#its RIGHT THERE why is no one tapping into their dynamic. why do I have to do everything myself | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

stars-eclipsing · 5 days ago

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someone on twt said one of the variants had a slave kink, so I ran with it.

Tags: Use of restrictions, bdsm, sub and dom dynamics (not heavy), sub!mark obviously, stoplight system used, sounding, uhh i think thats it idk Word count: 4.5k (no comment)

I wanted to make something that was entertaining yet simultaneously sexy, so I hope that worked!

This work is inspired by this picture! Show some love, the artist is amazing!! (I wanted to include the thong but I didn't really know how to. Plus, it was already getting a lot and i got overwhelmed So, uh... *audience boos*)

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The chain above Mark rattles when he pulls on it. The metal is thick and mounted to the ceiling far above. (courtesy of him) So it's pretty secure, he’d say; and nothing really feels wrong… so why was he just a tiny bit scared?

From across the room, you fiddle with some objects in a smooth black box. You're broken out of your concentration when you hear him twist and squirm.

You spare him a glance, raising a brow, “...‘You doing okay over there?”

Mark pulls on the chain again, furrowing his brows at it in thought, “Shouldn’t be stronger?” He lifts his head at an awkward angle to look at you, “I mean— you know I could break out of this easily, right?”

You pick up the box and walk over to him, setting it on the bed for later. Then, you look down on him, trying to get a good look at his current state. At the inspection, he feels his face growing slightly pink.

“That’s not the point.” You cross your arms, looking into his eyes, “You’re not my hostage, Mark. That’s the idea. You’re purposefully relinquishing control over to me, so you can feel good.” You tilt your head,

“Got it?”

“Uh–” He looks at you with a blush across his face then nods slowly, swallowing, “Um, yeah. I think I got it.”

You smile nicely, playing with the thin, silky belt of your robe, “Good.”

Mark’s eyes immediately land on the black silk, focused on the way your fingers teasinging go over it, “So…” He looks back at you with a smirk, “Am I the only one that’s gonna be undressed here, or…?” He teases, but you can tell he’s nervous.

You do believe that a healthy dosage of nervousness and…fear is good. Even advisable. But, Mark seems to be far too on edge. And, well, we can’t have that, can we?

And so, you decide that now’s a time as ever to show a little sweetness. You crouch down to his level, mustering the most disarming look you can and whisper, “Just be patient.” You use your fingers to gently trace the skin below his briefs, and you feel the strong muscle beneath flex. At the sight, you hum in approval. “You can do that, right? Be good and patient?” You splay your hand over his stomach, looking directly into his eyes, “So you can have nice things.”

His eyes flit away nervously under your gaze, and he wants to run away, feeling overwhelmed already. But he stays put. “Yes.”

“Hmm? Yes, what?”

“Um…yes…ma’am?”

You giggle, tapping his hip, “Good boy.” Then stand up to look through the box on the bed.

He groans, trying to cover his face with his forearms, “This is so not okay.” His voice cracks endearingly in the middle of the sentence. Thank god Mark can’t see your face right now, because you’re trying to suppress a laugh. And if he sees you laughing at him, he may actually run.

From the mysterious black box, you take out a thin wand. It’s silver and metallic, with a sizable ball at the end. On the rod itself are variously sized balls. It’s very pretty and dainty in your opinion. It suits Mark in that regard.

Inside the box is another rod. Except, this one has a lithe tip that thickens as it goes down. It's painted a dull black, and looks far meaner. But you can’t judge a book by its cover, only by how good it’ll feel inside of Mark. You hold the silver one in your hand and look at the black one.

Decisions, decisions…

However, your train of thought is cut off by a wobbly voice down below, “Babe!” Mark whines from the cushion on the floor, you look behind your shoulder to see a very pink and pouty Mark Grayson. He sighs when he sees your reasonably unimpressed face. A face that his ego does not take lightly. However, his hot head between his legs seems to trump the one between his shoulders. “Don't take too long, it's weird being here all by myself…” He looks away, “I want you here with me.” He mumbles that last part.

You’d chastise him for neglecting the first rule you’d told him only a mere minute ago, but you internally (and perhaps graciously) decide to forgive him because he does look like he’s going to melt… And a sad Mark does make you sad…

Alright then, lightwork. Just decide quickly, by using clever Jean-Paul Sarte’s decision-making philosophy. You believe it went something like…

Eenie… meenie… minie… moe…

There we go. Silver one it is.

To avoid scaring the trembling kitty at your feet, you place it outside of his line of view when you sit back down between his legs. He doesn’t even notice, more attentive to the fact that you’re here with him.

As a reward for being so (im)patient with you, you lean down to place a kiss on Mark’s lips. However, you stop just a few centimeters away from his mouth to watch how he chases after your lips. It’s cruel, but can anyone blame you? It’s endearing.

You hold his warm face as you kiss him, and he kisses you back in earnest. Even though needy and fidgety, Mark takes his time to suck on the supple flesh of your lips before escalating, which you highly approve of. You make sure he knows that by running your right hand slowly down his body, landing just below his waist. Your index finger teasingly pulls on the waistband of his briefs, and Mark backs away from your mouth to huff. Above the both of you, you hear his chains clatter together as he instinctively tries to touch you too. He groans in your mouth when he realizes he’s restricted. How cute.

His bottom lip juts out and you already hear the complaint on the tip of his tongue. So, you decide to distract him from his neediness by alleviating it. Your kiss-bitten lips lean down to his jaw to begin to place kisses along it. You make your way down his neck, making sure to suck a hickey at the base of it.

He shivers at the hot, wet contact of your tongue with his sensitive neck. Instinctively, he groans and throws his head back, which is all the better for you.

You lick, suck, kiss, bite along his neck. A pleasure for you as you feel butterflies burst in your stomach. You glance up to see his flushed face, biting his lip. You can’t help the smirk that grows on your face at the sight. You blink up at him through your lashes, enamoured by how genuinely beautiful he is. But that only embarasses him, making him flush and hide his face in his bicep.

You can’t help but laugh at the sight, crawling just a little further so you’re face-to-face with him.

“Maaark,” You say musically, nosing at his cheek. He ‘Hmm?’’s

This is the usual routine. But sweet Mark, bless him, can’t seem to put two and two together.

Your hand slips beneath his briefs slowly, and he immediately jerks, pulling on the chain hard in a bout of nerves. Your eyes flit up instinctively to where it's mounted on the ceiling, but it hasn't budged. Your baby boy is so handy, it makes your heart swell. You kiss his hot cheek to try and soothe the overwhelming feeling. You feel his rapidly beating heart against yours. A wild BA-THUMP, BA-THUMP, BA-THUMP, hammering against his ribs. His heart echoes its language to yours, and you try your best to cradle it safely in your arms.

“Mark…” You whisper, kissing his cheek. You keep your face pressed to his, “I love you.”

His breath is a little ragged, but he responds anyway. Like he always does. “I love you too–!”

He ends the declaration in a groan as you gently stroke the base of his hard cock. You kiss the corner of his lips, keeping the soft, careful pace. He huffs loudly, his lungs shallowly trying to take in air as you wrap your arm around the base of him with two nimble fingers.

He lets out an “Oh!”, and his breath doesn't calm down. You kiss his pretty, flushed lips a few times. “Okay?” You ask, then correct yourself when he doesn’t respond, “Green?”

Despite the fact that he looks like he’s in complete agony, he sniffs and nods, “G-Green. Don’t stop, okay? Please.” He shuts his eyes and bucks his hips into your touch, making you gasp softly, “I wanna cum so bad.” He whines.

Oh, Viltrumites. Ever so sensitive you are.

Your lucky pretty little Mark over here has stamina, or you would have never let him orgasm this fast in a million years. You can’t just have everything you want just because you have a pretty face, you know?

You grip the base of his cock, and he throws his head back, moaning. You use your other hand to lower his briefs, then wrap around his length brutishly without a care. He whimpers at the harsh contact, the left side of his hips lifting. But you know he likes it that way. He’s so darling.

“I hope the message is clear:” Your hot breath against his face makes him whimper, “You can cum, but I won’t be nice about it. Do we have a deal, bunny?”

The pretty nickname makes him groan breathily, and he nods furiously. “Deal. Deal– oh, deal. Oh please, please, PLEASE–”

You move at the animalistic pace you promised him. With every stroke upwards, your fingers pay a harsh visit to his head by squeezing, making him choke. You no longer concern yourself with his cries, his “please” ‘s, or the chains threatening to break from the ceiling that it is mounted to. All you care about is delivering his wish.

However, his fidgeting is a problem. You bring your legs to hold back both his thighs. But his strength, of course, overwhelms you, no matter how delirious he may be. Your lower half ends up jostling around as you try to calm him like you would a wild steed. But if this one decides to become good, then maybe you won’t need a whip after all.

You feel it in the way that his hip stutters that he’s close. In the way that he babbles, “Love you, love you, love you–”

He bucks his hips forward one last time and he cums hard, screaming. His release spills onto his stomach, his thighs, and tarnishes the perfect black silk of your robe. Not that you mind one bit.

He breathes heavily into your neck, trying to come back to Earth. You stroke his soft black hair as he does, and kiss his forehead.

You kiss the tip of his nose and decide to ask a silly question. “Mark,” “Hmm?” He says softly. “What are you?”

His mouth is slightly open, and his eyes are glazed over. He squints his eyes, and his brows furrow as he tries to think about what you want him to say, “U-Um… your pet?”

You laugh at the sweet answer, “Yes. But also something else.”

Overwhelmed and overstimulated, his cock weeps for him as he tries to think, “Mmm- ah– Umm…”

You sit up on your haunches and undo the fastens of your sultry robe, deciding it was time to reveal the mini-surprise, since the poor silk was already filthy.

It slips from out of your arms and lands on the floor, revealing an even more seductive black lingerie. Lace lines the cup of the bra and where it ends thinly below your hips. It connects to a pair of garters on your thighs and ends at the long, sheer black thigh highs.

Evil, but make it sexy.

You smile down at him, “The answer is mine.”

You move your hair out of your face to see Mark’s face, and it’s nothing short of awestruck. His mouth hangs open, and the glaze in his eyes clear as he tries to focus on the view in front of him. You think you see some drool escape his pink lips, but you’re more focused on the silver rod you hold in your hand, something Mark is not.

His cock twitches, and he makes a small sound at the back of his throat. Then, he reels it in to form a sentence, “Was all that just-just foreplay or something?” He asks nervously, but with the way the corner of his lip twitches upwards, you suspect he can handle it.

You smirk, “It can be anything you like.” You position your legs on either side of his abdomen, then lower to a kneel, right above your most beloved part of him, (other than his big, loving heart) his well-defined abs. Just looking at them makes you groan.

Deciding you want his undivided attention, you blink pretty eyes at him as he looks up at you with an unsure, but needy expression. You already feel his dick come to life once again from behind you. It makes you shiver.

“Do you want a show, Mark?” You move the suit's crotch to the side, teasingly slow. His eyes are trained on the area between your thighs, focused and unblinking.

“Yes–” His sentence cuts off awkwardly, and he looks up at you, “Please.” Noticing the way you slightly raise your eyebrows, he adds, “Ma’am.”

You send an approving smile his way, and he shakily smiles back.

“Well, you haven’t been on your best behavior…” His stomach tenses from underneath you, and his throat tightens up, “But…” You smile, “You did your best. But just know that won’t be enough next time. I expect perfect. Isn’t that right?”

He immediately nods, exhaling a breath he didn’t know he was holding. Though it stings, he’s thankful for your leniency.

“Besides, you’re my good boy.” You hum, then move the thin fabric to the side, exposing your dripping core. He gasps instantly at the sight, then lets out a needy sound at the back of his throat. Your entrance pulses at the intense gaze it’s receiving, which just makes Mark swallow, “So, you’re allowed to be spoiled every once in a while, right?”

He nods, licking his lips, “Yes.” He looks up at you with his pretty doe eyes, “Yes, please. Thank you.”

At his blatant display of eagerness, you can’t help but drag your free hand between your folds, making you moan in satisfaction. Mark flexes beneath you at that.

You circle your clit lithely, trying not to excite yourself too much too early. Not everyone can go on like a Viltrumite. “You know, Mark,” His eyes snap up to your own, hanging to your every word with obscenely rapt attention, “I may need some help.” He bites his bottom lip with a groan. You bite your own to stifle a giggle.

You continue to circle leisurely at your clit. Seductively, you whisper, “Can you help me, Mark?”

You hear the chains above you rattle and clatter from above you immediately. He seemed to have forgotten the constraints and wanted to lunge to you, but was only able to lift his upper body slightly. Once he realizes the cause of his failed attempt, he looks up at the chains with a deep frown and furrowed brows, suddenly wishing he could break it into a million tiny pieces.

Then, he directs his unimpressed gaze to you, trying to garner sympathy by whining your name pathetically, “Please?” He pulls on them lightly, “Off?”

You snort, then slip a finger just between your folds, but not going further. Simply teasing your entrance. Mark is back to his entranced stare without needing to be told twice, mesmerized by the way the tip of your finger immediately slicks up from your wetness.

Saliva pools in his mouth, and he swallows it before he speaks, “Please– I can help—”

You both gasp when your finger slips in your entrance, but that’s just the tip of the iceberg. Your thumb comes forward to begin circling your clit. You struggle to time the thrusts with the way you tease your clit. But after a few seconds, you capture it perfectly, enunciated by the way you moan louder.

“You like this, Mark?” You huff, looking down at his enraptured face, his jaw agape into an ‘o’ shape, “See what you do to me? This is all you. You make me so fucking horny, know that?” He whines at your filthy words, and pulls on the chains. His pretty pink face nods, wanting to close his eyes shut but not wanting to miss a second.

“Y-You said I could help.” He begs with a flex of his hip, bucking up into the air. You bring your hand down to the side of your hip.

“Control yourself,” You pull your finger out, it’s wet and covered in the scent of your essence. You lower yourself down on his abdomen, making him gasp. You moan softly, the feeling of his chiseled stomach against your sensitive clit making your pussy clench. You gently rock yourself on him, the movement making your sight heady with lust, and all you can see is Mark below you, panting like a dog. You bring your hand to his chest, “And you can help.”

You grind yourself against his abdomen, with no intention of coming anytime soon. Only to arouse yourself further. You need to be as wet as possible for what you want to do.

But Mark feels so good. Not to mention, his wanton whimpers and moans only boost your pleasure. His hip still jerks and flexes from beneath your hand, his dick wanting to be touched and played with desperately, but he doesn’t dare voice it. You don’t even think he notices with how hard he’s staring at your soaking wet entrance.

You feel your head get lost in the momentary pleasure. The feeling of wanting to come suddenly bursting in your stomach, and you have to physically shake your head to clear it of its wanton haze. Aimlessly, your other hand scrambles to the sounding rod next to you. Mark swallows audibly and makes a dizzy ‘Huh?’ sound, but you pay it no mind.

You will yourself to concentrate as you angle the silver wand to insert it between your folds, the ball of it to the front of your crotch, close to your clit where your fingers hold it in place. You look down to see a speechless Mark. You can practically see his empty brain try to form a cognizant thought as he tries to register what it is you’re doing.

You move the handle of it forward slowly, the balls on the wand glide through your folds and your clit with slicked ease, making you gasp. It steadily comes out the other side, in plain view of Mark. He angles his head even further forward to take a good look at it. It’s already gleaming with the beautiful sight of your wetness. His mouth falls open further, his tongue threatening to loll out, and his cock throbs.

He whines your name as he stares at the wand, suddenly painfully aware of how jealous he is of it. Mindlessly, he only lightly pulls on the chain, subconsciously realizing that his effort is futile, since he is not going anywhere anytime soon. Just a reflex.

“You like it?” You smile, turning it so the light catches on the slicked metal, “I picked it out for you. I thought you’d think it was pretty.”

“U-Um— What?” He says intelligently, having not heard a word you said.

In that case, you decide to go for a more physical approach, taking his jaw and angling it downwards to look at nothing but the silver wand and your cunt. You make it pass backwards again quickly, and you almost choke on the feeling.

“I said– Do you like it?” You bear through the pleasure-pain to bring it back forwards in front of him, so he can take a decent look. You feel a glob of his spit drip down your thumb.

He nods quickly, trying his best to get into your good graces, “I like it, like you.” He blabbers.

“Do you know what it is?”

He nods immediately again, his eyes glazed over and his expression drilled in on your wet core. Wet for him, wet ‘cause of him, love him, you love him, gonna fucking come— His dick twitches at his train of thought, and it bleeds precum insistently. He blinks and tries his very best to answer you, “Suh- So- Me?” He replies astutely.

You hold onto his shoulders, digging your nails into the firm, strong muscle, he groans, “Yea, you want it? You wanna use it after me?”

His mouth falls open, the flush that encapsulates his face reaches down to his chest. His hip involuntarily bucks forward sharply. He whines when the motion does not reward him with any stimulation.

Drool freely escapes his mouth as he watches the wand– the wand that’s going to be inside of him, drip with your wetness. Your slick coats the entire rod, and he shivers at the obscene sight of it– at the– at the future implications of, of–

You glide the wand through your folds and simultaneous reach behind to stroke the underside of his painfully hard dick. You both moan wantonly at the same time.

His biceps strain desperately against the chains. He can’t do it, he can’t do it. He needs to touch– kiss, bite–

He feels a wetness at the head of his cock, and he gasps, taken aback by its coolness. You move to sit on his strong, thick thighs, circling the head of the wand along the head of his dick gently. Occasionally, you ‘accidentally’ swipe it along the slit of his head.

“Ah– mmm, Hah– B-Baby?” His firm thighs flex beneath you, but he’s thankful for the comforting weight as his face watches the wand move dangerously close to the hole of his urethra.

You move it daintily across the side of him, his muscular thigh jolts upwards but you can tell he’s trying his best to control himself for you, so you don’t get hurt. Aww.

You move the thin tip directly on his dick’s slit, he whimpers.

“Do you want it, pretty baby?” You insert a centimeter in, he moans, then back out, “Hm, what do you say? I got it all lubed up for you, you know.”

He nods like he’s mad, “Please, please, I wan’ it.”

He sniffs, confused on whether to watch the wand inch closer to his dick or the way your body looks in that skimpy lingerie. He whines, feeling agitated and overwhelmed.

Luckily for him, you don’t think twice before you lower the rod into his welcoming hole. He gasps, his face lowering to the sight, barely an inch in. He squirms, suddenly hyper aware and very vigilant.

You look up at him, when you find his eyes zeroed in on the sight of the textured wand slightly inside of him. You directly ask, “Green?”

He blinks, drunk on the sight and the feeling, “Yea.” He fidgets, “So green.”

You continue to lower the rod down slowly, and the first ball inserts inside of him, and he sighs, satisfied as it moves against his insides. Using the chains to help him, he sits up a little more and seeks your lips.

You grant it to him, sucking on his bottom lip gingerly. You continued to push the rod down, and the feeling of the tiny spheres moving inside of him was starting to make him antsy, his thighs jutting and flexing insistently. But he still kisses you back, albeit sloppily. You keep going, inching the silver rod further into him.

He breaks the kiss with the gasp when the entire thing is inside of him, the handle jutting out.

He pants, trying to get accustomed to the feeling of something so…big inside somewhere as sensitive as his dick. He didn’t think it's that big, especially not when you were playing with it, but now, it feels huge.

You hum at the sight, and don't bother to push it back when his hole slowly tries to push it out. You say the first thing that comes to mind, “You would look very pretty with a dick piercing.”

He grows bashful, despite the fact that he’s fully naked in front of you with a rod you’ve shoved up his cock, “Uh, really?” He says hesitantly, “Well, uh maybe I’ll get one? If you like it, I mean…”

You laugh at his nervousness, holding the handle between three fingers, “Yeah. Why not?” You say airily, throwing him off before pull at the handle quickly, leaving only one ball inside of his painfully hard cock. He gasps, letting out a shaky moan as he pants.

“O-Ow! I'm– sensitive, you know.” He pouts at you.

You chuckle deliriously, “You’re beautiful.” You push the wand completely back in, deep inside of his cock, then back out, letting the texture on the rod do its magic.

Out. In. Out. In. Out. In. Out, in, out, in, Out In Out In Out In–

Mark screams, squeezing his eyes shut as the feeling waahes over him, eating him whole. He digs the heels of his feet onto the floorboards, and you hear a snap, snap, snap.

You don't concern yourself with the chains that rattle above you wildly as Mark tries to control what, when, and why. His head rolls back and forth quickly, trying to alleviate the feeling, but it just makes it worse.

“Hah— Cum.” He says haphazardly, bucking his hips forward to match your thrusts “‘m gonna, cu-ahm!” He feels himself scream so loud, he wonders if the entire neighborhood could hear.

You grip his shoulder with one hand, digging your fingernails in, “Mhm, yeah, gonna cum?” You thrust the wand faster into his pretty cock, “Cum pretty baby, do it.”

He pants and nods, obeying you. He meets the wand at the exact moment you shove it back inside of him, entering him excruciatingly deep, and he cries. He cries as he cums, he cries when you quickly pull out the wand to watch the way his release paints his stomach and thighs.

A few more weak spurts come out of his twitchy cock, and he whimpers.

You look at your sticky, dirty hands, and a dizzy chuckle comes over you. You instinctively put a finger into your mouth and suck, tasting his semen

At the sight, Mark moans, “Ah, shit.” You look up at him, and a loud clash is heard. He breaks free of his chains and lunges at you, toppling over you on the floor. You fall with an audible oomph.

He kisses at your jaw, and you feel his hard dick against your thigh. In that moment, he plays cheeky and uses your own words against you, “Wanna cum?”

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a/n: For those of you who are curious, the quote by Jean-Paul Satre is: "Man is nothing else but what he makes himself." i.e. that our decisions create our own essence. so thats a quick philosophy fact to impress your co workers ;)

Funnily enough, I spent an indecent amount of time trying to decide between Friedrich Nietzsche and Jean-Paul. Then, I realized that 1) Not everyone is a philosophy major, or into existentialism, so they wouldn't give a fuck who that even is. 2) Even if they were, they still wouldn't give a fuck because its literally bdsm smut. Talk about a reality check!

This took a while so I hope its up to par... ugh.

Hope you all enjoyed <3 mwah

#me gambling my bfs pleasure using eenie meenie minie moe #hehe i hope u like ittt #invincible #invincible show #invincible x reader #invincible smut #mark grayson #mark grayson x reader #eclipse's case files #eclipse's mark grayson

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wild-rise · 6 months ago

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Sunshine

Daryl Dixon x F!Reader Smut MDNI 18+

Summary: After a stressful day and years of animosity between you and Daryl the dynamics of your power struggle finally gets resolved. Safe to say you're finally put in your place.

Warnings: MDNI, 18+, Reader is a brat, Soft!Dom Daryl, Kinda mean Daryl, Teasing, Oral (M!receiving) Face F!cking, Binding (Readers wrists), Dirty Talk, Pervy Daryl, Thigh Riding, Just the t!p, P in V penetration, unprotected (Wrap it before you tap it folks), creampie. I think that's it...

“How ‘bout runnin’ that by me one more time sunshine?” Daryl gruffs out cocking his head to you making sure he wasn’t going crazy because there’s no way in hell you just said what he thinks you did.

“Your hearing going out now Dixon?” Just before you reach the door of his room you turn to face him again, invading his space, craning your head up to make sure the message gets through his thick skull this time.

“Fuck. You. You redneck piece of shit.” The words cutting like knives as they roll off your tongue. Daryl holds his composure as he looks down at you and lets out an exasperated sigh.

“If you want to so bad all ya have to do is ask nicely.” That same smirk dancing on his lips. He made every nerve in your body boil till you only saw red. Daryl knew how to push every single button to set you off and get under your skin.

Without warning Daryl’s face is hit with your saliva “Fucking pig.” You’re seething at this point and now any hint of playfulness in Daryl’s features is gone. You turn on your heels to leave when suddenly his large hand wraps around your arm pulling you back to his hard chest.

“You’re a goddamn bitch ya know that?” Daryl practically growls the words at you as he wipes the spit off his face with the back of his hand.

“No. You’re just an inconsiderate asshat that’s just looking out for himself like always.” The venom of your tone doesn’t go unnoticed by Daryl as he holds you close noticing the heat radiating off your skin and your scent invading his senses.

“I’m the only reason you’re alive right now so if you know what’s good for you, I suggest you drop it, Sunshine.” That stupid nickname he gave you back on the farm had its way of making a shit situation even shittier and Daryl knew, that’s why he made sure to draw out each syllable.

There can never be a civil interaction between the two of you. You’ve been together for so long, but the animosity never faded. Rick even tried locking you both in a cell together at the prison but after three hours of arguing he let both of you out and go separate ways. No one bothered to intervene and after that your relationship simply stayed stagnant.

Right now, as much as it pained you he was right. The only reason you’re standing here is because he followed you on your hunt which turned sour when your kill was taken by walkers. The loss made you unhinged, being the final straw to break your back after all the tragedy your community suffered after the whispers. You went on dropping body after body till you were starting to get outnumbered, but your stubbornness never let up. Daryl noticing your struggle and intervened before you could get hurt but to his surprise you turned your rage towards him before storming off back to Alexandira.

Bringing you back here telling off Daryl for being… helpful? Honestly the stress of everything you’ve endured and the loss the community has suffered is getting to you and you need a release, and Daryl is the only one who can take it.

Taking a deep breath as you hold eye contact with him you’re finally registering just how close the two of you are. His breath fanning over your face, hand still holding tightly to your arm and that’s when the intrusive ideas locked away in the deepest parts of your mind finally come to light. “And what exactly is best for me Daryl? Hm? Please do tell.” Your voice is barely above a whisper now.

“Is that you askin nicely?” he says watching the shift in your demeanor and matching your tone.

“Don’t push it Dixon.” The sternness in your voice lacking conviction and Daryl decided then what he was going to do with you.

He brings his other hand up to your face cupping your check and leaning down just about to kiss you when “Ask nicely. Sunshine.” He says right on your lips. How could he be even more frustrating, especially at a time like this. “Tell me what’s best for me. Please.” Sarcasm dripping on your every word. The fire in you is impossible to extinguish and honestly, it’s what Daryl loves about you so much and he’d die before he ever saw it put out but right now it needs to desperately be controlled.

“How bout ya let me show you.” And as quickly as the words fall from his mouth, he’s pressing his lips to yours. His actions are filled with hunger and desire as a mixture of saliva form between you. Your hands come up to find purchase on his broad shoulders as he deepens the kiss exploring every inch of your mouth. “Get on your knees. Now” the words going straight to your cunt but the brat in you can’t help but be defiant. “Ask nicely.” You mock him and the hand cupping your cheek travels to the back of your head grasping your hair tightly and dragging you down to your knees. “You just don’t know when to fuckin quit do ya? That shit stops now you understand?” The tenderness on your scalp stings from his grip but you welcome the sensation as a soft whimper leaves you confirming Daryl’s suspicion.

You wanted someone to put you in your place and take control. You didn’t want to have to think just do what you’re told and feel something other than the suffering you’ve endured.

“That so hard? Now, can you get my belt off or do ya need help with that too?” Realizing your predicament, you reach your hands up to undo his belt and pull down his zipper. Daryl releases his hand from your hair before pulling his belt off through the loops of his pants. “Hands behind your back.” Doing exactly what he says Daryl comes behind you tying your hands behind your back with his belt. Anticipation floods your body as Daryl stands back in front of you pulling his cock out of the confines of his jeans. The angry red tip directly in your face leaking precum and begging for a release. He was bigger than you imagined and the thought of him ramming your throat made your panties even more wet than before.

“Open up sunshine.” Lolling your tongue out Daryl slowly pushes his cock past your lips a little at a time allowing you to get comfortable with the position. Once you get a steady rhythm of sucking and licking his length Daryl’s hands return to your hair pulling you off him.

“Should’ve known cock would shut you up.” Daryl groans as he slides back into the warmness of your mouth. The sounds he made were almost heavenly enough to distract you from the pain in the back of your throat... almost. Your pace is quickly abandoned as Daryl starts bucking his hips in your face stuffing your throat full of his cock. Tears stream down your cheeks and the pressure from his belt straining on your wrists start to make your head dizzy and you can hardly breathe. “Fucking hell sunshine your takin me so well.” Daryl stops holding your head at the base of his dick till you start squirming from the lack of oxygen and he pulls you off completely. Taking a gasp of air trying to regain composure, you whine when he hoists you back up onto your feet.

“You gonna stop being a bitch or should I just let you finish sucking my dick and leave you here to take care of yourself?” He asks in such a kind way, but his actions moments ago were anything but. “I’ll stop. Promise, please Daryl.” You cry at him just needing something more as the desire grew within you. “Good girl. See I knew you had it in you.” He takes his belt off your wrists and has the rest of your garments following suit. Daryl guides you to lie on his bed and the vulnerable feeling of being completely exposed while he’s still fully dressed has your cheeks burning red. Daryl bends down to pick up your soaked panties, bring them to his face and takes a deep breath before shoving them in his back pocket. “Constellation prize.” He winks at you as you moan desperate for him to do anything to you.

“Are you going to actually touch me or just keep being a perv?” You groan at him as he pulls off his clothes joining you on his bed. “Just takin my time, don’t be so impatient.” You want to cry from the pressure building up at your cunt. Daryl could tell how needy you were from how much you’ve been pressing your thighs together chasing any type of satisfaction. Caging you between his forearms he slots a leg between yours adding pressure to your long awaiting cunt. Your arousal is prominent enough to leave remanence behind on his leg, but he doesn’t move. “Go on, hump my leg like the bitch you are.” His words hushed into your ear make the tears come back to your eyes. He was being so mean, and it was turning you on so much. With a strangled moan you started dragging your hips up and down, rubbing against his leg as he marked up and down your neck and chest leaving a path of hickeys and bruises. Your hips started bucking faster as you felt that familiar sensation of your approaching orgasm but just as you were about to let go Daryl pulls his thigh away from you.

