. She smirks.

“See? You want it too. And I know you do, because, sweetie, your cock’s practically begging me to pull it out and shove it between my tits right here in front of everyone.”

She just throws it out there, so casually, so bluntly, she might as well be talking about the weather. And maybe, maybe it’s the alcohol, or maybe it’s just Natty being Natty, but fuck you can’t do anything but stay frozen still.

You’re letting her hand linger. You’re letting her touch you like she’s got every right in the world. You’re letting her because there’s a part of you—the part that’s growing by the second—that wants to see just how far she’ll take this.

“So, what is the real reason, ba-by?”

Because you’re in love with her. You’re in love with her, and you can’t just have casual sex with someone you’re in love with because it will ruin you.

But you don’t say that. Instead, you just tell her: “Timing.”

That makes her laugh. Has her closing what little gap remained between your bodies, until her tits are flush against your chest, and you’re coming to the conclusion that, yes, you did help her pick out the perfect outfit for tonight.

Perfectly, hopelessly, fuckable.

“Well,” she says, and she’s pulling you back down again and shutting you up with yet another kiss. “We’ve got all the time in the world now, don’t we?”

—

You’ve been here before.

Many, many times before.

You installed the showerhead and fixed all the cabinets yourself. Even secured the lock that you’re now unlocking with the digits that you coded.

But somehow, it feels like a first.

First time you’ve kissed her in the back of a car, pushed your hand up her skirt, felt the heat of her against your fingertips. First time you’ve pinned her against the wall of an elevator, made her feel just how desperate you were for her against her thigh, made her promise to be so good for you when you got to her door.

First time being pulled through the threshold, hands at your chest, tearing your shirt off you before you’ve even stepped foot in her apartment. Had her smiling against your mouth, because she’s won, again, and you can’t even bother to argue because you’ve lost to her so many times now that this shouldn’t be so surprising.

What is surprising though is how you’re naked first.

"Terrible, terrible taste." Natty's clicking her tongue as your shoes, your shirt, your pants are scattered along the floor behind you. “We’ll have to fix that.”

And then she’s moving on, hands clawing down your stomach to land at the waistband of your underwear, hooking her thumbs in and yanking down. You’re so obviously hard—you’ve barely made any effort to hide it from her—fuck, you pretty much flagged down the taxi with it.

"Holy fuck," is the first thing out of Natty's mouth when she takes a hold of you, feeling the naked weight of you in her palm. "You’re really not messing around, are you? I was expecting—"

"A sad, lonely little thing," you finish for her, because you've heard it before. "Yeah, you like to mention it a lot."

But Natty’s not laughing now.

She’s just staring. Almost reverently. She decides, her voice a little raspy, tinted with an apprehension that you never knew she was capable of mustering, "I like it. It's... massive."

You lean in, pressing your mouth against hers because if she’s going to say that, you’re going to kiss her, again and again, and there’s a strong possibility you're never going to stop.

She whimpers, gasps into your mouth, says your name for the first time—not some nickname, not a jab or an insult. Just your name, in your ears, like it’s something sacred.

You’re not a saint. You can’t ignore that.

Your cock jumps in her hand, and as if on instinct, she strokes you.

It's slow, purposeful. She's too good at this. Knows the right pressure, where to twist and wind her wrist. How to sweep her thumb over the tip, smear pre-cum over your skin, and this entire time she's staring down at your cock like she's discovered something new.

“This is going to ruin me, isn't it?” she whispers, and you nod, because your voice is lodged in your throat and she’s stealing the air from your lungs. “Going to fit so fucking nicely inside me. Fuck it’s going to stretch me.”

You groan, collapse your weight into Natty, press your lips against the column of her throat.

Both hands now, one underneath, toying with your balls, balancing them in her fingers, and the other doing its best to squeeze, to pump, to make you fall for her with every stroke.

“I can’t wait to ride this,” Natty kisses these words into your cheek, your jaw, leaves these marks all over your collarbone. “I wonder if I can fit it down my throat. God, can you imagine what it’ll look like between my tits?”

And that makes your cock throb.

Because face it, Natty has always had a way of getting into your head; is far too dangerous with her words, and she’s all too willing to abuse this power she has over you to get you do what she wants, which is now, apparently, fucking her senseless.

You let her, let her build and build this pressure, let it coil inside you, tighter and tighter. Until the need to feel her, all of her, is too much to handle.

Until you grab her, take her by the shoulders, push her—not hard, but firmly—against the nearest wall.

You’re not gentle about it, because Natty doesn’t want gentle. She wants rough, she wants passionate, she wants to be fucked and have her cunt worshipped by way of complete ruin.

She’s told you as much.

"That's more like it," Natty bites into your ear, grips your shoulders. She follows your eyes. "Let me guess, my tits?"

So, maybe she has caught you looking once or twice. Either way, you don’t care much for her top anymore, it’s served its purpose. You take a fistful of it and pull, ripping it right off her and tossing it to the floor with everything else that’s kept the two of you from tearing each other apart.

“Better?” Natty poses for you, puts her tits on display—and yeah, you were right all along. Fucking immaculate.

You take a hold of one, palm it; fill your hand with flesh, twinge those dark, plump nipples, because of course you’re going to. You’re going to pinch and squeeze and suck on them. You’re going to mark her like she’s already done to you. Mark them, with your teeth, with your tongue. Fuck, you’re going to make them yours.

But for now, you're just going to slap them, because you want to watch them jiggle up close.

You laugh. Natty does too.

"Much better."

And with that, you’re back on her. Kisses that are sloppy, wet, and filled with all the pent-up want that's been simmering for months. You don’t even know where to begin with Natty, but you start with her mouth. It’s a good place. It’s always a good place with Natty.

Her hand doesn’t stop moving, can’t, won’t. The friction is heaven; you just let her touch you, fuck her hand while you indulge in her tits. Get to know the weight of them, the balance, the softness.

A sigh into your ear as your tongue finally finds her breasts, deep and messy, sliding over her nipple—she’s already so sensitive, just a flick and she’s gasping. You’re not even trying to be precise anymore, not that Natty needs it, not that she needs anything but for you to enjoy yourself against her.

It all makes the room seem smaller, the walls close, surrounding you with the scent—cinnamon and sweat and something else that’s just her.

“See this is why fucking me is such a great idea,” she slurs against your shoulder, hand tightening, stroking you harder, faster.

You mumble an affirmative into her breast. It’s a miracle you can still stand upright.

“Isn’t this so much better than like everything else? Anyone else?” She sighs, breathy, sweet sounds, as she takes you by the wrist, guides your hand southwards.

Fingertips graze her stomach, trace around her belly button and lower; until you’re digging into her skirt and feeling the heat rise off her skin. She’s soaked right through her panties, dripping with it. Another place for your tongue to land.

“We can just be fucking honest with each other,” Natty’s explaining, eyes tearing when your finger pads her clit, pressing down just right. “You already told me all the things you hate. All the things your bitch exes never let you do.” And she smiles, wicked. “Never had the tits to give you.”

Christ.

“And I can get you to fuck me exactly how I want with this big, fucking cock,” Natty finishes. "We’re a perfect fucking match."

It’s at that moment you find the zipper of her skirt, tugging it down, watching it fall to the feet. Leaving Natty to step out of the tiny scrap of fabric she calls her panties; abandoning the sticky mess of cotton.

You take a step back, unlatch your lips from her tits, because you need to see it. Need to finally see her, see your Natty, see the Natty you've never allowed yourself to look at.

So, take your time, drink her in—because the way she’s standing there, the way she’s touching herself now; biting her lip, sighing your name. All but saying, ‘Look all you want, but don’t you dare look away’.

Look at the arch of her neck, the red you’ve left there, that trail you’ve burned down to her tits. Bruised and swollen from your tongue, your kisses, and yet still not marked enough. Follow the curve of her hips; how they flare out from her waist, the plush squish of her ass cheeks against the wall behind her.

You want to kiss her, from the tips of her toes to the top of head; all of her, every part of her, because now she’s going to finally let you.

Because now you're going to fuck her until all she knows is you, going to make her scream your name, going to make her beg for you to fill her with your cock and cum and never ever leave her cunt empty again.

That’s the plan, anyway.

But Natty’s got plans of her own.

“Didn’t you say,” Natty begins, sighing, circling her cunt in a rhythm that you’re dying to recreate. She licks her lips. “That your last ex refused to suck that lovely, magnificent cock of yours?

"Yeah," you stammer, at a loss for breath at just the sight of it all. “And weren’t you trying to find someone to fuck your brains out?”

Natty’s eyes light up; and there's that easy, charming grin that knocks you right off your feet. "You’ve always been such a good listener."

—

Natty's plotting to ruin you.

It's the only possible explanation for the way she's looking at you right now—on her knees, at the foot of her bed, flanked by walls painted an ugly shade of pastel pink and Natty's tits, sandwiching your cock.

You’d imagined it, thought about it when you shouldn’t have been thinking about it. Whenever she brought you to watch her perform, whenever she sent you pictures of her outfit of the day. But your eyes always went there. Straight to Natty’s tits, every time.

You knew they were big.

You’ve felt them, on accident (though they don’t seem like accidents anymore).

But now, to have them enveloping your cock, drowning your shaft in their softness, and to have her, staring at your face with so much fucking excitement as she gives you everything you’ve ever wanted—it’s surreal.

You’re dying to paint them white.

“Looks like you’re already about to fall apart, baby,” she teases, and it’s even worse now that she’s calling you these sweet names, saying them like she’s always wanted to, like she’s finally letting herself. “Couldn’t wait, could you?”

“Fuck, Natty—” you breathe out, your hands finding her hair, tightening, because that’s all you can manage to do when Natty’s in control. Like she’s always been.

“Mmhmm,” she hums, keeping her eyes on you, making sure you’re watching, even as her tongue flicks out to taste you. A slow, taunting lick to make you buck your hips, desperate to feel the suction of her lips. “You must have been dreaming about this, huh?”

You don’t bother lying. She already knows the answer. “Every. Fucking. Night.”

Natty’s smile spreads across her face, and she rewards you with a kiss, pressing her lips down onto the head of your cock; before sliding them lower, eyes fluttering shut with the first taste of you. “Well, what took you so long? All you needed to do was show me your cock and I’d have been happy to do it whenever you want me to. Happy for you to use my tits as your cum rag. You know that, right?”

She moves; and the sight of it alone—Natty’s tits wrapped around your cock, bobbing up and down, hypnotising you with the flicker of her nipples—up and down, up and down. It’s merciless, unrelenting, and she keeps talking, keeps kissing these sweet little words into your cock that makes your hips jerk, trying to fuck her tits faster, harder.

"Look at how perfect you look," Natty keeps going, "how your cock fits so snug."

The sounds she’s tearing from your throat as her tits take you, and she’s barely even started.

“But we can do better, can’t we?”

Her pace picks up, and with it, the tightness of your grip on her hair. She’s pushing the ample mounds together, squeezing, putting her whole body into it, into this new art she’s pioneering. Driving you insane with just her breasts, making you swell between them, throbbing as she works you over.

“So big," she’s panting from just the effort, the bounce, bounce, bounce of it all, "I can feel you getting so much bigger."

Everything’s going too fast, her tits are too soft, her lips on you too hot, and she’s drooling, her spit dripping down onto your cock. You want to tell her to stop, that you can’t take it, but Natty just keeps going.

"Fuck,” Natty mewls, pinching her own nipples, for you, for her. Pinching and rolling them, making them nice and stiff and swollen. “Let me just try and—”

She cranes her head, bends; takes your cock deeper into the warm, wet heat of her mouth. Her tongue darts out licks your cock, gets that sweet spot on the underside, makes you shake underneath her.

Natty holds you there, even as you groan, even as your hips rise; just licks, spits, sucks. Her mouth moving up and down on you, making a mess down your shaft, down her tits. Taking you deeper, deeper, until you’re fucking her face.

She moans around you as your hips buck and you push deep, desperate for it. Her eyes water, her cheeks hollow, and she’s got you. You’re in her mouth and she’s loving it. Loving the power she has over you, loving giving you what she wants, loving how you’re pulling her by the hair, desperate to feed her more of your cock into her throat.

Like your entire relationship has been building up to this moment—to Natty’s tits wrapped around you, her mouth all over you, her eyes on yours, watching as you fuck her face.

"Fuck, Natty," you grunt, your voice barely recognisable. "What the fuck—"

But Natty's just smiling, you’re fucking that smug little smile on her lips, and she’s taunting you. "Come on baby, keep going, keep going."

It’s utterly obscene—the smack of her lips around your cock, her slobbering all over you, her gagging, her moaning around you, looking up at you and asking, “Is that all you’ve got?”

You're so close, so fucking close, and she knows it. Moving her tits faster, faster, and you're about to blow your load all over Natty's pretty face, her chest.

But she keeps talking.

Even as you stuff her cheeks, even as you muffle her, “None of those other skinny bitches could do this, could they, could handle this big, fat cock?”

Even as you force her down, pull her by the hair, “You’ve been so obsessed with my body, so obsessed with my tits, haven’t you?”

Even as her tits slide off you and your cock smacks her across her cheek, “I always saw the way you looked at them, fuck I was showing them off for you, you just took too fucking long to notice.”

She won't stop fucking talking.

You finally snap. "God, are you ever going to stop?"

But Natty just laughs, bats her lashes. Slides her tongue from your base to your tip. "Maybe you should find something to gag me with."

Your hand wraps around her throat, squeezing just enough to make her eyes go wide, to make her mouth pop open. She rolls out her tongue for you, and you know what she expects you to do, what she expects you to fill her mouth with.

But you don’t—instead, you fill it with your kiss.

It's deep, it’s bruising, it’s saying ‘fuck you’ in the sweetest way possible, without uttering a single syllable. Natty laughs against your mouth, a ‘fuck you’ right back with her teeth, biting down on your lower lip. Not breaking skin—not yet—but the promise is there.

Her hand leaves your cock to wrap around your neck, pulling you closer to her, her mouth eager for yours, and you don’t even think twice before you hoist her up, her legs wrapping around your waist. Giggling again—another sound that’s going to be your undoing—before you’re both stumbling back onto her bed.

The mattress dips under the weight of your bodies falling back into it. Natty straddles you, presses her cunt down onto your thighs. So wet you can feel it on your thigh, leaving your skin sticky and stained with her. Your hands move to her hips, dragging her closer, so you can feel the friction grinding against your cock, making you ache.

