#like just imagine what it would feel like to grip it by the barrel and swing it at full length and full force

[hyenagurl]

i kinda of would like to cleave a man’s skull open and spill his grey matter with the butt of a shotgun. just once. as a treat

[gothgoblinbabe]

Love Game

[Logan Howlett x fem!reader]

Warnings: MDNI/18+ use of she/her, female reader, swearing, being referred to as a girl, mention of being a stress eater, mild alcohol consumption and mention of alcoholism kinda, jealous!Logan, mild violence, you’re shorter than Logan, unprotected sex (wrap it up), little bit of spitting, sub!logan x kinda dom!reader, voyeurism? Technically?, use of pet names, I believe that’s it but pls lmk if I missed any! ps. you wear a dress in this but if that don't work for you, imagine its a sick ass tux/ fancy attire you're comfy in

Also non cannon compliant because I know Logan is heavy as shit and his body weight would crush you but just for a minute you’re gonna pretend like it wouldn’t

Summary: essentially [this ask] with plot ! // Scott needs to mind his god damn business, but he might’ve done you a favor by snatching your diary and waving it in Logan's face.

Word Count: 8K

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“That fucking kid.”

You groaned, lifting your mattress and checking underneath and round your bed. You knew Scott was going to snatch your diary the moment you’d realized he overheard you tell Ororo where you kept it.  He was always busting your balls the same way he did Logans, even insisting it was a ‘two for one’ deal when he got to bother you at the same time. 

Well, he was really gonna regret messing with you this time.

“Summers! I’m going to wring your goddamn neck! Where is it?”

Your voice boomed through the open halls of the mansion as you barreled down the stairs, feet moving faster than your thoughts. Everything echoed in this place; if he was here, you know he heard you.

“Scott!”

You continued to call his name, stomping around until you locked eyes with him as you entered the kitchen. In his hands - to your abject horror - was your diary, spread open while Logan peeked over his shoulder. 

Truthfully, Scott was a little scared shitless of the consequences of what he’d done. He’d dealt with Logan back and forth, sure, but you? Terrifying. You had just about the same strength as Logan and about five times his rage. That’s why his eyes grew wide when he saw you, snapping the little book shut. 

You could feel your face burning. A diary was private within itself, but there were some things you’d written that were never supposed to be read by another soul; Scott and Logan’s included.

“Fucker,” you grumbled, reaching forward to grab the book from Scott’s hands until Logan snatched it, holding it above your head. 

“Ah, not so fast,” he teased.

You’d gotten into plenty of squabbles with Scott, but he was absolutely going to pay for this. He knew the way you felt about Logan and you swore he got some sick satisfaction out of trying to humiliate you. He only found out because he’d overheard you confiding in Jean late one night in the living room with a pint of ice cream in your hands, yapping while you shoveled Ben and Jerrys into your mouth.

Your eyes flickered between his face and Logan’s. If looks could kill, Scott would have dropped dead the second you walked into the kitchen. 

“Now what is this,” Logan asked with a lilt in his voice as his eyes scanned a page, “a whole paragraph for little ol’ me?”

Shit. 

“I’ll give it back, I promise, but I gotta read this.”

If you tried, you could maybe snatch the thing from his grip before he read too much. You considered jumping on him, piggybacking until he dropped it or handed it over. What lengths would you be willing to go through to keep it a secret anyway? Was it really even a big deal?

You had a crush. Everybody does at some point. A stupid, harmless crush and if this was how he was going to find out, so be it. 

You were still absolutely planning on tearing Scott from limb to limb, though.

“Huh,” Logan clicked his tongue, beginning to read from the pages, “No one knows how to piss me off like Logan.”

You sighed, dropping your head into your hands.

“True,” he commented, “and he spends a ridiculous amount of time in the bathroom to do his hair.”

“Also true,” Scott chimed in, becoming the subject of your seething gaze. 

“He’d save so much time if he just let me do it for him - like it would be hard to comb it into two cat ears,” he read, looking up to speak to you, “first of all, I told you they’re not cat ears.”

You simply nodded and rolled your eyes.

“Second of all, you couldn’t master ‘em anyway - I’d have to fix it myself.”

You just scoffed, leaning yourself back against the kitchen counter in an attempt to act nonchalant while you tapped one foot uncontrollably. Everything he’d read so far seemed to be the mundane stuff, nothing incriminating just yet. 

“God, how I wanna…play with his hair,” he read, eyebrow quirked in confusion.

Ah, there it is.

“That’s, uh - it’s really old, I didn’t mean, like - it’s from years ago,” you tried to blabber out an excuse.

“It’s dated - it’s from a couple months ago.”

You pursed your lips, nearly biting through the flesh at the same time from the pressure. You had to get that book out of his hands.

“He’s so stubborn,” Logan continued to read with a smug grin, holding the book high when you jumped to grab it, “I wish someone would just put him in his place.”

“Ooh,” Scott chuckled, looking to you, “are you gonna be the one to do it?”

“Fuck you, Summers - I’m so gonna get you back for this,” you snarled.

“I don’t think it would take too much for him to keep his mouth shut” Logan started to read again.

You instantly recognized the part he was reading and gasped, frantically reaching again for the book. 

“No, no, no, Logan, please - you don’t wanna read th-“

“I’d love to be the one to do it. I wanna take him and -”

He stopped reading and his eyes scanned the rest of the page, his amused smile faltering. You knew exactly what it was he’d read and you wanted to bury yourself alive. You remembered scrawling it down, snickering to yourself as you dragged the gel pen across the paper.

I wanna take him and tie him to my bedpost, probably shove my panties in his mouth and fuck him senseless.That would really shut him up.

Out of all the pages in that goddamn book, that’s the one he had to open up to?

You watched intently as his eyes flashed from yours to the page and then back again.

“What does it say?” Scott questioned, trying to lean over to get a look.

Instead of letting him read it, he snapped it shut and held it out towards you, his face expressionless. Was he mad? Grossed out?

“Don’t worry about it. We shouldn’t be readin’ her private stuff anyway.”

“Uh…,” you hesitated, fingers softly grazing his when you took it back, “thanks.”

You turned on your heel immediately and hastily made your way back to your room. You hoped to hide out there the rest of the day, praying maybe Logan would forget what he’d read or just let it be. You knew him well enough to know he wouldn’t.

You knew him so well because you were like mirrors of each other; smart mouthed and hot headed. You realized that the first couple months with the X-men, always butting heads with him until one mission where you had to grab the back of his jacket in an attempt to keep him where he was. You tugged with so much force that you nearly knocked him on his ass. Even Hank had never been bold enough to do that, not when Logan was as riled up as could be. From that point on, it was kind of an unspoken assumption that you would always be the one who calmed him down or held him back. So, you did just that; grabbing his wrist with both hands to force him to keep his claws to himself or pushing back against him when he tried to lunge at Scott for something stupid - though, after what he just pulled, you may just let Logan rip him apart next time. Though it was never acknowledged between the two of you, you were his anchor. You held him down when he began to drift away. Fortunately for you, he did the same - using minimal effort to keep you in place when you tried to go for someone’s face or going as far as to hike you over his shoulder and carry you away from the confrontation, all while you kicked and screamed to be let down. 

You avoided him the best you could for two days after the incident in the kitchen, quick comments in passing but never staying long enough for a full conversation out of fear that he’d bring up what he read. What were you supposed to say, anyway? ‘Sorry I thought about fucking you?’

You’d have to think of something because you were face to face in training a few days later. Scott stood to the side of you both, a stopwatch in his hand. 

“Alright, when I say go, whoever pins the other down for more than five seconds wins. Remember, you're each trying to beat your time from the last session.”

Scott’s voice almost sounded underwater. Your eyes were locked with Logan’s and though you wanted to rip your gaze away, you couldn’t.

“Ready? And…go!”

He backed out of the way and you tried to lunge at Logan, quickly being flipped onto your back.

“Okay, ow,” you whispered to yourself, immediately standing back up.

He tried to grab you when you stood but you caught his hand, twisting his arm behind his back to force him to the ground. You straddled his back and kept your weight on him but he was too quick, turning over and pushing you off him.

“Don’t get too excited, now,” he panted, a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips.

You were caught off by the low cadence of his voice, inadvertently letting your guard down and giving him an opportunity to pin your arms above your head and keep your legs down with the weight of his knee. Scott began to count down and you racked your brain for a way to get yourself out from underneath him. 

You were able to pull one of your legs free, sending him a little off balance and using your leg on the side of his torso to roll him over on his back again. You straddled his waist, using your hands and your forearms to hold his down. That, however, left you nose to nose while panting for air. 

“What, you thought I’d let you win?” You asked, tongue poking at the corner of your open mouth. It was usual for you to tease each other with little snide comments. Nothing any different from the usual, right?

“Nah, I just really like havin’ you on top.”

Nope, definitely different. 

You didn’t even hear Scott call time on your match at first. 

“Hey! Lovebirds! I said you can get off each other. Jesus,” he groaned. You finally remembered where you were and quickly scrambled off of Logan. 

“Aw, really? It was just gettin’ good,” he chuckled. You could feel his eyes on you as you gathered your belongings with your back turned. You tried to step out into the hallway, praying he wouldn’t catch you before you met the elevator doors - of course, you weren’t that lucky.

“Hey, hey - princess, wait up,” you heard him call after you and you stopped, turning on your heel with an irritated expression.

“About the other day, the thing you wrote - “

You sighed, rubbing your face in distress and cutting him off before he could finish.

“Listen, Logan,” you quickly looked around the corridor to make sure you were alone, “I know what you read, I don’t wanna talk about it. It - look, it was some stupid phase where I had a crush and it’s over, okay?”

He tilted his head. You hoped he would simply nod and move on, but you watched his lips curl into a smile instead.

“Aw, what happened - you changed your mind?”

You knew him well enough to understand the look on his face. He was never gonna let this go - in fact, he was probably going to nearly torture you over it. 

“Shut up,” you huffed and continued to walk away, keeping your stare straight ahead.

“Aw, pretty girl -“

You dropped your belongings to the floor with an audible thud and gathered the front of Logan’s t-shirt in your fists, tugging him down to your height so you were face to face. 

“First of all, I told you not to call me that - ‘princess’, ’pretty girl’ - like I’m one of your little girlfriends. Okay, kitty cat?” you scolded through gritted teeth. He hated being called that and you knew it.

His eyebrows were raised and his lips parted in surprise.

“And second of all,” you continued with a deep breath, “you read it, it’s done - leave it be, would you? It doesn’t mean anything.”

You still had his shirt in your tight grip.

“Alright, alright - I’m just teasing,” he admitted, trying to pry your fingers from his t-shirt, “and I’m sorry, I never should’ve been reading it in the first place.” 

You sighed and finally let him go.

“Fine, I forgive you. And you can’t ever tell anyone what you read. Promise?”

“Cross my heart and hope to die.”

“So, we’re cool again? Nothings weird?”

“Not unless you make it weird.”

“You were the one flirting with me.”

“Uh - was not. I was simply creating a distraction to throw you off guard and it worked.”

“I’ll get you back.”

“Sure, you will.”

✦•······················•✦•······················•✦

You and Logan were in forced proximity hours later, standing with Scott, Jean and Ororo in Charles’ office.

“Do we really have to go?” Logan groaned, hanging his head back in frustration.

You were staring at the thick paper invite atop Charles’ desk. All your names were scrawled in cursive, surrounded by small gold detailing with the event written on top. It was some kind of Gala, something for charity that you couldn’t quite make out from where you were standing.

“It would be a wonderful opportunity to represent the school, yourselves and the mutant population as a whole,” Charles answered.

“You really think wolvie and his little hothead wrangler are gonna be well behaved enough to not make a scene?” Scott gestured towards you both.

Logan stepped towards him and you instinctively grabbed the sleeve of his jacket to hold him back. He looked back at you, clearly annoyed.

“We’ll be fine,” you insisted while glaring daggers in Scott’s direction.

You didn’t notice that you were still holding the sleeve of Logan’s jacket when Charles dismissed you. You let go and cleared your throat as you followed him out of the room.

“There's no way in hell I'm wearing a suit,” he grumbled, looking down at his flannel and jeans.

“You don’t wanna play dress up?” You teased.

“And look like a stuck up prick? No.”

“I'm kind of excited to wear something nice for once,” you admitted, “I’ve got a couple nice dresses I’ve never even worn. Besides, maybe there’s gonna be a couple of hot, rich guys there.”

You were looking straight ahead as you walked side by side down the hall, smiling to yourself. If you had turned your head, you would have seen the way Logan rolled his eyes. 

“What, you’re gonna go home with some rich schmuck just ‘cause he’s got money?”

He sounded almost annoyed. You furrowed your eyebrows and shrugged. 

“I don’t know, if he’s good looking, maybe.”

That was only a little truthful. You were not the type of person who was comfortable enough to go back to a stranger's place or hook up with someone you’d never see again. But maybe you could, if it would keep your mind off Logan and convince him to forget about what he’d read a few days ago. And if the guy did have money? It certainly wouldn’t be a problem for you.

“Oh,” Ororo piped up from behind you, stretching out the vowel, “I see - you’re going shopping. Gotta try before you buy, huh?”

She playfully poked your side and you chuckled, swatting her hand away.

“Call it what you want,” you responded, “but I’m gonna have fun, at the very least.”

You would end up having fun - just in a much different way than you expected.

You decided on getting ready for the night in Ororo’s room when the time came a few weeks later. She was touching up her makeup at her vanity while you changed behind the bathroom door. 

“Does it fit?” She asked through the wood with her eyes still on her reflection.

You were attempting to zip the back of your dress with your arm stretched uncomfortably over your shoulder.

“In a way? Kind of.”

Jean entered the room just then, having already gotten ready in her and Scott’s room.

“She’s trying on a dress that’s been in her closet since last year that still had tags,” Ororo explained to her as she sat on the edge of the bed.

“Can one of you zip me up, though?” you sighed in defeat and opened the door, “I can’t get it.”

“Woah, mama!” Ororo comically wolf whistled and you rolled your eyes with a smile.

The dress was your favorite out of your collection of unworn clothing; it showed the perfect amount of skin and hugged your figure phenomenally. To top it off, the color complemented your skin in the best way possible.

“I don’t look silly? I feel a little funny getting all dolled up,” you confessed, turning around so Jean could pull your zipper up the rest of the way.

“Definitely not silly,” Jean reassured you but mumbled under her breath after, “Logan’s gonna lose it.”

You turned back around to quirk an eyebrow at her.

“Who cares what he thinks? Did I say I care what he thinks? ‘Cause I don’t. Like, at all.”

“Honey,” Ororo began, “we already know you like him, remember?”

You groaned and bent down to look into the mirror on her vanity.

“I don’t - not anymore, at least.”

“Yeah, right,” Jean giggled, “keep telling yourself that.”

Ororo looked at the time on her watch and hastily stood to slip on her shoes, “We’re gonna be late if we don’t leave soon. Logan and Scott are supposed to meet us downstairs.”

You stepped into your shoes and grabbed the little bag you’d carry for the night, following her and Jean out the door. When you finally got to the staircase, you could see Scott and Logan talking to each other at the bottom, the latter of the two standing with his back facing the stairs. 

“All right, ready!” Jean enthusiastically announced. If she hadn’t said anything, the simultaneous clicking of your shoes would’ve announced your presence for you.

Logan turned around to face you. At that moment, he wondered why he ever complained about going in the first place. His eyes were glued to you as you came down the stairs and you could feel yourself start to get warmer. 

He looked so good in a tux, Jesus Christ. You liked when he wore those tight fitting tanks and jeans, sure, but something about the formal attire really did it for you. His cologne wafting into your space when you stood next to him didn’t do much to help dispel any feelings you had, either. How badly you wanted to just forget the stupid event, tug him into your bedroom upstairs and show him that you were so not kidding about what you’d scribbled in your diary. Alas, that was certainly not going to happen.

‘Just an old crush,’ you internally tried to remind yourself, ‘just an old crush - that’s it. I’m not into him anymore.’

Except that you knew damn well it was a lie. 

“We’re gonna be late if we stand here any longer, c’mon,” Scott began walking with Jean while you, Logan and Ororo followed.

“You look nice,” Logan finally spoke as you made it to the door, “think you’ll bag any of those rich guys?”

You almost asked what he was talking about, too lost in thinking about how you actually wanted to bag him and not some stranger.

“I don’t know,” you answered truthfully, “but if I do, you’ll be the last to find out.”

“Oh, really? Why’s that?”

“Because I’ll never hear the end of it.”

“Got that right.”

You eventually found yourself in a large, decorated open room, sat in the corner with Logan while he nursed a glass of whiskey and you anxiously scarfed down appetizers. The rest of the team had walked off to mingle - like normal people do.

“Kid, you’re gonna choke if you keep eatin’ that fast,” he warned you.

“ ‘m a stress eater,” you explained with a mouthful of fancy cheese, “besides, you’re a stress drinker. Thank god there’s so many tiny foods.”

He scoffed and took a sip of his drink. 

“What are you even stressed about, anyway? Half your job tonight is to just stand there and look pretty and you’ve already got that down.”

“Thank you, I think?” your eyes nervously scanned the room, “I just hate being in a crowded place, especially one this big that’s full of complete strangers.”

“Why do you think I’m holdin’ a glass right now?” 

Your eyes flickered between his and the half full glass in his hand. You wordlessly took it from his fingers before he even had time to react and downed the contents in one gulp.

“Well, that’s one way to calm your nerves,” he commented, “but if you keep drinkin’ like that, you’re gonna be face first on the ground before the nights even started.”

You were still holding a grimace from the burn of the alcohol but shook your head and cleared your throat, “I just needed the kick in the ass - I’m good.”

“So, you’re gonna go socialize? Good luck,” he raised his eyebrows, “something tells me these people aren’t really who we want to be hanging out with.”

“Why, because they have an immense amount of cash to burn and we don’t? You can’t hate people just because they have money, Logan.”

“Then how am I doin’ it right now?”

You rolled your eyes.

“I think there’s gotta be a few genuinely good people out there who just happen to be rich.”

“Uh-huh, and I think two plus two is five - it doesn’t make me right.”

“You know what? I’m going to prove you wrong,” you said smugly, standing up from the table. 

“I think you’ll prove me right.”

“You wanna bet?”

“It’s a deal.”

“What are we betting, exactly?”

“How ‘bout this - if either of us can find someone here we actually want to go home with, you win. If we don’t, I win.”

“Fine,” you narrowed your eyes and crossed your arms, “what does the winner get?”

“I don’t know,” he shrugged, “we can figure it out later.”

With that, you both dispersed. You were still feeling uncomfortable but that wasn’t going to go away unless you did something about it. Do you just go up and talk to someone? What do you say?

“Excuse me,” a voice said from behind you and you turned around, only to be face to face with a cute guy in a tux.

“Oh, so they come up to you,” you thought immediately.

“Uh, I don’t mean to be forward with you, but you look very beautiful,” he said politely, a charming smile on his face, “I saw you when you walked in and wanted to say something, I just wasn’t sure if you came with someone.”

You took a second to respond, still processing the fact that he even came up to you. 

“Oh, thanks,” you finally replied, “you’re not too bad yourself.”

You tried to use humor to dispel the awkwardness - the type of awkwardness you feel when you get asked to go to a school dance in the seventh grade - but this guy was cute. If you just got to know him a bit, the mild discomfort would probably pass.

“I didn’t come here with anyone, by the way,” you added, “Well, I mean, I did but not in that way - I’m with friends.”

“That’s good to know,” he said, grinning, “in that case, would you wanna dance with me?”

You hadn’t even asked each other your names, and you didn’t really care. 

You nodded and let him take your hand, “I have to warn you, though - I’m no dancer.”

“Well, do I look like one? ‘Cause I’m certainly not, either. But when there’s a beautiful woman in the room that you really wanna talk to, you’ve got to think of a reason to go up and talk to her.”

“I don’t know - I think you just might be a bit of a smooth talker.”

He was and it was definitely working. He clicked his tongue and waved his hand dismissively.

“Oh, c’mon, don’t make me blush.”

He was funny, too. All you had to do was find out a little more about him - for the sake of the bet, yes, but also to determine the probability of breaking his bed frame later if it all went well.

So, you let him rest his arms around your waist and you put your hands on his shoulders. It was kind of nice to have someone so close. You started to feel mildly uncomfortable, though, as if someone was staring at you. You ignored it anyway, deciding it was just the anxiety of being in a place with a lot of people.

Really, it was Logan standing across the room with his stare glued to you two. He looked like he wanted to bore a hole into the poor guy's skull. When you finally caught sight of him, he turned and seemingly disappeared.

You spent a bit of time with your new date, intending to subtilely interrogate him to find out if he fit the criteria for your bet with Logan. Even if he didn’t? You might let him take you home anyway.

You sat with him at an abandoned table, leaning your head on your hand as you half - listened to him talk about stocks. You glanced around the room and spotted Logan again almost immediately. 

He was leaning against the wall with a girl hanging from his arm. She was talking away and he looked completely disinterested. The whole point of coming was to distract yourself from anything to do with him and there you were, ignoring your date to silently seethe at a girl who was only in his vicinity.

You tried to zone back in on the conversation and really pay attention when he started to talk about his job. It was some tech company you’d heard of, a big name in the industry.

“Oh, so, what do you do there?” 

“Well, I own it.”

You squinted and sat up straight.

“You own the company.”

It was more of a statement than a question.

He nodded and you raised your eyebrows. This was going much better than you anticipated. You couldn’t help but glance over at Logan to see that girl still standing with him.  She was twirling a strand of her long hair around her finger. She was undeniably pretty, so you wondered why he wasn’t even looking at her while she hung all over him.

“Hey, would you wanna dance with me again? I know it’s a little slow paced, but I love this song.”

You returned your attention to the man in front of you and smiled as politely as possible.

“You know what? Sure, why not.”

You let him lead you into the middle of the room and rest his hands on your hips. He pulled you much closer than you’d been standing before, so much so that you were nearly stepping on his shoes. His hands slid down further and you laughed a little to yourself. This was what you wanted, wasn’t it? So you wondered why it didn’t feel like something you wanted at all.

You caught Ororo’s gaze from across the room and she smiled, flashing you a thumbs up. When you caught Logan’s gaze, he was anything but smiling. There was a reason you felt like all this was something you didn’t want - you knew you wished it was him you were standing with. Still, you weren’t sure of why he wouldn’t tear his eyes from you or why he had such a scowl on his face. 

You stopped staring back when your date planted a kiss on your forehead.

“What was that for?”

“Well, I kinda wanted to kiss you but I figured maybe goin’ right for the lips might have been too much.”

“We don’t even know each other's names.”

“Do we have to?”

You thought hard for a moment, wondering if Logan was still watching. It wasn’t fair to kiss someone just to try to make another person jealous, you knew that. He didn’t even have a reason to be jealous.

“You can kiss me.”

He was an alright kisser - nothing exciting. His lips were soft, though, and you liked the smell of his cologne. Before you could deepen the kiss any further, he was tugged backwards and off of you.

Logan had the back of the poor guy's jacket in his fists, nearly yanking him down to the floor with how much force he used.

“Alright, bub,” he grunted, “I think that's enough, she’s leavin’.”

You glared daggers at him with your lips parted in surprise.

“I can leave when I want to,” you said through gritted teeth, “what the hell is your problem?”

“Is he your boyfriend?” your date asked, nervously looking between you both.

“He’s n-” you began to answer and Logan cut you off as he grabbed your arm.

“Yeah. Get lost.” 

You furrowed your eyebrows in anger but could feel your face becoming warm. You weren’t totally sure if you were turning pink from how enraged you were with Logan or from the words that just came out of his mouth.

“Outside. Now,” you demanded, tugging your arm from his grip.

You turned to walk away and he followed as you grumbled to him, holding your dress up a bit so you wouldn’t trip as you stomped out.

‘What the fuck was that?”

He didn’t answer, simply following at your heels with his eyes on the marble floor of the corridor. You swung open the door and stepped into the cool summer evening air, waiting until the door shut behind you to speak again.

“What, you didn’t want me to win the bet?” you guessed with raised eyebrows.

“You’re really gonna let some guy you don’t know shove his tongue in your mouth?”

