#metal man i will draw you again

[thunderjackal]

drumbot brian nation i offer you this in these trying times (me i am drumbot brian nation.) Click for better quality! + alt version below the cut

The name engraved upon its chest was read by the townsfolk as "MERLIN." None could know that time and rust had worn away what it originally read, which was "BRIAN."

[royaltea000]

I swear I sat down to draw a ship without Gil in it

[excelsior9173]

no horror movie tonight, i went to a metal show instead!

it was soooooo good. all three acts were incredible! i went with my sibling and we saw man meat, a local group, as well as spirit possession and the headliner was bell witch.

that was hands down one of the coolest shows i’ve seen. man meat gave me goosebumps with their riffs and vocals, spirit possession lived up to the name cuz holy shit that set felt like summoning demons, and bell witch was a fascinatingly cinematic show. i’ve never experienced anything like it, they had a film made specifically for their set, and played as it was projected. the other super cool part is that bell witch’s set was only one song. however that song was an hour and a half long. it was wild.

definitely a show i would go see again!

[crypticgrayson]

Round and Round ~ Part 2

Pairing: Front Man/Hwang In-ho x F!Reader

Warnings: Blood, Death, Smut, bit of angst

Summary: Continues on from the previous part, the aftermath of the Mingle game and Gi-hun’s plan to go after the Front Man..

Part 1

You moved your hair behind your ears before turning your head to look at the man sat next to you on the stairs leading up to your bunk beds, the circle on Young-il’s chest now replaced by a cross after the next round of voting. Even with over half of all the players dead after the mingle game, the vote turned out to be a draw. Young-il noticed you staring and drew up one of his brows, causing you to quickly turn back around.

You opened the box of food on your lap, surprised to see a fork on the side of the tin. “Something you wanted to say?” Young-il asked as he moved down a step to sit next to you, “No, not in particular” You replied. “Oh? They didn’t give me one” Young-il spoke as he nodded towards your tin, his eyes falling on the metal fork, moving your gaze towards the metal box in his hands to see he wasn’t lying.

Young-il closed the tin again with a sigh, laying it down at his feet as you started on your food, feeling Young-il’s thigh pressed against yours as he spread his legs slightly to close the distance between you. You knew he was testing you to see what your reaction would be, if you would move away, but you didn’t move an inch as you continued eating, not acknowledging the contact between you.

When you finished your food not much later, you had been starving after running around in the last game, you held out your fork to the man besides you, taking it from your outreached hand before grabbing his tin from the floor. Young-il barely managed to take a few bites when everyone’s looked up, some bloodied players with circles on their chests walking in, led by a group of pink guards. Your eyes fell on the bloody fork in one of the men’s hand, another group walking in from the other side, seeing some people you knew in this group with crosses on their chests.

“What happened?” Gi-jun asked when the x group walked over to the rest of you, the room clearly split in the middle by x’s and o’s. “Thanos and 333 broke out into a fight, 333 killed- killed him, which caused everyone to join in” Dae-ho spoke, everyone moving closer to listen in. “Did we lose many?” Jung-bae joined in, everyone turning their heads to the other group to see they were already staring. “Count how many they have, and how many we have” Young-il suggested, Gi-hun started to count your group as Young-il counted the other side.

“Well?” You asked, your gaze shifting between them. “They have 65” Young-il replied, Gi-hun sighing softly. “We have 66, they’ll never accept that for the revote tomorrow” Gi-hun spoke, most of your group nodding in agreement. “Did more people get forks in their boxes?” You asked, a few people raising their hands. “So they have weapons if they want to try and take some of us out” You continued, Gi-hun biting down on his bottom lip, seemingly deep in thought.

“They’ll attack us tonight, when they think we’re asleep, they only have to take out two of us to have the majority vote tomorrow” Gi-hun spoke softly, making a shiver run down your spine as you wrapped your arms around your waist. “We should take turns keeping watch, then all of us can still catch some sleep for the next game” Young-il spoke, everyone nodding in agreement. Everyone moved to their beds after a little while had passed, Gi-hun and Jung-bae taking first watch.

You laid your head down on your pillow when the lights dimmed, letting out a nervous sigh, knowing falling asleep would be difficult as hell with your heart beating loudly in your ears. After what you estimated to be an hour had passed you sat up with a sigh, wanting to join Gi-hun but a voice softly called out to you from the bed beside yours. “What are you doing?” Young-il whispered, your eyes shifting toward him. “I can’t sleep, I’ll switch with one of them” You replied, nodding your head in the direction of the two men keeping watch.

“You should really try to sleep, you need energy for tomorrow, Gi-hun and Jung-bae are keeping an eye out” He replied, “I know.. but by the time he notices someone’s all the way back here, it’ll already be too late” You spoke, making him sigh in agreement. “Come sleep next to me then, I’ll stay awake so you can catch some shut eye” Young-il told you, shifting to the side of his mattress to give you space. You had to bite back a laugh at his words, wanting to tell him how that wouldn’t be any better since your trust in him had faltered because of what happened in the past game, but you still moved out of your bed.

You took the three steps to cross the path between your bunks, sitting down next to him before lying down, your back facing him. Young-il let out a deep breath before lying down beside you, placing a hand on your arm as he moved his other hand to prop his head up, doing as he promised. His hand on your arm drawing gentle patterns through your jacket somehow calmed your nerves, and you were already fighting to keep your eyes open, sleep overtaking you not much later. Young-il looked down at your sleeping face with a sigh, carefully lifting his hand to move a loose strand of hair out of your face, moving the back of his fingers over the incredibly soft skin of your cheek. He had to hold himself back to not press his lips where his fingers had just been before he heard footsteps come in his direction, moving his hand back down to your arm.

It didn’t take long for Young-il to shake you awake, opening your eyes to see Gi-hun kneeled in front of you too. “We need to do something, they’re planning their attack and we don’t have enough people strong enough to fight back” Gi-hun softly spoke, Jung-bae stood behind him. “What are you suggesting?” Young-il asked as you rubbed the sleep from your eyes, sitting up too. “Let’s wait until they attack, the guards will come to stop the fight because they don’t want too many of us to die, we steal their guns, and-..” Gi-hun spoke before stopping, furrowing his brows. “And?” Young-il questioned, Gi-hun scratching his jaw before replying, “We attack the front man”

You let out a laugh before noticing the serious look on Gi-hun’s face, “You’re being serious?” you asked. “Yes, this could be our only chance, and it’s better than having to fight them” Gi-hun replied, a silence falling between the four of you. “Let’s do it” Jung-bae spoke, “I’m in as well” You added, the three of you turning to Young-il who stayed silent. He looked up and the stoic look on his face shifted to a smile you now easily recognized as fake, “Let’s tell the others” he spoke before getting up.

You spent the rest of night waiting for movement from the other side of the room, until all your heads perked up when you heard footsteps approaching. You heard a scream from somewhere in front of you before several fights broke out, Young-il grabbing your shoulder to pull you behind him, leading you away from the fights and down the stairs. “Let’s hide so we can grab one of the guards” Young-il softly spoke, his hand still behind him to hold on to you. You looked to your side to see Gi-hun and Jung-bae fighting with two other men, holding down the urge to run over to them as you kneeled behind a flipped bed next to Young-il.

What felt like hours were a few seconds in reality before the lights came on, hearing the loud footsteps of the pink guards’ boots. “Everyone halt and lay down your weapons!” The leader of the guards called, hearing the commotion stop. You peeked past the side of the bed to see the guards were too far away to grab, before Gi-hun started another fight to try to lead a guard his way. Young-il and you exchanged a look when you heard boots coming closer, waiting until the guard was close enough before you popped out behind the cover, Young-il throwing the guard to the floor with his full weight as you grabbed the rifle from the guard’s hands, firing at the other guards as Young-il pulled you back into cover.

When you hit a few of the guards who had ran over to close in on you some of the others from your group had managed to grab a couple of rifles, all of having shot down around 10 of the guards before they decided to retreat. “Let’s go, this is our chance!” Gi-hun yelled, walking over to the pink bodies to grab whatever ammo and walkie talkies they had on them. “Who’s with us?” Jung-bae called out, the only ones to respond being Hyun-ju, Dae-ho, 156, 047 and 246. “We’ll never make it with just 9 of us” Jung-bae softly spoke, making Gi-hun shake his head, “We don’t have a choice, let’s go”

Hyun-ju explained to you how to reload the gun and check on the magazine when you made it to the stairs, before a few bullets flew just inches past your head, all of you crouching down before shooting back. “Stay close to me at all times” Young-il told you as he moved in front of you, giving him a quick nod in response before you made your way up, shooting at whatever bit of pink you saw peeking through the openings around you. “They’re coming from over here!” Gi-hun yelled as he stood at the front of your group, peeking around a corner. “Jung-bae, come with me, the rest of you cover us until I’ll call you over the walkie to tell you if it’s safe” Gi-hun continued, disappearing around the corner with Jung-bae before you could even protest. “Let’s hold our ground here!” Hyun-ju called out, each of you taking your positions as you shot at the guards making their way over. You felt in your pocket to check if the full magazine was still there, feeling the heavy weight of it in your jacket to your relief. You saw Young-il throw away his empty magazine and load his gun with a new one, checking yours to see you still had half of it left. A few minutes had passed, yet your walkie stayed silent, concern raising within you as you grabbed Hyun-ju’s arm.

“Some of us should check on them, it’s taking too long and our ammo is running out” You told her, Hyun-ju humming in agreement. “I’ll go, Y/N can come with me and we need one more” Young-il spoke, 047 raising his hand. “Let’s go” Young-il continued, running over to the door Gi-hun had jammed open with an empty rifle. You followed the dead bodies sprawled out through the hallways and stairs, until you heard gunshots come from close by. The three of you turned the final corner before your eyes fell on Gi-hun and Jung-bae, who signed for you to stay back. “They just keep coming, we need to find a way to attack them from behind” Gi-hun whispered, ducked behind the wall. “I think I saw a way back there, we’ll attack from there” Young-il replied, “Good luck” Gi-hun spoke as his eyes shifted to yours.

You followed Young-il back the way you came, 047 close behind you. Young-il shot at a guard who popped out behind a corner, before you heard his gun was empty. You had just reloaded your own and doubted for a second when Young-il threw his rifle to the floor with a loud curse, moving the band off your shoulder before handing your rifle to him. “You’re a better shot than I am” You told him, Young-il taking it from your outreached hand. You made it up another set of stairs, Young-il taking out the two guards before making it around the corner, seeing the guards at the top were stood with their backs towards you.

“This is it” Young-il softly spoke as he turned to face you and 047, “How much ammo do you have left?” He asked 047, who opened his magazine to check. “Over half” 047 told him, Young-il doing the same. “I have less than half” He told the man, 047 moving up. “I’ll take lead then, if they turn around I have more bullets to fire at them” 047 spoke, Young-il giving a nod in agreement. 047 was clearly shaking as he moved up the stairs before gunshots sounded from right next to you, 047 falling to the floor as you saw the bullet holes in his back. You took a few steps back as you looked at Young-il with his rifle lifted, feeling your heart shoot into your throat as you moved to the other side of the stairs with you back pressed against the wall before the pink guards turned in your direction.

