#it will help you hone this skill

[tales-of-magic-and-chaos]

"No body cared about selfcest" Lol,just LOL most normal people finds it gross. If you don't then you're mentally ill,just like the sylki shippers.

Thank you for this in-depth psychological and literary analysis. It's really a relief to see such a display of media literacy and critical thinking in the age of today. And I was worried about people's inability to reflect on the purpose of fiction !

[moeblob]

OC !

[uncanny-tranny]

If you're trying to get out of the Moral Purity sinkhole, I think reframing how you think and feel can be a helpful first step.

Instead of being petrified by my very thoughts being "pure," I tried to internalize that... it can't be achieved, moral purity, so instead of being pure, maybe I could be kind? Or just even nice, anything but the crushing sould-destroying urge to make everything pure enough.

I think that's why, now, I'm incredibly suspicious of any group or community that demands purity. What good is purity if you can't even focus on anything else, like being compassionate or funny or deep or anything because you must only focus on being pure?

It's really hard to break out of the moral purity merry-go-round, but I think learning how to step off before you vortex yourself into the pits of hell can be a welcome change.

[wolframpant]

"The answer once again is yes." "Will you let me finish?! You don't even know what I'm going to say! You are in your cups! You've had too much wine again."

I, Claudius ♦ Favourite scenes

[pengychan]

i like that little kid you went "sounds fake but okay" and just faked faith or something

Listen there are a lot of downsides to child abuse but one unintentional plus is that it will turn kids into the best fucking liars you'll ever meet and you never know when the skill can come in handy.

(My best friend had more permissive parents and when we had to pull off some shit I had to tell her to stfu and let me do the talking, because she'd sweat GUILT from every pore and meanwhile I could look at my mother in the eye and tell the most outrageous bullshit known to man with zero qualms)

[tunapesto]

picking a course makes me want to cry and throw up so bad

[anto-pops]

Hello! I just wanted to drop by really quickly and tell you that I absolutely love your writing. It’s amazing!

I also wanted to take this opportunity (shy-person here) to ask if you have any writing tips? I recently started writing but I definitely need to improve it more I believe.

If you don’t have any, feel like not sharing or not answering to this please don’t feel bad.

Have a good day!

THANK YOU LOVIE THIS IS SO SWEET !! Congrats as well on getting into writing, it’s such a fun passion to develop and I definitely continue to learn and grow as time passes, there’s so many talented content creators here to take notes from :))

I’ve answered a few similar asks in the past so I’ll paraphrase a bit of what I know I said back then below the cut to preserve everyone’s feed.

To start, take your time with it ! It’s easy to get impatient and rush to finish a story when you know the direction you want to take it in which definitely translates more than one might think, so go slow and enjoy the process. Piggybacking off of that I would recommend having a tab open to look up synonyms for words you know you like to use. Personally speaking I love overusing certain phrases and words a bit too much and I worry about my writing sounding repetitive, so the use of alternatives helps a ton. It also grants you a better understanding of what you’re saying linguistically/grammatically.

I always tell people not to proofread until after they’ve finished writing but I definitely don’t follow that advice (I go back to reread my work like 48 times before I post it) so honestly whatever works best for you, do it ! Proofreading as you go helps to catch mistakes and lets you fix up the flow of certain areas, but waiting to edit until the end lets you get your undiluted thoughts on the page easier and you second guess yourself and your ideas less. Ultimately it’s whatever your preference is, I know some writers who almost never proofread/edit their works and others like myself who make themselves sick to death of their own stories because of how much time they spend analyzing the words on the page.

Also since you mentioned being new to writing, don’t get hung up on numbers !! It’s easy to lose motivation when you see something you worked hard on gain less traction than you hoped, but all that matters is that you enjoy your writing and have fun while creating ! The rest tends to fall into place :))

Good luck and happy writing my dear, I’ll be cheering you on from my end of the screen !! 🫶🏻💕

[queer-reader-07]

one of the readings for my english class is about fanfic and how fanfic writers are able to transfer their skills to academic writing and i'm reading through the annotations from my classmates and it is so painfully obvious that most of them don't know how to be normal about fanfic

[reasonsforhope]

By the way, you can improve your executive function. You can literally build it like a muscle.

Yes, even if you're neurodivergent. I don't have ADHD, but it is allegedly a thing with ADHD as well. And I am autistic, and after a bunch of nerve damage (severe enough that I was basically housebound for 6 months), I had to completely rebuild my ability to get my brain to Do Things from what felt like nearly scratch.

This is specifically from ADDitude magazine, so written specifically for ADHD (and while focused in large part on kids, also definitely includes adults and adult activities):

Here's a link on this for autism (though as an editor wow did that title need an editor lol):

Resources on this aren't great because they're mainly aimed at neurotypical therapists or parents of neurdivergent children. There's worksheets you can do that help a lot too or thought work you can do to sort of build the neuro-infrastructure for tasks.

But a lot of the stuff is just like. fun. Pulling from both the first article and my own experience:

Play games or video games where you have to make a lot of decisions. Literally go make a ton of picrews or do online dress-up dolls if you like. It helped me.

Art, especially forms of art that require patience, planning ahead, or in contrast improvisation

Listening to longform storytelling without visuals, e.g. just listening regularly to audiobooks or narrative podcasts, etc.

Meditation

Martial arts

Sports in general

Board games like chess or Catan (I actually found a big list of what board games are good for building what executive functioning skills here)

Woodworking

Cooking

If you're bad at time management play games or video games with a bunch of timers

Things can be easier. You might always have a disability around this (I certainly always will), but it can be easier. You do not have to be this stuck forever.

[bongsavior]

she's just gonna shut everyone out in response huh 😔

[luvly-writer]

Who's Afraid of Little Old Me

Batfamily x Neglected! Reader

Author's note: So originally, this was supposed to be only ONE shot...but I suck at making those so it will be a TWO shot. I am writing the second one right now as well so it will be posted at the same time.

Warnings: Neglectful family, long chapter

Part 2 // Part 3

---

These walls suffocated you. They truly did.

At first, when your mother had announced that Damian, your twin brother, and you would be leaving your home to live with your father, you were kind of excited. As much as Nanda Parbat was a home to you, you were excited to see the world, and finally feel free. Being the "spare twin" certainly allowed you to have more freedom than Damian growing up. Both of you were trained exactly the same way, yet, whilst your grandfather prefer to hone your brother's skill in other areas, you had the flexibility of running around and doing as you went. But no bird is truly free if they still live in a cage. So...

You were excited and that excitement lasted precisely two weeks. Damian and you had been close all your life, being twins kind of facilitated that. You trained together, ate together, read together, you spent the majority of your life together. You had each other's back; he was your solace and companion, your best friend. No one else in the world would ever get you like him. That's part of the reason Talia sent both of you. Growing up, no one could ever separate the two of you, not even your grandfather....well, that was until a certain Dick Grayson and Bruce Wayne entered your lives.

Unlike your twin, you had no interest in being part of the vigilante business. It was well known that both of you were different in your character. Where Damian was brash, you were softer; he was ruthless, you were diplomatic; he was violent and cunning, you were elegant and merciful. That distinction was what made your grandfather direct Damian to be the heir of the Demon head. You were glad that you were away from the League as it would help you create an identity that didn't directly come from them and that became a problem.

Sure, it was two that came to stay at Wayne Manor, but only one was integrated into the family. It was disappointing, to say the least. Bruce favored Damian and whenever you tried to call him out on it, he'd blame it on the fact that Damian needed more help. As if it wasn't the two of you that came from the same place. Sure, you were tame and gentle, but you were just as Damian. The League didn't train an assassin and a princess. No, they had honed two weapons. Dick followed Bruce in that same thought process and it got even worst once he had to fill in as Batman temporarily. As much as he clashed heads with Damian, Tim enjoyed going par to par with his new brother. Jason knew both of them back when he was resurrected. You loved him as if he were your brother as well and you thought that it was reciprocated...until you roamed the halls of the manor and realized he never joked around with you the same way he did with Damian. You wanted to blame it on the fact that they were boys and maybe that got them to get along better...but it wasn't just that was it...Cassandra loved to bond with Damian because they were both child assassins but so! were! You! Stephanie loved to ruffle his hair and call him Little Bat, and Barbara would sit and try to explain modern terminology with him and laugh when he found it absurd. It didn't make sense.

Both of you went through the same thing, yet you had to understand why he needed more help and attention and love than you. It devastated you. You had read online that it was good to find healthy outlets to let out your frustrations, so you decided to find extracurriculars. Maybe if you required attention, it would be given to you, right? I mean, Robin was Damian's extracurricular in a way, right?

You took up ice skating. You found beauty in the sport and given that you had training, you were excelling at it. Given that your father was a busy man, he was never one to take you to practice. He just paid for the coach, the team, the skates, the outfits, and all the fees necessary. Alfred, may he be blessed, was your solace and would often be found taking you to practices and would stay for support. You had great potential for someone of such a young age and your coaches would never fail to remind you. Your first competition came and you were through the roof with excitement. You would talk Damian's ear off, who always made time for you regardless of what was happening around the house. You would mention it in passing to anyone who would engage in even the smallest of conversations with you. You went as far as printing the competition flyers and sticking them on Bruce's desk, the Batcomputer, and the fridge. Surely, no one would forget.

Oh, you poor thing...no one came besides Alfred. Damian and Bruce had some sort of mission; Dick was in Bludhaven; Jason was too busy with the Outlaws, Tim had a Wayne Enterprise meeting, Barbara had made plans that day with Stephanie and Cass and they couldn't be changed. Had they not heard you? Did they not see the flyers? The only one had the decency to apologize was Damian, but he was your brother, your twin, of course, he didn't mean to miss it. You had won gold and your teammates had invited you to eat out. When you ran all the way to where your family was supposed to be, you only saw Alfred with a beautiful flower bouquet.

Having seen your disappointed face, he quickly made a mental note to scold everyone later tonight and tried to cheer you up.

"Marvelous, miss Y/n! Simply wonderful. I don't think I had ever been delighted by such a choreography before" He praised and you took it to heart, giving him a smile. That night he allowed you to stay later, having one of your teammate's mother bring you back from the restaurant.

This didn't change over time. Competitions and practices with Alfred only. After that first competition, Damian would try to at least go to your practices but that lessened as time passed and he was needed as Robin. Forgotten competitions turned to forgotten birthdays it seemed. After a year, when your birthday came around, you were ecstatic knowing that your favorite day of the year and you would celebrate it with your favorite person in the whole world. That day, your friend's parents had asked Alfred if they could surprise you in the morning with something special and then leave you in the Manor during the afternoon so that you would have time with your family. Seeing how loved you were outside of your family, Alfred agreed.