You stood in stunned silence for a moment.

“Are you kidding? How is that any of your business?”

He scoffed and shook his head.

“I can’t believe you’re gonna let some asshole be all over you just ‘cause he's got money.”

“What?” you furrowed your eyebrows, “why do you care?”

“Why don’t you? Seriously, you’d just go home with some guy and fuck him?”

“I don’t - I don’t know,” you stuttered, “maybe, but that was part of that stupid bet! Not that it’s any of your concern!”

You were nearly shouting at each other.

He clicked his tongue and spoke in a sour tone, “none of my concern, sure. I didn’t think you’d actually try and go home with someone -”

“Okay, you know what?” you threw your hands up in frustration, “I don’t know what the hell your problem is or why you’re acting like some jealous boyfriend, but fucking cut it out!”

You were both finally quiet for a moment. The sound of cicadas and crickets songs filled the silence. Logan’s face was pleading, his features highlighted by the soft golden yellow light seeping through the building’s windows.

“You just don’t get it, do you?” he mumbled under his breath, his arms crossed over his chest.

You raised your eyebrows, “get what?”

You sounded exasperated, sick of playing what felt like the worst game of twenty questions ever.

Logan brought a hand to his face, scratching at his facial hair - something you recognized as a nervous habit.

“That stupid fuckin’ notebook, the little one you write in,” he groaned, “I just wish I never read it.”

“So, you’re mad about that?” You asked, clearly still confused as to what he was trying to say, “listen, I’m sorry, it wasn’t -“

“No, no, that’s not what I’m saying,” he interrupted, “it’s - fuck, I don’t know. I don’t know, It's like I read that damn thing and lost my mind.”

You waited for him to elaborate, a puzzled expression still plastered on your face.

“It’s all I can think about, all the time - it's like I close my eyes and I can still see it written down in your chicken scratch. I don’t even know what to do, It’s so stupid,” he huffed.

You still didn’t understand what he was trying to tell you or whether he was talking to you or himself.

“And then - I don’t know, alright - you look so…” he groaned with his face in his hands, “I like you - is that enough? Ya’ get it? I liked you for awhile and then Scott had to go peekin’ through shit that wasn’t his and reading that shit you wrote just made it even worse for me. I’m supposed to read that you wanna ‘fuck me senseless’ and just let it go? You thought that wasn’t gonna do something to me?”

You were slack jawed, feeling like your legs were going to give out from under you.

He seemed angry, his nostrils flaring while he held a frown.

“So…you -“ 

His hands cupped your face and he leaned down close enough for you to feel his warm breath on your skin.

“So, I want you to fuck me like you said you wanted to.”

Your eyes grew so wide that you feared they might pop out of your head. 

“Would you, if I asked?” He continued in a low voice.

Your stomach erupted in butterflies and you nodded without hesitation. Conversations like this with Logan had only ever happened in your dreams.

His lips finally connecting with yours made your head spin. If he wasn’t tenderly holding your face, you might’ve just let yourself fall to the ground.

“I’ve been thinking about you for months, you know,” he admitted when he pulled away, “watchin’ when you walk away, thinking about how you say my name, wishing I could just tell ya’ - I didn’t have the nerve. Seein’ you with another guy, though - I couldn’t take it anymore. I thought I could and I just can't.”

You almost expected to hear the beeping of your alarm clock that would startle you awake in your bedroom. Still, it never came. You could feel his hot breath on your face, the breeze on your skin, the warmth of his hands; it was all too real.

“You mean it? All of it?”

You didn’t know why your voice sounded so desperate, almost pleading with him not to toy with you.

“ ‘course I do. Of course, I mean - god, look at you.”

His mouth was on yours again and you smiled against his lips, your cheeks tinted pink.

“Hey, wait,” you pulled away momentarily, “why did you agree to that bet in the first place, then?”

He gnawed on his bottom lip anxiously.

“I kinda figured you wouldn’t be able to find someone good enough, I don’t know - maybe I could convince you to come back with me instead.”

“That was your plan?” you let out a small laugh, smiling so wide that your face began to ache.

“Well, It might’ve worked if you hadn’t met what’s-his-face in there.”

“I don’t know his name,” you shrugged, “didn’t care to ask.”

He quirked an eyebrow at you.

“I let him kiss me because I wanted to make you jealous,” you admitted, “I still like you.”

“I know.”

“You know?”

His expression was as smug as could be.

“That you still like me? Yeah.”

“How? Am I that obvious?”

“It’s not your fault,” he shrugged and lowered his voice to a whisper as he put his lips to your ear, “I could smell how wet you’ve been all night.”

You swallowed hard and shivered when his hand slid up your back.

“And it worked, by the way - I’m jealous.”

“Yeah?”

He nodded and leaned his forehead against yours.

“Well,” you affectionately scratched at the hair at the back of his head, “are you gonna do something about it, then?” 

He kissed you with much more fever than before and you caught his lower lip between your teeth, making him groan into your mouth. His hands were in your hair to push you even further into him to the point he was practically hunched over your body. When you finally took a second to catch your breath, you had a realization.

“I won the bet.”

He furrowed his eyebrows.

“Please tell me you don’t mean you’re actually still gonna go home with that guy.”

“No,” you rolled your eyes and let out an amused scoff, “I meant you, Logan.”

“Me,” he repeated with a beaming smile, “you’re coming home with me.”

You nodded and giggled, absentmindedly fixing the hair hanging in front of his forehead. 

He was staring into your eyes in a way that had you feeling as though there was nothing else around you - no fancy party inside, no responsibility to socialize - just you and Logan in the cool light of the moon. He was studying your face like he’d never see it again if he turned away.

“What if I couldn’t wait till we got home?” He asked quietly. His warm breath just barely grazed your lips.

Your eyes widened and you thought for a moment, looking between him and the door beside you.

“C’mere,” you instructed simply, taking him by his hand and leading him inside to walk down the main hallway. You scanned the area and once you were sure no one would see either of you, you began trying knobs of different doors to see if one would open. When one finally gave, you slipped inside with Logan in toe and flicked on the lights. It was a small dusty office, one that probably hadn’t been used in a few months at the very least.

Neither of you wasted any time in taking advantage of your newfound isolation. Logan was kissing you like he was starving to taste you, working his way down your neck with an open mouth to leave darkening spots slick with his saliva.

“Logan,” you sighed, eyes fluttering closed momentarily from the way he was nipping and sucking at your skin.

“I love when you say my name,” he admitted, mumbling into your neck. His hands were everywhere - tangled in your hair, resting on your waist, your hips, your ass - he was desperate to keep his hands on you now that he had you. 

You disconnected your lips for a moment so you could hop back to sit up on the top of the desk behind you. You hiked the skirt of your dress above your knees to avoid ripping it and motioned for him to stand between your knees as you held the middle of the skirt down with one hand.

“I’ve got an idea for my reward for winning the bet,” you smiled mischievously, leaning up to hold his chin and force him to look you in the eye, “what do you say, pretty boy? You wanna be part of it?”

He nodded eagerly and the pace of his breathing increased significantly.

“Good,” you leaned back on one hand, using the other to tug at Logan’s suit jacket, “off.”

He obeyed without hesitation and shrugged the garment off his shoulders. He began to untuck his shirt and you stopped him with a gentle touch.

“Did I say to take that off too, sweetheart? I don’t think I did,” you spoke softly in a firm tone.

“No - no, ma’am.”

It drove you crazy to have him under your thumb in that way, his usual domineering nature and dominance melting away by the second. 

“So do as you're told, baby,” you instructed, “if you’re good for me, maybe I’ll reward you back.”

You could see him swallow hard, eyelids nearly fluttering closed when he thought of all the possibilities of what that might entail. 

“F- mhm, fuck,” he stuttered when you brought a hand to the front of his pants and barely grazed the spot below the button with your fingertips. He began to twitch more and more with every touch.

“Are you gonna say yes?” your voice was near taunting, “or do I have to try a little more convincing?”

You popped the button on the front of his pants with ease and slid your hand underneath to feel him over the soft fabric of his underwear.

“Yeah, yes, I - ah, yeah,” he moaned in response, rocking his hips towards your hand and resting his forehead on your shoulder.

“Yes what?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

You smiled and gently kissed his temple.There was something so lovably vulnerable about the way he was acting with you. You knew he’d never let another soul find out that he loved what you did to him - dreaming of you whispering affectionate nicknames and praise as he sloppily pounded into you or spending hours on his sore knees just so he could feel you cum on his face - but the intensity of his devotion bordered otherworldly. 

“Do me a favor, baby,” you started, lifting your hips for a second to drag your panties down your legs, “take out your pretty cock for me.”

He obeyed, tugging his pants down his thighs just enough for his already hard dick to spring up out of the confines of his briefs. You inadvertently licked your lips at the sight, thinking of how heavenly he’d feel in you. He was huge, but for a guy who’s six foot two, it wasn’t a surprise.

He stood expectantly between your legs with his hands on your thighs. You leaned back on both hands, cocking your head to the side as you spoke.

“Touch yourself first and maybe I’ll let you touch me.”

The ‘maybe’ was a bluff. He knew as well as you did that you’d let him touch you regardless.

“Gimme your hand,” you ordered before he could even wrap his fingers around himself. You leaned your mouth over the palm of his hand and spat.

He groaned from the gesture alone, knees nearly buckling when he finally brought his hand down to coat his cock in your saliva.

“Feels good?” You cooed, eyes flickering from his face to his leaking cock in his fist.

“Mm - mhm, yeah, ‘s good,” he panted, “really fucking good.”

You failed an attempt to hide your wide smile, hypnotized by the repeated motion of his hand. He looked so pretty like this - his jaw hung open, chest heaving while his face became more flushed with every passing second. You could feel the rush of heat in your lower stomach just from watching him.

You couldn’t help yourself from leaning forward a little and unbuttoning his shirt from the top down, all while he watched you intently, his breathing becoming heavier the closer your hand came to his.

“Think of you all the time when I do this at home,” he panted, “you’re so fuckin’ beautiful.”

The compliment made your heart swell; it was a sweet remark that so greatly contrasted the obscene speed of his hand as he stroked himself. 

“You’re such a pretty boy,” you whispered and planted a kiss on his pink cheek, “you look amazing.”

You caught the way the motion of his hand slowed and you couldn’t stop yourself from reaching forward and wrapping your fingers around his cock. He growled, dropping his head to rest on your shoulder as he squeezed his eyes shut.

“Don’t work yourself up so soon, kitty cat, or you’re gonna be finished before I even get to fuck you,” you murmured into his ear and he gasped as you started to pump him.

“Don’t - ah - don’t call me that,” he whimpered.

“Aw, you don’t like it, my pretty kitty?”

He growled again, even more animalistically , but his hips jerking into your hand told you he really didn’t hate that nickname as much as he told you he did.

“C’mon, sweetheart,” you continued to tease, “I know you like it - you love bein’ my big, pretty kitty.”

He groaned, lifting his head from your shoulder and crashing his lips into yours. 

“Sh-shut up,” he managed to grunt.

You immediately withdrew your hand and sat back again.

He whimpered from the loss of contact and looked at you with pleading eyes, silently asking why you stopped.

“I said you had to be good for me, didn’t I?” you asked.

He nodded, eyes traveling from your thighs, up your body and then back down again. 

“Good boys don’t talk back,” you said simply, raising your eyebrows.

“I’m sorry, I’ll - I’m good, I’ll behave, just please -“

His speech was cut short when you hiked your dress up even further to expose your bare, wet pussy.

“Fucking Christ,” he moaned.

You tugged the top of your dress down to expose your chest and he had to grip the desk you were sitting on so his legs wouldn’t give out from under him. 

“If you can be real quiet,” you pushed some fallen hair out of his face, “I’ll let you cum in me. You want that?”

“Please, ‘v been thinking of that for fucking weeks,” he begged, “please, please, baby.”

He tentatively cupped one of your breasts and you rested your hand atop his, encouraging him to squeeze and knead however he pleased. You spurred him on to the point that he couldn’t resist leaning down to take one of your nipples into his mouth, swirling his tongue and sucking while his fingers toyed with the other one.

You couldn’t help whining from the sensation of his mouth on you while you combed your fingers through his hair.

He finally detached himself after ravishing your chest in wet kisses and left a string of saliva connecting his tongue to your nipple. You giggled a little to yourself and crashed your lips into his again in a heated mess of tongues and teeth. You scooted your hips up on the table and used your grip on his cock to graze his tip up against you, making him shudder.

“You’re so - fuck, you’re such a fuckin’ tease,” he gasped and held your hips in an iron grip.

“What’d I say about back talk?” you moved the head of his cock further away from you.

He groaned in frustration, moving his hands to hold your face, “Honey, I’m already beggin’ -  please, I need you.”

The desperation in his voice made you even wetter.

“I guess you’ve been pretty good for me - do you think you deserve it?” 

He nodded eagerly and placed his hand over yours that was around him. You let him nudge your hand away to align himself with your entrance. His eyes bore into yours as he finally began to push himself into you, rocking his hips slowly to help you adjust to his size. You wrapped your arms around his neck and he wrapped his around your waist. When he fully sheathed himself inside of you, he let out a loud moan that echoed through the small space.

“I told you to be quiet, sweetheart,” you whispered into his ear.

“Uh-huh, ‘s a lil’ hard when I’m fuckin’ a girl I’ve been dreamin’  about for months,” he mumbled, working up a steady pace while you wrapped your legs around him and locked your ankles at the small of his back to help push him further into you.

“You feel so good, Logan,” you moaned, kissing down his jaw and throat.

He groaned at full volume again.

“Are you gonna stay quiet? or do I have to shut you up? Hm?” you grinned and he made an even louder noise. You reached behind you to find your panties and folded them into a ball, holding his jaw with your other hand.

“Open.”

He obeyed immediately, rolling his eyes into the back of his head when you stuffed them into his open mouth.

“Good kitty.”

He let out a muffled growl and the speed of his hips increased.

“Yeah,” you panted, “I know you like that.”

The angle at which he was fucking you made it so that he was hitting the sensitive spot inside of you over and over again, making you gasp each time. Sweat was forming on his neck and down both your chests, practically sticking your skin together in the hot, stuffy room.

“You’re - you’re so pretty,” you told him truthfully, admiring the rosey tint of his face and the drool that was starting to run down from the corner of his mouth. His eyelids fluttered closed and he started to thrust into you hard enough to shake the desk you were sitting on. 

“Easy, kitty cat - you’re gonna break somethin’,” you muttered into the hot skin of his neck with a smug smile on your face.

His pace didn’t falter in the slightest, his hands gripping your ass to push you towards him every time he slammed his hips forward. The fabric of your panties muffled the guttural moan he choked on when you lightly sunk your teeth into his shoulder. He slid his hand between your bodies to bring his thumb to your clit, working tight circles around the bundle of nerves in rhythm with the thrust of his hips.

“Fuck, fuck, I-“ you were speechless, at a loss for words from the brutal combination of the pressure he applied with his fingers and the way he repeatedly hit that spot inside of you. His eyes were squeezed shut and his eyebrows furrowed in concentration, still whining and growling like an animal into the fabric of your underwear. You felt the heat in your lower stomach start to build and you buried your face in his shoulder, your mascara smudged under your eyes.

“Logan, Logan, I’m - ah - ‘m gonna come,” you warned, tugging on the back of his hair.

He groaned and yanked the fabric out of his mouth, immediately bringing his lips to yours so he could tenderly make out with you while the squelching sound of your dripping cunt filled the room. 

“C’mon,” he growled into your mouth, “c’mon, baby, please.”

Both your chins were slick with each other's saliva from the frantic way you’d smashed your lips together. Your whining and pleading became louder with every roll of his hips until the sensation sent you over the edge, euphoria blossoming from your lower stomach and spreading all throughout your body.

“Oh my god, Logan,” you nearly yelled, your hands slipping under his open shirt to scratch down his back, “s-so good. I love you.”

The three words slipped out without hesitation and your eyes widened, mild humiliation replacing the fading feeling of your orgasm.

His hips rutted against yours when you spoke and he leaned his face down so he was nose to nose with you.

“Love you so much.”

He kissed you softly with both his hands on your cheeks, so filled with affection that you could’ve cried. He slid his hands down back to your hips and kept his forehead against yours as he continued to drill into you.

“I don’t - I don’t ever wanna see ya’ with anybody else,” he panted, “I needed ya’ so bad. You - ah - ya’ drive me crazy.”

Even after having already came, his pussy-drunk rambling still spawned butterflies in the pit of your stomach.

“You’ll never see me with someone else, baby - promise. ‘s always been you. Only ever really wanted you,” you admitted with a soft voice.

His thrusts became sloppy and you could tell that spurring him on with your words would make him finish just as quickly as you did.

“I’m yours, always have been,” you whispered in his ear, “you’re the only one I’ve ever thought about fucking me like this.”

He choked out a sob into your shoulder and came with an animalistic growl, looking down to watch the mess being made all over your inner thighs.

“Love you so fucking much,” he repeated with a sigh, slowly stopping the thrust of his hips and resting his head against yours again.

“I love you, too,” you replied and planted a sweet kiss on the tip of his nose.

“Sorry I made such a mess of ya’,” he apologized, spreading your thighs as he pulled out, “I’ll clean ya’ up when we’re home, I swear.”

“I’ll hold you to it,” you chuckled, readjusting your dress and slipping your underwear back on while Logan tucked himself back into his pants and buttoned his shirt.

You caught a glimpse of the watch on his wrist as he moved and grabbed his hand so you could see the time.

“Shit! We were supposed to meet everyone back out front ten minutes ago,” you realized aloud, slipping yourself off the desk and pulling your dress down.

He mirrored your haste and let you fix his hair, doing the same for you and wiping away the mascara under your eyes.

“Okay, okay, c’mon,” you insisted, opening the door and slipping out hand in hand. You scurried down the abandoned corridor and all the way to the front exit. When Logan pushed open the door, you were met with Jean, Scott, and Ororo standing with worried expressions.

“What happened to you guys?” Scott asked before Jean nudged him in the arm, pointing towards your intertwined hands.

You looked towards where she was pointing and back up again, “Oh, uh…”

You tried to think of an excuse and looked to Logan beside you for help. 

“Nothin’,” he said in a nonchalant manner, “just got lost around the place - lot’s of rooms in there.”

Ororo raised her eyebrows suspiciously. 

“Sure, and, uh - Is that why you’re holding hands?”

You laughed a little, tugging his hand behind your back.

“Well,” you started, “remember I said I’d try to bag a guy tonight? Um-”

“I’ve been bagged,” Logan interrupted with a huge, smug grin.

“I wasn’t gonna put it like that,” you insisted, “but - yeah.”

“Finally,” Jean huffed and rolled her eyes, “I thought we’d have to have an intervention.”

“Huh?” Logan narrowed his eyes.

“Oh, c’mon,” Ororo laughed, “we all knew you liked each other, even before you did.” 

“And you never said anything?” Logan asked.

“Neither of you ever believed us!”

“True,” you agreed with a shrug and giggle. 

“I believe you now,” he stated, still holding your hand as you all made your way into the night, “She might like me. Just a little bit.”

✦•······················•✦•······················•✦

A/N: Thank you so much if you read till the end :) !! I did get stuck with some writers block in the middle of this and I'm not completely fulfilled w it but if I kept working on it it may take another week and my brain can't do it

Still working on requests rn so if you sent one in, I haven't forgotten about you!!! I'm trying to do two at a time so I can keep up (I won't burn myself out dw I usually do nothing all day till I work in the afternoon) <3

[suguann]

✎. you've been on the run for a while. you knew someone would come eventually—but not him.

tags. fem!reader, old west era, bounty hunter simon, size difference, size kink, implied the reader's husband is a terrible human, accidental voyeurism, period-typical sexism, masturbation [18+ only]

masterlist

You’ve been running for months, first from your husband (the phantom grip of his hand still sending an ache through your wrist) and now as a wanted conwoman for stealing the clothes from an unsuspecting cowpoke who thought he was getting lucky. You can only imagine what Mama would say about trading your ruffled skirts for grass-stained trousers and boiled-leather suspenders.

(It’s unbecoming of a respectable woman, dear. Uncouth.)

She’d probably have a lot to say if she knew everything you’ve done to survive.

You hop from one place to the next only by the mere chance someone was willing to let a helpless woman accompany them on their travels. Nearly a month has passed since being stranded in a dusty old mining town after a man and his wife dump you off and leave you behind. Washoe’s a little gritty and not welcoming unless there’s money to spend.

It’s not exactly safe, not unsafe, either, but nobody asks questions as long as you keep your head down and play the part of a mourning widow just passing through.

You know you’ve overextended your stay when you can’t leave your room during the day without worrying about a noose and the open end of a barrel meeting you outside. 

(That your husband or that gun-waving cowpoke finally found you.)

Sleep practically clings to you like a second skin, but you don’t dare close your eyes—you can’t.

This is how you end up sitting in the corner of the saloon, using the last of whatever you have in your change purse to order something strong, something your husband kept locked away, and anything else he thought women shouldn’t have a part in. 

You don’t even realize that your eyelids begin to feel heavy, steadily blurring out the flickering lantern on the wall while you wait for your drink. 

You catch yourself once or twice before your head can hit the table, rapidly blinking away the exhaustion before your eyes slide to the swinging doors.

You should stay awake. 

You need to stay awake just a little bit longer—

Your luck runs out that day. 

It’s one thing to know it’d happen eventually, and something else to realize that you make it easy for him—the man with an infamous name and a faded black bandana covering half his face—how he walked into the saloon and scooped you up (all unladylike sleepy dead weight) out of the weathered booth without a fight.

When you’d woken up to find yourself trussed up and thrown over the back of his horse, you cursed him out with every word you could think of that would make Mama clutch her skirts. Your captor ignored you, only talking to you whenever he warned you he was about to set up camp. 

“Did my husband send you?” Acknowledging him after all this time tasted like pennies on your tongue.

The man, Simon Riley, had leaned back against his bedroll and tipped the brim of his hat over his eyes. “Go the fuck to sleep.”

That was several weeks ago. 

Now, you find yourself stranded in another state that’s more green and vibrant than anything you’re familiar with, stuck with a man who refuses to answer the questions you throw at him. He doesn’t talk outside a few cursory words you greedily latch onto. Anything’s better than silence and the sound of hooves hitting earth. 

The pace he keeps you at is exhausting. You complain about it enough until he moves you in front of him, tying your hands to the saddle's horn.

“I would strongly advise you to shut that mouth for the rest of the ride unless you want me to do something about that, too.” The low growl of his voice in your ear makes the fine hairs on the back of your neck stand up, muddling your brain.

You’re distantly aware you had something to say to that, but you don’t. 

And that is really saying something.

It’s because there’s someone he needs to meet in town—an errand that lawbreakers who run their mouths aren’t allowed to go on.

This is how you end up sitting in camp alone, twirling around a knife he gave you solely for emergencies. 

(Surprise, sharp and quick through your middle, when he tosses his pocket knife into the grass beside you. “What’s to stop me from leaving?”

You could’ve sworn he rolled his eyes. “Will you?”

It doesn’t seem worth dignifying with a reply. You don’t want to travel alone, and there’s a high possibility of getting lost, finding yourself saddled up with worse company than the one you’re stuck with.

Until he evidently catches you again.)

He’s a lot nicer than you first gave him credit for—if only by a fraction—not that you know much about Simon other than what you overheard from gossip circles before you became Mrs. Thornton. Afternoons spent sipping tea laden with honey and lounging around a table full of cakes in the sun parlor while wealthy women talked behind their lace-covered hands to hide secret smiles you were too naive to understand. 

Trying not to stare at the bulge of his arms with thin pink scars—unlike the men you’re used to who got through life with a silver spoon hanging from their mouth—as he places his saddle back on his horse, you think you finally know what they smiled about.

You learn those scars also litter his torso from the time you accidentally walked upon him mid-way through putting his trousers on after washing in the river. It’d been too dark for you to see much else, and you quickly returned to camp before he could say something that would embarrass you both. 

Then, of course, tucked away into your bedroll, you can’t help wondering what the rest of him would have looked like if you had stayed a second longer. 

If his jaw is sharp or soft behind that mask he insists on wearing—that’s if he’d let you see at all. 