She breaks your kiss, gasping for air. Her eyes are dark, pupils blown wide—seeing her pant like this, it’s not even fair. She’s just so fucking beautiful, like a painting you’re afraid to touch because you might smudge it.

You tell her as much.

She blinks. Blushes.

Grins.

“You,” Natty breathes, her hand trailing down your chest, finding your heartbeat, resting there for a beat, two, “are so fucking in love with me.”

You don’t argue because she’s right.

Her hand slides up your arms, nails dig in and she’s got your wrists, pinning them over your head. You let her. Let her grind herself against your cock, feel the warm, wet heat of her cunt against the tip.

She takes her sweet time, melting herself into you, pressing her tits into your chest, and you can feel her heart racing against yours.

She whispers, “God, I’ve waited so fucking long for this.”

You can’t even form a coherent thought, so you just grunt.

“I’ve dreamt about this so much,” she continues, breathless words sending shivers down your spine. “Your cock, fuck, it’s just as perfect as I imagined. And now, it’s all mine.”

And then she does it—she sinks down onto you, slow and sweet, her pussy taking you in inch by glorious inch. You groan into her shoulder, your eyes shut as Natty’s tight heat surrounds you. It’s like nothing you’ve ever felt before; sure there’s been others but something about Natty’s cunt is so intense it’s almost painful.

“So tight,” you grit out, the words torn from your chest like they’re made of glass. She just laughs, low, sultry, and starts to move.

It’s a dance, a rhythm that’s been building between the two of you for what feels like an eternity. She’s rocking her hips back and forth in this torturous grind. Fucking you like it’s the last thing she’ll ever do, like she needs to make the most of it. Like you’re going to vanish into thin air the second she lets you go.

“I knew you’d feel this good,” Natty sighs into your neck, already surrendering to your cock. “Fuck, I knew it—why did you keep this from me?”

You can’t answer, not really.

You’re too lost in the feel of her, too consumed by the way she’s moving on top of you. Every inch of her body is pressed against yours, and she’s so warm, so alive, that you can’t think of anything but how Natty’s finally letting you in. How she’s letting you make her whole.

But it’s too much. Natty’s cunt, tight and wet, fucking you so slow it’s a fucking crime. Pinning you down, a butterfly on a board spread out, displayed, unable to do anything but take her sweet, sweet punishment. And she’s whispering it in your ear, grinding down, rolling her hips, “Fuck you. Fuck you for keeping this from me,” with every stroke.

She’s doing it on purpose, you’re sure of it. Driving you crazy, making you beg, making you want it more than you’ve ever wanted anything in your life. Your hips jerk up to meet her, trying to speed things up, to get that friction you need, but Natty just pushes down on your shoulders, keeping you in place.

So you tell her, "This is fucking torture."

Natty just smirks, her hips never stilling. "Is it?" she asks, as if this all isn’t intentional. Like she doesn’t have some grand plan to ensure you never forget the things her cunt can do to you. "Do something about it then."

So, you do.

It takes more effort than you’ll ever admit, but you break her grip on your wrists, grab her hips, and flip her over, sending her sprawling onto the bed, face down.

The squeal from her. It’s music.

How her eyes go wide when you treat her like a ragdoll, how her tits juggle and bounce, smacking the mattress. And when you push down into her, slamming your hips into her ass, how she arches back into you, her back bowing like a fucking violin.

“Yes!” She cries, fucking cheers into the mattress, like she’s been waiting for this—for you to have had enough of her shit and take her without asking. “Yes, yes, yes—”

You hover over her, throb inside her. "Is this what you fucking wanted?"

Natty sighs into the bedsheets, urging her hips against you, begging without words, begging for you to do more.

“You want it rough, baby?”

“Yeah,” Natty says, pushing back against you again, nodding immediately. “If you can.”

Still with the provocations, unable to resist pressing at your buttons.

You grab her hair, yank it back so she’s staring at you, force her to look at you. And you fuck her hard. Fuck her like you’ve wanted to since the first time she walked into your life and decided to make it all about her.

You fill her with deep, long strokes, fill the room with the smacks of your hips colliding against her, of your cock thrusting into her cunt again and again.

She claws at the sheets, trying to find purchase, trying to push back against you. But you’re too strong, too desperate.

You pound into her, impale her with your cock, watch her face twist in pleasure, in pain. You’re fucking her like you’re trying to break her, like she asked. Trying to solve her—how hard can she take it, how deep, how fast.

But Natty won’t give you an answer, she just takes it all—every inch, ever pump into her sopping wet cunt. Just grins and takes every bit of your need, your frustration. A bottomless pit of pleasure, begging for more with every whine, every little noise she makes that’s not quite a scream but is so close that it rattles your brain.

And when you finally let go of her hair, Natty’s licking her lips, and without even a care for what it does to you, she coaxes, “You can do better.”

You don’t know how she can talk right now, how she can even think with your cock so deep inside her, but something about the way she says it makes you want to test the limits of her ability to stay coherent.

But first, there’s the problem of her ass.

“Let’s see about that,” you murmur, dragging your hand down her spine, feeling the dip of her waist, the swell of her hips, and coming to a stop at her perfectly rounded ass. It’s a masterpiece, a work of art, and you’ve always had a bit of an artist’s soul.

You do what comes naturally.

A spank against Natty’s ass. Hard, hard enough to make her yelp.

Again—another slap, another yelp, louder, better.

You keep fucking her, keep spanking her, keep watching red bloom across her cheeks and Natty squirm underneath you. The whines get louder, her cunt gets wetter, but it’s still not enough to dull that smug look on her face.

“Fuck yes,” Natty gasps, raises her ass, presenting it to you like a trophy for you to claim. “I always knew you had it in you.”

You grab her hips harder, your knuckles white, your hand a blur as it connects with her ass. It’s so explicit, the sound of it in the quiet of Natty’s apartment—each spank echoing through the room like a gunshot.

But Natty just takes it, her body jolting with each hit, her cunt tensing and tightening around you.

“God, don’t fucking stop,” Natty sputters, tears of pained pleasure leaking from the corners of her eyes. “You’re using me so good.”

You lean down, kissing hard against her neck, branding her shoulder. You want her to feel you, to remember you. To not be able to ever feel remotely good again without first thinking of you.

"It's your fucking fault, Natty," you growl into her ear. "You drive me mad."

And she laughs, the sound vibrating through her body and going straight to your cock. "Good," she answers, "Good. Be mad. Be angry."

But you’re beyond that now, beyond the point of no return. All that you know is Natty’s cunt, Natty’s ass, Natty’s moans, and Natty’s grin that you’re aching to wipe off her face.

"Fucking hate me if you want," she’s saying, and she can’t seem to stop, "just don’t stop fucking—ah!”

You nearly stop when you realise you’ve finally done it. Finally left Natty out of breath, lost for words. A fucking miracle, really—the kind that makes you feel like a fucking god.

It doesn’t stop her cunt clenching around you, tight as a vice, because even now, Natty’s got some kind of death grip pussy, and she’s using it to fucking kill you.

You whisper in her ear, “You like that?”

Her only response is a breathy, needy little whine, so you spank her again.

And again.

Her cunt tightens. She’s close, so close. You can feel it.

“You like it when I use you, Natty?”

She nods, her eyes screwed shut, her mouth crying into the mattress, a mess of hair and sweat and utter bliss.

“Say it,” you demand, slapping her ass once more, watching as the pain ripples through her. “Say it.”

And Natty does, because she’s a good little whore, because she’s yours now. “Yes, yes, I like it when you use me, when you fuck me like this, when it’s only about you, your cock, your needs, your pleasure—”

God, it feels good to hear her say it, but you still want more than just words. You want her to fucking scream it.

You make the bed shake, knock the headboard against her wall, it’s a competition of what’s going to break first—the frame or her.

“This cunt. Your cunt. I’m going to use it. Fuck it whenever I want.”

But Natty catches you off guard, because that’s what Natty does best. She opens her eyes, looks right into yours, and suddenly she has her voice again: “Whenever I want. You’re going to fucking move in with me.”

You freeze. Your hand mid-spank. Your cock mid-thrust. It throws you entirely off, because, what the fuck?

"You're going to be my boyfriend now," Natty says, wrenching back control, fucking her ass back into you. Stating not asking, leaving no room for argument. "Move in with me, your place sucks anyway."

"You're out of your fucking mind," you start to protest, but she cuts you off with another squeeze of her cunt around you, and now she’s the one fucking you, her hips rolling back and forth in this maddening, sinful way that has you biting down on your tongue to keep from shouting.

"Move in and just fuck me every day," she says, all light and airy, like it’s already been decided, like moments ago you didn’t have her dead to rights. "Morning to night. It would be so fucking nice."

This is real, you know that for sure. It’s not just something she’s saying to get off, not another way to get under your skin. You know it in her voice, she’s deadly serious and suddenly your mind’s racing.

"Come on," Natty purrs, punctuating each word with a slap of her ass against your waist, "You know you want it, why fucking wait?"

She’s not wrong. It makes too much fucking sense to deny. And yet, part of you still can't believe it. That Natty, the girl who's had countless men at her feet, could have any man at her feet, actually wants you. That Natty is underneath you now, eyes glossed over with need, mouth swollen from your kisses, ass cheeks flushed crimson from your palm.

"I'll take such good care of you, baby," she says, unaware that she’s already completely won, unaware that her cunt already has you bending to her will. "Every day, every night.”

You can't help but nod. You're too consumed in her to do anything else. You just let go of everything. The fears, the doubt, the fucking logic.

And Natty says it, the three words that seal your fate—"I'll love you," she cries out, "I'll fucking love you forever if you just keep giving me this fucking cock."

It's like the world stops, like everything you've ever wanted is right there in front of you, wrapped up in Natty's tight fucking body.

You're so close, so fucking close, that you can almost taste it—the sweet release of your orgasm; giving in to Natty’s unbelievably sensational cunt sleeving your cock, pulsing with each thrust, desperate to milk you dry.

There’s nothing left to do but give Natty wants. Fuck her, hammer into her so hard that you’re going to fuck a Natty-shaped hole into the mattress, fucking shatter her bedframe, and then keep drilling her straight through the floor.

And she’s crying out your name, forgetting about everything that isn’t you, isn’t your cock, isn’t the dream of your cum filling her to the brim and spilling out of her cunt every single day for the rest of your fucking lives.

“Are you close, baby? Are you going to cum for me? Please, give it to me, I need it so bad, I need it now, because I'm about to, about to, about to—"

And then it happens.

Fucking destroys her.

It hits. A crescendo that peaks as you bottom out inside her, shaking her to the core. Her cunt spasms about you, her body rises off the bed as if you’re performing a fucking exorcism, and she screams your name so loud it’s only a matter of time before the neighbours come banging on her door.

"Oh my fucking god you—"

Natty gushes around your cock, juices running down your shaft, your balls, and she’s squirting. Oh god, she’s squirting all over the fucking place.

Natty’s body goes rigid, her back arching so much it’s like she’s trying to fold in half, crying, sputtering these words that don't even make sense—until you realise she's speaking an entirely different fucking language.

Not that it matters, because you can tell what she's saying, read it in her body, in the way she's spurting and making a big fucking mess beneath your bodies. Whatever she’s saying sounds utterly depraved, filthy and so, so good to your ears.

It keeps going and going, until she has enough sense to speak your language again, needing to make sure you hear it when she says—"fucking fill me, baby," she whimpers. "Give me everything, all your fucking cum."

And it’s your turn to be hit—like a fucking freight train.

You're cumming, hard and fast and out of fucking nowhere. Your balls tighten, your cock throbs, and you’re flooding Natty’s cunt.

It’s biological, in every cell of your body—like your entire being is coming undone, and the only thing holding you together is Natty, Natty, Natty.

Her body shaking beneath you, her cunt contracting around your cock as wave after wave of cum fills her up.

She’s so fucking tight, so fucking perfect, that you can feel every pulse of your orgasm, every drop of your cum spurting into her. You're not sure how long it lasts, how much you give her, but it’s enough to make your muscles shake, enough to knock the architecture right out of your limbs.

"So fucking good, so fucking good," Natty coos. "Fucking finally, finally filling me up so good."

Her moans a lullaby, sending shockwaves of pleasure through your body with every syllable. You lean down, burying your face in the crook of her neck, your every inhale and exhale ragged as you try to catch your breath. Still twitching inside her, still releasing the last of your cum, and Natty’s just lying there, her body limp, her eyes closed, basking in it all.

"So perfect," she keeps repeating, right up until the very end, “So, so, perfect.”

You collapse on top of her, just lie there shivering together, your face next to hers. She’s got this look on her face, a victorious glow, and you just have to accept it. Yeah, she’s won again, in devastatingly convincing fashion.

For a second, you’re both just that—spent, exhausted, entirely drained. Like you’ve just run a marathon. Or been in a fight. Or both.

Then Natty’s got the nerve to stir, to kiss your cheek with the tenderness of a whisper. Lips softer than you thought possible, given how hard she’s just been fucking you. And that’s it, the moment your body decides it’s had enough of playing dead, enough of lying there like a sack of potatoes.

You roll over, bringing Natty with you, her body curling into yours like she’s been made to fit there. Her head rests on your chest, her legs entwined with yours, and for a moment, you just hold her close.

It feels fucking right.

"Tomorrow," Natty sighs contentedly, her cheek finding home atop your heartbeat.

You blink. "Tomorrow?"

"Yeah, you're moving in tomorrow." Natty’s deciding for you already, setting the dynamic for the rest of your future. Doing all this with her eyes still shut as she snuggles closer to you. "I'll hire the movers."

You sigh, the weight of the world and Natty's body both feeling surprisingly light. You think about the next few days, the weeks, the years even, with Natty. The idea is so ludicrous, so absurd, that it feels like a fever dream.

But as you hold her, feel her warmth, her unabashed, blatant satisfaction, something inside you shifts. A reframing of the concept of Natty that you hold in your head. The thought of her naked body in your bed, her laughter in your living room, her mess in your kitchen—it doesn’t feel like an intrusion, it feels like home.

"Are you sure?" you ask. A little shaky, a little hopeful.

Natty opens one eye to look at you, a laugh playing on her lips. "Oh, you know I'm going to be the worst fucking roommate ever."

"Yeah, I can see that. But as long as you keep being the best fucking everything else..." Your words trail off into a whisper, your hand tracing idle patterns on her back.

And then she says it again.

"You’re so fucking in love with me."

Natty kisses you hard, deep, her tongue sliding against yours. And you know, you fucking know, that she's right. You are desperately, entirely, so fucking in love with her, and you wouldn't have it any other way.