“Daryl please I’m s-so ssorry I’ll be nice I’ll do whatever you want just plea-please make me cum.” You were a sight to behold, so worked up and desperate just for him and oh how he loved it. “Since you asked so nicely.” He leans down to give you a kiss but this time it was different. This time it lacked primal urgency from before, it was tender and attentive.

Now Daryl had your legs on either side of him as he lined his cock up with your dripping, aching pussy. He slowly pushed just the tip and watched your greedy cunt try to suck him in some more and your sobbing persisted. He leaned down peppering kisses along your jaw, shushing you trying to calm you down. “Next time I won’t be so harsh on ya if you use your manners, Sunshine.” Is all he whispers in your ear before sitting back up and ramming his entire length in you bottoming out.

Your cries and moans are so loud he’s pretty sure someone’s going to come down thinking you’re in danger, but he could care less because the sounds you’re making right now are music to his ears. The way he’s pressing your legs apart sends a burn through your thighs and your breasts are bouncing at the rhythm of his thrusts. “Doing so fuckin good for me f-fuck this pussy’s just suckin me in S-Sunshine.” His tough guy act falters as he speeds up his pace. Daryl quickly puts your legs onto his shoulders allowing him to hit that one spot deep in your body that has you seeing stars.

“Oh, fuck Daryl yes, yes right there oh my god please d-don’t stop.” You cry out begging him for your release. "Wasn't plannin' on it. Fuck it's like this pussy was made for me." Daryl keeps up the same pace and brings a hand down rubbing tight circles on your clit. The added stimulation is enough to send you over the edge moaning Daryl’s name over and over again. The spasming of your cunt has him losing the fight of holding off his orgasm as he finishes deep inside you. “Fucking take it. F-fuck take it all.” He says while he delivers the final thrusts riding out both of your highs.

Daryl rolls over, bringing you into his chest and caresses your hair while you both try to catch your breath. “What do you say? Hm?”

You look up at him through your lashes and taking in his disheveled appearance you realize this is a sight you could easily get used too. “Thank you. Daryl.” Your voice is hoarse from the amount of screaming and moaning he pulled from you which sparked pride to flood through his chest.

“You are very welcome, Sunshine.” He feels content finally taming your fire as he traces patterns on your back while you slowly drift off to sleep.

#twd #the walking dead #daryl dixon #daryl smut #daryl x reader #daryl twd #daryl dixon x reader #daryl dixon fanfiction #twd daryl dixon #daryl dixon x you #daryl dixon smut #daryl dixon x female reader #daryl dixon x female reader smut #twd fanfiction

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marasmadness · 10 months ago

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Only Need You For The Oxytocin- Emily Prentiss x fem!reader

CW: season 17 section chief Emily💋, stripper!reader, erm not everything Emily does is very legal but let us all close our eyes for the time being, interrogation, enemies to less than enemies. everybody is very flirty in government buildings where they should not be! handcuffs, smut, rough sex, power dynamics (dom!emily), bondage, thigh riding, light degradation, oral sex (em receiving), choking, semi public sex

Rossi tapped his fingers against the windowsill of an interrogation room, turning to face Emily beside him. “Some of the most psychopathic men have sat in the room and started to squirm after thirty minutes. She’s been sitting in there for two hours, unphased.

“She’s not a man,” Emily mumbled, watching the woman on the other side of the glass with squinted eyes. ”I’m going to talk to her.” Emily perked up, finally growing impatient. Grabbing her jacket off the chair behind her, she slipped it on, knowing that Rossi had already turned down the thermostat in there.

"Prentiss, wait, we already drew up a profile. We won’t get anything out of her. She’ll just try to play with you.”

“Let her,’ she replied, leaving Rossi with a half-open mouth as she dipped inside the interrogation room, shutting the door behind her.

“Oh, you’re a new one.” You smiled at the older woman who had finally walked into the room, alluding to the three other agents who had entered hours ago and quickly left. “Shame, Agent Jareau and I were having a grand old time. You could be fun too,” you commented, eyeing her up and down as she introduced herself.

Emily cleared her throat, choosing to ignore your comments. “I’m SSA Emily Prentiss with the BAU. Do you know why you’re here today?”

You tilted your head, feigning confusion. “Because your team wanted to have a little chit chat?”

“Bullshit, you’re too smart for this. You know why you’re here.” Ignoring the chair across from you, she opted to sit against the edge of the table. I’ve already talked to just about everyone else in your club and every other one in the city, for that matter, and they all came to one conclusion. If I needed information, you would have it. She explained calmly yet sternly as she swept her arm toward the door.

You sighed as you rested your tilted head on your palms. “You speak like this is an expectation from me, yet your men dragged me in from the parking lot on the way out of my shift and didn’t tell me anything until I was sitting in your interrogation room, like I’m the one running around committing crimes,” you said pointedly. “And don’t think I didn’t realize your old friend out there was lowering the thermostat, thinking it would get me to tell you whatever you wanted; I’m barely wearing any fucking clothes; of course I’d notice when it drops a few degrees.”

A sense of unease flashed across Emily’s face as she felt slightly guilty. She had come in headstrong, and you were right, without knowing how you ended up here in the first place. She was still standing in a room across from you, who was already on edge, so instead of rewinding, she doubled down. “So now what? You’re not going to give us the information we need to stop a serial killer because you’re offended,” she scoffed, crossing her arms across her chest.

You just stared, watching the woman. She wore a gold watch, its face sitting on her inner wrist, which clinked against her belt buckle lightly every time she dropped her hands to her side. Underneath a long red coat that you desperately wished to be under right now, her outfit was sleek and simple: black pants, thin gold jewelry, and a black blouse with newly undone buttons. Your eyes froze on her shirt, your lips pressing into a smile."Really? Two hours of you and your team of profilers brainstorming, and the best you could come up with was that I would spit out all my information if you sent a woman twice my age in to what exactly, seduce me?” Emily looked caught off guard, and you tipped your head toward her chest. “You’re wearing three fewer buttons than when I watched you walk by this room earlier when Luke left, and a fresh coat of lipgloss.”

Emily held up her hand, leaning in closer over the table. "Okay, I get it—not the correct strategy.”

“No, you had my weaknesses spot on; just use them in a bar or a date, not an interrogation room. I’m not that gullible.” You smirked, enjoying watching Emily’s panic level rise, and then her eyes narrowed as a giggle escaped you.

Emily finally took the seat across from you, resting her forehead in her palm. “You’re giving me a headache.”

She heard you shuffle, reaching underneath the table, and eventually looked up when you tossed a pack of cigarettes and a lighter in front of her. She suddenly snapped up in attention. Where did you get those?”

You shrugged, picking one up. “I had them on me.”

“They didn’t search you when you came in?”

You shook your head, going to light one until Emily snatched in from between your fingers. “Stand up,” she directed, dragging two fingers upward through the air as she made her way around the table. You heard her mumble something under her breath, unable to distinguish any of it other than something about doing everything herself around here.

Her hands slid delicately down your sides and along the side seams of your clothes. She hesitated at the sensation of her hands brushing against your bare waist. Clearing her throat, she removed her hands. “Moving on, I need the list of Claire Demont’s regulars; I know she handed the list down to you.”

“I don't feel entirely obligated to help you. Claire has done a lot for me. Men have done a lot of shitty stuff to her. I’m not saying murder is ever the answer, but I don’t doubt that there's a reason for her rage. Can I go home now? Last time I checked, I wasn’t guilty of anything.” You stretched back over the metal frame of the chair, waking up your stiff muscles.

“No yet, but we do have a 24-hour hold because my team is under the very strong impression that you have information regarding the case.” Emily began to trail off upon seeing your disinterested demeanor and knew she wouldn’t be getting through to you. “Look, I can’t get you out of here; the best I can offer you is that we talk in my office instead, but I better be leaving with the list of names, no exceptions, got it?”

“Fine,” you got up slowly, demonstrating restraint to hide your eagerness. Before you could breathe deeply about your new slight ounce of freedom, the agent’s hands were enclosed around both your wrists, swiftly moving them behind your back. A short gasp of shock left your lips as you recognized the cold metal rings that clicked around your wrist. “I thought you said I was under arrest,” you muttered, irritated.

Emily’s chin hovered just above your shoulder as she whispered slowly in your ear, “You’re not; that was just for my entertainment.” A soft chuckle escaped her as she pulled away. Looping her fingers around the chain connecting your wrists, she tugged lightly, directing you toward the door.

Emily stepped outside much more composedly than you when you came face-to-face with three security guards outside the room. Emily knew they would be the only ones left in the building; no other agents remained, and they did not alarm her.

You heard a soft noise from over your shoulder, something you couldn’t make out but clearly Emily had. Turning your head, you found a man’s eyes roaming down your skin, almost greedily. Within seconds, Emily had dropped her coat off her shoulders and draped it over your shoulders. Pulling it closed around you, it hung down almost your entire body. Without a comment, her hand naturally fell down by her badge, and she gave a soft nod as she passed by the remaining guards, giving them no reason to question her authority.

Your heart rate sped up the farther you made it down the hallway; its loud beating suddenly became very evident beneath your chest. Peeking a glance over at Emily, she seemed collected and undeterred as she led the way to her office.

Stepping into her office, you immediately opened your mouth to speak. Before you could get a word out, Emily’s hand was over your mouth as you were pressed up against the wall beside her door as she locked it and pulled down the blinds. She eventually dropped her hand, narrowing the space between you slightly with the tilt of her head. “You’re not very good at this, are you?” She smirked before reaching over your waist to undo the cuffs, then looped them back around her belt. “Sit down,” She tossed her hand out across the office as her eyes scanned the rows of shelves lining the back of the room. You took a seat on the edge of her desk, right across from her chair. She pivoted around on her heel, setting a pen and piece of paper next to you. “Names,” she said, tapping the blank sheet with her nail.

You sighed under your breath but picked up the pen anyway, twirling it in between your fingers. Emily slid herself between her chair and your legs, dangling off her desk, before sitting back. ”Just so you know, I never knew all of Claire’s clients. When she left, she only gave me a handful of regulars' names to pass on to me.”

“That’s fine. The more she interacted with them, or the bigger impression she made on them, the more likely these men were to be targets. Do you know if she slept with any of them?”

“No, she never slept with clients, and despite contrary belief, neither did I,” you clarified, narrowing your eyes into a warning glare.

“I never said that,” Emily corrected, her voice remaining low and even throughout every interaction. “Sometimes it's just helpful to know because a man’s sex life can often tell you a lot about him.”

“If that's the information you need, you don’t need a profiler to find that out. You just need a little attention to things other than the physical act of sex.” You flipped the piece of paper in your lap around so the names were facing Emily as your pen rolled down the list. “These three are married and always want to give up control. They crave attention from the dancers but don’t do anything to draw it to themselves. They don’t demand anything; they want you to come to them. And the next handful of names have been single almost their entire lives. Most of them are possessive, and they want to spend the most time with you. They’ll tell you exactly what they want from you. Those men are typically the ones who will pay for a lap dance or two.”

Emily looked up at you, curious and slightly impressed. “You can tell me all that from a few minutes of interaction?” She asked skeptically. Your eyes skipped to the slight movements of her body, her thighs tensing against the tight fabric of her pants, and her ringer fingers closing against her palms as they rested at her side.

“Almost always, it's quite straightforward to discern if a partner is going to be possessive, controlling, desperate, or possessive.” You selected your words carefully, letting them hang in the silence between the two of you almost tauntingly.

Clearing her throat, Emily shook her head softly, causing a strand of silver hair to fall from her shoulder. “I’m not sure I believe you.”

Without thinking, you slipped off her desk with languid movements, finding yourself hovering over her with knees on each side of her body. You leaned away from her, back arching, so you were suspended over the air in front of her. Within seconds, Emily’s hands grasped at your hips, pulling you farther into the chair. It wasn’t an act of politeness to keep you from falling; it was lust-filled, her bruising grip not lessening or pulling away like two strangers should. Lifting your fingers, you brushed the collar of her shirt out of the way, pressing two fingers to the warm skin beneath her collar bone. Smirking, you felt her skin pulsing against you rapidly—the telltale sound of her racing heart. Tucking her fallen hair behind her ear, you whispered softly and sweetly. “ Just proved it.”

You lifted yourself off of her, starting to climb back down, before her firm grip pulled you forcefully back onto her lap. Her hands slid up her back, fingers playing with the zipper that held your top together teasingly. “Ah, finish what you started, doll.” She positioned you how she wanted to, her thigh between your legs with your hands draped over her shoulders. Her nails trailed down your legs, leaving light red scratches as she tore through your thin fishnet stockings.

Her lips latched to the side of your neck, sucking bruises of red and bluish hues down to your collarbone. Her sudden tightening grip made you suck in a gasp midway through ridding her of her own shirt. “Ride.” With one hand on your waist and the other clinging to the curve of your ass, she started the rocking motion. She flexed her toned thigh, holding you roughly down on her thigh, so every slight movement initiated by her stimulated your clit through the thin fabric between you.

The fact that your breathing was already breaking into stuttered sharp inhales simply from riding her thigh had your face burning. In an attempt to hide the fact, you buried your face against her shoulder, turning away from her unwavering gaze.

She brought your rocking to a halt, stopping to rest a hand on the base of your neck until you had to pull back upright to breathe deeply enough for the stars in your vision to disappear. “Eyes on me,” she corrected without additional comment before continuing her motions.

Sensing you were close to falling apart for her, she tugged your panties to the side, pressing the pad of her thumb to your clit. “Fuck,’ you trembled against her strong frame. The older woman’s eyes suddenly darted over your shoulder, and she quickly brought her hand from between your legs up to your mouth, pushing two fingers coated in your arousal past your lips.Sensing a noise behind you, your eyes widened in fear, realizing she had given you her fingers to keep you quiet.

There was a knock on the door, and Emily didn’t appear to be as alarmed as she should be, in your opinion. “Get under my desk and stay quiet.” She husked directly in your ear, nudging you down onto your knees in front of her, and she called out. “Come in,”

Anderson entered, swiping his badge to unlock the door. “Hey, Agent Prentiss. I just noticed your light was still on and wanted to make sure everything was okay. It’s getting late.”

“I’m good, Anderson, thanks.” She smiled softly as she thanked him. Her eyes fell coolly to the papers you had scattered across her desk from sitting on it. “I’m just finishing up some case files. I’m a bit behind at the moment.” Emily shuffled forward in her chair in an attempt to hide you if Anderson stepped any closer.

Sensing that he seemed to want to linger for a moment, you reached towards Emily’s zipper, her belt already on the floor beside you from your flurry of undressing earlier. Her hands engulfed your wrists, but after a minute of protesting, she had to lift her hand back up to avoid looking like she was fighting something under the table. The opportunity for payback was being handed to you on a silver platter.

Her voice spiked up an octave as her legs clenched over your ears. Unperturbed, your tongue traced along her slit as she kept up with Anderson’s casual conversation about work and what she did when she wasn’t at the office. Her hands dropped lightly into her lap and beneath the view of her desk, but unbeknownst to the man rambling to her, she had her hands gripping at your hair, tugging harshly as your tongue swirled around her clit. She resisted the urge to look down just briefly to catch a glimpse of her arousal smeared across your mouth, hair mussed from her touch.

You picked up your pace as you heard Ansderson start moving back toward the door, which left Emily’s legs quivering as she climbed toward an orgasm with every lap and flick of your tongue. The second the door was locked behind the security guard, Emily’s hands found the back of your head, nudging your mouth into her cunt. “Fuck, you better let me come on your mouth after that little stunt, sweetheart.”

You grinned up at her from the floor, a mischievous look in your eyes as you delved back into her cunt, wrapping your lips around her clit as she moaned while orgasming on your tongue. She panted as she came back down from her high, slouching back into her chair and spreading her legs. She helped you up off the floor, fixing you up before yourself.

In the middle of it all, you picked up a pink sticky note and pen off her desk, scribbling something down. Emily’s eyes narrowed as you held out the sheet. “What is this? You were supposed to give me all the names already.”

“I did,” you said, rolling your eyes at her assumption. "This is the club address, and when I work, Stop by sometime; you do still owe me an orgasm,” you pointed out with a grin.”

“Mhm,” her eyes widened at your boldness as she held one knuckle to her lip, hiding her soft, sly grin. ”Well, I risked my job because you're a desperate little thing, so I think you owe me about three. I thought you didn’t sleep with clients.”

You shrugged and started heading for the door. “Well, there's a first time for everything, or maybe I’m just making an exception for you,’ you teased," she said, pivoting around to return her coat on her arm that you had forgotten about for a brief second.

She gave you a small head tilt. “Keep it; I’ll see you shortly anyways,’ she suggested, and you just dropped your head slightly, smiling on your way out.

"Have a good night, Agent Prentiss.”

#criminal minds #wlw smut #emily prentiss x reader #emily prentiss #emily prentiss smut

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tteotlma · 4 months ago

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Trust in the Tension

--buried impulses flare into a fierce, unspoken surrender that no barrier can contain

"Nurse"!Logan x Patient!Reader (11.5kwc)

tw; 18+ MDNI; nsfw, power imbalance; caretaker/patient dynamic; dubcon (dubious consent); explicit sexual content; oral sex; choking; hair-pulling; biting; rough physicality; coarse language; mention of mental health struggles; tears/overwhelm.

a/n: PLS BE AWARE THIS IS A PIECE OF FICTION. (I AM DEEPLY AnD GRAVELY AWARE OF THE SEVERITY OF THIS SITUATION IRL BUT again THIS IS FICTION JUST HAVE FUN or skip.) i also didn't intend for this to be so long... but its been a month since my last fic

not edited entirely; pls like & reblog

Your vision pulsed to the sound of your heartbeat as you took in the scene around you.

You hadn’t asked to be here.

The facility was nice— too nice. Plush furniture, warm neutral tones, windows big enough to let in the light but so obviously locked for safety. Despite the place feeling more like a high-end retreat, than a mental health facility that didn’t stop the feel of the walls caving in.

Still in an unknowing state of shock you sat stiffly in the common room, arms crossed, back rigid, posture so straight it was almost defiant. It wasn’t lost on you that you were the only one not participating in whatever exercise the group facilitator had planned.

You clenched your jaw as you stared straight ahead at the painting of random splatters on the far wall, the rest of the people fading away in the background. The painting, an aggressive array of white, red, and black splatters meticulously painted to convey some sort of emotion provided you a great sense of comfort. You couldn’t put your finger on what that feeling was but you could feel it— deep in the pit of your stomach. You felt the facilitator's eyes on you, but you ignored it trying to wrap your head around how you got here in the first place.

It wasn’t voluntary, that's for sure. No, you were here because your parents begged, pleaded, and finally pulled out the we’re worried about you, sweetheart card. They’d finally worn you down, leaving you too exhausted to fight.

Not that exhaustion was new to you.

Professional Burnout was the sanitized phrase they’d slapped onto your file. As if snapping at a coworker who spent months undermining you somehow made you unstable. As if the outburst wasn’t deserved.

One crack, you thought bitterly, and suddenly I’m the problem.

The sound of heavy footsteps interrupted your brooding. You glanced up just in time to see a man step into the room, a clipboard in hand and a toothpick hanging lazily from his mouth. He was tall and rugged, with broad shoulders that stretched his uniform and thick sideburns that framed his jaw. He looked like he belonged anywhere but here—on a construction site, maybe, or some smoky dive bar.

His eyes caught yours, sharp and assessing. You didn’t look away, narrowing your gaze in return.

He stood there for a moment, the toothpick rolling between his teeth, sizing you up like he’d already figured you out. You hated it.

“Logan,” he said, finally breaking the silence. His voice was deep and gravelly, with a rough edge that matched his rugged appearance. He tapped the clipboard against his thigh, tilting his head slightly. “You got a name, or are we just gonna keep starin’ at each other?”

“Why do you care?” you shot back, folding your arms tighter across your chest.

His lips quirked, just barely. “Keeps things polite. But hey, if you’d rather I call you ‘sunshine,’ that works too.”

You glared at him. “It’s [Y/N].”

“[Y/N],” he repeated, his tone deliberate, like he was committing it to memory. “Alright then, [Y/N]. Here’s the deal. I’m the orderly assigned to keep an eye on you, make sure you don’t go stir-crazy or claw anyone’s eyes out.”

You scoffed. “Charming.”

“Thanks,” he said, completely unfazed. “Let’s try something new—how about you actually join the group? Sitting there like a statue ain’t doin’ you any favors.”

“I’m fine right here,” you replied flatly, eyes drifting back to the splatter painting.

“Fine,” he echoed, his tone dripping with skepticism. “You keep tellin’ yourself that.”

He stepped closer, his boots heavy against the tiled floor. The closer he got, the more imposing he seemed, like he took up all the air in the room. “But here’s the thing, sweetheart. You can act all tough and keep everyone at arm’s length, but it doesn’t make the time go by any faster.”

You finally looked up at him, bristling at the way he loomed over you, like he was daring you to challenge him. “What’s your point?”

“My point,” he said, leaning in just enough to lower his voice, “is that I’ve seen plenty of people like you. Wound so tight you’re about to snap. Keep it up, and you’ll be stuck here a hell of a lot longer than you need to be.”

Your hands curled into fists, nails digging into your palms. “Maybe I like my space.”

His grin was infuriatingly small, almost imperceptible. “Sure you do. Let me know how that works out for you.”

And just like that, he turned and walked off, leaving you fuming. You weren’t sure if you wanted to yell at him or sink deeper into the chair just to spite him. Either way, you had the distinct feeling that Logan wasn’t going to make this easy for you.

—

Later that day you found yourself sitting in another goddamn plush leather seat. You sat stiffly in the chair, arms crossed and jaw tight as Logan settled into the seat across from you. He had the same clipboard as earlier, only now he looked far more official—still rugged and casual in demeanor, but with a sharpness in his gaze that said he wasn’t here to play around.

“Alright (Y/N),” he started, clicking his pen. “This is just a standard intake. I know you did it before coming here, I just gotta get some background myself, so we know how to help you.”

“Help me,” you muttered under your breath, voice dripping with sarcasm.

Logan raised a brow but didn’t take the bait. “First question: How are you feeling?”

You scoffed, leaning back in the chair. “Fantastic. Couldn’t be better.”

“Uh-huh,” he replied dryly, jotting something down on the clipboard. “We’ll circle back to that. What about your usual stress levels? On a scale of one to ten?”

“Zero.”

He glanced up, his expression unreadable. “And what do you usually do to blow off steam?”

The question caught you off guard. You hesitated, then shrugged. “I don’t know. Work. Run. Avoid people.”

Logan hummed thoughtfully, tapping his pen against the clipboard. “Not exactly workin’ out for you, is it?”

Your glare could’ve cut glass. “What’s your point?”

“No point,” he said, the corner of his mouth twitching like he was fighting a smirk. “Just gettin’ to know you.”

He finished scribbling and set the clipboard aside, leaning forward slightly. “Last question. You think you belong here?”

You faltered, his sudden intensity throwing you off balance. “What does it matter what I think? I’m here, aren’t I?”

“Yeah,” he said, his voice low and steady. “But if you’re gonna be here, might as well make it worth somethin’. Otherwise, you’re just wastin’ your own damn time.”

The weight of his words hung in the air as he stood, gathering his clipboard and pen. “That’s it for now. I’ll see you around, sunshine.”

As he walked out, you couldn’t help but feel like Logan saw more of you in that brief exchange than most people ever did—and it unnerved you.

—

You felt the weight of Logan’s questions long after the session ended. Sure they were simple questions but it’s not like it wasn’t anything he couldn’t look up himself if he tried. The way his eyes had fixed on you, intense and unyielding, had unsettled you more than you cared to admit. You tried to shake it off, but it lingered like a bad taste, gnawing at the back of your mind.

When you walked back to the common room, the group session was finally finishing up. Everyone slowly filtered out, but you stayed behind. You didn’t want to be around people—didn’t want anyone to see how much you were clenching your fists or how your jaw was tight enough to bruise.

Sitting back down in your (un)claimed seat, you crossed your arms over your chest and leaned back to stare at the painting on the far wall. Your mind kept drifting back to Logan’s words, his calm, almost knowing demeanor. You hated how easily he had gotten under your skin.

It wasn’t just the questions. It was the way he looked at you, like he understood everything without you saying a word. You didn’t want to think about that, either.

You stood abruptly, deciding a walk through the facility might clear your head. But when you stepped into the hallway, you saw Logan leaning against the doorframe to the lounge, a smirk barely hidden behind his usual indifference.

“Lost?” he asked, one eyebrow raised.

You didn’t answer, trying to walk past him. You didn’t need another interaction, especially with him. But he moved just enough to block your path.

“You think you’re just gonna keep brushing me off, huh?” he said, voice low and amused.

“You really love to push buttons, don’t you?” You didn’t bother hiding the irritation in your voice.

His grin widened, but he didn’t press you further. Instead, his gaze softened, almost unreadable. “I don’t push buttons. I just call it like I see it.”

You glared at him, biting back a retort. But when he finally stepped aside, giving you space to walk past him, you couldn’t help but feel a weird mix of relief and frustration.

—

The next time you saw Logan, it was in another session. Group therapy again. You’d kept your distance as much as possible, staying silent while the others participated. You weren’t interested in talking about your feelings—not to strangers and definitely not to Logan.

As the facilitator guided the group through an exercise, you sat stiffly, arms seemingly permanent crossed. You tried to block out everything and everyone, focusing on the wall in front of you.

You were here, just like your parents had wanted. That should be enough.

Logan had been observing you quietly, and when the session ended, he was the first one to walk over.

“You gonna keep that scowl on your face all day, or are you gonna get over yourself?” His voice was sharp, but there was an edge of concern underneath, like he was watching you closely.

You didn’t want to feel anything anymore, didn’t want to stay caught up in the mess of emotions or the frustration building inside you. “I’m fine.”

He didn’t believe you, and you could see it in his eyes. “You sure about that?”

Before you could snap back, the door to the group room swung open, and the others filed out. Logan stepped closer, his presence so commanding that you felt the air grow heavier around you.

“Why don’t we step outside for a second?” he suggested, his voice low and steady, like he was trying to coax you into something you didn’t want.

You glared up at him. “You’ve gotta be kidding me.”

But something in his eyes—some unspoken understanding—made you pause. Against your better judgment, you followed him out into the hallway.

Once the two of you were out of earshot from the others, Logan stopped and turned to face you. The air between you was thick, charged with something you couldn’t name.

“You’re acting like a kid,” he said bluntly, crossing his arms over his chest.

“Yeah? Well, maybe I’m just tired of pretending I’m fine when I’m not,” you shot back, your voice sharp and biting. The frustration you’d been holding in for days boiled to the surface, your words barely contained.

Logan’s gaze softened, but there was no judgment in his eyes. He was too used to dealing with people like you. “Yeah, I figured. You’ve got a lot of tension in you, huh?” His eyes trailed the length of your body.

You didn’t respond, the anger started to bubble up again, your hands clenched at your side but something about his steady presence seemed to disarm you. Maybe it was the way he didn’t back off, didn’t try to force anything.

He only took a step closer, and for the first time, you didn’t flinch. His hand moved to your shoulder, the touch firm but gentle.

“I’m not here to push you, [Y/N],” he said, his voice low. “But you gotta know—holding all that in? It’s gonna eat you up.”

You sucked in a breath, trying to control the wave of frustration that threatened to overwhelm you. “I don’t need advice,” you muttered, feeling vulnerable in a way you hated.

“I don’t need advice,” you repeated, except the words coming out sharp, and defensive this time. You hated the way your chest felt tight, the vulnerability creeping in from where Logan’s hand rested on your shoulder.

The warmth from his touch spread across your skin, and for a moment, it felt like it was sinking into your bones, grounding you in a way that made your stomach twist. You didn’t need anyone grounding you. You didn’t need him to make you feel this way.

Logan’s eyes softened just a fraction, but his expression remained steady, like he was waiting for you to crack. “You sure about that?” he asked again quietly, his tone almost too calm.

You felt it then, the tension pooling inside you, the anger at yourself for even considering his words. You were independent. You didn’t need anyone to fix you. You hadn’t needed anyone before to figure things out. And you especially, didn’t need some wannabe shrink to start telling you how to manage your life.

Without thinking, you grabbed his hand and removed it from your shoulder. You did it quickly, as if his touch burned you, trying to ignore the way his heat lingered on your skin. You told yourself it was about reclaiming your space, but deep down, you couldn’t deny the way you resented the way his warmth had made you feel—like you weren’t enough on your own, like you needed him, and it made you bitter.

You didn’t meet his eyes as you moved away. The weight of his gaze felt like too much, like he could see right through you. “I’m fine,” you muttered for what seemed like the umpteenth time, turning away before he could say anything more, before you could let him see how much you were feeling.

Each step you took away from him was deliberate, quick. You weren’t going to let him break you down, weren’t going to let him see how much you wanted the relief he might even be able to offer. You didn’t need him. You’d never needed anyone, not like that.

The hallway stretched out in front of you, a quiet reminder that you could handle this—you could handle this.

—

The next few days passed in a haze. Every session, every group exercise felt like you were just going through the motions, barely containing the storm brewing inside you. You could still feel Logan’s hand on your shoulder, the way it had made you feel both furious and small, and it gnawed at you. You told yourself you were fine, but the anger lingered, thick like smoke in your lungs.

You were sitting in the group room again, the usual chatter around you fading into white noise. Your focus was elsewhere—just trying to survive the hour without having to say a word. You were about to tune out completely when you heard it.

“She’s just another fucking drama queen.”