Simon’s always so serious that it’s often hard to determine whether he’s merely tolerating your existence until he can get rid of you or if he’s unused to traveling accompanied for so long. It’s not as if he goes out of his way to make pleasant conversation with you for you to assume otherwise.

You look off in the direction where he disappeared into the dense line of trees hours ago, wondering if you should go out looking for him (mainly because you’re hot and sticky from the humidity) despite his order to stay put. 

But after four hours turns into five, you head off, searching for something to help cool you off.

Luckily, unlike the heavily eroded lands you’re used to, there isn’t any water shortage in a place that sees rain three times a day, so it doesn’t take long to find a lake. You set your knife down on the stone-covered beach, followed by your boots, until you’re left in nothing but your undergarments. 

The water is icy cold and laps gently at your feet when you step in. You can’t find it in you to complain as the heat from the day slowly washes away the further you walk in and find a wide ledge to sit on. 

Your thoughts drift back to Simon, incessant and intruding even though you shouldn’t be thinking about him while wet and naked. And suddenly, you can picture it: his hands replacing yours as they trace along your neck. You have a feeling they’re probably rough and scarred from years of living hard and gunslinging, extracting the readily available knowledge that they’re big enough to encase your waist.

He could maneuver you around however he wants (you know this), and you feel dizzy just thinking about it.

Sighing, you sink deeper into the water while your hands smooth over the tips of your breasts and down your stomach. 

You wish you could see him without violating whatever personal preservations hide him from the rest of the world. Instead, you’re left with your imagination—the benefits of being a married woman and the little experience you have in the bedroom finally coming into play. 

Closing your eyes, you picture what he might look like under those sun-weathered leathers, knowing that the broadness of his shoulders isn’t only due to his vest and holsters but also from how his job has shaped him.

Your hands travel lower, fingers brushing through the creamy, soft wetness between your legs, evidence of what Simon does to you even when he’s not around. A moan, too high and breathy, slips past your lips as you use your middle finger to circle your clit in slow, clumsy swirls from lack of practice and patience that spreads warmth through your middle despite the cold water. 

It’s good, your fingers discovering places your husband always ignored—too many nights spent with your hand under your nightgown long after he’d tucked his cock away and gone to sleep—but probably don’t compare to the ones you’ve caught yourself staring at far too many times. 

They don’t fill you nearly enough, unlike how you know Simon’s would—thick and unrelenting. Rough and long, reaching deep enough to make you breathless.

Your breath hitches from pinching the tight, sensitive peak of your nipple until you feel a slight sting, and then it slips out, a tiny thing that’s only audible to your ears—Simon—a secret you now share with the lightning bugs and crickets.

“Dirty, no good rotten—” he’d tell you for thinking such lewd thoughts about him, for sinning so easily. Maybe you are, for getting so worked up over a man who isn’t your husband (no matter how terrible a husband he may be).

A man who’s so big that he makes you feel small, the type that gives before he takes. It’s enough to make you work your hand faster—your body vibrating from the chill of the water and the ache between your trembling thighs.  

Fantasies aren’t enough to sate the deep longing in your chest. Yet you’re slipping over the edge of ecstasy before taking your next breath—all of it builds up and gradually crests inside you like the lake rippling against the shore.

Afterward, it leaves you feeling soft and blurred around the edges, a watercolor painting drying under the sun while you wait for your rapid heartbeat to slow.

You don’t realize your eyes have fallen shut until they flutter open, and you’re startled to find Simon standing at the shoreline, his chest heaving as if he ran here. 

(Though he probably did to see if you took the opportunity to leave.)

You’re glued to your spot on the rock, suddenly struck with the mortifying realization that he’d seen you come—that he possibly heard you cry out his name so intimately.

You watch him remove his hat and hang it on a branch with wide eyes. Followed by his undershirt, guns, and—

He keeps removing clothes until he’s completely naked on the shore—aside from his face that stays hidden—scars marred his chest, spreading to his collarbones and below the water as he steps into the lake and sits on another ledge across from you.

His mask makes him look more menacing, erasing any trace of softness there. And you wonder if he’s angry at you for wandering off.

"Come here." His voice is low and deep, rumbling in his chest.

You don't think he'd hurt you. If he wanted to, he would have done it by now.

At least, that’s what you’re going with to settle the nervous fluttering in your middle.

Water laps at your arms as you wade through the water, each shaky step bringing you closer until you stop before him.

"In my lap."

Your breath sticks in your throat as you do as he says, settling down onto his sturdy thighs, palms falling flat against his broad chest. That same breath comes out in one large exhale as his fingers slide along your jaw, to the nape of your neck, curling into your hair, wet and falling around your shoulders.

“Like this?” you ask, trying to ignore how breathy you sound.

He grunts, apparently in confirmation.

You don’t think you’ve ever felt so conflicted in your life—fear and arousal turning into a messy cocktail in your veins.

“Why do I always have to use a heavy hand to make you listen?”

Your lips part. Breath growing short. “I’m sorry.”

And then—

Simon pulls your head back sharply, exposing your throat.

Your body goes slack against his. Mind blissfully blank.

“No,” he says, tone flat. “But you will be.”

[sunkissedrafe]

okay but imagine innocent!reader going to a party with rafe and his friends and getting a little over served!!!

˖ ݁𖥔.☁︎.𖥔 ݁ ˖

standing around a makeshift fire pit the guys set up because your short little dress doesn’t help much in keeping you warm. rafe and the guys circle around it too nursing their beers and talking about a bunch of manly topics you have no interest in, until…

“what about truth or dare?” kelce asks and the group enthusiastically agrees. your ears perk up at the idea, and you look up at rafe with your glassy doe eyes jumping up and down a couple times. “can i play too, rafey? love truth or dare!!!” he gives you a kiss on the forehead and a little nod.

the game is going so good at first, except they start take advantage of you as you down more of your fruity drink:(((

“i dare you to try and touch your elbows together.” one of the guys slurs out, and of course you’re determined to do it. you furrow your brows as you struggle to touch the two together, squeezing your hardest as they all watch your tits nearly pop out of your dress.

at first rafe just watches with an amused grin. he knows he has a ten for a girlfriend and he isn’t naive to the fact that all of his friends would pounce on you given the chance. it doesn’t matter that they look because they know damn well they’ll never touch.

“dare you to touch your toes without bending your knees, i heard it’s like… impossible.” topper chimes in with a smirk. rafe shoots him a narrow eyed glance as you bend over. his jaw clenches when you stumble and end up with your back facing the group, pretty pink panties on display as you grunt and eventually reach your toes. “think i did it! did i??”

“yeah, yeah alright. okay. you did it baby.” rafe pulls you back up and wraps his arm around your waist after tugging the hem of your dress back below your ass. you giggle and take another sip of your drink, so proud of yourself for completing such an impossible task.

you were feeling so warm and bubbly you didn’t even think about the fact that none of the others had been doing any dares!!

“i d-dare you,” one of the more drunk guys stammers out and chuckles, stepping closer to you, “to.. to see if you can unbutton.. my pants with y-your teeth.” he and the rest of the guys erupt in a fit of commotion, but rafe isn’t so amused!

“the fuck is wrong with you?” he shoves the guy back roughly, his broad frame towering over him. “huh?”

“cmon rafe it- it wasn’t even like that bro!”

“it wasn’t?” rafe speaks lowly and slowly steps closer as his friend cowers down. you watch with wide eyes as rafe’s hand reaches behind his back and to the waistband of his jeans, his fingers gripping the shiny metal gun he keeps on him. “you do so much as look in her direction the rest of the night..” rafe lets out his signature psychotic chuckle and lets go of the gun, using the same hand to grip his friends collar and pull him so they’re nose to nose. “y’know.. that big fuckin’ forehead you got is damn near beggin’ me to use it for target practice.”

he shoves his friend to the ground and clears his throat, grabbing a new beer from the cooler and cracking the top. he takes a sip and pulls you back into his side, squeezing your hip reassuringly. you beam up at him and he gives you the softest smile you’ve ever seen.

he glances back around to his group, but all of them are silent. the only sound is the wood crackling in the rusty barrel in front of you. “anyone else wanna play?”

˖ ݁𖥔.☁︎.𖥔 ݁ ˖

taglist: @stepbrorafe @bunnycvnts @hewwokitti3 @pinkribboncoco @rafesgiirl @beautifuldisaster88 @mousie101 @laniirackssss @ditzyzombiesblog

[aaagustd]

make it cute | jjk (m)

title: make it cute pairing: jeon jungkook x (f)reader genre/rating: smut, pwp, 18+ summary: if jungkook loans someone money, he expects to be paid with just that. but tonight, he just might make an exception. wc: 1.8k warnings: infidelity, swearing, mentions ransoms and everything that comes with that (threats, m*rder, etc), pictures??, consensual g*n play (more like oral but yeah), sloppy bl*wjob/deep throating, consent bc it's sexy, pet names, degradation, m*sturbation, facial c*m shot, dirty talk, slight power play dynamics, Dom/sub themes, obedience kink, hair pulling, face f*cking, that should be all release date: september 21st, 2024; 10:18pm est

note: reposting this baby. it’s from the old aaagustd account. i hope y’all enjoy the new version. divider credit.

check out my taglists here.

"That’s it. Keep going until I tell you to stop."

Jungkook can feel the material of his pants stretching to accommodate the growing boner pressing against the fabric. One wrong jerk of his hips, and he fears the measly button and zipper securing his trousers will go flying across his lavishly decored master bedroom.

He’s done some sick shit in his life, but this. This was your idea.

If only he could hear how you begged for it.

"Damn, baby, You are dead-ass enjoying this, aren't you?"

You don’t have to respond, but you do. "M-Mhm," you exhale in a needy moan as your throat engulfs the barrel of his gun.

There’s no way you can deny what is visibly present in both your eyes. 

The way your middle finger teases your soaked cunt. Your erected nipples leave two perfectly sculpted peaks that he can see through your sheer top.

He can't lie; he’s impressed and turned on by the sight. 

However, the reason you’re on your knees on his bedroom floor isn’t because he had a taste for a bored housewife. Your darling husband owes him a lot of money, and he will pay it if he wants his little trophy home by dinner.

Otherwise, Jungkook will gladly keep you—if you can behave.

With an ass like yours, Jungkook wouldn't let you out of his sight. Your place would be right on his lap, no matter the time or the place.

You have to keep a tight leash on this kind of pussy. The man’s an idiot. 

A woman as beautiful as you begging to be fucked? He’s not a nice guy, but how could he not show pity?

Jungkook can only stand there and imagine how your plump lips would look wrapped around his dick. The thought of it has him twitching inside his boxers.

As if you are reading his mind, your sticky digits abandon your wet panties and you place them on his designer-covered crotch. A sharp hiss pushes through his clenched teeth, biting back a slew of insults that could imply that he’s angry. Not in the slightest, he was just shaken by the sensitivity.

Staring into the desperation lingering deep in your irises, Jungkook knows what you’re asking for. Your mouth is filled to the brim, but you’re still begging for more.

Jungkook isn’t a gentleman, but he’s mindful of his strength when he grips your hair, snatching you away from his gun. He should have been cautious of your teeth, but you won’t need them anyway for what you’re about to do.

“Hey!” He watches your swollen lips part as you suddenly take in a large breath of air. Your lungs struggle to accommodate the pressure, leaving you coughing and choking for several seconds. The sound nearly drowns out his voice. “Look at me, dollface!”

Jungkook stares into your watery blown-out eyes, holding an intense gaze to make sure you understand him clearly. He realizes then that he has a problem on his hands.

Sexy and obedient. Fuck.

"Doll, you can get up if you want. I just want my money-"

"Fuck my throat."

Jungkook almost shudders when he hears your sweet voice. The lust hidden within that raspy tone is intoxicating.

"What?" he asks.

He heard you, though. Jungkook never misses a beat, but he’s just—stunned.

Clearing your throat, you repeat your request without an ounce of shame.

"My throat. Shove it down my throat, please."

Please.

You didn't have to add that last part. He was already preparing to take his dick out.

"Well, shit," he curses. “Are you sure?”

“Yes, I am.”

Jungkook quickly places his gun on the dresser behind him and unbuckles his belt. He steals glances at you waiting patiently on your knees—like a good little slut. 

It’s goddamn shame how you have him fidgeting like a virgin.

Once his pants are loosened enough to slip a hand in and pull down his boxers, his cock springs out and introduces itself. Your reaction leaves a prideful smirk spreading across his face. Whatever you were expecting he knows that has been exceeded.

"Bit off more than you can chew, huh?"

You appear to be offended by his assumption. At least that’s what your expression reads. "Not at all," you reply, straightening your posture to align with his midsection. "May I?"

With Jungkook’s permission, you make contact with his length by grasping it gently in your smooth hand. Your fingers wrap around his girth as your eyes size him up.

Stroking him lazily in your warm palm, you admire his protruding veins that run along his length. You pause at the reddened tip, tapping the pool of precum that has developed at his slit. Your tongue licks your lips as if you’re sitting before a feast.

He understands it’s probably been forever since you’ve been in the presence of someone his size, but he’s impatient. You’ll have to do this another time.

"Don't fuck around, alright? I still got a bullet with your name on it, dollface."

You heed his warning and move closer, determining the best method of swallowing him whole.

"Sorry," you say in a whisper.

Those manners of yours will take you places; if you play your cards right.

"It’s no sweat, beautiful. Just keep going."

It's probably the first time he's said something as sincere; but honestly, he's just trying to get gobbled up before he cums all over his freshly waxed floors. His men are probably wondering what the hell is taking so long. For all they know, you’re using his bathroom to clean yourself up from the bumpy ride you had in the trunk of their car.

Without warning, Jungkook’s dick is sucked into your heavenly mouth. The warm and wetness invite him in without hesitation, comforting his throbbing length like a compress. He struggles to maintain his composure.

He isn't sure if he should allow you to take over because he cannot move. He couldn’t thrust if he wanted to. He’s mentally and physically stuck. The way you're slurping him up…he might not even be able to walk after this.

"Easy," Jungkook warns, which causes you to raise an eyebrow.

Finally, a bit of cockiness breaks through the surface.

Jungkook has no choice but to pull himself together and find his bearings because he’d die before boosting your ego.

"Fine," he grunts. "I can play rough too."

His hands snake their way to the back of your head, granting him full control. Your dark eyes never tear away from his face as he harshly uses his grip to push your head into his swift thrusts. You start to gag and choke, dropping saliva all over his cock and the floor. Something that would usually piss him off—but tonight, he can’t find an ounce of care.

It's not like he has to clean it up.

"Goddamn. Who's training this throat, hm?" He buries himself in your throat, making your forehead collide with his pelvic area. "Can’t be your hubby?"

When he hears a gurgled moan, he pulls away and allows you to speak. Through labored pants, you huff out your response. It’s one he's sure you've never shared with your husband.

"I'll suck that bastard dry every night before I let him cum inside me."

Jungkook nods. "Smart woman."

However, your business has nothing to do with him. Right now, he needs your undivided attention.

"Come here," he demands.

Jungkook hopes you were able to take in a breath before he lets go of his self-control.

You two had a deal, and he will uphold his part as you are yours. You’ve complied and given him some of the best head he’s ever received. Now, it’s time for the real show.

It’s been a month since he loaned your spouse some money; it’s time to pay up. To remind him of that, he’ll send your husband some face shots of his beautiful wife.

Jungkook will get his payment—one way, or another.

"Fuck!"

His body tenses now that he’s hitting the back of your throat. No matter how deep he goes, you never run out of space. The sweat rolling down his face is ignored because he’s too focused on how good your mouth feels around him.

Your warmth has him hunched over and leaning on his toes, his mouth stuck in an O-shape as he comes dangerously close to release. As he moves in and out of your crevice, he catches a glimpse of your juicy cunt being filled with your fingers, your body squirming and seeking the same relief he's chasing.

Both of your moans fill the room as you reach the peak of your highs. Your eyes roll back as your body becomes stiff. Jungkook knows exactly what's going on with you, and as you're riding out the waves of your orgasm, he waits for the perfect moment to pull out and paint you with his seed.

The time comes when you're no longer able to control your breathing, and you're desperately looking for a source of air. It's not a second too soon because Jungkook cannot bear another deep dive into your wet hole.

He slips out and gives his boner a couple of quick strokes before ropes of his cum paint your pretty face. The sounds you make indicate just how pleased you are with the results of your messy blowjob.

…And messy it is indeed.

It's everywhere, but he kept his promise and didn't get any in your hair.

"Ready?" Jungkook asks, still trying to catch his breath.

"Yeah."

Jungkook pulls his phone out of his back pocket and finds his camera. He positions it directly in front of your face. Your exhausted eyes and fucked out expression brings him some amusement. A contrast of how he felt before meeting you. 

"Is my hair okay?" you ask him, and this time he actually has to chuckle.

Since you've made his night a little better, he does a quick job smoothing down flyaways and kinks. 

Honestly, he didn't have to because you already look hot. Your hair all messy with his load dumped all over your face. All while adorned in an expensive diamond necklace your husband bought you—probably with his money.

Before he gets angry, he instructs you to look at the camera.

You pose provocatively as he takes a few pictures, giving your best doe-eyed pout.  When he’s done, he finally guides you to the bathroom. He allows you to use his shower or whatever else you’d need to clean up. 

Jungkook then lets you know that you may take as long as you need to freshen up while he sits on the bed to make this official.

He searches his contacts for the correct number. A mischievous grin slowly forms on his face as he taps the latest images in his camera roll, sending his debtor a little message to stir the pot.

03:14 am Sent: img.788, img.789....

03:14 am Sent: at the crib fucking your bitch. bring my bread and i might give her back.

He's lying. You’re staying right here.

Or…you can join your husband, in the cozy six-foot bed his men dug up for him in the woods.

[sister-lucifer]

can we get gross pervy dom toby content 🙏

Some Gross Pervy Dom Toby Content 

Toby Rogers x Gender Neutral Reader

Genre: NSFW 

Summary: There is really no plot to be summarized, Toby’s just a horndog and he chased you down. good fuckin luck  

Content/Warnings: Dubcon/Noncon elements, implied stalking, horror elements, Toby being creepy, Toby smells you and touches you in the weirdest manner you can possibly imagine, NSFW with minimal (mostly implied) plot, no real sex happens just fucked up shit, no seriously this is nasty as fuck i’m getting put on a list for this 

Like my writing? I take requests! NSFW or SFW for any fandoms in my bio (request rules + masterlist in pinned post)!

Also, please reblog! it’s free, takes two seconds, and really helps me out 

Feedback is encouraged and appreciated:)

Not fully proofread! Let me know if you see any errors!

A/N: Just to avoid confusion, in my headcanon Toby has a stutter as well as but separate from his tourette’s; i’m writing his stutter, not his tics! thankies!

also READ THE FUCKING WARNINGS THIS ONE IS NASTY

Staring down the barrel of a loaded gun would fill you with less dread than staring up at the lanky boy who’s currently towering over you. 

You don’t have to look at him to know there’s a twisted smile filled with crooked, chipped teeth spread across his face, hazel eyes scrunched at the corners as he grins like a madman. You don’t want to look at him, really, but you can’t stop yourself before you’re slowly craning your neck to see. Slowly his face comes into view, and it’s even more unsettling than you could prepare for. 

His messy brown hair flicks up in all directions and partly obscures his eyes, and yet they seem to glow in the dim light of the sunset. One of his arms is above you, folded against the wall, while the other cages you into the corner. Besides his fingers drumming restlessly, he’s not moving, but his entire body is trembling with….excitement? His chest is heaving like he’s struggling to breathe, and the uncomfortable feeling of his warm exhale fanning over your face makes you shudder, and…oh god, is he drooling over you? Shit—

You press yourself hard against the wall, face burning hot against the cool air of the drafty abandoned building. Something tells you you shouldn’t take your eyes off of him for too long, but in your peripheral vision you can see through the broken windows. There’s nothing but trees in all directions, and the sky is rapidly darkening with each passing second. You’re watching any chance you had of escaping in the daylight slip from your fingers. Everything is becoming much too disorienting much too fast, thoughts racing and overlapping and screaming at you to��do something, but you can’t. All at once you’re trying to figure out an escape plan, how to appease your captor for long enough to execute an escape plan, and how you even got here in the first place. 

The last thing you remember is running from him, the branches of the thicket grabbing at your pants and arms as if trying to hold you back. You had no choice but to run into the old hospital, but now you’re wishing you’d simply kept going. 

You must’ve moved too much for Toby’s liking, because he suddenly grabs onto your arm with a grip that feels strong enough to snap the bone in two. You yelp in pain, a second gloved hand quickly clamping over your mouth. The echo of your cry rings loud in your ears, and for a moment you wonder if it’ll ever go quiet again. 

“You…you…” Toby stutters, and your eyes widen at the sound of his voice. You aren’t sure what you were expecting to hear, but he just sounds so…normal, like any other nineteen year old boy, except if it were anyone else in any other scenario a mere couple of syllables wouldn’t strike such fear into you. 

“You ran a loooong t-time…” He scolds, but his grin doesn’t falter. He brings his hand away from your mouth to shake a finger at you, seemingly trusting you not to scream. 

Not like it would matter. You made him chase you pretty far in. 

In an instant his hands are on your waist, slipping under your shirt and eagerly grabbing at the soft flesh he finds beneath. You have to bite your tongue to hold back another yelp. 

“Oh, ooohh but it w-was worth it!” Toby slurs with a drawl, “I’ve f-finally fooouund yooouu, aha…” 

He sounds so proud of himself. Something about his tone is almost childish, deceivingly so. He truly thinks he’s done something amazing. 

Your heart skips a beat when he suddenly freezes, face going void of all emotion, and you wonder if you’ve truly angered him. If you did, would that be the mistake that ended it all? 

Fortunately, it seems he was just changing gears. You panic when you realize he’s leaning in towards you, but he moves past your face to practically bury his nose in your neck, taking a long and deep breath. He lets out a faint laugh as he breathes out, and it feels like a horrible sensation crawling down your spine. The only thing you can do is grab onto his arms, nails digging into the dirty and worn fabric of his hoodie. It’s practically caked with dried mud in some areas and you can feel the dry cracking beneath your hands. 

“I m-missed your…your s-smell…” Toby whispers. You’re confused for a moment, and it takes a few seconds for it all to set in. 

‘Missed?’ 

He’d…smelled you before? 

He ‘missed’ you… 

“I-I should have…should have visited m-more…I-I got ssso busy, b-but I didn’t forget you, I-I promise…” 

He keeps talking, but it starts to fade out. Only a few words matter, anyways. 

There’s an incredibly brief moment of clarity that flashes through your mind, a split second flicker of understanding that you hadn’t just been misplacing or losing things, that you weren’t imagining all those noises or shadows that you told yourself were childish things to be afraid of, and it nearly floods your brain before it disappears as quickly as it appeared. Maybe you purposefully pushed it out, at least for now. There was too much going on to process the past. If you were lucky enough to get out of this alive, you could reflect then. 

You’re frozen for a few moments as Toby’s idle hands begin to wander, as they always do. He’s at least considerate enough to feel you up through your clothes, but that doesn’t stop you from sucking in a harsh breath through your teeth when he roughly gropes your ass. It forces you to push yourself into him as you try to get away from the aggressive grip. You can feel him laugh with his chest pressed flush against yours. 

He takes the opportunity to wrap his arms around you, and it’s become painfully obvious that he’s much stronger than he looks. You’d never expect someone so skinny to be able to manhandle you like this. 

He sways slowly from side to side as he holds you, one unsteady hand toying with your hair in a gesture that, on Toby’s end, seems as though it is meant to be sincere. 

“Th-There’s so much I want t-to do to y— to do with y-you…so little time…” He goes on muttering to himself over something or other, but you can’t understand him as he trails off. 

He seems preoccupied with his own thoughts, distracted enough that you begin to squirm. He doesn’t react, continuing to quietly rant about nothing while stroking your head. You struggle again, a bit bolder this time. Nothing. 

Maybe you actually had a chance, you just had to slip away. Hell, maybe you’d get lucky and run the right way on the first try; for all you know you’re only a mile away from a highway, that could be your lifeline. You just had to slip away— 

“Stop it! Stop doing that!” 

