#its RIGHT THERE why is no one tapping into their dynamic. why do I have to do everything myself
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are you going to strangle me next?
#pose is referenced from a vintage ad#anyway can we please talk about this line. for a split second 4rthur thought about d*tch choking him out till he went limp#but if I bring that up I'm the weird one... OK...#the vandermorgan trauma bond is completely real. its in the game its the backbone of their every interaction it explains everything#its RIGHT THERE why is no one tapping into their dynamic. why do I have to do everything myself#vandermorgan#rdr2#my art
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Yet another beautiful day to have the Maxwel tag blocked (can't see half of the posts in the Wendy tags)
#rat rambles#starve posting#maxwell posters have lost any semblance of tolerance from me ages ago Ive yet to meet a maxwell fan who's just like a normal person#and to clarify I actually do like maxwel as I am the number one just some asshole whos in too deep enjoyer#but dear god are ppl just absolutely incapable of being normal abt this man and everyone around him#and even beyond that ppl just do not get this man like please he is indeed interesting but not because of some 'retconed redemption'#like pls we can live in a world where he is not an irridemable monster and is in fact just some guy while also still being a flawed person#like the fact that he is so deeply flawed in ways that he never actually properly adressed and challenged is the interesting thing to me#like look at me. he went through horrible shit he didnt deserve. that didnt inherently make him a better or worse person#it just made him a more miserable person#and he didnt escape because of some change of heart or character development#and afterwards he teamed up with wilson because of necessity#I do think on some level he genuinely cares abt the other survivors and he does have genuine regret for how things turned out#but again those things dont inherently mean he moved past the flaws that got him here it just means he has the ability to recognize that#shit sucks and that he wish none of it happened#its why encore is one of my favorite animations from a character perspective because it shows some juicy charlie and maxwell stuff#mainly it shows both that charlie has not forgiven his ass and is manipulating him and that maxwell is still susceptible to it#which isnt a sigh of them rolling back development it's just a sign that maxwell is easy to manipulate with the right cards#which adds up considering his past and his present very well in my opinion#this is a man whos historically always ran away from his problems and is always on the hunt for a sense of control#and charlie tapped into both that and his ever present guilt#its in fact very unsurprising and not out of place for him to fall for that sort of manipulation#and it also makes for a great set up for the inevitable betrayal from charlie as maxwell is hit by the harsh reality of his situation#and that whole situation would lead to some yummy tasty parallels when charlie inevitably gets betrayed herself (I hope)#the ways charlie and maxwel are so similar yet so different facinates me deeply I love how much charlie doesnt realize shes kinda fucked#I want her to be betrayed so hard and left in the dust with no ground to stand on I want the rug pulled out from under her feet#her composition comes from her confidence in the necessity of her actions and the moral superiority she feels over maxwell#so having her sense of superiority be revoked would make for a super fascinating dynamic as she tries to justify the situation in her head#I wanna see her siral and then maybe change her pronouns idk
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could I perhaps be goofy silly and request skott bullying.........
skott x mean supervisor!male reader
hehehehehehehehehe
ok but the funny part is after you sent this i thought of something and i was like... no thats too far. censoring myself after what id already said.
a lot of the meaner bullying comes at the end. also. whore skott is real he told me
cw; violence, electrocution, nsft, bully reader, power dynamics (you're his supervisor), dub con because of said power dynamics? i guess
your pathetic, stupid, horrible subordinate had just come crawling back to you from aurum alley. again. it was one thing to screw the ipc on the deal to begin with, it was humiliating to have the video of someone under your command barking like a dog spread across the entire star system, it was degrading when your bosses chewed you out for his poor treatment of the xianzhou natives. to do it all again? for no reason? skott should have died to the amateur swordsman. that would have been better.
you watched the video of the man squealing like a pig, your face twisted into a scowl at the disgusting sight. fucking skott. you looked from your screen, the sound of his squealing still playing as you eyed up the man in front of you. skott had his head held low, clearly aware of how much trouble he was in. you tapped your boot against the ground impatiently as his squealing seemed to only get louder. your teeth clenched together as you suppressed all the cruel words that you wanted so badly to spit at him. finally after what felt like an eternity of the squealing, the angry silence, the clenching of teeth, you took a deep breath and calmed yourself down.
"there are a lot of things that I could say to you. there are so many words i could call you. i could fire you right now." you paused the video as you spoke calmly.
"p-please i-" skott started in his way that made you want to grind your teeth again.
"stop. i won't fire you. in fact i think you've earned yourself a little promotion." you gave a small smile as you opened your desk drawer.
"oh- oh! w-well thank you so much sir i-" he was cut off again when you put a heavy collar on your desk in front of him.
"you should be grateful skott, all this time you've been a stupid stray dog running around freely. you need an owner, in fact i think you've been begging for it." you gestured for him to come closer. skott's eyes went to the collar and then you and he swallowed hard.
"this is unprofessional i-i could report you to-"
"oh please. don't act like you don't want this. i see how you eye up my desk, how you examine the width of my office. i know how hungry you are to climb the ranks." you rapt your fingers against your desk, each soft thud against the desk like another rock against a glass door. "you would sell out your girlfriend and now you're not going to play dog with me? just think, skott. you could be a good doggy for a few months and gather all this evidence of my HR violation. maybe they'd reward you with my position. with my office."
each word is like music to the power hungry idiots ears. if he had any brain he might stop and think for a second about why you're so willing to put your job on the line just to get your rocks off. of course dogs aren't smart enough to think. just like you expected skott moved to your side of the desk. before you could even open your mouth to tell him to he got on his knees in front of you. he wanted this so bad, its evident behind his golden eyes. his desire. his need. you reached down and pulled away his stupid glasses exposing his soul to your cruel gaze.
"good boy." you coo at him as you grabbed the collar.
skott didn't reply but his cheeks were red and his eyes closed in anticipation. you wasted no time clasping the black collar around his neck. a soft gasp leaving his lips as it adjusted itself to fit him perfectly, you hummed in approval. one of your hands moved from his neck to his hair and you ran it through the surprisingly soft locks. you sat there petting him for a minute, his head naturally moving to rest on your lap. you could already see the wheels in his head turning around how to bring your downfall. he's kind of cute when he's not talking. maybe instead of just ruining his life you really could train him to be a good obedient doggy.
the best start would be to break his already weak spirit. your fingers stopped in his hair and you pulled on it hard causing his eyes to shoot open as a yelp left his lips. you clicked your tongue at him before shushing him.
"don't be noisy doggy." you cooed as you guided his head from your lap to between your legs. one of your legs rested on his shoulder, the heel of your boot digging into his back.
the expression of embarrassment and disbelief that painted his face was so cute you found it hard not to laugh. he had opened his mouth to try to say something but clearly the words were lost on him as he stumbled over various exasperated sounds. yeah he's cute until he opens his stupid mouth. you pushed his head down onto your bulge, his hung open lips finding place around the outline of your shaft. a whimper left his throat but he didn't complain again, in fact you didn't even need to tell him what to do. his mouth so naturally began to move along your bulge, tongue pressing against your uniform all too eagerly. you couldn't help but wonder how many times had he done this? how often did pretty little skott drop to his knees for a promotion?
"you're such a fuckin slut." you groaned at him, your tight grip on his hair pushing his head down until you could feel his nose press against your belt. "who did you fuck to get here skotty? i might get jealous if i find out you're someone else's dog too."
skott tried to answer but you didn't let him up. instead your free hand began to undo your belt as you made him drag his tongue along your massive length. when his lips met your tip resting against your thigh he sucked greedily on it. it was hard to tell if the spot that formed was your precum or his drool. you moaned as you pulled your belt free and discarded it on the floor.
"slut."
skott didn't even look embarrassed anymore, more dazed and hungry if anything. you let his head go expecting to hear him complain about how inappropriate this was, or maybe defend himself from being called a slut. he didn't. he sat there patiently waiting for you to pull your cock out. fuck it was hot. you undid your pants and pulled down your underwear enough for your cock to spring free. you slapped the tip against his cheek and all too eagerly skott attempted to take it in his mouth. you gripped his hair again and held him still.
"beg, doggy." you ordered before the desperate whore got the taste of your cock.
"i-i.. uh.. pl-" you cut off his pathetic yammering with a harsh tug to his hair.
"doggies don't talk." you reminded him. it was funny the way his dazed, cock hungry eyes refocused into shock and confusion.
he started whimpering. he started whimpering way too easily and way too dog like. he really was some kind of kinky pervert who got off on being treated like a dog wasn't he? did he keep picking fights so that he would be publicly humiliated? what a pervert. his tongue hung from his mouth in between his all too accurate whimpering. you decided to humor him, waiting for his tongue to hang out again before you pressed your tip against it. the moment your cock touched his tongue he took it in his mouth so eagerly, his warm wet mouth closing tight around you as his tongue circled your tip. he knew how to give head. not just knew about it, he was good at giving head.
"jesus you really are such a fu-fuckin whore" you thought you could keep your composure but he was too good at this.
he took your cock back to his throat and he gagged on it a little bit before he relaxed and took your whole length down his throat, his nose pressed against your skin. then he pulled his head back and sucked and licked at your tip again. as he began the process of bobbing his head up and down he let his teeth ever so lightly brush against your skin. it was like a pornstar. he even sounded like a pornstar, the wet sound of your cock pounding into his face, the moaning that accompanied it, and the delightful sound of him always gagging a little bit. he pulled his head up, coming up for air as his hand wrapped around your cock and continued stroking your length as his swollen lips kissed the tip like he was trying to make out with it.
"fu- fuck skott you love cock that much..? you want me to cum all over your face?" you couldn't believe how quickly he had gotten you to the edge. your tip was swollen and red and dripping as skott eagerly licked up every drop.
skott didn't talk, instead he opened his mouth and pressed your tip against it while letting out a cute doggy whimper.
"inside, pretty boy?" you were met with a nod.
you reached down and began stroking your cock against his tongue as he eagerly held it open. he was even panting like a dog. you grunted as your cum finally sprayed across his tongue and into his mouth. you were gonna tell him to swallow after you caught your breath but he didn't need to be told. you watched skott's adams apple bob as he swallowed hard before opening his mouth again to show you it was empty.
"where... where the fuck did you learn that?" you could feel your cock twitch at just the sight of him, how messy and undone his face looked.
"i don't have to tell you about my personal life." oh god there was his smug attitude again. you let go of his hair and grabbed his face instead.
"you want to try that again, mutt?" you asked, regaining your composure.
"this was fun, i won't lie. i can assume "being your dog" will be similar things along with running errands and getting coffee. i'll begin saving samples of your dna starting next time." he was so fucking smug as he straightened his clothes and began looking for his glasses. "please try not to trash my office while you're still here."
you watched him put his stupid glasses back on and get up. you were stunned to say the least, surprised by his nonchalance and annoyed in equal measure. you were about to say something as he headed towards the door when he stopped in the middle of the room and turned back to you.