The voice came from across the room, a low murmur between two of the other patients. You didn’t need to hear more. You already knew they were talking about you. The words were sharp, cutting through the air with a venom that dug deep into you.

You snapped your gaze in their direction, fury immediately surging through you. The mocking tone, the casual dismissal—it was too familiar, too reminiscent of the shit you’d put up with at your last job. You could feel the rage flooding your chest, hot and suffocating. It was a sensation you knew too well, one that had always pushed you to the edge before.

And now, it was back.

The room started to shrink around you. The noise of their laughter, the snickers, the sideways glances—all of it evaporated as your anger took over. Your fists clenched so tightly your nails dug into your palms.

You didn’t care anymore. You needed to make it stop. You needed to hit something. You tried grounding yourself, but it was too late. Your body had already taken over. Your legs were pushing you forward, jumping over your seat in a split-second decision. You saw red, your entire body screaming for release, for someone to just stop dismissing you. But before you could close the distance, a firm hand shot out, grabbing you mid-air.

“Hey!” Logan’s voice cut through the chaos in your mind—or in the room, it was hard to tell—his voice sharp and commanding.

You felt his strong arms wrap around your waist—hard, like steel, pulling you back. You let out a shout of frustration, trying to twist free, but Logan’s grip didn’t falter. It was like he was two steps ahead, as if he had already anticipated your move, as if he knew exactly what was about to happen. His voice was in your ear now, low and unwavering.

“[Y/N], enough,” he said, his tone hard but not cruel. “This isn’t the way.”

Before you could even process what was happening, Logan yanked you backwards with a force that left you no room to fight it. In an instant, he’d pulled you out of the room, dragging you down the hallway with such speed that no one could have comprehended what just happened. There was a stunned silence behind you as you were pulled out of the room, your feet barely touching the ground as Logan kept a firm hold, his steps echoing through the hallway.

“Let me go!” You tried to struggle, to twist your way free, but his grip tightened, holding you firmly as he pushed you further from the group.

“No,” he said, his voice a low growl. “Not until you calm down.”

You were breathing hard, the adrenaline coursing through you. Your pulse was a drum in your ears, and you could feel the heat of your anger radiating off you in waves.

“I don’t need you to babysit me,” you spat, still trying to break free. “I don’t need your fucking help!”

You tried to tear his arm away, but Logan’s grip tightened, his body pressing into yours as he moved with precision, dragging you down the hallway without a word. The moment you realized what was happening, the reality of it hit you like a punch to the gut. Your anger, your rage—it all crashed down as you found yourself being physically restrained, the helplessness burning in your chest.

He didn’t say a word as he pulled you down another hall, his face impassive, but you could feel the tension in his body as if he was just as ready to snap as you had been moments ago. But he wasn’t letting you. He wasn’t letting you lose control.

“Let me go!” you snarled, struggling against his grip, but again, Logan didn’t even flinch. He kept moving, keeping you contained, his presence too overwhelming for you to break free from.

When he finally stopped, it was in a hallway, somewhere far enough from anybody that no one would hear you—no one would witness how you’d almost cracked. He barely released his hold on you, but not before pushing you back against the wall, his body still towering over you, blocking your every escape route.

“Take a breath,” he said, his voice low and steady, like he was speaking to someone who might break apart at any second.

His grip on your arm softened, but only just enough for you to feel the tension in his hand. He wasn’t letting go, but he was giving you space to breathe, to calm down if you could.

“You’re better than this. So stop acting like a fucking fool, [Y/N].” He said, his voice lower now, almost like a warning.

Your chest was still heaving, your body still tense with frustration, but hearing him say that—hearing him treat you like more than just a hothead, like you were capable of something better—suddenly made it all feel worse. The tears you’d been holding back started to burn at the back of your eyes, and you hated yourself for it. Hated that you felt so weak, so fucking out of control.

But Logan wasn’t looking at you like you were broken. He wasn’t judging you, even though you knew you deserved it. He was just… there. Silent. Waiting.

You wrenched yourself out of his grip (despite both your dismay) and took a deep, shuddering breath, trying to regain some composure.

“Just… don’t touch me,” you muttered, your voice raw and unsteady.

Logan said nothing. He didn’t have to. The silence between you was thick with something unspoken, something neither of you could easily put into words.

But it didn’t matter. You couldn’t let it matter. Not now.

You turned and walked away, not looking back.

You barely took a few steps before the frustration began to bubble up again. You had only just started to walk away from Logan, but the moment you stepped around the corner and out of sight, it felt like the world was pressing in on you again.

The laughter from the group still rang in your ears. “Drama queen.” The words clawed at your skin, digging into you like a constant reminder of everything you hated—being dismissed, being belittled.

You were done. You couldn’t keep holding it in. Your fists clenched, nails digging into your palms as you spun on your heel, slamming your hand against the wall. The sharp sound of your palm against the cold surface echoed in the hallway, but it wasn’t enough. The rage, the helplessness—it was all too much.

“Fuck!” you hissed, breath coming in sharp bursts as you stared at the spot where your hand had just struck the wall, feeling the dull sting radiating through your knuckles.

You couldn’t keep it together anymore. It was too much. You were tired of being on the edge, of trying so damn hard to be perfect at everything—at work, at life, at keeping it all together. Everyone depended on you to do everything. Always being there, and put together.

But right now? You didn’t want to be. You didn’t want to hold it in anymore. Your body was shaking with the weight of it all—the frustration of being forced to be something that was overwhelming, the anger at yourself for letting it all pile up until you exploded.

You wanted to break. You wanted to let go—but you knew you couldn’t. You couldn’t afford to. You’d kept it locked away for so long, keeping everything in check, trying to make sure no one saw the truth behind the mask. Who knew what would happen if you let yourself slip away, even just a smidge. You were already forced to be somewhere you didn’t want to be, you couldn’t risk losing anything else. But the anger… the helplessness… It was too much. You were suffocating, and you couldn’t breathe anymore.

And that’s when it hit you: This is why you were here.

You couldn’t handle it. You couldn’t keep pretending that you had it all together. You were falling apart at the seams, and the pressure—the pressure of trying to control everything—was finally breaking you.

You spun around, not knowing what you were doing, just feeling the surge of emotions all crashing in. You needed to hit something again, harder. You needed to feel something, anything, that would make it stop. But before you could even move an inch, a voice cut through the chaotic storm inside your mind.

“[Y/N]?”

It was Logan.

You didn’t even turn to look at him. You didn’t want him to see you like this. Hell, you didn’t even want to see yourself like this.

“Leave me the fuck alone,” you snarled, voice hoarse as the tears welled up, but you fought them back. Not yet. Not here. Not now.

But Logan was already there. In an instant, his hands were on you, trying to turn you, pulling you against him, his arms firm and unyielding. You tried to twist, to pull away, but his grip was too strong. And it wasn’t that you didn’t want to break—because you did.

But you couldn’t let him see it. You couldn’t let anyone see how much you were falling apart. You were so fucking tired of pretending to be fine, you were ready to break but not in front of him.

“Hey, hey, hey,” Logan tried to pacify your struggles, as his hold on you failed to waver. It wasn’t like before. It wasn’t about controlling you. His presence was heavy—comforting in a way you hadn’t let yourself experience in so long.

The tears came the more you struggled in his grip, despite all your efforts. Hot and fast, they burned your face, dripping onto the linoleum floor, and there was nothing you could do to stop them. You wanted to stop them. You hated it. You hated feeling this weak.

But Logan just held you as your body went slack. His grip tightened, pulling you into him. Not to silence you, not to force you to do anything, but to hold you steady, to keep you from falling completely apart.

“I told you not to touch me,” you choked out through the tears, voice breaking as you finally let yourself give into him, your body shuddering against his. You were shaking—not just with the anger anymore, but with the helplessness that had been buried so deep.

You tried once more to push him away, weakly, but it was like fighting against a wall. His chest was too solid. His presence was too overwhelming. You didn’t want to feel it. You didn’t want him to see the cracks.

But there was no escaping it now. The reality of everything you’d been holding inside came rushing at you, and it hurt. It hurt more than you could even process.

Logan didn’t speak. He didn’t try to fix anything. He just let you break in silence. His arms around you were steady, not demanding. They didn’t try to pull you back from the edge. They simply were. And for the first time in what felt like forever, you let yourself breathe as you were.

When he finally loosened his grip and you finally pulled yourself away from him, still sniffling, you couldn’t bring yourself to look him in the eyes. You couldn’t look at him like this.

“Please, don’t touch me anymore,” you muttered, voice shaky, and with that, you turned away, your feet dragging as you walked down the hall. You didn’t look back. Not once.

But you knew, in that moment, something had shifted between you. Something in you had cracked.

And Logan knew it too. He didn’t stop you this time. He didn’t chase you. He just let you go.

The silence in the hallway hung heavy in the air after you walked away. Logan stood there for a long moment, the weight of the last few minutes settling over him. He hadn’t expected the tears, the rawness that tore through you, but the way you’d fought it all—fought him—made something click in his mind.

He didn’t follow you. He didn’t try to force anything. Instead, he gave you space. Because deep down, he understood.

He didn’t move from where he stood immediately. He wanted to give you time. You needed it. Needed to process it all.

When he finally did move, it was slow. The hallway was too quiet now, too empty. His hand rested on the wall, his mind replaying the moments that had just passed, trying to piece everything together. What did you need? He hadn’t known before, but now? Now, something was different.

—

It had been a few days since you’d broken down in the hallway. Logan hadn’t pushed you since, letting you process things on your own, but he hadn’t been able to stop thinking about it. About you. About the way you’d finally let your guard down, even if just for a moment, before retreating again. He’d stayed close but careful, offering support in quiet ways, waiting for you to let him in.

You walked into your room, your steps slow, your mind racing. As you sat on the edge of your bed, you couldn’t stop the image of Logan holding you from replaying over and over in your head. The warmth of his embrace still lingered on your skin, even though you had pushed him away.

A soft knock at your door interrupted your thoughts.

You didn’t answer. You couldn’t. You knew who it was but, if you looked at him again, you weren’t sure you could hold it together. You needed space. You needed time.

Another knock. A little louder this time.

You dragged a shaky breath into your lungs, wiping your face with the back of your hand. You hated this—hated the fragility of it all. But the pressure inside you hadn’t subsided. You could feel the ache in your chest, the pull to break again.

“[Y/N]?” Logan’s voice came through the door, low, steady. “Can I come in?”

You stayed quiet. You wanted to tell him to leave you alone. You wanted to shut him out. But you couldn’t. You knew deep down you didn’t want him to go away. Not now. Not after everything.

The door creaked open slowly, and Logan stepped inside, his eyes cautious. He didn’t push, didn’t say anything. His presence was still heavy, but it wasn’t demanding. The door shut behind him with a soft thud, followed by a small discernible click.

He didn’t ask if you were okay. He didn’t offer any words of comfort. He just watched you, letting the silence hang between you. You felt the familiar heat rising in your chest, the uncomfortable feeling of being seen too clearly, but this time, it wasn’t like before. He wasn’t trying to fix you.

You could feel the distance between you. He was there, but he wasn’t pushing.

He shifted, taking a step closer, but not too close. It was a subtle offer, a quiet invitation.

The silence stretched between you like a taut string, every breath you took loud in the otherwise still room. Logan didn’t rush you. He just stood there, his hands loose at his sides, his presence calm, steady, like an anchor in the storm of your thoughts.

“I thought I told you to leave,” you said, your voice wavering despite the steel you tried to inject into it.

His lips twitched, a barely-there smirk that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “You didn’t say a word, sunshine. Just figured you might need someone who’ll stick around—Help take care of you.”

You hated how much his words hit the mark, hated how the rawness inside you stirred at the idea that maybe, just maybe, he was right.

Logan took another step closer, his boots soft against the floor. The click of the lock earlier seemed louder now, echoing in your mind.

“You’re my nurse,” you whispered, like a warning, but your words lacked conviction.

“I am,” he agreed, his voice low but even. “And that means takin’ care of you, even if you fight me on it. Especially if you fight me on it.” The tone in his voice emphasizing the last part—as if the fight you put up brings a rush to his blood.

You scoffed, your instinct to push him away rearing its head. “This feels like more than taking care of a patient.”

His gaze softened, but it didn’t waver. “Maybe. But does it matter? You’re not by yourself anymore—not in here. You don’t have to keep pretending you’re fine when you’re not. Let me help you.”

Your breath hitched, the weight of his words sinking in. He saw too much, and yet, you didn’t feel the urge to run. You felt… understood. The wall you’d built around yourself since arriving finally cracked, just enough for his steady gaze to slip through.

“You don’t get it,” you muttered, shaking your head, your hands clenching the edge of the bed. “I’ve always had to hold it together. Always. If I let go—” Your voice broke, a sharp crack in the stillness.

“You won’t fall apart,” Logan interrupted, his tone firm but not harsh. He crouched down in front of you, his hands resting on his knees, his body just close enough to block out everything else. “You’ve been doin’ this on your own for too long. Let someone else shoulder some of it.”

His hand lifted slowly, giving you time to pull away, but you didn’t. His fingers brushed against yours where they gripped the edge of the mattress, the warmth of his touch grounding you.

“Logan…” Your voice trembled, a mix of warning and plea.

“I’m here,” he murmured. “Just let me help.”

You closed your eyes, trying to pull yourself together, but the heat radiating from him was impossible to ignore. The way his thumb traced over your knuckles was gentle, but there was an unspoken promise in his touch.

He shifted closer, his legs brushing against yours now. The tension in the air thickened, your pulse quickening as his steady gaze roamed your face. There was something in his expression—something deeper than concern. His job might have brought him here, but the way he looked at you was anything but professional.

“Logan,” you said again, this time softer, your voice barely a whisper.

He leaned in slightly, the rough edge of his voice brushing against your skin. “Let me in, sunshine. Just this once.”

Your walls wavered, the vulnerability threatening to spill over. The ache in your chest was unbearable, the pull to let go stronger than your fear. He wasn’t just offering to help; he was offering himself.

Your breathing grew shallow as his hand slid up, his fingers curling lightly around your wrist, pulling your hand away from the bed and into his. You opened your eyes as you let him guide you, avoiding all chances to truly look him in the eyes, his movements slow, and deliberate, until your hand rested against his chest.

He shifted and his other hand found your jaw, his thumb brushing over your cheek in a slow, grounding motion. “Let me take care of you. All you’ve gotta do is trust me, sunshine.”

Your lips parted, words caught in your throat as his thumb slid lower, grazing your bottom lip. You froze, your mind racing, but Logan didn’t push further—he just waited, his touch firm but patient.

The shift was subtle, but it was there—the change in the air between you. He wasn’t just offering comfort anymore. He was asking for surrender, for trust in the most intimate way.

And God help you, you were ready to give it to him anything he asked for.

The tension between you crackled, thick and electric, but his touch remained steady, grounding. Logan’s thumb brushed the curve of your cheek, slow and deliberate, before tracing the edge of your jaw. His movements weren’t hurried—there was no rush, no demand—just an unspoken invitation.

“See?” he murmured, his voice low and gravelly, like he was coaxing you down from a ledge. “Ain’t so hard to let someone else take the reins for a bit, is it?”

Your breath hitched as his fingers trailed down, brushing the side of your neck. The warmth of his palm lingered, the weight of his hand firm enough to quiet the chaotic swirl in your mind, but not enough to drown out the muffled sounds of people passing by your door.

“I… I don’t know how,” you admitted, the words tumbling out before you could stop them.

Logan huffed a soft laugh, the corner of his mouth twitching up. “Yeah, you do. You’re already doing it.”

His fingers shifted, sliding to the back of your neck, and you leaned into the touch before you could stop yourself. He drew you closer, just enough to feel his presence envelop you entirely. Your knees brushed against his thighs where he stood in front of you, and the heat radiating off him was impossible to ignore.

“Relax that jaw of yours,” he said, his tone still light but with a teasing edge. After caressing the nape of your neck his hand comes back to your jaw and squeezes until your lips part. “You’ve been clenching it so tight, it’s a wonder it hasn’t locked up yet.”

You blinked at him, caught between embarrassment and curiosity. His eyes, dark and steady, met yours, and for a moment, you swore he could see straight through you.

“C’mere,” he murmured, tugging gently on your wrist until you slid closer towards him.

The shift brought your bodies even nearer, his hands bracketing your thighs now, his thumbs brushing circles over the fabric of your pants. His touch was careful but deliberate, testing your boundaries while coaxing you further out of your shell.

“Let me take the lead,” he said softly, his voice dipping lower, more intimate.

You swallowed hard, feeling the ache in your chest ease as something entirely new unfurled in its place. Trust. Need. A quiet kind of surrender you didn’t know you were capable of.

“How?” you finally gave in and asked, your voice barely above a whisper.

Logan’s lips quirked into a small smirk, but his gaze stayed steady, unwavering. “Like I said… starting with that jaw.”

His hand moved, knuckles grazing your chin as his thumb pressed gently against the corner of your mouth. The motion was slow, teasing, giving you plenty of time to pull back. You didn’t.

“Open up for me,” he murmured, his words a low rumble that sent a shiver racing down your spine.

The command was quiet, laced with care, but the underlying edge of authority had your pulse spiking. Your lips parted instinctively, your breath shaky as his thumb slid along the inside of your bottom lip.

“Good girl,” he murmured, the praise slipping out like it belonged there.

The words hit you harder than you wanted to admit, warmth pooling in your chest—and lower.

Logan shifted closer, his other hand steadying your jaw as he studied you, his expression unreadable but intent. “We’ll take it slow,” he said, his thumb retreating as he brought his hand to the hem of his pants. “Just let me guide you.”

Your breathing hitched as your eyes flicked down to his hands, the way his fingers deftly worked the knot of his drawstring pants. The quiet rustle of the fabric filled the space between you, a sound that felt louder than it was.

Logan’s movements were deliberate, unhurried, as though he was waiting for any sign of hesitation from you. When your gaze lifted to meet his, you saw no rush, no impatience—just the same steady calm that made it impossible not to trust him.

“Keep your eyes on me,” he murmured, his voice grounding you even as it sent your pulse racing.

You swallowed hard, your jaw relaxing further at his words, at the way his presence seemed to envelop you completely. His hand returned to your chin, tilting your head up slightly, his thumb brushing against your skin.

“Atta girl,” Logan praised softly, his lips curving into a faint smile, as his thumb caressed your skin. “That’s it. Just breathe for me.”

The tension that had coiled so tightly in your chest loosened a fraction as you exhaled shakily. His fingers traced along your jawline, the touch soothing and deliberate, coaxing you to focus on him and nothing else.

When his drawstrings tangled free, Logan leaned in closer, his free hand bracing against the edge of the bed beside you. His proximity was overwhelming in the best way, his warmth and scent filling your senses.

“This ain’t just about me, sunshine,” he said, his voice low and sure. He takes one hand, and brings it to your neck. His thumb finds the pulse point beneath your jaw and he brings you in closer. “This is about you learning to let go. To stop holdin’ on so tight it hurts.”

You nodded faintly, swallowing against his palm, your body responding before your mind could catch up. There was no space for second-guessing, no time for overthinking—not with the way Logan looked at you, like he already knew exactly what you needed.

“Good,” he murmured again, his tone like gravel smoothed by honey. “We’ll go slow, but I need you to trust me.” He nuzzled the side of your head, his breath tickling your skin as he slowly let go of your throat.

Logan’s hands moved, sliding down to catch yours. His touch was firm but not forceful, the rough calluses on his palm grounding you as he pulled your hands away from your lap. He brought them up, pressing them flat against his chest.

“Feel that?” he asked, his voice low and steady as your fingers splayed over his warm skin through his shirt. His familiar heartbeat thrummed steadily beneath your touch, grounding you, centering you. “That’s all you gotta focus on. Just me. Nothing else matters right now.”

You nodded faintly, the tension in your shoulders coming to a still as he kept your hands there for a moment, letting you adjust. Suddenly, a loud slam down the hallway caused you to jump and turn towards the door. He quickly grabbed your chin forcing you to look at him. “What did I just say?” He quirked, all you could do was look at him, heat blooming from your neck up.

Then, slowly once he made sure you weren’t looking away, he began guiding your hands downward.

The motion was deliberate, unhurried, as though every inch was a silent reassurance that you could stop at any time. His hands covered yours, his thumbs brushing the backs of your knuckles as he slid your palms down the planes of his torso, over the firm muscle beneath his shirt, until they rested against his hips.

Logan gave you a beat to take it in, his gaze locked on yours. His breathing was measured, but you could see the faintest flicker of tension in his jaw, the restraint he was holding onto so tightly.

“Still good?” he asked, his voice dropping lower, rougher now.

“Yes,” you murmured, barely trusting your voice as heat pooled low in your belly. You unconsciously squirmed, in anticipation, in heat who knew.

Logan nodded, his lips twitching into something that wasn’t quite a smile but carried the same weight of approval. He waited, giving you one last chance to back out before guiding your thumbs to join his, beneath the elastic of his scrub pants.

“Easy,” he murmured, the word a quiet reminder as he guided your hands to push the fabric down slowly, exposing more of his skin. The sliver of skin burned against your fingers as you ghosted them along his body. His abdomen tensed under your touch, his breathing shifting slightly as he exhaled through his nose.

Logan let the pants hang low on his hips, one hand trailing up to cup your jaw again, tilting your face up to meet his eyes. “We’ll go nice and slow,” he said, his thumb brushing the corner of your mouth again. “No rush, sunshine. Just follow my lead.”

With that, he took your hands again, guiding them lower until they brushed the waistband of his boxers. His movements were steady, deliberate, as though showing you exactly where he wanted you without rushing you.

“You feelin’ brave?” he teased softly, the faintest smirk tugging at the corners of his mouth, though his eyes held nothing but warmth and patience.

You nodded again scooching closer to the edge of the bed, and the brink of insanity, your chest tightening with anticipation. His smirk deepened, and he leaned closer, his voice dropping to a whisper.

“Then show me, sweetheart,” he murmured. “Let me see what you can do.”

Logan eased back slightly, just enough to give you room to move, but his hand lingered on yours, a steadying presence as he guided your touch. Your fingers curled into the fabric of his waistband, and with a deep breath, you pushed the material down further, revealing more of him inch by inch.

The air between you grew heavier, the tension palpable as his arousal became impossible to ignore. Logan’s hand left yours, but only for a moment, trailing up to brush a stray strand of hair from your face before cupping the back of your neck.

“You’re doing so good, sweetheart.” he murmured, his voice warm and rough, sending a shiver down your spine. His thumb traced lazy circles at the base of your skull, grounding you as his other hand rested atop your forearm, giving you control but silently encouraging you to keep going.

You shifted slightly, your hands trembling as they moved to rest on his hips again. Logan watched you closely, his gaze steady but dark with something you couldn’t quite name. His chest rose and fell in a slow, measured rhythm, as though he were holding himself back, letting you set the pace.

When your hands brushed the bare skin of his hips, Logan inhaled a shaky breath, a faint sound escaping him that made your pulse spike. He leaned in, his lips ghosting over your temple as he murmured, “Don’t overthink it. Just take what you can, sunshine. I’ll guide you through the rest.”

Your fingers curled into his skin as you leaned forward, your breath brushing against his lower abdomen. Logan’s hand slid from your neck to your shoulder, a subtle but firm anchor as he shifted slightly, giving you better access.

“Atta girl,” he praised, his voice barely above a whisper. The words sent a wave of warmth through you, and you felt your hesitation ease, replaced by a quiet resolve to follow his lead.

Logan’s hand moved again, this time to rest over yours as he guided one of them lower. He didn’t stop until you were cradling the solid weight of him. Your touch lightly teasing the ache that pulsed beneath your trembling hand. Logan guided your hand to palm the rigid heat beneath his clothes, wrapping your fingers around him. A sharp inhale escaped his lips, and you felt the faintest tremor in his muscles as your touch sent a jolt through him.

“Slow,” he reminded you, his voice tight but still soft. “Just like that.”

The tension between you was thick enough to cut with a knife, every shift of his body, every measured breath, drawing you further into the moment. Your fingers trembled as they traced the contours of his arousal, the fabric of his boxers doing little to disguise the heat and weight beneath. Logan’s grip on your shoulder tightened slightly, not in impatience but as a subtle reassurance, his silent way of telling you that you were doing exactly what he wanted.

His hips shifted just barely, an almost involuntary reaction to the way your hand brushed against him. “That’s it,” he murmured, his voice a low rasp that sent a shiver down your spine. His thumb traced another soothing circle at the base of your neck, the grounding motion a stark contrast to the fire building between you. “You’ve got me, sunshine. Just keep going.”

Emboldened by his words, you pressed a little firmer, your palm smoothing over the outline of him, taking your time to explore every inch. The way he exhaled sharply, the muscles in his abdomen tensing beneath your other hand, made you feel a surge of confidence. You dared to glance up at him, and what you saw made your breath catch. His head was tilted back slightly, his jaw tight, the faintest flush coloring his cheeks. His eyes, though darkened with desire, never left yours, his focus sharp and unwavering.

“You’re taking your time, huh?” he teased, his smirk returning, though it was tinged with a rawness that made your chest tighten. “Not that I’m complaining.”

You swallowed hard, your hand faltering for just a moment before finding its rhythm again. His reaction—the way his body leaned into your touch, the low sound he made in the back of his throat—was intoxicating. It spurred you on, your fingers brushing the waistband of his boxers again before slipping just beneath, your fingertips meeting bare skin.

You felt him twitch ever so slightly, and your cheeks twinged with excitement. There was something happening inside of you that you weren’t quite sure what to think of it. You knew what Logan was doing would’ve been demeaning as hell anywhere else, but here, now… all you wanted to do was give in, succumb to whatever it was he wanted you to do. He asked you to trust him, and so far he hasn’t shown you a reason not to.

Your heart thudded in your chest as the realization hit you: you wanted this. More than anything, you wanted to give yourself over to him, to see what it felt like to let someone else carry the weight for once. If his touch—barely there—was enough to leave you trembling, what else could he make you feel? What more could he show you?

The thought sent a rush of heat through you, your breath quickening as your fingers finally curled around the rigid, throbbing length of him, pressing more firmly against his strained need. Logan’s soft groan rumbled through the air, stirring something deep in your chest—a quiet, unfamiliar hunger that threatened to consume you. You let yourself sink into it, letting the weight of the moment guide your movements, every brush of your touch unraveling a part of you you didn’t know existed.

“Good,” Logan murmured, his voice warm and gravelly, the rough edge of it sending a shiver down your spine. “Just like that, sunshine. You’re doin’ perfect.”

You inched closer to the edge of the bed, the pull to be nearer to him overwhelming, almost instinctual. Kneeling now, you practically sank toward the floor, chasing the heat radiating from his body like you couldn’t bear the space between you.

Logan shifted, and before you could fully close the distance, he was pulling back. The loss of contact jarred you, a quiet whine of protest nearly escaping before you caught yourself. His hand came to rest on your shoulder, firm but gentle, stopping you in your tracks.

“Here,” he said, his voice low and steady. In one smooth motion, he grabbed a pillow and tossed it to the ground between the two of you, the soft thud breaking the tension for only a split second.

Your gaze snapped up to meet his, eyes wide, blown out with something you couldn’t quite name—but it was there, raw and undeniable. The way he’d stopped you, how casually he’d thrown the pillow down, like he knew exactly what you needed before you did—your chest tightened, and your jaw slackened just slightly. You swallowed hard, your mouth suddenly dry, yet you swore you could taste the heat rolling off him.

Logan’s eyes flickered down to your throat as you swallowed, the barest hint of amusement tugging at the corners of his mouth. He let out a low, rough chuckle—one that felt like gravel and smoke—and before you knew it, his hand was cradling the back of your neck, fingers splaying out against your nape and jaw in a way that had you forgetting how to breathe. The strength in his grip was tempered with something careful, deliberate, and when he tugged you forward, you melted into it willingly, chasing the pull like it was magnetic.

His lips found yours in an instant, the kiss deep and consuming, all heat and desperation that made your head spin. Logan kissed you like he was trying to unravel you, his mouth moving against yours in a way that left you pliant and eager, gasping against him. With every subtle pull of his hand, you followed, inching forward without thought, his control and your surrender melting together.

When you opened your eyes again, you were on your knees on the pillow, face to face with the aching strain beneath the thin fabric of his boxers. You blinked up at him, lips kiss-swollen, as the realization coursed through you, heat prickling at the back of your neck. Logan watched you closely, his thumb brushing slowly along your jaw where his hand still lingered, as though grounding you there—reminding you that this was him, guiding you, coaxing you forward.

“That’s my girl,” he murmured, his voice dark and edged with something thick and raw. His thumb dragged along your lower lip, smirking when he noticed you shiver. “Go on. Hold me again, sweetheart.”

You didn’t need to be told twice. Your hands trembled slightly as they curled around him once more, this time with more confidence, more purpose. Logan’s gaze stayed locked on yours, his chest rising and falling in steady breaths, though his voice dropped to a whisper when he spoke again.

“Good. Now, let me feel those soft lips of yours.” He guided you closer, the weight of his palm on the back of your neck a constant, steadying anchor as you leaned forward. Your lips brushed along the shaft first—tentative, testing—as though learning every inch of him. Logan’s breath hitched, and when you pressed a lingering kiss to the tip, his reaction shattered any lingering doubt.

A deep groan spilled from his chest, half a breathless chuckle, half a helpless sound that made your stomach twist in the best way. He sucked in a sharp breath through his teeth, the sound shaky as his muscles tensed.

“Fuck, sweetheart,” he muttered, his hand tightening at your nape. You swore you felt him tremble for just a moment before his voice turned low and rough again. “Sorry, baby. Can’t help myself.”