You laugh, the sound a little desperate, a little wild, and roll her again, pin her down again. A strange feeling rushes through your mind. Like you’re going to be repeating this exact same motion for the next hundred years. And somehow, that doesn’t sound like the worst thought in the world.

Natty squeals, cheers, moans when you settle between her legs.

"Fuck you, Natty."

"Oh, baby," Natty giggles, reaching down between your legs, squeezing you. Once. Twice. Until you're filling her hand once more. "That's what I'm here for."

[cupidsblonde]

in which reader and Choso have been talking online for a while and reader has gotten herself a pretty boy appointment

content includes: size difference, age difference (reader is 22 choso is 36) mating press, back-shots, reverse cowgirl, tit fucking“idk if it will fit” “ill make it fit” big dick big tits

inspo: my lovely favorite jjk author getodrools

any picture sent my reader there will be different links with different skin tones!

I thought I’d write something for jjk! I’m into all sorts of fandoms anime and all !! Feel free to tell me any other fandoms you’d be interested in me writing for !!

monday 10:23 am

my fav dick<33

hey baby watching those videos of u fuckin that pretty pussy <33

Attached: 1 Video

his fav pussy<33

your so biggg:)

you’d stuff me so full baby

Attached: 1 Photo (1 2 3)

my fav dick<33

i wish i could stuff your tight pussy baby:(

your tits look sooo good

maybe we could meet up?? lol

im only 30 mins away🤷🏻‍♂️

his fav pussy<33

when r u freeeee :)

im free friday we could frl meet up !! :))

my fav dick<33

thats great bc im also free friday babe;)

i have to go, duty calls but maybe we could

call tonight and play with a dildo of yours<33

his fav pussy<33

ooo yay !! can’t wait for tonight and to see you :))

my fav dick<33 hearted a message

it was true that you couldn’t wait to see him, you where a little nervous but he made you feel good and he makes you happy. but his cock was huge! you really didn’t know if you could handle all of that. but your pussy still hasn’t been fucked but anyone but yourself !! you have huge dildos so you think that you would be able to take him.

incoming call from my fav dick<33

“hey baby” choso says happily but still in his voice that you find so sexy “heyy which one are we using tonight?” “the big one” “perfect daddy !! i already have it let me put it inside” just as your about to slip it in he stops you “let me see” “of course daddy!”

choso gets to watch you play with yourself and shove the dildo in and out of your tight pussy while he jerks his dick

“s-stop” choso says into the phone and you listen, and stop.

“daddy please let me cum im so close”

“cum for me sweetheart” choso groans out as his load shoots out from his huge dick.

after both of you cum you guys talk for a little while and end up falling asleep on the phone.

friday 8:00am

my fav dick<33

what time will you be ready for me baby?

can’t wait to see you

his fav pussy<33

anytime daddy:)

my fav dick<33

okay then ill be there around 9:15 pm okay?

cant’t wait baby;)

his fav pussy<33

ekk !! cant wait:)) 9:10pm

my fav dick<33

im here baby

when you read that text your hands became clammy but your pussy is tingling !! you opened the door and you where met with a large man! you knew he was tall, and with the way you could see his dick grow when he laid eyes on you. it was going to break you in half

“hey baby” he says with a smile and you let him walk in and close the door behind him. you grab the chest of his hoodie and pull him down to you he had to be at-least 6’2. you start kissing him, he seamed a little surprised that you wanted to get started all ready but he pulls away “jump” he mumbled into your ear.

you jump and he grabs your under thighs and you wrap them around his waist and you continue to make out with him. he knew the layout of your house from the many times you would walk around with him on face time and headed over to your bedroom.

he opens the door and wraps him other arm around your body to support you as he kisses your neck. he knew you needed foreplay. as he continues to lay sloppy kisses along your neck he finds your sweet spot. you let out a gasp and a rather loud moan, thats how he knew he had found it. he sits on your bed with you on top of him.

your grinding on his dick as you let out soft groans and moans as he keeps sucking on your neck. he slowly moves a hand to your ass, and finds him way to your panties. he starts massaging the bottom of your thighs with his other hand.

you pull your neck away from him and peel your legs away from his hands and you moves your hands to his zippered pants, you pull both his pants and boxers down. he’s already hard. your met with a practically a third leg!

“wow.. your just as big(if not bigger) as i saw online!” you say with a smile as you take his balls into your palm. you cup them with one of your hands and start pumping his cock with the other. you start kissing his tip to the base. lick down and you put just your mouth on his tip and you start sucking

he groans. loudly. “fuck baby” he says as he grabs you by your hair and pushes you so you take him even deeper in your mouth. as you continue to massage his balls you feel his cock twitch when you suck. thats when he moans loudly. he starts fucking his cum inside of your mouth.

“swallow” you do as told and you swallow every last drop of his seed. when you do you open your mouth and show him, his cock is standing up again. your grabs you by the shoulders and he pulls you onto his lap and starts making out with you. before his cock almost finds its way through your panties, he lays you down on your back.

he wastes no time with shoving your tiny skirt up, which he only had to move little because it was so tiny and she slides your hot pink thong down your legs and takes them, drapes it along his dick and twists it so its all wrapped around his dick, he could feel your wetness on the thong still. he starts pumping his cock and at that time he moves his mouth to your pussy

he pushes your maxi tank top up and finds you arent wearing a bra, he uses that hand that isnt pumping his cock to pinch and twist your hard buds that lived on your massive tits. he has been sucking and licking at your clit and when he stops pumping his cock and peels the panties that are now covered in his pre cum, he suddenly moves his tongue to dart and and out of your pussy stops every once in a while to suck at your throbbing hole.

“im gonna cum” you say repeatedly and fast and when he hears this you feel him grin against your pussy and flip you onto his lap, spank your ass which makes you moan loud and hard then start rubbing your clit. he starts picking up the speed and thats when you scream out his name and cum. “oh yes choso !!”

his dick is standing once again and with not warning, he stands from his spot where he was on his knees on the floor and pushes your legs to your shoulders. “you ready baby?” he says and before you could answer, it was yes of course, his huge tip was sliding up and down your folds.

you moan out when his tip gets to your throbbing hole and he pushes just the tip in. “ i dont know if it will fit” “i’ll make it fit down worry baby”he slowly pushes inside and groans. it takes a little while for you to reach his base but when you do, you can see a bulge in your stomach. he was being so sweet but you wanted him to be mean to you, even if it was just for a little bit. “choke and slap me please” you moan out “ive got to fuck you harder then” you nod and he starts thrusting into you while choking you, but not hurting you.

he suddenly stops fucking you like that after such a quick pace, you whimper and beg him to keep going. suddenly he flips you onto your front. “arch for me” you arch. “i warmed you up with that now your gonna get back shots with this big cock” he puts his dick into your needy little pussy and starts fucking you, hard. “anything you want daddy” you moan out.

as he continues to mercilessly pound your pussy, hitting your g spot every time. you tell him your gonna cum. when he hears this he goes even faster. when you let out a scream, he keeps going until your squirting all over his dick. your body is shaking and he flips you onto your back and he presses his dick in between your tits. “tit fuck me baby” so you listen and press your tits together with his dick in between, and start milking his cock “yea just like that baby”

“come ride me” he says sitting on the bed, you where ridding him then suddenly, he wraps his arms around your waist and starts fucking you hard from under you. That’s when he finishes, but this time inside if you. And you where okay with it. You finish all over his cock, your juices mixing together and when he pulls out he fingers you to keep everything inside. He grabs his and yours discarded clothes, and helps you up.

“you good baby?” he chuckles when your knees buckle and you fall back onto the bed. he gets you new panties and helps you get dressed into your pj’s. he gets dressed himself and lays down behind you.

“im glad we met up” you say with a smile when you turn to him. “me too sweet girl” he says sleepily. eventually you both doze off.

in the morning you wake up to him nor being in your bed, so you go looking for him and you find him in your kitchen. making you breakfast. you smile and turn back to go to your room. when he enters the room he says “ i knew you where in the kitchen you know?” he says kissing your forehead and giving you the food and drink, setting your drink on the nightstand.

after you finish your food he stays with you in bed for a while, in comfortable silence. “can i be your boyfriend?” he suddenly questions. you turn to him with a huge smile and say “of course!!” you excitedly say. “im so glad.” he says kissing your forehead and dozing off, you not long after him.

[thebluester2020]

[TWST] Kinktober Day 13: "Masturbation"

Summary: With you being the only girl on campus, Leona already had an idea that there would be competition! Luckily for him however, catching you alone at night proved to be his lucky break.

Warning(s): Solo Masturbation (Leona fingers the reader), Teasing, Slight Bullying (I got a thing for Leona being mean man), Fingering, Leona being possessive (in kinda a jealous way tbh).

Side Note(s): Okay so a few things mostly in regards to how I'm going to treat anything I write for TWST from now on. One, I'm going to write as if Night Raven College was an actual college. For the sake of me being confused as to what's what regarding the school system, I gotta do what I gotta do in order to help myself 💀.

Two— y'all I gotta update my yuu oc's sheet. I'm seeing so many fancy ones on here that it's giving me major inspo.

It was hard for him to admit it to himself at first but...Leona Kingscholar had a crush.

Sure, it was easy to say that it was only a matter of time before he gained one on you, especially when you were the only girl on campus but he thought he had more strength of will than that! So many others had a crush on you, too many fools lamenting about how they either wanted to date you or sleep with you. It was becoming annoying at this rate, and at first? Leona couldn't wait to hear the news that Headmaster Crowley had finally found your home and sent you back, just so he could stop hearing students in SavannaClaw constantly groaning about you.

Then it began to divulge into something else.

One class period, strangely enough, you were without your cat. In every class he had shared with you prior, you were always preoccupied with the cat and seemed to feed off his mischief and antics. Like a little duckling trying to mimic every single living thing in order to find its place.

Bothersome.

But he ignored it well enough until he witnessed you being...focused for once. And there, he gained a strange warmth in his chest as he found himself staring, admiring your gracefulness as you sat in your chair and the way you showed a surprising amount of intelligence, one that was usually hidden away by how much you were coddling the only other member of that Ramshackle Dorm. Sure, he didn't have much room to admire nor talk about someone being focused with how little he cared for his classes personally but...there was something regal about you in particular being focused.

But, as quick as he felt that warmth blooming, he snuffed it out.

No way was he entering a pointless rat race for one girl when thousands of other students were competing in the same competition.

Until tonight.

When he found you sitting all on your lonesome inside the Botanical Gardens, reading a book no less.

"Herbivore?" He smirked at how fast you responded to the name he had given you.

You quickly closed the book and stood. "L-Leona?" You gulped. "What are you doing out so late?"

"I could ask the same of you," He rose his brow, his gaze going from the book in your hand to the clothes you were wearing. You looked as if you had just rolled out of bed and decided to walk out of your room. "It's dangerous to be out so late, a lot of predators hunt at night and you're easy prey."

You rolled your eyes, deciding to sit back down on the bench and scoot over enough to allow the prince some room to sit if he wished.

Shockingly, he took the silent offer. "Enough of the animal references," You huffed. "It's safe on this campus, much better than my world where I actually need to be afraid." Leona flicked his ear at your wording, he was tempted to press further on your meaning but...he decided to leave the matter for another time. After all, his original reason for being out here was simple. He felt like going out for a nighttime stroll, feel the cool breeze on his skin and all that and maybe taking a small nap here as well.

With you being here although...his plans started to shift a little.

"A romance book?" You slammed your novel shut when Leona pointed out the genre of your book, a blush quickly appearing on your cheeks as you immediately shot a glare to the prince. "Fairytales don't exist herbivore." He chuckled quietly at the growing red on your face.

"For your information, it's not a fairytale. It's a play!" You huffed. "Romeo and Juliet, a tale of forbidden lovers, do you have anything like that in this world?" The beastman shrugged his shoulders, although he was well-versed in different literatures. Romance and forbidden love stories were never his preferred genre to read, to him? It always felt like something to give to young princesses who were hoping that some tall knight would sweep them off of their feet.

He tsked at the very thought of it. "There are plenty of forbidden love stories in this world. Your little book is probably just as predictable as the next one."

"Oh really?"

He nodded his head. "Let me guess...someone dies in the book? Maybe both of them?"

Leona laughed at your silence, causing you to gently shove at his arm at his confidence. Personally, you wouldn't lie to yourself when you said that the idea of a love story appealed to you, especially more so now that you were in a world where magic and princes existed! Hell, you were talking to one right now! However, as you looked at him through the corner of your vision...he wasn't anything like Romeo. He was arrogant, blunt, and a little bit rude. You hadn't forgotten that his ambitious plan lead to you nearly being ran over during the Spelldrive games!

But despite all that? Those very same attributes...they attracted you all the same.

Suddenly, Leona caught a scent in the air, one that made him breathe deeply before exhaling slowly. "What's going on in that head of yours herbivore?" He questioned with a tilt of his head.

"I'm thinking about when you're going to leave and let me continue reading," You lied through your teeth, causing the prince to smirk as he slowly moved closer to you, still giving you ample room to move away in case you were uncomfortable. Yet...as that scent grew sweeter and more potent, it seemed that you were anything but uncomfortable with his presence. "Really?" He pressed. "Something tells me you're thinking about something else herbivore...perhaps this prince can grant it for you."

You twitched a little when Leona suddenly placed a hand on your thigh. The scent of an earthy soap on his body reached your nostrils and, steadily, you began to feel your mind slipping a little.

Until you remembered, you had to hold strong. "...I'm thinking about how much I want you to get away from me." You continued to try and lie, your futile attempts making the prince's smirk grow even more as he continued to laugh.

"Cute," He scoffed. "You know...if you're honest, I'll reward you really nicely." His hand began to move a little, not traveling either upward or downward but only drawing a circle in your skin with his thumb. Your breathing became heavier, the scent of your growing arousal making the prince feel as if he were sipping on the most delectable wine in all the lands. Still, he wanted to hear a word of consent from you before he proceeded.

"Reward?" You panted, gulping before you gained the courage to look Leona in the eyes where his green orbs seemed to almost glow in the darkness. "What...what reward are you talking about?"

"What fun is there in telling you when I can show you?" His thumb stilled as you considered your response. There was little point in denying it to yourself, you could feel that you were absolutely soaked, your sex twitching in anticipation of Leona's touch whilst you could almost feel yourself drowning in the prince's gaze. You wanted to tell yourself that you had no business having sex with a prince, risking the possibility of developing more of an attachment to this world than you already were. But...it was way too hard to think that way when you so badly wanted to feel his warmth. "Show me." You finally whispered.