"oh i almost forgot you can t-" he had reached to remove the collar around his neck when it sent an electric current through his body causing him to scream and collapse on the ground.
you started laughing, his scream brought you to your senses from his stupid haughty attitude. you fixed yourself and buckled your pants, leaving your belt off. instead you grabbed the thick leather material and folded it in half. you got up and walked over to where skott lay twitching on the floor, tears in his eyes. you laughed again as you nudged him with your boot.
"oh you almost had me, doggy. i thought you were actually smart for a minute." you brought your boot heel down on his leg, grinding into him and bringing another scream from his throat. you smacked your belt against your free hand a sadistic smile on your face.
"im gonna teach you what happens to bad dogs"
#top male reader#dom male reader#male reader#hsr x male reader#sub hsr#bully reader#mean reader#replies#skott hsr#sub skott#skott x reader
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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.”
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only his
you were just being sweet, its not your fault he took it the wrong way. but you should be grateful that he was doing this for you . . he was just trying to keep you safe.
part one ⋆.˚ part two
simon riley x f!reader
word count: 3.2k
warnings: 18+ , kidnapper!simon , taboo material , degradation, age difference , size difference , implied ddlg dynamics , pet play , sadism , simon is mean asf
c.ai bot
“you are home sweetie.”
you dont know why but that made it all ache even worse. made it ache worse than when he put the collar around your neck - than when he forced you to sit on his lap and drink whatever roofie he had mixed. the tears came out harder as you laid on the floor by his feet.
simon’s shoulders relaxed a little at this. his rough hand came up and started to brush up and down your back. feeling the ridges of your spine that were a little more prominent as the weeks had passed. his hands working in an attempt to comfort you instead of grabbing you.
“theres no need to cry. i’ve kept you for a reason. its not like i’m going to kill you.”
heart picking up, he could see the shift in your demeanor. how you were teetering between that docility and the true emotions you wanted to let out. he knew he won when he heard the shakiness in your voice. “what’s that supposed to mean?” your lips spoke. even if your words held threat, he knew he was on the right path with the way you pulled your tone.
his dense fingers continued to move up and down your spine, giving gentle and methodical touches as they went. his face held no expression. “it means you have the privilege of being mine. you should be grateful.”
your skin shivered and created goosebumps at his touch. not sure how to react to it. it was all so scary. you didnt know what to say back. how were you supposed to feel grateful in a moment like this? he took you from your life.
simon had to figure this out. he had to figure out how to get you to crack. to crave him and yearn for him. looking at him like he was a protector. because whether you saw it that way or not, he was. he is your protector.
he wanted nothing more than to have you give in. to stop struggling and start asking him to hold you. to start seeing him as a sanctuary, a safe place to come home to.
his hand finally stopped those gentle movements he used to draw you in. those fingers coming around to the side of your face. cupping the length of your jaw and turning your head to look at him. your heart and mind are completely tense and rigid, but your body shows no resistance to him. obedience could be led by a hair.
“say thank you.”
your eyes struggled to meet his. but when he gave a warning tap to your cheek, your pupils full of fear and exhaustion, looked up into his. he looked calm, at peace. “why should i tell you thank you?” you breathed out shakily and quiet.
those fingers adjusted the grip on your face, feeling the warm skin heat his cold fingers. his eyes narrowed, cold and callous. deep, dark, and genuinely never ending. not being able to see where his pupils started or stopped. to you, he always looked like a predator that was completely dilated. you were the little bunny for dinner.
“because i say so. youre mine now, remember that, puppy. be thankful im keeping you instead of selling you to the highest bidder. do you understand me?”
your lips twitched and a small gasp threatened to escape. but all that came out was a small shudder. your eyes were still stuck on his. he was being serious, you could tell. “y-you’d sell me?”
god he loved that voice. simon could’ve groaned at that little whimper in your voice. such a timid little pet.
his grip loosened a little bit as his hand moved to caress your cheek. his touch caring and kind, a complete contrast of his words. he sighed. “only when you piss me off enough to do so. im not in the market of pawning the things i claim, unless they're really ungrateful,” his eyes narrowed again, “are you ungrateful sweetheart?”
simon’s eyes watched your face. watched how you processed everything. how you took it all in. he knew you understood he was being genuine. he was serious enough to actually kidnap you, of course he would be insane enough to sell you. his hand continued to caress your soft skin. he was waiting for your answer.
that expression of his changing from cold and callous to a hint of annoyance. he was starting to get impatient - the answer wasn’t that complicated.
“i said, are you ungrateful?” he asked again.
the frustrated grip and raised voice snapped you back into reality. simon saw the way your eyes focused back onto what was in front of you. “no! no . . . im not ungrateful.” you quickly spoke back. you didn't want to be here, but you’d rather be here than some beaten down warehouse that was turned into a human auction house.
feeling his hand drop from your jaw, release that tight grip - his demeanor shifting of that into a carer again. a satisfied smirk appeared on his cracked lips. his fingers brushing back some of your hair.
“then you should say thank you, puppy. because you have a lot to be thankful for.” he spoke in a much calmer tone.
those eyes boring into you felt like they were starting to burn your skin. “thank you.” your voice is timid and quiet, speaking out of fear. the smirk on his lips grew into a bit of a smile at your response. “see? that wasn't so hard was it sweetie?” he teased a bit, his thumb moving to your bottom lip. rubbing against it and slightly pushing down to examine the pink skin.
. ⋆ ✴︎ ݁ ˖ ˚ .𖥔 ݁ ˖ .
days have passed.
simon hadn’t softened any. it's been two weeks of gruff and agitated energy surrounding you. but today for some reason he seemed to be in an even worse mood. his voice louder and more rigid. those occasional sweet touches he gave were nowhere to be found. he was on edge, it was written all over him, in everything he did. his eyes cold and narrowed at everything, his voice snapping at any word spoken to him. he was pissed, and for no good reason at that.
you seemed to try and figure it out. there were bags under his eyes. he looked exhausted. you both were. it almost was like a standoff between two enemies. constantly. you were on edge, still and taking in his every breath. analyzing the tone of it and the deeper meaning of all his words. hoping to not anger him.
simon hasn’t been able to sleep since you arrived - and the only thing his body seemed to want, was you. tense muscles and breaths that were slicing the air he stepped in front of.
you sat on the floor of his living room. watching him pace around like a caged animal. he was acting like a damn rabid dog. he kept you right on the brink of decent. thrown into a pair of his boxers and one of his old long sleeve military shirts. that black leather collar still rubbing against the soft skin of your neck. the long leash cording down and around your body like a snake.
thankfully, he had been a little more lenient with keeping the leash so closely attached to his hand, but that didn't mean he would take it off.
this was frustrating. you were frustrating him. those sweet innocent eyes that were looking up at him like he was a monster. that angered him. he was your savior. my god he was saving you from all those awful sins the world harvested. a groan crawled its way up and out of his throat, stopping his pacing movements.
“come here.” he stated. not like a request. just a command. like you were his dog.
the brain in your head was working on primal intuition. when you are put into a scary situation, your body will do whatever it needs to to survive. so your eyes fluttered up to his face and then back down to his neck. it was scary looking him in the eye, you don't look rabid dogs in the eye. you don't look simon riley in the eye.
feeling the leash clank against your skin as your legs twitched to help you stand. they were getting weaker. your body was starting to reject what was happening to it.
he raised his hand and pointed to the floor in front of him. “no. not like that. crawl to me. you don’t deserve to walk on those legs of yours.”
his voice rang into your ears like how baby bunnies would react to hearing thunder for the first time. paralyzed and frozen in fear with eyes that looked up into the clouds with a sense of caution and longing that the sky wouldn’t do that again - naive hope that the universe would apologize for its outburst of anger.
but just as your body was frozen, the flash of lightning came, accompanying the thunder.
simon’s hand came out, wrapped tightly around the leash and pulled you down to the ground. the yanking of the leather forced you to your hands and knees. your eyes looking up to him - that baby bunny praying to the sky - looking up into those deep and irritated eyes. he was above you, even when he was crouching down the height difference was still prominent. creating a never ending power dynamic that shivered your soul.
he was stressed, he was angry, he felt sleep deprived. he was always watching over you. always making sure you were still here, he needed to put this outlet to good use right now. so on edge that even the small things like how the coffee table looked was making him mad right now. he needed to let off steam. something - someone to give into.
his feet planted themselves onto the ground in front of you. his hand coming to the top of your head, grabbing a fist full of your hair as he lowered himself to your level. you gasped at the sudden contact. shaking and soft hands gripping onto his forearm. your scalp starting to burn from his angered grip. he crouched down, his breath against your neck.
“you make me so goddamn frustrated.”
little frantic breaths picking up and making you panic more. “i-i didn't do anything?” your brows furrowed into a pathetic and worried curve. his lips moved closer to your ear, his fingers tightening around your hair. “you're making me on edge, and it's driving me up a wall.” he spoke.
your eyelids blinked in confusion. then why am i here? why is he keeping me here? just let me go!
“then why am i still here?” you breathed out, quiet and docile.
those cracked lips of his moved from your ear to your neck. they gently nipped at the skin before he spoke again. “because i don't want to get rid of you. you may be a pain in the ass, but i need you.” his mouth started to tenderly press and nip at your neck. leaving sticky open mouth kisses.
your body stiffened. but he had been so rough and sharp the last couple days, you hated to admit the sweet and gentle touches almost felt welcomed. it was better than him hitting you and tying you to a pole in the basement. simon’s voice wasn't as icy as before his commands. your soft hair in his fingers and the warm feeling of your skin against his lips helped calm his aggravated mood. it was like the perfect dosage of oxycodone. calming and relaxing him just enough to barely blink his eyes all the way closed. just enough to get him to not be so pent up about tomorrow's worries.
you started to feel safer almost. in this moment in time, it could’ve been worse.
“why?” you spoke after a couple seconds of silence.
“why what?” simon asked in between sucking on your neck. one of his hands pulled your hair a little bit again, forcing your head up towards the ceiling. he needed more of this soft warmth. “why don't i want to get rid of you, or why do i need you?” his teeth gently nipping into the side of your neck and making a small mark. chuckling to himself when he had to pull the collar out of the way so he could really get to the spot he wanted.
“both.”
it wasn't often he talked to you like that. wasn't often he treated you as human. so you took the wins where you could. letting his warm lips and teeth move against your body. trying to keep your voice steady. it was like walking on a frozen lake where you weren’t sure how thick the ice was.
he continued suck and bite at your neck, making sure the area was nice and bruised - marked as his.