Before you could process what he meant, his fingers slid into your hair, fisting just tight enough to make your scalp tingle, and with a gentle but deliberate motion, he pushed the tip past your parted lips. The first inch of him filled your mouth, the taste of him flooding your senses, and it was enough to make your mind blank entirely.

He stilled, his hands firm yet tentative as they guided your gaze up to meet his. The look in his eyes sent a wave of heat coursing through you, pooling low in your belly and making your thighs clench involuntarily. A faint whimper escaped your throat, and you squirmed, trying in vain to adjust the soaked fabric pressing against your folds.

“Oh, pretty girl,” Logan murmured, his chest rising and falling heavily, his voice low and rough with restraint. “You’re makin’ this real hard for me.” He paused, his thumb brushing along your jaw, the smallest hint of a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “You trust me to take good care of you, right?”

You nodded without hesitation, a small, ragged sound catching in your throat as heat prickled across your cheeks. You felt obscene—completely undone under his gaze—but the way Logan looked at you chased away every last shred of doubt.

“Good girl,” he breathed, his hands sliding up to cradle the sides of your neck, a gentle yet possessive hold that left your pulse fluttering wildly. Slowly, he guided you closer, his touch steady as he coaxed your mouth open.

“Relax for me, sweetheart,” he whispered, his thumb sweeping over your jaw, encouraging it to drop further. A strained exhale left his lips as he eased in deeper, until the tip of his cock brushed the back of your throat. “Oh, yes—” Logan’s voice broke into a rough, shaky breath as he bottomed out, and your eyes fluttered shut as you adjusted to the weight of him.

“Come on, baby. I know you can take it,” he urged softly, his voice laced with both praise and challenge. Your hands rose instinctively to grip his thighs, your fingers twisting into the fabric of his pants as you let out a muffled moan around him.

The sound seemed to undo him further. Logan groaned low in his chest, his hand shifting to the back of your head to hold you there just a moment longer, as though savoring the feeling. You tried to quiet yourself, but the excitement coursing through you was impossible to contain—soft, needy noises escaped despite your efforts, vibrating against him as he held you still against his body.

Logan’s grip tightened at the nape of your neck, his restraint snapping like a taut wire. “That’s it, sweetheart,” he rasped, his voice rough and gravelly, “fuck, you’re takin’ me so good.” His hips began to move—slow at first, testing your limits—before he couldn’t hold back any longer.

He bucked into your mouth with a sharp, unrelenting rhythm, his breath coming harder and faster with every thrust. The sound of his low, guttural groans mixed with the wet noises of your mouth, the lewdness of it only spurring him on. “So perfect,” he praised, his voice cracking as he drove himself deeper. “You were made for this, weren’t you, baby? Look at you—”

The words tumbled out in a broken mix of curses and praise, his hold on you steady but possessive as he guided your head to meet each snap of his hips. Tears pricked at the corners of your eyes, your throat constricting around him as your nails dug into his thighs, but the way he sounded—so utterly wrecked—sent waves of pleasure through you, making you moan around him.

“Fuck,—oh, baby, just like that—” Logan’s voice was strained, raw, his head tilting back as he sucked in a sharp breath through his teeth. He was on the brink, his movements growing more erratic as he neared his edge, but before he could lose himself completely, his hand fisted in your hair, yanking you back with a sudden, desperate motion.

You gasped, panting heavily as your lips parted, your chest heaving as you blinked up at him. His eyes were blown wide, dark with hunger, his lips slightly parted as though trying to catch his breath. Without a word, Logan hauled you upward, crashing his mouth onto yours in a heated, sloppy kiss. His tongue pushed past your lips, claiming every inch of you as he groaned against your mouth, tasting himself on your tongue.

The kiss was frantic, all teeth and heat as he walked you backward, his hands gripping your waist before spinning you around and throwing you onto the bed. You barely had time to catch your breath before he was on you, his hands tugging at your clothes with a singular focus, stripping you bare with rough, hurried movements.

“Goddamn,” Logan muttered under his breath, his gaze sweeping over your exposed skin as he sat back just long enough to yank his own shirt over his head. The sight of him—bare-chested, muscles taut and flexing as he moved—sent a fresh rush of heat pooling between your thighs.

Logan’s hands were on you in an instant, his lips crashing down against your neck as he kissed, nipped, and licked his way down your body with a ravenous intensity. His fingers dug into your hips, pulling you closer, his grip firm and possessive as though he couldn’t get enough of you.

“You’re somethin’ else, sunshine,” he murmured against your skin, his voice rough and low, vibrating through you. His teeth scraped over your collarbone before his tongue soothed the mark, leaving you gasping beneath him.

His lips trailed lower, his hot breath teasing against your chest as his hands slid up, cupping your breasts with a firm, deliberate squeeze. His thumbs brushed over your nipples, sending jolts of pleasure straight to your core. Logan grinned against your skin when you arched into him, his lips wrapping around one taut peak as his fingers rolled the other, coaxing a breathless moan from your lips.

“Look at you,” he said, pulling back just enough to meet your gaze, his lips glistening. His eyes burned with unrestrained hunger as his hands roamed your body, exploring every inch with rough, greedy caresses. “Already fallin’ apart for me, huh?”

You barely managed a nod, your head spinning as his mouth moved lower, his lips pressing hot, open-mouthed kisses down your stomach. His hands gripped your thighs, prying them apart as he settled between them, his gaze locked onto yours. The sight alone—Logan on his knees, his broad shoulders pinning your legs open, his lips glistening as he licked them—made your breath hitch.

“Goddamn, you’re a dream,” he rasped, his voice thick with reverence and desire. He dipped his head, his stubble brushing against your inner thighs as his tongue flicked out, teasing along your folds. The first swipe of his tongue sent a shudder through you, and Logan groaned deeply, the sound reverberating against you.

“You taste so fuckin’ sweet,” he murmured, his lips wrapping around your swollen clit and sucking lightly, drawing a sharp cry from you. Your hands flew to his hair, fingers tangling in the thick strands as he worked you over with unrelenting precision.

Logan alternated between long, slow strokes of his tongue and quick, teasing flicks, relishing every sound you made, every twitch of your body beneath him. His hands gripped your thighs tighter, holding you in place as he buried his face deeper, his nose brushing against your sensitive nub as his tongue dove inside you.

“God,” he growled against you, his voice rough and dripping with approval. “You’re so fuckin’ sweet, sunshine. Can’t get enough of you.” He pulled back slightly, his lips and chin slick with your arousal as he grinned up at you. “Look at you, practically undone for me already.”

You writhed beneath him, your body trembling as he pressed a kiss to your inner thigh, his fingers replacing his mouth to keep the steady rhythm against your clit. “Logan,” you whimpered, your voice high and desperate, your thighs trembling as heat coiled low in your belly.

“That’s it,” he coaxed, his voice like velvet, his eyes dark and intense as he watched you. “Let go for me, baby. I wanna feel you fall apart.”

You were barely holding onto a thread of sanity, your head spinning, your breath hitching as Logan’s relentless tongue and fingers pushed you higher and higher. Your nails scraped against his scalp, and Logan groaned in response, the vibration sending you tumbling over the edge.

Your body arched off the bed as the pressure inside you built to an unbearable peak, every nerve ending ignited under Logan's expert tongue and fingers. The pleasure crashed through you like a tidal wave, your thighs trembling violently as you cried out his name, your hands fisting in his hair.

"That's it," Logan growled against you, his voice dark and dripping with satisfaction as he continued to devour you. "Let it all out for me, sweetheart."

Your orgasm tore through you, so intense that your vision blurred, your entire body trembling as if it couldn’t contain the raw ecstasy coursing through you. Logan didn’t let up for a second, his tongue working you through the aftershocks, prolonging every wave until you were left gasping and shuddering beneath him.

Before you could catch your breath, Logan was on you, his body a solid weight over yours. His hands gripped your hips, and in one swift motion, he buried himself inside you, stealing the remnants of your orgasm and turning them into something even more feral.

“Fuck,” Logan rasped, his voice rough as his hips snapped forward with an unforgiving pace. “Still so tight, baby. I’ve gotcha—just let me take care of you.”

The sensation was overwhelming—his thick cock filling you completely, his relentless rhythm pushing you further into the mattress with every thrust. Your cries mingled with the sound of skin meeting skin, your nails clawing at his back as he moved with a desperate hunger, biting and sucking at your neck, leaving marks that burned and thrilled in equal measure.

“You feel that?” he murmured darkly against your ear, his teeth grazing your earlobe before his lips trailed down to your jaw. “This is what you were made for—bein’ mine. My perfect little thing, takin’ me so damn well.”

His hand slid up to your throat, his fingers wrapping around it with a possessive grip that sent a shiver through you. He applied just enough pressure to make your head spin, his eyes locked onto yours, burning with raw intensity. “Look at you, sunshine,” he praised, his voice low and gravelly. “So fuckin’ beautiful when you let go—when you give yourself to me.”

Your moans turned into gasps as he choked you lightly, his thumb brushing along the side of your neck, coaxing you to surrender completely. Logan’s lips found yours again, devouring your cries as his hips slammed into you, his movements erratic and desperate as if he couldn’t get enough of you.

His teeth sank into your shoulder, a primal growl rumbling through his chest as his hand slid down to your thigh, gripping it tightly to spread you wider for him. His thrusts grew harder, deeper, and the sheer force of him sent you spiraling again, your body clenching tightly around him.

“Fuck, baby, that’s it,” Logan groaned, his voice breaking as he felt your walls flutter around him. “You’re so fuckin’ perfect, so good for me. Gonna make you mine all over again.”

You cried out as another orgasm overtook you, this one more intense than the first, leaving you trembling and incoherent beneath him. Logan’s movements didn’t falter; if anything, they grew rougher, more possessive, his thumb pressing into the base of your throat as his teeth found the tender skin of your collarbone again.

"That's my girl," he growled, his voice sharp with pride and need as your body writhed beneath his. "Look at you, squirtin’ all over me—so fuckin’ perfect.”

Your body gave out beneath him, your vision blurring as the pleasure consumed you entirely. Tears pricked at the corners of your eyes, your cries filling the room as Logan’s relentless pace pushed you to your limits.

Logan’s hand fisted in your hair, tugging your head back as he kissed you deeply, his tongue dominating yours as his hips drove forward with punishing intensity. His free hand roamed your body, squeezing, groping, claiming every inch of you as he chased his own release.

“You’re mine,” he growled, his voice rough and possessive, his breath hot against your ear as he gave a final, brutal thrust, burying himself to the hilt. His body tensed, a guttural groan tearing from his throat as he came, his hips rolling through his climax as if he couldn’t bear to leave your warmth.

Logan collapsed over you, his weight pressing you into the mattress, his lips brushing against your temple as he murmured softly, his voice still tinged with raw need. “So fuckin’ good, sunshine. My perfect girl.”

Logan’s grip tightened around your waist, his breath ragged as he held you in place, your body still trembling beneath him. His chest heaved, his lips brushing against your ear as he pressed a kiss to the side of your neck, savoring the feel of you around him. His voice was low, a dark satisfaction lacing every word.

“See how good it feels to let go, sweetheart?” he murmured, his lips curling into a smirk as his eyes bored into yours. "I told you, just had to trust me."

You didn’t respond with words, your gaze locking onto his as you fought for breath, overwhelmed by the intensity of the moment. The only sound in the room was your uneven breaths and the faint, rhythmic pulse of his dick still buried deep inside you.

His hand found the back of your neck, pulling you forward with unrelenting force. The kiss he claimed you with was messy and possessive, his tongue dominating yours, tasting, owning you in every way. His grip on your neck tightened slightly, making it harder to breathe, but you didn’t care. You were lost in him, completely, mindlessly, heart in your throat as he claimed you like this.

You were on top of him now, your body straddling him, both of you entwined in a messy, raw dance that didn’t need words—just the wet slide of your lips, the heat of his skin, the desperate shallow thrusts that made everything blur. His kiss was greedy, ferocious, as though he needed you to know that you were his—his plaything, his perfect girl.

You moaned into the kiss, the sensation of him still deep inside you enough to keep your thoughts scattered and incoherent. Logan didn’t pull away. He kept you close, his tongue in your mouth, tasting, owning, until you could barely keep your eyes open, your body consumed by him —sloppy, messy, and completely possessive, as if the world could end and all that mattered was this. All that mattered was you, beneath him, in his arms, on top of him, held and claimed by his every touch.

And as you melted into the kiss, body trembling and mind slipping into a daze of pleasure, everything else faded. All that remained was the feel of him, the sound of his breath, and the heat that still burned between you.

---

a/n: smooches! (reblog pls)

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bump1nthen1ght · 2 months ago

Text

The Family Jewels (Pt. 4/4)

Pairing: M!Vampire!Father-In-Law x F!Reader x M!Vampire!Husband

Genre: Regency, Gothic, Dark, Yandere, Pining

Chapter Summary: Edric finally takes what he wants.

Series Warnings: Obsessive + Controlling Behavior, Fucked up Family Dynamics, Confinement, Misogyny, Future Non-Con, Degradation, Angst, Jealousy

Chapter Warnings: Non-Con, Abuse/Torture (not towards Reader), Light Bondage, Light Blood Play, Blood Drinking, Drugging, Forced Exhibitionism, Forced Voyeurism, Cuckolding, Forced Relationship

A/N: ITS FINALLY HERE! Coming out almost twice the length of the other chapters, this one is also twice as spicy and twice as dark. Heed the warnings! Hope y'all enjoy the debauchery 🥰

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3

Another night in his miserable life, and Caleb is spending it indoors.

His feet tap on the floor, his hands threaded in his hair. Restlessness consumes him, a kind he thought was forgotten long ago when he threw his inhibitions to the wind.

What is he doing wrong?

He knew some women were shy, wilting under attention where others flourished, but Caleb figured he could push past that. You had been living together for months now, surely you’d longed for him for even a little bit, right? Even just at the beginning, when he had spurned you, hadn’t your heart wanted for this exact thing? Wanted him?

Your silence has made things crystal clear. The sheer displeasure on your face when he is near, compared to the content you show when alone.

Or with his creator.

Caleb bats that thought away, ashamed by its ridiculousness.

You had scurried off from dinner, quicker than usual. When he saw you were absent from the garden for the second night in a row, Caleb found himself tearing apart the cellar for the true last bottle of his stash. He was sure his father had missed some, desperate for something to replace his usual fix. Sulking back to his own room, he was too upset to rejoice when he finally found one tucked surreptitiously away. He must have hidden it after his creator scolded him the first time and had threatened to burn the whole lot, a promise he had made good upon.

It doesn’t matter, it’s as foul tasting as the rest, doing nothing to settle the aching in his belly. At the very least it's particularly strong, its dizzying effects compensating for the poor taste. Wine rarely got him this drunk anymore, not with his superior digestion burning off the alcohol before it could settle too long. He has to down drink after drink to stay pleasantly buzzed, as annoying as it was useful in impressing simple humans with his ‘tolerance’

So now he sits, drunk and alone at his vanity, no one there to admire his beauty except himself. Caleb looks at his solemn reflection, no sign of his distress in the fine contours of his face. Perfectly polished, as always.

Caleb takes another swig, pushing himself up from his seat with a sigh. Perhaps he’ll look for you. You’re probably in your room, either asleep or preparing for it. Either way Caleb could watch, be entertained by your human mannerisms.

He hardly makes it one step away from his vanity before he’s falling, his knees banging against the carpeted floor. His vision swirls, the bottle falling out of his now loose grip.

Gods, how drunk am I?

The twirling patterns of the carpet dizzy him, his hand trying its best to get the bottle, but his body isn’t responding how he wants it too. His face hits the carpet next, his muscles surprisingly weak and no longer able to hold him up.

What’s…happening?

Those are the last sluggish thoughts in Caleb’s mind, before everything goes to black.

—

Edric thinks you have never looked more beautiful.

He wonders why he hasn’t watched you sleep before. As much as he enjoys your conversations, here he can admire you uninterrupted, no sense of propriety or shame holding him back. He can let his eyes wander down your neck, down your chest, down your sumptuous thighs, all the way to your toes.

He lets himself brush the back of his knuckles against your cheek, knowing you won’t wake. He had brewed the tea himself, made sure the dose was strong enough to knock you out cold. It needed to be for his work to be done.

He draws his hand up your inner arm and to your palm, fiddling with the knots around your wrists. He hopes they do not burn your skin, hating to hurt you in any way. But he knows it's better for you this way. It will be confusing and painful, as it always is, your body will fight it. You will claw at him, at your own skin, trying to resist it. He had learned from his first experience, seeing Caleb nearly rip his own face off in panic and terror. Edric sympathizes, knows the new and incredible can seem so scary at first. Knows you might not understand at first why, but that you’ll learn to love all that he is giving you.

He kisses your nose.

He knows he is doing the right thing.

—

Caleb had almost forgotten what pain feels like.

His last memories of the sensation was the last day of his human life and the first of his immortal one. The mortal kind had been short, his body so fragile and easily breakable under his master’s claws. The immortal kind had been agonizing, the slow transformation of Edric’s blood changing every inch of his body, inside and out.

This pain is different, far less intense, though enough to thrust him out of unconsciousness. That and the stinking smell of burning flesh, his burning flesh, rubbing against the chains tightly secured around his arms and stomach.

He thrashes around, a mistake that presses the chains into his sides. It heals as quickly as it burns, but the silver plating is like a hot poker being dragged across his abdomen, leaving red agitated trails beneath. Just a flesh wound, but deeply uncomfortable. Enough to sap him of his energy, to leave him panting and shaking.

Caleb’s wild eyes fly around, conscious brain catching up to his nervous system as he tries to make sense of what's going on. He is gagged and bound to a chair and only in his underclothes, that he is quick enough to realize. What’s harder to figure out is where he is; The fine decorations reveal that he must still be on the estate, yet in a room he does not recognize. Not his own, not his wife’s, so where-

“You finally wake.” Says his creator, standing unusually bare in just an undershirt and drawers. “You always did have a habit of sleeping in. It’s quite immature, Caleb.” Claws tap on hardwood, Edric clicking his teeth in a sign of disappointment.

This must be his room.

Caleb thinks, unable to snap back at the insult. It makes sense, the space every bit as gaudish as Edric; Collections of old books and ancient artifacts fill a numerous of shelves, larger than life portraits and landscape paintings decorate the walls, and a bed fit for a king, lined with a plush bedding and encircled by a saphenous curtain. But it still does not explain what he is doing here, bound with silver plated chains.

“But I suppose I am to blame for that, aren’t I?” Caleb snaps his eyes back to his creator, his neck bobbing with unneeded breaths, an old stress response from his human days. “I’ve been far too lax with you, son. I see that now. I let you run wild like an animal, and expected you to snap quickly back into being a man.” His creator strides over to Caleb, that disappointed look that has Caleb’s stomach twisting. A long sleeping fear of being the prey, not the predator, awakens in his chest. “It is my fault for not being more disciplined. For not having a firmer hand when I guided you. Spare the rod-” Edric’s hand shoots out like a venomous viper, wrapping around a covered part of the chain and yanking, making it cut even deeper into Caleb’s ribs. He collapses forward, a pained scream muffled by his gag, tears bubbling up at the side of his eyes. “-Spoil the child.”

Caleb’s chest heaves, anger and fear all melding together. His teeth clank against each other in his mouth, eyes bulging as he leaves them planted on the carpeted floor. The embroidered patterns are the only swirling thing he can make sense of, the only thing grounding him to reality. Keeping him far away from the searing pain and the sizzling of his flesh.

“A young man like yourself needs a strict enforcer, something to curb his appetite and slap him out of his delusions.” His master keeps one hand wrapped tight around the chain, not pulling just yet, but the threat of doing so still lingering. The other pats the top of Caleb’s head. “I do not want to be cruel to you, Caleb. I understand that children need love and affection as well as discipline. It was my fault for confusing the two, for trying to have it all and failing at both. ”

A shiver wracks down Caleb’s spine, finally able to lift himself to sit upward, though his eyes stay locked on the floor. He fears any sign of disrespect will cause another burn. It is not until claws come under his jaw and tilt his face up that he is forced to look the monster in the eyes.

“But do not worry, my son.” Edric says, a sick sort of affection in his voice. The same affection that dug itself into Caleb’s stomach that terrible summer night, that ripped out his guts and forced blood down his throat. “I have found our solution.”

Relief falls down his spine as his creator walks away, the fear of more pain assuaged. But it’s quickly tampered when his master whips back the curtain on his bed, revealing you, unconscious and tied to the bed posts. Still in your nightgown, unaware of the monsters that linger nearby. A terrifying realization comes to Caleb’s mind, and he thinks he might vomit.

Fuck.

—

You’re hot, too hot, boiling hot. The kind of heat that wakes you from the deepest of slumbers, throwing off pillows and clothes and whatever you can for some sort of relief. But you can’t. You’re not sure why, still lost in the haze of awakening, body on fire.

Your recollection comes back to you slowly, yet muddied. The last thing you remember was an invitation from Edric to have tea with him in his study, received by a servant as you read in your bedroom. You vaguely remember walking down the halls, being nearly giddy with excitement, but absolutely nothing after that. You do not remember changing into your nightgown, nor going to bed.

Where…am I?

Your eyes and ears feel like they are underwater, a sudden burst of light only blotting and confusing your senses. You only recognize Edric once he’s right above you, his hand caressing your jaw.

“Good morning, my sweet.”

Then, he kisses you.

It’s almost enough of a surprise to knock you out of your stupor. The feeling of his lips on yours, the passionate way he tilts back your jaw and devours you, has your body jerking away on instinct. But it can’t, the strain in your wrists and shoulders revealing that your hands are bound by a rope. The rest of you is covered by your father-in-law's body, pressed against your scandalously undressed form. Heat explodes across your chest and neck, embarrassment at being seen in something so risque. No man has ever seen you like this before. You furiously wiggle underneath him, half-convinced this is a dream you need waking up from.

“It’s alright.” Edric shushes, pulling away so his lips are only an inch from yours. “Everything is alright, dearest. You need not panic.”

His lips pepper around the side of your mouth, moving up to the apple of your cheeks and nipping where skin meets bone. It makes your heart beat impossibly faster. Your head jerks as much as it can away, body still sluggish and in a haze of delirium.

The sound of wood thudding against carpet draws what little strands of your attention are left, and that's when you notice Caleb. Your hands uselessly yank again on the rope, shame leaving a sour taste in your mouth. You want to plead that this was not your idea, that you don’t know what's going on, when you realize he too is bound. His entire upper half is chained to a chair, tear tracks running down his cheeks and his face ruby red, a mixture of shock and the gag pulling taut against his cheeks. His night shirt is torn between his bonds, enough to make you realize that the smoky scent is coming from him, of something searing through the fabric and into his skin.

Your mind finally wraps around every little detail, finally fires the orders to your mouth to scream. Edric is quicker, slapping his hand over your jaw and forcing your attention back to him. He shushes you like one would a newborn, broken up by reassuring kisses to your jaw.

“Just ignore the boy.” Edric whispers in your ear, tugging on your lobe with another nip of his teeth. “He is only here to learn a lesson in adulthood.” Edric’s hand crawls onto your hip, his thumb pressing into your plush stomach. You gasp and gingerly buck away from it, but that only brings you closer to Edric, a warmth he greatly enjoys. “He is here to see what it really takes to be a husband.”

Edric devours you in another kiss, stealing the breath right out of your lungs. His hand moves up your hip, charting a dangerous path until his thumb presses right below your breast. You jump once again, right into Edric’s eager mouth. Something briefly stings, and an irony taste on your tongue tells you that you’ve somehow cut open your lip. Were Edric’s teeth always that sharp? His body shudders above in a moan, his fervent tongue quick to lap at the bubbling blood. You can hear a similar, animalistic grunt come from Caleb, followed by another bursting sound of sizzling as he seizes forward. Even with the gag you can hear his pained moans.

You want to pull away, to bite Edric back, to kick and scream at the top of your lungs. But Edric’s hand lights a flame across your body, leaving you a melted puddle in his bed. Each kiss only intensifies it, as if every nerve has been turned on in your body. The faint traces of your mind think of Eros, with his piercing bolts that could strike anyone into a lustful frenzy. Of potions and elixirs that could turn even a nun into a debauched whore.

Edric finally forces himself away from your mouth, blood smeared across his lips and tongue. They leave crimson kiss marks as he moves his way down your body, stopping occasionally to nip at the skin, savoring the way you yelp. A sinful moan escapes your lips once he reaches your chest, your head throwing back in ecstasy once Edric’s lips wrap around one of your nipples. He sucks on it through the fabric, soaking it through.

“Need a taste.” He sighs, and Caleb thumps again in the corner. But you can’t focus on him, not when Edric’s canines are pulling at your nightgown and-

Rip!

You chest pebbles despite the overwhelming heat, bare as the day you were born. You gasp, a mix of embarrassment and lust, Edric wasting no time to taste the sweat of your skin. His tongue laps up between your two breasts before he quickly returns to your sensitive nipples, moaning between long sucks.

“Sweet ambrosia.” He sighs into your sternum, nuzzled in your cleavage. “Dionysian delight.”

After deeming it sufficiently lavished, Edric moves down your chest and onto your stomach, his peppered kisses ticklish as he reaches below your navel. But once he reaches your mound your more sensible mind kicks back in, thighs snapping together, feet kicking fruitlessly. This is no obstacle for Edric, who easily pulls open your legs and slots himself in between, mouth never leaving your skin. He at least has the decency to not rip apart the bottom half of the gown as he did your top, but not enough to stop from pushing it up your thighs and over your hips, his head disappearing under the fabric.

You don’t have time to wonder what he is doing, a moan ripping from your chest as his tongue licks a long stripe up your womanhood. You’re shocked just as much by the filthy action as you are by how rapturously good it feels.

“Edric!” Your voice cries, not sounding at all like yourself. It is too sensual, too indulgent, too much like a whore.

Said man moans directly into your entrance, the vibrations rewarding him with gushes of your essence. Like before Edric does not falter in his pace, mouth quickly devouring you like a peach on a hot summer day. His lips suck on your womanhood, tongue pressing and writhing against your entrance. Your juices run down his jaw as he worships you, nuzzling his face impossible deeper, the tip of his tongue pressing past your maidenhead and searching your walls for sensitivity. Your toes curl into the comforter, hips bucking into Edric’s face. It feels too good, you think you might pass out.

Too ashamed of your own voice, of unleashing that debaucherous sound again, your teeth clamp down on your lip. You ignore the sting of the cut, the drips of blood now running down your jaw. But it can’t be ignored by Edric and Caleb, feather’s flying as Edric’s nails dig into the comforter, Caleb’s chair’s feet being dug into the floor.

While his tongue traces patterns into your center Edric’s nose presses against your sensitive button, shockwaves being sent up your belly. It’s far more intense than the few times in your life you’ve touched it yourself, whether when riding or in the shameful moments of night. Now it is as if every rub and press resets your brains; Making it hard for you to remember what exactly is happening, where you are, who is currently in between your legs.

When Edric finally pulls away, dewy strings connecting his jaw to your lips, the whine you let out is instinctual. Your ankles cross behind his shoulder, body jerking, trying to find that sensation again. He chuckles with this, kissing at your inner thigh.

“Be patient, dearest.” Edric whispers. “My son did not properly consummate his marriage, so I must be thorough.”

Another sizzling of flesh as Caleb seethes in the corner, his whines not unlike a dog being whipped for it’s disobedience.

The words fall on your deaf ears, still recovering from the feeling of Edric’s mouth on your pussy. Before they can even attempt to enter your mind they’re shot out, two fingers pushing into your wet heat.

“Ah!” Your body arches, the foreign feeling of being full not nearly as painful as you had been led to believe. Edric’s fingers sink into your hole like a hot knife through butter, tingles shooting up your stomach as the pads press against your walls. Your hips roll into Edric’s hand, abdomen clenching when Edric’s palm presses against your button.

“Does that feel good, dearest?” Edric’s fingers pull out, then slowly push back in until his knuckles are soaked by your dew, your body convulsing. He does it again, faster, making sure to grind the heel of his palm against your button.

“Ngh!” You sigh, biting down again on your lip. The taste of blood in your mouth is foul, tangy.

“Tell me how it feels.” Edric’s voice takes a deeper tone, dangerous and dark in the way it rolls your stomach.

“G-good!” You finally pant out, struggling to put the most basic of syllables together.

A soft kiss presses into your thigh, Edric chuckling against your skin.

There is no warning as his fingers start to bully in and out of you. Each press goes deeper and deeper, his fingers desperately searching for that spongy part inside you. Each press against your button has stars shooting out from behind your eyelids, your mouth gone dry. Your moans have become raspy and even more desperate, your body that of an animal, rutting and trying to chase the pleasure. The scent of burned flesh still lingers in your nostrils but is ignored, whimpers falling to the wayside in your own bubble of decadence. It feels so good.

“E-dric~!” Your whorish voice whines, not sure what it's pleading for. Your skin has started to go numb, your lower half burning and aching, on the precipice of something you do not understand. Edric hums, and if you had the thought to look at him, you’d see a devilish smile full of far too many sharp teeth. If you had the energy to turn your head, you’d see Caleb, slack-jawed around his gag. You’d see his own hips jerking, a sizeable bulge in his pants as his eyes rove over you in starved fascination. “I’m-I’m-” Your voice pilters out.

“Cum for me, ___.”

His voice is what sends you over the edge, the voice of your companion, your friend, your Edric. Your entire body convulses on his palm, reduced to jelly in his hands.

It takes several moments for your mind to come back to you. Still numb, you barely register when Edric kisses the side of your cheek, realizing he’s once again laid atop of you. Now no fabric separates your bare chests, your dress ripped open and his shirt quickly discarded. But the strongest sensation is something hot and heavy slotted against your aching maidenhood. It rubs against your button, stoking the flame once more.