Before Young-il could yell out a loud “No!” a gunshot sounded before you felt a sharp pain at your shoulder, falling to your knees as you moved a hand up to the painful spot. You moved your hand back down when you felt a warm liquid cover your fingers, seeing blood dripping from your hand before you lost your balance, moving your hand towards a step in an attempt to hold yourself up. “Get them!” Young-il yelled at the guards before throwing his rifle to the floor, moving over to you as he pressed his hand to your shoulder to try to stop the bleeding. You used your last strength to look at him before huffing, “I knew I-.. I shouldn’t have trusted-…” you muttered before everything went black.

~~~

You blinked a few times as you felt warmth coming from your left side, feeling that you were lying on something soft and a warm yellow light was around you. You wanted to lift your hand to rub your eyes but pain spread from your shoulder as soon as you lifted it too far up, hearing rustling coming from a bit further away as footsteps neared you. You turned your head towards the source of the warmth to see you were lying on a couch next to a fireplace, a hand moving towards the side of your face as you turned to look at who it belonged to. “Shh you’re ok, you’re safe” A voice you recognized sounded, but your vision was still too blurry to make out who it was.

Where even were you? The last thing you remembered was speaking to Gi-hun and Jung-bae as you and Young-il fought through the guards, before he-, before he shot 047. You moved to sit up but Young-il gently pushed you back down, your vision shifting into focus to see he had changed out of his player uniform into a black t shirt and pants. “Young-il, what are you-“ You tried to say but he interrupted you, sitting down on the edge of the couch to lean over you, “Let’s start with; that’s not my name, it’s In-ho, and yes I wasn’t just a player”

You parted your lips to say something but you didn’t know where to start, his whole demeanor had changed compared to who you thought him to be, looking at your shoulder when he finished taping the bandage on it. “Why?” You asked, feeling tears edging to roll out of the corner of your eyes but you quickly blinked them away, slowly sitting up which In-ho allowed this time. “That’s a very long story, the only thing you need to know is that.. I have grown very fond of you, I never meant for them to shoot you” In-ho told you, the same softness you had seen in his eyes earlier returning. “I’m so very sorry for that” He muttered before leaning towards you, pressing his lips against the only part of your shoulder that wasn’t covered in bandages. You let out a shaky breath before he moved upright again, his hand slowly running down your arm. You only now realized you were only dressed in your white but blood stained tanktop and the green sweatpants you had been in since the start of all this, wondering if he was the one to undress you and take care of your wound.

You had so many questions but your head was too clouded to even think straight, made only worse when he ran his fingers through your hair, your attraction to him somehow taking up all your thoughts instead of his sudden betrayal. You knew it would only be rational to hit him in the face and ask him where your friends were, but somehow you could only focus on his dark gaze looking over you as his hand combed through your hair. “What are you going to do to me?” You asked him, your eyes meeting his, his brows furrowing as he met your gaze. “That all depends on you, sweetheart” In-ho spoke, moving his hand out of your locks to cup your cheek, his thumb stroking your cheekbone. Your eyes fell on the gun laying on the table behind him, In-ho noticing and turning your head to make sure your gaze was only on him

He gave you a second to reply but when you stayed silent he moved the slightest bit closer to you, his face now close enough so you could feel his breath, your lips parting automatically as you held his gaze. His hand moved down around the base of your neck, setting gentle pressure before closing the distance, his lips meeting yours in a hungry kiss. You let out a gasp before allowing his tongue to slip inside, his arms wrapping around you before he nudged you to lie down, moving on top of you without ever breaking the kiss.

Your hands disappeared into his soft hair which caused a moan to leave him, grinding his hips into you as his hands grazed over your sides, moving up slightly to look down at you. “I’ve been wanting to do this since the moment I laid eyes on you, jesus” He groaned, his fingers trailing down your ribs before stopping at your waist, grabbing onto the hem of your tanktop before gently stripping it off you. He moved a hand behind you when he helped you out of the top to continue on your bra, sliding it down your arms before throwing it to join your tanktop on the floor. In-ho propped himself up to take in your exposed body, pulling at your sweatpants before pushing them down your legs, the only garment covering you now being your panties.

Your fingers clawed at his back before he lowered himself down on top of you again, moving his head down to let his teeth graze over the sensitive skin of your neck before sucking at exactly the right spot, unable to hold down the moan that escaped your lips. One of his hands trailed down your chest to your stomach before stopping at the hem of your panties, his fingers teasing at the edge before moving further down, rubbing you through the soft fabric. You both let out a gasp as you moved your hands under his shirt, his warm skin under your fingertips driving you even further to the edge as you closed your eyes, pressing your face into his neck, his heavy breathing loud against your ear.

“I can barely hold myself back, I need to be inside you” In-ho groaned, a gasp escaping you before pulling off his shirt, In-ho moving back to let you move it over his head, disposing it next to your pile of clothes, his pants following soon after. “Please..” You muttered as you moved a hand up in his thick dark hair, both of your underwear joining the floor soon after, his hand back between your legs as he spat on his fingers before easing two of them inside you. You couldn’t make out which of your moans was louder when your walls clenched around his index and middle finger, his other hand digging into your waist.

“I need to fuck you” In-ho growled against your neck, moving his fingers out of you before moving them between his lips to clean off your juices, his hands on both sides of your head, dug into the pillows of the couch beneath you. “I want you to, In-ho please..” You mewled as he moved himself against you, one hand wrapped around your throat as he slowly pushed into you, closing your eyes as he pressed his forehead against yours. One of your hands was on his back, your nails pressing half moons into his skin when he picked up his pace, your other hand pulling on his hair every time he thrusted into you. In-ho pressed his body even closer to you, his arms wrapped around you as you felt his warm pants on your face, your eyes meeting his which caused a deep groan to leave him, his tongue meeting yours in a messy kiss.

“You feel like heaven, fuck” In-ho muttered against your lips, feeling that he had to hold back in order not to fill you up already, wanting to savor this moment as long as he could. “I want to feel you cum inside me, In-ho” You moaned as he looked down at you, feeling his body stutter at your words before fucking into you completely, causing a loud moan to leave you as he thrusted into you as deep as he could. “Such a good girl for me..” In-ho moaned as you felt pressure building inside your belly as he fucked you into the couch, both of your bodies starting to get covered in sweat as your moans filled the room. You hooked your legs behind his back to somehow urge him even deeper, feeling a shiver spread through him before burying himself inside you, a load growl escaping him as he pressed his face against your neck. Both of your hands buried in his hair as you let him ride out his orgasm, his arms wrapped around you so tight you had trouble breathing. You felt him fill you up completely as he slowed down before stopping, still buried deep inside you as you felt his cum leak out of you, dripping down your lips.

When he finally caught his breath he moved his head up to meet your cloudy gaze, his pupils dilated so wide his eyes looked black, lowering his head so his nose rubbed against yours before pressing a soft kiss on your lips. He carefully moved out of you as he moved to lie down behind you, rolling over on your side as In-ho moved against you. His arms wrapped around you as he buried his nose into the crook of your neck, moving your hand up to grab onto his lower arm as you eased against his warm chest. “In-ho, I-…” “Shh, let keep the talking for tomorrow yeah? For tonight.. I am far from done with you” He interrupted you, unable to hide the grin on your face when his lips pressed to your neck, pulling you even closer against him, knowing you were in for a very long night..

[moechies]

cockwarming w/ toji !! 𝜚 𓈒 kitty hybrid

toji’s kitty girlfriend who purrs when she feels too good :3

impaled on the fat girthy cock of your beloved owner, wet slick pasting his strong thighs and soft cunt throbbing against his plump balls.

you gently groom the slight stubble on his soft chin, dragging your tongue over and over against his jaw, humming and purring with delight.

your thighs shiver gently below, and toji feels it; the way your soft skin trembles against his waist. he’s entertained with his new pet, and enjoys her grooming but doesn’t forget about her bad habit; her sharp little claws dug deep into his back, drawing strings of crimson blood.

he would tell you to stop, pull the soft endearing hands of your own away from his skin, but he can’t fathom the pouty look on your face if he were to do so. a nervous glimmer in your eyes as your ears fold back when you realize what you’ve been doing to hurt your sweet master, and all unintentionally because you were caught up in the overwhelming pleasure of getting to groom and warm him.

“cuteee fuckin’ kitty, aren’t you?”

so he lets it by this time, lets you continue your kitten licks to his face, sneaking in a couple long kisses against his top lip, or the corner of his mouth. he pulls you close when he feels your little body vibrate gently against his own, consistent and satisfied purrs accompanied by honeyed chants of, ‘i love you, master’ s.

toji chuckles, scratching gently behind your ear and stroking the soft fluff. he thrusts above out of the blue, girthy cock bottoming out fully and impaling your poor cunt. you squeal unexpectedly, nails digging a tad deeper into the man’s back. he hisses at the pain, but laughs it off in mere seconds.

he looks below, attentive to the way you purr against his chest, face hidden against his fat tit. you purr loudly, along with short breathy moans, ones you try to cover up with heavy breaths in hopes they toji won’t hear.

“m-master.” you purr, holding back pants.

“what is it, kitty?” toji grins, hand moving from your waist and coming up to your neck. he fidgets at your little bell of a collar, engraved nicely on the metal in a bold cursive, ‘return to toji fushiguro if lost ♡.’ he smiles at the memory that plays of your sweet self when he first showed you the endearing gift.

“wan’ it, please, wan’ you to fuck me.”

“oh? that’s so dirty, sweet thing.” he teases, lifting your face by your chin to face him. your cheeks flush and your lips are pouty, and you’ve never looked cuter.

“n-not true. wan’ your milk, daddy.” you whisper with a sly smile, eyes lidded as you resume your gentle purring.

“is that right..” he mumbles. he thrusts up once again, moving himself forward so that you’re leaning against him, hands pressed against his chest.

“how does this little kitty want it ?” you assume he’s referring to you, but instead he drags a heavy finger from your soft butt, tracing against your skin to reach your soft belly; landing right above the imprint of his cock. his digit presses on the budge slightly, making you squirm before he moves down to your cute pussy, leaving swipes across your pearly clit.

“master—“

“tell me, pretty little thing.”

“from behind, please, doggy. wan’ y’to fuck me from b-behind, ‘kay?”

“oh, aren’t you just so sweet.”

you hiccup, feeling the man’s large body splay across your back as you’re placed gently on your arms and knees. his cock doesn’t dislodge from you once, fat tip nudged snugly in your cunt as he flips you over. your face plants into the soft sheets, knees melting into the mattress with the man’s added weight.

“doggy.. ironic, huh?” he laughs.

“stooop it..” you purr into the sheets, fur clad tail tickling at his soft skin.

his hand wraps around the base of your tail, tugging it up high for easier access. he watches how your milky pussy throbs erratically around him, rim of your stretched cunt a tad shade darker.