“because you make me feel something i haven't felt in a long time, puppy. and because you’re mine. and i don't like to share my things. especially the ones i worked so hard to get.”
a soft wince escaped your lips when his teeth bit a little harder. his lips pulled away, giving a gentle kiss to the spot. you could’ve sworn you felt his thumb caress the hair his hand was so tightly holding. it was sweet. it was affectionate. and he was having an actual conversation with you. not lashing out and teasing, mocking or degrading.
this was new. this was human. one of your hands going to his chest, resting there as if you were asking him to be more gentle. his body shivered at that strange acceptance from you.“why me?” you said softly, asking the question you had been wondering.
the unfamiliar and strange energy between you two was making simon happy. very happy. all those times he was angry and awful to you just made his soft touches so featherlight and desirable. it was making him relax. his teeth let go of the spot on your neck, his tongue gently soothing over it.
after he made sure the spot would leave a deep bruise, he pulled back a little. his eyes looking down at you on the floor, gazing up at him. it warmed his heart and made him smile a little. even he thought about your question for a second. he sighed, and then answered. “you just are. you were sitting in that little library just . . . existing . . and i felt something inside of me break. that was it. you were mine. you still are and forever will be. this is where you belong and i hope you come to accept that, my puppy.”
your eyes looked into his. your neck started to ache from how he was angling your head back. but there was a sense of hope in your eyes. hope that he was human, he was showing you he was human - for a moment if you could pretend the leash wasn't around your neck, this would almost feel normal.
you licked your dry lips, always so cracked now from breathing and panting through your mouth. the seasons cold weather nipping in through the windows . . . but its alright . . he never let you get too close to those anyway.
simon could sense the fear in your breath. the shudders past your pretty lips. those little flutters of caution your eyelashes would blink. this was working perfectly in his favor. if he was brutal six out of seven days, your body would learn to crave that seventh day. it would learn to want him and need him to survive.
in the same sense of how people needed religion. they need faith in something to keep going. one way or another, he was going to figure out how to be your faith.
his gaze softened. his hand letting go of your hair, coming to gently brush against your face, a thumb running over your cheek.
“i know i make you afraid, but thats okay. you wont be afraid forever.” his face came down to lean close to yours, his voice a low tone. “you’ll get used to it. you’ll get used to me.”
even a dog held in captivity for years would still yearn for a soft pet, a good treat the second the opportunity was given.
. ⋆ ✴︎ ݁ ˖ ˚ .𖥔 ݁ ˖ .
it was the next day and you both had gone through the motions of what a normal day was so far. he woke you up early, because he got up early and he needed you to constantly be at his side. he of course had you in a little dog cage when it was bedtime. or anytime he had to go out, which wasn’t often.
a metal dog cage with plush little pink blankets and frills, that attempted to make it more welcoming, adorning it. he always kept two locks on the metal links off the door - so you would never be able to get it undone yourself. but even if you did, he kept it all located in his basement. the only thing down there being your cage and a couple storage bins.
simon knew what he was doing. of course he did. he had been plotting this for months. since the second he saw you and that air was sucked out of his chest he’s been preparing.
in all honesty, you looked forward to bedtime. you were finally left alone to have some thoughts to yourself. and it’s not like it was pitch black down there. he didn’t leave the light on, but the outside lights from the backyard somewhat illuminated the basement.
you were asleep up on the plush mat, a warm fleece blanket wrapping around your cold frame. legs curled up since you couldn’t stretch your legs in the cage.
“good morning puppy,” he calls down the basement stairs. turning on the light and finally getting you out of the dark.
your eyes blinking awake in the harsh light. hearing his footsteps come down the stairs and a few keys rattling. he chuckled when he saw your head bump up against the top of the cage.
“did you sleep well, my dear?” he asked, those dark eyes looking over your form before he crouched down to unlock the padlocks on the cage.
you were tired, mornings were never your thing, especially not with how early he got up. your messy hair nodding along with your head as you gave him a simple answer. cold hands rubbing your tired eyes.
“we’ve got a big day today . . .” simon started while opening the metal door. your ears perked up at his words, sleepy eyes blinking awake and a soft grumble from your lips as he pulled on the leash, getting you out of the cage and into his lap.
“you’re gonna meet some of daddy’s friends today . . . and i trust you’ll be a very good puppy, right?”
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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)
#wolverine#hugh jackman#logan howlett#logan x reader#wolverine x reader#deadpool and wolverine#the wolverine#xmen wolverine#wolverine x men#logan wolverine#logan fic#logan fanfic#logan smut#wolverine smut#james logan howlett#smut#wolverine fanfic#wolverine fanfiction#wolverine x you
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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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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."
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#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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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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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.
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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.
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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.
@lotusarchon , 28.11.2024, all rights reserved. do not copy, repost or translate my works without permission. comments, reblogs and likes are appreciated!
#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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𝐢𝐧𝐭𝐢𝐦𝐚𝐜𝐲
demon (in human form)!ji changmin x afab!reader
it's a silly thing that brings you both to intimacy, but the intimacy is never silly.
3.0k words, smut (minors dni), incredibly soft sex, talks abt sex/dicks lol (if u can't talk abt it, then don't do it!), unprotected sex (wrap it before u tap it bro), penetrative sex, fingering, low-key body worship (f.receiving), so much kissing, pet name (sweetheart), mentions of a broken wrist and scars?
a/n: this is an extension to my fic night terrors on my main! there are a couple refs from the fic, but the established dynamic is a huge turnaround for me in terms of writing for changmin if u haven't read night terrors yet LMAO anyways, for me and @mosviqu ily bar!! <3
CHANGMIN HAD GROWN USED TO your random questions of curiosity. There was, after all, so much you didn't know about his world, and for the most part, he was perfectly fine divulging information to you and being honest. He cared about you, after all. Loved you, even. It was just what he felt around and about and for you.
“How do demons have sex?”
He nearly snorted water through his nose.
You glanced over at him innocently from where you were perched on the hotel bed, your phone connected to its charger discarded on the nightstand.
He cleared his throat, capping the water bottle and setting it aside so he wouldn't choke again. “Sorry?” He sputtered, thumping his fist against his chest.
Your eyelashes fluttered and you replied airily, “Do you have sex the way humans do? Like… vaginal penetration or…? Am I making sense? Do you even have a—”
“Yn, I have a dick,” he cut in, then made a face. “Why are we having this conversation again?”
The two of you were holed up in a hotel several hours’ ride from Moonstone Creek. You were currently on your way to meet one of Changmin's clients about a missing lucky witch's cauldron. Instead of shacking up at a motel, you insisted on staying at a nicer hotel for once. Screw saving money this time; your ass deserved a break after sitting in his car for however long. Maybe you should invest in a butt pad…
You shrugged, shifting your position so you sat at the foot of the bed with your feet dangling over the edge. You held your dominant wrist with the other hand—a month had passed since it had been shattered, and though almost completely healed, it was still a little tender. “I was just thinking,” you said. “Is it like a human d—”
“It's a penis, Yn,” he deadpanned. “You've seen one, right?”
Your skin warmed. “Of course, I have,” you sputtered. “I was just curious about your—” You stopped yourself. “That sounds wrong.”
Changmin arched a brow at you, braiding his arms over his chest as he leaned against the table across from you. “Supernatural creatures do have needs, too, you know. Sex isn't just a human thing.”
“I know that,” you shot back. Sex definitely wasn't exclusive to humans. “When was the last time you had sex?"
“I don't understand where this is coming from.”
“Are you a virgin?”
A laugh bubbled out of his mouth. “I think it's impossible for a demon to be a virgin in any sense,” he said, head tilted to the side, tongue tracing his slight smile. It was funny for him to think about, really.
His eyes fixated on you again. “Are you a virgin?”
“Me? No.” Even when you were working your ass off for your accounting degree, you managed to find time to socialize with somebody. It hadn't been that special, really, but the guy had been decent and not an asshole. By your limited scope, that was as okay a time as any.
The room descended into silence.
You could tell he was thinking about something with the crease between his brows and the muscle in his jaw twitching. You didn't know what it was, but you could read that much.
“So why haven't we had sex yet?” was the question that popped out of your mouth next. It wasn't necessarily directed for him to answer; it was more so a… thinking-aloud situation… right…
But by the surprise that flickered across his face, he was going to answer it anyway. “I—I don't know. I guess…” He scratched the side of his head. “I never really thought about it.”
“Oh.”
You could see the regret as soon as he said it.
He brushed a hand through his hair, stepping over to you and kneeling in front of you. His eyes fluttered closed for a second before opening again. “I didn't mean it—like that. I just mean that so much has happened that it's the last thing on my mind. I didn't want it to come off like I only wanted that from you.”
“I know you don't,” you said, leaning onto your knees to lower your face slightly toward his. “But we both have needs, don't we?”
“Are you saying you're in the mood?” He asked.
“I mean—I was looking out for both of us.” You sat up again, leaning back onto your hands, putting more emphasis on your nondominant one. He followed you up and stood between your legs, knee pressing down onto the mattress to lean over you and collect you in his arms.
You both tumbled onto the sheets, your face pressed to his chest and his chin tucked over your head, legs tangled together. “I don't know,” you muttered, “it's been a good month, and I guess I was just…” Insecure. “I’m being ridiculous though,” you laughed the thought away, “every couple goes at their own pace.”
His fingers grasped your chin and pulled your eyes to meet his. The eye contact was strangely intimate with him as it always was. “Yn,” he said lowly, “you’re not being ridiculous.”
He rolled his body over yours, arms bracketed around your head with your noses a breath apart. “Can I kiss you?” He asked in earnest, searching your face.
You nodded, eyes wide. “Yes.”
His hand curled around the back of your head as he lowered his mouth over yours. Your nose slotted beside his, and you raised your upper body to hold onto him and press yourself all the more close. You sighed, his tongue pressing into your mouth to deepen the kiss.
There had been a few other times you'd kissed before. There was no rush with this one. He took his sweet time with you, kissing you languidly, devouring you whole. His limbs wrapped around you like a python so you were unable to leave his grasp—as if you wanted to.
When you broke apart, you were flushed and his breathing was heavy. He brushed the hair from your face, your eyes glazed as you stared up at him. “I've never been intimate with someone I care so much about,” he confessed, his voice gravelly from the kiss. Your lips parted for his thumb as he dragged it over your bottom lip.
“Me neither,” you told him. You reached up to run your hand through his hair. “Is it scary?”
“The way I feel about you?” He wrestled down a swallow. “I'm terrified.” Terrified to break you, to lose you, to hurt you. Everything in between.
It wasn't always that you were given the privilege of seeing him so open and vulnerable. He had slowly become better around you, especially around you, but there was still a few things you had to get past. It was okay though; he just needed time. That much you understood. This was new to you, too.
“I'm nervous,” you admitted quietly, “but I trust you.”
He leaned down and pressed a kiss to your mouth. Your eyes fluttered closed. “I trust you, too.”
Changmin brought his lips to the corner of your mouth, then to the underside of your jaw. Your fingers buried themselves into his hair as he trailed his lips down the column of your neck as if to taste every inch of your skin.
Your heart palpitated in your chest and you held him close, neck craned to encourage him. A moan slipped from your mouth when you felt his teeth graze your pulse. The rough pad of his tongue swiped over the mark he left.
It was strange to think of how trust and love worked. It would be so easy to rip your throat out, but instead, he was here kissing you.