You were positive that your day was going to be perfect. Damian had woken you up and you both exchanged gifts first thing in the morning, just like you did in the League. He had gotten you a new pair of skates and you had gotten him a bunch of new art supplies. You ate breakfast with Damian and forced Alfred to sit with you both and eat as well. You went along with your day, having Alfred tell you that you had a special surprise. He had taken you to the park where your friends and their parents awaited you with a surprise picnic. Soon the afternoon neared and you were in the limo telling Alfred about the wonderful morning you were having. To into in your story, you failed to see his worried and pitiful gaze. As you went into the Manor, hands full of gifts from your friends and cheeks hurting from laughing and smiling so much, you were met with a sight that broke your heart.

Damian blowing the candles of a cake with your entire family surrounding him, clapping and singing. Your face, just like your heart, fell. You look up at Alfred and whisper, "Did you know?"

To which he responded in a soft voice, "No, my dear, I was helping your friends plan your party. The bake, I did do, but I thought we would wait for you..."

With eyes glazed with unshed tears, you nodded and it took seeing Damian's small smile as Dick bearhugged him to know...you weren't part of them.

You had begun to separate yourself from them and Damian had noticed. He had tried to apologize for your birthdays but you wouldn't listen. What kind of person would forget their twin? After some time, he stopped trying. The ridge between you had started to grow and if you were being stubborn, he wouldn't waste his time.

---

Weeks passed. Months passed. And little old Y/n had been forgotten. Dick was always too busy and only knew how to say "Not now, kid." Jason would wave to you on occasion. You weren't sure if Tim was even aware that you still lived there. Cass only spared you a glance. Stephanie looked pained if you ever tried to talk to her. Barbara was too awkward around you. Bruce had never really tried much with you and that was clear from the start. Damian felt distant each day more and more. Your only solace was ice skating, Alfred, and your mom. Weeks after your birthday, you had sneaked out and contacted your mother. She arrived as soon as she could. She would never deny her baby girl. I mean, the world always wanted Damian, but she, she was hers. There, Y/n told her everything as she broke down into tears. She had been the perfect daughter and sister, yet it would never matter cause they didn't care. Talia, clearly bothered by this, promised to talk with Bruce and Damian yet Y/n reassured her that Alfred had tried so many times and it had never worked. With the promise of finding a solution that didn't involve Bruce or Damian, her mother left.

After a few weeks, Y/n would notice that the watching eyes of her mother would be on her during practice and competitions. It was good to have one parent there. She wouldn't be able to attend most of the time, but she made an effort. Alfred caught her once when she was giving you flowers and Y/n begged for him to keep it a secret.

It was good to have something.

---

Years passed. Birthdays were spent having breakfast with Alfred, avoiding her twin, out with her friends, and occasionally, sneaking out to see her mother. Y/n wasn't heartless, though. Every year she would sneak a present that normally came from her and their mother into Damian's room. He was still her beloved twin after all. She had gotten used to competitions with little company. Even when she had won an award for being a prodigious skater, it was Alfred, the flowers he had bought her, and the ones her mother had sneaked into her house. She was fine, she claimed. Being ignored and forgotten didn't sting her heart as much as it did before, and she definitely didn't cry every time one of her siblings passed by her and acted as if they bumped into a piece of furniture. Hearing Damian refer to Cassandra as sister and only call her by her name didn't shatter her heart, no it only made her so unfocused in practice that she fell in the middle of her choreography. Coming back home after a day with her friends and seeing all of the decorations for Damian's birthday didn't slowly kill her on the inside anymore, no she just played music super loud when she took showers so no one would hear her sobs.

The breaking point? Duke Thomas.

She didn't have something against him directly, no. It was his arrival. Seeing her supposed family, her twin, welcome him with open arms broke her absolutely. Seeing them dine with him, joke around with him, smile with him, celebrate with him, and love him shattered her. It had been five years of this torment and she couldn't bear it anymore. So...she made a call.

"Mother....I think I want to go home.."

----------------

[hurtblossom]

Crush ln4

Pairing : Lando Norris x Female!Reader

Summary : Quadrant has a new videographer

Warnings : Angst, quite long, bad english, Lando being clueless (as always)

(Y/N) couldn’t believe she was here—working for Quadrant, his brand. When she’d gotten the offer, she had hesitated for a moment, unsure if being this close to Lando Norris would be a good idea. She’d been a fan of his for years, following his career from his early F1 days, her admiration growing with every race and every glimpse of his playful, goofy personality online. Somewhere along the way, admiration had turned into something more—a quiet, unspoken crush she’d never dreamed of acting on.

But when the opportunity to join Quadrant as a videographer came up, she couldn’t resist. It was a chance to work with an incredible team, hone her skills, and, well, maybe get to know Lando a little better. Not that he’d notice her, she thought wryly. Lando Norris didn’t seem like the type to look twice at someone like her.

Her first day on set, she was practically buzzing with nerves. Max had introduced her to the team, and everyone had been friendly, welcoming her into the fold. But Lando? He hadn’t even glanced her way. Too busy cracking jokes with Max and Ria, his energy filling the room like a spotlight she could never step into.

Still, she stayed in the background, focusing on her work, capturing the chaos of the group with her camera. That was her job, after all—to be invisible, to let the team shine while she stayed behind the lens. She told herself it was better this way. No awkward introductions, no chance to embarrass herself. But even as she worked, she couldn’t help stealing glances at him, her heart skipping every time he laughed or flashed that signature grin.

The shoot that day was arcade basketball, and the Quadrant crew was in rare form—teasing, shouting, and turning everything into a competition. Lando was at the center of it all, of course, trash-talking Max one second and tossing a ball wildly off-target the next. (Y/N) stayed behind her camera, quietly capturing every moment, trying not to let her smile show too much.

It wasn’t until halfway through the shoot that Lando finally noticed her.

“Who’s that?” he asked loudly, pointing at her mid-throw. The basketball clattered off the rim as the rest of the group burst into laughter.

Max rolled his eyes. “She’s been here all day, mate. That’s (Y/N). She’s our new videographer.”

“New videographer?” Lando repeated, his brow furrowing. He walked over, tossing the ball to the side. “And no one told me?”

“I assumed you’d notice,” Max shot back with a grin.

Lando ignored him, stopping in front of her with an apologetic smile. “Hi. Sorry about that. I’m Lando. Welcome to Quadrant.”

She swallowed hard, clutching the camera like a lifeline. Up close, he was even more magnetic, his warm eyes and easy smile making her heart race. “Hi. I’m (Y/N),” she managed, her voice steady despite the butterflies in her stomach.

“You’ve been filming this whole time?” he asked, tilting his head. “Wow, I didn’t even notice. That’s impressive.”

She blushed, ducking her head. “That’s kind of the goal.”

Lando chuckled. “Fair enough. Well, glad to have you. Hope you’re ready for this lot—they’re a handful.”

“She’s already handling it better than you would,” Ria teased, earning another round of laughter.

(Y/N) smiled, relaxing slightly as the group’s banter filled the room again. But as Lando walked back to his game, she couldn’t help feeling the way her cheeks burned, her mind replaying the brief moment they’d shared.

The rest of the shoot went smoothly, but (Y/N) found it increasingly hard to concentrate with Lando in her peripheral vision. Every joke he cracked, every time he glanced her way, she felt her heart skip a beat. She knew she was being ridiculous—he was just being friendly, just doing his job. But still, she couldn’t shake the tiny flicker of hope that maybe, just maybe, there was something more.

After the shoot, as the team started packing up, Lando approached her again. “Hey, (Y/N),” he said casually, hands in his pockets. “Thanks for today. You did great.”

“Thanks,” she replied, smiling up at him. “You guys made it easy. You’re all… pretty entertaining.”

He grinned. “Entertaining, huh? That’s one way to put it.”

She laughed softly, feeling a bit bolder. “Well, I’ve seen worse basketball skills, if that helps.”

Lando gasped, clutching his chest dramatically. “Wow. First day and already roasting me. I like it.”

Her cheeks warmed, but she smiled back, her nerves melting under his playful energy. For a moment, it felt like they were the only two people in the room, the rest of the team fading into the background. But then Max called out, breaking the moment, and Lando gave her a quick nod before heading off, leaving her heart racing.

In the weeks that followed, (Y/N) settled into her role, quickly becoming an integral part of the team. She captured every wild moment, every inside joke, and every ridiculous stunt with precision, earning praise from everyone—including Lando. But the more time she spent around him, the harder it became to ignore her feelings.

He was just so… him. Funny, charming, effortlessly confident. She found herself drawn to him in a way she couldn’t control, her quiet admiration growing with every shared laugh and fleeting glance.

But she kept her feelings hidden, afraid of what might happen if he found out. To him, she was just the camera girl, part of the team but always on the edges. And she told herself that was enough, even as her heart ached for more.

One evening, after a long day of filming, the team had dispersed, leaving just her and Lando in the studio. She was reviewing footage on her laptop when he wandered over, leaning against the table beside her.

“Got anything good?” he asked, peering at the screen.

She smiled, tilting the laptop so he could see. “Plenty of missed shots and bad jokes. Pretty standard.”

He laughed, the sound warm and familiar. “That’s Quadrant for you.”

They sat in comfortable silence for a moment, watching the footage play. But then Lando turned to her, his expression softer than usual. “You’ve been doing an amazing job, you know. I don’t think we’ve said that enough.”

Her heart fluttered at his words. “Thanks, Lando. That means a lot.”

He nodded, his gaze lingering on her for a moment longer than necessary. “You’re really good at this, (Y/N). And… I’m glad you’re here.”

The sincerity in his voice took her by surprise, and she felt her cheeks warm under his gaze. She wanted to say something, to tell him how much his words meant, but the lump in her throat stopped her.

Instead, she smiled, her voice soft. “Thanks. I’m glad to be here.”

They held each other’s gaze for a moment, the air between them thick with unspoken words. But just as quickly as the moment had come, it passed, and Lando leaned back, flashing her a grin. “Alright, I’ll let you get back to it. Don’t make me look too bad in the edits, yeah?”

She laughed, shaking her head. “No promises.”

As he walked away, her heart swelled with both happiness and longing. She knew she couldn’t let herself hope for more—not yet. But for now, she was content to stay behind the lens, capturing every moment, every laugh, every smile, knowing that even if he didn’t see her the way she saw him, at least she could be a part of his world.