slick drools from your soddened holes against your thighs, transferring and coating his cock and the scruffy hairs against his shaft. your folds perfectly accommodate his cock, wrapping neatly around the man’s girth.

your butthole sits above your pretty pussy perfectly, clenching ever so often at the vulnerability of the position, and how you can basically feel the man’s eyes boring into your cunt, and chubby butt.

“master— hnn… no more staring please, w-wan’ you to fuck me !” you shimmy your butt closer to his pelvis, moaning when you press yourself impossibly further onto his dick. “m-master! pleaseee..!”

“shh calm down, little pet. y’r gonna get what ya want, i promise.”

your tail wraps around his forearm, leading his hand to your waist. you gaze back at him with lidded eyes, glimmering in the dim light with coated, pouty lips. “master—“

“settle down, now. trust me, this little pussy’s gonna get what she wants.” he leans over, catching your lips in a heated kiss. “..and this one too.” he mumbles against your lips. you feel the corner of his mouth curl, scar dragging across your lips as he brings a thumb against your clit.

[dark-fics-4-you]

In the Night

dark!Ghostface!stepbro!Rafe x f!Reader w a side of JJ x Reader

READ ENTIRE WARNING BEFORE PROCEEDING

Warnings: noncon (rape), incest (step siblings), murder, major character death, p in v smut, lowkey yandere themes, knife kink, blood kink, unprotected sex, creampie, Rafe is very obsessed with his little step sister (everyone is 18+)

You cowered behind the car, trying to quiet your shivering sobs. Your mind was racing, barely able to hold onto any thought other than the ghastly scene you had just been forced into.

For months, a masked killer had been terrorizing Kildare and tonight you came face to face with him.

Only to realize that you had been living with him for half of your life.

For the most part, it had been a night like any other, JJ had taken you out on a little dinner date before bringing you back to his house.

You had been dating for several months at this point, a fact that your stepfather, Ward, begrudgingly accepted, but your stepbrother seemed to harbor more resentment towards him than any of the other Pogues.

Just before you had left, Rafe had gotten into yet another argument with you about him, although he had never been so aggressive with you about it before.

“He’s not good enough for you, Y/N! You know he’s just going to get you into trouble.” Your older step brother scolded you.

“Maybe he’d stay out of trouble if you and your gang didn’t bring it to him all the time,” you sniped back, pushing past him to get to the door.

You were interrupted when his hand clamped down hard around your arm just above your elbow, stopping you in your tracks.

“Are you seriously trying to walk away from me right now?” Rafe growled as he turned to you, his hold still tight on your arm.

“Yeah, I am, JJ is out front waiting for me. Now let go of me, Rafe.”

He stared down at you, a familiar yet unrecognizable glint in his blue eyes. He scanned your face for a moment, tension heavy in the air, before finally reluctantly releasing your arm with a huff.

“Just uh… stay safe, okay, Y/N? You know how dangerous it’s been recently.” You could have sworn you saw a small smirk on his face before you turned to exit.

When you and JJ got back to his place after dinner, the two of you had just gotten out of the car when you heard him yell.

You turned to see a large figure wearing the same ghost face mask you had seen all over the news holding your boyfriend at knifepoint, the blade pressed into his throat.

JJ struggled against him for a moment, but he flinched when the man dug the sharp metal in just a bit.

“Stop fighting, or she dies next.” The man hissed, his familiar voice stopping you in your tracks as you raced around the car to them.

You were several feet away from them but too petrified to move.

“Stop!” You cried out, tears burning at your eyes. You felt terrified and helpless, unable to take your gaze off of your boyfriend.

The masked man ignored you, continuing to speak to JJ, “you don’t deserve Y/N, you know? She’s too good to be with a filthy Pogue like you.”

His words washed over you like a bucket of cold water as you finally recognized his voice and you wanted to be sick.

Your lips parted to beg with him, don't do this, please, don't hurt him don't hurt him!

At the flinch of his wrist, it was too late. You knew it. The blade glinted as it slid across JJ's neck, and you finally found your voice as a cascade of crimson followed its arc and JJ fell to ground.

You screamed as you felt the air get knocked out of your lungs. You wanted to collapse, and you probably would have if not for the sound of the killer’s horribly recognizable laughter drawing closer.

In the darkness, you turned, stumbling to the ground painfully before picking yourself up again and running before crouching behind the car JJ had been fixing up.

The chilly autumn air made you shiver and your vision was blurred by your tears.

You still hadn’t gotten over your shock when you heard your name being called.

“Y/N,” he taunted, voice getting closer with each step.

Your heart was thundering in your ears so loudly you were scared he could hear it.

“Just come out now and I promise, I won’t hurt you.” He was on the other side of the car now and you felt your stomach clench in terror.

Your eyes widened when he walked around the car, easily spotting you crouched near the back door.

When he ran towards you, you opened the back car door, blocking him momentarily as you climbed in, planning to slide across and run out the other side.

Your fingertips reached for the door handle, but large hand gripped your legs, pulling you back towards him. Flipping onto your back, you tried to kick him off, desperately scratching at his arms with your your nails at the same time.

The man pinned you beneath him, cackling at your pathetic attempts to fight back. In your panic, you grabbed at his face, pulling his mask off at the same moment his bloodied knife came to your throat.

You froze beneath him, staring up into your step brother’s eyes in shock and horror.

“Rafe?” You whispered, tears spilling past your lashes. “Why?”

A sickening grin spread across his lips as he leered above you. “Didn’t I always tell you, sweetheart? JJ isn’t good enough for you. He didn’t know you like I do.”

His free hand came to your cheek, stroking it lovingly and accidentally smearing JJ’s blood across your skin.

“Stop it!” You whimpered, nausea bubbling up in your gut as the coppery scent hit your nostrils. “You’re insane!”

Rafe’s eyebrows furrowed at that, anger darkening his eyes. He drew so close you could feel his breath against your skin, “I’m just trying to protect you-”

“Protect me?!” You hissed, tears streaming down your cheeks now.

Rafe’s nose twitched, frustration written all over his face.

“You don’t get it,” he mumbled, eyes leaving your face and trailing down your chest. “But I’ll show you.”

Rafe removed the large blade from your throat, grabbing the bottom of your shirt before slicing it down the middle.

You whimpered beneath him, trying to cover yourself up, but his knife found your throat again, pressing down slightly.

“Don’t make me hurt you too,” he threatened, his low voice making your stomach twist.

His pupils were blown wide as he took you in.

“No bra?” He grinned wickedly, “guess my lil sis is more of a slut than I expected.”

“Rafe,” you pleaded, voice breaking through your tears as you looked up at him. “Please, I’m scared.”

He groaned at that, pressing closer and you shuddered at the feel of him growing harder against you. You squirmed when his large hand cupped over your tit, squeezing your nipple between two fingers and drawing a whine from your throat.

His lips smothered yours, hungrily tasting you and taking your breath away. With the cold metal at your throat, there was nowhere to turn to get away from him. Nausea churned inside you when he pushed his tongue into your mouth.

He pulled away finally and put the knife down on the floor to unbuckle his belt, fumbling with his button and zipper before freeing his erect cock from his boxers, not even bothering to push his pants down.

At the sight of your step brother stroking his hard dick above you, your tears started flowing again, disgust and horror mixing with a third emotion you were too ashamed to identify.

Rafe forced your thighs apart, pushing your skirt up to reveal your pink panties.

“Shit, Y/N,” he groaned, pressing his thumb to your covered clit. You squirmed in his grasp, biting your lip to stop your whimpers from escaping.

“Can’t wait anymore,” he breathed through gritted teeth, grabbing your panties and sliding them to the side before lining his tip up with your slick entrance.

“Stop, Rafe-!” your protest was cut off when your step brother pushed himself inside you, stretching your unprepared cunt around him.

You whined loudly, heart skipping a beat when his hand wrapped around your throat, smearing the blood from the knife across your tender skin.

He stilled above you for a moment, taking a shaky breath as he basked in the feeling of your snug walls squeezing around him, tighter than he could have imagined. He inched himself deeper until his tip kissed your cervix.

Rafe leaned closer to you, his lips covering your before he began slowly thrusting into you, increasing his pace with each push of his cock.

You mewled against his lips, confused and disgusted with yourself when you could feel yourself growing wetter around him.

He broke the kiss and you gasped for breath, only for his grip to tighten around your throat.

There was nowhere to go, and Rafe easily caged you in on top of the leather seats of car. You felt claustrophobic, overstimulated by the feel of him rutting into you in the cramped backseat.

The lewd sound of his cock plunging into your slick cunt taunted you, and you couldn’t control the pornographic moans that he was forcing out of you.

His thrusts were brutal, bordering on punishing at this point, and his fingers were squeezing around your neck so tight your vision was becoming fuzzy at the edges.

“Rafe-!” You choked, hot tears burning at your eyes.

The world was spinning around you, the pressure building between your legs. You grabbed onto Rafe, clinging to him tightly in your confusion.

“Tell me you love me,” he groaned, not slowing his pace at all as his thumb found your clit, messily rolling over it.

Your skin crawled at his words, stomach flipping as you nervously shook your head no, but you couldn’t bite back your moan as he teased your tender bud.

You knew that only pissed him off more though, and his grip on your throat tightened in warning.

“Tell your big brother you love him, dumb fucking slut.” He hissed, hitting a spot that made you see stars.

“I-” you whimpered before whispering. “I love you.”

He kissed you hard, growling as he pulled away and resting his damp forehead against yours.

“Tell me again, baby.”

His hips tilted to meet yours, pushing himself deep inside you with each thrust. His thumb lazily traced your clit, pulling you to the brink.

“I love you,” you moaned, primal desires overcoming your thoughts of resisting.

“Again.”

“I love you, fuck, Rafe!” you whimpered as you were pushed over the edge.

Blinding white light exploded behind your closed eyes as you came undone around him. Sinful pleasure tingled between your legs as he fucked you even harder, and he cursed as you squeezed around him.

You couldn’t think straight, much less control your mouth, and the endless string of “I love you Rafe”’s that rolled off your tongue was the reason it wasn’t long before your step brother was painting your walls with his sticky seed.

[fordaryl]

REMEMBER.

minors dni. 2.6k words. smut. daryl dixon x fem!reader. protective daryl. hint of size kink. strength kink.

It's easy to forget his strength when his touch is always so gentle. When you're safe, he lets you forget everything he's capable of; the reason you've both made it this long.

Safety lets you forget.

And then—when it inevitably all it all goes to shit again—you remember.

"Get in!" he calls through the wall of bodies separating you. He keeps the attention of most of them, but there's a few stumbling in your direction—too many for you to handle alone. "Now!" he shouts as he takes another growling walker down.

It goes against every instinct you have—to leave him to fight this alone. But this was his domain. This was when you did whatever the fuck he told you to do. It was how you survived.

You drag the door of the container open, grunting as the heavy metal fights back. It's a makeshift prison cell, one that was supposed to be filled with live bait for the walkers. It would be if it weren't for Daryl. He was almost single-handedly dismantling whatever fucked up enterprise you'd both stumbled upon.

One of them reaches you before you'd manage to push the gate open enough to slip through.

One is fine. You can handle one.

Turning around to deal with it gives you a split second to check in on Daryl. He's making a dent in the mass of bodies, but it's not enough. Not with the shouts of the living making their way closer.