…Easier said than done, it seems. 

Hearing Toby yell, seemingly allowing a genuine flash of anger to overtake him as he slams you back against the wall, chills you to the core. He was unpredictable, bouncing back and forth between the extremes of whatever emotion he was feeling, making it impossible to plan around his potential actions. 

His hand splays out across your chest to keep you pinned to the wall. He’s applying much more pressure than he needs to, and he knows it. His smile twitches as you struggle to recover from having the wind knocked out of you. 

When he reaches back for his pocket, you expect him to pull out a weapon; maybe a knife, or even a small handgun you somehow hadn’t noticed. 

But no. He returns with something much smaller, and your brows furrow in confusion as you struggle to make out the shape among the shadows that have quickly taken over your space. 

“What’s t-the matter?” Toby asks, “Never seen a-a condom before?”

He snickers cruelly at the way your mouth hangs open in reply. 

“Whaaaat? I-I’m trying to be nice…don’t be a bitch.” 

“N…Nice?!” You choke out in reply, and this time Toby’s jaw drops. 

“Oh, it does speak!” He exclaims with genuine excitement. “Good, good…s-so good…” 

He holds the corner of the wrapper in his mouth so that his hand can be free to fumble with his belt. The sound of the buckle clanking as he slips it off makes your stomach flip. Your gaze flicks quickly back and forth from his pants back to his eyes, and he hasn’t stopped staring at you. You haven’t even seen him blink. 

His tongue runs over his glistening teeth as he prepares to speak again: 

“I h-hope you squeal for me, pretty thing…When we’re done here, I’m t-takin’ you with me…” 

[thebiscuitlabryinth]

"...We're two sides of the same coin, aren't we?"

The whispered confession falls clumsily out of Pure Vanilla's mouth, almost dragged out, bitterly sweet and strange on his tongue. The words are addressed to his own stained candy glass visage, spilling tendrils of bright blue light across the Solarium of Unity despite the almost suffocating darkness invading the rest of the space.

He knows this isn't really the Solarium of Unity, and he knows he isn't just speaking to a window. The lurking shadows, thick like molasses and blinking every once in a while, give that away. Even if it didn't, there is a haziness here that exists only in dreams, and a lack of the deep tiredness that has been plaguing him as of late.

"Oh, are you finally ready to admit that?" Sure enough, Shadow Milk Cookie's voice comes from all sides, far too cheerful. The candy glass melts and warps before him, the blues darkening until Shadow Milk stands in his place, far more detailed than the artisan silhouette he replaced. His grin is mocking as he looks down at Pure Vanilla, who cannot help but feel uncomfortable at the sight of their appearances blurring together like that, even though he had been expecting something along those lines. "Too bad though – you can't admit something that's wrong!"

"Huh?" It catches Pure Vanilla by surprise. It had been difficult emotionally, but logically straightforward to admit they were two sides of the same coin. He couldn't imagine how that could be wrong, and acting upon an old habit from his student days, he finds himself frantically unravelling that conclusion in his head again to figure out the issue.

Shadow Milk doesn't give him the chance, tutting as he shakes his head in mock disappointment. "You must have a brain in there, can't you use it?" He laments theatrically, contorting himself into an odd shape against the edge of the window pane. Then, again barreling on before Pure Vanilla can reply, "Look, think of it like this. To say we're two sides of the same coin means that we have similarities, even if we are otherwise opposites. That is true to an extent, but it makes our differences sound way more clear cut than they actually are. It may be easier for you to believe, but we aren't really opposites. That would imply I am not whole, and I can assure you, Soul Jam aside, I am just as I always was!"

Ah, so it's a matter of wording. Pure Vanilla isn't sure why he is entertaining this - no, it's because he doesn't want to give Shadow Milk the satisfaction of turning away from the truth. Even now, Shadow Milk's eyes squint cheekily at him, daring him to try and end the conversation.

"Then... we are made of the same components in a different composition." Pure Vanilla tries, a little frustrated with his own hesitance, but it is difficult to tell how Shadow Milk wants him to answer when he isn't making it blatantly obvious.

"So close!" Shadow Milk sighs dramatically as he snaps his head to the side so sharply it makes Pure Vanilla wince, imagining the cracks that would cause on any other Cookie. "But you're relying on technicalities. It's much simpler than that."

It dawns on Pure Vanilla, then, exactly what Shadow Milk is aiming for, the realisation making his insides crawl. He doesn't have to say it, not really, but he isn't sure what Shadow Milk will do if he doesn't, and he unfortunately doesn't have the ability to wake himself up on command.

So he takes a deep breath, fidgeting with his staff as he says, even less than a whisper yet twice as loud. "We're... We're the same. Is that what you wanted me to say?"

"Ding-ding-ding!" Shadow Milk trills, suddenly reaching through the candy glass to grip the window frame and lurching forward across the threshold, leaving a mess of shattered glass behind his head like a halo. It startles Pure Vanilla, who instinctively shifts his foot back, only to be instantly locked in place as the reaching shadows soldify around his legs, its eyes winking up at him playfully. His grip on his staff tightens, willing it to shed its light, the beginnings of panic stirring within him at the restraint. The staff does, but the shadows seem to eat the light without a problem.

Pure Vanilla is so distracted by the shadows that he doesn't notice Shadow Milk's hands until they grab his face. His heart jumps in alarm, and his eyes dart up to find half of Shadow Milk leaning down out of the window, far too close. He is grinning at him, wide and self-satisfied, and his hands are cold and harsh. "See, I knew you had a working brain! Yes, the right answer is that we are one and the same."

He pinches and pulls at his cheeks, and Pure Vanilla tries to cringe away, tries to manuver his staff between them. It doesn't work, if only because hands emerge from the darkness to anchor his staff too.

"But that isn't true." Pure Vanilla mumbles when he isn't able to wiggle his way out and Shadow Milk still shows no signs of stopping, hoping the argument will make him lose interest in his face. "I admit that there are similarities between us, but we aren't really the same."

Shadow Milk pauses, his grip tightening until it borders on pain, and for a moment, Pure Vanilla thinks he may have miscalculated.

But then Shadow Milk snickers to himself, releasing his face entirely and pulling back, his hands resting lightly over Pure Vanilla's shoulders. The brush of weight keeps Pure Vanilla from relaxing, but it is a bit of added distance, at least.

"Aren't we? Well, you are the biggest liar, so I should have expected you would lie to yourself too." Shadow Milk hums, almost sounding delighted at this turn in conversation. It unnerves Pure Vanilla, because he had assumed his disagreement would annoy him.

Instead, Shadow Milk smirks, his many eyes glinting gleefully at him. "Listen carefully, Vani, because here's the truth." He says, his voice dipping into a wicked purr that seems to shudder through Pure Vanilla's whole body. "All the things you hate that I have done, you have the capability of doing too. After all, you've already used people for your own gain, haven't you?" Shadow Milk leans closer with a condescending lilt to his words, shifting his hands so he can wrap his arms loosely over his shoulders, and Pure Vanilla freezes under the touch. "Oh, I know you think it was necessary, but you still sent those naive, tiny Cookies off to carry out your errands for you, regardless of the dangers. That's only a few steps behind what I've done, you know, making people dance to my tune. The only difference between us is severity and time."

The words sink heavily to Pure Vanilla's stomach, not quite true but not quite not true, and he feels a little lightheaded, fingers twitching against his staff. Maybe it's because of that, or maybe it's because of his discomfort from the close proximity, but he finds himself distracted by the way Shadow Milk is talking. He carries his usual air of showmanship, but it is nowhere near as exaggerated as during his brief takeover of the Faerie Kingdom. With his insistence of specificity, his mention of technicalities, his structured method of explaining things, he almost sounds like a–

"We are the same," Shadow Milk repeats, tilting his head to the side, the glow of his eyes burning holes through Pure Vanilla, "and one day, you'll end up just like me."

A scholar.

That makes sense – at some point, his virtue had been Knowledge, and nobody seeks it out as fervently as a scholar – but it still feels like a surprise. Pure Vanilla had always known that Shadow Milk was different, once, but only in the sense that the fact existed in the back of his mind.

"No rebuttal, hmm? Are you ready to accept that?" Shadow Milk asks smugly, slightly impatient with Pure Vanilla's lack of response, but mostly watching him expectantly, as if waiting for a bomb to go off.

Pure Vanilla has never thought about what Shadow Milk might have been like, before he became like this. There was no reason to even consider it. But now, he can't help but wonder, because while he cannot imagine this chaotic, brutal Beast, this great unknown evil, as anything else – Shadow Milk still carries echoes from a past life that he doesn't seem to notice enough to hide with his lies.

"...If we are the same," Pure Vanilla finally scrapes his thoughts together enough to reply, carefully, "then doesn't that make the opposite possible too? That, one day, you will become like me and return to the light?"

Shadow Milk blinks once, his face falling blank. He blinks again, all of his eyes in quick succession.

And then he throws his head back and laughs, the movement jostling Pure Vanilla in the process with his arms still firmly around his shoulders. It sounds unhinged, ricocheting across the room, but it is openly amused. It makes Pure Vanilla antsy, especially with how it rings in his ears like an explosion from their closeness.

He wonders if Shadow Milk's laugh was different, before everything. It must have been. He wonders what it sounded like, and immediately realises that he's being ridiculous. The realisation that a before exists seems to have opened the floodgates in his mind, and now thoughts of hypotheticals can't help flitting in.

"You say such silly, silly things." Shadow Milk bites out offhandedly as his laughter winds down, the lingering remnants still dancing on his tongue. Without warning, he pulls Pure Vanilla even closer, the darkness that had been keeping him in place swirling and shoving him forward. Pure Vanilla gasps, the sound catching in his throat, and one of his hands fly off his staff to reach for something to steady himself on. It finds an edge of shattered candy glass, flinching back and falling down to scrabble against its smooth, intact surface.

Shadow Milk is giggling at him and Pure Vanilla is mortified, horribly so. They are far, far too close, Shadow Milk's face taking up the near entirety of his vision and their upper bodies almost pressed together. It feels claustrophobic, which should be impossible in such a wide, open space.

Shadow Milk makes matters worse by pressing their foreheads together, the gesture weirdly tender and doing nothing to make Pure Vanilla any calmer. His bright blue eyes look directly through him, dissecting him piece by piece.

"Why don't you cut down the Silver Tree and find out?" Shadow Milk coos, his voice overlapping with the Light of Truth's in a deeply unsettling way. His presence is overwhelming.

Pure Vanilla's eyes flicker downwards to escape his piercing gaze, and finds their chests so close that their Soul Jams are overlapping. Overlapping, and not touching, because Shadow Milk's Soul Jam seems to fizzle out of existence where the other makes contact with it, as if it were an illusion. Behind it is an empty space, black as the abyss. With the way they are lined up now, it is obvious that Pure Vanilla's Soul Jam would fit perfectly into the crevice with a little turning. He knew that already, but it still feels strange to see it.

Pure Vanilla sighs, a long, thin, shuddering sound. "...You didn't truly believe that would work, did you?"

In the edge of his vision, Shadow Milk smiles tauntingly, all teeth, but he doesn't say a word.

And Pure Vanilla wakes up, off kilter, exhausted and oddly cold.

[next]

[sordidmusings]

Fixing What Ifs (Mihawk x F!Reader)

A/N: For this ancient request (told you they are not forgotten just severely neglected 💀). I really hope I captured the type of scene you were looking for! Debating on writing a follow up smut because sex as the culmination of pining?? That's that good good right there that is.

Listening to: Prove Your Love - Fleetwood Mac, Go Slowly - Radiohead, Love Song - Lesley Duncan

Word Count: ~4.5k

Warnings: Fem!reader, a gratuitous amount of mutual pining, kind of bantering?, Mihawk leans opla in that he has such sass, a few flashback scenes, Mihawk is a Man who does not know how to deal with being in love, but he’s trying like a lot, I mean he even kisses your wrist, probably idiots in love, there's one brief allusion to Buggy cuz I Need Him

Snippet:

“You say that as if we’re too old to have options.” He spoke quite steadily, but you noticed his golden eyes flicking to you, ravenously seeking your reaction. You knew he was trying to cover at least a little; your equal skills in observation were a beauty and a bane to him. It was your favorite source of bickering, giving you many lines to smile at when you were stuck in lonely nights tracking targets.

“You are in your forties,” you teased. Again, you took a sip to think. You meant to find some words to match his characteristic tone (“Joints still working well enough to properly share a bed?”), but instead what came out was “though you’ve aged better than I imagined in our twenties”. You blamed that you had finally looked over and taken in his face, sculpted angles all alive and aglow in the torch-light. There was also that defined chest that he maddeningly always insisted on showing everyone. You probably would too, looking like that.

“You should know by now I always exceed expectation,” Mihawk said without a hint of gloating, just simply stating an absolute fact.

“There’s still many places I’ve yet to see that proven,” you responded, words coy and teasing but smile easy and affectionate. Mihawk would need much more intimacy before he admitted how that smile stalled his thoughts. You would need much more boldness before you let him know you noticed when you managed to halt his breath.

~ ~ ~ ••• ✦✦✦ ••• ~ ~ ~

“I’ve chosen another I want you to try. Push your glass this way,” Mihawk prompted gently. Years of knowing him let you pick up the hints of eagerness hidden under his usual drawl.

You watched Mihawk’s hands and forearms work as he opened another bottle to share. He had foregone his coat tonight, instead draping himself with a well-cut white shirt, sleeves rolled to the elbows and buttons undone to below his sternum, of course. Toned muscle danced under his skin with every twist and turn, leading you to great distraction throughout the process of him serving you. After enjoying the sculpt of his large hand while it gripped the full bottle to pour your glass, you changed your attention to the luxurious material of his shirt, fluttering over his chest and playing against tanned skin and his heavy gold cross. You wished you could find an excuse to pull at that hem, testing the softness of the material and making it reveal more for you.

The dark green bottle thumping back down on the bartop brought your attention away from your companion and back to your refreshed drink. You did feel a bit guilty that Mihawk’s description of the new wine was going near completely ignored (you at least caught the words “oak barrel-aged”, flattered he remembered your offhand comment about that preference from months ago). You just couldn’t get yourself to pay attention; your mind was swimming through multiple years at once any time it wasn’t grounded by his visage. Wistfulness had a stranglehold on you tonight, keeping you locked between painful yearning and bittersweet nostalgia. The comfort of hearing his smooth voice accompanied by the quietly unfolding lives of every stranger in the bar did reach you, however. You took solace in that while you went for your first sip.

“You’re much quieter than usual,” Mihawk prodded with dry displeasure. That displeasure was interrupted when he got to enjoy your usual show of flicking your tongue out to lick your glass and then your lips upon the first taste.

You took another, much longer sip of your drink to delay the need to respond. It was an easy choice of diversion; the wine was exquisite as always. You’d tell him as much if you were more in the mood for the gloating, simpering glow he’d get from earning a stroke to his ego from you.

“I thought you’d like that,” you offered quietly. You swept a fingertip around the slick rim of your glass, mindless in your feeling and seeing and doing. This absent state let Mihawk watch for every detail of the action to better imagine how that trailing fingertip would feel against his skin. 

“Clearly you’re not as observant as you think,” he dug back, this time with much more amusement warming his voice, yet not quite enough to completely melt the snideness out.

Despite yourself, you smiled. Years of rivalry softened you to affection. Over those years of pushing yourselves and each other, bitterness became respect, respect became comradery, and comradery became admiration. In you, that admiration had long bloomed into devotion, petals bursting open in a stalwart stand against his consistent frigid air. Some days they withered, but then he would reach to you, hearten you, or defend you in a way that would have new buds growing more and more numerous until you had a field that could withstand winter's chill, turning to ice sculptures in each frost instead of decaying pulp.

“I blame your wines,” you chuckled, still taking yet another sip despite the accusation. “They have me stuck reminiscing.”

“I’d advise against that; it’s a trying endeavor. Wouldn’t want you to hurt yourself,” Mihawk teased, doing a great job of masking his fondness with wry wit. He did venture to expose his curiosity, however. “Where and when does your mind have you trapped?”

“Our first meeting.”

Mihawk barely managed to keep from choking on his wine. He didn’t want to tip you off on how much that memory affected him. And it would be a shame to waste such an expensive drink.

“Why would you be thinking of that ridiculous affair?” There goes the effort at keeping you in the dark.

“What?” you asked with mock shock. “The only thing that was ridiculous was how little you trusted the top marksman to do her job.”

“You didn’t exactly scream competency,” Mihawk defended, hiding his fluster behind rudeness and the rim of his glass. The dim lighting of the bar would have hid it for him anyway; the few torch chandeliers did wonders for turning him to a living Baroque painting, but they were known for their shadows more than their breadth of hues. 

“That is one thing you always did have on me,” you relented easily, more set on imagining the immaculately groomed and glaring warlord who first saw you than needing to keep a score with his modern counterpart at your side.

~ ~ ~ ••• ~ ~ ~

“They asked for me for a reason, you’re more useful elsewhere.”

“I’m useful everywhere you’ll find,” he dismissed easily, as sure of that fact as in the rising of the sun each day. You were a hard one to shake, but the way his namesake hawk’s eyes cut through you had you feeling exposed and vulnerable. It had you needing to make him just as small as the little pieces his endlessly picking gaze had shredded you into. 

“Then go be useful as something other than my shadow. Some of us are actually working.” Even in your exasperation fueled anger, you sounded more like you were asking than telling. The ease with which he commanded was yet another skill you’d spotted on him so quickly in these few days together that had you feeling out of your league. You were beginning to think he took great joy in your mounting discomfort with the way he hovered around, always looking for another soft spot to peck at.

“You’ve been laying at this spot for days, Viper, with nothing to show for it,” Mihawk said, phrasing the truth quite unfairly. Viper was the code-name gifted to you in your work; the snakes could sit still as the dead for weeks, waiting for the one moment that prey finally crossed their path. That same dedication was what he was attempting to disturb now. “I could have rooted the rats out within the hour of mission's start.”

“Then it’s a good thing this task is mine and not yours,” you spat back, finally finding the will to sound truly mean. There was much you were uncertain of but your methods were a strong sense of pride and no one got to question them. “I’m sure the trafficking victims would do really well avoiding harm in the slaughter you’d start. They are known for being battle-ready after all; I’m sure they’re just playing victim right now so they can partake in a song-worthy escape and claim their glory.”

“You think I have no skill to guard and fight at the same time?”

“I think it’s not worth the risk to innocents just to feed one man’s insatiable ego,” you grumbled, spreading yourself out on your familiar and beloved blanket to begin this day’s long watch. You lined one eye with the one-of-a-kind scope of your rifle, taking comfort in settling into your power. “Better to wait until they show themselves and pick them off from miles away, letting them panic at the suddenness of death from a foe they’ll never see.”

Your memory never granted you Mihawk’s perspective on your first job together. You never figured out that he was hovering not from hatred of your perceived incompetence but an uncontrollable need to have you in his sight. He’d never had to contend with such an impulse before and found himself completely at the mercy of its whims. Garp was not happy with the freshly titled Warlord; he was meant to be helping eradicate the rebel legion that had taken this island over to ravage it for resources (humans included), not keep checking out their prized sniper like he’s a fifteen year old with his first female fixation.

~ ~ ~ ••• ~ ~ ~

“Surely I can be of much more entertainment to you in the present than in whatever foggy memories you have,” Mihawk said, successfully bringing you back to him.

“Yes you can,” you admitted with too much authenticity and affection for your tastes to just leave that flavor in the ari. After a moment of thought, you softly bumped your shoulder with his and added, “You’re practically a whole circus over there, how ever could I look away?”

You didn’t expect the long and tired sigh to deflate the man next to you, leaving his upper body draped on the bar. The sound seemed to have come from so deep in his lungs that it was born from his very soul.

“Please keep all talk of circuses and especially clowns to a minimum,” Mihawk pleaded into his forearms. He lifted head to look at you with one of the grouchiest and most sour faces you’d seen on him in a long time, before plopping it back into his arms. The whole thing was only made more endearing with the way the bar had pushed his hat askew.

“What’s with that look?” you laughed. “You usually save that one for Shanks.”

“I wish it was Shanks,” he grumbled petulantly. Your laughter always brightened him back up and he longed to turn and see the beauty of it on your face, but instead chose to keep to his brooding to prolong the sound just that much more.

 If it wouldn’t send him up the wall, you would have told him how much you adored when his brooding turned pouty. It sapped him of his persistent decorum and made him feel closer - more touchable. The slouch it brought out in him always had you valiantly fighting the urge to wrap his curved chest in a firm hug. It was unfair how perfectly suited for one he looked, resting his elbows on the bar and opening him and his luxury shirt and his warm skin up for your reaching hands and arms. You shook your head after a mourning sigh and took another sip of heady wine.

“I wish it was Shanks too. It’s been too long since I’ve seen him.” The soft spot you always showed for the Red Haired Pirates only threatened to drag Mihawk’s mood low again. It was amended slightly by your cute, happy gasp before you said, “We should go visit them soon! I’ve got a bigger chunk of free time after the next two months.”

Mihawk was always amazed by how easily tiny little gestures from you perked him back up and got his heart leaping. All you did was choose to say “we”. He wished and wished that it was always “we”, but he’d take what he could get. Even if it meant dealing with the usual treatment whenever you were both with Shanks and his crew.

~ ~ ~ ••• ~ ~ ~

Mihawk was not fond of the look Shanks was sending his way. It was all too smarmy, built on equal parts smugness and giddiness. Disgusting.

“You dog! When I tried to imagine what could have the unshakable Dracule Mihawk off his game I never would’ve guessed it was our dear Viper,” Shanks teased cheerily, bumping his shoulder into the rigid one of the swordsman next to him. Mihawk was affronted - he nearly spilled his drink from Shanks’ boorish behavior.

“Didn’t know she was yours,” Mihawk grumbled, attempting to sidestep Shanks’ prompts to have him speak his infatuation aloud.

Shanks was fighting poorly to hold in his laughter; Mihawk was absolutely sulking while he watched Yasopp teach you more gun spinning tricks. You and the sharpshooter were always all joy and play, easily finding common ground in marksmanship but with the added fun of showing your separate specializations to each other. Each bout of laughter from your direction brought another brooding line to Mihawk’s furrowed brow. This standoffish air was his habitual defense against the raw ache he’d been tending to since the two of you met.

Every time I try to play, I end up wounding her, he lamented. Why can I not earn your laughter?

~ ~ ~ ••• ~ ~ ~

Mihawk lightly shook himself of the memory. On instinct, he turned to look at you and found you already looking at him but not really seeing him. He quietly huffed through his nose at losing you again to your own mind. He decided to give you a moment before getting to the bottom of whatever it was that had you in your funk. Beyond selfishly wanting your rapt attention, he was worried for you. You were prone to take pause and think long, especially when in quiet company, but you seemed truly lost in your own mind, taken against your will.

Mihawk’s accurate read on you was more proof of the years tentatively building rapport with each other. That intimacy you shared, which lacked the intimacy you so craved, was what had you held hostage in one of the many examples of your entwining lives.

~ ~ ~ ••• ~ ~ ~

The quiet in the air was broken only by Mihawk’s calm breathing, his occasional quiet sips of today’s wine, and the gentle rustle of a turning page. Your own breathing was silent, having gone so long and smooth it was imperceptible due to an instinct trained in so no need of your body could get in the way of your shot. Luckily, your targets were always at such a great distance that Mihawk’s casual lounging would never alert them that they were being hunted.

“It’s been twelve hours since you’ve eaten,” Mihawk told you in a bored tone, eyes never leaving the pages of his book. You made to ignore him and continue your work, but he had never been able to stand your attention off of him for long. “Almost three since you’ve taken a sip of water.”

“Sorry, Mom, I’m a bit busy at the moment,” you mumbled back evenly. You had long lost the majority of your bitterness toward his nitpicking, instead just glad he was around and saying anything to you.

“If I was your mother, I would’ve commanded you to just let me take the target out in the first place so we could leave this boring island,” Mihawk complained.

“You really gonna take a swing at them from two miles off?” you asked, smiling as you imagined the chaos wrought from such an action. It would be a catastrophe, but it would also give you quite the show. Over your time knowing him, you’d seen Mihawk’s innate beauty and untouchable prowess countless times, but it was never enough to sate you.