Finally, Leona's lips found your own before his hand eagerly moved up to your clothed pussy. He laughed against your lips, parting briefly from you as he licked his lips clean of your sweet-tasting lipstick. "Already this wet for me herbivore? All that talk earlier must've been a heap of lies." He then pressed another kiss to your lips before peppering a trail of kisses down your cheek and to the side of your neck. Oh, he was so tempted to mark you right here and right now in this garden but...Leona willed himself to play the long game rather than try to obtain all of his winnings in one single night. He'd get you addicted to his touch first, getting you to beg and plead for him to take you but, as cruel as it would be, he'd deny you. After all, it was more fun to have you come to him rather than him come to you.

"Ah..." You moaned sweetly, the beastman's ears perking to the sound.

"I-It's because you're so d-damn arrogant..." You said breathlessly before you whined at the feeling of cold air hitting your sex when Leona pulled your underwear to the side. The prince ignored your words, too focused on how you squeaked and shuddered each time he kissed you and especially how you grabbed at his shoulders like a lifeline when he began to touch your twitching sex.

"All this just from talking to me, herbivore?" He then trailed his lips back up to your cheek before whispering in your ear. "How shameless..." He continued to lightly scold you before he dipped a finger inside your pussy, your grip upon his shoulders getting tighter from the action.

"And here you were reading a romance novel...did your precious characters do something like this in that little book of yours?"

You shook your head with a whiney 'no' in response. "Oh?" Leona briefly flashed his teeth as he smiled. "You must've been really eager for something like this to happen then," He continued to whisper in your ear as his finger began to lightly thrust in and out of your pussy, the sound of your moans increasing only making the prince's cock strain harder in his pants. But, for the moment, he'd ignore his own desires in other to please you.

"You have a crush on anyone?" Leona lightly nipped your ear.

He felt his ego grow when you shook your head no, he had a completely blank slate to work off of. To make sure that you got addicted to him and no one else. "My lucky day then...I get a cute lil' herbivore to play around with then. It'd be pretty awkward to fuck you with my fingers before you'd leave and smile in your crush's face next." Then, he curled his finger a little, a whine leaving your lips when he suddenly hit your g-spot. At the sound, Leona began to press into that spot with more accuracy, causing you to wrap your arms around his neck as you pulled him closer to your body.

"L-Leona!" You gasped.

"Tch, you sound like a lioness in heat. All from a little fingering?" He teased. A knot began to form in the pit of your stomach as you continued to clench around Leona's finger at his words, the combination of his typically rude and sarcastic tone mixed with the pleasure he was delivering you making your head spin. Then, Leona added a second finger and his thumb into the mix. The addition of the rubbing against your clit and the increased thickness from the second finger making you whine Leona's name.

He had to hold himself back from cumming in his pants like some teenager at the sound. "F-Fuck—! L-Leona...!" You gasped. "Your fingers...f-feel so good..."

"Yeah?" He placed a surprisingly gentle kiss on your lips. "You're so much more honest when you have a couple of fingers tending to this needy hole of yours, don't you?" He chuckled.

You dumbly nodded your head, your further honesty to his question only making his ego grow as the pace of his thrusts increased. He had to cover your mouth with his hand to help muffle your moans, the feeling of your drool against his palm making the prince hiss at the dirtiness of it all. In this moment, he felt more akin to a thief rather than a prince. Stealing away the purity of the seemingly innocent princess, who was "promised" to her knight. Leona moaned at the thought, and what's more? With the way you called out his name and clung to him like you were begging him to give you pleasure, trying to continue to plead your case for him to give you what you so desperately want, Leona couldn't deny how quickly his desires for you grew.

"So loud herbivore..." He said with an unusually sweet tone as his ears started to move to the sound of your cunt beginning to squelch. Your slick started to stick to Leona's palm and drip down onto the bench, filling the air with the smell of sex as Leona picked up the pace of his fingers even more. "Gonna cum soon? Your drippin'."

You answered with a loud moan as your eyes started to roll to the back of your head while your hips started to thrust onto his fingers in time with his movements. Your cunt tightened around his fingers, making the prince have to put more work into fucking you until...you whined loudly behind his palm, your pussy clenching and unclenching around his fingers rapidly before you finally relaxed as he continued to fuck you through your orgasm.

When you made a noise of discomfort though, he finally removed his fingers.

"Dirty," He mumbled, spreading his fingers as he lewdly played with your slick before finally sticking the digits into his mouth.

You blushed at the sight, weakly turning your head to the side before Leona snickered and made you face him once more. "Next time...let's do this in my dorm room, hm?"

[dcxdpdabbles]

Do you mind updating Alfred's boy? I just fell in love with your work and can't stop thinking about it lololol especially with Wes and Danny crushing on Jason as everyone else is crushing on Danny

It's the most complicated love shape I've seen since Miraculous and I can't get enough 💖

Bruce is working on some late-night emails.

He chose not to go out as Batman tonight just because his kids had a lot of pent-up energy they needed to release on some unsuspecting crook, and he got behind in his civilian persona.

Bruce also wanted to keep an eye on Wes and Danny. The day after the Opera, Danny took it upon himself to take Wes out into the city again, showing him not only Batburger but also the city's sights and arcade.

Alfred booked them both an entire afternoon in Gotham's most luxurious spa as a gift for Danny's hard work. When Danny and Wes came back, both seemed to be glowing and frankly, Bruce wouldn't be surprised if they had turned heads on their way home.

Danny made his children break their necks when he walked by the family room with a laughing Wes. After spotting Danny in a very uncharacteristic move, Damian even walked into the living room wall.

Jason had laughed so hard he choked on his spit. It took every year of training for Bruce to catch Damian mid-jump to save Jason from his younger brother's worth.

It was only the knowledge that Wes was a civilian staying in the manor and that if he saw them in a fight, their covers would be blown, stopping Damian from attacking Jason further.

Bruce was getting tired of this romance novel setting he found himself in. His children haven't stressed him out this much in years. Okay, that's a lie.

They always stressed him out, but usually, it was due to them making a stance against crime. Not a random young man who was dating (secretly) the object of their affection.

Wesley Weston was a delightful young man despite everything. Bruce would almost approve of him if it weren't for the fact that he seemed aware of the Wayne children's hostility and edged it on by being extra cuddly with Danny.

He was delighted for Danny to have a friend who had been making him this happy, but all good things must end. This would be Wes's last night in Wayne Manor.

Tomorrow, Wes will board a plane back through Clockwork's unique gate and be gone from their lives until he can visit again. That could take a while, as Alfred had informed him that Danny's parents were becoming a nuisance.

That could mean any number of things, but the most obvious was that Danny's location needed to stay hidden. No one could contact him from his home.

Bruce sighs, wondering how the boy will handle the news. Alfred chose to wait until Wes was out of the manor so his charge would not break down in front of his friend. It would mean the world to Danny, who closely held his emotions to his chest.

A knock interrupts his thoughts.

"Come in," Bruce calls, wondering who it could be. He is surprised to see a shy redhead pop his head in. "Wes, what are you doing up this late?"

"Sorry to bother you, Mr. Wayne. I couldn't sleep," Wes says, scruffing his feet on the carpet. He takes a moment to gather his strength, then straightens out his back. Bruce braces himself, feeling he won't like what the boy has to say. "I wanted to talk to you about assigning Danny a medical cuddle buddy."

Bruce blinks, feeling well out of his depth. Was that new teen lingo? "A medical cuddle Buddy?"

"It's like an emotional support animal." Wes starts, gesturing with his hands in a flip-flap sort of motion. Bruce noticed Danny tended to do the same when making an explanation. A culture thing? "His emotional, mental, and even physical well-being plummets when he goes too long without cuddling."

Bruce had concluded the same.

Over the last two days, he noticed that Danny had seemed far happier than the weeks he had been in the Manor. At first, he just assumed it was because he finally had someone who understood what he was going through. But now it was clear that it wasn't just the excitement of having Wes around. Danny looked as if he was healing from a long-term lack of nutrition.

It was not a lack of food, as Alfred would never allow anyone to go hungry under his roof.

There had to be something else.

"Danny isn't human," he ventures, watching Wes' body language. At once, the boy tensed up, a dark look in his eye and a precise curl of his lip indicating protective intensity. Bruce closes his laptop, curls his finger under his chin, and leans on them, giving his full attention. "I have no issues with Danny being anything other than human. But I need to know what I have to provide him to keep him healthy."

We hesitated for a long moment, staring back at Bruce like he was weighing the billionaire's soul. His intense eyes bore into Bruce's, flickering around his face as if trying to find a lie in his statement.

Eventually, the boy hesitantly responds. "Danny is part human. The other half is a being that relies on certain emotions to feed. The most common one is fear, which is why his parents tried to kill him when they found out his kind. Fear-based beings are...dangerous, so it was understandable even if it sucked."

Wes's face twists into a hateful and sad expression that lets Bruce know the kids are attempting to rationalize Danny's parents' behavior. He would make sure to tell Alfred not to allow the boy any contact with them. They held too much power over the kid.

"Danny isn't a fear-based than," Bruce prompts, to which Wes rapidly shakes his head.

"He isn't! Danny is....well, he's love-based. He feeds on different versions of love. Have you heard of the eight ancient Greeks' type of love?"

"I have"

Wes rubs his arm, looking relatively young for his age. "Danny feeds on Agape and Philia the most. He used to feed a lot on Storge, but well...you know how that turned out."

He did, indeed.

Does this mean Danny had already been cut off from a significant food source his people needed? Did it also mean that Danny wasn't the Fenton's by blood? How could they not know he was half of another being?

He needed answers to all the questions, but the most important one still resurfaced: "How does Danny feed?"

"Usually through physical contact. Emotions aren't corporal; they are felt through a body like a ripple in the water. When Danny touches someone who shares Agape or Philia with him, the ripples transfer from the contact to his core." Wes explained looking mroe sure of himself. "When I first arrived, Danny looked half-starved. He would have collapsed had it not been for Clockwork sending me."

That's alarming. "What could have happened if he went too long without any love?"

"His core would explode."

"And a core is?"

"Think of it like Danny's heart. It pumps his body with the energy his people need to survive. If it fails, Danny dies."

The last sentence hangs in the room like poisonous gas. Bruce feels his chest squeez at the mere thought that Danny would pass from soemthing they could easily provide for him. "I'll make sure that doesn't happen."

Wes cracks a shaky smile. "I figure you wouldn't. You seem like an okay guy. Can you make sure none of the ones feeling Eros towards Danny are his cuddle-buddy? I don't think his heart is ready for that just yet."

"Of course." Bruce was thinking of Alfred, Cass, Dick, Jason, and himself. All of them would quickly provide the emotion Danny needed. He tells Wes this with what he hopes is an assuring smile.

Wes shuffles his feet nervously before he yells, "Not Jason."

"Why?" Bruce asks, mystified.

"Danny might...um, have a crush on him." The boy mutters almost too low for Bruce to hear. He then glances up with a look of panic. "You can't tell Danny I told you!"

Bruce feels a headache coming on. Of course, out of all the children who had a thing for Danny, the boy chose one of the few of his kids who did not feel the same way. Knowing his son, Jason would probably think it was flattering but would gently let the boy down due to his age.

Jason refused to date anyone outside of a four-year difference from him in any direction. Danny was in for a painful confession.

Wait.

"Wes, what would happen if Danny experienced heartbreak? How does that affect his people?"

Wes blinks, confused, before shrugging. "I guess they die of heartbreak?"

Great.

I'm going to have to make Danny stay away from my second eldest like another stereotypical villain in Jason's romance novels. Bruce rubs his eyes. Or get him together with one of the others who actually likes him. Ugh.

He'll have to discuss things with Alfred. After all, that was his boy.

[barcaatthemoon]

new friend || ingrid engen x child!reader ||

your meet your mom's new friend, maria.

your mom ran around the house frantically trying to tidy things up. most of your toys had to be put back in your room except for the little figures that you were actively playing with. your mom had told you that morning that she was having a friend over, someone important that she wanted you to meet. you knew that it wasn't frido or caro because she didn't get like this when they visited. this had to be a new friend, someone from your mom's new team.

"okay, i think that everything is ready," your mom said as she looked around the house. she had started something for you to eat, unsure of whether you'd like the spanish food her friend was bringing. the food was different here in a lot of ways. it had different taste, textures, and overall flavors. your mom told you that you didn't have to try everything right away, but almost every single day came a new food or snack.

"will you play with me?" you asked softly. your mom was about to sit on the couch and wait for mapi, but playing with you made her feel a lot calmer. ingrid sat with you on the floor, already knowing what game you were playing with the handful of animal figures on the floor. as much fun as you were having, your game was cut short by the knock on your door.

"maria, hi," your mother greeted. you doubted that you could have seen past your mother, so you didn't even look up from your game.

"hola ingrid," the mystery woman said. you should have expected for her to be spanish, almost everybody new was. slightly deflated, you dropped your toys, knowing that you wouldn't be able to speak with the stranger. you were good with your norweigan and german since you had been born and raised in those areas. english was still very new to you, and you hadn't even begun any of your spanish lessons yet.

"little lamb, do you want to say hello to mapi?" ingrid asked as she stepped aside. you looked up at the woman, who you thought looked a little scary. she was covered in pictures, like the bad guys in your papa and uncle's action movies. ingrid, noticing your slight discomfort, moved to scoop you up into her arms. you were a nervous child, but being in your mom's arms made you feel invincible. "she's nice, i promise. we play together at barcelona, she helps protect the goal. tonight, we're going to eat dinner together and hang out."

"like a playdate?" you asked.

"yeah, like a playdate," ingrid confirmed. you liked playdates, but all the kids here spoke spanish, so you couldn't have them anymore. sometimes, ingrid tried to arrange little trips to germany, but there hadn't been a break long enough for that yet. you missed your friends back at wolfsburg, barcelona wasn't nearly as fun for you.

you got the sense that it wasn't a playdate for you. your mom let you down, but instead of going back to your animals, you went to the coloring book on the coffee table. you had to be very careful as you colored. if you got colors on the table, you'd have to go back to the dining room table again. out of the corner of your eye, you could see your mom take maria to the kitchen.

it wasn't an overly long time that they were away from you. maria sat on the couch a little ways away from you while your mom sat right in front of you. you could smell your food, and it made your stomach growl with anticipation. it had been quite some time since she had made your special noodles for you, but since you were being brave and meeting a new person, your mom decided you had earned a plate of them.