Weeks had passed since (Y/N) had joined Quadrant, and every day felt like a mix of joy and heartbreak. Working alongside Lando was everything she’d dreamed of—he was kind, funny, and always made her feel like a part of the team. But the more time she spent with him, the more her crush deepened, and with it, the painful realization that he didn’t see her that way.

Still, she told herself it didn’t matter. Being close to him, even as just a colleague, was enough. Or at least, that’s what she kept repeating.

The team was gearing up for another shoot, and (Y/N) was already busy setting up the cameras and mics. Lando was running late, as usual, and the rest of the group was milling around, chatting and joking. When Lando finally arrived, he wasn’t alone.

“Guys, this is Magui,” he announced, stepping into the room with a confident grin. The girl beside him was striking—beautiful, with long, wavy hair and a radiant smile that seemed to light up the room. “She’s joining us for today’s video.”

(Y/N)’s heart sank the moment she saw them. Magui was clearly close to Lando; the way he stood next to her, the ease of their laughter, the little glances they exchanged—it was painfully obvious.

Max raised an eyebrow. “New guest star, huh? Fancy.”

Magui laughed, her voice warm and melodic. “I’m just here to make sure Lando doesn’t embarrass himself too much.”

“Good luck with that,” Ria quipped, earning a round of laughter.

(Y/N) forced a smile, keeping her head down as she fiddled with her equipment. Her chest felt tight, but she told herself it was nothing. Lando was free to bring whoever he wanted into the group—it wasn’t like she had any claim on him. But as she watched them banter, the way Lando’s face lit up every time Magui said something, the ache in her heart grew.

The video shoot was a nightmare for (Y/N). Not because of technical issues—everything went smoothly on that front—but because every moment felt like a knife twisting in her chest. Lando and Magui were front and center, their chemistry undeniable as they joked and competed with the rest of the team. Magui fit in effortlessly, her charisma matching Lando’s energy in a way that made it impossible to look away.

“Magui, you’ve got to beat him at this,” Max called out during one of the challenges, handing her the controller.

“Oh, don’t worry,” Magui said, her eyes sparkling. “I’ve got this.”

Lando laughed, leaning closer to her. “You think you can beat me? Good luck.”

Watching them, (Y/N) felt like an outsider. She stayed behind the camera, filming their interactions, capturing the moments that everyone else would find entertaining—but for her, it was torture. She couldn’t stop herself from wondering what it would be like if she were the one standing next to him, sharing those laughs, being the one to catch his attention.

When the shoot finally wrapped up, (Y/N) was the first to start packing up her gear. She wanted to get out of there as quickly as possible, before anyone noticed the strain on her face.

But as she was putting away the last of her equipment, Lando approached her, his usual grin in place. “Hey, (Y/N), thanks for today. You made us all look good as always.”

She forced a smile, avoiding his gaze. “Just doing my job.”

He tilted his head, studying her for a moment. “You okay? You’ve been quiet today.”

“I’m fine,” she said quickly, her voice clipped. “Just tired.”

Lando frowned, clearly not convinced, but before he could press further, Magui called out to him from across the room. “Lando! Come on, we’re heading out!”

He glanced back at (Y/N), hesitating for a moment before nodding. “Alright. See you later?”

“Yeah,” she said softly, watching as he walked away, his attention already back on Magui.

As the door closed behind them, (Y/N) sank into her chair, her hands trembling slightly. She told herself it was silly to feel this way, that she was just reading too much into things. But the truth was undeniable: she had fallen for Lando, and watching him with someone else felt like her heart was breaking in slow motion.

That night, (Y/N) sat in her small apartment, staring at the footage she’d captured earlier. She watched as Lando and Magui laughed, the way he looked at her with an ease and warmth that he’d never shown (Y/N). Her chest ached as she replayed the clips, over and over, the reality of the situation sinking in.

Lando didn’t see her. Not the way she wanted him to. To him, she was just the camera girl, the one who stayed in the background, capturing the moments that made him shine. And while she was proud of her work, proud to be a part of the team, she couldn’t help but feel invisible.

The next day, the Quadrant group chat was buzzing with messages about the next video, everyone chiming in with ideas and suggestions. Lando sent a message saying he wanted to bring Magui back for another shoot, and the rest of the team seemed thrilled.

(Y/N) stared at the screen, her fingers hovering over the keyboard. She wanted to be happy for him, to support him the way she always had. But the thought of watching them together again, of filming moments that felt like they were cutting her open from the inside, was almost too much to bear.

Before she could overthink it, she typed out a quick message: “I’m feeling under the weather. Might need to sit this one out.”

Lando responded almost immediately. “That’s okay! Rest up. We’ll handle it.”

His words were kind, but they only made her feel worse. She wanted him to notice, to ask her what was wrong, to care. But he didn’t. And that, more than anything, told her what she needed to know.

As she set her phone down, tears prickled at the corners of her eyes. She’d known from the start that her crush on Lando was one-sided, but seeing it play out so clearly, so painfully, made it impossible to ignore.

For now, all she could do was step back, focus on her work, and remind herself that sometimes, even when you care deeply about someone, the best thing you can do is let them go.

~~~

(Y/N) took the next few days off, staying away from the group chat and ignoring messages from the team. She needed space—not just from Lando, but from the whole world of Quadrant that revolved around him. She threw herself into editing past footage, focusing on the technical details to distract herself from the pain still lodged in her chest.

But avoiding Lando was harder than she thought. Every video she edited, every laugh and playful insult she clipped together, reminded her of him. Of the warmth he brought into every room, of the little sparks of kindness he’d shown her when she thought, for just a moment, that he might see her as more than the girl behind the camera.

Two Weeks Later

(Y/N) was back on set, quietly filming another chaotic Quadrant shoot. Magui was there again, her presence bright and cheerful as always. She was every bit as perfect as (Y/N) had remembered—funny, confident, and effortlessly charming. And Lando? He seemed happier than ever, his energy electric whenever Magui was around.

(Y/N) did her best to stay in the background, focusing on her work and keeping her distance. But it didn’t take long for Lando to notice.

“Hey, (Y/N),” he called out during a break, jogging over to her as the others grabbed drinks. “You okay? You’ve been really quiet lately.”

She forced a smile, adjusting her camera to avoid looking at him directly. “I’m fine. Just busy.”

“Busy?” he repeated, frowning slightly. “You’ve barely said a word to anyone. Did I do something wrong?”

Her heart twisted at the concern in his voice. Of course, Lando would think it was about him, but not for the reason he’d assume. She shook her head quickly. “No, you didn’t do anything. I’ve just… had a lot on my mind.”

Lando studied her, his brows furrowing. “Are you sure? Because if there’s something bothering you, you can tell me.”

The sincerity in his tone made her throat tighten. She wanted to tell him—wanted to say everything she’d been holding back. But as she looked at him, his eyes filled with concern, she knew she couldn’t. He wasn’t hers to confide in. He never had been.

“I’m fine, Lando,” she said softly. “Really.”

He hesitated, clearly unconvinced, but before he could press further, Magui called out to him, waving him over. He glanced back at (Y/N), looking like he wanted to say more, but then turned and jogged toward Magui, his smile lighting up as he joined her.

(Y/N) watched them from behind the camera, the ache in her chest spreading like wildfire. She felt silly, pathetic even, for letting this affect her so much. But no matter how hard she tried to push it down, the pain refused to fade.

Later That Evening

The shoot had wrapped, and (Y/N) stayed behind to pack up her equipment while the others headed out for dinner. She’d made an excuse about needing to finish editing, though in truth, she just couldn’t bear to sit across from Lando and Magui, pretending everything was fine.

The studio was quiet, the only sound the hum of her laptop as she loaded the footage from the day. She tried to focus, but her mind kept drifting, the weight of everything she felt pressing down on her.

“Still here?”

The voice startled her, and she turned to see Lando standing in the doorway, his hoodie pulled up, his hair slightly messy from the day. He looked at her with a mixture of curiosity and concern.

“I thought you were going to dinner with the others,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper.

He shrugged, stepping inside. “I was, but… I wanted to check on you first.”

She swallowed hard, looking down at her laptop. “I told you, I’m fine.”

“Yeah, you keep saying that,” he said, leaning against the table beside her. “But I don’t believe you.”

His words made her chest tighten, and she felt the tears she’d been holding back threatening to spill. She shook her head, trying to keep her voice steady. “It’s nothing, Lando. Really. I’m just… tired.”

“(Y/N),” he said softly, his tone gentle but insistent. “Talk to me. Please.”

She looked up at him then, meeting his gaze, and for a moment, she considered telling him everything. But the thought of his reaction—of the awkwardness, the pity, the possibility of losing what little connection they had—stopped her.

“It’s not something you need to worry about,” she said instead, her voice cracking slightly. “Just… let it go.”

He didn’t move, his eyes searching hers, and for a moment, she thought he might push further. But then he nodded, stepping back. “Okay,” he said quietly. “But if you ever want to talk, I’m here.”

She watched as he left, the door closing softly behind him. And as the silence settled over her once again, the tears finally fell, her heart breaking under the weight of everything she couldn’t say.

A Week Later

The next video shoot was another big one, with the entire team involved, including Magui. (Y/N) tried to focus on her work, but it was harder than ever, especially with Lando and Magui’s playful chemistry on full display.

During a break, (Y/N) stepped outside for some air, her chest feeling tight. She leaned against the wall, closing her eyes and trying to steady her breathing.

“You’ve been avoiding me.”

Her eyes snapped open to see Lando standing a few feet away, his hands in his pockets, his expression serious.

“I haven’t—”

“You have,” he interrupted gently, stepping closer. “And I don’t know why, but it’s been driving me crazy.”

She looked away, her heart pounding. “It’s nothing. I’m fine.”

“Stop saying that,” he said, his voice quiet but firm. “You’re not fine, (Y/N). I can see it. And if it’s something I did—”

“It’s not you,” she blurted out, cutting him off.

He frowned, confused. “Then what is it?”

She hesitated, the words on the tip of her tongue, but she couldn’t bring herself to say them. Instead, she shook her head, forcing a weak smile. “It’s nothing, Lando. Forget it.”

He stared at her for a long moment, his frustration clear. But before he could say anything else, Max called out for him from inside, breaking the moment.

Lando sighed, glancing toward the door. “This isn’t over,” he said softly before walking away.

As she watched him go, (Y/N) felt the weight of her unspoken feelings pressing down on her once again. She didn’t know how much longer she could keep this up, but one thing was clear: something had to change—whether it was her feelings for Lando or her place in his world.

And as the door closed behind him, she realized that letting go of Lando might be the hardest thing she’d ever have to do.