“You’re not the only one who can hit a target from that distance,” Mihawk reminded you and you hoped you weren't imagining the tone of a smirk shaping his voice.

“Yeah, but I’m the only one of us who won’t cause a tsunami in the process,” you giggled at him. 

Again, your diligence robbed you of the chance to see the poignant longing overtaking Mihawk’s face when he smiled at you. He relished every step he’d gotten closer to being the source of your joy.

~ ~ ~ ••• ~ ~ ~

“You’ve disappeared again,” Mihawk complained after sending a haughty tut your way.

You offered an apologetic smile and were happy that he accepted it readily. All those memories, years of feeling, and liquid courage built a full storm inside of you until you knew you needed to allow yourself some time in the eye of it. Being surrounded by the roaring weather would be nerve-wracking but you hoped the calm at the center helped protect you from those shredding winds. You blew a heavy sigh over your drink, refusing to look from its dark, blooded tint when you asked, “Have you ever wondered what it would’ve been like if we were together?”

He didn’t answer right away. Usually Mihawk was a man who was quick with his words, as sure in speed and precision with their strike as he was with that of his sword. You respected that sureness and bold weaponizing of his thoughts, but you deeply appreciated that, with you, he would take the time to truly parse his words when he felt the need. It suited your nature better; your patience was as legendary as your ability to shoot the wings from a fly that was miles off from the end of your rifle. 

“You say that as if we’re too old to have options.” He spoke quite steadily, but you noticed his golden eyes flicking to you, ravenously seeking your reaction. You knew he was trying to cover at least a little; your equal skills in observation were a beauty and a bane to him. It was your favorite source of bickering, giving you many lines to smile at when you were stuck in lonely nights tracking targets.

“You are in your forties,” you teased. Again, you took a sip to think. You meant to find some words to match his characteristic tone (“Joints still working well enough to properly share a bed?”), but instead what came out was “though you’ve aged better than I imagined in our twenties”. You blamed that you had finally looked over and taken in his face, sculpted angles all alive and aglow in the torch-light. There was also that defined chest that he maddeningly always insisted on showing everyone. You probably would too, looking like that.

“You should know by now I always exceed expectation,” Mihawk said without a hint of gloating, just simply stating an absolute fact.

“There’s still many places I’ve yet to see that proven,” you responded, words coy and teasing but smile easy and affectionate. Mihawk would need much more intimacy before he admitted how that smile stalled his thoughts. You would need much more boldness before you let him know you noticed when you managed to halt his breath.

“Mihawk, my dearest adversary and cherished… friend,” you hesitated on the word, never having claimed him as such to his face before. He rewarded your bravery with a gentle bump of his knee against yours and with the bare fondness that began softening his stare. “We have been playing this game, dancing this dance, for decades now. Am I really meant to believe that one question changes everything?”

“The right question can,” he asserted immediately. He opened his mouth to continue, but for once you were the one striking quick with your words.

“You are a man who does not hesitate,” you accused, staring cuttingly into his focused gaze, not backing down at the way it became shielded. “If you want something you take it.”

“And?” Mihawk prompted, tone the most biting it's been all night.

“And,” you repeated. “And…”

You sighed in defeat and turned back to your drink, closing yourself away. He was more than smart enough to know where you were going with that, but he insisted on making you be the one to say it. You wouldn’t allow him to make you insult yourself, especially after you had ventured to bring up the tenuous topic in the first place. If he refused to argue or even acknowledge your conclusions, then you’d let your drink be the friend to assuage those old hurts. The echoed sigh to your side did little to move you from your new stake out with your wounds and your wine.

Mihawk pinched the bridge of his nose, resisting the urge to call you foolish so his own mind would stop branding him with that word. He had been ever vigilant of you throughout the years, not only in an effort to soak you in every moment he could, but also to latch on the moment he noticed you offering him a true opening. You had finally bared your throat to him and he had managed to fail at your final test to check that he would not stoop to bite - that he would only beg to kiss.

While taking his next sip of wine, Mihawk extended an olive branch in the form of a thigh pressed firmly into yours. He was barely able to keep in the frustrated growl that pressed at his chest when you shifted yourself away. You did turn your eyes to him out of curiosity, however, but he missed the look completely, too busy reassembling himself. It let you watch carefully as the flaming lights turned his hat’s extravagant feather amber in their glow when he lifted it off his head to place on the bartop. It let him run his fingers back through his thick black curls, trying to shake his disappointment off with the teasing of his strands.

He looked over at you and finally caught on to your observing. Mihawk let his regret pour over his face, even letting his lips twitch into a momentary, rueful smile. You replied with a tired smile of your own. In the end, it turned sweet and loving; a bad habit of yours with the swordsman. You pressed your thigh back to his.

In a rare show of humility, propelled by the heat of your thigh warming his and the sweet crinkles your smile brought to your eyes (Just for me, he thought with doting greed), Mihawk took your hand and bowed himself low to touch his forehead to your knuckles. His thumb soothed gentle circles into it while he stayed lowered to you for a few long breaths. He was eager to enjoy the feeling of your skin and the decadent scent of your perfume, strong now with the proximity of your wrist. You had chosen something sultry and heady with its deep notes of orchid and amber and wood, all calling to him until he acted with thought a millisecond behind instinct.

He flipped your hand over, slowly and gently, cradling it palm up in his large hand. Still stooped, he had to move scant inches to brush the tip of his nose across the thin skin on the inside of your wrist, savoring the pull of your perfume going deep into his lungs and leading his mind to a content haze. He sealed the small caress with a feathery brush of his lips over your pulse, wishing he could make himself press harder to feel your heart thump against his lips. He longed to know if it raced with the same jumping cantor as his.

When he sat back up he was met with a vision from his dreams. You had fully turned your face to him and it was lit with a deep flush made more rosy in the fire-cast light of the bar. No ambient chatter nor clinking cutlery could keep his ears from delighting in the hitch of your breath in and the contented sigh out. Another smile indulged him, this one easily crowned his favorite with its happy chuckle, pressing cheeks, and bare affection. 

“I am a man who takes what I want,” Mihawk confirmed your words delicately. He continued to hold your hand, now enfolding it in both of his. You felt bright tingling shooting from the contact and the press of your thighs. They made you twenty again, staring down the most handsome and insipidly arrogant man you’d ever met and cursing your heart for its clear choice. “I take what I want, not who I want. People aren’t for the taking, little viper.”

You laughed at the title, never feeling it sat quite right. You felt you wore it well at work only. The imagery it brought up of femme fatales and their hypnotizing looks and lethal wit made you feel like a young girl cloaked ill-fittingly in her mother’s best event wear, barely able to peek your head out of the wool coat dwarfing you. Mihawk noted your discomfort with the title throughout the years but never found the proper words to have you see that all who said it were reverent when they saw how well the word wrapped over you.

“What if-” again you hesitate. You scrunch your face in anger at your nature, but before Mihawk had time to bring a hand to your face and soothe it back into a smile, you force out the words. “What if I am for the taking?”

Mihawk’s thumbs stopped their massaging and you felt his thigh jump to tense against your own. Staring into his widening eyes and how they glowed so beautifully - too beautifully to be within your reach - you immediately wished you could suck the words right back into your lungs. You made it this far though, so you instead worried at your lip and clung your hand onto Mihawk’s stalled hold.

Finally, he unfroze.

“For the night only?” Mihawk probed, wanting answers but worrying about making you close off again.

“Do you only want the night?” You tossed back to him, unwilling to turn this propositioning into a confession of the long years you have built a deep and sturdy love for him, no matter your attempts to welcome others into its halls.

“What I want,” Mihawk said, gentle and deliberate in coloring his tone with humble honestly, “is to be what you want.”

You were taken aback by the confession, but you were even more awed by the look he was giving you. He was still slightly stooped, broad shoulders gently curved and bent towards you, pulled down under the need to lower himself below you but body still gravitating towards you with the magnetism he’s been weak to since you first crossed paths. Framed by those shoulders and his wild curls, Mihawk looked to you with the sadly tinted longing you had felt seize you in his presence all this time. While the furrow of his brow and glimmer of his eyes had your brain buzzing with more hope than you’d dare let it host before, your chest squeezed at the conflict you saw in him; you knew that torment in your very bones.

“You always have been,” you whispered on a trembling breath. Mihawk’s eyes went wild for a moment where his whole body tensed and you felt his urge to pounce on you steal the oxygen from the room. He thanked the gods for a majority of his life spent learning control and restraint, while he got himself in order and pressed the firm kiss he’d longed for to your wrist instead. 

“Come with me,” Mihawk commanded through lips still pressed to your skin, though it was the closest you’d heard him to begging in your entire life.

You let yourself partake in a longtime wish by moving your other hand to card your fingers back into his thick hair, happy to find that it was just as soft as you had imagined. Their trailing came back around to have your palm cup his jaw. He leaned into the touch, tickling your hand with the rub of his precise facial hair when he allowed himself one small nuzzle into your loving hold. That hand guided him up to meet your eyes so he could see the love you held for him finally displayed openly in all its abundance.

“Wherever you ask me to, I will go,” you promised.

~ ~ ~ ••• ✦✦✦ ••• ~ ~ ~

[kaylinlmfao]

i hate you! but oh how i love you

type of piece: imagine, drabble, oneshot, series

type(s) of writing: smut, fluff, angst, dark, suggestive

warning(s): mentions of sexual stuff but no actual smut in this part, teasing,, murder, violence, gore, this is mostly just plot

pairings(s): dark!dom!ethan landry x sub!fem!reader

A/N: here is a special, dark fic for a treat for me and for you guys. keep the requesting coming! I love this request, more like this one please! thanks for requesting and I hope you enjoy! this is part 1 (no smut just plot)

if i wrote an ethan x fem fanfiction and kinda combined the elements of my oneshots and put them into an actual book would y'all read it? (on wattpad)

just a couple of different things from the movie in this fic. sam, tara, kirby, and chad all die. so do quinn and bailey. all killed by ethan. ethan survives and we'll see where it goes from there.

"ok, ew. get a room you two." you say to tara and chad, accidentally walking in on them kissing. "how about you get a room? we already have one. this room." tara tells you, laughing. she knows you're excited for her. she's liked chad for as long as you can remember. your smile fades as you look behind her. "TARA MOVE!" you shout as the masked killer drives a knife into tara's back. she lets out a cry of pain as chad begins dodging and fighting the killer. "oh my god, tara." you run over to help her up off the floor. "it's ok. it's ok" you try to reassure yourself. you lift tara off the floor, slinging her arm over your shoulder as you try to get her to the door.

"chad! come on" you shout as he kicks the ghostface hard, then rushing over to help you with tara. you swing open the door. "oh my god!" tara shouts. you scream as you see sam barrel through the door. she looks at the three of you in shock before chad starts rushing us to go. "come on, go go go." he ushers us through the door as i glance back at the figure, struggling to get up from their place on the ground. "it's kirby! she's the killer!" sam exclaims as you all are running through the theater. "no shit!" chad runs over to the door you came in before being stopped. "it's locked. come on." "so we're trapped?" you ask, full of fear. this isn't your first rodeo with ghostface, oh no, but you always feel a huge wave of fear when seeing the mask. whether you see a person wearing the mask on the street, or seeing an actual killer wearing it, it brings back bad memories of your ex girlfriend.,

"kirby made this whole theater a kill box. for us." sam voices. tara spins and points upwards. "hey, what about that? there's an exit door. maybe it leads to the roof or something?" she asks, breathless. "there's only one way to find out. let's go." chad orders, grabbing tara's hand. i grip sam's hand as we turn to run. suddenly, another masked ghostface comes out from behind the curtain, swinging their knife. with an extra hard swing, one of the mannequin heads goes flying. "beheadings!" chad shouts, tackling the killer. "chad!" you shout, pointing to the camera behind him as sam rushes to help tara. "smile for the camera motherfucker" chad exclaims, swinging the camera, the figure on the floor flying back from the force of the blow

you push the movie curtain past you quickly, running through. "over there!' tara points as ghostface comes barreling from somewhere behind you. you take the lead, running down the narrow hallway, just trying to get away. another masked killer appears on the opposite end of the hall. now, you're all blocked in from both sides. before chad turns and throws the camera he's still holding at the pursuer behind you. "get fucked!" he shouts. you run into the room you began in, chad pulling the popcorn machine down in front of the figure rushing after you all. the killer swings his knife at chad, aiming to slice and dice. sam and tara each grab one of it's arms, pulling the person back. you subtlety turn, looking for the metal baseball bat you brought for protection. bingo. you grab it from where you leaned it against the wall while talking to chad and tara.

you take the bat in your hands, shout a loud battle cry, and swing at the masked figure, hard. they go flying to the floor with a loud cry of pain. it's a female. now more proof that it's kirby. tara pulls her foot back, crying out from the strain on her wound, and kicks the masked person on the floor, hard. "holy shit tara. brutal" you say, grabbing her and sam, backing up as chad picks up a glass machine off of the counter. "you hit them with a baseball bat" sam counters as chad fixes to throw the glass on the ghostface writhing in pain on the floor. you chuckle with pride. "i know." you see something behind chad that makes you scream in fear. "chad!" you cry, trying to warn him. you're too late, and you watch as the killer drives their knife into you're best friend's side. "no!" you and tara shout in unison. sam holds tara back, gripping your arm at the same time.

the other killer stands and they begin stabbing chad, over and over. you're on the verge of breaking down, again. deja vu. and your boyfriend ethan and mindy still haven't shown yet. you hope and pray that everyone survives this as you turn, unable to watch the scene in front of you, but knowing that there is nothing you can do to help chad. "run" he mouths to you, smiling sadly, blood flowing freely from his mouth and the other wounds on his torso. his body falls to the floor, and the two masked killers wipe their knifes in one swift motion. you run with tara and sam, vision blinded by tears. you cry out in surprise as another ghostface emerges from behind the curtain. the masked killer from before appears on the other side, shaking and waving their knife at you.

sam reaches down and picks up three bricks, handing one to tara and offering one to you. with a shake of your head, you decline. "i've got this" you say, readying your bat to begin swinging. you, tara, and sam form a triangle, tara and yourself gripping hands, sobbing. "ready?" sam asks as tara lets out a cry. "i need you both to be ready? ready?" she repeats. you nod, reaching for her hand, closing the circle. your holding onto sam and tara's hands for dear life, watching as the two sisters reach for the others hand. "deja vu" you whisper. "look at me" sam orders you and tara. "ready?" you glance at sam, then at tara. you may not be blood, but these are your sisters. "im ready" tara tells her. they both look at you. "ready as ill ever be" you say with a smirk, slinging your bat over your shoulder. "come on motherfucker!" tara screams, baiting the masked figure behind you.

suddenly, a loud gunshot sounds from behind you and you see kirby emerge from behind the movie curtain. "it's ok." she attempts to calm the three of you. "stay the fuck back!" sam shouts. "we know it's you kirby." tara tells her. "no! one of them knocked me out." she says, breathless and panting. "kirby stop! get away from the girls" detective bailey orders, pointing his gun at her. kirby mirrors his motions, pointing her gun at him too. "what are you doing?" kirby questions. "did you kill quinn? did you kill my daughter?!" bailey asks, distraught. "jesus christ! whatever he's been saying to you, don't listen to him. he's probably the killer." a ghostface appears behind the detective. "behind you!" kirby shouts, trying to warn him. two gunshots are fired and kirby falls to the ground. "holy shit." you say, shocked. "great job" bailey praises the ghostface standing behind him. "oh fuck this fucking shit. you cheap fuck!" you scream, staring at kirby's body in shock.

another ghostface emerges from behind detective bailey. "both of you" "you?" tara asks, still in shock. "yeah, of course me. frankly, i expected more from the two of you after what you did to us." "what do you mean us?" the one on bailey's left pulls her mask off. "quinn?" (i know i changed the order but it fits my idea better) sam asks in shock. "hey roomies. you didn't see that one coming did you?" "yeah, because you died!" "kinda didn't though. it was a good way to get off the suspect list. stab gale weathers, stab mindy on the train, that sort of thing." "yeah, and i just made sure i was first on the scene so i could switch her body out with a fresh one. little fake blood, a prosthetic. you'd be surprised with what a grieving father can get away with" you jump a little, pumping your fist. "i fucking knew it! i knew it! i told you guys that she wasn't dead, but you didn't believe me! i told you, i said she wasn't dead. the blood on her walls was fake. I FUCKING KNEW IT!" "so who's the other one?" "mindy?" you ask, breath caught in your throat.

the mask was pulled off and your legs buckled at seeing your beloved boyfriend, ethan. you fell to your knees, feeling the rush of emotions that you felt a year ago come back to you. ethan looks at you with a deranged look in his eyes. "mindy was right. it was easy to juke the roommate lottery. all i had to meet you was room with a conceited, condescending alpha, literally named chad. fuck, it felt good to kill him!" ethan continued speaking but you tuned him out. you couldn't stand to hear his voice or look at his face. you couldn't do this again. you just couldn't. the emotions were flooding you, the feelings overwhelming. you stared down at the floor, tears dripping onto the floor. feelings of hopelessness, sadness, betrayal all coursed through your veins. but soon they were all covered with a thick blanket of rage. red hot rage.

you stood, reminding yourself to stay strong. staring at the ground, tears still slipping down your cheeks. "i got stu macher's mask. he was my favorite." quinn says. "nice. that's number three, and that's number two." he pulls a ghostface mask from within his jacket. "which leaves, your sister's" he says pointing at you. "who's your sister?" tara whispers. "jill roberts" you whisper, still looking at the floor in shame. "this is what we've been counting down to, y/n. i'm gonna need you to put it on." bailey looks at you, holding the mask out to you. so broken. "fuck you!" you hear sam yell on behalf of you. ethan swings and slices open sam's upper arm. "ok! ok! im taking it, jesus. you psychopath" you glare at the boy you once thought you loved. you take the mask in your hands and stare down ashamed at it. you feel someone slip behind you to come stand in front of you. you know it's ethan. you know. he grips your chin, pulling your chin up to point your gaze at him. "oh princess. there's nothing to be ashamed of." he stares deep into your eyes, noticing how cold they are. you've never looked at him like this before.

but it's ok. he has a plan. and eventually, you'll get over it and understand. and you'll be his, though you have been since the day he saw you for the first time. he backs up to stand next to his father and sister. you were still staring at the mask that you held. suddenly, you heard commotion from behind you and saw the fight begin. but you couldn't. you couldn't fight. you didn't have it in you. quinn and bailey vs sam and tara. it wasn't a fair fight, that's for sure. sam and tara didn't have any weapons. you could help them a little bit but then you needed to find a way out of this stupid theater. you ran over to kirby and saw that she was still conscious, but barely. "i'm gonna need this. ill go get help. i promise" you whisper softly. kirby looks at you hard for a moment, and you share a moment of understanding before she slipped into unconsciousness.

you turn, feeling eyes on you. ethan. he isn't helping his father or sister. it's as though his only focus is you. his stare is scaring you, and though you'd never admit it, causing a heat to rush down to your core. damn him. you hate him. you do. but, oh. how you love him. (see what i did there lol?) you walk towards tara and sam, crying out when you feel someone coming up behind you, grabbing you by your throat and yanking you against their upper body. "fuck you, ethan!" you yell, drawing the attention from both your family and his. "but sweetheart, we already did that. i love to to do it again though." he whispers, kissing your neck softly. you bring your elbow forward and elbowing him hard, taking ethan by surprise and giving you just enough to to slip out of his grasp. "sam!" you shout, getting her attention from quinn advancing on her.

"catch" you bring your hand back and throw kirby's gun. for a split second, you think she won't catch it. it will slip from her grasp and everything will go downhill from there. and so it does. the gun slips and falls down to the ground, where you try to grab it. but a tall, 6'2 figure stands in your way. you're on your knees and he's standing in front of you. you're eye level with his bulge. you remember this position all too well. and judging by the smirk on ethan's face, he remembers it pretty well too. he opens his mouth to speak, probably to say something that will infuriate you further. "oh just shut up! oh my god, you bent, twisted motherfucker!" you yell, standing quickly.

your breath catches in your throat as you realize how close you are to ethan. the height difference between the two of you was causing you to be eye level with his chest. you could see his muscles in his chest as he took a deep breath. you feel his fingers lifting your chin, so gentle, like you were glass and ethan was afraid to put the slightest crack on you. your eyes meet ethan's and you almost whimper. ethan's gaze on you is nothing like he's ever looked at you like before. full of lust, looking at you like he was going to devour you. "ethan" you breathe, so quiet, so soft. you quickly snapped out of the trance he had you in and dove, grabbing the gun off the ground and pointing it at ethan.

ethan began slowly walking towards you. "put the gun down princess." he says it as he normally would, but you feel mocked and teased. "you better back the fuck up unless you want a bullet in between your eyes, princess." you mock him, quickly walking backwards until your back is met with a hard surface. ethan continues walking towards you until there is only a enough space to put the gun against his chest in between the two of you. he glances down at it and then back at you as he speaks. "oh? don't talk like that. we both know you wouldn't be able to pull the trigger, sweet girl" you blush at the nickname and you know he sees.

"go ahead, pull the trigger." you freeze up as he move closer to the point where you have to move the gun, the butt pressing painfully against your chest. you hear the commotion going on in the background, but with the way ethan is standing above you with a bloody hands, it's making you dizzy and you feel like you're gonna pass out. you feel your head empty just as he somehow always caused it to do. it takes an extreme amount effort to get your head straight, telling yourself that this isn't ethan. it isn't the ethan you fell in love with, at least.

you swallow. "fuck you." you whisper, feeling the burning tension between the both of you. ethan chuckles as his expression turns to one of even deeper lust. you feel his hot breath on your face as you get angrier at the slick forming in your panties. "fuck you." "i hate you so much. i hate you for doing this to me and for breaking my fucking heart. i wish–" you stop at as ethan begins to speak. "what do you want, sweetheart? keep fucking talking, slut. keep trying to convince me you hate me." his gaze drifts to your lips. "i hate you" you sob. you're interrupted by the feeling of your mouths crashing together in a rough, lustfilled kiss. and, to your own surprise, you don't fight it. you can't bring yourself to shove him away. the sexual tension between the two of you had gone to the point of being unbearable, and the harsh way his lips move against yours and the way his tongue probes into your mouth makes you light headed.

ethan pulls away and looks at your lust filled, scared expression. "that's what i thought. you still want me, even i killed all your friends." you shake your head with a whimper, tears running down your cheeks. "i don't want you." you whisper. "oh my pretty girl. so confused, aren't you? don't you remember you cockdrunk and sobbing after i fucked you just last night?" he brings his lips to your ears, whispering. "when you couldn't say anything at all? all you could do was cry and beg me to stop touching your sensitive cunt and your puffy little clit? and i know you want to do it again. dirty little whore. my dirty little whore."