His fingers danced along the bottom hem of your shirt in silent question, and you guided his hand beneath the fabric and along your bare skin. You shuddered as his fingers trailed up your side and reached the edge of your bra.
He raised his lips up to meet yours again, eyes half lidded.
Your shirt came up and over your head, bra clasp unsnapping behind your body until your top half was bare before him.
And he looked at you under him with an expression you couldn't discern immediately. It was that thing he always did, the look he had in his eyes when he stared at you, but this time felt slightly different.
You shied away into yourself, one of your arms coming to lie across your chest. “What?” You let out a small laugh.
He swallowed, meeting your eyes. “I…” Changmin took your arm and brought your once-shattered wrist to his mouth. He pinned your arm above your head then, so he could see you. “Nothing, I just—you’re beautiful.”
Your resolve softened. “You can touch me.”
He kissed you again then, softly, one palm enclosing around your left breast. You shivered, your heart throwing itself up against its confines so it might reach the hand it wanted to be held in.
Changmin rolled one perked nipple between his fingers and you arched your chest up into his hand.
“I never say it—” He said, tongue swiping over your lips again for any and every taste of you, “—as much as you deserve to hear it.”
His lips met your pulse again, mouth trailing down your clavicle, to the pendant resting on your sternum. The pulsing of the scarlet mirrored your own racing heartbeat and gave your state of mind clean away. Every touch of his lips, lap of his tongue, nip of his teeth along your skin felt like he was tracing your outline and committing you to memory. Every inch of you, loved and worshiped and acknowledged. Not his to own, but his to cherish.
Changmin's shirt came off next, exposing a toned upper body marked in faded white scars here and there. Oh, to kiss each mark upon his body—an endeavor for another time. The twin to your necklace swung over you from around his neck as he returned himself to your embrace.
“You're beautiful, too—d’you know that?” You murmured to him between the breaths between kisses.
“Only if you show me.”
You smiled against his mouth. “Deal.”
You felt his mouth curl up in a similar gesture, his arms wrapping around your waist and pressing the length of his body against yours. His weight was a comfort, kissing him was a dream.
Changmin tugged the waistline of your pants down, fingers hooking in the elastic of your underwear, then pausing. “This okay, sweetheart?”
You nodded, and you helped kick your bottoms off and away. He was swift to follow suit, the belt of his buckle clinking together as he slid it off, then his jeans, and boxers. You could see the outline of his cock strain through the fabric before his aching, reddened length slapped against his lower stomach.
“Would it ruin the mood if I said that probably isn't what your demon form dick looks like?” You asked cheekily as he clambered back over you.
Changmin rolled his eyes. “I'm tryna be romantic and all you can talk about is—mmmph!”
You silenced him by dragging his mouth back down to yours. He melted into you, weaving his hand between your bodies so he could drag his fingers through your lower lips. You jolted at the feeling, your hips twitching in his direction in a silent plea.
He groaned low into your mouth, withdrawing as he circled his fingers through your arousal. “Is this all for me?” He asked, dipping a finger into your cunt. His thumb drew dizzying circles into your clit, and you swore you saw stars.
“Yeah, 's all for you,” you exhaled, earning you a searing kiss as he swallowed those words.
You pushed your hips against his hand, a pair of his thick fingers filling you up and curling against the sweet, gummy spot of your inner walls. It was as if he knew exactly where to find it, and knew exactly how much pressure would make you rocket up toward white-hot bliss.
You whimpered against his mouth as the tension in the pit of your stomach wound up tightly. “Changmin—”
“You close, sweetheart? Wanna see how pretty you look when you come.”
His thumb branded your clit with his fingerprint and drove you to insanity. Blood rushed in your ears, head spinning as he helped you over that crest. You cried out as you crashed and the steady pumping of his fingers coaxed you through it. Your fingers dug into the muscle of his shoulders, grounding you as your legs shook and toes curled.
His fingers maintained their steady pace as you came down from the high. You imagined you looked like something of a hot mess beneath him, but when your eyes fluttered up to meet his, you were struck by the tenderness in those dark irises.
When you could breathe evenly, he withdrew his fingers and collected your come to thumb over the pearl beaded at the tip of his cock. “Are you—was that okay?” He asked, his free hand thumbing your cheek. You saw his jaw twitch as he pumped his cock with his other hand, slickened with both of your arousal.
You gave a breathy laugh, and he nearly stopped at the sight of your smile. “Okay? That was—that was more than okay,” you said. “Ji Changmin, come here. Let me kiss you.”
It was something in the way he crushed his mouth against yours this time, one hand cradling the side of your face like you were all he ever wanted—the other coming up to grasp your side—that had your stomach doing flips. And if actions spoke louder than words, you wanted to believe that he was yelling them at you now. If he couldn't bring himself to scream them from the top of a building, this would be enough.
Your nose gently bumped against his. “Can I do something for you?”
He replied lowly between kisses, “Another time. Just… let me do this for you. It'll be enough for me.”
You melted in his hold, as if he didn't make you a fuzzy-chested, dizzy-headed mess all the time.
You felt him nudge your opening, and you locked your hands around his neck. Slowly, you felt a delicious stretch as he pushed into you. Changmin groaned into your neck, the sound making you arch yourself into him further. His voice alone sent you careening toward your own climax, it was so sensual.
Once he sat in you to the hilt, hips locked against hips, he lingered to give you a moment to get comfortable. The girth of him filled you up delectably, the pain only the undertone to pleasure.
He raised his head out of the crook of your neck. “Sweetheart?”
“Yeah—” you nodded, “—I’m good.”
He returned the gesture, biting his lip, then swooping down to kiss you again. “You're doing so well for me,” he murmured. “So warm, so tight. Fuck, you feel divine.”
He pulled himself out slightly, then gave an experimental thrust of his hips. Your hold tightened around him, a moan slipping from your lips. He held you as he continued this motion, a steady and strong rocking of his hips against yours, cock dragging along your walls in confident strokes.
He tucked his head back into your shoulder, lips pressing open mouthed kisses to your hot skin. You could feel the dampness between your thighs dribble down your legs, and you were gradually clambering back onto that hill with your stomach twisting in pleasure.
His labored breathing filled your ear, followed by his mouth—marks lovingly pressed into your flesh and whispered in your ear. You locked a leg around his slim waist and met his thrusts, the pacing quickening slightly as you both began approaching your highs.
Your voice came out choked and desperate. “Changmin, I'm…”
“Yeah, sweetheart; I got you.” Changmin pushed himself back up to hover over you for the last few thrusts, his lips pressed together tightly and sweat dripping down the slope of his nose. He slipped a hand between your bodies again and worked at your nub—and it was all you needed to be pushed over that edge again.
You cried out his name, fingernails burying themselves in his shoulders. You clenched down hard around him, breathing hard and ragged.
You thought you heard him groan out your name as his hips stilled and he came. You exhaled heavily, his body wrapping around yours again while you both caught your breath and descended from bliss.
He left a kiss just below your ear and you cupped the back of his head and shoulders to your body. “Fuck me,” he muttered, rolling your bodies to the side, legs sticky and tangled together.
“Didn't I just do that?” You mused.
He chuckled, moving his head to bump his nose against yours. “Yeah, guess so.” Changmin gazed at you then, eyes searching and searching and searching. You never asked what he was looking for; you always figured he'd one day be able to tell you.
He licked his lips and a crease formed between his brows. “Yn… Yn, I…”
The voice inside his throat remained trapped, the words on his tongue froze. You looked up at him, glassy-eyed and patient, the tilt of your lips so sweet and terribly beautiful. He'd never been at such a loss for words.
You moved forward to press a kiss to his mouth. “I know,” you said. Even if he couldn't say it yet, you always knew.
He swallowed, a moment of silence falling between the two of you. His heart careened against his chest, and he was sure if the amulet he wore now had his blood running through it, the damn thing would pound away like a galloping horse.
He wondered how he got so lucky.
But though he couldn't express it in words, he would always find a different way to reassure you that he felt the same. Changmin leaned forward and wordlessly captured your lips again, rolling you onto your back and pressing every last word he hadn't the guts to say into this searing kiss.
I love you, I adore you. Thank you. Be mine, in life and death; mortally and immortally. Every promise, he would strive to keep.
a/n: at one point, yes, i will write abt sex in his demon form LMAO what did u expect from me 🤣 anyways, this turned out to be around the length of an actual chapter of nt haha
m.list
#the boyz x reader#the boyz smut#ji changmin x reader#changmin x reader#ji changmin smut#the boyz imagines#the boyz scenarios#the boyz fanfic#the boyz drabbles#the boyz oneshot#ji changmin oneshot#ji changmin imagines#ji changmin scenarios#ji changmin drabbles
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“Attention Seeker”
SLYTHERIN OC X GN! GRYFFINDOR READER
Prompt: gaining the attention of the infamous Noah Drost, you must say you didn’t expect to like it in the end of it all.
Dynamic: strangers to enemies to lovers
Warning: didn’t proofread much, mistakes of writing, mentions of fighting and a small fight scene.
A/N: I’m bored so I wrote this while listening to an edit audio. It may be bad cause I never wrote for Hogwarts and might never will. WHO knows. Also inspired my Harry Potter phase and by Slytherin boy writers such as @theodorenmyth @phas3d @ahqkas and much more. (amazing writers btw!)
Noah Drost, Drost never knew to stop being a dickhead is what most Gryffindors said about the Slytherin. Always causing trouble and always setting people for failure, oddly he was an attractive lad with dashing charms. You never got the hype on why some of your girl housemates would even thirst for a "prick" like him. You never really got to know him, but the way he jokes around with others, the way his beautiful brown skin and that slit eyebrow did make it hard not to stare. But was he reallly that handsome to you? No one knows really.
What you mostly didn’t expect was to catch his attention. You didn’t need it later, and you definitely don’t need it now. He was certainly staring at you during charms class. Professor Flitwick was just yapping away in his lecture while you doodled a bit and took notes. Apparently doodling isn’t so peaceful when you keep feeling paper hit the back of your head. You turn around quickly with a sharp look only to see no one suspicious. But when you turned around, there it goes again. Those paper balls hitting your head. You turned around only for a paper ball to hit a bulleyes on your face. That’s when you heard that signature chuckle. You whipped your head at the curly haired boy who seemed to smirk a bit. "Why in the bloody hell is he messing with me?" You thought as you scoffed and went back to fully focusing now to the professor.
Week 1, your notes had ‘suddenly’ disappeared after you set them down? That couldn’t be right as you literally had them there…you kept checking around your desk. You were certainly going to freak out as you wanted to have a good grade. You’re not that much of an overachiever, but to not be with the class. You asked granger where your notes are and she looked sorry for you. She said she didn’t know and offer to help a bit. But really Noah was just chuckling behind his hand.