~~~

The decision didn’t come easily, but (Y/N) knew it was the right one. Every day with Quadrant had become a painful reminder of what she couldn’t have, of the unspoken feelings she carried for Lando and the unshakable knowledge that he didn’t feel the same. Watching him with Magui, seeing how naturally she fit into his world, was more than (Y/N) could handle. It was time to step back, to take care of herself before the weight of it all consumed her.

Reading his words brought tears to her eyes. She’d grown to love the team, their chaotic energy, and even the endless teasing. It wasn’t their fault she’d fallen for someone who didn’t see her the way she saw him. Still, she felt a pang of guilt as she hit send on her final reply.

~~~

She didn’t tell Lando directly. She wasn’t sure how, or if he’d even care. Max said he’d inform the team, and that felt like enough. Packing up her gear and stepping away from the studio for the last time was bittersweet. She lingered in the quiet space, memories of laughter and camaraderie playing in her mind.

As she locked the door behind her, she couldn’t help but wonder what would happen when Lando found out she was gone. Would he even notice? The thought lingered as she drove home, a mixture of sadness and relief washing over her.

Two Days Later

The first message came from Ria.

Ria: “What’s this about you leaving? Are you okay? Let me know if you need to talk.”

Then Max.

Max: “Hope you’re doing alright. The studio’s not the same without you.”

She responded to each of them, assuring them she was fine, that she just needed time. But the message she was dreading never came. Lando didn’t reach out—not a text, not a call. The silence was deafening, confirming what she’d feared all along: he didn’t notice. Or worse, he didn’t care.

Weeks Passed

(Y/N) threw herself into freelance work, taking on projects that let her focus on her craft without the emotional baggage that came with Quadrant. Slowly, the ache in her chest began to fade. She stopped checking their YouTube channel obsessively, stopped scrolling through photos of Lando and Magui together. She convinced herself that she was moving on.

But one evening, as she was editing late into the night, her phone buzzed with an unexpected notification.

Lando Norris: Hey. Can we talk?

Her heart skipped a beat, her fingers frozen over her keyboard. She stared at the message, a flood of emotions rushing in. She wanted to ignore it, to pretend she hadn’t seen it, but her curiosity—and the tiny flicker of hope she couldn’t extinguish—got the better of her.

(Y/N): Sure. What’s up?

The reply came almost instantly.

Lando: Are you free to meet? I’d rather do this in person.

Her stomach churned with nerves, but she agreed, setting a time and place for the next day. She spent the night replaying every possibility in her mind, trying to prepare herself for whatever he wanted to say.

~~~

They met at a quiet café, tucked away from the usual chaos of their lives. Lando was already there when she arrived, his hat pulled low, his expression uncharacteristically serious. He stood as she approached, offering her a small, hesitant smile.

“Hey,” he said softly, gesturing to the seat across from him. “Thanks for coming.”

She nodded, sitting down and folding her hands in her lap. “What’s this about, Lando?”

He sighed, running a hand through his hair. “Max told me you left.”

Her throat tightened, but she kept her voice steady. “I needed some time.”

“Why?” he asked, leaning forward, his gaze searching hers. “Did something happen? Was it… me?”

The vulnerability in his voice caught her off guard. She hesitated, unsure how to respond. “It wasn’t you, Lando. Not entirely.”

His brows furrowed. “Then what? You were such a big part of the team, (Y/N). I… I miss having you around.”

Her heart ached at his words, but she forced herself to stay grounded. “It’s complicated.”

“Then explain it to me,” he pressed, his voice soft but insistent. “Because I feel like I missed something, and I don’t want to keep missing it.”

She met his gaze, the weight of everything she’d held back pressing down on her. Taking a deep breath, she finally spoke.

“I liked you, Lando,” she admitted, her voice trembling. “I liked you more than I should have, and it made things… hard. Watching you with Magui, being part of the team but always on the outside—it hurt. So I left, because I couldn’t keep doing that to myself.”

His eyes widened, surprise flickering across his face. For a moment, he said nothing, and she braced herself for the rejection she knew was coming.

“I had no idea,” he said finally, his voice barely above a whisper. “I thought… I thought you just didn’t want to get close.”

She shook her head, tears pricking at the corners of her eyes. “I couldn’t get close, Lando. Not when you didn’t see me the way I saw you.”

He leaned back, running a hand over his face. “I’m so sorry, (Y/N). I didn’t mean to make you feel like that. And Magui… she’s just a friend. I never realized how it must have looked.”

She blinked, his words taking a moment to register. “Just a friend?”

He nodded, his expression earnest. “I didn’t… I don’t feel that way about her. I didn’t even know you felt this way about me.”

Silence hung between them, heavy with unspoken possibilities. Lando reached across the table, his hand brushing hers lightly.

“Is it too late to fix this?” he asked softly.

(Y/N) looked at him, her heart torn between hope and fear. She didn’t know the answer, but for the first time in weeks, she felt the faintest spark of possibility. And maybe, just maybe, it wasn’t too late to rewrite their story.

please comment and let me know what you thought of the story

[strangererotica]

EXPLICIT CONTENT | MINORS DNI

James Logan Howlett (Wolverine) x Reader

* Includes primal, breeding, and scent kink • Logan’s dick is so big Reader struggles to take it 🫦 • oral sex (f receiving) • fingering • vaginal sex • Logan’s in beast mode but the fluff is definitely fluffing 💗 *

Tears bubbled in the corners of your eyes, your lips pressed into a frustrated pout. “It won’t fit,” you whimpered, your voice trembling in defeat. Logan’s broad shoulders curved over you like a shield, every muscle in his body tensed as he demanded restraint of himself.

In spite of how tightly your cunt was sucking at his tip, Logan knew he had to be gentle with you. If he forced himself any deeper, he’d absolutely cause you pain. And that was the last thing he wanted, especially since this was your first time with him…

It was something Logan had anticipated already. He knew he was big, with a thick girth that matched his length. Despite playing with your pussy through your clothes for the last ten minutes and getting you sopping wet, he was still met with resistance the moment he pushed his tip inside you.

“Shh, it’s okay honey,” Logan soothed you. “S’not your fault, alright?” He eased his hips back slowly, carefully removing his tip from your entrance. Logan swiped the pad of his thumb across your cheek, drying a frustrated tear before it could fall. “A tight little pussy’s nothing to cry about, angel,” he grinned reassuringly down at you, pulling you into his arms. “Just means we need to help her relax a little.”

Logan gently guided your back against the couch, sliding down to his knees beside you. One of his hands slid under your ass and down your left thigh, lifting your leg till it was draped over his broad shoulder. The smell of your cunt was intoxicating, stirring every animal instinct inside Logan that he knew he must keep in check. If he lost control, even for a moment, he might hurt you, or worse.

Logan’s self control was immaculate, a skill he’d been forced to acquire through generations of fucking women who didn’t share his strength, and certainly not his ability to heal from whatever consequences a rough fuck could cause.

“You smell like honey,” Logan murmured, nuzzling his nose into the soft warmth of your inner thigh. He used his fingers to delicately spread your lips apart, watching the slick collected there spread between them. Your scent grew stronger as Logan opened you up for himself, his primal need to claim you testing his sense of control. His eyes honed in on the wet cunt just inches from his mouth, dripping with copious, slippery cum. Logan could smell your fertility, the pheromones emitting from your body sending his animal instinct to breed into overdrive.

Logan nestled his head deeper between your thighs, his nose pressed against your bush. He breathed deeply the delicious cocktail of your sweat and cum gathered inside the coarse hair framing your pussy. Logan’s hands were now at his sides in fists, clenching so hard that his fingernails punctured the skin of his palms. He nuzzled into your bush, drawing another breath of your scent inside his nose. Parting his lips, Logan let his tongue dip between your labia, spreading them apart just as his fingers had before. Your thighs trembled around his head, breathy moans leaving your lips as Logan’s mouth explored you. Your fingers went to his hair, lacing in the thick brown strands and holding him in place.

Logan was in absolute bliss, delving his tongue between your folds, slurping loudly as he ate your cum. The animal inside him was finally being sated, fed well at the meal between your thighs, his teeth sinking ever-so-lightly into the plump pout of your lips, wide tongue padding soft against your clit.

Logan’s fingers joined his tongue, entering you easily as he continued to lap at your clit. Watching him work between your thighs, you felt your climax building. Logan pumped his fingers inside you at a brutal pace, the force of his hand meeting your cunt each time his fingers disappeared inside you making you wince. It hurt so good, too good, a feeling of absolute overwhelm that had fresh tears springing to your eyes. As the pressure inside you gave way to climax, tears cascaded down your burning cheeks, your features contorted in ecstasy. A carnal groan of relief poured from your lips as hot slick gushed over Logan’s tongue. He lapped and sucked your juices like a thirsty animal as they dripped down your thighs, chasing every drop as your cum soaked into the cushion beneath you.

His cock was leaking precum onto the floor, his tip red and aching, every instinct in Logan’s body silently screaming at him to fuck a baby into the nearest fertile womb. He slid your thigh off his shoulder but remained between your legs, rising to kneel on one knee as he tugged your hips forward to meet his. Logan’s face and chest were glistening with cum and sweat. He reached for the back of your neck, holding your head in place so your eyes would be on his when he entered you. You felt Logan’s tip press just inside your entrance, his forehead creasing as he willed himself not to selfishly take you as roughly as he wanted. “Alright, baby?” he asked, his voice a choked groan. You nodded, biting down on your bottom lip as Logan sank three inches inside you.

Your cunt accepted him with minimal resistance, till a slight sting caused you to wince and brought Logan to a pause. “Too much?” he panted down at you, and you quickly replied with a forceful “NO. Keep going Logan, please…”

He was trembling all over, the fight between his care for you and his animal need raging. With extreme effort to be gentle, Logan sank another three inches deeper inside you. The breath in your lungs burst out of you as Logan filled you, his hips stilling as he felt the smooth mound of your cervix against his tip. “Look at you, baby,” he murmured proudly. “Takin’ me so deep…I knew you could.”

Your heart skipped at his praise. Knowing Logan was pleased with you was addictive; you needed more. “I want to make you happy,” you uttered softly, your voice timid and small, needy tears gathering on your lashes. Logan grinned down at you, his voice a heady drug as he assured you “sweetheart, you already have…”

He drew his hips backward slowly, then carefully thrust just once inside you. Your whole body jerked at the impact, your eyes squeezed shut, a breathy gasp punched out of you. Logan pulled back and thrust forward again, growling through his teeth. Your pillowy walls were milking him, his heavy balls aching to be drained, eager to breed the fertile womb his tip was wedged against.