“You’re ready, my love.” Edric says, before forcing you into another kiss. He sucks on your bottom lip, a rumbling groan pulsing from his mouth into yours. The taste of your blood lingers on his tongue, forced down your own throat.

Edric’s palm lies flat on your chest, rubbing down your body. It isn’t still something hot and weeping presses against your entrance that you realize what is happening.

“Wait-” Your words are cut off by Edric’s kiss, you shout muffled once he finally pushes inside you, stealing your virginity as he did your pleasure.

This fullness is more uncomfortable, but still not accompanied by the sharp pain you had always heard of. It’s vulnerable, the way you can feel him pulsing from within you. Your lower half clenches on instinct, which only digs Edric’s claws into the headboard.

“Divinity.” Edric sighs into your lips, forehead rested against yours. He’s still icy cold, and if it weren’t such a blessing against your scalding heat, you’d question it further.

It’s several breathless moments before you feel normal, your body relaxing into the sheets. It's then that Edric first moves his hips; A microscopic movement, but the dragging sensation against your walls still steals the breath from your lungs. A mewling sound comes from your lips, which only emboldens Edric. He moves again, pulling out further and seating himself back in harder. Another thrust has your legs clamping shut, thighs pressing into Edric’s side. He chuckles into your ear, though it’s less composed than you’re used to.

“What a bl-blessing it is to be your first.” Edric’s words tumble with his stuttering hips, now moving faster and faster, hitting deeper and deeper. “You hold me like a vice, dearest. So warm and t-tight.” Edric‘s words are punctuated by a hard thrust, one that tears another moan from your throat. Wood begins to creak from underneath you, the movement of your two bodies causing the curtain to flutter. His spine rolls with each hump of his hips, something hot brewing between you two. It’s enough to get lost in, until a thump of a chair being scooted across the floor reminds you of your guest, of your husband.

Your eyes clench shut, too overwhelmed by every possible feeling to keep them open. You don’t know if it's ecstasy or shame, the reminder of the sin you’re indulging in. Your husband at least had the decency to keep his adultery away, to relegate it to outside your shared home and never speak of it so openly, even though you obviously were aware. And here you are, being ravished in front of him, by his own father.

“A-ah!” You cry, Edric’s sharp hip bones now slamming into your plush belly, his grunts more like that of an animal than a man. His cock pounds against the deepest part of you like a sledgehammer now, no sense of restraint. The headboard slams against the wall, shaking the many paintings nearly off their hangings. The slapping of skin is louder than the heartbeat resonating in your ears, a wet and sticky sound.

“Hmmph!” Edric groans in your ear, laying his full weight behind every sharp dig of his pelvis. Your body has scooted up to the bed, face nestled into the pillows, a cushiony barrier between you and the wooden headboard. A headboard currently taking a beating, between being repeatedly slammed and clawed at by Edric’s outstretched hand. It finally hits its limit, the wood creaking and bursting into pieces. Chunks fall onto your hair and forehead, finally forcing you to open your eyes. But what you see when they do is heart stopping, too terrifying for you to even scream.

Above you is not Edric, or at least that Edric that you know of. He is no longer the handsome, older gentleman who you confided in. His skin has become an inky black collage of fur, dark and shaggy. His finely shaped nose has been pushed out and upright into a snout, and his kind smile is wider and bursting with fangs. No longer a man, instead he is a monstrous man-sized bat, giant ears and muzzle and all. The only thing that remains like before his eyes, adoring and obsessive, swirling patterns of red amidst dark pools of black.

Your head jerks to the side, trying to escape from the nightmare right in front of you. They claw towards Caleb, a strange new beacon of normalcy, before you realize that he too is gone. His own golden locks have morphed into a honeyed fur, chains cutting into this large, muscular form, his clothing having bursted at the seams. His beautiful, adonis-esque face has also been twisted into the shape of a bat. He ruts and whines against his bindings like a beast in heat, tongue lolled out and drool dripping down his jaw.

Your eyes force shut, like when you were a child afraid of the dark, convinced the covers would save you. But you can’t ignore the long tongue that now laps at your neck, the sharp pin pricks of Edric’s teeth on your neck. Fur clings to your sweaty skin, hips burning as they stretch around Edric’s uncomfortable new size. Even his cock feels bigger, thicker and hot as it fucks you open.

The worst of it all is how good it feels. How your body still longs for Edric’s touch, how it craves each press against that spongy spot, rolls into his thrusts. You’ve lost control, mind split in two, desperate for this to be over yet also desperate to finish.

“Ha-aah!” You whine, the same rush from before twisting your insides, faster and more blinding than earlier. Edric purrs in your ear, his snout nuzzled into your collar.

“Yes, yes, yes.” The beast pants, legs beginning to shake as he also closes near to his end. A paw reaches in between you both and deftly pinpoints your sensitive spot, rubbing it roughly and making your vision go white.

Edric roars into the night, his head tossed back as both of you reach your peak, exploding around each other. Hot floods of his seed fill you up, leaking from out the sides and onto the sheets. He stays locked with you, hips still flush with yours, a frightening smile on his beastial face.

When you finally regain your breath, a terrifying thought of you, pregnant with the antichrist, has you nearly vomiting. Voices ring in your ear but you barely understand them, heart thumping as the fear of bearing a demon catches up to you. The Earl is whispers directly in your ear, close enough that you can actually process what he says.

“I’m so sorry, my dearest. I promise, the pain will last only for a moment.”

It doesn’t take long to figure out what he means. Not when his fangs are plunging into your neck and ripping it open, the pain immediately exploding until there is nothing left. As the light fades from your eyes, you hear a distant sound of someone screaming.

—

It is warm in the drawing room.

You always request it to be, the hearth constantly attended, if not by the servants than by you. It’s fascinating watching the fire glow, seeing the wood crackle and burst as the heat becomes too much. You had never realized just how pleasant the sounds of it could be, how relaxing it is as background to your reading, to your thinking, or your embroidering. The only things that occupied you nowadays, frivolous things to pass the never-ending time. You still had yet to reach the end of the estate’s book collection, more often than not re-reading your favorites rather than treading into new territory. It is comforting, the old words you know so well.

“Long years had brought their fighting days to a halt, but they were eloquent speakers still, clear as cicadas settled on treetops, lifting their voices through the forest, rising softly, falling, dying away.” You read aloud, fingers twirling in Caleb’s hair, occasionally watching the way his spun-gold locks catch the light. It is simply unfair how silky it is, despite the little care he puts into maintaining it. He always forces you to comb it for him, insisting it's too much of a struggle to do it himself, that you do it better anyway. And yet it's hard to complain when it is one of the few solace you have left, the softness beneath your fingers, the familiarity of brushing another one's hair. As if you really did have a son, a family of your own. “So they waited, the old chiefs of Troy, as they sat aloft the tower.”

He’s unusually compliant tonight, Caleb. You think it must be the lack of sleep he got during the day. Usually when you read to him he is full of quips, judgements of the characters or the story you’ve chosen, often deriding their mortal foolishness. But tonight he is silent, head laying on your lap, curled at your feet in a way that must be uncomfortable. You’d offer to move to the chaise lounge instead, let him lay on his back in a more comfortable position, but you really don’t care how comfortable he is at this very moment. Or ever, really.

“And catching sight of Helen moving along the ramparts, they murmured one to another, gentle, winged words…” Your fingers still in Caleb’s thick locks, knotted into the baby hairs at the base of his skull. You do not tug, though a part of you wants to. That part is too numb, an unfortunately similar bout of hopelessness striking you as your eyes dance across the page. “ ‘Who on earth could blame them? Ah, no wonder the men of Troy and Argives under arms have suffered years of agony all for her, for such a woman. Beauty, terrible beauty. Deathless goddess – so she strikes our eyes’ "

You pause, finding yourself unable to continue. Tears well up in your eyes but you force them away. Not again. You thought you had moved past this. But the words still catch in your throat. Caleb’s ear twitches, then his head is turning, looking up at you with his inhuman eyes.

“Why did you-”

He stops, mid-word. The numbness goes away, replaced by the shock of a hand on your shoulder.

“Hello, dearest.” Edric bends down low to kiss your neck, right at the space behind your ear. You see Caleb’s eyebrows furrow, his head whip back around, a pout probably marring his beautiful face. “I missed you.”

“I-” your mouth feels dry, your own internal voice beating itself with a hammer. Shut up. Shut up, Shut up- “-I missed you too.”

You place your hand over his, no longer surprised by the chill of his skin. It’s just like yours.

Edric chuckles, kissing your temple.

“And hello to you Caleb.”

“Hello.” Caleb’s voice is muffled, his face now turned into the fabric of your skirt. Only you can feel the way his hand fists and tugs on the dress, the only acceptable expression of his frustration.

“Are you enjoying the Iliad?” Edric asks the both of you. You nod, a small and polite smile on your face.

“Oh yes, this translation is rather interesting.”

Caleb stays quiet. Edric’s brow turns down a bit.

“I asked you a question, son.”

You fight the feeling to flee, to cower. Caleb tenses against you, his claws almost digging into your skin.

“...It’s good. She reads it well.”

“Well, no surprise there.” Edric’s lips move down to your cheek. “You do have a beautiful voice, my love.”

You giggle, demure and false, whispering a small “thank you”. You wish you could just accept the compliment, take joy in the small wins.

“While I hate to pull you from your books, it is getting quite late.” The hand on your shoulder squeezes, not hard enough to hurt, but enough to remind you of how powerful Edric is. “I believe it's best we go to bed, dearest.”

Like an automaton, you close your book and stand up, Caleb’s head falling off your legs. He whips around, hand tightly coiled on your skirt, pulling it towards him. An argument brews in his eyes, lips curling back.

“But it's not even sunrise-”

“Now Caleb.” Edric’s voice is somehow both quiet and thunderous, snuffing out any dissent in the air. “Remember your decency. You spent all of yesterday with your mother, and tonight as well. It is not polite to be so greedy.”

Caleb shrinks back, thoroughly scolded, yet a dissatisfied look still lingering.

While you despise either option, Edric does seem the more tolerable of a bed companion. Caleb had kept you up all day, with his pawing hands and desperate hips, absolutely starving for your time. His father only deigned him worthy of sharing your bed when he was especially good, which seemed to be happening more and more lately. Caleb had yet to push it any farther than over your dress, but even with a layer of fabric between you his touch made you ill. Especially when he lathered your neck with his tongue, or threw your thighs over his hips and rutted like an animal for hours on end. Edric had waved away any complaints, reminding you that all the poor boy wanted was affection, that he was harmless. It was exhausting, being the carrot dangling on the stick.

So you pull at your skirts, gently so as to not offend, until Caleb lets go. You fall into Edric’s chest as he guides you both to your shared bedroom. You don’t look back at Caleb as he follows you like a shadow, ignoring his eyes burning down your silhouette. You don’t acknowledge when he whines and pleads with his eyes to Edric, who nevertheless forces him to leave you both at the door. Caleb stomps down the hallway, and you let out a sigh of relief.

The next movements are rehearsed and robotic. Edric helps you undress, you help him. You both step into your day clothes and slip under the covers, your body stiff as Edric wraps around you like a constrictor. He starts kissing your neck, breathing heavily against your non-existent pulse.

“I can’t wait to see the stars with you tomorrow.” He whispers.

You close your eyes, and pretend to sleep.

And tomorrow, and tomorrow, and tomorrow….

#my writing #reader insert #monster x reader #monster romance #female reader insert #x reader #vampire x reader #series #regency #gothic #vampires #love triangle #dark romance #historical

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sirxaibs · 13 days ago

Text

Sunday HSR X Reader

꒰ა ☆ ໒꒱ SNOW DAY! ꒰ა ☆ ໒꒱

masterlist

part 1

its a little bit of a different format!! be warned because i know the first part was well loved

this is technically a part 2 though its a little more angsty but I tried to still hold the same dynamic. Sunday having some self doubt is a warning. You don’t need to read this part but you’d need to read the first part to make this make sense.

˚��‧꒰ა ☆ ໒꒱ ‧₊˚ Something cold brushed your cheek. You stirred, barely, burying your face deeper into the couch cushion. The blanket someone had kindly placed over you was warm and smelled faintly of lavender. The lights in the Parlor Car had dimmed. The stars outside twinkled lazily, unmoving.

“HEY! HEY! WAKE UP!!”

“AAAHHH” Your body spasmed upright as your eyes flew open in a panic. You blinked wildly, sleep still clawing at the corners of your vision. Something someone was screaming directly into your ear, high pitched and furious and

“We’re about to make a jump! All passengers must be prepped and present! Did you think this was a nap train?! Come on, come on!”

“PomPom?” you croaked, eyes wide and dazed, hair in complete disarray. the tiny conductor screeched, arms flailing, foot tapping with enough force you swore you could feel it through the couch. “We jump in fifteen minutes! FIFTY FIVE SECONDS of that are already gone! Do you want to arrive half dreaming and in pajamas?!”

You blinked again, your heart now racing for a whole new reason. The blanket slid off your shoulders. Across the room, seated calmly with tea in hand, Welt Yang gave you an apologetic nod as if this sort of thing wasnt normal. Beside him, Himeko, already dressed in her usual beautiful self with not a single red strand out of place, smiled gently. “Good morning, sleepyhead. You should hurry. These jumps can be disorienting if you’re not prepared.”

“Right. Yes. Okay. Jump. We’re jumping.” You stood too fast. The blanket tripped you. Your leg knocked into the table, rattling Himeko’s teacup. “Sorry! Sorry. I!”

“Just go get dressed!” PomPom wailed. “You’re embarrassing me”

You scrambled out of the Parlor Car, heart pounding, brain trying to catch up to your body.The halls of the Astral Express were softly lit, calm in contrast to your internal panic. You stumbled into your room, kicked the door shut behind you, and launched into the most frantic wardrobe selection of your life. Pajamas off. Shirt on backwards. Fixed. Pants? Where were your pants? Oh god, you’d slept in one sock and now you were wearing mismatched ones but there wasn’t time to change. You brushed your hair with your fingers, tied it up…. was that a feather from last night still in there? You stopped. Looked in the mirror. Your cheeks were flushed. There were faint sleep lines on one side of your face. But your eyes were awake now alive with motion, with chaos. And as you adjusted your jacket and took one last breath, you had a glimpse of something else.

The navy blue blanket where you’d tossed it before rushing out.

Sunday.

You paused, just for a moment. The memory of his soft voice in your sleep though you hadn’t really heard the words lingered faintly, like a dream half remembered. Had he really just sat there and let you rest? You smiled without meaning to, but only for a moment. Pom Pom’s voice echoed from the hallway again.

“FIVE MINUTES! And not a second more!”

“Coming!” you yelled, grabbing your boots and stumbling out of the room like a storm with arms. You arrived at the boarding deck just as the others began gathering. Caelus was still tugging on his coat, March was fixing her scarf as if her entire existence depended on the perfect loop, and Dan Heng had been ready fifteen minutes ago and clearly didn’t understand why the rest of you looked like you’d been hit by a comet. Sunday was there too. Fully dressed. Elegant even in simplicity. His hair was slicked back, a calm expression on his face as he glanced your way and then, just for a second, something softened in his gaze when he saw you.

“Sleep well?” he asked quietly as you joined the group.

You nodded, tugging your jacket into place. “Yeah. Thanks for the blanket.”

He tilted his head. “Seemed like you had an adventurous night?”

You blinked at him. But his eyes sparkled, just a little. The floor beneath your feet gave a small rumble. Lights along the ceiling began to pulse with color. Pom Pom stood atop the central platform, now fully in Conductor Mode, voice echoing with more authority than their small frame should’ve ever allowed.

“Next stop,” Pom-Pom announced, “an old and well met planet, we are visiting Jarilo-VI again”

The ship jumped. You barely had time to brace, but this time, it didn’t feel so disorienting. Maybe because you were surrounded by them. Your crew. Your friends. Or the fact that next to you in the parlour car, Sunday is always taking in the works around him like he was just born. So much wonder made you feel so fortunate. You weren’t entirely sure when that started to feel comforting. But it did.

˚₊‧꒰ა ☆ ໒꒱ ‧₊˚ Jarilo-VI welcomed the Astral Express crew with its usual frosty greeting icy winds sweeping the platform, snow clinging to every rooftop and ledge, and that quiet stillness in the air that only came with winter.

You stepped off the train behind the others, watching your breath fog in front of your face. The city beyond still stood proud despite its scars. Belobog had changed since you were last here less tension, more movement. There was life in the people’s steps now. A subtle, growing hope.

March was already snapping pictures of Caelus helping a local child shovel snow off the street, her voice excited and dramatic. “Sometkme i look at him and wish I had that drive but he does stuff like he has daily tasks or commissions”

Caelus was half buried in a snowbank but gave a thumbs up. Dan Heng, coat already pristine and zipped, muttered something under his breath and walked ahead toward the Administrative District. He’d been assigned to assist with a few lingering logistics, as had Himeko and Welt. The grown ups, as March dubbed them. You? You had been told absolutely nothing.

No tasks. No missions. Not even a clipboard. Which was exactly why, once everyone else had scattered, you stayed behind. Your eyes trailed over the rooftops dusted with white, the distant roads sloping down into familiar territory. Serval’s workshop, maybe. Or even a chance run in with Bronya or Gepard. Heck, you’d even take a weird monologue from Sampo as long as you weren’t standing still in the cold. You adjusted your coat and turned to sneak off “You’re not going alone, are you?”

You flinched and turned around quickly. Sunday stood just behind you on the platform, arms folded loosely across his chest, eyes squinting slightly at the sun reflecting off the snow. Still in his usual attire, not a shred of weather appropriate attire in sight. He blinked slowly, then added, “I thought I might accompany you. If you don’t mind.”

You hesitated. He didn’t ask why you were going. Just wanted to tag along.

“Sure,” you said, smiling, “but not like that. You’ll die in five minutes.”

He raised an eyebrow. “I’ve survived much worse.”

“Yeah, sure. luxury suits. Come on.”

You motioned for him to follow and dragged him back into the Express, heading straight for the storage closet where everyone’s winter gear was kept. You shoved open the door and started rummaging. He watched you with amused patience as you returned with armfuls of thick clothes. You tossed a jacket at him navy, heavy, with silver trim. He barely caught it before you were already looping a scarf around his neck, standing on tiptoe to reach properly. “Arms up,” you ordered, like he was a kindergartener and not a six foot tall enigma.

“You’re very particular about this,” he murmured as you tugged the sleeves over his arms and zipped the coat halfway up his chest.

“You probably haven’t even seen snow before,” you muttered, voice muffled as you fixed the scarf, “Pretty boy like you? I bet Penacony was all dream beaches and sun.” You tugged a beanie over his perfectly styled hair. “This would eat you alive.”

“I think I’m capable of”

“There.” You stepped back, satisfied, and grinned. “Now you look like a fashionable marshmallow.” Behind you, a suppressed snort cracked the silence. You didn’t even turn. “March, if you even think about saying anything, I’m throwing snow down your coat.” More giggling. Retreating footsteps. Sunday glanced in the direction of the sound and then looked back at you, blinking under the knit hat you’d shoved onto his head. “Am I… presentable?”

You pretended to examine him, chin in your hand like an artist judging a sculpture. “You’ll survive. If only just.”

His smile was subtle, but it reached his eyes. Together, you stepped off the train and began your slow descent into the city. Jarilo-VI was still beautiful in the way icy sunlight catching on rooftops, the clink of tools and laughter echoing from a few shops that had reopened. As you both walked, you explained what each building had been during the whole event when the astral crew were all there, and how things had changed. Sunday didn’t speak much, but he listened. Genuinely. His hands stayed in his pockets, but his eyes followed every movement children pulling sleds, old workers salting roads, steam curling from chimneys.

“It’s different here,” he said softly after a while.

You hummed. “Cold?”

“it feels like fresh air.” His breath fogged in the air. “I used to think eternity would be the only path to peace”

You turned to look at him. He shook his head. “Its so nice to see people out.” His gaze dropped to the footprints the two of you left behind in the snow. You smiled.

“Also,” he added lightly, “I haven’t felt my fingers in the past twenty minutes. So perhaps you were right.”

“Well no duh” you grinned, and bumped his shoulder gently. “Welcome to winter, dream boy.”

˚₊‧꒰ა ☆ ໒꒱ ‧₊˚ Eventually, you ended up outside Serval’s workshop, laughter and music spilling from the inside. She was strumming her guitar for a cluster of teens, everyone bundled up with hot drinks and wool scarves. The moment Serval spotted you, her eyes sparkled with mischief and she called out, “Hey! You brought a date?”

You flushed immediately. “He’s not”

“I’m here by choice,” Sunday cut in smoothly, tugging his scarf down just enough to speak clearly. His voice was calm, a slight smirk on his lips. “Don’t let her flustered denial fool you.”

You shot him a look, but he only raised a brow in amusement.

One of the teens whispered, “Is that guy famous or something?” Another murmured, “He looks like he owns a whole company.”

You buried your face in your scarf.

˚₊‧꒰ა ☆ ໒꒱ ‧₊˚ Later, as the sun dipped and shadows grew long, the two of you sat at the edge of the city, the rooftops of Belobog glowing gold beneath a dusky sky. You handed Sunday the last bit of your hot drink without looking at him. He accepted it, hands brushing yours, and took a sip.

“Thank you,” he said, his voice more serious now. “For letting me come along.”

“I didn’t do it for you,” you muttered, gaze fixed ahead. “I just needed a tall coat rack.”

There was a pause, then a soft chuckle. “Then I hope I’m fulfilling my purpose admirably.”

When you didn’t reply, he added, quieter, “I don’t take your time for granted. I’m glad to be here with you.”

That made your heart skip. You looked away, flustered, and he didn’t push. The stillness wrapped around you both like a blanket, snowflakes drifting lazily in the air. You leaned back on the bench, exhaling slowly.

“Hey! Hey, there you are!”

You both turned to find Lynx bounding up the road, scarf trailing and cheeks pink from the cold. “There’s a frozen lake just outside the city! We cleared it for skating come join us! Serval’s already out there bullying Gepard, and I need backup.”

You stood, grinning. “Say no more. I’m in.” You glanced at Sunday. “C’mon.”

He blinked, surprised. “I’m sorry what exactly are we doing?”

“Skating.”

“…That’s like walking but more dangerous?”

“You’ll be fine.” You patted his shoulder. “You’ve survived worse.”

“I’m not convinced this counts as survival.”

You were already walking, but he didn’t hesitate long. He stood with a quiet sigh, resigned but not unwilling. “I assume you’ll mock me if I fall.”

You smiled over your shoulder. “Respectfully.” You smirked. “Come on. We’ll get you moving.” He hesitated but only for a second. Lynx clapped her hands and turned back toward the main street, clearly expecting you both to follow. You tossed Sunday a look, and he reluctantly stood with that soft little sigh of surrender he always gave around you. In retrospect the lake wasn’t far just past a ridge near the edge of Belobog’s perimeter. It was tucked away like a secret winter garden. A large sheet of glassy ice shimmered in the moonlight, surrounded by snowy banks and pine trees dusted in white.

A few lanterns had been strung up between wooden poles, casting golden halos onto the lake’s surface. Music played faintly from a small speaker on the snowbank, something upbeat and old school that you suspected came from Serval’s collection. And there they were: Serval, skating backwards with way too much confidence, trying to start a conga line with a group of teens nearby. Gepard, already red in the face as he stumbled along the ice, attempting to catch up to her. You were pulling on your skates before Sunday even had a chance to decline. Lynx offered to help him get into his pair, but you shooed her off.

You stood on the lake first, gliding across the surface like it was second nature, your balance steady and posture relaxed. Lynx clapped excitedly as you looped around her, grabbing her hands and pulling her onto the ice.

“Wait wait wait!” she squealed, trying not to fall as you twirled her.

You laughed freely, cheeks flushed and heart light.

“You’re weirdly good at this!” she cried.

“I have secret skills,” you said with mock seriousness.

“I literally live here, how are you like this.” Lynx replied. you winked. Gepard was the next target.

“Hey, Captain,” you called, skating up beside him with a wide grin, “Race you to that snowbank.”

He narrowed his eyes, the same competitive spark you remembered lighting up in them. “You’re on.” Two seconds later, you were both flying across the ice, skates slicing through it with sharp precision. Three seconds after that, you crashed spectacularly into the snowbank, laughing as you rolled over onto your back and blinked up at the stars.

“You okay?” Gepard asked, snow clinging to his uniform.

“I’ve been better,” you wheezed, still laughing. Serval skated over next and dropped onto her knees beside you. “You die?”

“Spiritually.”

The next ten minutes were a blur of white flurries and screaming as Serval roped you into a full scale ambush on the Landaus. Lynx betrayed you instantly. Gepard tried to remain neutral. It didn’t work. You laughed until your stomach hurt, until your hair was full of snow and your gloves were soaked and all the while, Sunday watched from the sidelines, sitting alone on the bench near the treeline. His winter coat bundled around him, scarf you wrapped earlier still snug around his neck.

His eyes followed your every move. Your joy was loud. Free. Untamed. He watched as you threw snow with both hands, collapsed in a heap of laughter, and got back up just to do it again. Your smile wasn’t measured. It wasn’t perfect. It reminded him of what should have been. Of what he never had. His own sister had never laughed like that. Robin had smiled, yes, but it was always rehearsed duty bound. Everything in Penacony was orchestrated. Everything was planned. Conditional. watching you here, he felt it again, that strange ache. That pull toward something… unconditional. It made his chest tight.

“You’re not gonna sit there all night, are you?” Serval’s voice cut through his thoughts. He turned slowly to see her smirking down at him, hands on her hips. “Why don’t you get out there? She’ll catch you if you fall.”

“…I have no experience skating.”

“Exactly why you should.” She leaned in slightly. “You two act like you’re not into each other, but you’ve got the tension of Bronya and Seele after seeing each other for too long” His eyes flicked up to her.

She winked. “Go on, dream boy.”

You were in the middle of trying to help Lynx build a snow cat when a shadow fell over you. You turned. Sunday stood awkwardly in borrowed skates, hands in his pockets.

“…I believe I require assistance.”

Your brows lifted. “You’re actually going to try?”

“I was… encouraged.”

You snorted and skated over. “Okay, come here.” You held out your hands, and he took them without hesitation.

“Bend your knees slightly,” you instructed, “and keep your core tight.”

“I feel like I’m being trained for battle.”

“well trying anything new kinda feels like that.”

His feet slipped, and he lunged slightly but you caught him. You laughed, and he stared at you. “I will admit,” he said quietly, “the company makes it tolerable.”

You felt your smile soften. You pulled him gently along the ice, step by slow step. He clung to your hands like they were lifelines. Lynx waved at you two from across the lake. Serval gave a not so subtle thumbs up. You pretended not to see them.

˚₊‧꒰ა ☆ ໒꒱ ‧₊˚ warmth immediately spilled into your bones, melting away the bite of the Belobog chill still clinging to your coat. You stepped inside with Sunday beside you, arms still linked, boots dripping faint traces of snow onto the polished floor.

His scarf was still a little uneven where you’d adjusted it earlier, and his cheeks held the last blush of cold. His steps were careful, as they had been all night, but steadier now. You were guiding him more than anything. Not that he’d admit it.

You glanced at him as the doors closed behind you.

“You know,” you started, “I think you’ve set a record for the most times someone’s fallen in one walk.”

“I would prefer it not be the legacy I leave behind,” Sunday replied, smooth and quiet, a faint wryness in his voice. “Though you seem particularly fond of recounting each incident.”

“I’m preserving history,” you said, stifling a laugh. “Someone has to tell the tale of the Great Trip of Ten Feet Past the Bench.”

His gaze shifted down toward you, expression unreadable but fond. “If I recall, you were laughing too hard to be of any assistance.”

“I got there eventually,” you said innocently. “Besides, you falling over is weirdly elegant. Like watching a tree try to curtsy.”

That pulled a quiet breath from him, something like a laugh but more reserved. “It was… a good night.”

You smiled at that, more to yourself than anything. “Yeah. It was.”

The two of you walked a little slower now, letting the soft lights of the Express guide your path past the Parlor Car. Himeko’s voice murmured faintly from the direction of the tea table. Someone probably Dan Heng had left a book open on one of the lounge chairs.

You and Sunday paused in the corridor just before it branched off into your rooms. The moment hung there, gentle and still. He looked at you, his tone quieter now. “Thank you… for inviting me.”

You tilted your head, a little amused. “Pretty sure you invited yourself.”

“I did,” he admitted, “but you didn’t send me away.”

Your smile lingered, warm. “Wouldn’t have, even if you asked.”

He gave a small nod, the weight of the day still visible in the curve of his shoulders, but there was ease there too like something heavy had been left behind in the snow.

“I’ll see you tomorrow,” he said.

You didn’t let go of his arm right away, but when you did, your hands brushed one last time. He turned with quiet steps and disappeared down the hallway toward his room, the soft rustle of his coat fading behind him.

You stood there for a moment longer, just listening. The train hummed, steady beneath your feet. The stars drifted lazily outside the windows. Eventually, you turned and wandered toward the main lounge where March was curled up on the couch with a blanket, swiping through pictures on her camera.

She looked up as you walked in and grinned. “Okay. You have to see this one Bronya mid fall. her arms are doing this dramatic flailing thing. I swear, it’s like ballet.”

You laughed and plopped down beside her, glancing over at the tiny screen. “She did try to defend her honor.”

“Yeah, and then immediately ate ice again,” March said, beaming. “And you and Sunday? how was that today… nothing out of the ordinary…”

You rolled your eyes, reaching for a throw pillow. “You’re imagining things.”

March wiggled her eyebrows. “Sure I am.”