Week 2, after you figure out who took your notes. You made it clear to stay away from Noah but still give him dirty looks. He eyes you from across the hall, his deep brown eyes following your every move completely. Like a predator watching its meal walk freely. He hasn’t said anything yet which was good, but unfortunately wasn’t him. Usually he called you “lion” or “the cowardly lion” matter of fact when you didn’t do something about his antics. You scoffed at the thought of even thinking about him. “Thinking of sweet ol' me?” You jumped as you didn’t notice you practically walked past him. “How did he know?!” You thought turning around with an annoyed look. “Why in Merlin’s beard would I think about you?” You said crossing your own arms. Drost smirks as his eyes just hook onto your own. “I know everythin'…you can’t hide your prettty little head from me.” He then taps your head with one finger and taps his own head. You felt your eyes widen as your face felt warm. Quickly you walked away, hearing that echoing chuckle from the boy you seen. You hated his guts.
Week 3 was the final stretch for you. You was certainly in potions class, a fellow Gryffindor was giving you instructions. You mostly hated potions class because of professor snape, you knew he didn’t much like Gryffindors. So you didn’t want to mess up in front of his watchful eyes. As you look in the book and grabbed some ingredients, a figure quickly added another ingredient in the cauldron. Preventing from being seen by you, the gryffindor, and snape. Finally collected the ingredients, you set the recipe down. You only added a small piece of wolfsbane then suddenly the cauldron exploded. Particles of liquid scattered around the class, even hitting your face as you gasp. And there it goes again, that chuckle that seemed to enraged your whole soul and being. You swiftly turn around to yell only to face snape. And he did not look impressed. “..10 points from Gryffindors.” He said, looking down at you with a look that made you feel small. Most of the class laugh except for the Gryffindor you were helping. You glazed your eyes over towards the slytherin who you knew did this. Noah only smiled, a cruel smile. And you weren’t gonna let this slide for another second.
As it hit lunch time, everyone was sitted perfectly in the great hall. Almost too perfectly for a lunch. “DROST!” You yelled with a bellow. The great hall fell silent as you strutted a powerful walk. Your shoes echoing with each step as your eyes made an auto aim on the boy’s face. Your knuckles were almost white with how tight you held your wand in your dominant hand. Noah looks up, amazed at the Gryffindor he’s been pissing off lately. “Ah L/N..what must the Gryffindor want from me?” He says, his dimples showing with a small smile. “You bloody bastard! You sabotaged my cauldron and I want you to admit to professor snape or else I’ll drag you by your damned cloak and make you.” You said, you felt your heart pounding by your adrenaline. “Or what?” Noah said with a dark look. He stood up with a smirk, he was practically towering you. You stood your ground as you poke your wand to his chest. “What you gonna do lion? Roar your little words at me?” He grabbed your wrist tightly. You narrowed your eyes as you tried to pull your hand back only for him to bring it closer to his heart. He was testing you.
“Do it. Show everyone how 'brave' you are my lil lion.” You immediately dropped your wand and he smirked. You lifted your other hand and slapped him. The slap echoed making everyone’s head turn to the situation. Noah’s head was turned from your slap, he touched with his other hand that wasn’t holding your dominant hand. He scoffed and pushed you away. “Really? A slap. What are you, a ch—” before you knew it, your body reacted than your own mind. That’s when you punched him and he landed on his arse. His nose bleeding a bit. Now most students started an uproar. Noah angrily got up and tackled you to the ground. You grunted before feeling a punch to your cheek. “So you finally had the balls?!” He yelled grabbing to your shirt. His eyes dark, and the blood dropped to his mouth. Before he could land another punch he started to levitate in the air.
“Wingardium Leviosa!” a professor said as they immediately separated the two of you. Noah smiled crazily seeing you getting help by a student of another house. You glared at him before he got set down and escorted out. You still kept your eyes on the back of his head. That’s when he turned around and lick the blood off of his lips. You froze and looked away before a professor had told you that you will be getting detention tomorrow after you get checked up on in the hospital wing. You nodded, not having the energy to say anything else. The image of Noah’s face was now engraved deeply in your brain.
Honestly you hated his fucking face. You hated how he can just smirk with his nose bleeding, you hated how that was actually hot.
Maybe detention with him won’t be so bad..
Noah sat in his desk away from your own desk. You were doodling as he just stared at you from afar. You tried to ignore that heated gaze that sat perfectly on you. With each drumming tap of his fingers on the desk he was at. It was getting hard to ignore him minute by minute. “Y’know…I find it intriguing how you stood up to me. Lion.” He said with a tone you can’t explain. He smiled seeing you paused your drawing. “When you hit me, it felt like a kiss to remind me that you’re quite a brave one. Just unlike some Gryffindors.” You looked up at him weirded out as he only smirked. His dimples showing clearly which made your heart thump a bit. He tilted his head to the cheek he punched yesterday. “You look even more beautiful with that bandge on. Suits how coool you are my dear.” He teases lifting his head up as you lifted your own hand to touch your cheek. You scoffed looking away from the Slytherin. He raised a brow, sitting up correctly. He kept his brown eyes on you. He started to chew inside his mouth, he started to have second thoughts in how he basically pushed your limits during the weeks. He cleared his throat, getting out of his seat in one motion going towards you. “I..uhm. I’m sorry.” You slowly look up to see him walk towards you. His head down as he suck in his lip. “I was quite the arse to you and I must say I’m sorry for how I made you feel.” Those brown eyes that you can’t look away looks directly to your own eyes.
You for once seen vulnerability in his eyes. His brown eyes that seem to melt wonderfully towards your own eyes. You watch him closely incase it was one of his little lies. He kept that stare, a stare that begs for you to forgive. He cleared his throat again looking away from you. “It’s alright if you don’t forgive..you were right of course to call me a 'bloody bastard' love.” You chuckled at the pet name but mostly cause of the lack of confidence in his stance as well. His shuffling feet made it amusing on his part. You never seen him act this way before. You stood chuckling as you got up to face him. “Well…I suppose I forgive you.” You put out your hand for a truce. Noah’s eyes light up like stars, quickly taking your hand and shaking it with a smile. “Thank you li…I mean L/N..” he smiles, stopping himself to even call you lion. But you must admit to yourself that you did like the little nickname he gave you. “You like the nickname?” You jumped as you let go of his hand, only to see his devilish smirk. Before you could try to deny it, he intertwined his hand to yours. Bringing you close to his face.
He smirks, grabbing you by the back of your head. Your heads close together, eyes making contact as you held your breath. His smirk only grew wider, that dark wood scent was driving you crazy and he knew it. “Cmon darlin', speak your mind. I know your pretty little mouth likes to chat away.” He said, his voice low so you could only hear him. You bite the inside of your cheek, you wanted to slap him. But also kiss his lips, you didn’t know what to do. All you could was stare into his deep brown eyes that seem to hypnotize you. “Cmon darlin', I’m waitin'.” He starts to move away, his fingers leaving a slight lingering touch on the back of your head. As he smirked he didn’t know what shocked him most when you grabbed him by his tie and smashed your lips to his. His eyes widen, before you could break away embarrassed by your own boldness. He grabbed the side of your face and kissed you deeper, leaning forward. It was a hungry deep kiss, but also passionate. You drowned in his scent, the scent clogging up all your senses.
And ever since that, everything changed. And not for the worst surprisingly. Days turned into weeks and weeks turned into months with you two together. He started to actually be sweet than what was underneath that tough boy mask. He always carried your books, held your hand. He was slightly clingy but not in an overwhelming sense. He even makes sure you understand the class and give you notes. His teases are still there, but he’s more softer. You like how soft and how he shows how vulnerable he is.
One day, Noah basically ran towards you and tackled you to the floor, smiling wide with his pearly whites. “Ah my favorite lion! Have you missed me dear, why wouldn’t you.” The Slytherin boy had to go to a tutoring session and missed relaxing with you in the courtyard. He got up dusting his cloaks and helped you up as well. He seemed very happy to see you today, some students walked by. Giving odd glances that a Slytherin and a Gryffindor was much in a committed relationship. “Ah my favorite snake.” You snickered at him, he seemed to be waiting for something as he kept a closed smile on his face. The boy was nearly smiling his bloody ear off. You raise a brow while his own smile turned into a smirk. That’s where you realize and chuckle, leaning forward to do a small peck on his lips only for him to gently cup your face and kiss you hungrily. You must say, he is an eager man.
A/N: Sorry if it’s bad, I never wrote a troupe like this one. Hope it’s good!
#slytherin oc#slytherin x reader#deadghosy writes!#I’m bored lol#hogwarts#harry potter oc#harry potter phase#Harry Potter x reader#slytherin x gryffindor#golden trio era#Noah Drost🐍#🦆#inspired#Slytherin x gryffindor reader#gryffindor#gryffindor reader#oc x reader#oc x y/n#oc x you#Slytherin boys oc#slytherin boys#Slytherin boy
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saw one of your old posts about Davina and Bonnie. I know you ship Klonnie and I was curious if you think Klavina?(klaus/davinas) dynamic is what Klonnie’s would’ve started off as
I felt like Bonnie was robbed in canon but Davina is elevated in the show even when she’s kicked aside she still gets her happy ending by the end of it all.
Hiii!
So, while I used to be so against her, towards the end of the show's run, I didn't mind Davina because, at the end of a very long day, she was a kid caught in supernatural business. However, it was painfully obvious to me that Davina was who they refused to let Bonnie be. She was their pitiful attempt to erase Bonnie. However, it didn't work because she was quickly cast aside, which I believe was because they never had a real purpose for her EXCEPT to erase Bonnie.
With all that said, yes, the way Davina kept her foot on Klaus's neck would have been identical to how I imagined Bonnie would be. We already saw her be that way with Damon. Damon couldn't pass gas without Bonnie showing up to make sure no one else smelled it lmao.
The possibilities in which the two of them would eventually warm up to one another are endless, and I feel like every Klonnie story in existence has found its own ways of showcasing how the two of them would eventually come together.
I am a SUCKER for forced proximity which I think works excellent for Enemies to Lovers tropes. But I also think the two of them would just naturally realize that they're two sides of the same coin and find their stake in each other's lives that way.
(This next part is me rambling and has nothing to do with what you asked, so you can skip past the italicized text if you want lol.)
People always see Bonnie as this moral beacon that is full of light but if you really dig deep, Bonnie is a very dark character. She is the antithesis of evil, which does not always equate to what we define as 'good.' Bonnie's goodness is rooted in the way she masters evil, and she knows how and when to tap in. (For example: Trying to kill Damon by fire.)
Most "good' characters we see in media today aren't actually good, they're harmless. Elena is a perfect example of this. Just because she was physically unable to hurt a fly doesn't mean she was a good person. Her selfishness placed Bonnie in ugly situations plenty of times, but it was brushed off because she was trying to be good. (Think of how Seattle responded to the BLM protests and how it negatively affected the whole movement. They 'meant' well, but we caught the fire behind that mess.)