Logan exhaled deeply, the scent of your cunt washing over you on his breath. “Can I get you pregnant?” he asked, his eyes boring deep into yours as his cock rested thick and throbbing inside you. Maybe his question would have been too much from anyone else. It was a request that held massive implications…the consequences unavoidable. But coming from Logan, a request to claim your womb as his was…deliciously tempting.

You nodded, watching the tension in Logan’s face soften as he confirmed your consent. It was all so much, so beautiful, his body over yours and inside you, the security you felt wrapped up in his warmth. Your lips quivered into a confident smile, fresh tears of submission and love trickling down your cheeks. “Fill me up,” you gently begged. “Make me yours, Logan. I already am…”

He closed his eyes a moment, the gnawing hunger inside him ready to tear both of you in half if he gave himself over to it. With his hands firmly clutching your shoulders, Logan leaned forward and pressed a soft kiss to the top of your head. A low growl left his lips as he surrendered to his need to breed you. Logan buried his nose in your hair, inhaling your scent as his hips propelled forward. He took you as gently as he could, big hands pressing your shoulders back as you arched against the couch. Your legs wrapped around Logan’s waist, ankles crossing behind his back. He rut his hips into yours, smearing the sweat along his happy trail against your belly. Logan’s cock disappeared inside you, his bush matted with your juices, squelching as your crotches met with each punch of his hips. He stroked you as deeply as you could take him, dragging his heavy cock back and forth within the snug grip of your cunt.

Logan growled your name against your ear as his hips stilled against you, the words on his lips fading into a breathy moan as he emptied his sperm between your walls. A metallic sound issued beside your shoulders where Logan held you. Tilting your head, you saw Logan’s claws extended, burrowed into the couch cushions beneath you. His breath punched from his lungs in bursts, sweat dripping from his forehead onto your tits.

Logan collapsed forward, taking care not to crush you beneath him. He held you close, swallowing you up in the curve of his chest, refusing to let go till he was certain the last of his seed had drained from his tip. Logan carefully removed his softening cock from inside you, a thick stream of semen leaking creamy and white from between your lips. He lifted you into his arms, letting you rest and recover, your ear pressed to his heartbeat. As your breathing slowed, Logan looked down to see you peacefully asleep. He placed a soft kiss in your hair, smiling contentedly, grateful to hold you as long as you rested, allowing Nature to take its course as his sperm made its way to your womb…

[cafterdark]

There's something about gradual mind breaking that drives me wild.

Imagine this. Your life is shit, you're stuck ina deadend cubical job. 9-5 bullshit galore. One day, you're assigned to train a new coworker. She's pretty, way above your league. And yet she's kind. She compliments you and your skills honed to perfection working these bullshit shifts. But still, she's way prettier than you so you feel awkward even acknowledging them.

The two of you have lunch together. The two of you were talking, and she was still complimenting you for some reason. About how pretty your hair is or how cute your smile looks. You can't even comprehend looking anything but shit. She pouts and fiddles with her phone a bit. Then she asks you to watch a video. Suddenly you're back at work. When did the break end? No matter.

She tells you how pretty your eyes were. You smile because good girls accept compliments and tell her how gorgeous her lips are because good girls are honest. The rest of the day the two of you compliment each other.

It's beenmonth since then and both of you just keep complimenting each other. Sure, your compliments are getting kind of weird. You don't know when you started calling her Mistress as a joke, but it's hard to stop now. But she tells you that it's normal for good girls to call their Mistress Mistress so you keep doing it anyway. Besides, her compliments are getting weirder too. Mistress has made it a habit to pin you to a wall before telling you them. Then she just tells you how submissive and docile you are. She kisses you a lot now. Good girls deserve to be kissed by their Mistress ofc, so you don't complain.

Work itself is harder now. You just can't keep up like you used to. You're just so horny and Mistress doesn't help. You know that good girls are horny messes, but it's so aggravating. The tight clothes that show off so much don't help, but good girls are required to wear them so what can you do? Mistress has to pick up a lot of your slack, but she doesn't seem to mind. And besides good girls let Mistress do the work for them.

Breaks are great. Mistress shows you another video and you feel so good and good girls deserve to feel good. You feel so good that you don't remember what happens during them. You've started finding bruises and bite marks on your skin after them, though you don't know why. You don't care because good girls need to be marked. For the rest of the shift, she keeps touching you and teasing. By the end you can barely stand.

At the clock terminal, Mistress pins you to the wall and makes out with you before leaving. You're frozen by lust for several minutes before stumbling to your car.

Three months in and things are now really weird. You can't tell why anymore. Your head feels like cotton most of the time. You ask Mistress why everything feels so weird, because good girls always ask Mistress for help. She gives you some pets and kisses you, reminding you that dumb puppies don't think. Your boss threatens to fire you because of poor performance, but it's not your fault you're a dumb puppy. Everyone knows that dumb puppies don't work. Dumb puppies are to be submissive and docile. Mistress does most of the work, she's so good at it that she's up for promotion.

Breaks are so fun. Mistress shows you another video. When you wake up, you feel sooooooo good. Like all the energy built up during the morning was just released. Mistress cleans you up and then she starts working again while you heel. Then when you clock out, Mistress attaches a leash to your collar and gives you a walkies home. The walkies home is the best part.

Six months in and life is perfect. You don't work anymore and that's okay. Dumb puppies don't work anyway. You and Mistress live together at her place. You sleep in your cage and if you're a really good puppy, Mistress lets you sleep at the foot of her bed. The best time is when Mistress works. She works at home now. Your job is to be adorable by sleeping in a dog bed under her desk. Well, that and pleasure her, because a dumb puppy's only role is to be her Mistress's fucktoy.

During lunch Mistress fills your bowl with kibble and it tastes amazing. She doesn't show you videos anymore. She says you're perfect now. You don't understand what she means but it doesn't matter. Dumb puppies don't think after all.

After Mistress finishes working, she takes you on walkies and plays with you. It's so fun and nice and amazing. And if you're a really good girl, the best puppy in the whole world, she'll let you sleep in the bed with her. Your life is amazing.

[esote-rika]

lose some, win some | Spencer Reid Pairing: Spencer Reid x fem!Waldorf!Reader Category: Hurt/Comfort, Smut 18+, MDNI Summary: COLLEGE AU! When your debate team loses the national championship, you and Spencer return to your shared room and find a productive way to take out your frustrations. Content: Waldorf!Reader is a sore loser, lots of dialogue in the beginning, Sassy!Spencer, some talk of misogyny, Spencer makes up for it by being a munch (so f receiving oral), virgin!Spencer but he’s also a little shit, they are both little shits but it’s cute I swear, handjob, raw p in v but reader mentions she is on the pill, creampies, multiple orgasms for both of them (they’re frustrated and horny give them a break) Word count: 4.8k (it's porn with a plot for once) A/N: Not really frenemies or rivals, they’re just really angry young adults. Idk what Spencer’s actual age was in college, but he studied several times so for this fic, he’s on his third degree and is 21. If the debate stuff is incorrect, I'm sorry. I did do some research but there's so many different rules and styles lmfao. My friend who competes says it’s fine and understandable so :) also massive thanks to @just-call-me-by-yn @mggslover and @notlongtolove for helping me brainstorm and @wheresmacoffee because she was there JK  ILY ANDY their banter during the filthy part is for you <3.

Spencer Reid doesn’t particularly care about the prestige that comes with winning. Most people crave it for the validation, or because it’s another impressive thing they can slap onto their resumes, but being a genius his entire life allows him not to worry about that. His academics speak for themselves. He doesn’t need to pad it with extracurriculars. Instead, he enjoys the skills that are honed from debate—learning to listen to arguments, finding the perfect way to rebut, memorization and reviewing with like minded individuals. The university team is a well oiled machine composed of four people— him on his third degree, two other male juniors, and you, the only woman.

Over the span of two semesters, he’s memorized the quirks of his teammates. It’s essential to building rapport, after all, and he’s eager to get something good out of this. Something less academic, and more social. Friends, perhaps. While he’s formed a bond with the other members, you have always been an enigma. Stoic and ambitious, you remind him of a statue. Cold and oh so beautiful. You’ve often kept to yourself. And after several rejected attempts at friendship, he’s learned to just observe from afar.

He knows from experience that observing allows you deep insight into people, and so he knows after two semesters that you’re perhaps the most competitive out of the entire team, the most hungry for a win. This drive, he suspects, comes from a deeply rooted desire to prove yourself, though he’s unsure why. What else do you have to prove? You have everything, as far as he’s concerned. Keenly intelligent, beautiful, with a circle of friends that adore you. You aren’t like him, who has to sink his claws deep into this debate team in order to get a dose of social interaction. No, you have a life, no matter how marblesque you may seem.

And yet, somehow it’s still not enough for you.

He thinks it’s utterly ridiculous, and absolutely fascinating.

The weekend of nationals is taxing. You’ve been fighting for the opener role since the semis, but it would require too much adjustment, which no one is willing to risk so close to nationals. Not only does he not want to give up his spot, he also knows how ruthless you can be as a rebuttal speaker. He's meek, and you have a tendency to be aggressive, it's why the original roles go so well. 

Your adviser agreed, and there’s been tension ever since. 

To make matters worse, hotel arrangements somehow have placed both of you in the same room. The force of your resentment is palpable even to a normally clueless guy like him. Distracting. Pages being turned in your exaggerated annoyance. He’d complain of dramatics, but he doesn’t want to start anything. 

The fact that you’re rooming together also doesn’t help him. Sure, there are different beds, small twin mattresses on either side of the room, but still. Proximity to a woman his age has him anxious for reasons entirely unrelated to nationals. 

So when you lose the championship, his concern for your reaction behind doors overwhelms the regret of losing. 

No one is happy with the results. It is obvious from the set of his jaw, the tenseness of your shoulders. Spencer tries to calm down, accept defeat with a modicum of grace, at least in front of other people. He can tell the rest of the team is trying too, but quite unconvincingly. Onstage, accepting the medals for second place—mockingly silver, and no trophies—the team’s smiles are forced, plastic. 

Back to the hotel rooms are a different story. When you slam the hotel door shut, it echoes down the hall and makes even your debate adviser flinch. It would have made Spencer flinch too, if he hadn't already expected it. He's grown accustomed to how bad of a loser you can be. Like a tornado, your anger spares no one from its destruction. It is in these moments that your stoic resolve crumbles, no longer unfeeling, but rather fully human. Hurtful. Ruthless Unfortunately for him, he's directly in your line of fire.

He catches bits and pieces of your muttered diatribes. He’s used to those too. Normally, he would have ignored them. Losing sucks the energy out of a person, regardless of how uncompetitive he is. Besides, your ranting is mostly harmless, until one sentence snags his attention.