You stayed a few minutes longer, sharing stories, teasing each other in the soft glow of the lounge, until your body finally reminded you how tired you were. After promising to join her again tomorrow for more photo reviews, you stood with a stretch and padded quietly down the hallway. The lights dimmed slightly as you reached your door, and in the stillness, you caught yourself thinking back on the day. The snow. The skating. The way Sunday had looked at you when he said he didn’t mind being useful if it was to you.

The crew slept quietly around you. The hum of its systems was softer in the middle of the night, like even the machine itself had tucked in. You hadn’t meant to stay up this late but after tossing and turning in bed, your sweet tooth had convinced you to sneak down to the kitchen car. Just something small. A cookie or two. Maybe something warm to hold for a while.

You were on your way back now, satisfied and relaxed, your steps light as you padded barefoot through the dim halls. Most of the lights had dimmed to a faint glow, golden enough to keep the shadows at bay but soft enough not to wake anyone. A few stars shimmered lazily beyond the train windows, the galaxy at peace. Everyone else had already turned in. You were on your way to do the same when a quiet sound halted your steps near the guest car a space meant for travelers passing through, those not quite crew but not strangers either. Sunday stayed there.

Your hand hovered over the handle to your room, ready to turn in at last until you heard it. A sound. It came from the guest car just around the bend. Your brows furrowed. Everyone else had already turned in. You were on your way to do the same when a quiet sound halted your steps near the guest car a space meant for travelers passing through, those not quite crew but not strangers either. Sunday stayed there.

You stayed still, holding your breath. There it was again. A stifled breath. The kind someone might mistake for a cough if they weren’t paying attention.

But you were paying attention. It was the sound of someone trying not to cry. Your first instinct was to leave him be let him have his space, his privacy. But the image of him skating with shaking knees and guarded pride, of the way his eyes had softened during the snowball fights, lingered too vividly. The fondness you felt for him wasn’t something you could ignore. You stepped away from your door and moved toward his.

The door to his room was slightly ajar. You didn’t call out. Probably should’ve knocked. You just stepped inside quietly, drawn by something you didn’t have the words for. The room was dim, lit only by the faint starlight filtering in through the window. Sunday sat upright on the edge of the bed, his coat shrugged off and draped over the chair. He hadn’t changed for sleep. His eyes were red, his shoulders trembling just slightly. He was turned away, both hands clasped as if trying to hold himself together.

You simply knelt in front of him, your knees pressing into the floor, eyes searching his face until he finally looked down. His breath hitched at the sight of you. His lips parted like he might try to speak, but nothing came. So you offered your hand. No words. No expectations. Just your hand, palm up, waiting. He stared at it for a moment. Then, slowly hesitantly he reached out and took it. His fingers were cold. His grip was light at first, like he didn’t quite trust himself to hold on. But then he exhaled, the breath catching at the end, and he interlocked his fingers with yours. He didn’t cry again, not right away. He just breathed. Slow. Shaky. Like the pain had found a safe place to settle.

Minutes passed. And then, quietly, he spoke. “…You looked so beautiful today,” he whispered. “With the others. With that girl… her laugh reminded me of Robin’s.”

Your thumb gently brushed over the back of his hand. “She always tried to laugh like that,” he said. “But it was always… restrained. Like it had to be measured. Beautiful, but… not direct.” His voice broke. “Not like yours.”

You stayed still, grounded, letting the silence hold space for him. “I kept thinking… if she had a life like yours… if I had” He stopped, trembling again. “Every time I look at you, I learn something else I never knew I needed to value. Every gesture, every laugh, every time you reach out for someone like it’s nothing…” He shook his head, a small, helpless sound. “It teaches me what I missed. What she missed.”

You lifted your other hand to rest gently against his knee. His grip on your fingers tightened, like he needed something to hold on to.

“I’m afraid,” he admitted. “That the more I see, the more I’ll realize how empty everything I had really was. And yet, I can’t look away.”

He looked down at you again then, and in that moment, he didn’t look composed or mysterious or sharp. “I’m sorry,” he whispered. “You shouldn’t have to see me like this.”

“You don’t have to apologize,” you said softly. “Im sorry for barging in.”

He exhaled again, a little steadier now, and lowered his forehead to rest gently against yours. There was no need to say anything else just yet. You were here.

You stayed like that for a while his forehead resting lightly against yours, his hand warm and solid in your own. The silence wasn’t heavy anymore. Then, slowly, you shifted. Still kneeling, you leaned forward, resting your head gently on his legs. Your cheek pressed to the soft fabric of his trousers, and your fingers relaxed around his.

Sunday froze, just for a moment. His breath hitched again, but not from pain this time. Then his hand moved. Carefully. Tentatively. Fingers brushing through your hair. He stroked it once. Then again, slower.

The movement was gentle like he wasn’t sure he deserved to touch you this way, but needed to anyway. Like this moment was fragile, and he was terrified of breaking it. You let him comfort himself in the rhythm of it, in the quiet press of your presence. The train hummed softly beneath you both, as if it too understood the importance of silence right now.

His hand paused only once just to curl lightly at the ends of your hair, like he was memorizing the texture. Then, after a while, he shifted forward, leaning down just slightly.

His hand cupped your face, thumb grazing along your cheek with a reverence that felt almost sacred. He pressed a kiss to the top of your head. He didn’t say anything after. He just stayed there, his hand still against your cheek, his other resting in your hair.

Eventually, he sighed, a sound almost reluctant to disturb the stillness.

“…If you stay like that much longer,” he murmured, voice low and hoarse from emotion, “your neck is going to ache terribly.”

You hummed softly, not moving just yet. Still, the smallest smile ghosted across your lips.

#sunday x y/n #sunday x you #hsr sunday #sunday x reader #sunday #hsr x reader #hsr spoilers #hsr #honkai star rail x reader #honkai sr #honkai star rail #penacony #astral express #hsr caelus #hsr belobog #belobog

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demonicbaby666 · 2 years ago

Note

Babe. Please teacher/student Emily and fem reader. I beg of you. Smut galore!!!

Professor P

One shot | Criminal Minds Masterlist | Masterlists

Fandom: Criminal Minds

Pairing: Emily Prentiss x fem!Reader

Genre: Smut and fluff

Words: 4k+

Warnings: 18+, minors DNI, fingering and oral (r!receiving), semi-public sex (lecture hall), teacher/student, a little sprinkle of praise, swearing

Summary: Professor Prentiss has been coming to deliver weekly lectures at your university. You’ve mainly kept to the back and been weary of getting in her bad books. When you turn up late to class one day, things take an interesting turn, and you find the dynamics between the two of you drastically change.

A/n: i cannot find the gif I want, so we are going with a new layout. I scavenged everywhere for footage to make one and found fuckall :(

You're late. It's only five minutes, but that doesn't matter. Emily Prentiss does not appreciate tardiness, which is why your pulse is racing and your feet are rapidly slamming against the varnished floor.

When you reach the daunting lecture hall door, the handle mocks you with its screeching, causing you to grit your teeth. Great. Heads turn to the back of the room and watch as you clamber to find a seat, and no matter how hard you try not to look, you can feel Emily's pointed glare burning a hole straight through you.

The hall is relatively big. Sounds transpire effortlessly. It benefits whoever takes the class, their voice seamlessly carrying to the back. It offers no such advantage for the odd student who comes in late because the same principles apply. No matter how hard you try to keep quiet, the silence in the room does nothing to mask the ruffling of papers and pens.

"Thanks for joining us," Emily calls out once you settle, forcing you to meet her eyes.

You know better than to challenge her, so you grimace and mutter your barely audible apology.

"See me after class." she says, and murmurs scatter across the dotted ocean of students, "Let's continue."

It's torture. With each passing minute, your palms grow clammy, your knee shaky, and your breath heavy. Emily's picking on you more than anyone else, and though you know the answers, getting them right doesn't alleviate your nerves. She does offer a smile when you prove your lateness is by no means an accurate reflection of your intelligence. However, it's not a proud, candid smile that does little to calm you, simply because the browns of her eyes are tinted with something hungry and predatory that sends shivers through your body.

Time passes, and you continue to blossom into a colossal mess. Students dart out whilst you gather your things and nervously await your fate. On your way down the broad steps of the auditorium, fellow peers you've spoken to in passing offer their sorry attempts at comfort by leaving taps on your shoulders. It feels more like you're being sent off to the front lines rather than having a reprimand from your professor.

When you approach her desk, Emily's fingers tap away at her keyboard. Aside from a brief upward glance, she barely acknowledges your presence, and then she's back to typing, leaving you with nothing else to do - other than awkwardly fiddle with your fingers and wait.

What feels like an eternity later, Emily finally stops typing and turns the computer off. Though she may have still sat down, giving you the advantage of being on the higher ground, her piercing stare leads you to believe she most definitely is at no disadvantage and is solemnly aware she garners all your attention.

"What's the excuse?" she asks, looking you up and down.

"Excuse?" you nervously question.

"Yes, excuse," She rolls her eyes, stands up, then walks around the desk. Standing tall and remaining a few steps away, she continues, "Why were you late?"

Ice runs cold through your veins, and your mouth feels drier than the desert. You swallow the dry lump in your throat, "Library," you manage to choke out, "I lost track of time."

The answer doesn't seem to amuse her, and she rolls her eyes as she pulls up the left sleeve of her blouse. A silence bathes you both, though it seems only to take hold of you. Emily is too busy fiddling with her watch to notice or care.

It glints in the light when she steps forward, throwing your body into fight or flight, or the lesser of both, freeze. You stand stark still despite everything in your body telling you to back away.

"Hold out your wrist," she instructs, taking off her watch. You do as told and watch in astonishment as the leather straps clasp around your wrist. Emily's face remains unreadable until her eyes move from your wrist to your face, and you pick up on the slight curve of her lips and something unfamiliar in her eyes that almost resembles amusement, "Don't be late again."

Words aren't coming to you nearly as quickly as they should, and the hint of amusement that dances in Emily's eyes intensifies. Then, she grabs her things like nothing unusual has occurred and steps forward, whispering in your ear, "Next time, I won't be so nice."

A shiver runs down your spine, and before you can turn around, Emily's already out the door.

"What the hell just happened?" you ask the empty room, staring down at the watch on your wrist.

A week passes before you see Emily again, and in that time, there isn't a day that goes by when you don't wear that watch. The habit of looking down and smiling at it creeps up on you. Often, you look around to see if anyone else has noticed, then pull your sleeve over it as though it needs to be kept a secret.

Maybe you want to keep in on the down low because the thought of having anyone else know would tarnish what seems to be, or you hope to be a treasured memory shared between you and Emily, or maybe it is something else entirely. All you know is that you want the exchange to remain between the two people who were present for it. Thankfully, it does.

The leather straps of the watch itself have lightened ever so slightly with time, and a bubbling sense of warmth comes in late nights of your dorm room, looking at it and thinking of who it belonged to and how long it had adorned their wrist. You trace your fingers over the metal frame of the clockface and toy with buttons, all the while relishing in the hints of perfume that appear hellbent on remaining ever-present.

As the week drags on, you find yourself more excited than you've ever been for Emily's class. You're one of the first few to show up.

Though you usually favour the back few rows, the thoughts from the past week have you walking down more steps than you're accustomed to. Being at the front is far too much of a statement, you tell yourself. You settle for the middle.

With a clear view and no heads in your line of sight, you watch Emily stand by the computer and set up the necessary slides whilst she likely waits for the room to fill up. The side exit door is open, letting in a cool summer breeze that ruffles sitting papers on the brunette's desk—the touseling sound of crisp paper dances across the room.

The gusts of wind sweeping in aren't entirely strong, but they're blowing wisps of Emily's hair into her face. So much so she reaches a hand to brush them away and hypnotically tucks the loose strands behind her ear.

One of the first things you'd noticed about Emily, or rather, hadn't, was her fringe. Unlike in pictures you'd seen of her online, she now wears her hair down, parted in the middle with feathered layers subtly framing her face. It suits her. Then again, anything would.

Her attention falters, and she tears herself away from the screen to glimpse over the room. Eyes jadedly pass by you, then dart back and raptly take you in. Emily's gaze falls to your wrist. Her lips curve into a satisfied smirk, and there's no stopping the tension in your stomach that twists and coils in looping knots. Butterflies swim through the remains of cold brew coffee - that should be thanked for you getting to class so early - and the heat from the unforgiving sun feels like it's waited to peek through the window until this very moment to cast warm rays of light on your already flushed face.

Emily meets your eyes briefly. You mirror her smirk despite the nerves setting your body on fire and wait till she resumes scanning the room before shakily pulling out your notebook and pen.

It's not until she's looking back at her computer that you dare to look at her again. Your eyes traipse lower to her blouse. The light grey - if not off-white - colour of it is brought out by the occupying white blazer Emily has now flung over her chair. She's wearing black suit trousers, secured low on her waist by a simple belt, yet, with the buckle placement being off-centre, it becomes the heart of her outfit.

The last couple of students come in, dangerously close to being late, but no one else enters once the short clock hand takes its place next to the number nine. Emily moves to stand before the large white projection screen and begins speaking. Her hands move in time with what she's saying, gesturing to what's being displayed. Clasping together now and then.

You've always paid attention to how she carries herself, though now, you were really noticing it. Her walk, her posture, the way she needn't ask for silence or for anyone to focus because she simply demands it in the way she speaks. It's enticing. She's enticing, pulling you in like a helpless fish to bait. Everything becomes background noise from then on, and all you know is Professor P.

Words bellow through the room, and you try to focus on what's being said. It's not that you don't hear; it's that this lecture doesn't register as being nearly as crucial as Emily's newly popped button - revealing a whole new ocean of skin your eyes aren't quite sure they should be allowed to see. It takes dragging your eyes to the blank lined paper on your desk to find the will to breathe normally again.

Minutes pass. You don't dare pry your eyes away from the utter mess of words littered before you. Not being able to pick on anything being said coherently means going through the slides later, but it can't be helped. Every time you glance at the front of the room, you're entranced and sure that drool may be slipping from the sides of your lips. Somehow, Emily's loose shirt has managed to cling to her in all the right places, and you can't advert your eyes from her chest.

She clears her throat, and you break away from gawking at her breasts to see she's looking directly at you, trying not to smile. Thankfully, she moves on without drawing any unwanted attention from other students your way, but the damage has already been done. Your cheeks burn under the unbearable heat of the blaring sun and pure and utter humiliation.

For the remainder of the lecture, you keep your eyes glued to your desk. Thoughts racing, heart pounding, you think of how best to sneakily pack your things before Emily is finished so that you can flee the scene of the crime as fast as humanly possible.

That decision, unfortunately, is taken away from you when Emily makes her closing statement, "Come and collect your marked papers, and then you're free to go."

After tripping over flights of stairs rushing to be first, you end up fifth in the queue, straining to watch Emily search through a hefty pile to locate the corresponding paper to the student next in line. It moves quickly, and soon enough, you're face-to-face with the professor. Staring into her cedar eyes, you wonder why she's almost to the bottom of the papers and still hasn't found yours.

"Wait to the side, and I'll look in my bag once I've handed out the rest," Emily says, gesturing to the space beside her. So much for getting out as fast as you can.

There's not much for you to do but watch Emily delicately continue handing out papers. At times, she'll bring a finger to her lips and briefly run her tongue along it. Every morsel of your body lights up at the sight, and there is a need to discover what else that tongue could do. How fast can it move? How deep can it go? Would it delve in or torture you with teasing flicks until you're shaking with want?

The last student is given their paper, and you and Emily watch them leave. It's a hopeful thought to think that you're waiting because Emily wants to have you all to herself, and if that is indeed what she wants, you have no qualms.

The brunette leans down to grab her bag, making it incredibly hard not to notice the generous amount of cleavage on offer and the beginning of what looked to be a navy blue bralette, "You seemed less focussed today," she mindlessly says, looking through the contents of her bag.

Still flustered from the view, you shake yourself out of it and search your sluggish mind for a reasonable excuse that doesn't remotely sound anything like, 'Sorry, I was busy checking you out.'

"Sorry, I got a little distracted." It's not a lie. That does little to settle your nerves and level the uneasiness of guilt settling in your stomach.

Pulling out a sheet of paper, Emily places it on her desk and steps forward. The space between her desk and the wall is slim, so when you take the necessary action to keep your body at a distance, you feel the solidity of plaster against your shoulder blades.

In an effort to disguise your growing anxieties, you relax your back against the wall and push your hips out to place your sweaty hands against cooling white paint. Resting the straining muscles in your jaw, you hope to convince the profiler that this interaction does not affect you in the slightest despite it doing precisely that.

Emily studies your pose, and it appears for a few seconds she may have bought the whole, 'I'm waiting against the wall like any other normal student would' until she, once again, places one foot in front of the other and stands a hand's width away.

"What were you paying attention to then?" she asks, her tone unmistakably changing. It's raspy and playful, filled with the prowess of an experienced sweet talker.

She reaches out and lightly skims a finger down the outside of your arm, looking expectantly into your eyes for an answer.

Breathing has suddenly become incredibly hard. Electrical currents are running up and along the length of your arms, and they're ebbing their way across your chest, down your stomach to wake up an aching between your legs. There's no doubt what she's doing is passing the appropriate boundaries, but you can't deny the fact you want to entertain it.

"You." It was meant to come out confident. Instead, the word is whispered and almost cut short by your bottom lip slapping up to meet its counterpart.

The brunette's lips curve into a devilish smile, and she steps forward, resting one hand on the wall next to your head, "Interesting. And what about me were you paying attention to?"

"Emily," you whisper. It's unclear what you're hoping to achieve with her name tumbling out of your mouth in a manner that resembles both a beg and a warning. A faint tremor echoes through your body, and a surge of fear penetrates your mind, screaming that this could all be a wild dream within your psyche's hidden depth.

The professor's left-hand rests on your cheek; she bends her left elbow to draw her face nearer yours, and you see the eye of the storm in view.

Trudging through the muck of thoughts, you stand in the clearing. It greets you with visions that you've long since yearned for. Bodies tangled together, hands clawing along a muscled back, dark hair sprawled over exposed creamy skin dotted with botches the colour of wine.

"Please," you close your eyes and send your plea into the slither of space between you, a slither that feels more like a vast ocean. The need to know if this is real has you asking for one thing, "Kiss me."

The words linger, and weeds of doubt sprout. A pair of soft lips grab them from the root and plunge them from the earth with a kiss and firm hands now moving down to wrap around the small of your waist.

You part your lips and allow your hands to find their new anchor. They loop around Emily's neck and pull her in, and she, in turn, deepens the kiss, reaching out with her tongue to seek passage into your mouth.

Complying almost immediately, your tongues meet in a brief battle of dominance, where you quickly and selfishly decide it's best to surrender. Both of you are happy to let Emily take the lead.

Moans echo over the rows of seats, hands wander frantically under layers of clothing, and soon enough, Emily has you turned around and pressed against her desk. The shirt she's wearing has been fully unbuttoned, revealing a canvas of skin ready to be devoured: milky shoulders, sharp collarbones, full breasts, nipples straining underneath a cage of lace, and the soft outline of muscles running along her stomach down to the beginnings of her trousers.

"Up," Emily growls.

Taking it upon herself to carry through her order, she holds the backs of your thighs and props you atop her desk.

She wedges herself between your spread legs, pushing her taut stomach directly over your clothed cunt. The wetness of your underwear presses against your clit, and the realisation that no one had ever gotten you this wet from merely kissing and touching dawns on you. It makes you want her more if that's even possible.

Reaching out, you take her breasts into your hands, kneading them in your palms, then push the offending material away to give direct attention to her hardened nipples. One, you take between your lips, sucking intently, the other between your thumb and index finger, pinching and twisting it. When you switch sides, Emily lets out a crackled groan and threads her fingers into your hair. Your thumb brushes over her wet nipple, pressing it lightly into her breast. You circle her tit carefully whilst mirroring the same action with your tongue.

"Fuck. That mouth," Emily moans, the cords in her neck straining as she throws her head back in pure bliss.

Once satisfied, the brunette pulls you up into a needy kiss, desperate to show her gratitude. It doesn't last long, and soon, her mouth strays along the sharp edge of your jaw, down to your neck. Her fingers skim down your shoulder, chest and stomach, down to the buttons of your trousers, where she swiftly undoes them and delves her hand in.

You grip her shoulders, leaving moon-crescent indentations into her perfect skin, and let out a spluttered gasp. Emily runs her fingers through your glistening sex, leaving you breathless, "I love how wet you are," she says into the curve of your neck.

Using the arousal gathered on her fingers, she lathers your clit, circling it with a teasing barely-there pressure. Meanwhile, her hand sneaks under your shirt to toy with your nipple.

"More," you whimper, rucking your eyebrows and jostling your hips, striving for pleasure that will break through the surface of small shocks and leave you elated.

In unison, she bites down over your thrumming pulse point and pushes her fingers knuckle deep into you. A guttural moan roars and bounces off the tall confines of the amphitheatre. As the pleasurable cry ricochets back to the small desk, Emily shows no signs of stopping, too stubborn to care or too proud to acknowledge the severity of what the sound could lead to.

The walls of your pussy clench around Emily's fingers, heightening the stretch and feel of them slipping in and out of you. The abundance of wetness allows for no friction, and the fluidity aids the brunette to pick up a faster pace.

"You're taking my finger so well," she praises, thrusting deeper and faster.

Your nails must feel like talons to her at this point, clawing and etching at her back. She makes no complaint, only latches her lips to yours and groans whilst she fucks you fervently.

"I'm going to come." You breathlessly announce.

She pulls out abruptly, and the built-up pressure dissipates into thin air, leaving you simultaneously star-struck and confused.

A protest forms but has no time to leave you because Emily pulls you into a fiery kiss. It's fast and uncontrollable, tongue darting around your mouth, teeth gnawing at your lips, until she finally breaks away to catch her breath.

"I want you to come in my mouth," she says with a ravenous grin that instantly has you nodding your approval.

"God, yes." You moan.

Emily's quick to loop her fingers through the waistband of your underwear and trousers, leaving you half naked on the desk as she places your legs over her shoulders and runs her tongue up your right thigh, leaving a shimming saliva trail.

With one clean swipe of her tongue, the professor licks the entire length of your slit and moans as the first taste of you hits her taste buds. Hungry for more, she stiffens the muscle and plunges it inside you, lapping your juices straight from the source.

If the possibility of screaming wouldn't get you caught, you would do so. For now, you settle on nestling your hands into silky brown hair whilst quietly chanting Emily's name, encouraging 'yes's' and anything else that would keep her from letting up.

The muscles in your abdomen tense almost painfully from holding your body upright. You lay back on the desk, not wanting the sensations flowing through your body to be dulled in any way. Relief floods through you, and your actions are rewarded with waves of pleasure, crashing over every fragment of your being.

The room fades away as you close your eyes and feel the professor's tongue curve inside you, running along the rough edges of your g-spot. Too afraid you'll draw blood with the continuous raking of nails through her scalp, you settle your hands above your head, wrapping your fingers over the edge of the wooden desk.

Faint voices of students walking past the doors muffle in your ears, mingling with the rushed thudding of your heartbeat. Thud, voices, thud, clambered footsteps, thud, the sound of your moan, thud, then Emily's thumbing your clit, and every sound fades to nothingness, and you stop breathing.

Tremors render you useless. Your hips are grinding erratically, Emily's tongue is pressed inside you, and your clit is twitching. Sparks linger in your vision as your eyes fly open and find lust-darkened orbs - pinning you down with their fervour and watching you fall over the edge of your orgasm.

Somehow, through the haze of your orgasm-muddled brain, you tear your hand from the desk and slap it over your mouth to silence a shrilling sob. Your chest burns. Your legs shake. And finally, you arch your back, going joint-breakingly rigid.

The older woman slows down and runs soothing circles over the sides of your thighs. Two small pecks are placed on your hip bones before Emily stands up, and you all but fling yourself upright to devour her lips in a desperate kiss. Your aroma and sharp tang linger on the tongue, sliding into your mouth and causing you to stifle a moan at the taste.

"That was amazing," you murmur over her lips.

"Mmmm," Emily hums agreeingly, breaking away and resting her head on your shoulder to catch her breath.

"I still get to keep the watch, right?" You playfully ask, though there is some room for reassurance, "I've grown quite attached."

Emily chuckles into your neck, and it's single-handedly the most beautiful thing you've ever heard. Her laugh penetrates your skin and worms its way directly into your heart.

"Yes, it's yours," she replies.

"And…"

"And?" She pulls back, looking confused.

"I don't need to worry about you handing out other watches to students, right?"

The brunette tentatively meets your lips again in a sweet kiss, stopping only for a second to whisper, "Not a chance."

Tags: @ssa-sapphic @aws-l @babygirlscout @red1culous @7thavenger @sapphicprentiss @five-bi-five-mind @jenna-ortega-is-pretty17177 @supercorpstan97 @kenyakimble34 @12fluffybunny12 @asensitivecookie @summoned-lust-demon @maxinehufflepuffprincess @whosprentiss @asolitaryrose3 @imlike-so-gaydude | click here to be added to my taglist

#emily prentiss x reader #emily prentiss x female reader #emily prentiss x you #emily prentiss smut #emily prentiss #emily prentiss fanfiction #criminal minds

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alwaysthebiggerbear · 13 days ago

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"Sleep. I'll keep you safe." - Soldier Boy x Female Reader

Summary: You’re tired of running and you go to Soldier Boy for protection. He agrees to do it but not without a price.

Pairing: Soldier Boy x Female!Reader A/N: Prompt from @thelonelyempath. This scenario immediately popped into my head reading the line and I just had to write it. Beta'd by @rieleatiel. Warnings: violence/murder; implied assassination attempts; sexual propositioning; Soldier Boy being himself; starts out as a blackmail type dynamic that appears as if a little dubcon at first; language? Word Count: 2528 First posted on here: 1/1/24 dividers by @firefly-graphics

You never thought in a million years that you would be seeking out one of the most dangerous Supes in the world for protection. Then again, you never would have thought that a multi-billion dollar corporation would be after you, intent on seeing you torn apart and scattered to the four winds. You didn’t exactly blow the whistle on them, but you didn’t exactly tow the company line either—something Stan Edgar was less than thrilled with and now the evil son of a bitch wanted you dead.

It was no secret that Edgar and Soldier Boy had a falling out of sorts after the truth about his being handed to the Russians had come to light. His old team may have made it happen, but it was Edgar pulling the strings all along. Surprisingly, the Supe who had been so focused on revenge hadn’t hunted Edgar down after this revelation, which made you wary about going this route. However, after narrowly escaping the latest death squad sent after you, you decided you had no choice but to take the gamble. There was nowhere you could run that Vought wouldn’t find you and you just hoped this would be more of an ‘enemy of my enemy’ situation rather than a ‘handing you right over to your enemy’ situation.

Once you had managed to track him down in Hong Kong while you were busy running yourself, he had shockingly agreed to a meet, and even more shockingly agreed to help you. Not without certain stipulations, of course.

“Let me in that sweet pussy of yours and you’ve got yourself a deal.”

You should have known, especially from the way he had been eyeing you up ever since he caught sight of you. Screwing your face up in disgust, you flat out refused. “Not happening.”

He shrugged and began to walk away. “Then you must not need my protection that badly.”

You scoffed in disbelief. “You’re seriously turning me down because I won’t fuck you? Whatever happened to the ‘Soldier Boy is America’s son’ bullshit? The OG superhero who fought Nazis and protected people?”

Soldier Boy stopped and slowly turned back towards you. “I’d be putting myself on the line to protect you. For that, I deserve one hell of a payment.”

You rolled your eyes and crossed your arms. “So now you’re blackmailing me into sleeping with you? Unbelievable.” You had heard he was more like America’s Asshole than its Son, but you still couldn’t believe your ears. You had even offered to help him take Vought down with what you knew, so long as he kept you safe. You knew he’d want that kind of information. Why else was he hopping from continent to continent in the last few months, trying to shake Vought just like you were? Instead, his dick was taking top priority. Typical.

“It’s the least you can do, doll.” He faced you fully again, shield hanging off of his arm as if it weighed nothing. “Like you said, I fought for this country, fought the Nazis, and now you’re asking me to play bodyguard while taking on Vought for you. I deserve something worth all that trouble.”

You ran through all other options in your mind. You still had a contact that could possibly put you in touch with someone that wouldn’t mind tapping into Vought’s offshore accounts that weren’t supposed to exist. You were already on Vought’s kill list; what would a few hundred thousand dollars of theirs matter? “I could pay you,” you offered.

“I’m not interested in money.” His eyes roved over you as he approached. “Besides,” he murmured as he came to a stop in front of you. You tensed as he reached up to tuck a strand of your hair that had gotten loose from under your ball cap behind your ear. ”I haven’t had a looker as pretty as you in a long time. Been locked away.” He gently gripped your chin in between his thumb and index finger, his eyes intent on your mouth before lifting to meet yours. A hint of a smirk started to appear on his handsome face when he most likely heard your heart beat starting to increase.

He released you and even took a step back from you, allowing you physical and metaphorical space. “Your call.”

You bit your lip as thoughts chaotically swirled inside your head. On one hand, you refused to be manipulated or pushed into sex with this asshole. No matter how physically attractive he might be, you weren’t willing to get on your back just so he would help you. But on the other hand, the cold hard truth was that you were tired — tired of running, tired of little-to-no sleep, tired of the paranoia that came with such a flight. Hell, at present, you hadn’t slept in almost two days and you were running on fumes; there wasn’t enough caffeine or energy pills in the world to get you through another day with no rest. Your reaction time was already dragging if your last narrow escape was anything to go by. If you continued this way, you’d be dead before the sun started to warm the sky; you were certain of it.

Soldier Boy stared you down. “What’s it gonna be?”