On the flip side, Bonnie would be classified as an 'extremist' if she was in a political landscape. That said, Klaus is also an extremist but on the opposite end. (Think 'right-wing' and 'left-wing' but without the political connotations.) In my opinion, this is why they work so well together but they're bound to bump heads because of it.
(And now, back to Klonnie!)
There are so many commonalities between the two of them that make shipping Klonnie so fun.
Similar to how two siblings can grow up in the same house and face the same trauma but end up polar opposites of one another, that's how I view Klonnie's commonalities (minus the sibling bit, obviously). They both faced similar traumas, but how they processed it turned them into different people. Klaus is the Yin to Bonnie's Yang.
Shared Traumas:
Parental Negligence
Bonnie: Rudy was negligent after Abby left him and Bonnie and thus Bonnie grew up alone with only Grams who failed to teach Bonnie about her heritage. (I'm aware it was against Rudy's wishes but I'm still side-eyeing lol.)
Klaus: Esther was negligent in keeping his father's identity from him and allowing her husband to abuse him. Also, she created that necklace to weaken him for her own selfishness, thus putting the target on his back when it came to Mikael.
Abandonment
Bonnie: Her mother walked out on her for no legitimate reason. Her father was always gone and Grams was an alcoholic (so they say). Even the people in her life were emotionally absent. Then you have her friends who left her to deal with the consequences of magic alone.
Klaus: After killing their mother, he had a deep fear of his siblings abandoning him. Therefore, he became obsessed with loyalty. His biological father was nowhere to be found until a thousand years later.
For brevity's sake, I'll stop with those two but they have others.
How they processed these traumas is so interesting:
They both gained an unnatural sense of loyalty, which lies in the fear of abandonment. Klaus forced loyalty onto others, while Bonnie gave loyalty to those who never earned it or didn't deserve it.
Bonnie became codependent on her friends because she had no one else, and Klaus became co-dependent on his family for the same.
Bonnie became overburdened by responsibility. She became everyone's 'go-to' for morality and protection, which gave her a skewed sense of importance, but it also burned her out. Klaus became controlling and constantly sought validation (from Elijah in particular).
Klaus ruled through fear because of Mikael's abuse. Everyone's acceptance of Mikael's abuse sort of validated his use of fear as a way of controlling people. Bonnie used her morality as a means of control for both herself and others.
Klaus is very self-loathing, and while Bonnie doesn't initially appear to be that way, she is too. Her strong moral code is just that, her way of torturing herself. (For example: Constantly sacrificing herself for 'good' simply because she has the duty of wielding magic.)
If Klaus controlled his siblings, Bonnie's control came with how she wielded that moral compass of hers. Seeing everyone around her live freely was triggering because she had to be responsible so early in her life. She never got to make mistakes. Mistakes meant abandonment to her, so she walked a fine line and tried to force others to do the same. (This may be why she struggled with her magic so often. I often wondered if the spirits were actually punishing her or if she was self-actualizing and punishing herself subconsciously.)
This is the tip of the iceberg with these two, but can you already see the pattern? My favorite aspect is how one craves what the other has. Klaus craves loyalty, and Bonnie craves control. They both want what the other (seemingly) has.
#klonnie#anonymous#asks#just me rambling about two idiots I can never let go of#anti-davina#anti-elena#not really but i'm tagging it just in case someone gets snarky
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I tap a knuckle against the study door.
“Dad?”
There’s silence.
I knock again. “Dad? Are you busy?”
He’s moving around in there, I can hear him. Closing browser tabs, maybe. Shuffling around and rearranging things, in a blind panic trying to look like he’s doing something important. I huff out a tiny laugh at the thought of him hurrying to close the minesweeper window before someone can come in and catch him doing something unserious. I don’t really know what he does in his pokey little study all evening, but one of Jen’s crazy theories is that he’s chatting online to his twenty two year old YouTuber girlfriend, to which I need to remind her, once again, that my dad is too boring to have an affair. Mom says he’s writing reports and even that sounds too exciting for him.
“Come in,” he says eventually, and I let myself into his lair where he is sitting stoically at his computer, a stack of paper, no doubt with exceedingly dull information on them is right by his side, and his hand hovers over it so I'll know he’s especially busy, and whatever it is, I had better make it quick.
I close the door behind me and approach him while his eyes settle curiously on the stack of soft cover books in my hands. “What are those?”
“I spoke to the guidance counsellor at school this week. She gave me some college prospectuses, and I thought we could... um, look through them together”
He heaves out a sigh and gestures to the second chair. The guest chair, I suppose, not that there’s ever guests in here to sit on it. It’s uncomfortable like a lot of furniture in this house, all style but no substance, and I perch on its edge, my knee doing that annoying anxious jerking thing while dad takes off his glasses and swaps them with another pair. “Show me what you have.”
I pass the stack to him and he drops it onto his desk with a thud, picks up the first and immediately flips the front cover towards me with a completely uncalled for attitude. “What’s this?”
“A prospectus.”
“Rhode Island School of Design?”
“Yes.”
He tosses it aside without so much as a glance inside it and grabs the next, “School of the Art Institute, Chicago,” Then reads the blurb incredulously “‘Art and design change the world.’ Alright…” He raises his eyebrows and puffs out a breath as he chucks it into the discard pile. “CalArts, nope.”
My face gets hot.
He snatches another and flips over to the back, “‘Studying here is different,’” He reads, “‘It is about making a better world, about becoming a creative force and learning to change the world through bold and curious thinking…’” He mumbles the rest and then scoffs at it as if it’s some political argument he disagrees with inside the Sunday Times, and he goes on and on in this manner while the rejection pile builds and builds and so does the feeling inside me.
“What is this?” He says eventually. “These are all American schools. American art schools.”
“Yes.”
He scrutinises me like he believes I have gone mad yet says nothing because he doesn’t need to. I already know what he’s asking.
The words come out of me in a rush. I rehearsed this in the hall for five minutes before having the nerve to knock, “Because I think I would get a chance at a really great education there. It’d be good for me to be away and independent and to learn a lot of new things, not just education and art, but also travel and culture. I’d really like to go to college somewhere that’s exciting and dynamic and… and…” Damn, I forgot the other adjective I’d chosen, “...Um, fun, I guess. It’s just that whenever I think about college I imagine myself in the US. I really think that’s where I should be.”
“That’s because that’s what you see in those movies.” He says movies like one might say hardcore pornography, because Christopher doesn’t waste his time with such things as movies. Christopher works, and studies, and reads endless, endless books about World War II. “You’re not going to college in the states.”
“Why not?”
“Because it’s a waste of time and it’s a waste of money. Do you know what it costs to attend just a year of college in the US? Before your living expenses?”
“I know, but I spoke to the counsellor about it, and she explained that there are scholarships.”
He laughs, “You’re not going to get a scholarship,” and switches back to his other glasses and shakes his mouse to wake up his PC, which has some kind of thrilling spreadsheet open on it. This 2009 financial report must be rapturously exciting if he’s more interested in it than the future of his only son and firstborn child.
I inhale sharply, “But why couldn’t I get a scholarship?”
“Because,” He types some numbers into the sheet, “You’d have to have a pristine academic record, a long list of extracurriculars and a very persuasive personal statement,” he peers briefly at me over the rim of his specs, “I’ve been through the US education system, and I know the standard that these colleges expect of their scholarship students. You’re just not up to it.”
“I could be, if I worked hard. I’m already doing pretty well in all of my classes, like, I get Bs in most things-” I stop myself before unhelpfully adding, without even trying, “And I have extracurriculars, like, I play rugby and help out Jen with her maths work…”
“You have to understand that the kinds of people who earn these scholarships do a lot more than that.”
“Well I would do more things if I had more time to myself in the mornings, or in the evenings, or after school, or at any other point in my day when I have to ferry Ivy back and forth from-”
Dad barrels on as though he hasn’t registered that I am speaking, “And you know, as well as the extracurriculars, all of these scholarship students have exemplary records. They're well mannered, well behaved, they never get into trouble, never get detention, never mind suspension. Twice.”
I snap my mouth shut.
“Honestly, if I was the dean of one of these,” he plucks at the limp corner of one of the prospectuses, “Art college places, and I saw an application from someone with your record, I would simply toss it out. There’s not a chance, and before you ask, I am not paying for art school when you could easily do that here. For free.”
“Okay, I understand that, but I don’t really want to go to college here if I can avoid it.”
He doesn’t ask me why. He already knows but doesn't want to acknowledge it, and it’s easier, as it always is, just not to discuss feelings. Any feelings, especially mine, which are the most irritating and irrational feelings of all. “Why art school?” He hums, idly poking around with something on screen. “Couldn’t you choose a more academic course?”
I’m surprised he thinks I’m capable based on all the things he just said about me.
“You could apply for something in Trinity. Math, maybe?”
“Maths.”
“Or if you want something more artistic you could try English. Literature. That would be interesting, don't you think?”
“Or I could just… do art.”
“I would just hate to see you become one of those arty types. One of that NCAD crowd loitering around Thomas Street with their facial piercings and crazy haircuts.”
Oh no, a haircut. I sigh, “I’m not going to NCAD. I was kind of hoping you’d be more enthusiastic about my choices, but if you don’t think they’re right, I mean… what can I do.” I loathe the laugh that comes out of me, this strange, nervous titter that I didn’t even realise I was capable of.
I get up and begin to gather the stack of prospectuses laying forlornly on my father’s desk, my hopes and dreams bound for the recycling bin. “I’ll speak to the guidance counsellor again about my options, I suppose, and then I’ll try and choose something that’s more realistic for me.”
Before I let myself out I force myself to pause and turn to him one last time, “Do you… um, if I come up with more choices for colleges, do you think you’d want to sit down with me some evening and go through them? Like, I mean, really look over all of the options and help me decide what the best thing is?”
There is a lengthy pause.
“You know, Jude, I’m really busy, and-”
“Okay.” I leave the room and shut the door with a gentle click.
Beginning // Prev // Next
#lucky boy 2009#there Jen he did it#are you happy now#anyone who thinks Christopher is hot can KEEP IT TO YOURSELF#no dilf comments here#he's a heartless bastard
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𝑰 𝑭𝒂𝒍𝒍 𝑯𝒆𝒍𝒑𝒍𝒆𝒔𝒔𝒍𝒚 𝑭𝒐𝒓 𝒀𝒐𝒖 | 𝒁𝒆𝒌𝒆 𝒀𝒆𝒂𝒈𝒆𝒓 𝒙 𝑹𝒆𝒂𝒅𝒆𝒓 | 𝑪𝒉𝒂𝒑𝒕𝒆𝒓 𝟏
Rating: M Word Count: 4,307 Tags: reader has a name but is not described, childhood friends, zeke yeager being an asshole
Summary: After nearly ten years, Zeke Yeager reconnects with you, an Eldian doctor assigned as his psychiatrist. As children, you were out of reach—two years older and the object of a youthful crush. Then, he became a Warrior, and the dynamic shifted. Now, as you navigate the complexities of your new professional relationship, where do you stand? Who holds the power in this tug of war?
next chapter | masterlist | cross posted to ao3
Chapter 1: Zeke
Now
The clinic had seen better days.