“— knew I should have been the opening speaker —”

He is clawing at his tie, trying desperately to get it off, but the words make him stop immediately. He whirls around, brows furrowed, “What?”

You pause as well, “What?”

“What did you say about being the opening speaker?” He watches you roll your eyes. It does nothing to calm the bitterness in the back of his throat. The normal song and dance goes like this: he’d say a string of words in an attempt to soothe the fire burning in your nerves, and you'd say something so vitriolic he'd refuse to speak to you for the rest of your time together. 

But today, having just lost the biggest championship after working so hard, he's a short fuse and your words are incendiary.

“I said I should have done it, like I asked—”

“Ah, as usual, you're mad that you didn't get what you wanted.” 

An offended scoff. He's almost proud he managed to pull that out of you. “You take too long—”

“Nationals isn't the time to suddenly alter the roles,” he tells you, shaking his head. He manages to loosen the tie, finally, tossing it on his bed with so much aggression it misses the mattress and lands limply on the floor, “I've always been the opening speaker.”

“Yes, and one would think that after going through so many debate competitions,  you would learn to be more succinct,” you snap, shoes making harsh clacks against the tiled floor, “The goal isn't to let us know you're the smartest person in the room, Spencer, it's to set up the tone and groundwork of—”

“I don't need you to lecture me about being the opening,” he interrupts, “I know what my role requires of me.”

“Do you?” Eyes flashing, you walk to him until you're almost chest to chest, “Because we still lost.”

“And you blaming me?” he hisses, leaning down. He hates doing this, stooping to your level of pettiness. Normally, he would choose to be the bigger person, refusing your verbal sparring; he likes to focus his energy on the actual debate, the opposing team, not his own teammates. But your words cut deeper than normal; it isn't the fault the team lost, that's just a flat out lie, “We advised you multiple times to memorize the statistics—”

“Something you're better at!” You look physically pained to admit his superiority, but the words spill anyway, “You'd be so much better to do the rebuttals since you have your stupid photographic memory, and I can set the tone better, but nobody on this little boys club ever listens to me!”

He's surprised at the choked tone your voice has taken. In his mind, you're a complete equal—you made it to the team through hard work and impeccable skills, like the rest of them did, after all. It didn't matter that you are a woman to him, so of course his instinct is to deny. “That’s not true.” but even his voice sounds weak. 

How would he know if it’s not true? He’s never been in your shoes before, never had to reckon with what comes with being the only woman in a team of men.

“Isn’t it?” he flinches at the venom in your voice, “You all act like I'm an afterthought—I get the shittiest positions even when I know I can be more effective in a different one, no one ever asks me for strategy, hell, you never invite me to your stupid chess games.”

His mouth opens and closes foolishly, latching on to the one thing he has a full response to, “I thought you hate chess.”

A sharp laugh, petulant and bitter, “I do, but it would have been nice to be included.”

He doesn’t know what to say. You’ve turned around, yanking off your pristine maroon blazer so roughly he’s afraid it might rip. The silence that grows makes him itch, hands balling into fists as he tries to think of what to do. Social dynamics have always been a thing of mystery to him. 

He wonders if he is part of this problem. He’s no stranger to feeling different and on the outs, and it pains him to think that he inadvertently caused someone else to feel that same, unpleasant exclusion.

But, no. Quickly, he recalls every single time he’s tried to include you—a museum trip that you’d declined because you had a party you wanted to attend. His extra tickets to the Nutcracker.

“That’s not true,” his voice is firm now, following you until he’s standing right behind. Lavender hits his nose and his brain registers the scent of your shampoo. Definitely too close if he can smell that, but he refuses to back away, intent on getting his point across, “That’s not true, I’ve tried to— you were always too busy.”

“What, I’m a liar now?” you spin around, pretty features twisted to somehow express both anger and hurt. He almost falters. Almost. 

But he’s too worked up, even though he knows he should back off, to not trivialize your experiences in order to defend himself. He should know better than this, but the sting of your accusation spurs him on. So he pushes, eyes narrowing, “Last year, September 14, 21, and 29, I invited you to come with us for several casual chess tournaments, you declined all invitations because you claimed you hated chess. October 29th, I told you about the new exhibit they were displaying—”

“It was Halloween weekend, I already had plans—”

“December 19th, I offered you Nutcracker tickets and you said you’d already seen it—”

“I have,” your voice has grown quiet now, and if he stops speaking for a single moment to look, your features have relaxed into something gentler. But he’s on a roll, and you have always been right about things; his inability to be succinct is one of them.

“Even this year, I invited you to study multiple times, but you’ve always had prior plans,” the words are spoken with neutrality. He isn’t even angry anymore, just eager to list everything down and let you know how hard he’s tried with you. Even after the numerous rejections, he’s made an effort, but of course, you have other friends, other plans outside your nerdy debate team. He’s never held that against you, but if you wanted to point fingers, he has the means to defend himself. And sure, he wants to prove you wrong on some level too, but that’s the lesser point. “Maybe if you stopped acting like you’re better than me, and just accepted, you wouldn’t be feeling so excluded.”

“I don’t act like I’m better than you.”

“You just said you would have made a better opening speaker.”

You scoff, “Oh my god, you’re infuriating, I can’t believe I’m stuck with you!”

Spencer bristles at that, “I’m giving you the facts, it’s not my fault you can’t handle them.” he says, leaning closer, trying to make her see his point, “You’re always so closed off and the other guys have just given up trying. Maybe if you—”

“What? If I smiled more? Acted less like a bitch?” you sneer, eyes narrowed dangerously, “I thought a genius like you would know better than to use misogynistic language like that.”

“Wha— no! Don’t put words in my mouth.” Spencer replies, shaking his head. The conversation is devolving into something dangerous, the air crackling with something electric. He assumes it’s anger. They will never get anywhere, so he sighs, softening slightly, “I never said that. I’m just pointing out that you weren’t blameless in this, you know?”

You’re silent. He watches you, takes in how the resentment in your eyes have been dulled by something more contemplative.

He continues, “Listen, I’m sorry if we’ve made you feel like you were on the outs. I’m sure we have to do so much reflection as a team and as individuals about how we treat each other, but it’s unfair to say that we never include you when I have actively been making efforts to—”

Your lips are upon him. 

That’s inaccurate. 

You are upon him, arms flung around his neck, body pressed flush against his. He feels the entire world tilt, and he’s unsure if it’s because you’re pulling him down or because your lips are so pillowy he’s instantly eager for more. Wants it like a man starved. Needs it, needs more, but his body betrays him. Whether it’s his inexperience or surprise or a combination of both. He freezes, blinking rapidly at the sight of you. Eyes shut, and face so close to him; so, so close he can count each individual eyelash, see the tiny freckle on your eyelid that gets hidden if your eyes are open.

And then you're gone. The freckle disappears as you look at him with wide eyed mortification. 

“Shit, Spencer, I—”

It’s his lips that cut you off this time, seeking out the velvety warmth of your mouth. Your lips part under his, and he registers a sound, soft and whining. It takes him a moment to realize it came from him, from the back of his throat and muffled by your lips and tongue and oh you’re both falling.

Literally. He must have leaned too far into you; you’re suddenly collapsing, forcing him down because your arms have him in a vice grip and he’s too busy chasing after your lips. The next thing he knows is he’s on top of you and you’re sprawled on the bed beneath him. Time stands still; he’s painfully aware of how cliche that is, but every sense of eloquence seems to have been expelled from his brain as he takes you in; lips swollen and wet from his kisses, pupils blown wide. Every breath you take pushes your chest up against his, and he can feel your heart thrumming against his body. 

“Well, that was one way of shutting you up,” you chuckle with a cockiness that makes his heart speed up, though it isn’t borne out of embarrassment. Every single physiological effect of your body is evidence that you’re enjoying this, telling him you’re just as worked up as he is. The breathiness in your voice, the quickness of your heartbeat. 

The fact that you’re pulling him down again, legs hooking around his hips. He surrenders to it, lips meeting yours once again, deeper and more desperate this time.

He closes his eyes, relishing this, kissing you, touching you, an act he had believed is reserved for attractive jocks and charismatic art nerds. Not him, quiet and lanky, shifting to avoid his angular bones from digging into you, and to place himself more comfortably on the bed. Inexperienced, ungainly, and yet here he is, his tongue pushing into your mouth in his first forays into something that his peers have experienced years ago.

Spencer Reid isn’t used to being the one behind, doing the catching up. Child prodigy, genius, the words aren’t meaningless. He’s been ahead academically—which, up until this point, has been his whole life. But feeling warm lips beneath his own has him reconsidering some of his life choices. 

The kiss is messy. Sloppy from his clumsy attempts to keep up with your eagerness. You’re tugging at something, and he realizes it’s to untuck the rest of the crisp shirt you’ve donned for the debate tournament out from your skirt. His hands settle on your waist, finding smooth, heated skin from where your shirt has ridden up. Careful fingers help push it up, burying under the fabric until his palms are mapping out the slopes of your body. 

Soft. So damn soft. 

Not cold marble after all. He theorizes you must be soft everywhere, and he decides to test it out with his lips, laving kisses along your jaw, down the sweet, musky skin of your neck where your perfume still lingers. Instincts take over and he allows himself a taste, tongue darting out. You shudder, so he does it again, greedy for your pretty moans and gasps. 

He can’t help the smile that tugs at his lips, “Thought you were mad at me?” he mumbles, trailing his kisses down the column of your throat. 

You’re all mhms and ohhhs right now, so far from the usual image you present to the world, a preppy, manicured woman who wrestles for control over everything. You must hate this, he thinks, being beneath him physically, caged within his arms which are deceptively strong for how fragile he looks. 

“Shut up,” you grumble.

“Make me.” His grin is dopey when he lifts his head to meet her gaze.

Something brushes against his crotch, and now he’s the one gasping, jerking in surprise at the friction. You’ve slotted your thigh between his, and his traitorous body responds by grinding down on it shamelessly. The look on your face is smug, triumphant.

“Huh,” saccharine and mocking, you blink up at him innocently, “That was easier than I thought.”

His head drops to your neck again, but he isn’t kissing you anymore. Just open mouthed breathing as he rubs himself on your thigh, hands tightening on your sides, “Mhm.”

“Are you gonna come? Spencer, I haven’t even touched you yet.”

He sinks his teeth into your flesh to fight the needy whines because yes, he’s so embarrassingly close and you’re both still fully dressed. He hears a hiss, and he backs off immediately, murmuring apologies, “Didn’t mean to—”

“‘S okay,” you tilt your head back, give him more access to your neck, “Just don’t leave marks.”