You kick the walker you've knifed back into the mass of bodies approaching, giving you just enough time to slip through the crack you've made in the sliding door and slam it closed behind you.

Locking it is another story.

You have no hope of accomplishing that.

Still, it's enough for now. It's enough to let Daryl keep his focus where it needs to be as you deal with as many as you can through the bars.

Then one gets shot down. Daryl, is your first thought. But then two are shot down at once. And then the voices reach your ears. Voices are bad. Walkers you can handle. The living was another story. Nothing stoked the fear constantly simmers in your gut like the voices of the living.

They shout over each other, calling directions as they pick off the mass with a spray of bullets. You can't see Daryl anymore. He's either dead or hiding.

Hiding. Hiding. Hiding.

You shift back into one of the dark corners of the container as the shouts draw nearer.

“What the fuck happened?! Don't shoot them you dumb fucks! Get any you can back into holding!”

Any second now... any second they'd find Daryl and your world would end. The living were different. The living were monsters of a different kind.

"They're bunched up around this one!" someone shouts.

You hold your breath.

"Well check it out then!" another demands.

Oh, fuck. You grip your pistol. Your aim was decent. You could take one out, maybe two. But there's a whole group... and they were coming for you.

You scramble to the other far corner as the last of the walkers are cleared from the entrance, hoping to take advantage of the darkest shadows. Daryl would be watching... waiting. Any extra moment you could give him could be vital.

"You better come out now," a man calls from outside. He's just out of your sights, prepared for you to be armed and ready to fight. You'd hoped to have the element of surprise. "I ain't asking."

You know what'll happened when they find you. It's the same thing each time. You're prey to people like these—something to hunt in a world without consequences for that kind of thing.

Your silence buys you less than a minute before the first of them are dragging the metal gate open. If you shoot, they'll shoot back. It's not something you'll survive cornered like this. So you bet on them being the same as the rest. You let them know you're prey.

"Please," you call, as meek and afraid as you can manage—vulnerable. Not a threat. "I'm—I'm unarmed."

Then a bright light blinds you.

"What the fuck?" one of them exclaims. Then, "Where'd the fuck this little thing come from?"

There it was. Little. Thing. You were nothing. You're not a threat. You'd bought Daryl more time.

"Come on out, girl. Come on." They call you like you're a dog, something less than human. That's how they see you. Something to use.

You take a small step forward, still blinded by their flashlights. Daryl was alive. He was alive and hiding and he was waiting for something.

You just had to stay alive.

"What do you... want with me?" you ask, still taking tiny steps towards the light. Weak. Vulnerable. No threat.

You get muffled laughter in response. Guards down. Distracted.

"What do we want? We want a little fun, honey. That's all. Just a bit of fun."

They're flash lights drop as you approach the entrance. They've pulled the gate all the way across.

Five. You count five. If you kill two...

"Why is she alone?" one of them questions. He's younger, a little less distracted.

The rest ignore him. Then one of them has you by the arm, dragging you the rest of the way out of the makeshift cell. They're hands send a wave of repulsion through your body as they grab at you, pulling you around and shoving you in front of them. They may as well be the undead the way their touch feels against your skin.

The young one doesn't move out of the way when you reach him. Instead he stares into you, suspicious and angry. "Who are you with?" he asks. Even then, his gun is lowered. Even to him you aren't a threat.

"Get the fuck out of the way," the man gripping your arm says, clearly irritated and impatient.

"But—"

"Now."

His eyes narrow, but then he steps aside—his back pressed to the wall to let the rest of the men past. It's now that you get a look down into the pit of walkers, the one's they've managed to recapture rather than take out. They reach up towards you, hands grabbing for you.

Then, only a few steps later—you're stopped. The man with his hand wrapped around your elbow leans over your shoulder, his rancid breath invading your nostrils as he speaks. "You alone?" he asks. "You tell me right now."

You blink away the burn threatening to pool tears in your eyes. Were you alone? If you were...

The man's grip tightens, the only warning you get before you're forced to your knees and staring down into the pit of hungry walkers. "Speak," he demands, nails carving into your skin. "I'd hate to waste you like this."

There's two other men behind you. Three surrounding you in total. You could take one out for sure. They hadn't even searched you for weapons. They expected nothing out of you at all.

But then there'd be two, only counting the ones in reaching distance. How long would it take the other two further away to aim their guns in your direction?

You were dying tonight if Daryl was dead, that was certain. Your only hope was that he was waiting and watching... but what would he be waiting for...

Your pistol sits at your hip, a comfortable weight.

You take a deep breath. You could wait to die. Or fight now and hope that's the moment he's waiting for... if he's waiting at all.

The man holding you drops to one knee behind you. He leans over to speak in your ear. You wouldn't need to rely on your aim for the first kill, only any that followed. It was a headstart you weren't likely to get again. You reach for your pistol and before the man can open his lips and taint your senses with his rot once more, you shoot him through the underside of his jaw.

Your ears ring as his body drops. But you were ready. The men behind you aren't.

You were nothing. Prey.

The few seconds that affords you are priceless. You manage to shoot one more through the head before he can get hands on his own weapon.

The third is another story. His gun is pointed at you for what must be milliseconds. They drag though, those moments with an enemy weapon pointed at your head always do.

But then Daryl is there, strangling the man with a rifle and shoving his body into the ground with a force that reverberates through the metal. It's only when he snaps the man's neck you spot the bodies behind him.

He'd been waiting for you.

You watch him stand, hair hanging in his face and his chest rising and falling with his deep breaths.

Then his eyes are on you.

Then his hands.

Those hands... the same ones he'd used seconds earlier to break a man's neck. His fingers are feathers across your skin as he brushes the hair back off your face. "Okay?" he asks, soft and a little shaky.

You nod.

"You did good," he says, that deep gravel back in his voice. "So good, sweetheart." His hand makes a trail down to your neck, gentle and slow over your pulse point to rest at your clavicle. "We gotta go," he says. "Stay close for me, yeah?"

—————

The first time after is always the same—after you're forced to remember. It adds something to the way his gentle hands feel as he reaches over your hips to dip between your legs. To the way his body feels pressed up behind yours.

His thick fingers slip between your slick folds as he holds you tight against his chest. Heat. It's an overwhelming heat. He crowds you, practically curled around you.

"You like that sweetheart?" His voice is almost sweet as his lips graze your ears and his long hair tickles your skin. "Huh? You like that?"

You nod with a small whine, pressing your hips back into him—desperate.

He sighs, finger prodding over and over at your swollen entrance—a teasing little hint of what's to come. He dips in slightly, his calloused fingertip pressing into your slippery, spongy entrance just enough to have you whimpering his name.

"Fuck," he grunts. "You need me here? Huh? You all fuckin' empty?"

"Yeah," you whine with a desperate nod. "Empty."

His grip around your ribs tightens for a moment before he's pressing you into the ground—cushioned by the few blankets you carry. He's rolled you onto your belly as he covers you completely, his warmth seeping into your skin from his calves to his hot breath on your neck.

"What do you need?" he asks. As if he doesn't know; as if he didn't always know.

"You."

"Hm?" he hums, sweet and coaxing. "How?"

You reach blindly to find his wrist, gripping it firmly. "Hold me tight," you gasp between jagged breaths. "Please... Please."

His weight is heavy over you as he drops his lips to your neck, a silent acknowledgement of your pleas.

Then he's scooping you up, lifting you and rearranging you exactly the way you want him to. Because he fucking knows.

He has you pressed to his chest with your tits against his skin as he lays back into the makeshift bed you've created for the night. His arms wrap around you, one across your shoulder blades and the other around your waist—secure and firm. His fingers press sporadically into your skin a little more than needed, like he's testing his grip on you; like he's testing he has you in his arms good and tight.

Then he hooks one leg under yours, a gentle guide to part your legs just the way he needs.

"You ready for me, sweetheart?" he breathes against your temple as one of his hands leaves you. It's temporary, you remind yourself. He'd be wrapping you up securely as soon as he'd buried himself deep; once his cock was guided safely into your throbbing cunt.

You nip at his neck in response, chasing with a delicate lick at his salty skin. "Please," you ask softly.

Then he's adjusting you against him a little, ensuring you're exactly where he needs you to be. "I got you," he says as his leaking tip prods at your entrance. "Got you," he repeats. He mumbles this way as he teases; as he plays. This was what he did: pushed you to the brink of desperate sobs as he guides his cockhead over your slippery, throbbing cunt... over and over.... and over...

Saying he liked you needy was an understatement.

Then, eventually, he slips inside. Just the tip.. and not far. Just enough so that he can wrap his arms around you again. Just enough that he can have you whimpering his name as he prevents you grinding down to take him deep inside.

This is when he gives you a hint of his strength. It's easy to keep you from your goal, his strong arms pressing you into his torso a little harder each time you attempt to resist.

He keeps you there, just with a taste of that fullness—a taste of having him as close as it was possible to be. "Kiss," he says, simple and a little croaky.

You obey, pressing your desperation between his lips. It's messy and interrupted by moments where you simply need to breathe, heavily—his lips chasing yours as you attempt to catch your breath.

"Daryl," you gasp eventually. "Now. Please."

His grip around you tightens a little as you drop your face to his neck.

Then he pulls you down to meet his cock, to fuck himself deep. It's hard, exactly like you need it—exactly the way he knows you want it. You bite into his neck weakly as he keeps you there, stuffed full—the thick throbbing length of him stretching you out so completely.

Then, "Like that?" he asks, that sweetness back in his voice—like he's offering you a gentle back massage instead of holding you down on his cock.

You nod weakly in response.

His fingers press into your skin moments before he's moving, fucking himself with your cunt as he pulls you down to meet his messy thrusts. You're completely pliant like this, all control relinquished.

He's got you.

His breathing is quickly transformed into uneven pants as he attempts to grunt broken sentences into your ear. "Sucking me in... sucking at my cock with your messy little cunt... aren't you, baby? Hm?"

One of his hands moves to your hair occasionally, a temporary and seemingly subconscious attempt to get a better grip—or just to hold you closer. His fingers tangle in the strands, never tugging hard—never hurting.

"My girl," he grunts. "My needy little girl."

It's only when he's nearing his end that he flips you onto your back and you get a real display. He grips your hips and tugs you down to meet him as he uses you, each thrust a slapping of skin and punching a helpless sound from your lungs.

Strength. Everything you've been forced to remember.

"Daryl," you gasp. "Daryl, fill me. Please."

His fingers dig a little more into your skin, his hair falling over his eyes. Then his lips part, a grunt... a broken, "Fuck."

He falls over you as he floods you, his cock twitching and pumping you full—just like you asked. But even then, even as he loses himself, he catches his fall—arms landing either side of your head to cage you in. "Got you," he gasps out between desperate lung fulls of air. "I got you."

[miirohs]

adore you [k.s]