'i don't want you" you say, more trying to convince yourself than trying to convince ethan. he laughs, glancing down at your tear streaked face and big doe eyes. "ok, little one. ok" you wiped your tears quickly and shoved him off of you, turning and running down the nearest hallway. "you don't have to run, you know. I'm gonna catch you no matter how fast you are." you hear. ethan’s voice is cold and irritated as he stalks towards the hallway you just turned into. you're distracted as you trip over a gap in the hardwood floor and come crashing to the floor, and then, the sound of his steps hurrying up to meet you fill your heart with even more fear. your heart is already racing from the adrenaline of trying to escape the psychopath that you once called your boyfriend. The bloody tip of his knife rounds the corner before he does, and it's enough to fuel your desire to get up and stumble around the nearest corner, into a bathroom.

you slam the door behind you with the force of your body against it, and attempt to fumble with the lock for a split second before running to grab the nearest object, a marble vase to try and buy you a few seconds. It's not even seconds until he's turning the knob, trying to get in. the door rattling the entire room suddenly and your heart hitting the floor as he speaks. "open the door, my love. i won't hurt you as long as you behave." you're not allowed even a second opportunity to look for a way out, to even consider the option of jumping out the second story window on to the concrete below, or just hide and pray for mercy. Because three loud, earth-shattering crashes of his shoulder meeting the hardwood door splinters it almost immediately after the third hit, and you're so close to the door that one of those shards flies and slices open the heel of your hand–and now, instead of using those few precious moments to come up with a plan to get away, you're crying and grabbing your wrist in pain, blood gushing from the wound and splattering all over the white tile floor.

the pain derails your whole train of thought, your vision blurring with tears as you fall back and shake with shock, leaving a trail of crimson blood on the tile behind that leads straight to you. one more crash of ethan's shoulder against the door does the trick, and ethan has successfully crushed a hole in the bathroom door, his arm reaching through to unlock it so it only takes a quick kick to open. "man, you made me break the door. this is probably pretty valuable" his eyes turn to you, bright and brown and angry. "and you cut your wrist." ethan reaches out for you, and doesn't stop when you flinch away from him. you have nowhere else to go, no way out, what are you gonna do? you're aren't a threat to anyone but yourself. you're a helpless little thing, and when ethan does grab you, he's gripping your wrists so hard you're already begging him to stop and let go. "why don't you beg me not to kill you, princess?" he whispers, brushing your hair out of your face, behind your ear to whisper it directly into your ear–his voice makes you shiver, like it's a cold breeze in the across your neck. "i'm kinda considering it. you're pissing me off. you won't stop running away from me"

"what now? why are you looking at me like that?" he moves away from you to meet your eyes, but the fear is clear in yours–you watched him help murder your best friends, your family. what does he think you are? happy? no, you're petrified. "i'm so scared…" "scared? I'm scaring you?" You nod your head in the most pathetic fashion, with a quivering lip to top it off. ethan isn't just scary. A horror movie is scary, a bump in the night is scary. ethan, he's utterly terrifying.

"Then why are you soaking wet?" His question stops your mind in it's tracks, confusion etched on your face, but your stuttering and stammering stops short when you feel his big hand brush your thigh. you jerk away from him on instinct, but his harsh grip on your hurt arm keeps you flush against him, and you're forced to stand and shiver as his fingers fly under your skirt and they come to cup your pussy over your panties. he rubs a teasing thumb into what should be a random spot, but he knows where your clit is from past experience and knows how to press so firmly and hard to make you squeal. even your body is betraying you right now, and that strip of soft fabric between your legs is completely soaked for him to enjoy to the fullest. "you want this. you want me, huh? so bad that you're soaked" you shake your head no violently, too wound up to open your mouth because you know the words won't come out the way you want them to.

"yeah, that's it. you want me to fuck your brains out. you just want my attention. that's why you're running from me. you want me to catch you." "No!" you sob, trying to push him away again. ethan ignores your outburst and the shove you try to give him to get him off, ethan yanks you harder against him for you to feel how hard he is beneath the ghostface costume he's wearing, and for his fingers to prod you even rougher as he blindly searches for a way into your panties. "I don't want you ethan!" "You do!" He barks back, the growl of his voice sending an unwanted cold shiver up your spine. now he's found a way in, his fingertips brushing your folds before losing any gentle or tenderness they might have had and pushing their way inside. He's big, brutal, fingers working in to spread you out and shucking all that wet slick into his palm. his lips meet your cheek, hot and soft, and he has you hooked. nothing but him

you feel his breath hot and shaky on your ear. He doesn't seem to care you're up on your tiptoes, gasps of pain and pleasure dying in your throat, because he's got his fingers so fucking deep. ethan is preoccupied, you know as much by the absent strokes against your clit with his thumb, moving in no specific direction. "so pretty like this. blood on your face, crying for me." ethan pulls away suddenly, cheek still sticky with blood you wish was fake. it's on you too, smeared down your jaw like a smudge of scarlet paint, and his hands are covered in it too, that he's rubbing it into you for his own pride and sick pleasure. while he looks you in the eyes, he doesn't move his fingers from inside you, nor shows any expression aside from a deep, dark lust over his brown eyes that betrays the terror that a true psychopath could bestow.

"Your body is mine. this pretty pussy is mine. You're all mine." He mutters below his breath, spreading his fingers inside you to watch you gasp and your eyelids flutter as they fill with tears. you let out a loud cry as you coat ethan's fingers with your cum. as you come down from your high, you think about how wrong this is. your friends, they would want you to get out. they would want you to get to the hospital and tell mindy and gale before ethan got there first. "get away from me" you say, shoving ethan away hard. "but i don't want to. i want you to ride me and milk my cock until you're crying" he says it so innocently, it infuriates you to no end. "shut the fuck up!" he opens his mouth again to probably say something even dirtier, but you don't let him. maybe it's time to take a different approach. "you really want my pussy to clench around you? to milk you dry while i cry and scream your name? you want me to jump on your fucking dick until i can't think?" you ask him in a sultry tone.

he groans loudly. "fuck yeah, princess. i do. and i fucking will every single thing you just said right here, in every damn room in this fucking theater. you'll be so fucked out and overstimulated you'll be begging me to stop." "oh?" you tilt your head, looking at him. this is it. he moves towards you slowly, away from the destroyed door. "well ethan. let's do it then." you feel his big hand on the back of your neck as he slams your lips onto his. you quickly bring your knee straight up, nailing him in the dick. "well, you can't do any of those things if i cut your fucking dick off, can you?" your mood changed so fast you couldn't even regulate it. it was like you had an alternate, darker personality. just like ethan. you look at him, a deranged and feral look in your eyes. ethan wasn't scared. he was turned on. and now, he was pissed as fuck and in pain. he wanted to pound you until you cried, remind you who could make you feel so small so quickly. you stomp hard on ethan's foot as he cried out in pain. "you wanna know my secret? it wasn't sam who sliced up your brother. it was me. after he fucking groomed my girlfriend." that part was not true either. it was also not true when people said you were just like your sister. but he doesn't need to know that. ethan almost came in his pants. you were so hot when you were feral, though it was acting and he knew it.

you turned and ran out the door while he was distracted. you needed to get help. some of your friends could be alive. "man, i should get an oscar. that was some amazing acting if i do say so myself" but before you could find an exit, someone pulled you back. it wasn't ethan, it was kirby. she was still on the floor, barely conscious. she grabbed your ankle and you leaned down slowly. "im going to get help. it's ok." you attempt to reassure her. "get out of here. there is an exit behind the back hallway. there's a room behind there. it's soundproof, it's what they used for filming and editing. there is door that leads outside. go" she struggled to finish speaking before she passed out again. you followed her instructions, turning past chad and bolting towards the door. you're running fast, and you speed around a corner. next thing you know, you run into a hard chest and you're sprawled out on your back. sharp curses leave your mouth as you stare up at ethan. "fuck me" you curse. ethan smirks. "that's the plan, princess."

send in requests I beg

[couldyouimagine-that]

Safe With Me

Genre; hurt/comfort, fluff

Word count; 1.0k

Warnings; talk of nightmares, nothing described.

Pairing; Dean Winchester x Reader

Reader is woken up by a nightmare and asks Dean to let them stay with him.

I hope this is a somewhat relaxing story (I think it is) and also I really enjoyed writing a sleepy Dean. I hope you enjoy!

Masterlist

-

You regained consciousness with a deep gasp, adrenaline running through you and your breathing much heavier than it should have been. Your room was dark, the covers on your bed pushed down around your legs where you had no doubt been thrashing in your sleep. you gave yourself a moment to remember where you were, that you were safe and nothing was wrong. It served to calm you a little, but you realised it hadn’t really helped at all when you closed your eyes and were immediately confronted with the horrors from your nightmare. You turned on your side as you started trying to go back to sleep, but the images in your mind’s eye were shockingly vivid and more persistent than you could ever remember a dream being. It was almost like you had never even woken up.

Chased by your own imagination, you lurched towards the switch of the lamp on your bedside table. You were a hardened hunter, acclimatised to violence and risking your life on an almost daily basis – but even you felt a pulse of relief when light flooded your room and there was nothing there but you. You glanced around regardless, just to make sure, and only laying back when you were satisfied that you were truly alone. Then, of course, it was your isolation that became the problem. Each time you closed your eyes, even with the light on, you only saw the returning nightmare. You went through the repeating cycle of trying to sleep and trying not to, even as tiredness began to pull at your eyes, and you eventually realised that rest was going to allude you.

With a tired huff, you sat up on top of the covers and resigned yourself to being completely awake, at least for the moment. You knew you wouldn’t get back to sleep on your own and you didn’t want to run on so little rest for yet another night in a row, which left you with one other option. You did feel a small jolt of nerves at what Dean might think, but it took you very little time to decide that he probably wouldn’t mind. Even if he did, you reasoned, you could talk about it and try to explain it away in the morning when you could think a bit more clearly.

You slipped through your door without wasting another moment and padded along the corridor on bare feet until you got to Dean’s door, knocking a few times before slowly pushing it open. A narrow beam of light shone into his room and you squinted as your eyes adjusted to the lower light on the other side, just able to discern the outline of Dean beneath his comforter. He was laying on his side, one arm visible and the other tucked beneath his pillow. You murmured his name from your place by the door, calling it a little louder when he didn’t stir. You wouldn’t approach him while he was still asleep, knowing you would be met with the barrel of a gun if you woke him too suddenly.

Dean grunted lowly at the third call of his name, shifting slightly more onto his back to look towards you, face screwed up against both the light and the intrusion on his sleep. He blinked once, slowly, eyes still mostly closed.

“Y/N?” You smiled gently at his sleep-roughened voice.

“Hey, Dean.” He pulled himself up a bit further to lean on his elbow, his other arm resting on top of the comforter and across his ribs.

“‘S goin’ on?” Your grip tightened on the door handle as you thought briefly about how silly you were going to sound, but you had already woken him up. It really was too late.

“I um… I had a bad dream.” You scoffed lightly at your own words, the sound self-deprecating. “I just – would it be okay if I slept in here with you?”

Dean flopped onto his back, eyes already closed again, and raised his arm without a word. You pushed his door closed and crossed his room quietly, slipping under the covers like it was the most natural thing in the world. His warmth was a soft comfort as you slotted yourself beneath his arm, sighing in content as he curled it around you and pulled you close to him. You felt a hum reverberate through his chest as his other hand landed on your hip, rubbing up and down a few times. His movements were direct, tiredness allowing his strength to come through just a little more than usual – you liked the feeling.

“S’alright sweetheart,” he murmured, words blurring together. “You’re safe with me.” His breath moved your hair as he pressed his lips to the top of your head, then shifted down in the bed to get comfortable, taking you with him.

Your nightmare didn’t even cross your mind as you closed your eyes, your head resting on one of Dean’s shoulders and your hand running over the other one. His breathing slowed in no time and sleep slowly pulled you under as you listened to Dean’s strong heartbeat, relaxed into the steady rise and fall of his chest beneath you. As he drifted off, his arm became a comfortable weight where it crossed your shoulder and rested over your back. A light smile curved your lips as you felt yourself joining him in a real, restful slumber more quickly than you could ever recall managing before.

Unbeknownst to you, Dean had been able to hold onto a sliver of consciousness for a little while longer, just enough to make sure you fell asleep without meeting any more difficulties or worries. It was only when he squeezed you and got no response that he finally let go of it, secure in the knowledge that he would be there for you if anything frightened you again. The thought of you coming to him when you needed someone made a little warmth bloom fondly in his chest, and he simply enjoyed the feeling of you laying securely in his arms as he finally surrendered to sleep.

[theres-a-body-here]

Scumtober- Day 15 (Gun Play)

Albert Wesker x FTM!reader

You let out a soft moan as you feel the cold of the metal against your cunt. Wesker was watching your face for your reactions as the orange glow of his eyes seemed to seep into your mind.

With slow precision, he raised the weapon ever so slightly before pressing it gently against your moist folds. You bite your lip and instinctively try closing your legs. Wekser lets out a chuckle and grasps your thighs to keep them open.

"Do you like where I'm aiming?" he whispered huskily.

"yes...I do," You mutter as you keep your gaze on his trigger finger.

Wesker smirked at your answer, pleased with the effect he was having on you. "Good," Wesker purred, his fingers curling around the trigger of the gun.

To your frustration, he keeps the gun still, causing you to let out a whimper. It seems he wants you to put on a show for him. You oblige.

As you begin to grind against the cool steel of the gun, a fierce hunger flashes in Albert Wesker's eyes. He watches intently as your wetness coats the metal, making it slippery beneath your eager movements. The muscles in his arms tense as he begins to breathe heavily.

"Good boy," he whispered, his voice thick with desire. "Such a good boy, obeying his master so perfectly..."

His heart raced as he watched you stroke your own clit with the tip of his gun, moans escaping your lips as you neared orgasm. Without warning, he pulled the gun away abruptly, startling you.

He watched as confusion clouded your features, wondering what had driven him to end things so suddenly. But then, he smiled darkly. Leaning close once again, he lowered his voice to a husky growl. "Not so fast," he purred. "We aren't done here quite yet."

You make a pout, frustrated that he pulled away from your aching heat. Albert reaches over and laughs as he kisses your cheek, the sound vibrating against your skin where his lips touched. "Now now," he chided gently, "no need to pout. We'll get there soon enough."

Wesker once again presses the tip of his gun to your wet pussy, but this time he gently pushes in. Your body tenses up in fear and excitement at the thought of him gun-fucking you. You let out a small hiss as your pussy squeezes around the first inch of the barrel.

His hand moved to cup your face tenderly, his thumb tracing gentle circles around your lower lip. "There now, don't worry," he murmured soothingly. "It might sting a little at first...but soon enough, we'll get you used to it."

With slow, steady pressure, Wesker pushed the gun further inside you. You gasped as pain shot through your most sensitive spot, followed immediately by a feeling of fullness. He watched carefully, waiting for signs of discomfort.

Wesker continued pushing the gun deeper inside you, watching as your expression changed from pain to pleasure.

Leaning in closer, he whispered hoarsely against your ear, "That's it...feel me filling you up. Know that this is mine...my gun." He whispered before adding, "And remember who taught you to love it."

As you adjusted to the intrusion, Wesker started moving the gun steadily in and out of your sopping pussy. Your walls began to pulse rhythmically around the gun as your body began to tremble, urging him onward.

Wesker's hand thrust his gun inside you at a steady pace, driving the gun deeper into your aching pussy with each thrust. You cried out in ecstasy as wave after wave of pleasure washed over you. Your fingers dug into the sheets with a death grip that made your knuckles white.

"Feels good, doesn't it?" Wesker purred, his words sending shockwaves of desire coursing through your veins. "Just imagine how much better it would feel to have my real cock buried deep inside you."

You let out a soft whine.

Wesker smirked at your response, clearly enjoying the power he held over you. "Oh, don't worry, my pet," he said, his voice dripping with promise. "When I'm ready for that, believe me, you'll know." Without warning, he increased the speed of his thrusts, driving his gun deeper into your quivering cunt.

With a devious glint in his eye, Wesker leaned forward, his mouth seeking out your swollen clit. His tongue teased and tormented the sensitive bundle of nerves. Your hands fly to his head and you grip his blond hair tight. At the same time, he continued his relentless assault on your tight pussy, his gun sliding in and out of you in a steady rhythm that sent shockwaves of delight through your entire being.

Wesker's gaze locked onto yours as he pressed his hand harder against the gun lodged deep within your pussy. He watched closely for any sign of impending climax.

"Come for me," he whispered, his hot breath tickling the underside of your thighs. "Let go, baby. Show me how much you want it."

You arched your back, groaning loudly as the pleasurable sensations washed over you. Your inner muscles began to spasm erratically around the now warm metal, signaling your imminent release.

"Yes," Wesker growled, taking hold of your face roughly. "Cum for me, you filthy little slut. Cum hard on my gun!"

You screamed out his name as the combination of stimulation from his tongue and gun on your cunt. Your body shook violently, your orgasm wracking your very core.

"Such a good boy," Wesker praised you, using his free hand to grab hold of your hip and pull you against him. "So fucking needy. This is exactly why I love you."

You managed to catch those last few words through your hazy, postorgasmic state. You give him a dazed smile as you lean on him limply. "I love you too, Albert," You say weakly, exhausted and tired.

A slow smile spread across Wesker's face as he heard those three little words fall from your lips.

Without warning, he yanked the gun forcefully out of your pussy, causing you to cry out in surprise. Unphased, he placed the wet tip of the gun against his own lips and slowly drew it in, sucking softly on the metallic surface. His eyes never left yours.

"Mmm," he hummed, closing his eyes in appreciation. "Delicious." Reaching down, he grabbed a nearby towel and began wiping his gun clean. You fall back onto the mattress.

As you drifted off to sleep, you felt a warm weight settle beside you. Opening your eyes lazily, you saw Wesker slide into bed alongside you. Without a word, he wrapped his arm protectively around your waist, drawing you closer to his chest. "My good boy," he whispered softly, stroking a hand through your hair. "You're such a good boy for me." He said lovingly, running his fingers down your cheek before closing his eyes once more. You shift closer to him as you close your eyes too.

Scumtober 2023 Masterlist

[apollodarling-writes]

Did you know odm is like 124 pounds 😭👌🏼 that shit on HEAVY!!! But then that made me think…… do you understand the thrust strength Levi must have? Let’s be Foreal. This mane can push and pull fr fr

oh, sweet mother of pearl…. what’s happening to me…. 🚶🏻‍♀️🧎🏻‍♀️🦮

just imagining how STRONG levi actually is to be lugging that gear around and still have the ability to move nimbly.

mdni !!

cws : top! levi + bottom! reader, no prns used, smut but not fully thought out, rough sex implied, manhandling, chubby! reader mentions at one point but the reader can be any body type and color, i wasn’t sure how to end it so probably an abrupt ending, bruising implications, squirting mentions 😭

like,, if you’re getting down and dirty with levi, you gotta think about how accustomed to carrying that shit and how it’s probably a bit of an effort not to be too rough with you. not to mention the fact that he’s gotta be super strong upper body wise too!! i’m a sucker for chubby bodies myself, but imagine levi manhandling someone soft and plush…….. god, this whole thought is genius.

or imagine how levi would harshly grip your hips or your waist, his thrusts knocking the air out of you. it would be impossible to stay quiet enough for the cadets to not be aware. especially when the headboard is barreling into the wall with the motion of his thrusts.

thinking about how levi would have to make it a conscious effort to not lose himself in the feeling so he doesn’t accidentally hurt you. he’s just strong and while he knows his own strength, he can’t help but want you to feel good too.

thinking about how levi would pull your hips back to meet his thrusts, your legs thrown over his shoulders and his cockhead brushing against the softest parts of you.

thinking about how levi’s fingertips would dig into your skin in an attempt to ground himself, the area feeling exceptionally tender the next day.

thinking about how if you’re a squirter, it would be soooo easy for levi to make a mess of you. his hips and thighs dripping with a mixture of both of your fluids.

[sergentreckless]

You Drive Me Crazy

Boone x Reader (Twisters)

Summary: Your pretty red nails have Boone going crazy for you

WC: 1833

A/N: Omg hi, so this is the first fic I've ever written and I need legit feedback, so please message me if you have any thoughts :) I hope you like it <3 I'm a bit nervous for it, but I like it, I'm thinking of making a pt 2. if y'all like it. Okay love youuuuu

Warnings: Smut for sure, more smutty thoughts I guess, desperate thoughts, I think that's it? let me know if i missed any, I'm new to this

Boone’s eyes locked on you from across the parking lot, where you stood chatting with Tyler about what storm you were chasing today. You looked wonderfully done up, yet he could tell it took no effort at all. How could you possibly look so good standing there in jean shorts and a tee? It might help that your shirt cut off a little above the waist band of your shorts, showing a bit of your bare tummy and a glint of your belly button piercing. It drove him wild.

You look up from the tablet you and Tyler are hovered over and notice Boone staring at you. Thinking nothing of it, you shoot him a sweet smile and wiggle your fingers in his direction, giving him a silent hello. He blushes at your smile, sending you one back, but that isn’t what keeps his gazed fixed on you. Yes, you were beautiful, of course he would want to look at you, though he wouldn’t admit that to anyone. No, what really caught his eye, kept his attention, was your bright red nails. Medium in length, rounded off, knowing if you kept them in any other shape, they would break off, and you certainly couldn’t have that. You kept your nails in good condition, not having many opportunities to keep many of your things or appearances extravagant, as you were being constantly tossed around by the wind and rain that came with tornadoes.

 Distracted by the thoughts of what those beautiful, soft hands would look and feel like, running down his midriff, playing with the elastic of his boxers, slowly making your way down, and grasping onto his—“Boone, are you ready to head out?” you asked him when you stopped in front of him with a light hearted, excited smile plastered across your face. You had jogged over to him after he hadn’t responded to yours or Tyler’s calls, figuring he just had a lot on his mind, not at all unhappy to come closer to snap him out of it.

Truth be told, you always had a bit of a thing for Boone, his exhilarating personality always giving you so much energy, not to mention, he was amazing to look at, his moustache being one of the features you appreciate most about him.

Boone nodded his head eagerly, still star struck by you, opting to not open his mouth, as he didn’t trust himself to not say something stupid. The two of you walked side by side back towards the red ultra-modded truck the three of you would be barrelling into as soon as you reached it.

 Boone couldn’t help but fixate on how your hand wrapped around the handle of your door, watching your pretty red nails fold around the silver plastic. He couldn’t help his thoughts from wandering back to what he had been thinking of moments ago. Those hands looked so pretty wrapped around that handle, what would they look like wrapped around him? The thought got his blood pumping, the images of your delicate fingers with those decorated nails gripping his length, slowly moving up and down, overflowed his mind.

He quickly tore his eyes away from you, hopping in the truck and sitting down hastily, as not to get caught with the tent in his pants. He tried not to let his overactive imagination get him into trouble, but he was having a hard time controlling the perverted thoughts that raced through his brain. He couldn’t get the thought of it out of his head. How was he going to survive an entire day in the truck with you? At least he didn’t have to sit in the back with you… well he wasn’t supposed to until Tyler raced over to the truck with Kate, motioning Boone to the back seat so Kate could work her magic and find you the perfect storm. Boone’s heart pounded and his stomach did a few flips. Now he truly had no idea how he was going to get through the day, the urge to touch you, grab at you, and squeeze you burning in his head.

            He was right, this was torture… but he loved it. He loved seeing the excitement on your face as Tyler drove into the pelting rain, ready to see the tornado you had all been waiting for. He saw your eyes brighten and your hands shoot up to your face, your reaction to a bail of hay intercepting your path. Thankfully your driver was good at his job, as reckless as he could be, and he avoided the bail with no problems at all. Boone’s eyes were fixed on your hands as they shot to your face, still haunted by the thoughts of them all over him. He had a moment of realization, comparing how he had always thought before to how he was thinking now. Any time he had thought of hands being put to use, he always imagined his on you, not yours on him. He was always having thoughts about what his strong hands would look like wrapped around your beautiful throat, gently cutting off your air supply, making you dizzy, and sending you into a different dimension. Or how his fingers would look disappearing into your warm, wet pussy, pushing in and out, trying to draw out as many moans from you as he possibly could. God, he was so desperate to hear what you sounded like when he was worshipping your body.

--

Your chase wasn’t anything out of the ordinary, not for you as Wranglers, that is. You ran your experiment, and collected your data as planned, and had a lot of fun along the way. You had noticed Boone had been quiet all day. It had you a bit worried, he was never that way. He always had something to say or a noise to make, expressing himself constantly; you loved it about him.

Arriving at the motel, you had all gone your separate ways, having a tiring day. Yes, everything had gone to plan, but being whipped around in a tornado is exhausting none the less. You unlocked the motel room door with the key Kate had given you five minutes earlier. After bidding her a good night, you set off to relax. You closed the door and set you bag on the floor next to the bed and headed off to the bathroom to wash your face, in hopes of feeling a bit more fresh. As soon as your hands felt the chill from the water, you heard a gentle knock on your door. Curious as to who could be knocking on your door so late at night, you gazed through the peep hole, seeing the man you were always sneaking glances at. As soon as you recognized who it was, your heart skipped several beats, releasing a slight panic throughout your body. You took a few deep breaths to calm yourself down and removed the only barrier that separated the two of you.