"i need you to wash up and get your seat at the table," she said as she leaned down. you set your crayon back in the box and raced off to the bathroom. "hopefully she's a bit more chatty after dinner."

"it's good that she doesn't talk to strangers, it means she's smart," maria reasoned. ingrid had your plate set out as you came toddling back into the room carrying your booster seat. "can i sit here?"

"as long as frido isn't coming. that's frido's seat when she comes," you told maria. the spanish woman nodded as she slipped into the seat next to you. you were digging into your noodles without a care in the world as your mom returned with plates for her and mapi. "is there dessert?"

"focus on your food," ingrid told you. you huffed and pushed some of the noodles around on your plate. "(y/n), eat your pasta. you've been so excited about it all week."

"can we go out for ice cream after dinner?" you asked. there was an ice cream shop near your building that you had been begging to go in for weeks. each time, your mom brushed it off telling you that you could go later. now was definitely later to when you had asked, so there was no reason you couldn't go.

"how about this, if you can finish that plate, i'll buy you ice cream. sprinkles if you eat two." mapi placed her hand out for you to shake, and without hesitation, you shook it. ingrid looked impressed as you started eating with enthusiasm. you knew the rules about food, so you didn't go too fast. the last thing you wanted was to choke before you got to eat your ice cream.

"impressive," ingrid mouthed across the table at maria. ingrid had always been scared that you were underweight. you were an engen, and that meant you were thin and lanky. other kids seemed to hold weight better than you did, the idea of sitting and eating meals was a bit difficult for you. with maria there, you were sitting still and eating for the hope of getting an ice cream with sprinkles.

"come on, we have to play for 30 minutes before we can get dessert," you said, tugging on maria's sleeve a little. your mom started to chuckle as maria just stared at you in confusion. "come on, i'll show you how to play farms."

"lamb, english. maria doesn't speak like we do," ingrid reminded you. sighing, you tried to reiterate yourself in english, but the translation didn't come so easily. "she wants you to play farm with her while we wait for dinner to settle."

"oh, okay," maria said. she let you take her to the living room where your animals were set up. you explained it with ingrid's help and the three of you played farm together. maria wasn't very good at it, but truthfully, caro and guro were the only ones who were really good at playing farm with you.

as excited as you had been about ice cream, you ended up falling asleep on the floor while you played. ingrid tucked you into your bed and made sure to keep your nightlight on. when she came back, maria was sitting on the couch scrolling on her phone. ingrid smiled as she settled next to maria, who immediately wrapped her arm around ingrid's shoulders.

"that went very well, she likes you a lot. and i think she ate enough to sleep through the night," ingrid said. "it will take a bit of time, but i think she can handle knowing that we're dating."

"i owe her ice cream," maria said. ingrid laughed at that, not really surprised that maria was hung up on that. "do you think we could go after training tomorrow? you could bring her, then i can gloat to frido that i have a new best friend."

"and promptly get your heart broken when she runs to caro instead of you? just don't take it personally, she just met you," ingrid warned. "she likes you, but i'm pretty sure caro is her favorite over me."

[mind-intheclouds342]

Do it for them - Co-captain reader x Curly

Previous - Part 8 - Next

"Hahaha! I still can't believe you drank mouthwash!"

You were all sitting on the floor in a circle, sharing some food from that day's supplies and playing cards while chatting.

You laughed while holding your stomach as you fell to the ground, making the man roll his eyes at your exaggerated reaction.

Swansea: "I thought you were never going to wake up, I needed something to endure this crap without you around trying to fix things."

"Aaaw! You worried about me!"

Swansea: "Of course! Careless captain!"

"You broke your sober years for me."

Swansea: "That doesn't count!"

Anya: "Well, it contained quite a bit of ethanol, so..." She mentioned with a chuckle.

Swansea: "If I say it doesn't count, it's because it doesn't count!"

Daisuke: "Hey! Who took my chicken-flavored noodles?? I was saving them!"

Anya: "Oh- were they yours? I'm sorry."

"You can have mine, they're shrimp flavor."

You extended your package to him, and after pouting, he accepted the change.

They were a month away from reaching the station, enjoying some time together, now they felt they could rest and enjoy since it seemed like things were going to be alright.

"I'll go see Curly."

You mentioned getting up ready to go to the infirmary.

As you walked through the hallways, you could hear several knocks coming from a door, and you approached to look through the armored glass in it.

You saw Jimmy's face appear on the other side, an angry look.

You raised one eyebrow at his expression.

"Do you need anything?"

Jimmy: "Get me out of this damn room!"

"I can't do that, you deserve to be locked up, like the animal you are. And Swansea should have already given you your rations, so you have nothing to complain about."

He hit the glass, making it resonate, but you couldn't help but smile at his anger, then continued on your way.

Upon entering the nursery, you saw Curly breathing heavily; you could tell he needed his painkillers.

You immediately looked for them to give them as you had been doing lately.

"You know... Everyone is much more relaxed now, we have hope."

You sat beside him, gently touching his cheek, not wanting to cause him pain or discomfort.

"Everything will be fixed soon... I promise... You're going to be fine... And maybe it's not so bad that they're going to fire us... Damn it, they're not even going to pay us the full amount for the work... But at least we'll be home."

You smiled leaning back in the chair until you noticed Curly's gaze on you.

"Listen! Maybe it can't be fixed—this whole thing" you gestured to all of his body and face "But let's try to fix it as much as possible, okay?"

You didn't understand why he started making sounds until you realized they were sobs.

"Oh no... No, no, no, darling listen, we are a team, we always were one and we will continue to be, okay?"

You saw how he raised what was left of his arms in pain, in an attempt to touch your face while sobbing, it hurted you so much not to be able to understand him.

At bedtime, you knocked on Anya's room door, and she let you in.

"I wanted to ask you... Did something happen while I was asleep?"

Anya: "Well... You were by Curly's side the whole time, we needed you in the nursery, and I stayed by your side... I was afraid that Jimmy might do something to you."

"I see..."

You sighed as you looked at her face, she gave you a somewhat tired smile.

"Can I sleep with you tonight? Please"

Anya: "Of course - it will be like a girls' sleepover."

They both settled into her bed, tucked themselves in, and talked for a few minutes until Anya fell deeply asleep on your shoulder.

While you were staring at the ceiling thinking that...

At some point, she had to sleep.

[rebelliousstories]

Magical Relationships

Relationship: Remy LeBeau/Gambit x Reader, Logan Howlett/ Wolverine x Reader (Platonic)

Fandom: X-Men

Request: Yes by @oh-prettylady

Warnings: Fluff, Brief Angst

Word Count: 1,466

Main Masterlist: Here

X-Men Masterlist: Here

Summary: He had spent so long looking for her, only to find that she was closer than ever suspected.

Consider Donating: Here

If there was one thing that Gambit always asked for whenever he could, it would forever be a relationship of his own. He had seen Jean and Scott fall in love, witnessed Beast try himself; hell, everyone he knew had tried. But for some reason, Jean and Scott were the only ones that made it work. But Remy wanted that. He wanted his own lady to call his, to love, and to spoil. When he came back from a mission one day, he got his wish.

A beautiful girl around his age had shown up with the Wolverine. She was shy, only sticking near the burly man, and not speaking to just about anyone. But she was gorgeous, sweet and kind. Her ability to transform into any animal she wished never ceased to amaze Remy when they were in the danger room.

Slowly but surely, she began warming up to the other, but not Gambit. She was still hesitant around him, refusing to say more than a few words to him. It threw the Cajun for a loop the first few times he tried to flirt with her.

“My, my, my, chere. Ya face would look so much prettier up close, ya know? Just close enough for a kiss perhaps.” This caused her to flush red.

“How’s about you and me go and paint the town red tonight, chere?” She turned to Logan for help who kindly told the man she was off limits.

“Oh, I’m feelin’ awfully weak, chere. I hear ya kisses are magic though. How’s about one for ya patient, yeah?” Turning to scamper off was her course of action for this.

Each time he tried to flirt with her, she refused. Maybe he was coming off too strong for her. He knew very little about her backstory when she came to the school. So, Remy decided to switch tactics. He tried to bond with her over something, anything. But they seemed to have very little in common. But he was desperate to have her talk to him in any way they could.

After a few weeks of this, Gambit made very little leeway in his attempt to talk with her. It was not until Logan decided to go off on his own again that he finally got a break. This was not how he wanted it to start, but it was how it happened. Remy had found her staring out of a window towards the road in the school on a day off for them.

“You miss da Wolverine, chere?” He asked quietly. She got a bit spooked, jumping in her seat, and went to leave.

“No, no. I didn’ mean t’ make ya scared. I can leave if ya want.” Holding his hands up, Gambit tried to make himself appear as non threatening as possible to the woman. But what she did next shocked him.

She shook her head, and patted the sot next to her in the window. Waiting, Remy tried to see what exactly she meant, which was met with her patting the spot once more. At her insistence, he made his way over, and slumped down into his seat.

“I just really miss him, you know?” She began, still staring. “He took care of me when I had no one around. It’s hard being without him, not knowing where he is or if he’s alive.”

“Oh, chere. Don’t worry ‘bout it. The Wolverine will come back soon. Besides, I’m pretty sure that man lives purely off of spite, so he be fine.” Remy tried to comfort the girl, but only felt like he was causing her more discomfort.

“You’re right,” she spoke after a brief silence, “Logan will be okay. He’ll come back.” Looking out the window, she looked towards the road once more before turning to the mutant to her right.

“I love your eyes, by the way.” This time, it was Gambit’s turn to be bashful. His face blushed something fierce as he turned away from her. He could only hope that she did not see what was happening to his face, or the smile that appeared on his face.

“You flatter Ol’ Gambit. Ain’t do nothin’ to deserve it.” He stammered out, hoping that she would let it go. But to his fortune, and mis. Fortune, she did not.

Her giggles rang out through the small nook that they were tucked away in, and Gambit turned to face her fully. Even he was not immune to her infectious laughter. Soon, he was joining her in his own deep chuckles that boomed out next to hers. After a few minutes, they began to wind down. And as he looked over at her from across the windowsill, Remy thought something to himself.

This might just work out.

After that night, it was like a flip had been switched. Instead of constantly being shy, and running away from the Cajun, she had begun to enjoy his company. She was enjoying a cup of tea with him in the morning while he made his coffee. In the evenings, she would make a bowl of ice cream for each of them to enjoy in front of the fire in the main study room.

And all through this, they grew closer. Remy’s flirting no longer made her anxious, it excited her. She still had yet to get over her blushing and shyness when he did so, but she was no longer running away which he considered a win in his books. Gambit so badly wanted to properly ask her out; it burned within him. But he had to contend with Logan coming after him.

Oh, he was well aware that the Wolverine would just give him the tough love act, but that did not make it any less intimidating to ask her pseudo-father for permission. It also did not help that the man was currently somewhere that they at the school could not reach him. So for the time being, Gambit was sticking to making her blush like a school girl at every chance he got.

Remy loved the challenge of getting her to blush harder and harder each time. Sometimes, it was the fact that it was in front of the other team members. Other times, it was because of what he had actually said. One particular instance stands out better than the rest.

“Chere, jus’ need t’ ask ya somethin’. Will you Brie mine?” Remy drawled out as he leaned against the counter. Storm, Beast, and Cyclops were sitting at the table nearby and actively listening to what was coming next.

“Don’t you ever get tired of thinking up different pickup lines to use on me?” She teased back, finishing her making of food at the stove.

“Ain’t no trouble to the Gambit if he has t’ think of you. So whatcha say?” There was quiet laughter coming from the table nearby.

“Can I at least have my breakfast first?” Her tone was teasing, even if her words were annoyed.

“Never too early to start the greatest love story ever.”

“Sometimes it is.” The laughing stopped. Gambit stopped in his tracks, and was afraid to turn and face the voice behind him.

“Logan, you’re back!” Her plate was quickly abandoned in favor for wrapping her arms around his neck. His own found a home wrapped around her back before they pulled away.

“Missed me, kid?” A smirk toyed at the edge of his lips.

“Maybe a little.” She admitted; a smile of her own forming on her lips.

“Now, what was this I hear about you wanting to ask the kid out, Cajun?” Logan near growled in his low-rumbling voice.

“Now, Mon Ami, jus’ remember is just Gambit.” He stammered out, holding his hands up defensively. The Wolverine placed a hand on his shoulder, causing him to stop what he was saying immediately.

“Treat her right, or you’re turning into a kebab. I’m going to unpack and go to bed.” Passing the girl on his way back to his room, Logan gave her one last pat on the shoulder and left. There was a stunned silence that enveloped the entire room as everyone tried to process the events that had just unfolded.

“So, Remy,” she began with a teasing tone, “something you wanna ask me?”

He could not speak. The smooth talking Cajun was speechless after that interaction. But once he began to recover, a smirk overtook his rugged features. He walked up closer to the woman and placed a hand back on the counter.

“Will you go out with me, chere?” Remy finally asked her.

“Of course, Gambit. Besides, I have a man waiting to turn you into a kebab if you mess up.” She began to laugh, but the color started drawing from his face once more.

[calicoheartz]

So ready to be fed tonight 💛

I was wondering if you could do a jealous!Caitlin x reader that's maybe slightly suggestive? It's okay if not !!

Green Eyed Passion ; Caitlin Clark ⟢﹒

summary : jealous! caitlin x reader 🫣

wc ; 773

warnings : very suggestive , read at your own risk.

my master list ㇀♡

a/n : anon , you have just been served a full course meal. This was sooo fun to write!!! enjoy besties ◡̈

Caitlin is used to being confident in herself. As an extremely talented and successful basketball star, she had no trouble attracting and dealing with unwanted attention. However, when she started dating you, a young and attractive individual who had a captivating personality, she found herself facing a new emotion: jealousy.

It all began innocently enough. You had been dating for a few months, and everything seemed perfect. You rarely argued, had little disagreements, and most importantly you shared the same interests. Never failing to make eachother laugh even in the worst of situations, it was obvious that you were each other’s person.

But one evening, as you both were attending a team event, Caitlin couldn’t shake the feeling of this rather unfamiliar emotion.

You however, were in your element. A dimly lit bar filled with different characters from all walks of life, it fascinated you, you absolutely adored engaging in conversation with others. Your charisma drawing in people like moths to a flame, your eyes sparkling in every animated conversation you found yourself in. Caitlin however, watched from the sidelines; simply smiling politely as she watched admirers approach you to strike up simple exchange.

Her mood, however, quickly soured when she noticed you talking to a fairly tall, and attractive figure. A little bit too close for Caitlin’s pleasure.