Zeke runs a finger along the edge of the leather chair, worn to a muted gray and faintly sticky from polish. At the edge of the desk in front of him sits a brass nameplate reading Dr. Stella Faust , its corners rubbed dull, matching the desk’s simple finish. Behind that, a scattering of papers held in place by a glass paperweight shaped like a globe. A half-finished cup of coffee, rim stained with a reddish-brown shade of lipstick, still releasing thin tendrils of steam from the dark liquid inside.
A modest room by any standard, this office has none of the sterility or gleaming cleanliness of the infirmary at the Warrior training facilities. Instead, the faint smell of antiseptic lingers in the air, mingling with a hint of old wood and what Zeke thinks might be lavender.
Certificates line the walls behind the desk, framed simply in dark wood. He notes them with a mix of curiosity and ambivalence. ‘Psychiatry Residency, Graduate School of Medical Sciences’ , read one—stamped with the requisite seal of approval and signed by an Eldian doctor. Despite the titles, the certifications seem out of place in the drab room, like they were striving to belong to a more prestigious setting.
As his eyes wander, he catches a few personal touches. A fountain pen with an intricately carved handle. A small porcelain vase holding dried lavender springs—ah, that’s where the scent was coming from. A leather-bound notebook cracked open and filled with neat, looping handwriting.
Zeke finds himself staring at the handwriting a little longer than he meant to, tracing the careful lines and loops in his mind. His pulse thrums steadily as he adjusts his glasses on the bridge of his nose, and the clock on the wall ticks louder than it had a right to.
“—Captain Yeager?”
Jogged from his thoughts, he meets the gaze of the woman sitting across the desk from him. You had noticed him staring at your notebook, and you reach out to close the cover.
“Did you hear what I said?” you ask, arching one brow at him expectantly.
He conjures an easy smile. “How have you been, Stella?”
“That’s Dr. Faust , if you please,” you correct, your voice perfectly even. “I worked hard for that title.”
Zeke’s smile barely falters as you tucked the notebook into a drawer and fold your hands neatly on the desk. “Dr. Faust, then. How have you been?”
You ignore the question, opting instead for a clinical tone. “I’m evaluating your mental readiness before your mission to Paradis Island. I don’t really feel any sort of way toward it. I’ll ask again—how have you been sleeping, Captain?”
Affecting a casual posture, Zeke crosses his arms and leaned back. “Well enough.”
Nodding, you reached for your fountain pen and angle your body forward to start scratching notes onto the paper in front of you. Zeke had been prepared to leave it at that, but he's curious. He can’t help it. There's a shared familiarity between the two of you, even if it's buried under layers of protocol now.
“I’m more interested in why you agreed to take my case.”
For the briefest moment, your pen hesitates. Then, it resumes its steady path across the paper. You draw in a slow breath, visibly forcing yourself to relax your shoulders.
“It’s complicated,” you say. With a practiced calm, you tap your pen gently against the evaluation form. “I’ll put you down as ‘having difficulty concentrating’, then.”
Zeke lets out a soft chuckle and folds his hands in his lap. “That’s fair.”
Your eyes narrow slightly. “Let’s stay on topic, Captain. And answer honestly. Have you experienced any difficulty focusing during recent training exercises?”
He glances at the lavender, the gray-purple buds scattered around the vase, lingering there as he considers his response. “No. My focus is steady during training.”
You jot another note. “Any issues concentrating when you’re not on duty? Trouble keeping your thoughts organized?”
“None that affect my performance. I find myself just… thinking through strategy. Keeping mentally prepared.”
You barely glance up, though he can tell you're paying attention to his phrasing. “And how would you describe your motivation for combat readiness? Has it changed at all since receiving your assignment?”
“I’d say my motivation is as strong as it’s ever been. I understand what’s at stake.”
“Good,” you reply crisply. You pause, tapping the pen lightly on your thumb, then look up at him impassively. “What does loyalty to Marley mean to you personally?”
This one makes him pause. Zeke knows the importance of answering carefully. The Marleyan brass had only recently started taking psych evals of their Warriors seriously, but he understands the scrutiny he's under. If you want to keep your life, you would think twice about not reporting everything you found.
Question was, how far could he push you before your reports turned unfavorable?
“Loyalty is my duty, both as an Eldian and as a Warrior. Whatever is required of me for Marley, I’m meant to see it through.”
You hold his gaze, as if waiting for more. Zeke watches you back and muses silently. Your shared history must have been something the brass overlooked. Surely, someone would’ve flagged it as a conflict of interest if they’d known. Or perhaps, they thought you could remain unbiased—which, for some reason, is worse to imagine.
He leans forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “You’re staring, Dr. Faust. Didn’t realize your evaluation required so much observation.”
If you're rattled by the hint of a taunt in his tone, you hide it well. You simply set your pen down, eyes not leaving his.
“Funny, you’re staring right back, Captain.”
It's true. Not bothering to hide, Zeke lets his gaze rake down the top half of your form, visible from behind your desk. You’d been eighteen, last he properly saw you—already a woman. And yet, your features seem to fit you even better now, at twenty-seven. You scowl at him now, like you had divined his thoughts.
“Observing,” he corrects. “There’s a difference.”
You tilt your head. “So, I’m observing you, then. You’ve changed quite a bit.”
He raises an eyebrow, feigning surprise. “Is that a compliment, Doctor?”
“Hardly. This whole…,” you gesture one hand vaguely toward his face, “scruffy look you’ve got going on isn’t quite as charming as I imagine you think it is.”
Zeke brushes his fingers over his beard with a look of mock offense. “I’ll have you know this beard is very well-received. By women lacking your clinical eye.”
You huff and roll your eyes. “Yes, I’m sure it’s all the rage. Still, it’s a far cry from the Zeke Yeager I remember—polished, reserved, and almost painfully well-behaved.”
He lets out a short laugh. “Painfully, huh? Guess you didn’t appreciate the golden boy routine?”
“Let’s just say it was predictable.”
“You’d prefer me predictable, then?” Zeke says with a small smirk.
You glance out the window, at the gold-lined puffs of cloud in the sky. “I’d prefer you honest. Predictable or not.”
You’d always been good at implicitly drawing the line between the two of you. You didn’t need words to do it—you could accomplish it with a single look or gesture, even through the easy back-and-forth you've both seemed to have temporarily fallen into. With impressive ease, you pull herself back.
“Right,” you say briskly. “Back on track, Captain.”
Zeke nods once. “By all means, Doctor.”
You flip the page in front of you. “Would you consider it more important to complete a mission objective than to safeguard a fellow Warrior?”
His answer is immediate, cool and direct. “The mission always comes first.”
“And how do you view the possibility of your family being rewarded or… punished based on your actions in the field?”
He takes a moment to let the question hang, and you lift your gaze to his. You know, of course, about his parents. About who informed on them as Eldian Restorationists.
“My family understands the price of honor,” Zeke says at length. “Their reward or punishment will be a reflection of my loyalty to Marley.”
Your face is a careful mask as you look back down to jot down his response. But he can tell you're reading between every line. Good—he wants you to. He wants you to see the carefully constructed answers, the meticulous deference to Marley’s expectations. He's feeding you what the brass wants, exactly as they want it, and you both knew it.
There was a time when your opinions would have made him stumble, back when you seemed worlds more experienced in his young eyes. You had been the untouchable one then. The one with all the knowledge, whose approval he quietly pined for. But now, with the honorary Marleyan title wrapped around his shoulders and the weight of his military status anchoring him, Zeke is the one with the upper hand.
Pressing your lips together briefly, you glance down at your notes. “How would you describe your sense of duty to Marley, beyond the mission itself?”
Zeke leans back, aping a thoughtful expression. “My sense of duty? Well, I’d say it’s unwavering. Marley’s given me everything.”
He smiles, a bit too wide, knowing exactly how hollow his words must sound to you. You jot down his response without reaction.
“And what about maintaining discipline under stress? How do you handle moments when orders seem contradictory or difficult to follow?”
“It’s been so long. Nearly a decade since we talked this much,” Zeke says, casually inspecting his fingertips, flicking his thumb across the surface of one nail. “I had to get all my news secondhand. Didn’t you have a boyfriend back in med school? Some surgeon. What was his name…?”
You give him a dry look. “That’s irrelevant.”
He lets a smile tug at his lips. “So, it didn’t last?”
“Residency was a little too demanding on my time, I’m sure you can imagine,” you say icily. “Now, answer the question, please. How do you handle contradictory or difficult to follow orders?”
“Easy,” he replies. “I follow the chain of command without question. Discipline’s the foundation of a good soldier, isn’t it?”
You straighten, sitting a little taller. Zeke lets his gaze track the movement, the way it makes your chest push out just a bit more. You're wearing something so modest and unassuming, a plain button down with a cardigan over top, but he likes the way the fabric just barely clings to your form.
“Have you given any thought to the consequences of your actions, should you fail?”
Zeke smirks as your gaze snaps up to his. “I don’t plan to fail. But hey, life’s full of surprises, right? So, where’re you living these days, anyway?”
You stare at him, unblinking, waiting for a real answer.
“Fine,” he sighs. “If I were to fail—which, as I said, I don’t plan on—I know what’s at risk. I’m aware of the stakes.”
“Good,” she says, tone softening just slightly as you write. “I’m still living with my parents.”
There it is. Zeke spots his opening, the chink in your armor. All he has to do is needle in.
“And how do you handle frustration with authority? Anger when things don’t go the way you planned?” you ask after clearing your throat.
He shrugs. “Honestly, it’s hard to get frustrated with authority when you know you’re on a timer.” He lets the words hang, just for a moment, then continues, “Eight years, you know? That’s how long I’ve had the Beast. Just five more to go, give or take.”
Your pen pauses mid-note, your face betraying the smallest flicker of something. Regret, Zeke thinks. Or recognition, perhaps, of the cruel arithmetic every Titan shifter faces. Your guard slips even further, and he seizes the opportunity, burrowing his way in.
“Five years,” he repeats, lowering his voice. “You start to see things differently. Priorities shift. Why waste energy on anger?”
The slight narrowing of your eyes betrays your struggle to hide the way his words have affected you. There's a sharp understanding there, as palpable as his own, of what it means to be a Marleyan Warrior. To be cut down in one’s prime for the sake of power he would never truly own.
“Not quite the answer I was looking for,” you say, a slight croak to your voice.
“Oh?” Zeke cocks his head. “What was the prescribed response, then? Or better yet, how would you have answered it, Doctor? Surely you have some insight on coping with mortality.”
“Mortality?” you repeat, realigning your notes. “Is that really how you see it?”
He lets a small smile touch his lips. “Do you see it differently?”
“We’re here to discuss you, Captain. Not me,” you say, though the professional distance between you wavers like a fraying thread ready to snap. “Would you say, then, that loyalty to Marley and your mission transcends personal frustrations and doubts?”