Permission to bite. He gulps, heart beating wildly, before ducking back down. Chapped lips run over your neck, finding a soft spot to bite, forcing himself to soften the way his teeth sink into your skin. All the while rubbing himself on your thigh because it’s probably the closest thing to heaven a man such as him will ever experience. 

He hears your laughter, your mocking cooes of, “You’re so fucking needy” but he can’t bring himself to care.

You’re correct, he decides, as you usually are. He’s needy, desperately so, eagerly chasing the delicious pleasure of dry humping your thigh. 

“Hold on, Spencer.”

You push him back gently. A whine rips from his throat, “Mhm—why?”

He gets his answer soon enough. Your hands undo his belt and he swears this sets his whole body on fire. Nobody’s ever seen him like this. Never has another person touched him so intimately, seen him so out of control, so brainless. He’s babbling incoherently as your hand strokes up and down his length, his hips rutting into your hand. It’s out of sync. Two dancers on entirely different rhythms.

Your laughter rings in his ears, one hand tangled in his hair as the other does unspeakable, tantalizing things to his aching cock. 

“Mhm, can’t— I’m gonna—” and he’s spilling into your hand, hot, viscous liquid overflowing from your hand and staining your skirt, “Ah, shit.”

He collapses against you, head on the crook of your shoulder as he tries to catch his breath. “‘M sorry, I’ll– I’ll pay for your dry cleaning.”

Your chest shakes as you laugh, “Would you? I think you owe me more than that.” The heat in your voice makes his breath catch in his throat.

Soft kisses press upon your neck as he gathers his thoughts, willing his brain to work again. Anatomy, female anatomy. Female pleasure. What does he know about this? A lot, surprisingly, though mostly from books. Mostly in theory, but that’s a start. He can put them to practice right now. His hands drag down your sides until they catch the waistband of your skirt. “May I?”

“Okay.”

He pulls gently, exposing the rest of your thighs and legs. Honey brown eyes devour the expanse of your skin, hands clutching at the softness. He marvels at the way your flesh accepts his own, bright red splotches imprinted from his fingertips.   

He thinks of poetry, the uncountable amount of words and phrases written to immortalize women and love and sex, and he finds himself wishing he has the skill to compose something as beautiful, something worthy of you right now, radiant and half naked and somehow all his. 

But he is no poet, so he touches his lips upon your body instead. Pretty words will escape him, but his lips can speak even without them, he’ll make sure of it. He kisses down your abdomen, making sure to pay attention to every hidden freckle and birthmark he comes across. Your reactions make him feel drunk, to the point of affecting him physically. Messier kisses. Hands tugging and nearly ripping the lace of your panties because he’s unaware of his own strength. 

“So pretty,” he mumbles, “So pretty.” It’s all he can repeat, but then his tongue lands on your slick heat and suddenly words are forgotten in favor of vague groaning. Because how can he accurately describe the sensation of this? Tasting you. God how has he gone so long without this? Your nails scraping his scalp, his fingers sinking into your thighs as he keeps you still. He’s halfway off the bed, legs dangling off the edge, your thighs squeezing his face. 

There’s nowhere else he would rather be. 

He laps at your folds like a mad man, tongue pressed flat and dragging up slowly to get as much of you in his mouth as possible. His feet find the floor, allowing himself more stability to once again rub his growing erection against a solid object. The poor mattress is going to be ruined once they’re done.

“Faster,” you gasp, jerking your hips into his face, “Spencer— oh, yeah like that!”

Spencer Reid is a quick study, and when he hears the positive reactions, he doubles down until he feels you convulse against his tongue. You jerk so violently he has to hold you down. He pushes his tongue past your entrance experimentally, and feels you tug roughly on his hair in response, gasping his name and God’s name in slurred phrases as you ride out your high.

It’s the hottest damn thing he’s ever experienced.

 “Jesus Christ,” you gasp, and he has to repeat that ridiculous sentence again, because it’s true and he feels you deserve it.

“You’re so pretty.” He fears you might be some kind of magnet, because his lips keep getting drawn back to your skin. He lets his kisses travel up your hip bone, before grinning up at you, “Even when you’re being insufferable, you’re still so beautiful.”

“Gee thanks,” you huff, pulling at his arm, “How romantic, I’m swooning.”

“Might not be swooning, but you did just come on my face.” brilliant rows of teeth flash at you as he smiles smugly.

“Asshole.”

“Is that how you say thank you?” he drags his body up lazily, draping himself over you.

“I’m not— wait, are you hard again?”

“Uh…”

“Needy, needy boy.” you pull him down to you, and he almost protests, his chin and mouth still covered with your slick. But you don’t seem to care, so he follows your lead, God at this point he would follow you anywhere at all. You’re shifting beneath him, and the next thing he knows is your legs are wrapped around his waist again, your heat completely exposed and pressing against his cock.

“Mhm,” he pulls back, eyes wide, “I—”

“What?” you whisper, lifting your head to continue giving him kisses, teeth playfully nipping at his jaw, “It’s fine, I’m on birth control.”

“It’s not that,” he can’t deny you, his body relaxing back down over you. His lips catch yours for a moment, slow and achingly tender, “I’ve just never really done this before.”

He waits for the inevitable laughter. Here he is, at 21, and somehow still the same person he had been when he first entered college at 14. But you continue to look at him with heavy lids, breathless and flushed. 

“Okay,” your voice is kind, sweet, “Take it slow then.” your hand wraps around his length again, the movement slower this time, as you align him to your entrance. He hisses as the sensitive tip grazes against your folds, as he feels your entrance slowly give way to him and envelop his cock. 

“Oh,” he sighs. With your help, he sinks halfway into you, one hand gripping your hip, the other bracing himself on his elbow. Eyes squeezed shut, he stills and manages to ask, “Are you okay?”

You don’t speak, and so he forces his eyes to focus and look at you. The sight has him twitching inside you. Mouth agape and eyes hazy, you’re nodding up at him wordlessly as your hips rock up into his. “More.”

It’s exhilarating. He’s known you for the past year, worked alongside you but respected your need for distance. And now, here you are, not merely close, but one. Spencer sighs, and thrusts shallowly, eyes zeroed in on you and your reactions. He doesn’t want to hurt you, doesn’t want it to end too soon, so he moves slowly, dragging out his cock until only the tip rests inside you, then sliding into the hilt.

It elicits the most mellifluous sounds from you, making him smile in relief. He lets his forehead rest against yours, thrusts growing more confident, but still in that slow, almost dreamy pace. He memorizes every detail of this moment, from the way your eyes flutter closed, to the quiver of your legs as they wrap tighter around his thighs. 

“So good,” he hears himself say, “God, you feel so good.”

“Mhm,” you nod, nails digging into his back, even through his clothes. In the heat of the moment, you’re both still half dressed, only getting rid of your bottom clothes in order to get what you need from each other, “More, Spencer, I need more.”

He nods, letting his thrusts grow faster, rougher. It’s an awkward angle, he’s afraid his knees will start cramping, but the feeling of being surrounded by your warmth, drowning in your moans has him reckless. “There?” he grunts, angling just so, and he can’t help the smirk on his face when he feels your walls clenching around him.

“There, there, yes!”

He’s not sure how he manages to last as long as he does. Maybe it’s the sheer desire to feel you fall apart, for his cock to be drenched in your slick that keeps his release at bay. Maybe he has too much pent up sexual energy that’s just been dying to come out. Whatever it is, he’s thankful for it, because it means he’s spending more time inside you, hips moving with so much impact he’s pushing you forward with each thrust. 

“Yes, just like that.” you’re shuddering beneath him, and he moves his arm to the top of your head, creating a barrier between you and the headboard so you don’t hit it. He could stop, readjust your positions, but he doesn’t have it in him. 

No, he wants to stay inside you, forever if there’s an anatomically feasible way to do it. But unless he invents it, he’ll settle for right now, settle for the heat between your bodies, and how you’re practically melting into the mattress, arching so prettily against him.

“You close?” he murmurs, one hand finding your clit, drawing gentle circles with his fingertips.

“No fair,” you whine, bucking into him, “That’s cheat— Spencer!” 

You come undone in the most enthralling way, eyes squeezed shut, bottom lip bitten by your own lips. You squeeze and flutter around him, and he’s helpless to stop his own release, spilling deep inside you with a broken cry from his own mouth. Your name is whispered, over and over again, until he stills, his vision blurry as he collapses against you.

He curls around you, trying to get as close, “You—that was—wow.” 

You giggle, still breathless and glassy eyed, “Are you sure that was your first time?”

“Yes,” he gives you a series of kisses along your temple, “Yes, it was. You—wow.” he carefully pulls out of you, hissing quietly when the cool air conditioned air hits his sensitive flesh. “Was that enough of an apology for not including you to our chess nights?”

“You’re making jokes now?”

“No,” he smiles, leaning away to look at you, all starry eyed and boneless, “Not a joke. Because if it’s not enough, I can do it again.” a kiss to your cheek, “And again.” one on the tip of your nose, “And again.”

When you laugh in response, he cups your cheek, “I mean it.” he says with all the seriousness he can muster.

“I’ll hold you to that.”

“Does this mean you’ll accept my invitations now?” he lights up, a large smile splitting his face.

“Only if it’s a date.”

"Then it's a date."

[bamfkeeper]

Kurt's instincts are still flaring...you know just how to help. 18+ under the cut. MDNI.

Sorta unofficial part two to my last Nightcrawler fic. That was originally going to be nsfw, but I decided against it because I have other nsfw pieces in the works. So this is sort of the smut version of that one. I'm glad I'm not the only one who wants to grab his horns.

Warnings: Afab reader, cunnilingus, unprotected, slightly rougher sex, marking, slight cum play? Unedited.

WC: 2.4k

Kurt had been quiet for a while.

After he had let out the 'darkness' within him, he just didn't feel like himself anymore. He was constantly battling his own mind, his very being, and it was utterly exhausting. Every day felt like a struggle that required all his energy. His mind flashed with the bodies of the fallen soldiers he had killed, their lifeless forms haunting his thoughts, and he often had trouble resting after those vivid, torturous memories resurfaced.

You tried your best to help him, to reassure and comfort him in every way you could think of, but you could only do so much for him. Despite all your efforts, some things couldn't be healed with mere reassurance. The act was done, and the scar was made, etched deeply into his soul. The emotional wounds were too profound, and words of comfort could only provide temporary relief from the pain he endured.

This was when he began to think...maybe it was better to let the darkness out. The pain of it all lessened when he did.