pairing: Ken Sato x Fem!Reader wc: 1.0k cw: n/a an: this was messy 3 am thoughts... bare with me pls my thoughts can be coherent if i try. lso not proofread tee hee. man i have too much free time wtf.

You knew Ken was lofty in his other form, for a lack of better words, but you had severely underestimated how tall he could truly get.

He was barely avoiding hitting the ceilings from the look of it, left awkwardly kneeling on the cold metal floor as Emi ran laps around him. You watched it go down from the safety of being near the elevator, wincing as he tousled with Emi, long arms outstretched in an attempt to grab her once again.

“Ken?” It was supposed to be a lot softer than it sounded, but the room was like an echo chamber, voice warping around the room rather loudly.

He immediately turned to you, bright pupils widening in recognition. Even Emi stopped, distracted by you as she hit and slid down Ken’s leg.

“Hi baby, when’d you get down here?” He moved a little closer, one hand on the floor and the other on his knee as he towered over you.

“Oh! It was only a couple moments ago, I just…” You faltered, your eyes meeting his glowing ones. You could’ve sworn he was further from you a moment ago.

You still weren’t used to his other form, rare occasions where you’d see it in person. He was much smaller and lithe on screen, but in real life it was so much more menacing. You tried not to shudder at the cold air drafting towards you.

“I just missed you, that’s all.” You placed a hand on the space between his eyes, petting the smooth metal. “It’s a bit stuffy up there, isn’t it?”

He didn’t respond to you or the concerned chirps from Emi as she moved closer to get a better look at you. It was only as Emi reached out to grab you that he pushed her back, unfurling his previously fisted hand in front of you.

“C’mere.”

“What?” You blinked, shying away a little as he pushed his open palm closer to you.

“I said c’mere baby,” He stated, tone rather teasing as he beckoned you forward, “Emi’s probably gonna get scared because she’s not that familiar with you, she might stomp you by accident if I leave you on the ground sitting around like that.”

Your heart raced a bit as you opened your mouth, drawing a blank as you reached out a hand and drew it back.

“Is this really safe?” He nodded earnestly, chuckling under his breath as he mimicked your question.

“Hey! I can still hear you y’know!” You fumed. He rolled his eyes, pushing the tip of his finger under your hand. “I know, but you ought to trust me more, don’t you think? I’m Ultraman and your boyfriend!” 

You groaned, swayed by his playful persistence. "Fine… I’ll do it." you relented, warmth from his teasing spreading to your ears and neck.

“Come on, trust me, I promise I won't let anything happen to you," he reassured as you gingerly hauled yourself into his hand, wobbling for a couple moments on the uneven surface before you fell flat on his palm.

His pupils softened, surprisingly gentle as he held you, fingers closing on you slightly as he brought you closer to his face. That didn’t stop you from digging your nails into his relatively warm skin, breathing unevenly.

"There you go, attagirl," he murmured, unfurling his fingers for you to get a better view of everything. "See? ‘S perfectly safe. Nothing’s gonna happen if you move."

You couldn’t really bring yourself to move, instead choosing to cling to one of his fingers, halfheartedly eyeing the gap through which you could see Emi playing with one of his cars. He was clearly getting a kick out of it, pupils glowing in the dim light as he poked a finger at you affectionately.

“I don’t know how anyone can do this so easily,” You sighed, pushing the tip of his finger to the as he giggled at your predicament, “This makes me lowkey nauseous, everything looks so small from up here.”

“Everything seems small from up here baby,” He replied. You could almost imagine the face he was making under the mask. Smirking, perhaps, but still as charming as the day you met him.

“Maybe it’s just you getting big,” You shot back playfully, a smirk tugging at your lips as you teased him. Ken’s laugh shook you, and you fell down again with an umph.

“Watch it,” he retorted with mock seriousness, “I might just have to charge you for the free ride you just caught with me.” You rolled your eyes. “Oh please,” you snarked, feigning offense at the suggestion as you pushed yourself back up, “You’d end up paying for that one way or another.”

“I wouldn’t be opposed to that.” He flirted back, and the edge you’d been on slowly melted away as he laughed. He leaned in closer, his voice low and teasing. "In fact, I'd gladly pay the price for having you close to me like this."

“Uh uh,” You cackled, interrupting him by landing a kiss on his cheek, “Getting a little suspicious there, Ultraman, keep it pg! There’s a child in the room!”

"You're too much," He murmured, “Too much, baby.”

"Can't help it," you replied, leaning back against his finger for support, “You’re just so unserious sometimes.”

“It's a talent," He shrugged, "But seriously, are you okay up here? Not too dizzy? I’ll bring you back down if you want."

You nodded, feeling more settled now. "I'm good, it’s not so drafty up here."

“You know, I like having you in my hand like this. You’re like a speck of dust, feels like you’ll basically disappear any second now." He cocked his head, the look of a lost puppy ever clearer in his eyes.

“Don’t worry cowboy,” You patted his thumb affectionately, watching as Emi clambered up his leg and failed, only to try again. “You’d make a pretty good giant, if I do say so myself. I wouldn’t mind hanging out more with you like this."

“Is this a date?” He asked, obviously surprised by the move you made on him.

“If you want it to be.” You answered distractedly, clapping as Emi tried to show you the car in her hand.

“I think i’d like that,” He replied back quietly, even if you hadn’t heard him, distracted by the baby. “I’d think so, baby.”

[logaenhowlett]

COME BACK BABY PLEASE - L.H.

Summary: When it comes to you, Logan would do anything - even break his own heart.

Pairing: Logan Howlett x Female Reader

Warnings: Mature themes (masturbation) 18+ only, Angst (with happy ending), Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, Mutual pining (but Logan's a stubborn fool), Empath!Reader

A/N: For @lubdubology's and @yxtkiwiyxt's Loveuary Challenge (great idea btw)! The prompt was DoFP!Logan + We Belong Together by Mariah Carey. Also, I hit 500 followers last week and I'm floored, honestly. Thank you so much for all the love and support! Now, back to this gorgeous man.

MASTERLIST

Logan fucks himself into his fist.

Because there you are, latched onto his mind like some parasite.

Iron, harsh and metallic in taste, blooms on his tongue as his jaw locks. A piss-poor attempt to crush the memories of sun-kissed smiles, of tangled fingers - of your love.

It's like holding water in a sieve, you slip through his defenses, elusive and inevitable. He loathes himself truly for possessing such a traitorous heart.

And still, beneath all that armour, it's you he reaches for.

But he doesn't touch you. Can't touch you. Not when you're living and breathing again just beyond his door, as if he hadn't felt your body go limp between his arms, his trembling pleas silenced by a last kiss, an "I love you" murmured against cold lips.

As if you hadn't died.

Jean notices first. Though she'd sworn off trespassing on anyone's mind, least of all his, it's hard not to. His thoughts are loud, but his agony screams louder. It seems even the kids whisper amongst themselves in the hallways - Professor Logan, their beloved hero, now a man adrift.

Everything becomes awfully clear as Charles explains - the reality a lightning strike so blinding it jolts the room. The time travelling, the ever-present fear of failure, the responsibility he'd shouldered in solitude–

You're an idiot.

Jean's voice rings in his head, unwelcome yet painfully true. His eyes lift, her subtle nod drawing his attention to you. And he'd rather flay himself alive, unsheathe his claws into his own chest, than brave the unwavering love written in your tear-filled gaze.

Just talk to her. You're only hurting yourselves–

Stay outta this, Red.

She's right, he knows it. But knowing and doing are two different beasts entirely. Because now, you're here, and here is a minefield. One mistake, one single moment of weakness, and the nightmare could swallow him whole once again.

Stupidly, Logan avoids you.

Mornings are the most torturous. He remembers chasing your lips as you slipped from his embrace only to be drawn back. The sheets would pool around your waist, barely clinging to your frame as you stretched lazily.

Utterly captivated, he'd watch as you moved about, gathering your things, playfully dodging his kisses between buttons and zippers. "If you keep distracting me, I'll never make it to class on time," you'd laugh, followed by his teasing: "That's the fuckin' point, darlin'."

That's how it used to be.

Now, he paces his room, attuned to the creak of your floorboards, the rustle of your clothes, the unmistakable hitch in your footsteps as you perhaps hesitate by his door.

Maybe today, he thinks. Maybe today, you'll storm inside, fists pounding against the walls around his heart, demand answers and finally scream at him for the coward he is.

Much like yesterday, all the days and weeks before, you never do. And that, Logan realises, is the cruellest curse of all.

It's suffocating; a prison of his own making, brick after brick cemented by fear, bars forged in the white-hot fires of regret. Every cell, every corridor, every inch serves a reflection of his self-destruction. And the key? Lost, or perhaps never truly deserved in the first place.

If nothing else, shame doesn't choke him as harshly in here; dull in the way it gnaws at him. Logan closes his eyes, conjuring you between his legs as he's sprawled on his back, one hand gripping his cock, the other fisted in the sheets.

Within minutes, everything blurs. Like shattered glass, fragments of your lives crash and collide. His vision whites out for a heartbeat, then slowly returns, leaving him limp and spent in the darkness.

And then, nothing.

Just a shuddering sigh tinged with disgust. Wet smears on his palm. A small, pathetic offering to some patron saint of loneliness.

You don't remember the last kiss.

Was it in the kitchen, his fingers on your nape, the counter waking all sorts of purples and blues across your back? Maybe on his motorcycle, the engine dying as he dismounted, leather and gasoline twisting in the air? Or perhaps something else entirely?

A silken thread spun from longing unwinds, stretching and stretching through the fog of time; it frays, it thins, it threatens to snap, leaving behind a faint echo.

When was the last time Logan kissed you?

Rain lashes against the windowpanes, moonlight spilling across the floor in flimsy slants. A hollow reminder of his absence, the dent on your mattress glares back rudely. The weight of his bones, the warmth of his skin, his fading presence - reduced to nothing but a shallow impression on the foam.

You remember other moments, though. Lazy days, the kind where he'd rise first, propping himself on an elbow, hair spiking in twenty-odd directions. Sometimes he'd be content with just admiring you, simply ghosting knuckles across your cheek. And sometimes, those fingers would slip lower and lower while he'd mumble all sorts of filth into the valley between your breasts, chasing your sweet dreams away.

Then, there were times when you'd return from missions, bruised and hacked to pieces, but very much alive. And in no more than three strides, his arms would curl around your waist, all fierce and protective. Home had never felt so precious - so real - as it did in those moments.

So, when was the last time Logan kissed you? And did it even matter anymore, when he's so determined to erase you from his life?

As luck would have it, sleep plays the spiteful mistress tonight, taunting glimpses of oblivion only to snatch them away. Across the hallway, Logan's room offers no comfort either, creaking bedsprings, muffled thuds, a growl - more animal than human - rips through the noise.

He's at it again.

Another restless night, grief rolling off him in thick, asphyxiating waves. It bleeds through the walls, and you know, instinctively, he's reliving everything. You need to help him.

What if you only make it worse? What if your touch only deepens the wounds?

Fuck it.

Six steps separate him from you. Six steps you consider crossing every day. Six steps that might as well be infinite. But now, six steps are simply six steps. Trembling, you gently push his door inward.

Clothes litter the floor, cigar boxes lay scattered amongst the clutter on the nightstand, and a trail of empty Jim Beams leads to the rumpled figure on the bed. If your presence startles him, he betrays nothing - his stillness a deliberate barrier, his back a silent rejection of your intrusion.

"Logan?"

No answer comes, just the ragged, uneven rhythm of his breathing. Carefully, you navigate around discarded boots, jeans - and who knows what else - until your knees bump the edge of his mattress.