“Loyalty?” Zeke echoes. “Five years from now, I’ll be gone, and someone else’ll be sitting in this chair, taking their turn and getting their brain probed by you, Stella. So, yes, I’ll do what’s needed for Marley, and I won’t waste time on emotions that won’t make a difference.”
You hold his gaze, silence drawing out. And though he keeps his own expression light, he can see your mind wrestling with his words, the small measure of pity in your eyes.
“Anyway,” he continues with a disarming smile, “how’s your mom? She still bake? Used to bring all kinds of things to the clinic, didn’t she?”
You bite your lips together, tucking a stray hair behind your ear before closing your expression like a book. “I think I’ve got everything I need. You’re dismissed, Captain Yeager.”
“Dismissed, huh?” he says, rising to his feet. “So… did I pass?”
You gather your notes and fix him with a resigned look. “Don’t worry. You’ll go to Paradis.”
An uncharacteristic flush blooms at the tops of your cheeks as you glanced away. For a second, Zeke just stands there, lingering by the desk, openly admiring it.
“Noted, Doctor. Must be all those years in medical school that let you see right through me, huh?”
You shoot him a withering look, but the hint of a blush remains. “I don’t think I needed medical school for that. I’d suggest you focus on your assignment, Captain, rather than your charm.”
“Oh, it’s all one and the same,” he says lightly, pivoting toward the door. But he turns back once more in the entryway, hands in his pockets. “See you around, Stella.”
Zeke steps into the hall with a strange sense of satisfaction curling through his chest. There's something thrilling about the dynamic between you now. It's a tug-of-war, not unlike the one the two of you had once, though this one is laced with sharper edges and hidden barbs.
He lets his mind wander, considering the possibilities. If he can engineer just one more chance meeting before he leaves, maybe he’d get to see that blush again. More than that, maybe he’d press you a little harder, see just how far he can push your resolve to stay distant. Because if there's one thing he was sure of, it's that your guard was never as impenetrable as you thought it was.
➴ ➴ ➴
Then
The waiting room is quieter than usual in the early evening, with just a few straggles left. A couple of older men murmur in the corner, and a girl sits alone with her head bent over a table. She's maybe Zeke’s age, or a little older, and he almost doesn’t notice her at first. But as he passes, he catches sight of her spread of books and messy notes.
He pauses on his way, the scent of ink and paper a balm to the sharp antiseptic smell of the clinic. The girl doesn’t look up, too absorbed in whatever she's studying, and he shrugs, slipping the baseball mitt from his left hand to his right as he continues down the hall.
Reaching his grandfather’s office, he knocks and pushes the door open, expecting the usual sight of his grandfather sitting behind the desk. Instead, he's standing, shaking hands with another man who's holding a plate of what looked like plain, ugly cookies.
“Ah, Zeke,” his grandfather says warmly as his gaze slides to the door. “Come in, come in. just finishing up here. Meet Dr. Faust. He’s a colleague of mine.”
The other man turns around, smiling. He has a kind face and wears glasses, larger and more thick-rimmed than the ones Dr. Xaver sports.
“This is my grandson, Zeke.”
Dr. Faust extends a hand, and Zeke shakes it politely. “Pleasure to meet you, Zeke. Your grandfather tells me you’re a Warrior in training.”
Zeke nods. “Yes, sir.”
His grandfather clears his throat with a proud glint in his eye. “Yes, he’s becoming quite the athlete, this one. Usually stays behind to toss around that baseball, don’t you, Zeke?”
Dr. Faust chuckles, and without a moment’s pause, he holds out the plate toward Zeke. “Well, a Warrior candidate could use some sustenance after a long day, couldn’t he? Go on, have one. My wife baked these this morning.”
Zeke accepts a misshapen cookie, eyeing it with mild suspicion. Shortbread is a rare treat in the internment zone, and he can’t remember the last time he’d tasted it. But when he bites into it, he's surprised at the buttery crumble, the hint of sweetness. It's… good.
“Not bad, right?” Dr. Faust says, smiling as he takes one for himself. “My wife is talented. Finds ways to make do even when, well, there’s not a lot to work with.”
“Thank you,” Zeke says, glancing down at the half-eaten piece in his hand, surprised at how much he wants to savor it. “It’s really good.”
Dr. Faust beams. “Glad you think so. If you don’t mind doing me a favor, Zeke, would you take these to my daughter? She’s in the waiting area.”
Zeke nods, a bit distracted as he finishes the cookie. He glances up to see his grandfather giving him an approving look.
“Go on, Zeke. It’ll give me a few minutes to wrap things up here, and we can head home after that.”
Dr. Faust hands him the plate, with the cookies carefully balanced on it. “Her name’s Stella. She’s probably a year or two ahead of you in school.”
With the plate in hand, Zeke makes his way back down the hall toward the waiting area. His stomach twists slightly with a feeling he can’t quite place as the girl—you—in the waiting room comes into view. There's no reason to feel nervous, he tells himself. He speaks to plenty of people older than himself on a regular basis—commanders, trainers, the other candidates. But there's something different about approaching you.
You're still hunched over your books, lost in your notes. For a moment, he hesitates, watching you work. You're so absorbed that you hadn’t even noticed him. Gathering himself, Zeke clears his throat quietly and takes a step closer.
“Uh, Stella?” he ventures.
You look up, eyes bright and curious as they focus on him. “Yeah?”
He extends the plate in his hands toward you a little too stiffly. “Your dad thought you might like a cookie.”
You blink, a hint of surprise passing over your face before you smile softly. “Oh, thanks.”
Reaching out, you hover your hand a moment, apparently deciding. Finally, you select one of the cookies and take a small bite. With your you other hand, she sweep aside your papers and pat the empty spot on the table.
“You can put those down, if you like.”
“O-oh, right.”
Zeke carefully places the plate on the table and shifts his weight from one foot to the other. Now, he isn’t sure what to do with his hands. He settles on wringing his baseball mitt as he glances down at your open books and notes, noticing the carefully penned words and diagrams scattered across the pages.
“What’re you studying?”
“Biology. I have a test tomorrow.” You scrutinize him, taking in the distinctive yellow armband on his sleeve. “You’re in the Warrior program. Do they give you much time for schoolwork?”
He hesitates, scratching the back of his neck. “Not really,” he admits. “They don’t make it easy, balancing academics with training.”
You nod, a thoughtful look in your gaze. “How long have you been in?”
“Since the program started.”
Your eyes widen a touch. They seem to sparkle in the cold light of the waiting room. For some reason, Zeke feels like his breath has been stolen from his lungs.
“You must have been young,” you say.
He stiffens, subtly straightening his posture as if to add to his height. “Not that young.”
Your lips twitch with a faint smile. “Well, you’re still pretty young to be taking on all that responsibility.”
“It’s not that big of a deal,” he says, fighting to keep his tone from edging too close to defensiveness. “I’ve got a pretty good shot at passing.”
“You sound confident,” you note. There's no mockery in the way you said it. “I mean, lots of kids signed up, didn’t they? Shot at becoming honorary Marleyans, along with their families? That’s huge.”
Zeke can feel his heartbeat steadying with conviction, the familiar confidence he’d worked so hard to build over the past two years returning. “I’ll pass. I’ll become a Warrior.”
You tilt your head, studying him with that same bemused look. As though he were a puzzle she hadn’t quite figured out yet. “Is that what you want? To be an honorary Marleyan?”
It's a simple question, but it echoes in his head like his skull is nothing but an empty cavern. He hesitates. “Well… it’s an honor to serve our motherland.” He shifts under your gaze. “Why didn’t you sign up?”
You look down, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. Vaguely, Zeke registers the color of it, the pleasing way it looks, even in the dim light. His heart flutters.
“I guess I didn’t think about it much,” you say finally. “My parents might have let me, if I asked.”
Something twists painfully in his chest at that. Zeke grips his mitt tighter, the leather cool and worn under his fingers. His parents hadn’t left it up to him. They’d signed him up without any discussion, pushing him toward it with all the intensity they could muster—his mother’s pleading looks and his father’s frantic determination.
“Oh,” is all he can manage for you, this girl who's so far removed from the reality he understands.
“Well, it sounds like you’re handling it well,” you offer kindly. You must have picked up on the change in his expression because your gaze had softened. “I mean, if you’re confident you’ll pass, that says a lot.”
Zeke forces himself to smile, shrugging a little to seem as if he was unaffected. “Yeah, I guess it does.”
The sound of footsteps in the hall draws both your attention. Zeke’s grandfather and Dr. Faust come into view a second later. They're already wearing their jackets and hats, briefcases in hand.
“Stella, ready to go?” Dr. Faust asks with a gentle smile, lifting the plate of remaining cookies on the table.
Papers rustle as you immediately began gathering your things. “Just a second, Dad.”
Zeke watches as you stack your books and notes with practiced efficiency, the flutter kicking up that crisp, woody scent again. You slip your things into a worn leather satchel, the dark ink staining your fingers smudging the straps. Just as you turn to follow your father, you look back over your shoulder, your gaze lingering on Zeke and your eyebrows lifting slightly, like you’d just remembered something.
“What’s your name?”
Caught off guard, his eyes widen briefly. “It’s Zeke. Zeke Yeager.”
“Nice to meet you, Zeke.” You give him a polite nod before falling into step behind your father.
As you walk away, Zeke can’t help but watch the gentle sway of your hair at your back, something warm and strange pulsing in his chest. He's still standing there, lost in thought, when his grandfather claps him softly on the shoulder.
“Well now, Zeke,” he says. “You’re red as a tomato. Did you get along with Dr. Faust’s daughter?”
Zeke immediately feels a fresh wave of heat rise to his face. “Yes. She was nice.”
“I suppose you’re getting to that age,” his grandfather sighs, amusement lifting the corners of his mouth. “The age when you start noticing girls, hm?”
“Girls?” Zeke scoffs, feigning disbelief. “I don’t have time for any of that. Not if I’m going to be a Warrior.”
His grandfather gives a nod, a look of sympathy crossing his expression. “True enough.”
Zeke manages a smile, and they head out the door together. He hadn’t even turned twelve yet, and he already understands the price of glory as one of Marley’s Warriors. After he had decided once and for all that he was going to inherit a Titan, nothing had ever given him pause, not even the consequence on his lifespan.
Yet, as they walk out into the dimly-lit streets of the internment zone, Zeke finds himself drifting. The small rush of feeling he’d experienced while he was with you was like nothing he’d ever felt. There was a naturalness to it, a warmth he wants to capture and keep for himself, even when you aren't around.
He glances down at the mitt in his hand, hoping he’d see you again at the clinic. Maybe next time, he’d have a better idea of how to talk to you, to impress you, even. The thought is strange, almost surreal, given the clear path he’d laid out for himself as a Warrior candidate.
It's foolish, he knows. Unrealistic, even. Still, the memory of your meeting lingers, and for once, he lets himself cling to it.
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