You didn’t answer. Instead, you glanced behind you at a small noise far off down the street. Thankfully, it was an old woman tossing something out onto the pavement, but you couldn’t deny it put you further on edge. You turned back to the Supe whose eyes stayed trained on you. You took a deep breath to steady your nerves and readied your response. His lips began to quirk upwards into a smile; he knew what your answer was going to be before you even said the words.

Vought Tower had been completely demolished. Luckily, it had been mostly evacuated before the destruction occurred. A fight between Soldier Boy and the now-dead Homelander had caused most of the damage, but the C4 that had been carefully lined throughout the infrastructure is what ended up bringing it down.

Before it went boom, Soldier Boy had approached Stan Edgar, who refused to cower in a corner. The Supe respected that, but it didn’t change what he’d come here to do. He gripped Edgar by the throat and lifted him in the air, choking the older man and ignoring the fingers that desperately clawed at his hand.

“I thought we had an agreement,” Edgar rasped out.

Soldier Boy shrugged. “She made me a better one.” He then snapped the man’s neck and tossed his body aside like a rag doll.

“Oi! We ought to get out of here,” Butcher warned after seeing Stan Edgar lifeless on the floor. “Frenchie’s about to blow this place to fucking hell.”

He glared over at the Brit and picked up his shield. He still didn’t trust him, not after what he and his merry band of assholes had tried to do the last time they’d teamed up, but he’d made a deal with you and he was intent on keeping his end of it. The only conditions Butcher and Captain Lesbo had given this time around was: no civilian casualties and Ryan was off limits. He did his best with the first and he could give less than a fuck on the other. As far as he was concerned, the kid was Butcher’s problem as long as the kid didn’t come looking for some payback once he got older, which Butcher assured he wouldn’t. That, and there better not be Novichok gas waiting at the end of this mission for him. They’d reluctantly agreed, knowing they had no other way to kill Homelander and take down Vought all in one swoop.

“After you.” Soldier Boy gestured for Butcher to leave first. The man scowled but obliged, keeping a wary eye out as he moved. Smirking, Soldier boy followed. The Supe might have enjoyed the reaction—or even tried to settle the score from Butcher’s previous betrayal—if he didn’t have you to get back to. He needed to let you know that you no longer had Stan Edgar or Vought to worry about. He’d kept up his end of the bargain you’d both made — now, finally, you were free.

You woke up to the sound of someone moving through the darkness in your room. You grabbed the gun from beneath your pillow and bolted upright as much as you could, trying to get your eyes to adjust so you could get a good shot.

“Relax, it’s just me,” Soldier Boy assured you.

Recognizing his voice, you slowly lowered the gun and focused on his location. When your eyes finally adjusted, you realized he was near the foot of the bed, completely nude, his hair damp from a fresh shower. “Ben,” you breathed out in relief. “You scared me.”

Through the beams of moonlight shining into the room from the window, you saw him give you a smile and lay his shield down on the floor next to him. “Didn’t mean to.”

You slipped the safety back on the gun and stashed it into the drawer of your nightstand. You hated having it under your pillow at night; it was super uncomfortable and you only needed to do that when Soldier Boy — Ben, as he’d asked you to call him instead — wasn’t around. “Everything go okay?”

“Better than okay.” You glanced back to see a smirk adorning that handsome face of his, with an all-too familiar gleam in those green eyes. You watched as he slipped on some sweats and then made his way to the opposite side of the bed. You moved onto your side to face him, smiling as he climbed in next to you and sat up against the headboard, turning to grin down at you. Within seconds, he had his arms wrapped around you, pulling you up against him, and he was kissing you a proper hello. He only pulled back when you needed air and tenderly rubbed his nose along yours, nuzzling you. “How about you, doll? Everything go okay while I was gone?”

You nodded and snuggled into his bare chest, letting out a relieved sigh when you felt his warm hands stroking your back. “Everything’s fine,” you assured him, closing your eyes. You’d never admit it aloud, but you felt so much better when he was around. Not only did you feel protected but you just felt better in general. You’d have to be under the pain of torture to admit to him (or yourself) that you actually missed him when he had to leave.

He pressed a kiss to the top of your head and let his lips linger there, continuing to rub your back just the way you liked. “Edgar and Vought are gone,” he murmured. “The Caped Cunt, too. You’ve got nothing more to worry about.”

Your eyes snapped open and you lifted yourself up to meet his gaze, your brows furrowed. “What?” You asked in shock.

“You heard me.” He stroked your cheek with his thumb, his grin now a smug smile. “You’re safe, baby.”

Your eyes widened when the realization hit you. “That’s where you went?”

Your only answer was the lengthening of that smile.

“Jesus, Ben.” So many thoughts and emotions swirled within you all at once. You were free, truly free. You no longer had to worry about Vought death squads hunting you down, Homelander coming for you, or Stan Edgar sending after you any ragtag Supes he could scrounge up. You were free. Although, Ben hadn’t told you that he was about to go on his most dangerous mission yet. He might be America’s original superhero and he might be tough to kill, but that didn’t mean he was completely invincible. He’d admitted as much to you over the last few months. “What if… What if you didn’t—”

He kissed you, effectively cutting you off. “I did,” he hummed against your lips. “Told you I would.”

You nodded, gently tracing his facial features with your hands before gliding down to his shoulders, dipping down the warm expanse of his back and then slowly returning to his chest. As always, he remained patient whenever you did this ritual of checking him for any wounds or injuries, knowing you wouldn’t find any but needing to assure yourself just the same. Truthfully, this man had come to mean more to you than you’d ever imagined would be possible. Hell, there had been a time when it wouldn’t have been possible at all.

When you were done, you met his gaze head on. “Do I want to know?”

Ben remained silent, but his eyes said it all: no, you didn’t want to know. You and Ben may have planned for the downfall of Vought and the ends of Homelander and Stan Edgar, the very same bastards that had put a target on your back in the first place, but that didn’t mean you wanted to hear the gory details of their deaths. You were just grateful Ben had come back to you alive and unharmed.

You gave him a thin-lipped smile in understanding. “Thank you,” you whispered.

Ben studied you for a moment, then pulled you in and kissed you again, his fingers slipping through your hair until he grabbed the back of your neck and urged you to meet him more fully. Just as you were getting into it, he broke away and chuckled. “You’re real eager for me, aren’t you, sweetheart?” You shot him a look and the smirk was suddenly back on his face. Without warning, he picked you up to rearrange you in the bed how he wanted you. “Too bad that you need to get some rest. We’re blowing the fuck out of here tomorrow and you’re gonna need to keep up.”

As if he would leave you behind if you couldn’t. “I thought you said Butcher would leave us alone after this.”

“I don’t trust that dicksucking Brit and I trust his bitch of a boss even less.”

You rolled your eyes, smirking when you felt him settle in behind you, knowing how much he enjoyed spooning you like this. “‘Kay,” you agreed. He had successfully protected you this far; you’d follow his lead on this one, too. You shut your eyes and snuggled into your pillow, content to feel his hands on your back caressing you once more.

You were just about asleep when you heard him murmur in your ear, “Sleep. I’ll keep you safe.” You smiled when you heard the words he’d been saying to you every night now for many months and your heart lightened when you felt his hands trail from your back to cup protectively over your rounding stomach, rubbing gently. ‘Safe’ is exactly how you felt right in this moment, and the little girl moving to meet her father’s embrace—like she always did when she sensed he was near—only cemented the knowledge that this was the first night neither you nor she were in danger any longer. It gave you a sense of peace you hadn’t known in a long time.

A/N: Sequel

#soldier boy x reader #soldier boy x female reader #soldier boy x you #soldier boy x y/n #soldier boy #soldier boy fanfiction #the boys fanfiction #jensen ackles character

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zeroseuniverse · 3 months ago

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Lights, Camera, Action!

Word Count:725 Summary:“Relax, it’s just acting. It’s not like we’re actually in love.” “Right! Exactly!” she said, maybe a little too quickly. Pairing: Yuta X Fem Reader A/N: Posting this early because I adore him so much

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If someone had told her years ago that she’d one day be stuck in a romantic drama with Yuta Nakamoto, she would’ve laughed in their face.

Not because Yuta was a bad co-star—he was one of the most charismatic actors she knew. And definitely not because she hated the idea of being in a romance with him. No, the real reason was far more ridiculous.

People already thought they were in love.

She and Yuta had been best friends since they both debuted as rookie actors, climbing their way through the industry together. They had the kind of friendship that was full of playful insults, dramatic threats, and way too much time spent in each other’s personal space.

If she had a press event, Yuta was there hyping her up in the comments section. If Yuta was seen with any female co-star, she was the first to start fake crying about being “betrayed” in their group chat. Fans adored their chaotic dynamic.

Which is why, when they were cast as the lead couple in Love at First Overtime, the entire internet collectively lost its mind.

—

“I cannot believe this,” she groaned, sprawled across the couch in Yuta’s dressing room. “They did this on purpose.”

Yuta grinned from his spot across the room. “Who’s ‘they’?”

“The producers. The casting directors. The universe.”

“Oh, definitely the universe.” He tapped his chin thoughtfully. “Or maybe it’s just fate.”

She grabbed a pillow and hurled it at him. “Shut up, Nakamoto.”

He caught it easily, laughing. “Relax, it’s just acting. It’s not like we’re actually in love.”

“Right! Exactly!” she said, maybe a little too quickly.

Yuta’s gaze lingered on her for a second too long before he shrugged. “Guess we’ll just have to make it really convincing, huh?”

—

Everything was fine until the kiss scene rehearsal.

She had kissed people on-screen before. So had Yuta. They were professionals. This was nothing.

Except, it was something.

The moment Yuta stepped closer, something inside her brain short-circuited.

His scent—clean, musky, familiar. His eyes—watching her like he was waiting for something. His hands—resting on her waist with a touch so light it sent shivers up her spine.

Her heart wasn’t supposed to be doing this.

Yuta hesitated, brows furrowing slightly. “Why are you holding your breath?”

“I’M NOT,” she blurted out, shoving him away. “I just—I just remembered I left my stove on at home!”

Yuta stared at her. “You don’t cook.”

“…Maybe I started today.”

The director sighed. “Alright, take five.”

Yuta followed her backstage, arms crossed. “Okay, what’s up with you?”

“Nothing!”

“You literally ran away from me. Twice.”

She groaned, rubbing her temples. “I don’t know, okay? Maybe it’s just weird! We’ve been best friends forever, and now we have to pretend to be in love—”

“Pretend?” Yuta cut in, raising an eyebrow.

She froze. “Uh. Yes?”

He took a step closer. “You sure?”

Her stomach flipped.

“I—Of course I’m sure!” she snapped, feeling a little too warm under his gaze.

Yuta smirked. “So you wouldn’t mind if we kissed right now?”

She let out a choked laugh. “What kind of question is that?!”

“Just checking.”

She turned away, completely ignoring the way her cheeks were burning.

—

Later that night, She found herself scrolling through clips of their past interviews.

“Yuta, do you have an ideal type?” The MC asked, the camera shifting to watch a sweet smile form on Yuta's face.

“Mmm. Not really. I think I already have the perfect girl in my life.” He answered.

“You and Yuta seem really close! Have you ever thought about dating him?” The MC asked, shifting the focus towards her swiftly.

“Hah! No way. We’d probably end up murdering each other.”

“You wound me.” uta added from the background his hand clutching his chest in faux hurt.

She stared at her screen.

OH.

OH NO.

Had he…? Had she…?

No. There was no way.

Right?

—

The next day, the kiss scene went way too smoothly.

Their lips met.

It was soft. Warm. Lingered just a second too long.

The director shouted, “Cut!”

They didn’t move.

Yuta pulled back slightly, eyes flickering down to her lips before smirking. “So… still method acting?”

She groaned. “Shut up and kiss me again.”

And just like that, the two biggest idiots in the world finally figured it out.

(Their fans? Lost their minds.)

#yuta nakamoto x reader #yuta imagines #yuta x reader #nakamoto yuta #yuta nakamoto #nakamoto yuta x reader #nct 127 x reader #nct 127 fluff #nct 127 imagines #nct u x reader #nct u imagines #nct fluff #nct fanfic #nct imagines

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haptronym · 7 months ago

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Hap's Adventures in Dadmight

aka “this experience was really strange so I’m going to write 6,000 words about it”.

Fandoms are bizarre. I know this, but I still keep doing the shocked Pikachu face whenever I join a new one.

This time around, I really thought there would be no surprises. And yet, the fandom ended up having a really weird, really uncomfortable dynamic that confused the hell out of me for a long time. I met several others who said “Yeah, it freaks me out too,” but they couldn’t explain exactly why, and nobody really wanted to talk about it. So now that I’m mostly done with the My Hero Academia fandom, I’ll just go ahead and vaporize my bridges with a whole-ass case study about what on earth seemed to be going on here.

Warning: very long, very self-absorbed, as usual. Contains discussions of relationships, underage shippers, and how to influence whether something “feels” platonic vs. not.

Disclaimer 1: This doesn't apply to everything tagged "Dadmight." Just a select subset. But this subset appeared pretty consistently.

Disclaimer 2: I'm posting brief, fair-use-commentary examples of the content that made me question my sanity because it has to be seen to be believed, but I'm not including names or links because I don’t want to easily funnel negativity to them. If an author really wants me to, I’m happy to link directly to their story.

Disclaimer 3: I’m not trying to “spread awareness” or do a callout. I just like to write for fun and this time the fun was puzzling out why I, personally, had the experience I did. Many people feel differently and that's great. If all fluff has always felt 100% wonderful and charming to you, then this post isn't relevant to you. But if a supposedly "cute" story has ever made you squirm with discomfort, this might help explain why.

A few years ago, I took a terribly wrong turn in life and ended up in the My Hero Academia fandom. My kidnappers were these two:

In short: the little kid on the left, Izuku Midoriya, is exactly as dorky as he looks. He was born powerless in a world of comic-book superheroes and has a tendency to burst into tears under any possible circumstance. The series kicks off when the guy on the right, #1 hero and national celebrity All Might, sees potential in him despite all this. In a fit of inspiration, All Might decides to give Izuku the same chance he was given as a young boy. Despite being a notorious lone wolf, he (secretly) names Izuku as his successor and takes it upon himself to covertly train this weepy, noodle-limbed wimp into a hero, the hero, the next Symbol of Peace who will wield the world’s strongest superpower and safeguard the future of society. Surely they’ll pull it off just fine, right?

(Don’t ask how All Might switches from a bodybuilder to the skeleton pictured above. The show doesn’t know either.)

I loved these two. I wanted eight seasons of beach training montage. The mentor/student shenanigans were hilarious and the found family potential was off the charts. They’re two awkward bumbling fools with several truckfuls of emotional baggage, brought together by purehearted heroic zeal. Wonderful.

However, I quickly discovered that the show shoveled approximately ten thousand new characters into every new episode and definitely wasn't going to slow down long enough to give me the All Might & Izuku content I craved. So I wandered off to see what kind of fanfiction was on tap.

...I wandered off, while bracing myself. I’ve been a weeb long enough to know that any characters who pass on power through “DNA” are never going to escape a fandom unscathed, regardless of pesky things like “Age Of Consent” and “Have You Watched A Single Minute Of This Show, He Would Never Fucking Do That”.

Their canon relationship is impressively alarming all on its own:

Izuku is 14-15. Underage character? Check.

All Might is 55+. Enormous age gap? Check.

All Might is both Izuku’s secret mentor and his high school teacher. Teacher-student dynamics? Check.

Izuku is a nobody. All Might is a global celebrity. Staggering power imbalance? Check.

Izuku’s superpower, which lets him go to the school of his dreams, accomplish his lifelong goals, and be the protagonist of this show, was given to him by All Might at great personal cost. Enormous sense of debt and obligation because of a huge sacrifice? Check.

Izuku is an outright fanboy. His room is full of posters and figurines of All Might in spandex. Other characters frequently comment on how obsessed he is. There is a whole plotline about him being so starstruck by All Might that he can’t think for himself. Literal hero worship? Check.

As the cherry on top, they spend most of the story pretending they don’t know each other and sneak around under the noses of every other character, including Izuku's mother. Secret hidden relationship with a minor that no other adult can learn the true extent of? Check.

What a pair. Japanese fandom constantly cracks jokes about how Izuku is probably that kind of fanboy. Even official media is well aware of how sketchy it all looks:

With all this in play, I was pleasantly surprised to find that the stuff in their platonic-relationship fanfiction tag vastly outnumbered the stuff in their shipping one. Phew. Finally, a pair of characters who got something besides endless gross hornyposting.

As I browsed, I kept seeing a certain tag: "Dadmight." This, unsurprisingly, was used by stories that decided to make All Might into Izuku’s biological father. But it was also used by... pretty much all non-shipping media that focused on their relationship. How interesting! I was used to ship pairings having nicknames, but not platonic ones.

I could imagine why the name caught on. All Might was practically the definition of "goofy wholesome dad energy,” and his mentor/student relationship with Izuku was easy to see in a parental light. Plus, Izuku’s actual dad is never to be seen during the story. Clearly he deserves a replacement.

So I delved in. Man, this was going to be great! A huge amount of good clean platonic content, with an easy-to-find tag too. Reading about cute dadly shenanigans was going to be such a fun-

How he would love to fall asleep to the sound of his soft voice and the touch of his rough hands, telling him he was proud of him, caressing his hair. He was so mortified over having this need, for all kinds of reasons, but it became clear a long time ago that fighting it wouldn’t work, so he let himself dream.

Uh... well... Izuku didn’t grow up with a dad, so... maybe he needed a father figure... to... caress his hair with his rough hands...

More hums of contentment make their way from him, his body swaying with every push and pull from Toshinori’s long fingers. He uses them to massage Midoriya’s head, taking every moment to not just clean his hair, but to make him feel good; Toshinori can’t bear for this to be purely utilitarian.

Uhhh... okay... All Might was a rather isolated guy. I bet he appreciated being able to share time with his student... bathing time...

What if the boy would rather this stay simply as it has been, professional as mentor and mentee? What if Toshinori has read all of this wrong and the boy has no feelings above Toshinori being his teacher, and all Toshinori has done is fall harder and harder for him every day?

What was this? What exactly did people think kids got up to with their dads!?

Well, maybe I just found a few of the strange ones, I told myself. Fanfiction always has its odd outliers. But after more searching, I realized: no. There was wildly uncomfortable stuff all over. It wasn’t all Dadmight stories. But it was a lot. The most popular authors of the “Dadmight” tag wrote it and the rest of the Dadmight authors gave them big thumbs-ups. It was at least as popular as the “All Might is Izuku’s real dad” stuff and sat at the top of the kudos and comments sorting.

Were people just being polite? Or was I overreacting? I know how annoying it is when people deliberately take things in bad faith and demonize perfectly innocent human affectio—

He kept the contact to a minimum, not wanting to take advantage, not wanting to cross a single, unspoken boundary… but how could he possibly completely refrain, with both how proud and how worried Izuku made him?

There was a voice, in the back of his head, that didn’t agree. That voice – either logic or wishful thinking – told him that while Izuku didn’t initiate physical affection, he surely did lean into it, and seemed to crave receiving it as much as Toshinori craved giving it.

Oh god oh god oh god what is happening STOP—

This was horrible. I just wanted to enjoy cute fluff. I’d never had this reaction to platonic fanfic before. I’m a big found family fan and my worst issue with fluff is usually just that it tends to be kind of samey. I normally love reading about chaste affection and closeness between characters who care about each other. So why did these stories read like Lolita AUs to me? Did shippers in this fandom like to hide their softcore stuff in the platonic tags?

I was soon able to find out. I had been writing my own All Might & Izuku story, and got invited to a “Dadmight-centric” Discord server. Almost all the popular Dadmight authors were there, including the ones who wrote the particular stories that made my skin crawl. There were several channels where people brainstormed, critiqued, and discussed the motivations behind their writing.

Cool! I’d be able to meet new people, make some friends, and get a better understanding of what the Dadmight dynamic really was. So I introduced myself, I chatted, I lurked. Everyone was really nice.

I found zero cheeky shippers. The writers claimed to be horrified by the idea of shipping the two of them. They would never disrespect the purity and innocence of this beautiful platonic relationship, they said, as they churned out stories about Izuku “coming undone” under the caress of All Might’s rough hands. Right...

I could’ve understood if this was coming from naive 14-year-olds. But some of these people were in their 30’s, with kids of their own. If anyone understood family dynamics, it should’ve been them.

But after I spent more time around the server, I began to notice something else... something which explained a ton of the strangeness.

Baby Fever

To understand what was happening, you first have to understand that Izuku’s baby face inflicts instant brain damage on sight. I mean, look at him:

aaa his cute widdle cheeks oh my god—

This kid sets off maternal instincts like landmines, and in the Dadmight server, I found that the Izuku infantilization train had gone completely off the rails. Writers constantly cooed over the adorable antics of 2, 3, 5-year olds and constantly talked about how much they wanted to make Izuku act them out. And surely, if All Might could indulge in the parental joy of caring for an innocent young babe, then his emotional scars would be healed and he could find fulfillment outside of that pesky “saving the world” business.

Now, the bio-dadmight folks had it easy: they just wrote about Izuku in his toddler years playing with daddy All Might. The cuddling and tickles made sense and were very cute. But other writers faced a challenge: they wanted to keep him 14-15 so that canon events could occur... but they didn’t want to be left out of the fun.

So... they decided to rationalize and egg each other on. I mean, how much does age really matter? Being a child at heart is always cute and wholesome, right?

Suddenly, a whole lot of very uncomfortable things began to make sense:

So Much Physical Contact

He loved the physical touch. It was embarrassing and he would never admit it out loud, but there wasn’t much in this world he loved more than receiving physical affection from his idol. Every single time it happened he would save the memory to replay it over and over again whenever he felt sad, or almost every night before he went to bed. He was glad no one in the dorms had a mind-reading quirk. And All Might always gave it more freely when he visited his apartment, so of course he went there.

Izuku is often written to have a near-pathological craving for hair stroking and cuddles. Which is cute when directed at, say, classmates or mom, but gets real weird real fast when directed at the adult man he canonically idolizes to a freakish degree. Ever work with teenage boys? Most of them would rather die than be physically affectionate with adults, even parents... unless, you know, they’re that kind of fanboy.

Even freakier is that the grown adult would then reply, “Hell yeah! I see nothing wrong with getting physical with this kid who worships me! I crave it so much! I can't resist!” Ever work at a school? They have rulebooks and seminars specifically about how teachers should never touch or be alone with kids.

Then again, Midnight exists at this school. Maybe U.A.’s infamous lack of safety standards extends to this too.

Either way, though: cute and wholesome for a parent to do with their three-year-old. Very creepy when a high-school teacher makes excuses about why he really needs to cuddle and stroke his fifteen-year-old student in secret.

Narcolepsy Xtreme Edition

His student was never this affectionate or vulnerable when he was conscious, so he enjoyed the moment, even if it was a short one, as he moved to his room upstairs.

If you’ve read fanfiction for more than seven seconds, you’ve probably seen the “cram the character with booze/painkillers until they blurt out Vulnerable Things” plot device. It’s a beloved classic. But Izuku writers are robbed of the alcohol angle since he’s underage, and morphine is pretty niche. So authors who want to use this trick often just make Izuku tired after a long day, conclude that being sleepy is close enough to being five drinks in, and have him murmur “thanks, DAD... OOPS DID I SAY THAT OUT LOUD???” to awkwardly segue into Familial Confessions.

But quite a few stories took the “sleepy” angle to a new, very odd place. Instead of groggily dispensing convenient confessions, Izuku would just... keel over while doing homework and be utterly dead to the world. And instead of having All Might briefly rouse him to shoo him to bed, or worry about his student suddenly becoming catatonic, the writers would make him eerily fixated on the opportunity to physically carry Izuku to his bedroom (which would somehow not wake him up!!!) and tuck him in while waxing poetic about how vulnerable and helpless he looked.

Before joining the Dadmight server, I was mildly alarmed whenever I saw this, wondering why so many authors were obsessed with roofying the teenager and making the adult fondle him. But after joining, I realized: they were just trying to act out the cutesy aww-the-two-year-old-fell-sound-asleep-while-playing, it’s-so-cute scenes that all those darned lucky bio-dadmight people got to indulge in so easily.

Bed Sharing

It wasn’t long before Izuku’s breathing slowed, and soon he was asleep, snoring peacefully. Toshinori, after a few minutes of debating with himself, said screw it and got into the bed with the boy.

Cue me SCREAMING internally in confusion and fear. But no, it was just that the cutesy-kid-trope obsession stretched all the way to “Well, I used to snuggle with my parents at night after I had a nightmare! It was super wholesome!” Which led to scores of stories featuring a celebrity crawling into bed with his student.

All in all, joining this server was a huge relief. I was so glad to see that these hair-raising scenarios were just the result of the authors forgetting to mention “Oh, by the way, the characters are acting weird because we made them all agree to participate in preschooler roleplay.”

Just picture this while reading and it all makes sense.

Fanfic is uniquely susceptible to this sort of “forgot to mention this strange dynamic that I take for granted” issue. After all, 99% of fanfic doesn’t bother to waste time asking “would this make any sense to someone who had never watched the show?” It’s not worth it to focus on such a broad audience. As a result, fanfic normalizes skipping huge swaths of context that would normally be mandatory in a story. Fanfic authors don’t have to practice asking themselves “did I explain this properly?” anywhere near as often as original fiction ones.

This would be bad enough on its own, but then, we go cloister ourselves away into little sub-fandom echo chambers, and spend months crafting obscure in-joke fractals, and get so absorbed in our tiny myopic corners of the community that we also fail to ask, “would this make any sense to someone who hasn’t spent the last 5 months marinating in this specific Discord channel?”

Sometimes we know exactly how niche our stuff is and just don’t care. But too often, we just legitimately suck at guessing how our work might come off to other groups. We don’t have to practice theory of mind as much as original fiction authors do. Our fandom buddies see nothing amiss with our writing (since they know all the server insider lore!) and everyone outside our tiny clique politely ignores our word salad... so we never get proper feedback on how incomprehensible our work can be even to other members of the same fandom.

In this case, this resulted in a whole pack of writers seemingly getting lost in the fluff sauce and completely forgetting to address the fact that the stuff men do with their own five-year-olds generally becomes really weird and creepy when done with someone else’s 15-year-old, whether or not the 15-year-old seems to want it. Izuku was a cute widdle innocent baby in their heads, so they assumed he was a cute widdle innocent baby in everyone else's.

Once I realized where they were coming from, it wasn't so hard to adjust my mental framework and enjoy these stories on their own terms. That said... infantilization still couldn't explain stuff like “What if Toshinori has read all of this wrong and the boy has no feelings above Toshinori being his teacher, and all Toshinori has done is fall harder and harder for him every day?”

To explain why that paragraph makes me want to crawl out of my skin, we first need to answer: what makes a piece of writing feel “questionable?”

“Vibes,” A Primer

Love comes in many forms. The big four are platonic, familial, romantic, and sexual. Sexual is easy: you’re horny for the person. Platonic love is specifically non-sexual, and familial love is a subset of platonic love. Romance usually implies horny, though there’s definitely a difference between outright sexual behavior and the behavior we file under the “romance” label.

There’s also a difference between romantic and platonic behavior. And this is where a lot of “questionable” vibes appear: when you’d expect an interaction between two people to be platonic, but for some reason, it has uncomfortable romantic/sexual overtones instead.

But what causes those overtones? A dad can give his kid a kiss on the head, and it comes off platonic. A suitor can give their crush a kiss on the head, and it comes off romantic. In fact, most romantic gestures have nearly identical platonic counterparts. Kissing, hugging, hand-holding, cuddling, vulnerable confessions. So what gives? What makes something “come off” one way or the other?

The actual answer is: a ton of stuff, most of it subjective. Everyone draws their lines in different places, based on culture and personal experience and how gutterbrained you’re feeling on any given day. A lot of it has to do with context (that thing that us fanfic authors are notoriously bad at judging).

Online wars are fought every day about whether some glance or gesture or phrase means they're "totally into each other fr"

But if you want to draw broad strokes, one way to roughly separate platonic vs romantic love is by gauging the level of passion involved. “Passion” is “a strong and barely controllable emotion that compels action.” That last part is key.

Stereotypical romantic love is incredibly passionate. It’s all about desire to act, desire to change, desire to progress the relationship to something more. It features overwhelming anxious preoccupation about the other person’s thoughts and opinions, feeling irresistibly drawn to them, feeling intense longing. It’s about confessing and hoping the other person also feels the same. It often involves attempting to label the relationship, make it “official”, and show it off. It’s about trying desperately to secure assurance that this love will last forever and ever. You have to do something, and every moment spent not doing something is torture.

Contrast this to typical depictions of platonic and familial love. Familial love is calm, encompassing, soothing. It’s secure. You don’t have to worry, because no matter what rough patches you go through, they’ll always be your family and will always have unconditional love for you. Yes, you’ll fly into action if your loved one is threatened, but at rest, platonic love is generally not “exciting” and there’s generally little sense of urgency.

Romance is usually an insecure, anxious thing that’s trying to get to that secure, grounded familial stage. That’s why people say they progress from being “in love” to just “loving” one another. Romance draws people together and kickstarts the bonding process. And as the steady, mature bond of a long-term relationship forms, the obsessive mania of romantic infatuation fades away.

So the difference between platonic and romantic behavior is not so much about the actual actions. It’s more about the mentality. Is the person anxiously trying to secure their partner’s affection while treating the relationship as a really big deal that will make or break their lives? Then their affectionate actions may come off more romantic. Are they seemingly at home in their partner’s presence and not trying to deepen or change the relationship? Then their affection will probably come off more familial or platonic.

There are, of course, a ton of things that go into it besides this, and caveats out the ass. For example, people trying to establish a new friendship are often anxious too. But when it comes to determining the “vibes” of a kiss or a cuddle, this can be a useful litmus test. Failing this test is often what makes something feel Questionable. The characters seem too invested... maybe because it's not truly innocent.