Tension crackles in the air, and thrumming beneath is a raging current of heartache, a frequency you know all too well. Nights like this have been a constant ever since you've known him.

The first time had knocked you sideways. He'd been much younger then, more vulnerable. More trusting too, in your abilities, in the connection you'd found in each other. Through long, dark hours, through tremors and tears, you'd absorbed the worst of it, steady hands bearing the brunt of his suffering.

"You're shaking..." Hesitantly, as if approaching a frightened deer, your fingertips brush his shoulder. Then, with a slow, reluctant creak of his neck, he turns. Dark circles obscure red-rimmed eyes, haunted and hollow as they find you. He looks broken. More broken than you've ever seen before. "Oh, Logan," you breathe.

He stares, unblinking and effectively mute as if you've materialised from the very air he'd been choking on for weeks. Confusion flickers across his features, quickly shrouded by something grim, something guarded.

"You shouldn't be here," he finally croaks, dismissive in ways that are suspiciously akin to fear. With me. That's what he's really saying.

"I know you're hurting," you whisper, fighting tears that streak down your cheeks anyway. "Let me help you. Let me take your pain away."

A scoff, sharp and unfamiliar, cuts your words. And for a moment, the man before you becomes unrecognisable - a stranger wearing his skin. "Go away, sweet–" Logan snarls, the near-spoken endearment on the verge of escape before his jaws snap shut. He looks away, almost ashamed, scowling at some unseen point across the room. "Just... go."

"I can't."

"Don't make this worse."

"Worse for who, Logan?" you challenge, bitter like he's never heard. But you've had enough. Enough with the walls, the shields, the self-inflicted exile. "Because this– it's killing you. And it's killing me too." Gently, your hand grazes his own, and when he doesn't flinch, you try once again. "Please."

Hope, a fragile little thing, flutters behind the hazel you've long adored. Logan doesn't resist as you settle beside him, instead falling into a much-needed embrace. Warmth seeps into his chilled body, stress ebbing, hard edges softening. He buries his face into your neck, inhaling deeply for the peace he so desperately craves.

From the dark vines of his nightmares, shadowy figures extend scorching hands, poking the edges of his consciousness. And like always, your powers banish them completely, drawing visions of happier times in their absence. Memories, perfectly curated, lovingly held.

His arms tighten around you, pulling you flush against his chest. Like melted wax, Logan molds himself to your touch. For a long time, you simply exist together, soaking in this closeness, this feeling of home. Two puzzle pieces have never fit so well.

"I don't need your help," he mutters into your shoulder, soft and unsure, as if he doesn't believe his own words.

A small, watery chuckle lures his gaze to yours, you offer a kind smile, damp lashes pillowing the affection in your eyes. "I know," you whisper, running a gentle hand through his dark tresses, lingering a little longer by those grey streaks you adore. "But you're letting me anyway." The corners of his mouth twitch in response.

He doesn't speak again, and neither do you. Words feel superfluous, inadequate as the night carries on. Eventually, sleep begins to claim you both, inviting dreams of a tomorrow painted in the colours of a rekindled love.

Dawn arrives, like clockwork, creeping its invasive presence through the curtains. Disoriented, your fingers brush the space beside you, encountering only the cold, vacant sheets.

It's not a surprise, not really.

Old habits, especially Logan's, die hard.

Tires scream against asphalt, and Logan's pissed. The engine growls angrily, replicating the simmering tension rattling his very skeleton. His grip remains unyielding on the wheel, knuckles bone-white, veins protruding.

"That was reckless, and you know it." His tone is clipped, barely controlling the razor-sharp irritation he's unbothered to hide. Darkening roads ahead borrow his attention, as if the blurred lines are the only thing maintaining his composure.

The mission had been a success, technically. But the phantom impact of the debris nearly crushing you still has his adrenaline jacked.

"I'd do it all over again, and you know it," you snap back, daring in the face of his obvious fury.

"For fuck's sake!" Logan bangs his fist against the steering wheel, the horn blaring for a brief second. "Don't you have any concern for your life?" He doesn't understand your blatant disregard for safety. It's that goddamn martyr complex of yours, always prioritising everyone else. Even if you did manage to save innocent civilians from the collapsing building.

"Don't act like you care!" The venom in your words stings more than he'd ever admit. How can you say that? To him, of all people. "Pull over."

"What?" He shoots you a glance in disbelief, a little afraid even. The request is so absurd, so completely out of left field, he wonders, momentarily, if his mind's playing tricks.

"Pull. Over." You enunciate with a chilling calmness, and somehow that terrifies him more than any outburst. Denial flares in his throat, a knee-jerk reaction waiting for a trigger, but his breath catches, strangled by the sudden movement of your hand curling around the door handle.

The threat is extremely evident. And he just knows you'd do it. Logan slams on the breaks, the car swerves violently before coming to a harsh stop. "What the hell's your problem?"

"My problem is you, Logan. You and your self-sacrificing bullshit! I'm done," you croak. It's not about the mission, he realises with a nauseating lurch in his stomach. It's about everything.

You’re done?

He stares, dumbfounded, frozen to the core until you're unbuckling your seatbelt. "What're you doing?" Desperate, but he doesn't care.

"Walking."

"No the fuck you're not. Safe house's another four miles."

"Good." Cold air rushes in once you exit the car and slowly increase the distance from where Logan sits, alone and upset.

He drove the four miles to the safe house at a snail's pace, fighting the instinct to veer off course and find you. Beg you for forgiveness.

The house was dark and empty when he arrived. With the flickering hope that perhaps you'd reached before him, Logan checked every room. Twice.

Three hours. Three agonising hours since you'd disappeared along an off-beaten path aside the main road. Three hours of replaying the argument, the accusation in your eyes, the finality in your words.

"Goddammit. God-fucking-dammit."

Possibilities, each more gut-wrenching than the last, churn in his mind. You could be hurt. Lost. Captured. Or worse - a thought so unthinkable he tries to shy away.

What if this was it? What if his relentless pushing had finally worn you down, despite the twisted, fucked up part of him that wanted you to fight?

Logan sinks onto the couch, its springs groaning under the weight of his misery. He examines his hands, rough and calloused, capable of inflicting severe damage, yet completely useless in holding onto the one thing he truly cares about.

Suddenly, the steady hiss of running water startles him. Then, it registers. Running water. Like a moth to a flame, he reaches the bathroom in record time, hesitating for a beat before sliding the door open. As the steam clears, Logan stiffens at the scene.

Perched on the edge of the tub, one leg submerged in the water, the other stretched out before you, you stay facing away from him. Wet strands of your hair cling to your neck and shoulders, the damp t-shirt you'd been wearing beneath your suit revealing a faint outline of your bra straps.

A small pouch, one you always carry with emergency supplies, sits open on the floor, its contents spilling out: bandages, antibacterial wipes, sutures - and blood. A thin, crimson line trails down your calf, turning the water a faint, unsettling shade of pink.

"You're bleeding," he says lamely, attempting to quell the guilt - and bile - rising up his throat.

Weary eyes meet his own, but there's something else there. Defiance? Resignation? He can't quite decipher it. "Popped a few stitches," you reply, detached, matter-of-fact. "I'm not the best medic." That's very much known to him, yet your wry shot at humour falls undeniably flat.

Logan kneels beside the tub, fixed on the uneven, inflamed wound you're tending to. It screams of pain and neglect. His neglect. "Let me," he whispers softly. "Please."

And to your credit, you don't oppose his efforts. No winces, no protests, no sounds; he doesn't know what to make of that, instead, working in a meticulous fashion, throwing every stitch with deliberate care.

The minutes tick by, slow and heavy. And after what feels like an eternity, the last stitch is in place, a small knot securing everything together. Sitting back on his heels, Logan doesn't withdraw his touch from your thigh, inspecting his handiwork with a saddened gaze.

"I miss our old life."

Your voice, quiet and laced with an unapologetic yearning, torches the silence, and with it, the remnants of his weakening defenses.

"I'm sorry," he says, tearfully. "For pushing you away. For being an asshole. For letting you... die. I'm sorry for everything."

There's a long pause. Logan contemplates granting you space, giving you the distance he'd so readily forced all along. But then, your hand finds the curve of his cheek, halting his retreat.

"It's not your fault. None of it. I know you did everything you could," you murmur, thumbing away a stray tear. Relief warms his heart, a feeling he recognises as wholly genuine. And it comes solely from you, untouched by your powers. "I don't need to say this, but I will, for you." With a deep breath, you dispel the demons and monsters plaguing his soul in four simple words: "I forgive you, baby."

The iron band around his chest loosens its grip, and Logan takes his first breath all over again. Still mindful of your injury, he gathers you into his arms with a force that nearly throws you off balance.

"I'm right here," you continue, muffled against his shoulder. "I’m alive because of you. So, I'm asking you to come back. Come back to me, Logan."

Tentatively, he tilts his head down, capturing your lips with a reverence so implicitly him. Not even the sweetest nectar could compare to the taste of your love. For it is, quite simply, everything.

[internet-rat]

Aemond Targaryen x wife reader

He makes you sit on his lap after a long day in the Red Keep~ No warnings~ A little Aemond fluff bc he needs love

In the seclusion of Aemond's private chambers in the Red Keep, the torches flickered against the stone walls, casting dancing shadows that played across the grand furnishings. The room was adorned with the luxuries befitting a prince of the realm — rich tapestries hung heavy and fragrant incense burned in the corner. The door was firmly closed, muffling the distant sounds of the feast celebrating Maelor's nameday.

Aemond sat sternly in a high-backed chair carved from dark wood, his one good eye reflecting the fire's light with a predatory glint. The sapphire that filled his other socket shimmered eerily, adding to his imposing presence. His long silver hair cascaded over his broad shoulders, framing his sharp Valyrian features. His expression was one of contemplation, his lips pressed into a thin line.

As you entered, his gaze fixed upon you with an intensity that caused the air to thicken. With a firm but gentle hand, he beckoned you closer. There was no need for words; his desires were clear in his silent command. His strong hands grasped your waist, guiding you to sit on his lap, facing him. The proximity to him was overwhelming; his presence enveloped you, his heat and the scent of spiced leather and metal filled your senses.

Aemond’s touch was both possessive and protective, a complex amalgamation reflective of his tumultuous nature. His fingers traced the line of your jaw gently yet with a firmness that reminded you of his undeniable strength. Leaning in, his voice was low and husky, a sound that resonated with a command yet carried an undercurrent of vulnerability that he revealed to no one but you.

“Today’s revelries matter little,” he murmured, his breath warm against your ear. “Here, with you, I find a moment’s peace amidst the storm that ever churns around me. Tell me, my love, does the heart of the Red Keep feel as oppressive to you as it does to me?”

His question hung in the air, a testament to the rare occasions he chose to voice his concerns. In these private moments, Aemond Targaryen, the fierce dragonrider and prince, sought solace in your presence, showing a side of himself kept hidden from the world. His fingers continued to explore, tracing the lines of your arms down to your hands, intertwining his fingers with yours, grounding himself with your touch. His fingers were rough and calloused, but undeniably warm and strong. He used his thumbs to caress your hands. To ease his worries you plant a soft kiss on his cheek. As the softness of your lips graced his scarred cheek, a subtle shift occurred in Aemond's demeanor. Such a tender gesture, simple yet profound, pierced the hardened exterior of the prince known for his ruthless aggression. His eye, usually so piercing and guarded, softened remarkably, reflecting a fleeting glimpse of the man buried beneath the layers of duty and battle scars.