She continued to watch you from across the room, how your laugh echoed, how close you two were, stirred up feelings she didn’t even know she had. Trying to shake off this feeling, she joined a group of her other teammates, trying to take her mind off of you and your seemingly interesting conversation. But she couldn’t help but keep stealing glances at you and this mysterious stranger, immediately being stung by a wave of jealousy.

As the evening went on, Caitlin found herself being more and more isolated. She tried to engage in conversation with you, but to no avail. You seemed distracted, with your attention constantly drifting back to the figure.

Finally, unable to contain her jealousy, she approached the both of. Simply grabbing your wrist and muttering a “Sorry, please excuse us”, as she quickly dragged you away to a secluded area inside the bar

“What's going on?” she asked harshly, clearly trying to mask her jealousy. You took a step back, clearly confused on what she meant, “huh? What do you mean?”. She furrowed her brows at your response, clearly unsatisfied with your answer. “You know what I mean y/n. What is going on?”. She glared at you, her 6’0 frame overpowering yours as she simply corned you against the wall.

You smirked, now realizing why the brunette was acting so strange. She was jealous. It was very rare for Caitlin to act like this, and the outcome would only lead to one possible scenario. You were about to get your shit rocked.

You bit your lip, simply batting your eyelashes at her, sweetly saying, “i don't know what you mean, baby”.

Ohhhhhh shit. That did it. If she wasn't turned on before she definitely was now. And to be fair she wasn't the only one, you could feel a slight stickiness in between your thighs.

As if it was second nature, she captured your wrist, not even saying a word, and dragged you out of the bar and into the passenger seat of the car.

Even on your way back home, not even a slight glance was given to you, her knuckles as white as your bed sheets as she aggressively gripped the steering wheel. You knew you were fucked. She knew you were fucked, now what is going to be done about it?

As soon as you arrived at your shared apartment she immediately pinned you against the wall, her hands immediately finding their way into your locks, intertwining them in between her fingers. With one free hand, she caressed your face, as she slowly started to place wet kisses on your chest, leaving soft love bites in the process. You let out a small, but audible moan at her actions, letting her know to keep going. She slowly kept going down until she reached your collarbones until she abruptly stopped. You pouted, cool air quickly hitting your flesh where her lips had once been seconds earlier.

She gave you a sly smile, lowly muttering

Why would you start something you wont be able to finish?

omg okay woah that was intense !! definitely will write more content like this in the future.. 😏 tysm for reading lovelies !

[cosmal]

reader falling asleep against remus?? maybe they aren’t dating yet but are oblivious idiots in love with each other and he freaks out !!

pillow

summary you fall asleep on remus at a party.

content remus lupin x fem!reader, she/her

"Mate, you've gotta be the worst pillow ever. Relax a bit," Sirius says to Remus who's gone stiff underneath you.

"I should wake her up, right? Like, it was an accident. She's gonna think I'm weird for not waking her up," Remus panics, trying to stay as still as possible.

"Hey, woah," Sirius puts his hands out to calm his friend like he's a spooked animal, "She wouldn't have fallen asleep on you if she didn't trust you, right?"

He takes a breath and looks down at you. He remembers how much he stupidly likes you and relaxes a bit. "Right," he says under his breath.

"Good," Sirius sighs.

He's not entirely sure how you've done it. It's loud at this party and the two seater isn't the most comfortable place to be. He then thinks about how if it were him in your position, he'd do the exact same thing. He trusts you enough to fall alseep on, despite the circumstances. He's sure his are different to yours, though.

He let's you get comfortable where you've got your cheek smooshed against his shoulder and hopes his sweater isn't too scratchy. Your lips are parted in the slightest and your nose keeps twitching. He remembers how tired you'd told him you were and hopes this moment of rest is enough to help until you have to go home.

He really wanted to talk to you tonight, maybe, if he'd found enough courage, he would've asked you on a date. But he's just as content with letting you use him to sleep comfortably. He envies it really, because he could also use a power nap.

He tries his best to keep you alseep, a hand around your shoulder to keep you shielded from rowdy partygoers but knows it's inevitable that you'll wake. The room starts to fill more as the sun falls behind the horizon and he feels you start to stir.

You lift yourself from his side and blink yourself awake. You look around the room confused, the cutest pout on your lips, before you catch Remus to your side. Then, you startle.

"Oh my god," you say, and hold your hands to your cheeks, "Remus, I'm so sorry!" You start to come into yourself and can't stop smiling. You duck your face into your shoulder and try to act unaffected, though you fail.

"It's okay," he says, and because while you were asleep, he'd swelled with courage, he wraps an arm back around your shoulders and encourages you back into his side. He's not forceful with it but you snuggle back into him like it's second nature and he melts. "I kind of liked it."

"Oh," you say under your breath, but because you're so close he can hear you. He treasures this position dearly, because most of the time you're too shy to speak as loudly as you should.

"You're cute when you sleep," he says, pushing it really, he expects to run out of confidence soon. "It's too loud in here, but I think you were snoring."

You groan and cover your face with your hands, bubbling with embarrassed giggles. "Stop it," you say, flustered and airy, "Was I really?"

"No, I'm kidding, sweetheart," he laughs, nudging your shoulder with his own, "It's okay, you were fine."

"Good," you say, looking at him through the parts in your fingers. "At least I didn't drool, I do that at home sometimes." You take your hands from your face but you still seemed flustered.

"Really?" he laughs.

"Yeah."

He doesn't stop himself from saying, "Well, I'll have to see that one day." He doesn't regret it when you start to roar with laughter.

"Are you inviting yourself back to my bed, Lupin?" you ask through pretty giggles.

"Is that okay?"

You tuck your head back into his side and try to hold back your laughter. He thinks you're trying to hide your flustered face. "Of course, it is."

[wqnwoos]

“vernon,” you declare, with a level of magnanimity you only reach when it’s past 11pm. “i have a question for you. of the philosophical kind.”

your best friend glances up through the brown strands that fall over his eyes. “okay,” he agrees half-dubious, half-intrigued. “hit me.”

you sit heavily on the couch beside him, throwing your head against the back of it, staring up at the ceiling with deep, ponderous solemnity. “why is it called being in love?”

vernon considers. “i don’t think that’s very philosophical,” he says, after a moment. “the google definition of philosophy is the fundamental nature of knowledge, existence and reality.”

you cast him a look. “how the fuck do you know the google definition of philosophy? just like that?” he shrugs. you sigh, affectionately. “of course you do.”

there’s silence for a moment, broken only by the soft hum of the washing machine in your other room. your roommate is gone for the weekend; it’s just you, and now vernon, because he knows you don’t like being alone at night.

finally, you speak. “you didn’t answer my question.”

vernon doesn’t miss a beat. “it wasn’t philosophical. i felt misled.”

he’s being annoying. “you’re being annoying.” your best friend is so annoying, but you think the most annoying thing about him is that you can’t kiss him to shut him up.

“besides,” you say, “isn’t love our knowledge, existence and reality?”

slightly more thoughtful silence, broken by — “damn,” vernon says, impressed. “you got me there. that was deep.”

“right?” your enthusiasm with yourself makes him smile, a crooked and charming lift of his lips. you’re still talking, admirably excited and animated for two in the morning. “what i mean is like… why can’t you be in anything else? you can’t be in friendship.”

vernon nods, slowly. “like us, you mean.”

“yeah. like us.” you pause, hesitating on the edge of what you’re about to say. “we’re not in friendship, nobody says that.”

he’s smiling, leaning back against the couch. “i mean, we can start saying it, if you want.”

“i’d rather say something else.” you squeeze your eyes shut, because suddenly this is a lot more daunting than you’d thought, and your hands are getting kind of clammy, but you’re committed now, and so — “i’d rather say we’re in love.”

silence for the third time tonight, and this one makes you want to implode. “eventually, i mean!” you’re already rushing your words, tripping them over each other in your hurry to force them out. “i’m not like, in love with you right now. maybe. nearly, i think. and i don’t —”

when vernon interrupts you, it doesn’t feel like an interruption, it’s so soft. “did you… did you set up this whole conversation just to confess to me like that?”

you open your eyes to look at him, sheepish, apprehensive, embarrassed, all at once. “maybe?” and then you’re rambling again: “because there are some flaws in my argument, you know, because technically you can be in acquaintance with someone or — ”

vernon interrupts you for a second time, which is so unlike him, but you’re not going to point that out. not when his hands are cupping your cheeks, his lips are brushing yours and he’s smiling as he kisses you, soft and sweet and honeyed.

and he pulls back just the barest inch to murmur, with your noses bumping and eyelashes brushing and the cheesiest smiles on both your faces — “i’m nearly in love with you too.”

an / u will literally have to pry friend 2 lovers vernon out of my cold dead hands. sorry i can’t stop writing it but also i’m not sorry at all

perm taglist: @n4mj00nvq @eoieopda @som1ig @wondering-out-loud @graybaeismytae @hannyoontify @sahazzy @dokyeomin @icyminghao @smilehui @nicholasluvbot @lvlystars @immabecreepin @hanniehaee @kokoiinuts @astrozuya @doublasting @yepimthatonequirkyteenager @qaramu @weird-bookworm @phenomenalgirl9 @lightnjng @strnsvt @onlyyjeonghan @athanasiasakura

[lacollectionneuse1967]

slip of the tongue part 2 - jealous

Theseus Scamander x Reader

“He was all over you,” he hisses. “I am not a possessive man, but I could’ve killed him then and there. He doesn’t know what’s mine.”

summary: after confessing your feelings for (and sleeping with) your boss, theseus, you join his brother newt's team of wizards attempting to thwart the notorious gellert grindelwald. when you're tasked with distracting and seducing a powerful dark wizard on your first mission, theseus gets uncharacteristically and fiercely jealous.

fem!reader. theseus scamander x reader.

category: smut with plot

warnings: 18+ smut, (light) mdom/femsub elements, unprotected penetration, semi-public sex, jealousy/possessive behavior, also the reader suffers brief unwanted sexual advances in a scene

part one / part two

Your dreams are uninventive. Your nightmares are even less so. 

Often you are hounded by dogs: drooling, snapping canines, bloodthirsty past the point of cognizance, they’re more open mouths than animals. Or, you’re standing on the hill where your old orphanage used to sit in North London, barefoot on the roof while the rest of London floods below, water rising, you know you’re going to drown. Or some other tired, boring allegory for your past catching up with you, at last, your blessings, your wand, crumbling to ash—you know what the dreams mean and they don’t scare you anymore. 

But tonight you are perfectly dreamless. The dream dogs, the wintry world outside, the sound of the wind whistling through the empty London streets, it cannot touch you now. The fireplace is crackling and warm orange light spills in beneath the door from the living room.

Theseus’s arm is draped over your body, your head is on his chest. Every part of your body where your bare skin meets his buzzes with contentment. His room is like a sanctuary, his arms a house that holds you. 

You don’t think you’ve slept for even a full hour. It’s still dark outside when you feel Theseus jostling your shoulder. 

“Y/N. Wake up, darling.” 

You sigh in response and are about to put up a fight, but when you meet his eyes they’re full of sore regret, apologetic. He wouldn’t ask you to leave his bed unless it was important.

You emerge from the covers and start to stretch. 

“What time is it?”

“I’m sorry, love, but it’s nearly four in the morning. We have to be going, it’s urgent.” 

You turn to look at him, he’s raking a hand through his hair, sitting up in bed.

“Did you sleep at all, Theseus?” You ask incredulously.

“No, too much to think about. And besides, I knew if I slept I wouldn’t be likely to wake. Better you sleep…”

Your heart wrenched. In a swell of affection, you went to him, crawling back over his body on the bed.

“No,” he groans, but his hands come around you, sliding down to your hips, anyway. You kiss his neck, raking your teeth over the skin there.

“Don’t do this to me,” he anguishes. His grip tightens on your hip, it’s meant to be chastising but it makes you want him more. “Please. We need to leave, Y/N.”

It wasn’t easy letting go of him. You know he would’ve given you what you wanted with enough persistence. 

“Okay, okay!” You relent, kissing his mouth with a smile. “I’ll stop terrorizing you now.” You leap out of bed again without complaint. 

When he stands he’s serious-Theseus again, your boss. And you love him still. 

For his sake, you pretend not to notice his erection in his boxer shorts. It looks painfully hard. 

“Get dressed,” he says to you before turning to the bathroom. “We need to get to Hogsmeade.”

It was wonderfully strange to see him like this—hair in wavy disarray, looking soft and subdued, barefoot and in his t-shirt. You want to appreciate the sight, you want to talk about what had happened between you and all that had been said. But his mind is elsewhere, preoccupied, and it seems you are both running late.

At your insistence, he lets you apparate to your apartment for a change of clothes, but then the two of you are off, running down the stairs of his building into the dark world below.

————— 

Hogsmeade is more of a detour. There is an incognito meet-up organized with none other than Professor Albus Dumbledore. You’d, mercifully, taken a train--the Hogwarts Express. Theseus mentioned that Dumbledore was being watched by the Ministry, and that there were anti-apparition charms put up around the village and the castle.

You were just grateful to see him sleeping, at last, on the way there. 

It was barely daylight when the two of you arrived, the sun bleak and pink over the Highlands, providing no warmth. You were grateful for the coffee you'd nursed on the train, as you were grateful to relieve yourself of the confidential documents from the Ministry. Their weight was an invisible one for you, evidence of your betrayal.

"Some aspiring Auror you are," you thought to yourself, bitterly.

“I tried to organize them for you. I started to, actually,” You supplied sheepishly when Dumbledore regarded the haphazard stacks of parchment, laid out on one of the tables in what you assumed was his brother's inn.

Dumbledore smiled warmly at you regardless and thanked you sincerely. 

When you step out of the inn, you look to Theseus just as he looks over his shoulder at you. You're both more or less sleepless, and cold, and it seems the both of you have betrayed the Ministry and embarked on a hopeless mission, without many allies in the world.

But you were a united front.

It surprises you when he says, so earnestly that the tension in his shoulders seems to deflate, “God, I missed you. I can’t tell you how much I’ve missed you.”

You blush, but don’t break his gaze. You’re not afraid to let him see you anymore. 

“Where to, Mr. Scamander?”

He flexes his jaw like he’s not thinking about the plan at all, like he’s thinking about last night. But then, with a sigh, the moment is broken. 

“Germany,” he says. “It’s time you meet my younger brother and the rest of the resistance.” 

He says ‘resistance’ like it's some inside joke, some funny jab. You don't understand it until you arrive at the hotel room in Berlin. 