“You know, you really shouldn’t open the door for a random person in the middle of the night,” Boone quipped, raising one eyebrow, as if he knew better than you. You chuckled slightly, more preoccupied with the fact that he showed up at your door at all. “You know I could see you, right?” you ask back, gesturing to the little circle in the upper-center of the door. You step aside to let him in, assuming he has come for a reason. He steps through the threshold and stares at you as you shut the door.

 You turn around to face him, wondering why he decided to pay you a late night visit. The silence gets heavy, weighing on the both of you, as neither of you know exactly what to say. You both open your mouths, ready to speak, even if the words weren’t well thought through. You see Boone ready to speak, so you instinctively close your mouth, ready to listen to whatever he has to say. He takes a few moments to think about what he wants to say, seeing how patiently you are willing to wait for him.

His arms extend out to your waist as he steps forward, hoping you won’t mind him touching you. After everything you have unknowingly put him through today, you deserve to know how he feels. Though he had a job to do, you were so distracting that he couldn’t focus on it all day. Instead, his thoughts were filled with visions of your hands wrapped around his cock. He wished his thoughts had stopped at that, but of course he was craving more and more. With the fantasy ever evolving, he started imagining what the addition of your mouth would look like. How pretty your lips would look wrapped about his dick, even better if your lipstick matched your nails, leaving lip marks all along him. Thinking of you sucking him off while stroking whatever of his length you couldn’t fit in your mouth. The thoughts made him so frustrated, he had to come see you to do something about the rock in his pants that wouldn’t go away until it fulfilled it’s purpose: filling you to the brim. You lean into his touch, relishing in the warmth his hands brought to your waist. Looking up at him, you meet his intense gaze, you can tell he wants something more from you. And you are so happy to give it to him. “You know, pretty girl, you’ve been driving me crazy all day.” You can’t help but notice the southern drawl in his voice, heat rushing through your body, centering at your most intimate area. “Oh yeah? How so?” you ask back, half of you flattered and the other half of you genuinely curious of what it is about you that is driving him crazy so you know for the future. “Those cute little shorts you’re wearing and that gorgeous smile drive me crazy baby, but… I just can’t stop imagining what those beautiful hands can do. How beautiful would your nails look wrapped around my dick?” he asked, pulling you closer to him. You look up at him through your eyelashes, looking as innocent as ever, sending an electric shock though his body at the sight. He grabs your chin with a firm, yet loving grip. “You truly do drive me crazy darlin’, I just can’t help myself when it comes to you.” He drags your face to meet his, locking your lips in a deep and passionate kiss. “You have been torturing me all day long, you know that?” he exclaims, bringing you in for another intense kiss. “Sitting there, looking all pretty, not knowing what you’re doing to me…” he runs his thumb over your bottom lip, looking at your mouth like he is holding himself back from devouring it. “I guess I’m just going to have to show you how much you really do drive me crazy."

[f1writingbyme]

I'm so excited for your Xmas calendar fic!!!! Can you share a snippet? 👀

I'm so happy to hear you're excited about the Christmas Calendar fic! @lestappenforever and I are just as excited to write and share it with you once it's done! 🧑🏻‍🎄🧑🏻‍🎄

Mona and I had a long talk about which part of the 30K+ (and counting) words we would share, and we have decided to stay true to our style, and make you laugh.

Snippet under the cut 👀

“This is a terrible idea,” the Dutchman insists even as he sits down on his own disc. “You know that, right?”

“Probably,” Charles agrees with a grin so wide Max imagines it must make his cheeks hurt. And Max is almost overwhelmed with the urge to lean in and kiss one of them. Or bite it. 

“But we’re doing it anyway?” Max goes on, hoping Charles will see the out for what it is and take it. 

He’s not surprised when Charles absolutely does not. 

“Yep!” the Monégasque says with excitement, and reaches between them to grab a hold of Max’s hand. “It’s lights out and away we go!”

With a bit of wiggling, Charles pushes his disc over the edge and, thanks to the hold on his hand, pulls Max on his disc with him. 

The children they’d watched go down the hill just a few minutes before didn’t move as fast as they do, but then again, Max and Charles also have significantly more weight giving the discs momentum to slide down the slippery hill. It’s surprisingly exhilarating and when Charles laughs and grips onto his hand tighter, Max can’t resist doing the same. And for a short, glorious moment, he feels nothing but pure joy and elation. 

Until the realization that Arthur is standing entirely too close at the bottom of the hill hits him at the exact same time as they both go barrelling into the man, knocking him off his feet.

Arthur lets out a shriek while Charles yells in surprise. Max, for his part, doesn’t get the chance to make much noise at all before he’s lying on his back with Arthur sprawled halfway across his torso and stomach. And Charles, thanks to his outright refusal to let go of Max’s hand throughout the entire ordeal, somehow ends up partially in Max’s lap, partially on top of his brother.

It’s an absolute mess of limbs and curses from the three of them, and laughter from the people watching on, as Max tries and fails to understand how he ever agreed to something that would eventually lead to him having not one, but two Leclercs sprawled on top of him. 

It doesn’t take long before Charles manages to stagger to his feet and helps pull Arthur up from Max and the ground. 

“Are you okay?” Charles asks once Arthur is out of the way, offering a hand for Max to take. 

His face is flushed red, and Max isn’t sure if it’s mostly because of embarrassment, or their crash landing into the youngest Leclerc brother. But there’s amusement shining in his eyes, bright even in the dim lights surrounding them in the Monte Carlo night. And Max so desperately wants to be annoyed because his back aches and there’s a painful twinge in his right knee, but it’s fucking impossible when Charles is looking at him like that, all delighted and beautiful and Charles. So, against his better judgment, Max takes the offered hand with a grunt. 

“I’m fine,” he mutters, allowing Charles to help pull him to his feet. Max glances at Arthur, who is scrambling to pick up the phone he dropped in the crash from the ground next to Max’s feet. “Are you okay?”

Arthur ignores him, frantically fumbling with his phone and muttering something in French under his breath. A few moments later, he holds his phone up in triumph, beaming at them. “Thank God, it kept filming!”

Max blinks, looking from Arthur to Charles, who is glaring daggers at his brother and looking like he’s plotting a very slow, very painful way to kill him in his sleep. Then his attention moves to the other side of the barrier, where Lorenzo is laughing so hard there are actual tears streaming down his face.

[jiminiecrickets]

HONEY WILD & MANNA-DEW: PART II. JJK / M!READER

summary. you have stepped on the toes of a vampire whose possessiveness knows no bounds.

wc. 8.1k

tags. smut | vampire!jk, werewolf!reader, dom bottom!jk, sub top!reader, jk calls r. mutt/dog/pup/puppy, ownership/collars (r. receiving), god kink (?) and worship (jk receiving), sadomasochism, degradation (r. receiving), blood drinking, brief knife play, multiple orgasms

[ requested ]

"take it off."

"not until you learn how to behave," he purrs, dancing his fingers up your bare arm. you shiver; his touch is as cold as ice. "i know that you're my good boy, darling, but you can't go around touching others, kissing others, when you already have me to please."

"take it off," you repeat, a little bit of a whine glancing off of your words. you tug at the smooth leather, and the silver heart-shaped tag clinks against itself with every move. your face explodes with heat as jungkook hooks his finger under it and drags you down to his level, crushing his lips to yours.

you moan softly as he walks you to the wall, not stopping until he has you pinned in place next to the foyer mirror. it's a silver antique, intricately hand-chased and set with mother-of-pearl. he cages your wrists by your temples as he tilts his head, deepening the kiss. his slick white fangs glide against your lower lip, teasing his control – how easy it would be to let go and draw blood.

you squirm, feeling his clothed bulge rut lazily against your thigh. then, just as you begin to stiffen, he pulls away entirely.

he hums as he glances in the mirror. his soft, luxurious black clothes float in the shape of him and he tucks his shirt in tighter, fixing up the folds of cloth. he glances aside at you, your warm expression a mess of embarrassment and want. his lip curves.

"fix up your trousers," he says airily, swiping his thumb over his lower lip. he smacks them softly and glides past you, placing his hands on your hips to move you out of the way. "nobody gets to see you like this but me. do you understand?"

"yes," you breathe, throat bobbing as he bends over to tuck his heels into his shoes. his hand braces against the edge of the buffet table – his fingers are adorned with platinum rings and bracelets, sparkling under the midday sunlight.

"good boy," he croons, beckoning with one jewellery-laden hand. you can imagine so vividly how it'd look wrapped around your neck, your cock…

"what are you thinking about?"

"nothing," you lie quickly. "nothing at all."

his lips quirk up. "mm, just as i like you. heel, puppy – keep up."

—

you shift your jacket collar higher around your neck, rubbing it self-consciously. the jingle of the metal tag is muffled against the cloth, but you still feel that it's too loud – that every glance in your direction is because they hear it and know your shame.

you swallow and adjust your collar one more time before stepping onto the soft greenery of the park. a playground on the other side is full of life – children screaming and laughing, parents watching from benches or helping their toddlers chase after their older siblings. on the edge of the park nearest the university, several clumps of students tap away at their laptops and scribble on notepads.

"yn-hyung!"

the screech barely gives you enough time to turn around before a body barrels straight into yours, knocking you clean to the ground. you laugh, grabbing their shoulders and wrestling them into the soft, clean grass. after a short but intense battle, you emerge victorious, grinning down at taehyung.

he beams up at you, wriggling his way out of your grip and pouncing on your back. you lift him up with ease, hoisting him higher, and he hums softly as you hike towards the group of familiar smiling faces.

"there you are!" hoseok chirps, his face bright. "we were wondering when you were going to arrive. taehyung-ah was about to cry."

"was not," he denies, burying his face in your shoulder. "he's just saying that to deflect! he was really worried when you were five minutes late. you'd think he was told you died or something."

"idiot, i told you not to say anything about that!"

you set taehyung down, but as soon as you lower yourself to join the group, he's practically on top of you, nibbling on your shoulder when you aren't looking. you don't notice, too busy yapping away with changbin next to you about the beat of the new song he's producing for an assessment. namjoon takes taehyung's shoulder and guides him away before you play-fight him for ruining your jacket with bite marks.

taehyung isn't so fussed about it – not like he usually is. he frowns, staring at your side profile, and leans in towards namjoon, whose brows are knitted in concentration as he leans over a mid-size canvas. he's filling in the park and city views as a charcoal piece.

"hyung," he whispers urgently, "he's nervous."

namjoon cocks a brow. he matches taehyung's volume. "nervous?"

"well, i don't know... fear, maybe? it's, like..." he scrunches his nose, snapping his fingers in irritation. "stress? i dunno, it's a little sweet, too... it's like when you're a kid and want to go on the biggest roller coaster at the park."

"are you sure?" you couldn't look more relaxed, but taehyung's never one to lie. "ask him."

taehyung clings to your arm. his features are pinched with concern, brown eyes huge and glimmering with worry. "hyung? hyungie? are you okay?"

you glance down at him, breaking off your conversation about how to incorporate baroque conventions into a modern piece. "hm? what are you talking about?"

"you're worried," he whispers, which catches changbin's attention. hoseok peers over, half of a daisy crown coming together in his lap. "you're never worried. you know you can talk to us about anything, right?"

he rests his head against your shoulder, peering up at you with massive eyes. you shove down the spike in your heartbeat. "no, i'm not," you chuckle, trying – very desperately – to sound confused. "i'm fine, taetae. maybe you're picking up changbin-ah? he's scrapped his draft four times."

"it's true. i'm losing my mind," he supplies.

taehyung shakes his head insistently. "no, it's you! what's wrong? you can tell us. is it a love problem? i give great love advice."

"but you're single," changbin ponders aloud.

"which makes my advice even better, since i'm not blinded by rose-tinted glasses." he sniffs, affronted. "you'd also give you good advice."

"hey!"

"if you're worried, we're worried," taehyung declares, firmly grabbing your shoulders with an intense look in his eyes. "what's going on?"

"it's nothing, taehyung, don't worry yourself."

namjoon's eyes widen slightly. "it's nothing? so there is a thing that's upsetting you?"

changbin leans forward with furrowed brows. he peels away the collar of your shirt, revealing the thick leather band.

hoseok gasps, eyes growing as huge as saucers. taehyung grabs your jacket and yanks it down around your biceps, ignoring your soft growl of warning.

"who did this?" he demands, and namjoon leans around him to take a look. his charcoal stick slips from his fingers onto his canvas, making a small dark mark.

shit.

you scoff at the grass, ripping blades out of the soft dirt. "i got into a fight with a vampire," you mutter. "he was hungry, or something. when i came to, this thing was on me. you shouldn't touch it," you say quickly, pulling taehyung's hands down. "it's silver."

"it's burning you," hoseok states worriedly, shifting closer. they crowd around you, tilting your head away to get a better look at the thing. your cheeks burn with heat. "does it hurt much? i could call jin-hyung! he's got those big tailor scissors – i bet they'd cut through this."

"and be indebted to a vampire? no way," taehyung scoffs, tentatively poking the silver detailing punched into the leather. he flinches back and rubs his fingertips together. "this is why we don't fraternise with them, hyung! they're mean and treat everyone else like walking blood bags. that parasite probably thinks he won that fight. quick, everyone, let's help get this off of him!"

—

"what are you wearing?"

you startle, hackles rising as you spin on your heel. the vampire lowers his crossed arms, his hip leaning back against the stone kitchen counter. his gaze is heavy, suspicious, staking you in place – you resist the urge to whimper apologies.

"jungkook." you lick your lips. your throat is dry. "what are you doing in my house? how did you even get in here?"

 "your house?" he scoffs, drumming his fingers rhythmically against the white stone. his fingers glitter with jewels. "this little shack is mine. an altar, so to speak – you worship me here, tuck away pieces of me as a keepsake when you think i'm not aware."

he saunters towards the entrance of your apartment, stopping just shy of you. his gaze trails down your neck, your chest, your belt. it flickers back up to your neck, and you shift uncomfortably, trying to shoulder your jacket into closing up at the throat.

"why else would i be able to stand here alone, awaiting my little puppy in the place he calls home?" he murmurs, reaching up and flicking his fingers. your throat bobs, bare and naked. he hums softly, drawing his hand away, and the collar slips back over the soft skin. "you've made this place mine. i feel it in the air, in the wood knots of your furniture. you're such a gift," he chuckles softly, tracing your cheek, "so sweet and giving..."

your heart pounds against your ribcage, raw and red. your chest tightens as he slides his fingers around your neck, jewellery cold and hard against your skin. you shrink into the back of the front door, but he follows – a beautiful ghoul, skin pale as ivory but with lips as red as blood. he knows the direction of your eyes and those lips curve upwards, baring white fangs too big and cruel for his pretty face.

"but i... but i bought it," you whine softly, unable to say anything cleverer.

jungkook ghosts his lips over your jaw, tilting up to catch your earlobe between his teeth. his other hand cups your ribs, slowly creeping towards your spine like a vine.

"oh, silly puppy," he admonishes with condescending sickly-sweetness. his fingers trace the vertebrae of your spine. "do you think that i'm bound by measly human rules? me? i ruled over men like you, dog. they fought each other with teeth and nails to warm my bed, to feed me, to robe me after my baths. time has passed since then, but all you pretty things remain the same: stupid, tiny, worthless."

his grip tightens, sharp nails digging into your jugular. his eyes flash as his mouth curls into a sneer. "can't even obey a simple command... it required the absence of action, and yet you still couldn't manage it. where is it, mutt?"

"j-jungkook—"

"silence." his fangs trace your artery, pressing ever so slightly to the soft skin. he moans, able to feel the rapid pump of your heart pulsing through it. "i asked where. not for excuses."

with your head tipped back against the front door, you fumble with your jacket, pulling out the leather collar. your hands shake as you offer it, the heavy silver buckle at the back still in one piece. it's the leather that's broken, torn against the grain like a piece of paper. the heart-shaped tag clinks with your trembles.

gently, he picks it up, running his thumb over the tag with his name on it, and relishes in the slight sting the silver courses through his black veins. a heart-shaped abrasion mars the hollow of your throat, a shade or two too red. it's warm to the touch, like a burn.

it won't scar, but jungkook wishes it would. you look so lovely with his initials emblazoned on your skin.

he doesn't say anything for a long while. he turns the collar over in his hands. you remain still, tense as a rabbit under a wolf.

what does it say about you when you are no longer the wolf of the wilds, strongest of his pack?

"it's alright, my dear," he murmurs, tossing the collar aside on a small round table next to the door. "i know you would never do such a thing. it's just a piece of leather and metal, after all."

your shoulders slump. your lips part and a ripple of a whisper escapes them. "but... it's not just leather and metal..."

"hm? speak up, pup. i didn't quite catch that."

this motherfucker...

you swallow around the nervousness in your throat, lifting your chin. you haven't quite managed to look him in the eyes this time. "it's not just leather and metal to me."

"oh?" he smiles pleasantly, cosying up to you and draping his arm over your shoulder. his other hand traces your ribs, stopping over your heart. he taps it with one pointed nail and his eyes flicker up to you coyly. "then what is it, my dear?"

"i kind of... i liked it," you whisper shamefully, staring at your feet. you have to turn your head aside to avoid jungkook's searching gaze. "i want to belong to you. feels right to. after that night... my whole life belongs to you."

he looses a breath, tipping your chin towards him with one soft-palmed hand. "you're mine, then? my little guard dog?"

you find yourself nodding harder than intended, a deep yearning in your soul pulling you towards him. at the sight, jungkook's soft smile grows cocky, and he chuckles.

"very well, my puppy. i'll make another for you and you can wear it everywhere you go, reminded of me with every step and jostle." he seems satisfied at that. he stares up at you through his lashes, expectant. "well, what do you say?"

"thank you." it rushes out in a single exhalation. you want to throw yourself on him, smother him in your scent, mark him as yours as he hasn't let you before. maybe he'll make you his; your heart flutters. "th-thank you, thank you. i'm – i've never wanted anything more."

"mmhm. you should try harder to stop them from taking it off of you next time. i'm disappointed you didn't hide it better. but," he interrupts, "what really matters isn't what it is. it's what it represents. do you understand that, mutt?"

you nod, staring at his lips. the bulge in your pants is getting hard to ignore.

"hm." he smiles. "liar. that collar lets it be known that you surrender all that you were to me, puppy, and it shows everyone just how devoted you are to me. you're not yn; you're not a leader." his fingers tug at your belt, and it comes loose in one fell swoop. "you're only mine. my good puppy. repeat that to me."

"you're – i'm only yours," you gasp, your brain gradually growing heavier the longer you stare into his piercing, hypnotising eyes, smoky and crimson. his pupils are fuller than usual – a full moon, but black as deep space.

you feel your head swimming. keeping your eyes on his is the easy part – everything else seems to blur, straight lines fluttering like heatwaves over asphalt roads. he traces your lips with his thumb and his own tick upwards when you lean into his touch.

"that's right." he presses his chest to yours, slipping his thumb between your lips – you groan softly as his thumb rides the ridges of your teeth. he smirks, kissing the corner of your mouth. you pant softly, twisting a fist in his shirt. "your teeth are so small," he giggles, his own sharp fangs flashing in the light, "so flat and dull. you really are helpless outside of the week of a full moon. that just won't do."

his nails dig into the sensitive skin just behind the corner of your jaw. his eyes narrow. "make yourself pretty in the bedroom. i must... prepare."

he's a killer, you think vaguely while you obey, moving slow and silent, in a haze. you watch your hands travel up behind your head, pulling the cotton nape of your shirt over your head. you move to your shoes, your pants. he's a killer and you can't fight it, not even if you wanted to – the urge to obey him is hot under your skin, thrumming with power.

you feel yourself lower to the ground, the floors cold and hard under your knees. the room is colder than you usually like it and the bedsheets are untucked, pillows tossed about haphazardly.

you swallow, returning your gaze to the floor. your heart hammers. he'd slept in your bed, mingling his scent with your sheets – his gentle vanilla shampoo, his enhungering natural danger. you can smell it: a sweet tug at the back of your mind, like an instinct to turn around after spotting something eye-catching in passing.

you shouldn't be here, on your knees with your breath held for a man who only cares about what you can give him. you shouldn't be a servant in your own home.

but you can't stop coming back to him. the little taehyung in your head tells you to walk away and forget all about him because vampires can't be trusted not to run with a pair of scissors, let alone care for another person beyond anything skin-deep. they're solitary creatures by nature, and nothing lives for half as long as they do – why does anything beyond themselves matter if it dies in a breath?

but you can't stop coming back to him. it almost makes you angry. bitter. but every time he looks at you with eyes just a little softer, every time he tells you charming stories about his youth, you manage to trick yourself into thinking that maybe – just maybe – you could be what he thinks he's never needed.

"mm, that's what i love to see."

his soft voice echoes in your head. you glance up as he nudges the bedroom door shut. he wears a pair of short black gloves, the edge curving towards his knuckles in a convex arc. he spins a short silver dagger between his fingers like a drumstick, twirling and folding and flipping, and you're mesmerised.

"would you like to have a look at it?" he asks gently, stepping closer. he perches on the end of the bed, guiding your head to rest against his thigh, and strokes your hair as he brings it closer for your inspection.

you reach out to touch it. he tilts it away. "ah-ah, love. it's silvered. that's why i'm wearing these gloves."

"where'd you get it?" you murmur. mortality is a sensitive topic for him – you wouldn't have thought he'd keep something that can kill him so close.

he brushes your hair from your face, flipping the blade lengthwise in his palm to show you the intricate carvings of the wooden handle and cross-guard. a relief of a woman is imprinted into the handle on either side. "winter, seventeen-eighteen. i liked to travel. this thing stuck me right here."

he touches a finger to your back, below the shoulder blades and between the ribs. "isn't it strange how something so small and pretty tried to end me? it's like a sparrow kicking a buffalo and hoping it dies."

"it's pretty," you agree, resting your cheek against his thigh. you gaze up at him. "but... why are you showing this to me?"

he only smiles. "get on the bed and lay on your back."

you do. in a heartbeat. he could kill you right then and there. you don't care – or maybe you do.

you don't know anything, not really. with him, everything is measured in infinites and uncertainties. jungkook glows like the moon, bright and good, kissing a well-worn path down your chest and stomach, and you close your eyes to the feeling of his cool touch gliding down your sides.

he lifts himself to your lips, allowing you to initiate the kiss – he hums, settling his naked weight on top of you. had he always been bare?

"this dagger pierced me here," he whispers, placing his hand over your heart between the third and fourth ribs. he licks his lips, feeling it pound like a drum. "it went all the way through. but when i opened my eyes, i saw the moon and all her stars through the treetops, and i knew then that i was meant for bigger things."

he reaches down with a coy smile, wrapping his fingers around you boldly. "maybe this is it."

your voice gets left behind in the anticipation, rushing and tingly. his palm slides over your tip and up your stomach.

"since then, i've felt... different," he says softly. "i found no pleasure in the chase – only their little deaths. life was boring now that i knew they could not touch me in ways that mattered. but then i found you, tiny and wounded, and when you looked up at me with fire and blood i wondered if i'd been going about it all wrong."

he slams the dagger straight through your headboard, inches from your face – the wood splits – you flinch away and a strange choked moan escapes your throat.

"you were special." he slides his cock against yours and lowers a hand to angle you against his hole. the other hand tightens around your wrist, pinned to the mattress. "you made me want again. you shouldn't have – you were just another little bug who bit off more than he could chew. you should've made me smile in pity. but you were still baring your teeth, leaning towards me even though you couldn't walk by yourself, and you made me want to be wanted."

he presses the tip of your cock into his ass and throws his head back, moaning breathily as he sinks down on it and rolls his hips.

you resist the urge to buck up into him – your head falls back to the pillows. he dips his head into the crook of your neck, laving the soft skin with his hot kisses and sharp white fangs. he rocks his body: back and forth, tight circles. he writes his name with his hips and smiles when you whine for him, strong thighs tensing under him.

he shifts on his knees and bounces on your cock – harder, rougher, skin slapping obscenely. he leans back, staring down at you with crimson eyes. his cock bumps against his stomach and he wraps his thin fingers around it, smirking as your gaze flickers down to it. he swipes the precum across his tip with a louder moan than all the rest, pumping himself in time with his bounces.

your head falls back and you close your eyes to the sound of his pleasure. in this moment, as his sharpened nails rake stinging lines down your chest and stomach, you are nothing – nothing but a toy, a temporary trinket. your tongue drags over your lower lip and jungkook's gaze snaps to it.

he leans in, his hips slowing. he tucks his clawlike nail against your lips, drawing the bottom one back, and lets it snap back against your teeth. a smile creeps slowly across his features as you gaze up at him, glass-eyed, your heart pounding in your ribcage as your cock twitches in his tight heat.

it's so strange, you think vaguely, that his skin is cold but his core is not. perhaps he is a god, carrying the heart of a star in that doll-like hollow of his chest.

your arms flex above your head. you want to touch; it's in your nature. like a fire, you're entranced by the devastation such beauty can create – and, like a fire, you can't help but sift your fingers through the dancing flames, teasing burns for the heat and adrenaline. there's only so far you can press before something bites back, but you'd take anything jungkook gives.

you call yourself his, and he kisses your eyelids.