He inhaled deeply, drawing in the scent of your hair, a mixture of lavender and the subtle hint of the sea, perhaps a memory of calmer days. His grip around you tightened momentarily, a silent acknowledgment of your comfort before he relaxed again. Each touch from you seemed to anchor him further away from the tumultuous thoughts that plagued his mind.

"Your kindness is my fortress," Aemond confessed, his voice barely above a whisper, as if admitting something sacred and secret. The intensity of his gaze locked onto yours, seeking, perhaps, a haven only you could provide. With his other hand, he carefully tucked a strand of hair behind your ear.

In a soft voice you tell him you love him and nestle closer to his chest. Reacting to your tender words and the closeness of your body nestling against his, Aemond's armored façade melted away under the warmth of your affirmation. His hand, typically prepared for war, shifted with a gentleness reserved solely for these intimate moments. He cradled the back of your head, guiding you to the security of his chest, where the steady beat of his heart played a rhythmic testament to his deep, abiding affection for you.

"I love you beyond the reach of shadows," Aemond whispered, his voice a deep, melodious rumble that resonated within the confines of his chest. The breath of his confession brushed against the crown of your head, imprinting his vow into the very air around you.

In the sanctuary of his embrace, the world's weight—that of a prince expected to be both a warrior and a ruler—seemed to dissolve into the background. Here, in the quietude of his chambers, you were his solace, and he, your unwavering protector. His arms tightened around you, a fortress built not of stone and steel, but of flesh and bone and heartfelt promises.

"Your love is the star by which I navigate the darkest nights," he continued, his hand tracing soothing patterns along your back. The intimacy of the moment grew with each shared breath, pulling him further from his usual world of strategy and strife.

"Let us forget the court, forget the intrigues," Aemond suggested, his tone a blend of longing and decisiveness. "Tonight, it is only you and I, and nothing else shall intrude upon this peace." His fingers paused at the ends of your hair, playing with the strands as though they were precious silks.

[heavysighing-dreamyeyes]

The Facade of You

I wanted to write him off putting and cocky at the same time, but that sure is a fine line. Reader is a bit of a spitfire when they probably should keep their mouth shut. (And I love that) ~2.3k words

When the Arkham Knight wants something, he gets it. Driven. Focused. Torrent in his mission and desires. You knew it from the moment you met him. Knew it the second you swung the aluminum baseball bat at his head, and he stopped your swing without even a flinch.

This was going to be a problem. Well, more of a problem than it already was.

Most of Gotham had evacuated because of whatever insane plan Scarecrow had crafted. Most, but not all. You had shored yourself up in your apartment, ready to ride out whatever happens from the comfort of your own home.

Was it the smartest decision? Maybe not. But you had survived blizzards in July, streets lined with living plants, and some guy who liked to run around hosting tea parties while wearing a top hat. So, you think you could be forgiven if you thought you could handle some threats of fear gas and anarchy.

And honestly, you probably could have. If not for the figure wearing armor worth more than your whole apartment breaking through your window.

On any other day, you probably would have screamed at the sight of the stranger standing in your living room. But tonight, there's no neighbors to call the cops, no vigilantes with time to spare patrolling the streets to hear you cry for help.

So you swung. Swung your bat right for his weird, glowing helmet with all your strength.

His fingers caught and curled around the metal before you even registered him moving. Everything seemed to go still, your instincts practically screaming at you to flee. You didn't need to see his face to know that he's smirking at you, head tilting like what you did was interesting, but pointless.

The silence stretches as you try to tug the bat from his hold, but the man doesn't even seem to move. No, he only starts to laugh at you, laughs like this is the last he expected, like the entire situation is ridiculous.

It draws a scowl to your face. So what if he's covered head to toe in armor and weapons? He broke into your apartment to what? Revel in your misery? Make fun of you? And you're just supposed to take that?

You open your mouth to confront him, to demand answers, when he laughs again, low and still full of disbelief, "Of course, of course you're still in this damned city. I shouldn't be surprised. Always in places you shouldn't be, aren't you."

He punctuates his words with a low, long drawl of your name, the letters falling off his tongue and through the modulator of his helmet as if he's said them a million times.

He drops his hold on the bat, but it hardly matters when your own grip starts to slack at the sound of your name, "Who are you," You demand, every hair on edge as the stranger starts to pace your apartment, almost as if he's looking for something to occupy himself with.

"You aren't supposed to be here, you know," he murmurs, picking up a framed photo, "It's not part of the plan. But I suppose I'm to blame for not expecting this of you."

You step forward, anger clouding your better judgment at the sight of him picking over your things like they're his own, "Put that down."

He turns his head towards you, lifting the photo to your field of vision, "This? It's hardly important."

You grit your teeth at the sight. It is important. More than he could possibly understand. Yours and Jason's smiling face shines from the picture behind the glass, your figures illuminated by the rare summer sun Gotham gets. It's one of the only pictures you have of him, some of the only evidence he was ever in your life.

You lunge forward without warning, dropping your bat in a bid to grab the frame. He easily side steps your desperate attempts. Something seems to shift in the air as he practically purrs, "whoops," and drops the photo from between his fingers.

The breath leaves your lungs as the glass shatters, leaving the photo in a pile of shards and broken wood. Your gaze snaps back to him, outraged, "Who do you think you are? How dare–"

"You can call me The Arkham Knight," he cuts in simply, stepping on the shards– on the photo of Jason– like it's less than nothing.

"What do you want," You hiss, biting back insults over how insane you think he sounds. You match his step forward with your own backward motion, keeping space between you.

"To make Batman pay," he drawls, honest and never slowing his steps towards you, even as you rapidly run out of space between you and the wall.

You shift your free hand to your pocket, trying to fumble for your phone without him noticing, "Then why are you here? I'm not Batman."

He finally stops stalking your every step as your back hits the wall, lingering only an arms length away from you, "No," he relents, "You're not Batman. But he does feel responsible for you."

"He feels responsible for everyone," You protest, fingers tapping blindly across your phone. Your voice shakes, even as you try to hide it. But it's hard not to be intimidated by the man towering over you, by the unblinking whites of his mask shining on your face.

He sighs, like whatever game he's playing suddenly went dull, "It's a shame you were here. Really. It would have been better if you'd left the city."

You press send on your phone. At least, you hope the (ideally) coherent message you're trying to get to Babs without seeing is sending, "Are you going to kill me?"

He recoils like the idea repulses him. It's the first bit of proof you've gotten that he even has feelings outside of whatever front he's been putting up. But he settles back into that lazy, uncaring pose, nodding towards your pocket, "Go ahead, sweet thing. Call Barabra. Call Dick. Call Bruce, even. They won't help you. Even if it wasn't such a busy night, you've never been their priority."

You tense, frozen under his unwavering gaze and the revelation of his words. His jabs don't bother you. He's clearly trying to get under your skin. But, he– The Arkham Knight– knows. Your mind races as your breathing shallows. He knows about Batman– everyone. But how much does he know? How much could he know? Their identities, that secret, it always felt untouchable.

It nearly makes you tremble. Is that why he's here? To get back at them somehow through you? It hardly makes sense if it's true. Jason's the one that cared about you– that wanted you to be okay.

His words feel like a trap. The idea that he wants you to call for help is just another game he's letting you play. But you pull out your phone anyway, your eyes never really leaving him even as you dial a number with trembling fingers.

The line rings. And rings. Then, "Hi, it's Barbara–"

"Babs, I need–" You start, only to be cut off by the continued message.

"I can't answer the phone right now, but leave a message after the tone, and I'll be sure to get back to you!"

Your heart drops, and you don't get the chance to consider your options before the Arkham Knight is plucking your phone out of your hands to end the call. He tosses your only hope of getting help towards your couch.

His voice is mocking, when he speaks again, "See? They can't even save themselves. How could you think they'd bother with you?"

"Why are you here," You ask instead, desperate to ignore the growing pit in your stomach, the fear creeping up your spine.

He hums, and reaches up to grab your chin, turning your face this way and that to study you. "A lapse in judgment. Curiosity. A weakness for the past. It hardly matters," he mutters, more for himself than you, "What matters is what to do with you."

"You could leave me here," you suggest quickly, grabbing at his wrist to keep him still, "Pretend you never saw me. I won't get in the way. I'm– I'm no vigilante. I won't be any trouble."

He scoffs, dropping his hand from your face, "This city would eat you alive. You can't handle what's coming."

"And what's it to you," You snarl, sounding braver that you feel and driven by the annoyance course through your veins. You're more than capable of taking care of yourself. (Just not necessarily against military trained rouges)

That seems to snap him to attention, and you regret your words immediately. You've essentially given him a reminder that you mean as much to him as the photo he left broken on the floor. And if he wanted to send a message to Batman, it would be easy to start with you.

"It's nothing to me," he hisses back, but even the modulator in his helmet doesn't hide the tightness– the near lie– of his voice, "You're in over your head, doll. If anything, you should be grateful I'm showing you the truth."

Your blood runs cold, your tone sharpens, and your eyes narrow. He doesn't have the right. Jason's the only one that's ever nicknamed you doll. His eyes always seemed to shine when he said it. "Don't call me that," You warn, words dripping with malice.

He honestly snorts at you, unimpressed by your threat, "What's wrong, doll? Hit a sore spot?"

You throw yourself at him, aiming a fist for his dumb helmet as your heart pounds in your ears. If he's going to make an example of you, use you against Batman, you're not going to lay back and just let him pick at your wounds.

He catches you like he expected it, hauling you into the air as you scream obscenities and curses, kicking and hitting your fists against his armor until he dumps you unceremoniously onto the couch. You scramble for your discarded phone, and he's quick to pin you down, his knee braced to your stomach to keep you from moving as he knocks your phone out of reach.

He huffs as if this is just a minor setback, reaching down to fix the wrinkles forming in your clothes every time you struggle, "And here I thought you liked being called doll."

"Not by you," You practically spit, all rationally thrown out the window as you continue to squirm. You bring your nails up to his arm, trying to dig into any weak spots in his armor for a chance to escape, to make him hurt.

"Only by me, sweet thing," he coos, and your world stills to a halt as he clicks the faceplate of his helmet back.

Jason Todd is grinning at you. It's not quite right. His eyes are wilder than you remember, his smile too forced, too tense. There's more scars across his skin than you recall there being. A stark white brand stands out on his cheek. But it's him. Undeniably him.