-----------

Other than the hair, that uncommon shade of reddish, honey brown, and the apparent kindness and sense of humanity, Newt is nothing like Theseus. In fact, when he comes over to greet you he can hardly meet your eye, his head is half bowed in the other direction, his mouth a nervous, flat line.

"Pleasure to meet you, Y/N. I was sure that you'd do the right thing when Theseus sent you his letter. It was... very brave of you."

You look to Theseus in sharp amusement, eyes sparkling.

"Was there ever a question of whether or not I'd betray you? Did you really think there was a chance I'd turn you over to the authorities?"

Theseus places a reassuring hand on your shoulder.

"Come now, Y/N," he says. "You know if I were to die I'd prefer it to be at your hand anyway."

You want to roll your eyes, but you're not sure to what extent he's joking.

You shake Newt's hand. You're soon after introduced to a muggle baker named Jacob and an astute, somewhat brash Auror from America named Tina. You're not much of a people-person, but you find that you like them both, immensely. They feel genuine, the sort of strong, singular characters that couldn't deceive anyone if they tried. That is why Newt's explanation of your task for the night sends a bolt of dread down your spine.

"We need to need to retrieve a magical object from a German Minister's office. I-I can't say much, it's better you don't know, but it's safe to assume that a large portion of the German Ministry of Magic has already fallen. Helmut, Vogel--and who knows how many others are under the influence of Grindelwald."

"Which German Minister's office?" Theseus says. His hands are in his pockets, he's leaning against the windowsill, the picture of nonchalance, his hair swept back. He's so handsome you could cry.

Newt ignores him. "Now, tonight may be our only chance. There's a diplomatic gala at the ministry itself. I can get us all in, Pickett and I can handle sneaking into the office itself, but there are five people who know about the object being at the ministry, who will be on the lookout and who need to be distracted until we're out."

He doled out assignments swiftly. Theseus was to distract the head of security. Jacob, the two waitstaff who served as the Minister's private informants. For Tina, the German Auror, Helmut. And for you? The Minister himself.

"Which Minister, Newt?" Theseus asks again, the edge in his voice unmistakable, though you don't understand it.

"Baron Dietrich, the Minister of Finance," Newt says at last.

Dietrich. Most of your work for Theseus was domestic, but you try to remember what you can. Dietrich was some Bavarian-born descendent of the aristocracy. Hedonistic, high society. He fought in the war, but gained his reputation in the drinking clubs of Berlin. Even you knew he was ruthless, notorious. A brute of a man without much respect for the law. That was the extent of what you knew.

Newt is rushing to explain before you or Theseus can speak.

“Please, Y/N, Theseus." He looks between the two of you, trying to appeal to both. "Dietrich, h-he likes…he likes beautiful women and he-"

Theseus crosses the room to his brother in a single stride. "Yes, and do you have any idea what he likes to do to those beautiful women, Newt?” He's seething. “Even everyone at the British Ministry knows he brutalizes them."

“I-I wouldn’t ask her if it weren’t absolutely necessary. So long as she’s able to distract him at the party, keep him interested there, at the party, nothing will happen to her—to you!” Newt turns to you now, addressing you directly. “I’m sure of it…”

Theseus sucks his teeth and turns away from his brother, still fuming. “Absolutely not. You will not send her away from my side, that’s final. Not to that man.”

“Theseus, please-"

“She’s muggleborn, Newt! Do you know what men like Baron Dietrich do to wizards like her? If he found out, if any one of Grindelwald's followers did, she'd be killed.” Theseus is speaking with such firm authority, but you know him well enough to detect the barely concealed panic in his eyes, the fracture just beneath the fortress. “Send Tina instead, she’s an Auror.”

“But Y/N is exactly the sort of girl that Dietrich would be-"

“I want to be an Auror too,” your voice sounds strange to your ears when you find it. It has a clear, confident quality, musical and lucid.

Theseus looks to you in shock. You wonder if he knew about the promotion you’d been offered at all, if he knew all you’d sacrificed to stay close to him—your very dreams dashed to pieces. From his expression, naked and open as day, he did not. 

“I can do it,” you make an effort to sound settled. Unshaken.

Being a young, vulnerable girl in the streets of East London, at the orphanage after, and then being a woman at the British Ministry as an adult, you’d dealt with plenty of over-friendly and entitled men. Boorish men were everywhere and were not uniquely monstrous. You hoped Baron Dietrich wasn’t either. 

"It's settled then," Jacob claps his hands together, seeming relieved that the tension between the two brothers has evaporated. Theseus is slumped over, leaning back on the nightstand in apparent defeat. "We're going to a party!"

Tina places her hand on your arm, leading you towards the closet. She doesn't seem to be terribly affectionate, so you're grateful to her for extending you this small kindness now.

"Here, Y/N," She says. "Let's get you dressed. We have plenty of time to go over the plan. It'll be okay."

------------------

Your outfit, "disguise" you suppose, is nothing like the subdued robes of your companions. You don't know why you're surprised when they ask you to enter the ministry ten minutes after them, alone.

The skirt of your dress is flowy and short, like a dancer's, ending just above your knee, something that might've been acceptable a decade prior, given the fashion trends. It's made of delicate petals of off-white fabric, adorn with tiny silver and pearlescent beads, glittering. Meant to draw attention. It's sleeveless and the top is breathtakingly form-fitting, pinching in your waist and hugging every curve of your body, but you are gratefully afforded an elegant high neckline. Silk, ivory-colored, wrist-length gloves that do nothing for the cold cover your hands and a fur half-coat is draped over your shoulders. Your lipstick is a deep red.

You understand what it means, these luxury items, your styling, the fact that you were instructed to enter alone. By no design of your own, the implication was that you were an escort, a madame of the night. No wonder Newt had Theseus leave the hotel first, before he could catch a glimpse of you. You didn't dare imagine his reaction.

As you enter the gala, handing the doorman your fabricated invitation without a glance, every head turns to you. Chatter stills as you pass, the women gawk and the men look stricken, hungry as the pack dogs in your dreams. Plates and trays sail overhead and the instruments play on, unattended. The German Ministry of Magic has spared no expense.

Patrons lean in close and speak hushed and anxiously. You assume the upcoming election for the highest office of the International Confederation of Wizards is on everyone's mind.

You head for the bar with your head held high, hoping it doesn't show on your face, your discomfort at being so seen. You were told Baron Dietrich would be at the bar with some of his men. With a trembling, gloved hand you motion the barman over and order a drink.

You don’t dare look for your friends. You assume things are going swimmingly for them, but for you? You are drowning in your finery.

You’re not even alone for a moment before the wolves descend. You should've known a man like Dietrich would come find you.

"Mädchen!" He approaches you partially, but expects you to come the rest of the way, waves you over with a meaty hand. When you raise an eyebrow, haughtily, he switches to English.

"Girl, come here." The timber of his voice is low, gravelly. He has a heavy brow, his hair is thick and peppered with gray. The gray does nothing to diminish the impression of his strength. In a fight without your wand, he could have your neck snapped, broken and rolling around its stem, in a heartbeat.

You walk over, leaving your drink at the bar, untouched.

The gala is housed in a mammoth, marble room, twenty foot ceilings held up by smooth columns, something that reminds you of Gringott's. But around the massive bar at the room's center are half-circle booths and tables, spiraling out like lily pads. You slide into Dietrich's booth and his arm goes around you immeditely.

He smells chokingly of cigars, a perfumey, sickly sweet smell. He is a bloated, thick-limbed man. No, you couldn't have fought him off. There are so many uniformed men at his table that some of the younger ones have to stand. With a sting of shock, you don't see how you could be of any influence on these men at all, they hardly see you as a person, aren't speaking to you. You hope Newt and Pickett work quickly.

Another young man, dressed in what looks like a soldier's uniform, slides into the booth after you, sandwiching you in next to Dietrich. You let out of noise of shock and begin to push him off you when Dietrich grabs both your wrists.

"Don't be fussy. This is my young friend, newly recruited. I plan to make him my protégé."

The other men slap the boy over the shoulder, jostling him in congratulations. He smiles meekly. You could hate him for that meekness. That pathetic deference to power.

"We'll share you tonight, of course." Dietrich is looking at the boy, not you. "In my office."

Dietrich's hand clamps over your exposed thigh and his fingernails jab into the fat of your thigh. You don't react to the bright bite of pain. The other boy begins to lean into you, breath hot over your neck.

Whatever small bird lives in your ribs begins to beat itself against that cage, flailing and thrashing.

"No!" You can't help the edge of panic in your voice. Dietrich is too strong, so you don't bother, but you shove the boy off of you and out of the booth without much effort. The boy stumbles out, dumbfounded.

Dietrich snatches your wrist with real fury, bruisingly.

"What?! You're for sale, aren't you?" He won't hurt you in front of his men, not at the gala, but his face is so colored with anger that it's nearly purple.

"Please," there's a real plea in your voice when you say it, you try to cover it up with a hurried smile, you try to look charming. "Dance with me, sir?"

That seems to sedate him. He looks irritated, but pleased by your attention. At least he won't be able to molest you in front of all his colleagues and superiors.

He leads you to the dance floor and the entire way your mind is racing, scrambling for purchase, trying to figure out how you're going to keep him out of his office. He made it clear he had plans to go there later tonight with his men. With you.

And he was an even cruder man than you'd thought, he'd made no attempt to even flirt with or seduce you. His interest in you was moreso entitlement, the same interest a predator has for a slab of meat.

Your wand, concealed on your person, gave you little comfort. Newt had asked that you did not reveal yourself, didn't make a scene. But if it came down to it, you would fight Dietrich rather than submit to him. He was more than repulsive. He wanted to hurt you.

"Please," you think to yourself. "Please, God, don't make me-"

You startle at the large hand that grips your waist and spins you away, just before you reach the dance floor.

Dietrich, abandoned, turns in flustered outrage and is swallowed by the crowd. You're being whisked away before he can fully react, Theseus guiding you deftly out of the overfull room of diplomats.

You sob with relief. "Theseus-" you start, but he's leading you deeper, still, away from the gala.

It's not until you're in some pitch-dark, gaping mausoleum of a hallway that Theseus finally stops, pressing you delicately against the wall, holding your face in his hands like water, like something precious. He examines your body.

"Are you okay?" He asks, pressingly.

You could cry out in joy, the sight of his face is balm-like, giving you a familiar relief.

"Yes, yes!" You reassure him. "Is it done? Did we do it?"

Theseus nods in confirmation, still looking over you for injuries, turning over your wrists in his hands.

"The others are already out. It was quick. No one noticed a thing, we probably took too many precautions this time around..." He finally meets your eyes. The look in his is dark and indecipherable. When he swallows, it's raggedly. "You're really okay, Y/N?"

"Yes," you answer, hesitant at the intensity of his look. "Why?"

Theseus presses his body against yours harshly, you don't even have time to moan before he's swallowing it with his mouth. Your hands are all over him, but he gives you no room to move, it's as if he doesn't notice, the way he's pushing you up against the wall, kissing you like he wants to consume you.

"You're so damn beautiful," he mutters. "When you walked in I almost blew my cover just to go to you."

"Theseus," you pant. You're needy, you want him to keep kissing you but he's leaning his neck back, pinning you against the wall but holding himself away so he can look at you when he runs his warm hands from the backs of your thighs up to your ass. He hooks his fingers around the waistline of your panties and pulls them down so they're only hanging onto you by one of your ankles.

He leans in for another kiss, just as deep and wretched as the last, just as maddening.

He pulls away again with a pant.

"Your dress is too damn short," he curses under his breath.

"Are you angry at me?" You ask quietly, still writhing against him, desperate for friction, but suddenly self-conscious.

"No, no sweetheart," he soothes. "Not at you. You did so good. Such a good job." His praise has you leaning into his palm, which is cupping the side of your face.

You whimper, "I want you." You realize it's true as you're saying it. You can't ever lie to him. "I want you," you repeat, more insistently.

“He was all over you,” he hisses against your ear. “I am not a possessive man, but I could’ve killed him then and there. He doesn’t know what’s mine.” He punctuates the last word with a squeeze to your backside. 

"Theseus," you breathe out, helplessly. You can't believe this is happening. The wing of the German Ministry that you're in is completely dark, you can barely make out the tapestries and curtains hanging loose from the walls. But there's distant light at the end of the hall, and dim voices and music filter in and out from the gala a few rooms over.

But you want him to keep touching you more than you know better, know you should stop. More than anything.

He starts to hike your dress up, his movements urgent, when he stops abruptly. The spot where Dietrich's nails dug into your upper thigh is small, but he drew blood.

Theseus pauses, loosens his grip and lets you slide down the wall. With a slow-thudding heart you briefly fear he'll be so furious he'll run back to the gala, to find Dietrich, but he only bends down and kisses the wound, just barely, lips ghosting over skin, so gently you could cry. Kneeling before you, he looks like a prince, a knight. He's careful to avoid the wound when he lifts you back up against the wall.

You can't help but stare down at it, in awe, when he takes his dick out. Your body still thrills at the sight of it, there, huge, resting at your entrance. Theseus grinds a slow circle, sliding it against your wet folds, against your clit. You just stare.

He flashes you a lazy smile.

“What? You want me to help you put it in?” 

You moan, audibly. You're not doing a very good job at being discreet, but how can you when he says things like that to you and expects you to answer?

"Yes, please," you close your eyes, too flustered to meet his burning gaze when you say the words.

He grips the base of his cock and guides it into your pussy. Clamps a hand over your mouth to muffle the noises you're making, you whimper dumbly against his palm. Only releases his hand from your mouth once he's fully seated inside of you. The stretch is so big you know it would hardly take any movement at all for him to break that tension and make you come, drive you mad, unravel you completely. Just a few rocks against the wall, a few rolls of his hips and you'd be brainless and spent, crying out his name. You're already dripping around him. But you want to last longer for him this time.

He's looking directly into your eyes.

“You’re taking it, Y/N. You can choose where—in your mouth, on your face, inside. But you’re taking it all.” 

You nod. Then once again he's fucking you dumb, you don't even care that anyone could walk by, you're just thinking about how big he is, how good it feels. He's fucking your body slack now, you don't even have to do anything, he’s holding you up, lifting you onto and off of his cock roughly, debasingly.

His hands nearly circle your waist completely, they’re so large. Your mouth is stuck open, making stupid, feeble noises and he’s grunting small words of encouragement.

"Say my name," he says.

When you don't respond immediately, too blissed out to think, he slams your body down harder onto him and you nearly yelp.