Now, let’s take a look at our Dadmight characters.

The biggest challenge of writing familial closeness between Izuku and All Might is simple: they are not family. They have no long shared history to justify any sort of intimacy. Instead they have a teacher/student relationship that places them both into rigid, frigid roles.

Usually, familial-style bonding just takes time. You wait a few seasons, the characters slowly get closer and learn to trust one another, and eventually they’re hugging. But these two clowns spent the whole show being the ultimate found-family blue-balls experience. They were just never very emotionally open or touchy-feely. Every time they had the chance for Vulnerable Conversation And Cuddles, they passed it up in favor of a pep talk and a fist bump. It took a near-death experience to extract one (1) brief hug and some tears. But in normal everyday life? Arm’s length.

Literally. For example: after five seasons of bonding and character development, they are separated and Izuku is embroiled in a deadly conflict that almost destroys the world. When they finally reunite after the harrowing ordeal, alone under the starlight, they greet each other with a loving, heartfelt… handshake. This, predictably, spawned furious fix-it fic.

Overall, there is a huge gulf that authors need to cross in order to get these two from “polite handshake” to “tender cuddling and kisses.” They could write 50,000 words of setup to slowly accomplish this, but most authors did not want to wear their fingertips to the bone just to inch these two into an embrace. They wanted to jump the gap within a oneshot, leaping from canon frigidity into an unbreakable lifelong familial love that was also super touchy-feely and extremely vocal.

Now, remember what I was just saying? How romance is generally about trying to establish new family bonds? How it’s all about trying to change the relationship into something more?

Knowing all this, what do you think might happen if an author tried to speedrun two characters to the Family Finish Line as fast as they could? What do you think their shortcuts might end up looking like, completely by accident? Especially if their “sane and appropriate human interactions” gauge was warped by an echo chamber of fluff tropes and baby fever?

You might get:

Was it even possible that his feelings could be reciprocated? Toshinori didn’t want to think about it. It would just pain him more. Young Midoriya only saw him as an idol, a mentor who would help him train his body for One for All. Midoriya did not see him in the way he wanted him to.

Or:

He wanted desperately, desperately to have the courage to cross that threshold, to ask him what he longed for, to ask him for that relationship that he dared not voice.

Or even:

Toshinori feels his heart rate pick up and his gnarled stomach twist with nerves. Is he really going to do this? Is he going to tell this boy what he truly thinks and risk everything they’ve built up together over the past year-plus? His palms are sweating and he wipes them on his suit pants, rubbing the pads of his fingers together.

I'll stop now. The point is that these quotes could all have been word-for-word ripped from a romance novel. These are some industrial-grade Questionable Vibes. And reading them in context really doesn't help that much, for me at least. It's almost comical when they throw in "...I crave the touch of your rough hands as a son! A SON!"

If you know the building blocks of romance, it makes perfect sense why stories like this could come off this way. Platonic love is great, but it’s also stable, calm, and slow. It simply doesn’t have the sheer explosive force needed to catapult two stilted dorks into a brand-new dynamic within 2,000 words. Most stories can only achieve that kind of mileage via near-death experiences... or by inflicting the characters with neurotic infatuation.

Not only that, but their canon relationship is uniquely poised to set off romance-adjacent warning bells. Because they are not actually family, it makes sense for them to yearn for a deeper relationship in a way that a normal family wouldn’t. It makes sense for them to be anxious and insecure about their relationship, because it’s a very strange, hard-to-define thing that has to be kept secret from those around them. And it makes sense for them to consider their relationship a huge deal, because in canon, it’s fundamental to the most important aspects of both their lives.

I actually think it’s kind of inevitable that their character dynamic will sometimes stray into places that feel romantic. But that doesn’t mean the writer is a secret shipper... because I don’t think that passion always has to imply sexual desire, especially in fiction.

I’ve spent some time around the asexuality community, and my biggest takeaway was that sexual desire is very different from the desire to make deep, lifelong connections. Most asexual people still yearned to find that special someone, their anchor, a partner who unconditionally loved them and would stay by their side forever. Family. They would fall for people... they just didn’t want to fall into their pants. But it was almost impossible to keep these partners unless they were asexual too. Every one eventually pushed to “take things further,” or they left to find another person who would.

So I can understand the yearning for a world where sex is kicked to the curb, where two strangers can find each other and share intense, whirlwind, “you’re my #1” love... without any lewd overtones. This little pocket of stories seemed like a manifestation of that yearning.

Nowadays, more and more stories are taking previously romance-exclusive intimacy and yanking off the sexual baggage. For example, looking on the Dadmight tag will reveal “platonic soulmates” and “platonic hanahaki” stories. Yes, platonic hanahaki. No, not parody. There’s a clear unironic market for this content. People really want to be able to indulge in passionate, “till death do us part” emotional bonding in a safe, nonsexual way.

All Might and Izuku sit in a unique place. Not related, but powerfully linked by something thicker than blood. And their relationship is easy to paint as “safe”. It makes perfect sense that these two would attract creators who want to explore this hard-to-define chaste side of passionate love.

In real life, passionate obsessive-style attraction between adults and kids is a huge red flag. We can never really know whether those feelings are innocent or healthy. 99% of the time, they’re not. But in fiction, the author gets to choose what people really feel and whether things turn out well. They can explore the most unbelievable scenario of all: not a world where everyone is a mermaid, but a world where it’s actually wholesome and healing for a high school teacher and his student to confess their deep, undying love for one another, where a famous celebrity can secretly invite his obsessed underage fan over, stroke his hair, tell him how special their relationship is, and sleep with him in bed, without it ending up on Law and Order: SVU.

On Critique

“Hap,” you might be thinking, “surely these stories can’t be as bad as you say. If they were, someone would have pointed it out to these poor souls. You should have pointed it out to these poor souls. You were in their writing server for chrissakes, and now you’re gossiping about them like a heartless goblin.”

First: yes, I'm a goblin. Second: I did bring this topic up to several Dadmight authors one-on-one. After getting a bunch of head-in-sand excuses in response, I decided to just quietly munch popcorn and watch the fandom’s antics unfold like a slow-motion train wreck.

Third: people did try to point this stuff out.

It was fascinating to watch the Dadmight server whenever someone posted a comment expressing concern. Some comments were trolls trying to get a reaction, of course. But others were very gentle: “hey, isn't it kind of weird to have them hop into bed together? It comes off kind of shippy...” I learned that the reason I had never seen comments like these in the past was because they were usually quickly deleted by the fic authors.

After deleting a comment, the author would often flee to the server for reassurance. The other users would agree that the commenter was definitely in the wrong, since they could see absolutely nothing questionable about the writer’s story. Someone would inevitably chime in saying that, oh, one time they got a comment calling things questionable like that, and it turned out to be from a shipper who shipped bad things. So, you know, anyone who sees shipping in things is probably just a bad person.

Phew. Crisis averted. If you can successfully paint the critic as a bad person, then there’s no need to descend into existentialist dread as you’re forced to critically reexamine the foundational concepts of your writing and your grasp on relationship dynamics.

(Credit where credit is due: one of the rules of this particular server was not to bash or insult people who like things you don't like. In most groups this is followed with an unspoken "...unless you can clutch your pearls over it", but to my surprise, when stuff like the above started kicking off, the moderators did step in to remind people to keep it civil. So, good job, mods. More maturity than I usually see in online spaces.)

But still, if anyone actually bothers to read this long screed, I already know what certain responses are going to look like. They’ll smugly assert that people who see questionable things are just sex-obsessed weirdos, projecting their icky lewd thoughts onto every innocent interaction they come across. A morally pure person wouldn’t make such gross assumptions.

I’m familiar with this kind of response because I’ve spent a lot of time around another group that responds the exact same way to these kinds of concerns. That group is known as fundamentalist Christians, and their attitude fosters three things:

People are afraid to speak out when they feel uncomfortable, because they don't want to be accused of being dirty-minded.

People fail to learn the ground rules of normal romance/sexuality and so fail to recognize red flags.

The community is absolutely infested with creeps who take advantage of points 1 and 2 to run rampant.

Sadly, these three things also seem to be true in the Dadmight community. Being a platonic pairing, it naturally attracts people uninterested in and inexperienced with romantic/sexual relationships. And then the vitriolic, derisive responses to people’s concerns teaches them that it’s wrong to bring up those topics around the community at all.

And so, point 3 blooms. I eventually confirmed that my initial suspicions were correct: shippers did camp in the Dadmight tag, and they got away with posting some impressively brazen softcore underage content in public, presumably because even the people who were suspicious knew that going “hey now” would trigger a circular firing squad.

The Dadmight community wasn’t clueless about this problem. They were incredibly paranoid as a whole. They knew there were bad actors lurking in their tag, but since they had disabled all their own safety alarms and expanded the definition of “platonic” to a ridiculous extreme, they had no way of being able to determine what was shipping and what was not until characters started actively whipping their dicks out. I saw constant fretting over whether it was okay to click the “like” button on an affectionate-looking piece of fanart without knowing for sure the intentions of the creator. But asking intentions was pointless anyway, since shippers just lied to them and then laughed as the platonic group eagerly ate up their evil, dirty-minded content.

I get why these “wait, that feels shippy...” comments feel like attacks. It’s fucking awful when your intentions are pure but someone interprets them in such a horrifying, disgusting way. It feels disrespectful when you clearly label something “platonic” but people still doubt.

But remember: Going from “mentor” to “dad” with these two generally means breaking down normal boundaries, to escalate the emotional and physical intimacy between an authority figure and a starstruck, needy, vulnerable kid, because they have such a special and unique bond that no one else understands. So special, in fact, that it needs to be kept secret from the public.

In real life, this scenario is known as Groomer Tactics 101.

Seriously, stop and read that link. It’s short and non-explicit. This is why I called their canon relationship “impressively alarming”—the bullet points of stages 1-3 describe Izuku and All Might nearly word-for-word. This does not mean I’m claiming All Might is a groomer, or that Izuku and All Might’s relationship is bad. Just that, due to their circumstances, they happen to have all the building blocks of relationships that go horribly wrong. All that separates their scenario from tumbling into Bad is the goals of the adult. So when a fanfic then comes along and makes the adult suddenly really interested in excessive touching? And the only reason he gives is “I’m weirdly drawn to this kid and touching them feels really good”? Of course people will get nervous!

Noticing this does not mean someone is “obsessed with shipping”. It means they’re a normal human being with eyes. Accusing someone of being problematic for making the most obvious possible observations about adult/child interactions is like accusing someone of being an arsonist because they embarrassed you by pointing out that your homemade backyard fireworks setup is halfassed and dangerous.

This does not mean it’s wrong to write wish-fulfillment where escalating to bed cuddles actually turns out great and awesome. But it does mean that, if an author writes it ignorantly or carelessly, they risk coming off like they’re glorifying and normalizing Groomer Tactics 101. It’s the same as when careless Twilight fans glorify and normalize stuff that, in real life, is abusive controlling boyfriend behavior.

Yes, it sucks when people come and yuck the yum. I’m sure the Twilight fans also get sick of people who complain and demonize them instead of letting them write their vampire boyfriend fantasies in peace. But the concern usually comes from a well-meaning place.

Proudly announcing “I ignore the most basic child/adult red flags because they ruin my fun” is not the flex that some people think it is. I highly recommend people reconsider before they try to paint anti-child-groomers as the bad guys.

The Recipe

So, let’s summarize how to reproduce the Dadmight phenomenon. It starts with a canon relationship that has the most enticing found-family building blocks the world has ever seen: a downtrodden kid who really needs a dad + a lonely heroic mentor. However, their canon relationship also sits on top of a powder keg, coincidentally featuring all the “setup” stages of the sexual grooming model:

a lonely, low-self-esteem kid

singled out by an esteemed, charismatic adult who is a pillar of the community

sharing a “special” relationship

constantly going off alone and keeping secrets

A platonic fan community forms that is blissfully unaware of the above dynamics. They head off to fluff echo chambers, as platonic fans do. But due to the crybaby tendencies of the teenage character, they start projecting really aged-down toddler-play scenarios onto him. Eventually, as echo-chambered fans do, they decide that contextualization is for chumps. This results in fics that take the powder keg and add:

The adult craving to touch and hold the teenager

The teenager craving touch from the adult and mewling like a kitten when his hair is stroked (I’m not fucking joking)

Completely age-inappropriate stuff like stroking, kisses, and sharing a bed with a teenage student

Izuku and All Might also happen to suffer from loneliness and isolation, even more so in their fanon incarnations. This really resonates with most fans, who want to soothe and heal them. They also want to get to the healing cuddles within a few chapters instead of wasting time on super-slow buildup. So they make the two of them really strongly fixate on and angst about the agony of their loneliness, and how the other person’s love is the only cure that will fix them. In doing so, they insert:

Anxious passionate obsession

Love confessions

Coming-out scenes

Craving for exclusive relationship labels

Desire for exclusivity

Lastly, because platonic groups are either uninterested in or too young for spicy content, they tend to have very little experience with romantic/sexual literature and the tropes and catchphrases they lay claim to. So fic writers will innocently sprinkle in poignant-sounding things they’ve picked up here and there, such as:

Blushing and heart racing when looking at the person

The phrase “falling for each other”

The man “caressing” his partner with “rough hands”

“He came undone”

And because their communities condemn people who “read into things”, nobody points out any of this shit, and it all slides out into the public Internet unquestioned.

And so, we get the most impressively uncomfortable platonic content I’ve ever seen. It’s no wonder I had never encountered something like this before. It required a lot of unusual circumstances intersecting in just the right (wrong) way.

In the end, I think the biggest aspect was just that I'd never become a fan of characters that had such a potentially-problematic canon relationship. Usually adult and kid characters have very different dynamics, so if fics treat their social interactions with all the tact of a bull in a china shop, it just comes off as lazy instead of creepy. I'd be interested to know if other platonic adult&child fandoms suffer from this issue.

In any case, although it was fascinating to watch, I sure hope I never run into it again.

#hap pops off about meta narrative #dadmight

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lotusarchon · 5 months ago

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Hi Lotus! If it's possible may I request an x reader scenario with Erlang Shen reacting to a reader who is studying western magic? (harry potter-way) and they come from house Hufflepuff? The differences in how magic is handled by eastern and western countries would be a fun dynamic I think. Also, I wish you a lovely day!

ermine (erlang shen x reader)

content warnings: gender neutral reader, second pov (you/your), fluff, drabble

author's notes: sorry lucky, but i don't like harry potter despite reading the books it was just...eugh for me lmfao 😭 so i'm sorry this isn't too good

“What's the purpose of even using a wand?”

Erlang hadn't meant for the question to come off as rude. He was only mildly curious, and by extension, rather intrigued, observing you walk off ahead with a small frown.

He'd by lying if he said he was only interested in your magic tricks though. Coming across you after fighting that little monkey, walking around with the world's most befuddled expression. From what he could get from you on that first meeting, you were a mortal, with some interesting talents to keep yourself from dying.

And well. Given that you could survive a yaoguai despite having a weird old stick in your hand, you were worthy enough for Erlang to fully acknowledge you.

“It kinda. Like….helps focus the spells, or something?” You replied in response to his question, but judging by your own tone, you didn't quite know why either. It seemed that wherever you came from (which was far from here), using these little pathetic sticks to cast spells was a norm, and a contrast to how Erlang had grown up learning them.

He hummed to acknowledge your answer, quickening his steps to meet yours. “And I presume you know of transformation spells?”

You made a face. “Transformation spells? You mean like disguises?”

When he shook his head, you sighed. “Naw, we don't have that kind of stuff. Least, I don't think so. I mean…” You tapped your wand against your hand. “We can do transformation stuff? But like, I'm not advanced enough for that, plus I'm sure you gotta do like potions…this that…yadda yadda.”

You waved your hand, causing Erlang to chuckle. You glanced at him in turn; “Can you do transformation spells?”

“I have 72 of them.” As if to prove his point, his figure disappeared into a puff of golden smoke. Where he once stood, there was a fluffy white ermine, sitting on its hind feet and beady black eyes gazing up at you. You couldn't help but coo, squatting to rub his head affectionately.

“Your magic is certainly something,” you commented, scratching ermite Erlang’s head. “You didn't even need to cast a spell! Just, poof! So cool!”

And maybe he didn't mind. Just as long as no one knew the cute ermine getting belly rubs in your hands wasn't the great Erlang Shen.

You continued to gush, this time, picking up ermine Erlang in your hands. Though surprised, he remained compliant, allowing you to scratch his head and rub his belly while you continued to walk to whichever destination you wanted. He'd learnt that questioning your logic would only give him a headache in response.

#𓍯𓂃usagii's penpals🎐#black myth wukong #black myth wukong x reader #black myth wukong x y/n #black myth wukong erlang #erlang shen x reader #reader insert #black myth wukong erlang shen #erlang shen #bmw erlang shen #bmw erlang shen x reader

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entername322 · 1 year ago

Text

Midnight snacks

Yuri (Izone) x Male Reader x Minju (Izone)

Length: 2752

Masterlist

“Babe, stop sleeping”

Yuri tried to shake your body awake.

“It's so fucking tiring babe, I need some rest okay?”

Today is a special day, it's your sister's wedding day. Which means you have spent the last few days being there for her, supporting her which drains your energy.

“Babeeeee, come on, we haven't done it in ages”

Ages in Minju’s dictionary span between 6 hours and a week, in this case, it's 2 days. Of course you haven't had sex with them, you're preoccupied with your sister's preparations.

“Girls please, we still need to babysit Hitomi and Nako once we got home”

And that too, your childrens. Despite your stance against being a parent, the girls have their way to slowly manipulate you into giving it a try. Once you finally relent they are ecstatic, and you are somewhat restless. However you three switch sides the moment they are born.

You swore, to God and the world and yourself, that you will keep them from all harm. The girls got annoyed with how much time you were spending with the two kids.

Those regrets come and go, they tend to disappear when they come face to face with their daughters. Parental love is a strong thing, enough to stop them from sending their child to an orphanage somewhere to stop them taking your time.

Also, why do they have Japanese name?

“Sis is taking care of them, just let her be”

Right, Minju's sister, that girl has been trying to get into your pants for some time now. Minju and Yuri didn't go full psycho against her, but that doesn't make you any more comfortable with the new family dynamics.

“I think we shouldn't cause her any extra trouble”

Yoojin has been making sure your children call her mom as well, which doesn't sit right with you.

“Oppaaaa, come on I want to have a night for us”

Yuri grabbed your hand and pulled it to her breast, something that only grows even more after her pregnancy.

“Yes babe, I think we can do something to make it up for her. Can we just have this night together?”

Minju did the same thing, you can feel her braless tits through her dress. Instantly all the fatigue washes away, “You two are gonna be the death of me”

They can't keep their hands to themselves, and once the three of you get to your bedroom they practically throw you to the bed. Yuri straddles on to your lap, she takes off dress and unclasps her bra, “It's feeding time babe”, Your hand travels to her tits, pinching her nipple which leaks out some drop of milk.

You pull your finger into your mouth, savouring the heavenly taste of her milk, “Stop teasing oppa”, She whined. “Hehehe, you don't mind sharing right oppa?” Minju already took off her dress and kneel next to you, she took one of Yuri's boobs and started sucking on it. Of course, you can't wait any longer and start drinking from the tap as well. Your lips created a seal around her nipple as you started sucking all those nectar out. Yuri got off from your lap, moving to the side a little so that you and Minju don't have to headbutt each other. Then your hand grabbed Minju's, pulling it to Yuri's soaking panties.

Being together for so long all three of you can just coordinate any sex moves easily. You and Minju slowly teased Yuri's pussy, rubbing its clit, penetrating it a little, all just so you two can hear her whine and whine again. “Yaaaa, this un-, aghhhhh”, The stimulation on both of Yuri's tits made her unable to construct any coherent sentences. Minju stopped teasing her and started fingering Yuri, your hand staying outside playing around with her clit. “Fuckkkk, I'm cumming”, The sensation proved to be too much for Yuri as she immediately got her first orgasm of the night.

You still want to continue drinking her milk, you really do, but you know Minju also wants you to drink hers so you slow down a little. Which is kinda hard to do because everytime you slow down Yuri would just massage her own tits making it flood your mouth cavity. Sometimes the milk would leak out of your lips, trickling down to your shirt. “I need to prepare some space in my stomach for Oppa's milk baby”, Minju let go of Yuri's nipple and jumped to kiss her.

You let go as well, watching both of Yuri's nipples have puffed up and turn bright pink. “Seems like you have a lot left in your tank baby, let me help you with that”, Both of your hands grab her tits and squeeze it hard making it sprays all over you. “Oppa”, The two girls stop kissing and watch you getting soaked by Yuri's milk. “Come here you”, You squeezed it again and pulled her down as if you're milking a cow. “Oppa”, She moaned as she fell on to you, “We should buy you some cow outfit or something”, You laughed before kissing her. She wrapped her arm around you, not letting Minju intrude into this make out session. Your hand however continues on squeezing her tits and pinching her nipple making her soak your shirt and the bed cover.

Suddenly Yuri got pulled away, you watched Minju frowning from behind Yuri. “Sorry, come on your turn”, Minju latches on Yuri's tits for a second before jumping in to kiss you. Through the kiss she transferred Yuri's milk alongside her own saliva making it a pretty nasty cocktail. Thankfully you're also pretty nasty.

Then you threw her on the bed beside you before going down to milk her. Yuri did the same thing, as the three of you repeated the scene from before. This time it's Minju who's getting milked, also now the three of you are laying down so once the milk overflows your mouth it just slips down soaking Minju’s boobs and cleavage. Of course your hand isn't slacking, you and Yuri are coordinating together to finger Minju. However Minju is much more resilient than Yuri, it took the two of you 10 minutes before Minju finally cum.

“Fuck, I'm full already”, You laughed as you wipe your mouth, it's useless really, your whole body is already soaked by their milk. “Your turn oppa”, Yuri pushed you down as the two hurriedly took off your pants. Your half erect cock doesn't even get a second to breathe before the two girls immediately try to suck on it. Their pair of lips covered the sides of your cock as they started going up and down on it together. Their tongue made sure to lick every inch of your cock, the best part was when their tongue traced the vein on your cock sending jolts of pleasure all over you.

Then Yuri separates and moves to your balls, sucking it in her mouth while her tongue is gently caressing it. Minju did the same, but this time she suck in your cock. The feeling of having your cock being sucked by both of them is just heavenly. You grab their hair and face, guiding them to which part of your cock you want them to work on. Guiding the two of them as if they're just a tool for your pleasure. You make sure that both of them got their turn to suck on your cock and balls.

Then both of them merge again to do a blowjob sandwich. The two girls lick your cock and balls together, then suck in on it as if it's just one single thing. It didn't take long for you to get enough pleasure to cum, and when the feeling came, it came strong. “Babe, I'm going to cum”, You groan, the feeling is so intense that your vision starts to blur. “Cum for us babe, we want your cum”, Yuri said while swirling her tongue around your sensitive cock head.

Minju was the first one to react and let your cock out of her mouth, then she immediately pushed Yuri's face and force her to suck you in. Minju then grabbed your balls and start gently massaging it as you unleash a torrent inside Yuri's mouth, licking the spills of cum on your balls. Meanwhile Yuri didn't seem to mind at all, she just continue sucking you like nothing had happened. Minju used her finger to collect some cum from your cock, then she sucked on Yuri's tits. She licked the head of Yuri's nipple before sucking on it, Yuri moaned and grabbed Minju hair before pulling her face in for a kiss.

The two of them exchange a passionate kiss, their hand grabbed each other's boob, gently squeezing it. Yuri leaned back and let go of Minju's tits which resulted in both of their tits to spray milk all over the two girls. Their tounge works together to cook up a mixture of cum, milk and spit in their mouth. Such a nasty mix, yet the two love it. Then they split it evenly, yet another skill they have mastered through the years of being together, and swallow the mixture down.

Their body is soaked by each other's milk and they went to clean it for you. You watched them lick the milk from each other’s skin and then continued making out. Their mouths opened and closed on each other’s lips, their tongue danced with each other’s tongue, their kiss got more and more intense as they bit each other’s lips.

But then Yuri broke the kiss and stood up, her naked body glisten with both of her milk and Minju's saliva. “I'll go first oppa”, You smile and watch as Yuri quickly crawled to you. She mounted you cowgirl style just like usual, but this time she was pretty aggressive. Her pussy slowly engulfs your cock bit by bit until she completely sat on your dick.

Minju also got up and get behind Yuri, you watched she kissed Yuri's ears and cheek while her hand went to squeeze Yuri's tits. “We don't want oppa to be hungry”, Minju smiled at you before grabbing both of Yuri's tits, she started massaging them which causes Yuri milk to flow out from her nipples. You got up and put your head in front of Yuri's tits, Minju used her hand to squeezed Yuri's tits and aim the milk into your mouth. You greedily gulp down the heavenly milk. The feeling of warm liquid running down your throat, tickling your tongue and then dripping down to your stomach is just so heavenly that you want more.

Thankfully Minju is more than willing to feed you. The way she squeezes Yuri's tits and then guided the milk into your mouth is just so erotic that you want to fuck Yuri harder. Which is exactly what she wanted, as soon as you took a full mouth of milk Yuri start bouncing on top of you in a faster speed. You grabbed her ass cheeks and squeezed it, you can feel her pussy tightening around your cock each time she comes down.

You start drinking straight from Yuri's tits again. Minju, losing her job of feeding you used one hand to start rubbing Yuri's clit while her other hand is holding Yuri's cheek as she pulled her to a kiss. “Fuck, I'm cumming oppa”, Yuri moaned, you spanked her ass making her let out a scream. Then you spit the milk in your mouth on to her face, “You cum when I cum baby, you can wait right?” You laughed. Yuri slows down a little feeling scared of the torture that's about to come, but you can't let her take an easy way. So you start pounding her from beneath, making her moan. “Just hold on Yuri, you can do that right?” Minju laughs as she got even wilder with her hand. “Unnie, oppa, you're so mean”, Yuri whined as she fight for her life.

Minju yanked Yuri's head to the side, she held it roughly as her tongue starts to clean Yuri's face from the milk you just spat at her. “Fuck you're cumming oppa, yes, yes, yes, yes”, Yuri break free from the hold by Minju and jumped on to you. Her hand hugged your neck again as her hips starts to match your rhythm, “Fuck, take this you fucking cow”, You laughed before burying your cock deep into her and deliver your load inside her. “Oppaaaaa”, She moaned as she reached another climax.

Yuri slumped down on the bed, getting a few moment to breath. Unfortunately for you, Minju is waiting for her turn already. “It's my turn babe”, She didn't even move in on you, she just sat where she was and start rubbing her pussy and nipple to entice you. “Hehehe”, It fucking works, you can't deny any of their charms. You remove yourself from Yuri before crawling on to Minju, “Now, which one whould i pick?” Your hand rest on her crotch as your thumb alternate between her asshole and her pussy. “You know which one works for me the best”, You do, her ass is so used to your girth and length that you haven't used lube for a year now.

Slowly you pull your already wet dick into her back entrance, teasing it using your tip. “Babe, I'm not in the mood for teasing”, God they got so desperate for your seed just after a few days. “Hey now, isn't there something you need to say to convince me first?” She smiled, taunting you, “Ruin me babe, if you have the energy to do it”, You cracked your neck before getting into position.

You abruptly penetrate her making her let out a scream, “Fuck, you're so rude sometimes”, The smile on her face tells you she like it that way. “What's this? Having fun without me?” Yuri get on Yuri's face, “Fuck yeah”, Minju moaned before she start sucking out the cum out of Yuri's pussy. “Oppa, milk me again”, Who are you to say no to such pleasant invitation.

Although Yuri said to milk her, she actually want to try and feed you again like Minju. Only, she's bad at aiming, so most of he milk just ended up soaking your chest and fell down on to Minju's body. “Yuri get off me”, You heard a slap as Minju spanked Yuri's ass, moving out of the way, you were left with the lustful gaze of Minju. “Hey, babe it seems like you're getting a little tired there”, You would've fucked her harder hearing that, unfortunately the last few days has been very tiring for you.

Minju get off you and sit facing away from you. It was akin to a reverse cowgirl but you're actually somewhat sitting up and not just laying down. Then she wrapped one of her arm around your shoulder as you grabbed her waist to help her gain some balance. “Fuck, that's cheating”, Minju whined as your head leaned from the side to suck on her tits. “Hey, don't leave me out of this”, Yuri sat at one of your leg, her mouth is sucking on the other Minju's tits, her hand is fingering Minju, and her crotch is grinding on you.

Getting ganked like this, Minju can't hold on for long, “It seems like you're getting tired there babe”, You laughed as Minju starts panting. “Babe, cum soon, I can't hold on for long”, Thankfully for her, you are in the edge already. “Is that so baby? Then why don't you cum for me then”, Your hand grabbed her waist and start controlling her to help you get ovee the edge. Minju, love when you're getting in control like this, which is why she can't stop herself from cumming again.

As her pussy squirt all over the bed, her tits starts spraying milk all over Yuri who just laughed playfully trying to cover her face. You deliver your third load, and hopefully last, into Minju’s ass. When it all pass you slumped down on the bed, laying there, drained of energy. “Oppa, you can't think that it's finished right?” Yuri whisper in your ears while bitting it. “That's right babe, you're no longer that scrawny kid back in highschool, you have still have some more stamina for us right?” Minju locked your earlobe while her hand gently caressed your cock. “Well, this will be a long night”

#kpop gg #kpop fanfic #kpop smut #izone yuri #izone minju #jo yuri #kim minju #minju #izone smut #jo yuri smut #minju smut #male reader

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