"good puppy," he whispers, fingers digging into your jaw. he rushes in, conquering your lips without regard, and you groan into it, gliding your tongue against his as he cages your hips between his thick thighs and forces them still.

his love is magnetic. he sits back with a breathy moan, licking his lips. a thin trickle of your blood stains the corner of his mouth, and a twitch of your own tongue brings the smooth-edged nick to the front of your mind.

his eyes blaze with demoniac intensity – not quite fury, not just lust. it is a pure, base need, like the look of a starved man presented with a banquet. he bounces quicker on your cock, baring those too-big teeth with a morbid sensuality, sharp white points glistening under the swipe of a scarlet tongue. you whine his name, half-swallowed whimpers knocked out of your lungs.

"stop breathing like that," he hisses, accentuating that word with a drop of his ass that has you recoiling, halfway to pain. "you – your heart – it's so fucking loud," he growls. "nngh, shut up shut up shut up—"

your cock burns inside of him. he squeezes his eyes shut, pushing his fingers against your bleeding lips until his palm finds purchase around the shape of your jaw and muzzles you. your dull fingernails dig into the firm flesh of his thighs.

on one particular plunge of his hips, he clamps around you just as he travels the length of your cock, and it itches a nerve-deep restlessness in the back of your brain that has your eyes rolling briefly back and your cock erupting prematurely inside of him. you claw at his wrist, relearning the difference between your body and his. a strange noise escapes your chest, bubbling out of your throat and collecting a cry and a sob from the shallow of your mouth.

his eyes snap open, dazzling in their hell-flame glow. he looms in, throwing your hand off of his thigh and onto the bed by your head. his claws tear at the linens. he buries his face in your neck, so close that you can hear the churning sound of his tongue as it licks his teeth and lips.

the dark lashes flutter rapidly against the supersensitive skin of your throat as his shivering lips ghost over your collarbones and adam's apple. the cold tip of his nose brushes your skin with each heavy jolting drop of his hips. when you begin to whine louder, muffled, behind his palm, squirming as he milks you of everything you have, he doesn't say a thing to chastise you.

the hot breath on your neck is heavy and trembling. every part of him is plagued with the same shuddering animalistic lust. you don't doubt for a second that he can hear the dog shaking off in the yard across the street, or the simmering of the hot water tank next door.

amongst all of that white noise, he chooses you. you are the only one worthy of his full attention – the pounding of your heart reaches your ears, throbbing in your fingertips, pumping harder than ever to even attempt to keep pace with him. he presses his mouth to your artery, the hard dents of sharp teeth pushing torturously into your skin.

the message he didn't intend to send is clear. you are his toy, and he isn't teasing you – he's teasing himself. you can only close your eyes in languorous ecstasy, waiting – waiting with beating heart.

abruptly, he tugs his hips off of your cock, hissing softly as his thighs tense and untense. your cock falls to your stomach with a wet tap and your muscles relax with a judder, finally allowed some semblance of relief. your cum is smeared along your length, creating a frothy white right around your base, and it drips down jungkook's inner thigh behind his aching, swollen cock, on the cusp of a high.

nose buried in the side of your neck, he reaches up, groping for the headboard. his fingers wrap around the dagger and he wrenches it out of the thick wood, dusting the pillows with a fine wooden rain. he wipes the blade against the top edge of a distant pillow and lifts his lips from your throat, only to set the blade against the bulb of your throat. you gasp sharply and the knife rides against your throat as you gulp harshly, the sound echoing in your ears.

with a soft exhale, jungkook turns his red gaze over his shoulder, his hand sliding down and down until it finds your cock, gliding loosely over it until it finds the hot tip of it and guides it towards his ass again. you wince as the lapse of attention has the knife denting your skin. he rocks his hips backwards onto your dick.

"no..." you drawl out the whine, struggling weakly against his weight caging your hips. a sharp discomfort grows in your gut as he plays with your cock, handling it carelessly. "no more..."

he tightens his grip on your shaft, not sparing you a glance. the twisting curve of his spine, the lean angles of his body – it's like art.

jungkook hushes you absent-mindedly, like someone speaking to a panicking kitten. "quiet, little one..."

you're not little in any sense of the word. you lead your pack as their primary defender, their protector. he is more svelte than raw unbridled force, which you are – the reminder only makes it all the more humiliating, put at knifepoint of a man-shaped monster who weighs ninety pounds sopping wet and who you could throw with a good wind-up. how he's so light, you don't know, as dead vampires don't leave bodies to study, and no living – ha – vampire would ever degrade themselves by allowing medical students to poke around their innards.

despite this – fuck, you can barely think straight anymore, going off on such mental tangents – jungkook stares you down as if he's the most powerful man in the world, letting the head of your cock pop in and out of his slick asshole to see you squirm, lashes fluttering and tongue darting out to wet your parted lips.

there is a time and place for tears, but when all you can think about – all you have, all you can cup in your palms without breaking – is jungkook's pretty little waist, the shelf of his hips and ass, it's hard not to ruin and be ruined. you cannot control anything, but jungkook is holding your hand, and the illusion of being able to control more than whether or not to squeeze back is enough for you.

"i know, puppy, i know. it's okay. i've got you."

the faint burn of the silver has your cock jumping shamefully. the idea of your blood threatening to break the surface and how it would burn his attention on you like a brand... you might just die without any input from the dagger at all.

"y-you're gonna make me come again," you whisper hoarsely, still struggling futilely. "ah—!"

he sinks halfway down your cock without flinching. he angles the silvered blade against your jawline, black-gloved knuckles pressing against your chin. it stings a little sharper. "don't," he demands, and his voice is harder, more of a growl than spoken word. it softens, playing with meekness and pity. "come inside me one more time and i'll make sure you won't again."

his voice is low, almost a whisper, but it seems to cut through the air and ring around the room and in your skull, pulling a weak groan from your lips as your cock throbs, choked by the heat of his plush walls around you. he shifts his grip on the dagger.

you barely have time to respond before he drops his hips the rest of the way. his insides swallow your cock voraciously, his brows furrowing and ruby lips parting as he slams down on your hips without a care. his head thrown back in taut ecstasy, he fucks you until you've got his skin under your fingernails, raking them down his hips and thighs. the wet smack of skin on skin, the squelch of your cum fucked deeper inside his heat – you arch against the silver suddenly and the rocking of the bed slides it against your skin.

drip.

jungkook's eyes fly open as the scent hits his nose. he yanks the dagger to his pale chest, the lurid red smeared along one silvered edge commanding his attention. his hips move unsteadily, the tendons of the back of his hand tightening and shifting under his hand as he grips the dagger ever tighter.

in a lapse of control, he fucks himself with a powerful grind of his ass, and he drags his scarlet tongue along the edge of the blade, his hot breath fogging the silver. he moans, a sound fuelled by an undercurrent of a growl, and flips the dagger expertly, lapping up the blood on the other side.

his cock is red and heavy, arching in the cool air as precome bubbles persistently down his tip and shaft. it pools between the ridges of your stomach and you grip his thighs, eyes wide as you stare up at him and the way his long tongue curls around the dagger with blissed-out exaltation.

he parts with it unwillingly. licking his lips, as if to savour it, he places it delicately back in the shattered hole in the headboard he made earlier, pushing it in until the cross-guard refuses to let it any deeper. gently, he swipes his thumb over your brow, wicking away the sweat gathering there.

with a soft exhalation of breath, he yanks your head back and dives in to attach his lips to your flesh with a moan.

jungkook's tongue is rough, perhaps to better collect the blood oozing from a wound. it must not work well enough for him, for he snarls, pushing those slick white teeth against your throat and scraping against the bulb of your throat. the power behind his thrusts is enough to shatter a lesser man's pelvis, and you clutch onto him for dear life, arms wrapped tight around his tiny waist and firm back.

the bedframe shakes. his toes curl.

his cock is crushed between your bodies, but he doesn't seem to care, even as it throbs and leaks for attention. his ass ricochets roughly against your hips, unstable and rippling – his hot gummy walls clench and strangle your cock as if he wants to kill you.

heat death, big freeze. same thing.

you come. he loses control and his teeth breach your delicate skin. his razor-pointed nails pinch into your neck from the hand cupping the arch of the base of your skull, drawing beads of blood where each point meets your flesh. blood pumps rapidly against his fingers, the pulsating rush of your arteries and veins hot under the thin protection you have against him.

skin glistening with sweat, you spill inside of him, pulsing inside his hot depths as you thrust up against him, muscles bulging until they tremble. your cock pumps him full and searing and he moans into your skin, slurping up the hot metal blood gushing into his mouth with hollowed cheeks and starved, fervent passes of his tongue.

his grip around your wrist feels like a dog's jaw, sufficient to snap human bone. luckily for you – or unluckily, as others would say – you are far hardier than that, and the pressure is heavy, but not painful. weighed down by his body, riding you and swallowing you like nothing else matters, you feel like a chew toy, gnawed and bitten. it's your one purpose. it's your only purpose.

in the white-hot daze of your high, focussing on the pale red-lipped face above you is easier than knowing anything else. his eyes glimmer in the dim light, star that he is.

he's terrible. he's beautiful. your blood drips from his chin down the swan-like curve of his neck, his claws digging deep into your skin, denting the flesh – teasing his own strength. the words fall out like comets burning through the atmosphere.

"what did you just call me?"

his voice is soft yet booms around the bedroom, filling the space like no other can. you release a shaky breath, numb to the world outside of his touch, and shift your hands tentatively higher, cupping his ribcage like something sacred.

"god," you whisper, wanton and reverent. "you are a god."

his scarlet lips curl in a smirk. he gazes down at you, soft and sweet like a farmer to his dog. god? he says, slinking and burning his way down your body. his sharp eyes glitter and gloat, gazing up at you through dark lashes the whole effect is that of a blood moon through the winter-bare woods. there are a great many gods out there, little one. you're putting me in the pen with the likes of zeus and poseidon, manwhores with hundreds of children between them. you say i'm venus, so envious of a gorgeous mortal girl she sends her on impossible journeys in the hope that she dies. you, then, call me whore, that jealous bitch?

"no! please, you're everything," you cry, desperate to rid him of the distrustful twist to his mouth. he feels your heart leap. you cup his cheeks, riding your thumb along the edge of his lips and placing the gathered blood on his tongue. he hums in soft content, sucking softly and hollowing his cheeks, staring down at you to ensure you're watching.

you are. how could you do anything but?

"and?" he purrs. "what's your defence?"

"forgive me," you whisper, your throat bobbing. "you're my god. just one. just mine."

he only allows himself to react when you bury your face in his shoulder, unable to see the wild gleam in his eyes or the feral sharpness in his smile. he cups the back of your head, hushing you, and he runs his tongue over his lips, your taste lingering on his breath like poison.

he licks his teeth, the soft sound louder next to the blood pumping in your ears. sweat trickles down your temple, down your neck, and jungkook lunges in, drawing it onto his tongue with a shuddering keen like an animal.

"i'm your only one?" he whispers, a ripple in the wind. "i am your god?"

you nod into his shoulder, throbbing under your skin. something about him – something about you – is rawer, redder, tonight. like meat over the fire, blood on the snow. you want to get your hands inside him, prove your strength. your desire. you want to pierce deep inside him where that dagger could not and show him that you deserve to be there, that you can do what no one else can.

"such a sweet little lamb," jungkook croons, dancing his touch down the inside of your elbow. he seizes your wrist and you gasp softly. he brings it to his lips, warm and plump with blood. he kisses the pulsing veins, feeling your heartbeat quicken under his thumb as he bares his teeth and presses the points of his canines against the soft warm skin. "i hunger for your sweet libation."

rather than give, he takes – fangs piercing your wrist, he closes his lips around the wound and his eyes flutter shut, his blue-veined eyelids delicate and shifting as he moans, his body rolling atop yours with a renewed hunger. this hunger is slow, yawning, maw open to swallow and gulp. he opens his eyes, and the first thing they do is search for yours in the semidarkness.

maybe you're kidding yourself, that you would be the first thing he looks for when he opens his eyes in a dark room. it's a fantasy – a lovely little marigold dream – but you keep thinking of it anyway, keeping it alive in chains and a cage at the back of your mind like a circus animal a hundred years ago. sure, it hurts to keep because it scratches and bites, but it'd hurt more to get rid of something with so much promise. so much potential.

his throat bobs steadily as he drinks, opening his ruby eyes and freezing you in place. when the flow begins to slow, he growls, grabbing your bloodied throat with his other hand and yanking you up, forcing gravity to do its work. like this, closer to him, you watch as he cradles your wrist, tilting his head against the two neat little gashes in your wrist like a kiss.

watching him drink is another obsession altogether. after every swallow, his scarlet tongue peeks out, lapping at your skin before his rosy lips close over the wounds.

you cradle his cheek, brushing his lustrous dark hair from his face, and he twists naturally with it, leaning into it as he moans softly, caressing your wrist with suck stark gentleness that it gives you whiplash.

that half-dead animal limps out of its cage to heal in the river.

"you stare too much."

your eyes drop to his shoulder. he takes your chin and tilts it back up, capturing your gaze.

"i didn't say i didn't like it."

a shaky breath escapes you, puffing warmly against his shoulder, where you rest your head. he detaches himself from your wrist to tug on your hair, lifting your face.

he licks his bloodstained lips, redder than any lipstick. "keep looking, my dear. have you seen what you do to me?"

wordlessly, you nod, throat bobbing harshly as you glance aside at your wrist. the blood flows down the inside of your arm, twirling down the length of it to drip from the point of your elbow. you shudder as he places his lips on the two little wounds, lapping it up like a melting popsicle.

he locks his gaze with yours throughout it all, heavy as he moans softly against your skin. finally, he drags his tongue over the wounds, kissing them better. he lifts your arm slightly, lowering his lips near the bottom of your arm and licking a long, twirling line back up, tracing the trickles of blood.

he lowers your hand, tongue swiping over his teeth as he links his arms behind your neck. he lowers his lips to yours, gifting a soft, almost chaste kiss upon them. your blood is like steel and sweets.

his soft breaths puff against your cheek, hot and lazy as he presses your cheeks together, cradling the back of your head so that you may not escape.

"you still want me like an animal," he breathes, loosing a soft chuckle. he rolls his hips, moaning softly as you grip his side tighter. "my good little puppy... your blood is like wine."

you tilt your head, baring the other side of your throat – the one unmarred by his bite. you close your eyes, feeling his incisors nibble at the skin.

"you like the pain, do you, pup?" he digs his blunt fingers into the healing wounds on the other side, already closed over. you've always been a quick healer, even amongst your own kind. jungkook relishes in the half-strangled groan that judders through your body. "sh-shhh... you can hold me, if you'd like."

you seize the opportunity, wrapping both of your arms securely around his waist, fingers digging into his waist and shoulder. shifting him on your cock, still buried inside of him, makes him moan, and he tightens around you as he takes a deep breath of your scent, the sweat and musk marking you as something dangerously alive.

risen-dead as he is, he has no such scent. he wears perfumes of all kinds, but it's a shallow fix to the fact that he feels so obsessed with your engulfing arms because you smell like you have lived – the sweet grass you lay in, the crushed petals soaked into your jeans, the sweat after a chase.

it almost makes him... jealous.

his teeth pierce your skin. you gasp in pain – this time he's so much rougher, sinking his teeth deeper into your veins and nicking the artery. he lets out a trembling moan as the blood spurts into his mouth, and his throat works excitedly to gulp it all down, the churning sound of his tongue lapping it up and swallowing making you dizzy. his claws dig into the sensitive skin under your jaw, keeping your head away from your shoulder.

your lashes flutter and you gasp, clutching onto his bruised hip tighter, his ribs tight against the inner side of your elbow. he's forgotten to keep up the act of breath, and his still chest against yours is in perpetual forward motion, his hips rocking roughly as an afterthought to his greatest pleasure at your neck. he leans in, and the arm braced against the bed trembles under your combined weight.

forward, forward. he drinks and drinks. your strength fails you and you collapse to the bed, squirming as your vision blurs in crimson and white. your oil-slick blood is hot on your skin and jungkook laps at your throat with a starved growl, nosing at your jaw.

you've felt like this before, the lines of the bedroom swimming in your vision, swirling like marble. you clutch your god, whose body rocks languidly atop yours, and the sting of his tongue sliding against the oily blood leaking from your neck burns a thousand times brighter, flaring along your nerves to the tips of your fingers.

you come inside of him like a broken dam. his leaking cock follows suit, spilling all over your stomach and glazing it in white. his eyes roll back as he moans around the blood pouring down his gullet, sweet and thick.

when he opens his eyes – dark brown – and licks the wounds to seal them up temporarily, he realises, slowly, that your touch is bruising him.

his thoughts begin to pull themselves together out of the animalistic foggy haze. your warmth around him, in him, is addicting, clutching him close as if he's the only thing keeping you sane. he moans softly, arching into your touch.

"such a good boy for me," he whispers, milking your cock for all it's worth. you suck your lower lip between your teeth and bury your face in his shoulder, grinding up into his ass and pushing his hips down to meet yours. he sighs softly, stroking your cheek and jaw as you grow lax, panting shallowly. "that's it, darling. my sweet pup did so well."

you nod dazedly against his skin, a little dizzy with the praise – and the blood loss. "mm, th-thank you..."

his lips quirk up and he traces his fangs with his tongue. "so polite, too. your peers could learn a thing or two from you, love."

your heart flutters at the pet name, rolling off his tongue like rich wine. you pull him to your chest, tucking his face in the hollow of your throat, and roll over, pulling his calves over your thighs. you hold him like that, your bicep acting as his pillow and your other hand cradling the small of his back.

he lifts his eyes, gazing up at you with amusement. "you're covered in blood, puppy. you don't want to clean up?"

"i love you."

"that doesn't change anything," he murmurs, dark eyes the richest warmth you've ever known. "you're still messy."

"sorry."

jungkook sighs, able to recognise when he's fighting an uphill battle. your heartbeat remains quick and rabbiting, and he places his palm against it with a tiny smile he makes sure you cannot see. you're still up in the clouds, still replacing the blood he accepted from you, and you're groggy, cuddling him into your chest like a lover. he's certain it has something to do with the fact that you're still trying to court him.

he amuses you, playing along. it can't hurt to let you have this fantasy – after all, you've been so good for him, dropping that cocky edge the second he wants you between his legs. you play his game, so he'll play yours.

what a shame you haven't told him all the rules.

[blueysobssesions]

Oh, how pretty she is… how skilled she is… No wonder, he liked her so much. Gah, why are you thinking of that all of a sudden? You don't even know if he really likes her???

Author’s Note: You are the president's daughter (just imagine Ashley, but with a different family). I think you already know what happens to you. You were kidnapped by the cult, Los Illuminados. Leon Kennedy was then sent to a rural part of Europe to rescue you. And the rest is history.

A Leon S. Kennedy x Fem! Reader

(Resident Evil 4: Remake)

The moment when you finally got saved by a gorgeous man was a relief. But the trauma of being kidnapped by a cult clung to you.Leon was checking his guns and knives, something you had watched countless times since he’d rescued you. You couldn’t help but admire him.

You broke the silence, your voice barely more than a whisper, "Leon… I'm sorry." He looked up from his gun, his blue eyes shining from the fire flickering as they met yours. "For what?" he asked. "For being such a burden…" you replied, the words tumbling out before you could stop them. “You’ve done so much to keep me safe, and I keep getting in the way. I should have been stronger.” You turned your head towards the fire in front of you, avoiding his gaze.

He looked at you, then set his weapon aside, placing it on top of the barrel beside him. He stood up and sat beside you. You flinched, your heart pounding in your chest, but you forced yourself to stay still and watch the fire. "I'm not really good at expressing my feelings. But I just want to say that you aren't a burden. It's okay to feel scared and helpless; anyone would," he said.

You looked down at your hands, feeling a lump in your throat. "But I've slowed you down. You could’ve handled everything so much better without having to look after me.” He then placed a hand on your arm, making you look at him. "Listen to me," he said, his voice steady. "I'm here to keep you safe. You're not slowing me down; you're giving me more reason to kick some zombie ass. You're brave, and trust me, I've seen way worse than this," he added with a chuckle.

You giggled and smiled at him, also putting your hand on his arm that was comforting you. "Thanks. I-I don't really know what I'd do without you. "He smiled back, making your heart skip a beat. "I'm not going anywhere?"You and Leon were currently walking towards a door, you behind him and his gun at the ready. When you finally reached the door, he carefully opened it, making a squeaking noise. He looked around and stepped inside.

You followed. There was nobody inside the room, just a few tumbled chairs and papers scattered around. You both walked a few feet away from the door until Leon stopped in front of you. A huge window that was open caught his eye, and you were confused.

"Leon—"

"You can stop right there, Leon," a woman's voice interrupted you both from behind.

Neither of you moved, Leon's gun still raised. The sound of heels clicking on the floor was heard behind you and stopped. Leon slightly turned to see who it was. "Wouldn't want me to use this, would you?" she said. You noticed that Leon seemed calm about this. 'Why? Does he know her?' You still didn't move.

"Ada."

'Ada?'

"You don't seem surprised… Interesting." Leon slowly moved one of his feet back, then suddenly turned around, his hand hitting Ada's hand that was holding a gun, making her hand move away from him, but the gun still in her grip. You rushed toward a safe place, watching. Just as Ada's hand moved away from Leon, he grabbed her arm and moved it to the side, making her slightly stumble. Leon then let go of her arm. Ada was quick to regain her balance, avoiding Leon's knife going towards her head by swiftly arching her body back. She quickly bowed down, also avoiding another attack from Leon. But when Leon lunged his knife forward yet again, Ada swiftly grabbed his wrist, making him stop his attack mid-air. She lifted her legs to kick his head, but Leon's other hand gripped her ankle, preventing her from making contact. Ada scoffed and twisted her body, her arm about to lunge forward to the side of his head. Leon quickly blocked it by raising his other arm in defense. Then, quickly, he grabbed her arm and put it to his side, then used his other hand to grab the knife from his chest, putting it closely to her neck, making her freeze on the spot.

"Try using knives next time. Better for close encounters," he taunted.

They both looked at each other for a few seconds. "So, who are you working for this time?" Leon asked. "Oh, Leon, you know I don't work and tell," she smiled. Leon let her go, turning his back on her, putting his knife back. "Y/n—" "Leave the girl," Ada interrupted. You heard her, talking about you. Ada looked at you. "She's lost no matter what." You couldn't help but feel uneasy as her gaze lingered on you. Then she looked away and started walking towards the open window. Leon's eyes followed her every move.

"You walk away now, and who knows? Maybe you'll live to meet me again. And then I might give you the 'greeting' you're looking for."

'Do they know each other?' you thought, still keeping quiet.

"You think I'm gonna give up that easy?" Leon said, looking at Ada's back. She sighed, then looked at Leon with a smile on her face. "Right. How about we continue this discussion another time?" she said. Leon nodded and went towards you. "Are you okay?" you nodded, still confused about what was happening between them. When Leon turned to look where Ada was, she was gone.

"Who… is she? I-if you don't mind me asking?" Leon looked back at you. "Just an old friend."

"Huh."

He looked at you with a confused expression. "What?" "Well, I see you both as more than just old friends. There's something more going on between you two," you said. Leon chuckled. "You're reading too much into it. Ada and I go way back, but that's all there is to it."

"Sureeeeee."

A/n: Part 2 tomorrow i think