"Hngh, Theseus. Theseus, please-"

You can feel him get almost unbearably hard inside of you, then he’s heaving you up and flipping you around, manhandling you, so your back is his against his torso, his right arm a bar across your chest, still inside. He brings a hand down roughly to your clit to touch you through it, and then you're both coming hard, your loud, jagged breaths echoing through the empty hall.

Your head spins, you're seeing stars.

"Baby," he says, when you don't come back to yourself immediately. "Was I too rough? Are you okay?"

You nod, breathlessly, but stumble when he finally stops supporting your weight. Your body is still juddering with pleasure, your fingertips quiver and feel numb as you smooth down your dress.

He's right, you think with a laugh. My dress is too damn short.

Theseus has the decency to look around the hall to make sure no one was watching, and to help you fix your hair and what's left of your lipstick. Your lips are pink and bitten now, swollen.

"They're probably wondering where we are. We should go." His voice is serious, unemotive, but there's something like devotion in the way he looks over you from head to toe, just one last time, to make sure you're beyond reproach. He hands you his jacket, which is huge on you, and slings your fur cape over his arm, bearing the cold himself like a gentleman.

A flurry of snow has begun to spiral down in the streets of Berlin, white particles curling and dancing in the wind. You've always found this type of snowfall to be so fanciful, the closest thing to magic in the muggle world. You walk back to the meeting point in comfortable silence, Theseus's hand clasped firmly around yours.

"He doesn't know what's mine," he'd said about Dietrich, about you. And last night, not that long ago, he'd said, "I love you."

Albeit, after you said it first. You look over to his oblivious face, checking both sides for cars before leading you across the busy street. His kind eyes, the line of his jaw..

You wonder how he could mean it... You'd so meticulously tried to conceal from him all the ugly parts of your life, your past, your fears, even your wants when they seemed to inconvenience him.

Could he love me? Could I let him?

"I want you," you'd said to him in the hall of the German Ministry. You realize now that you meant more than his body. For so long even just a look from him, just a word, was enough to sustain you.

But now you wanted more. Maybe it was selfish, undeserved, that the magical world was giving way to crisis, the dark forces were closing in around hope, and yet here you were, wanting to ask him for more...

part three here

author's note: hiiiiii! YES i switched to present tense from past tense in the last part, and no i'm not sorry... please let me know if you'd like me to continue this fic! i have a third & final chapter in mind. or i can take other theseus requests. the theseus brainrot is real... some AUs would be fun too! as always, feedback is welcome &lt;3 taglist: @mystic-mara

[pretty-random-writer]

Clueless

___

Pairing(s): Spencer Reid x Autistic!Reader

Word Count: 1.1K

Summary: You and Spencer are oblivious. But maybe you two aren’t the only ones who are… ||| Based on this request

Warning(s): reader is gender neutral (not really a warning but whatever), Spencer is implied to be autistic too, secret relationship (?)

A/N: This is NOT my best writing. But I tried! Hope you enjoy & feel free to request!!!

Main Masterlist

||| Do NOT plagiarize, repost, or translate any of my work in any way. Thank you. |||

___

Spencer Reid is smart. Everyone knows this is in the BAU. I mean, what average person just has an IQ of 187? People can be shocked about how many facts and statistics he knows just on the top of his head. Or how he can beat almost anyone in a chess match. So, yeah, he’s really smart. 

But there is something that only a few people know about him.

He is clueless. So clueless. 

When the anybody would make a joke, Spencer would have a difficult time deciphering it. His issue was that he took these jokes literally. Because, in his mind, it’s just like a case. Because maybe if he could figure out what the joke meant, he would finally get it. 

The BAU team knew Spencer was clueless in those types of circumstances. And they had no problem explaining to him what they meant. That was until a new person entered the team.

When you first started your job at the BAU, everything went well. You met the team, did some paperwork, and called it a day. Of course, in the beginning, you were a little overstimulated but it subsided. You knew it wouldn’t always be as easy of a day in comparison of the future work days, but you thought it went pretty good.

The day that you started working was the day the team saw how perfectly you and Spencer fit together. I mean, even on your second day, the team saw you and Spencer talking during lunch! They have never seen Spencer talk so animated.

During your first week, the team got a case. While discussing it on the plane, Spencer noticed how your hands were twitching, like they were itching to move. And how you were talking to yourself, almost sounding like you were…counting?

Even though he doesn’t want to disturb you, Spencer moves to the seat next to you. You don’t seem to mind though, you’re too focused. 

Spencer doesn’t say anything at first. Instead, he pulls out a Rubik’s Cube. He can tell that you’re wondering what he’s doing, since you stopped counting. 

“This was one of the first puzzles I’ve solved.” Spencer tells you. “It took me a few times to solve. But when I finally did, I still found it…therapeutic.”

There is a pause between the both of you. Until you speak.

“I wasn’t expecting this,” You explain. “I mean, I was. But I forgot my headphones. And I’m not the best on planes, especially with the turbulence.”

There was a pause between them. Then, Spencer offers the cube to you. He’s just holding it out for you to take. Finally, you do. “Thanks,” you say, fidgeting with the Rubik’s Cube. 

“Anytime” he says, smiling. Smiling because he knows what it’s like. 

***

After your first few months, you felt as though you were finally apart of the BAU team. Normally, it takes you a long time to be able to trust new people. But, you were proud to call the people in the team your friends.

“Okay! Who wants to go over to Rossi’s for dinner tonight?” Derek says in the bullpen after another night of paperwork. 

“Oh, I’m in” said Emily. 

“Will’s watching the kids tonight, so count me in too.” JJ added while packing up for the day.

“Oh! I want to go too! Who doesn’t want the Italian Stallion to make them dinner?” Penelope comes out of no where.

Everybody pauses in the bullpen and looks at Penelope.

“The-“ Rossi starts. “The Italian Stallion?”

Everyone bursts out laughing. Even Hotch smiles a little. Penelope looks mortified. She clearly didn’t see Rossi enter the room.

“Rossi, I’m so sorry! I really didn’t-“ Rossi interrupted Penelope.

“Garcia, It’s fine. I know you were just joking.”

“Really?”

“Really.” Rossi then adds. “Plus, I kind of like it.”

The laughter starts again. 

“What! Don’t laugh at me! I’m not giving you folks free dinner for nothing. Don’t make me second guess myself.” Rossi says with a smile, even though he’s trying to be serious. 

“Okay!” JJ says. “So, everyone’s going?”

The team looks at each other in agreement. 

“You two lovebirds going too?” Derek asks you and Spencer, with a smirk on his face. 

“Hm?” You and Spencer tear away from your conversation, and look at Derek. All eyes are on you both.

“God! Can you both just make a move already, or do I have to shoot you both with an arrow or something?”

“Shoot us with an arrow?” Spencer says. He looks at you, and you look just as confused. “Why?”

Everyone exhales an exhausted sigh, mentally cursing everything in this situation.

“She means if you guys don’t start dating, she’s gonna have to play Cupid to get you guys together.” JJ explains. 

“Ohhh…” You both say at the same time. Blushing. Hard.

“I mean, come on! How can you guys not see it?” Penelope exclaims.

“Trust me. We do.” Emily joins in.

You look at the rest of the team. They all just kind of nod in agreement. You look at Spencer and he just kind of smiles at you. You both can’t help but laugh quietly. 

“What is so-“ 

That’s when full laughs start to erupt between the both of you. Everyone looks around at each other, confused. Except Hotch…

“I’m sorry-“ Spencer says still laughing with you. “This is just a little funny.”

“What’s ‘a little funny’?” Derek says, clearly trying to figure out what is going on. 

“It’s just-“ Your laughter is slowly coming down. “We didn’t know when to tell you guys…”

“Tell us what??” Penelope is trying not to explode over this suspense.

You and Spencer glance at each other and join hands. 

“Oh my god, oh my god, oh my GOD!!!” Penelope squeals. Very loudly. “Really???” 

You both nod, smiling so wide. 

“Well, well, well…” Derek says patting Spencer on the back. “Proud of you, Pretty Boy.”

“Finally!” Emily says.

“That’s what I’m saying.” JJ agrees.

“Wait.” Emily turns to Rossi and Hotch, who are both smirking. “Did they know about this?”

A pause enters the conversation. 

“Really?” Penelope whines. “I wanted to be the first to know!”

“Babygirl, It’s okay.” Derek huffs out a laugh. 

“Hey, Hotch only knew because he’s their boss.” Rossi explains. “How I knew? Well… I can’t tell you all my secrets, can I?”

“Remind me never to underestimate you, old man.” Emily pokes Rossi in the shoulder.

“But really, we are happy for you guys.” Hotch says to you and Spencer. Then, he looks to you and says “You should come by to dinner with us. Consider it a welcome to the family.”

You look around at the team, then look at Spencer who is looking at you right back. “Okay. I will.”

And, so, you did. 

___

[trulyumai]

rhinos and men

—request: could you do a story where geta and his family are watching the games and his son see the rhino and gets all excited. Thank you for your time and stories.

pairing : emperor Geta / empress! reader

—warnings: talk of violence, fighting. y’all’s son is a little cutie patootie fr

“—come on little one, don’t let go okay?” esocorting your son to the stands, his little hand gripped against yours.

He was ever so distracted, with big eyes glancing at the people around him, trying to get view of the pit below.

You hated bringing him to a place so early… not even his sixth name day has occurred. But your husband allowed it—demanded of it.

“He’ll need to grow up fast.” He had whispered to you, nearly everyone was asleep, as it was a late hour, rain prodded at the walls of the keep and thunder boomed. After a particularly rough session with you the man was caressing your face gently, discussing his future plans of war, how it would be good to open the coliseum again for the people.

You remembered feeling so tired— but such a statement brought out fear upon you, waking you up instantly. He was just a child. Your son. You didn’t want for him to endure the horrors of the world. The horrors of Geta.

But now you’re here, coaxing the child to your husband who stands upon your arrival.

With open arms, his child came running to him. Geta tried not to smile; to keep the facade of a benevolent leader, but such a sight was so… lovely.

“Hello little man, excited for the show?” Brushing his son’s matching hair back, he lifted his gaze to his wife. Already you sat beside them, lightly fanning at your reddened cheeks.

Sometimes he forgot you weren’t yet to such weather conditions just yet.

“Mhm mhm! Momma said there would be big— big animals!” Gesturing with wide little hands. geta hummed in agreement, leaning forward his cheek touched his sons.

“See there? Those beasts are dutiful in the field. They show no mercy upon the fool who chooses to be their foe.”

“Rhino!”

Geta laughed. “Yes, a rhino.”

Caracalla, ever the prodding man, interrupted such a sweet sight. “Brother, shouldn’t the woman being tending to the child? Not the fearless emperor.”

Meeting said man’s gaze, you scoffed. “How would you know, Caracalla. Sending your wife away and all?”

Caracalla snarled in response, his teeth crooked and yellow. Not removing your heavy gaze, you waited for the man’s chipped response.

“How dare you even—”

“Enough!” The emperor interrupted. Setting the child down, the little boy made his way to you, gesturing towards your lap for comfort.

Geta squinted at Caracalla, until the crowds roars distracted him so.

It was time to act, wasn’t it?

Turning towards the citizens, Geta let out a deep cry. His hands lifted, signaling for the guards to start the game.

With a call of a horn, the show began.

“Momma, look!”

“Careful honey, don’t lean too far.”

The only response was a pouting look, one that made your heart clench in regret. “Just be careful— I worry for you little star.” Pinching at his face, the boy let out a giggle. Geta wanted to pay attention to the mayhem. He really, really did.

Afterall, he went through so much trouble putting together for the act. Finding the resources for such an opportunity was getting harder and harder, the war made too big of an impact on supplies and men. But his people needed a distraction, especially in times like this.

But to see you there coddling and mulling over your little one—who looked like an exact copy of Geta himself, made him soft. Too soft to watch a man be stabbed repeatedly upon the ground floor and left to rot.

He was so glad you agreed to be a mother. Maybe he could convince you a second time tonight.

“Son,” the emperor called out, instantly gaining the boys attention.

“How about we visit the bayside after this?”

A confused look graced the child’s features and you had to lean in closer to geta to whisper gently. “He doesn’t know that word, darling. Say big blue water.”

Geta’s hands moved nervously beside the arm rest. Embarrassed to say such low leveled words. “Ahm, you know the.. big..blue water.”

Your son squeezed your hand in delight, already nodding his head up and down at such a statement. “Can we now— please?”

“Not until the shows over, my love,” setting him back down in your lap you smiled at Geta, amused by the child’s complete wonderment.

The man’s arm came into contact with your shoulder, pulling you into his side snuggly while the fight resumed on with loud cries and clashes. “You haven’t even seen the rhinos yet, son.”

A blank look appeared on the boy. “Oh yeah.”

The two of you sat side by side, geta touching you ever so often with calloused fingers. Your son not being able to sit still, wobbling in your lap carelessly as his balance flayed with every cry he let out for an animal that entered his vision.

“Did you see his horn? And the feet!” Being escorted out, Geta kept a hand around your waist as your son perched into your lap, his hands pinching and prodding as your cheeks.

Not being able to respond, you nodded laughing with a closed lip smile.

“Careful with your mother, boy, she’s delicate.”

The boys fingers stopped there pushing and a yawn escaped his lips. “Big water now?” A tired voice asked.

“Big water.” You agreed, lightly rocking him, your son soon found sleep, allowing a nap to take hold.

“I wish I could fall asleep like that.” With a guiding hand, Geta helped you upon the chariot, lifting you easily upon the wooden and steel frame.

“You do sleep like that, darling. Especially after dealing with your brother.”

A chuckle escaped the emperor as his body leaned back, both arms gracing the back of the seat. “He is inssufersble sometimes, isn’t he.”

Humming, your eyes suddenly felt tired. The heat was encapsulating your being and having your son splayed out onto your lap didn’t help.

Seeing you from the corner of his eyes, Geta noted the droopy lids and tucked down chin.

Usually he would forbid such a show of weakness in public. Say how reckless it is and cuss you out.

But something was differ today; he couldn’t quite place it.

“sleep, wife. I will awake you when we’ve arrived.” The promise escaped his lips before he could even think to push it back.

With a tired nod, you agreed. A slumber fell upon you before you could open your eyes once more.

Geta only scooted closer, pressing his shoulder to your slumped head with careful brushes.

The emperor couldn’t help but lean down, pressing a loving kiss to your forehead as your son’s snores reverberated through the small space.

Today was good to you.

Minus Caracalla’s presence, of course.