You were sitting with him in the privacy of your bedroom, where the soft glow of the evening light filtered through the curtains, casting a warm hue on everything. He sat behind you, his presence comforting as he leaned into your smaller form, providing a sense of security and closeness that you both cherished. He let out a quiet sigh, a sound so simple and quiet spoke volumes about the weight of his thoughts and the whirlwind of events that had been unfolding around him.

You noticed his somber mood and the lines of worry etched on his face, so you decided that perhaps a nap would help to relax him and ease his troubled mind. Sleep, you thought, was a temporary escape from reality, a gentle reprieve that could offer solace. You knew that it would at least give him a brief rest from his racing mind, a momentary pause in the chaos, allowing him to regain some peace and composure.

"I'm going to change real quick, I think we should take a nap. The afternoon has been quiet." You sat up a little and stood from the bed, slowly undressing and walking over to the closet. His golden eyes glued to your figure and he growled softly, the sound escaping his throat without him realizing it.

You were so engrossed in finding your favorite silk top among the myriad of clothes that you didn't notice his approach at all. Kurt was incredibly sneaky and had perfected the art of moving silently. He had learned to have a light foot during his years in the circus, where he would often sneak around in the dead of night, scavenging for scraps and bits of food. He had to be extremely careful not to wake the slumbering animals or disturb the watchful owner. The skills he honed in the circus allowed him to move like a shadow, almost undetectable.

It wasn't until he was directly behind you that you became aware of his presence. You felt his breath on your neck, startling you. His breath was hot and heavy, and you could feel it against your skin. His lips were slightly parted as if he was about to speak, but instead, he let out a deep, primal growl that sent shivers down your spine.

You turned to look up at him, his golden eyes shining dimly in the room as he grabbed hold of your hips. "Liebe..." he nearly snarled at you, his body trembled with screaming desire. He didn't want to hurt you, oh god, he didn't want to hurt you. But you looked so vulnerable right now, topless and the only protection from being completely nude was the thin layer of fabric you wore over your sex.

He knelt down slowly, his eyes meeting yours with a mixture of confusion and vulnerability. "I cannot explain what is happening..." he whispered quietly, his voice barely audible. The weight of his words hung in the air, creating a tense silence between you both. After a pause, you found the courage to speak up, breaking the stillness.

"Bad thoughts?" you asked gently, trying to understand what he was going through.

"Nein...good ones. With you...but...they are more intense than they ever have been," he whispered with a shaky voice, his emotions clearly overwhelming him. You could see the struggle in his eyes, the conflict between his feelings and the inability to comprehend them fully. You could tell he was having trouble saying it, so you sat back and gave him a reassuring smile.

"Show me what you mean." Your words and smile was all he needed to continue. His hands rubbed up your bare thighs and he ripped off your panties. The sudden tearing against your skin burned slightly, however you weren't given a moment to register the burn before his lips wrapped around the area. He kissed and suckled harsh marks where your skin was irritated from the fabric ripping. You moaned softly, your hand running through his curly locks and you watched him kiss and soothe the areas whilst leaving dark hickeys around your hips where your panties would sit.

He growled and bit the area below your belly button, that delicious, plush area that he loved so much, he kneaded and nipped it with his teeth while leaving a trail of purple marks in his wake. You watched as he marked you up, more and more started appearing on your skin and you couldn't help but moan with each one he planted.

"I cannot help myself any longer...these thoughts, I feel like they are consuming me." he rasped against your bruised skin, his yellow eyes almost looked more orange now, half lidded and heavy with lust in them. "I do not want to hurt you..." he muttered, his gaze traveling down further as he looked at your exposed sex.

He pressed his nose against your folds, closing his eyes and inhaling your scent, your obvious arousal filled his senses and his eyes shot back open. Claws held your plush hips, spreading your legs.

"Kurt..." you whispered, your words losing themselves behind the surprised groan that tore through you, his tongue lapped a strip up your slit as he trailed to your clit. His lips wrapped around your bud and he sucked hard on it. "Oh, god..." your voice wavered as your hands naturally went to his hair.

Your hands felt his curls, those dark locks that you adored, you curled your fingers around them and felt his silky hair when you felt his horns. You couldn't help but gently wrap your fingers around the horns and feel them a little more. You hadn't actually touched them much before, he didn't want you to. But now he didn't seem to care, too busy devouring your core and making your legs tremble.

Your hands gripped his horns, and his eyes widened. He clawed your hips, lifting you off the ground and diving further into your cunt, his tongue pushing inside as he ate you out. His tongue moved so expertly, dipping inside your wet hole and dragging your hot arousal up and over that pretty clit of yours.

His vigorous laps and suckles increased as you drug his head closer by his horns, panting and mewling like a poor bitch in heat. His claws held you tightly, growling against your slick sex as he pulled you away from the wall and threw you down on the bed.

Kurt crawled over you, looking more wild than you had ever seen. He drooled as he forced your legs open, his claws gently digging into the plush flesh of your thighs, and he dove back down, completely encompassed in your cunt and entranced by it. Your hands went to his horns again, groaning as he soaked your pussy with his saliva and eager tongue lashing.

You could barely hold back the cry as your orgasm hit you. It was intense, and your back arched off the bed, your hands gripped his horns in a vice and you tugged him even closer if that were possible. "Kurt!! Aah!" You stuttered out some rambling words about your climax, unable to get out a solid sentence. He could tell you came, your cunt soaked the sheets and his tongue, such the eager mutant he was lapped all of your up as you creamed for him.

He pulled back, strings of your cum and his saliva keeping him attached to you before breaking off. His goatee completely soaked, and his eyes dark with desire. "Worn out already, schatz?" Kurt's voice was almost deeper than normal, making your spine stiffen. "I'm not done with you...I...need...more." he grunted, his eyes closing briefly like he were at conflict with himself.

You sat up slightly, noticing this change in his demeanor. "Hey...I-I'm okay, just intense, is all..." you reassured him quietly, trying to offer some comfort and support. "I'm good...do you need to let it out?" you asked, your voice gentle and encouraging.

He nodded vigorously, clearly agreeing with you, but it was evident that he was still holding back his emotions. There was a tension in his expression, a struggle to contain whatever he was feeling inside. You could see the conflict in his eyes, the way his body was tense despite his nodding. It was clear that he needed to release whatever was weighing on him, but something was stopping him from doing so.

He was deeply scared of hurting you, a fear that gnawed at him constantly. He hadn't been so... forward... like this before, and the unfamiliarity of the situation only added to his anxiety. But he couldn't help it. Something primal and intense inside him screamed, clawing at his very skin, urging him to pounce on you.

This internal battle was relentless, and he found himself struggling more each day to keep it at bay, and you had noticed. Despite his best efforts to contain himself, the urge grew stronger and more overpowering with every passing moment. He looked down at you, how your breasts rose and fell with each breath, your pussy ingrained in his nose, that beautiful scent of your arousal...

He couldn't do it anymore.

Kurt crawled over you, his hand wrapped around your ankle and yanked you closer, his now unclothed cock hitting your pussy and he rubbed himself eagerly against you, slickening his shaft so the penetration would be easier on the both of you. However, his foreplay didn't last long, his body too eager and impatient now.

His hips jut forward, his cock sinking inside you in one swift thrust. You cried out in surprise, but he didn't give you a moment of reprieve before he began to thrust hard and fast.

He curled over you, his arms holding your hips up as his cock dove in and out of your cunt, his tail tightened around your body, expertly wrapping around those pretty breasts he loved. "Mine..." he growled deeply, his voice resonating with a possessive intensity. The word was almost lost within the animalistic snarl that erupted from his throat, a primal sound that echoed through the room.

You couldn't do anything but whine and let out mindless babbling as he fucked you into the mattress. You could barely think, the way he was fucking you drove you crazy and you could do nothing but watch him pound into you. He had never been this intense before, and you weren't complaining, of course. His new passion and possessiveness awakened something deep inside you, bringing a desperate mix of arousal and pure need.

"I-I'm going to...cum again..." you managed through your moans, his cock driving against your cervix, most definitely bruised by now, his precum coating it in a soothing balm. It was making you feel more eager for his cum, more addicted to how good he made you feel. You began to want his cock in you constantly, like his precum was some sort of aphrodisiac to your body's own primal instincts.

"Do it, liebling...I want you all over me...let me feel your pleasure." He snarled into your ear, his thrusts quickened as his mischevious tail spade slithered down and rubbed your swollen bud. You watched as he threw your legs over his shoulders and moved over you more, driving down into you over and over until your body felt like it exploded.

You screamed in pure ecstasy, your swollen sex clung to him and practically milked his cock as you creamed all over his dick. He bared his fangs and sunk them into you neck as he shot his load into you, his hips snapping forward once more and driving himself as far as he could possibly go. His cock's spongy head pressed a kiss to your cervix and shot directly into your womb.

Kurt held you tight for several minutes, the both of you a panting, sweaty mess. When he finally let go of you, he pulled out of your warm cunt, hissing slightly at the cruel harshness of the bedroom air. It didn't compare to your comforting, velvet walls. He grumbled in disappointment, still foggy with those desires and not completely himself just yet. You could see it in his eyes, the confusion as he wasn't all there.

You sighed, feeling his cum begin to pool out onto the bed and you whined, you always tried to prevent that. Your hand reached up, scratching his scalp before you gripped one of his horns, tugging him down. "Baby...look what you did...I'm a mess." Your voice whined gently, "See?"

You spread your cunt, letting him see how his cum was absolutely everywhere between your legs. His dark eyes completely focused on your core as he let out deep, yet sharp breaths. Your hand, still holding one of his horns, guided his head down to your pussy. "Clean me up...won't you? It's only fair..."

Kurt's eyes glanced up before he bit your inner thigh, licking up your skin before he dove right back into you, his tongue cleaning all of himself from you...and some. But this only started the cycle all over again...and soon he was on top of you. Even still...there was nothing to complain about.

When his little rut was over, he curled around you, your body a trembling mess and you were full of so many loads of his cum you forgot to count. At one point he didn't even stop thrusting, he just kept going until he physically couldn't anymore. He laid with his body gently wrapped around yours, holding you close with a tenderness that contrasted his previous fucking. His face was buried in your hair, inhaling your sweet scent that filled his senses with pure bliss.

In that moment, he was completely content. The loud, uncomfortable scratching at his soul, which had been a new torment to him since his horns appeared, was now gone. It had been quieted down and soothed by the mere presence of you, your warmth, and the tranquility you brought to his life.

Thanks for reading.

*BAMF*

dividers by @/adornedwithlight

Cover Images: Sins of Sinister: Dominion 001 (2023); Immortal X-Men #9 (2023); Legion of X #7 (2023)

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