"Now where'd all your fight go," he questions, fingers trails up to rest on your throat, "no need to look all surprised, doll."

All you can offer is his name falling from your lips, eyes wide, and face shell-shocked.

He tuts, fingers flexing ever so slightly against your pulse, "Is that really all you have to say?"

"They told me you were dead," you choke out, unable to fight the tears threatening to well in your vision.

"They lied," he says simply, as if that answers anything. He lifts his hand from your throat to press his thumb against your lower eyelid, the light pressure forcing your tears to spill onto the fabric of his glove.

"Jason–" You try again, wanting answers, comfort, anything you can latch onto.

He only shushes you, "I don't blame you, sweet thing, for falling for it. That's just what they do. They lie. Change the narrative to fit their twisted perceptions. But I'll help you. I'll tell you everything you need to know. All you need to do, is come with me."

It's a bad idea. You feel it down to your bones. Jason, your Jason, isn't the one digging his knee into your stomach, isn't the one collecting your tears on his glove like they're a trophy. But he is Jason, and he's only ever done what's best for you. So going with him has to be right, has to be what you're supposed to do.

You nod. What else could you do? How could you even think to deny him when his face lights up in the shadow of how he used to smile at you?

He stands, and it takes every bit of strength you have not to surge forward and beg him not to when he clicks his helmet back shut. The Arkham Knight– Jason– offers you a hand, and you don't need a second thought to take it.

You shouldn't. You really shouldn't. He said it himself, he didn't plan for you to even be here. But his grip is steady in yours, and he keeps turning his head to check on you as he leads you across your apartment and to the window.

Relief clouds your mind, the idea that everything could be okay as long as he's back. So you follow him, don't ask questions even as he leads you down the fire escape and towards a suspiciously armored truck.

You don't press, even as he barks orders at the driver that's dressed more like a soldier than a chauffeur.

You let him tell you that you made the right choice. That he's going to fix all of this, that you being here will help in the end. You let him guide you through Gothams ruined streets, far away from your home, from where the memory of him is shattered on the floor.

And if you left your phone ringing over and over again on your couch in a frantic attempt to reach you, you're far too blinded by the echo of the boy you're chasing to care.

[thevoidstaredback]

It's always graveyards. Why is it always graveyards? They're creepy as hell and, well... that's it. On the bright side, the Protection Spirits watching the gates recognize him and realize the danger he's in. Well, maybe he wasn't in real danger because the Bats and Birds don't really do the whole purposefully harming civilians things, but they are scary as hell! Chasing him down like a bat straight outta hell- obviously he was gonna run! They cornered him! Maybe he'll invest in getting them lessons in how to interact with people in and out of costume?

Honestly, Nightwing, Danny expected better of you. At least Red Hood and Signal know how to treat innocents.

Here's the thing about Protection and Guardian Spirits, though. They don't like intruders. If you're running from something and you don't have time to ask permission to enter, you best say "thank you" and bring them shiny things on your next visit. If you do have time to ask permission, you ask permission. If they think you're a threat or rude, they won't let you enter whatever they're guarding.

"Thank you," Danny said as he slowed to a walk further into the graveyard, the sound of the gates slamming closed behind him confirmation that the Bat and his gaggle wouldn't be following him in.

Wasting no time, Danny pulled a piece of chalk from his pocket. It was a handy little thing he'd picked up during his stay in the House of Mysteries. Draw and door, tell it where you wanna go, open it, and go through! Beetlejuice style. Though, unlike what the Handbook for the Recently Deceased says, these doors won't actually open a door to the afterlife. He fixed that tiny glitch a while ago.

Anyway, a quick few chalk lines on the side of a mausoleum later, and Danny was opening a door to Fawcett, Philadelphia. Probably not the best choice, considering that he was trying to stay away from the Justice League, but it's better than Metropolis.

"Whoa." Damn it! He should've stayed home. "What was that, mister?"

Danny made sure the door closed behind him, praying for strength. Why did he feel like several deities were laughing at him? "Hey, kid. Can you, um, maybe not say anything about that?"

The kid, short brown hair and a red jacket stood out the most to Danny for some reason, seemed very amused. "You're gonna have to buy my silence."

Again, Danny let out a quiet, long suffering sigh. "Coffee is so not worth it." Looking at the kid, he said, "Alright, fine. I was getting coffee anyway, I'll buy ya lunch. Know any good places?"

Grinning, the kid cheered, "Hell yeah! Follow me!"

Resigned, Danny followed after the kid, easily keeping pace. About a block later, he figured he should probably get the kid's name. "I'm Danny."

"Billy."

"No last name?"

"Fae rules, dude. What's your excuse?"

He had to give it to him. "Touché."

Another three blocks of walking, Billy finally stopped at a cafe. It was a quaint place with stained white brick and a dark grey roof. There were metal chairs and tables outside the building surrounded by a wrought iron fence. The table umbrellas and the awning over the black door were light blue, matching the curtains in the inside.

The inside walls were painted baby blue with a white ceiling and a pinewood floor. The tables and chairs were all stained black with light pink cushions and table cloths. The curtains, as observed before, were all baby blue, tied back with baby pink ribbons. The lights were barely yellow, giving the room a warm feel. The counters were white with black paneling on the outside and white granite as the tops.

"Welcome in," the young man at the register greeted with a smile, "What can I get you two started with today?"

Danny envied the man. He'd obviously not been doing this long enough to gain the veteran's shine to his eye. He turned to look at the menu after telling Billy to get whatever he wanted. A mistake he'll probably pay for. "I'd like a large Red Eye, equal parts coffee and espresso, with cinnamon, honey, chocolate syrup, mint, and vodka, please."

The 'newbie' light in the man's eyes dimmed a little bit. "Um, we don't carry vodka." Glad that's the only thing he's worried about. Priorities.

Danny clicked his tongue. "Oh, well, it was worth a shot. I'd like everything else, though, please. Mix it at your own discretion."

"Alright," he was very valiant to go back to grinning, "Anything else?"

Danny motioned for Billy and the kid stepped up. "Can I get a large mocha, three chocolate chip cookies, and two sandwiches?"

The blond entered the order. "Of course! That'll be $25.37." A quick card swipe from Danny. "Thank you very much, we'll have your order out to you soon!"

The two didn't say a word as they chose a table in the corner. Danny let Billy take the seat that was open to the rest of the cafe so he wouldn't feel cornered. He had a good view of the door, though, so he wasn't complaining.

"So, how'd you do that?" Billy asked after they'd gotten their orders.

"How'd I do what?" Danny sipped his drink.

"How'd you walk outta that wall? It's solid!"

"Magic."

"I guessed that much."

"Then why'd you ask?"

"Will you teach me?"

"No."

"You didn't even think about it!"

"Okay," He paused. "No."

"Not fair." he pouted.

Putting his drink on the table, Danny summed as much fake-it-till-you-make-it energy as he could. "Magic isn't a toy and takes years of practice to get a handle on, not to mention you have to actually have an aptitude for it before you can even try. Besides, I don't know you nearly well enough to trust you with anything else."

Billy finished the cookie he was eating. "I can do it! You just gotta teach me!"

Another sigh that Danny had stopped counting. "Look, you seem like a good kid, but I'm not gonna teach you magic."

"Why not!"

"However," he continued, ignoring the demand, "I'm not gonna leave ya fully defenselessness."

"What do you mean?" Billy backed away slightly, his eyes narrowing as he moved to be able to run quickly.

Another sip. "Based off of the dirt you're covered in, the grease in your hair, and the overall poor condition of your clothes, I'm gonna bet that you're a street kid. So," he pulled a small card from his pocket, very aware that Billy was watching his hand aptly, "I'm going to leave you with this."

Slowly, the brunet took it and turned it over. "What it is?"

The white card had the initials DP in the middle, circled by an Ouroboros. The initials were completely solid, but the snake of the Ouroboros was made up of tiny runes of protection and health and healing and good fortune.

"My calling card. If you're ever in danger, hold that to your chest and ask for help. I'll be there."

Still obviously suspicious, Billy took a moment to scrutinize the card. It was cute to watch the kid act like he knew what he was looking at or for. When he seemed satisfied, he shoved the card into the inner pocket sewn into his jacket. "Thanks."

"No problem, kid," Pulling out his phone, Danny saw the time and stood, "I've gotta go now. I assume I've sufficiently bought your silence on the whole magic thing?"

Billy grinned, "I guess, but you gotta come visit me, okay?"

He chuckled, "Sure thing. See ya."

Part 2 Part 4

(I don't drink coffee, so Idk how that shit works)

Tag list: @zaiothe4th

[tearsofcalamity]

(mechanic!reader) cw // blowjob, overstim, robotfucking!! keep in mind I have 0 mechanical knowledge this is just me spitballing

boothill glitches & overheats when he's overstimulated!

it's not super obvious at first, what with going down on him and all, your eyes are kind of downcast as you focus on licking up and down his synthetic cock - the one you'd given him. it feels just as good, better, even, than a regular human's, and you'd made sure to up his sensitivity to touch extra for your little night with him.

his little huffs and pants are quite delicious, trying so hard to fight off the noises that are bubbling in his throat, but he can't help but let off a sharp whine when your tongue drags right beneath his tip, metal hands nearly gouging into the metal examination table beneath him.

"d-darlin', d-did you-" he's just about to figure out your little tinkering with his sense of touch when you wrap your lips around his tip and suck hard, your hand gliding up and down his shaft, aided with the residual slick left behind by your wandering mouth.

"ngh- mmnh! fudge, fudge, fudge!" ah, he curses in his mind that you were so willing to give him all these lovely upgrades, but you weren't quite as eager to fix the 'hilarious' problem with his synesthesia beacon.

he gets as close to cumming as a cyborg can, no liquid spurting from the tip but the heat from his metal body and the way his face tenses, then relaxes, making it all too clear he's reached his climax.

but you don't stop.

"h-hey, sugar? I j-just- oh, god, mmmh-" he can barely get the words out as you go in again, just as enthusiastic, if not even more so than before.

your tongue sliding back over his cock was absolute heaven, but also - man, was it also torture. he was already nearly at the edge again, his fingers actually making divots in the metal of the table this time. if boothill could swear, the words would be pouring out of his lips, but he settles on biting down on his lip instead, drawing some of that blue blood he's now been built with.

"h-honey? s-sugar, fudge, ahh, ahhh! I ca-ca-can't-!"

you look up at that, noticing the way he's stuttering, stammering more than usual even when he's overwhelmed. his lip is twitching, almost as if he's going to cry, but then you see his arm spasm unusually, jerking to the side when you get in one last little kitten lick on his aching cock.

he came again.

his face was utterly debauched, and he stared you down with a look of utter shock, his jaw twitching a bit as he tried to think of the words to say. you reach up to cup his cheek, your other hand landing on his abdomen, which results in you quickly pulling away with a sharp hiss.

he was burning up!

"darlin', I'm so-so-so-so-" he jittered out, the voicebox in his throat malfunctioning from the heat. he reaches a working hand up to grasp his throat, his lips moving but the sound not quite working in sync with them.

you paused, watching the way he glitched about, and then began to laugh. boothill shot you a betrayed look, but you just sighed with a smile and grabbed your tools, pulling over your swivel chair.

"okay, this'll be a lesson learned for upping your sensitivity next time."

"I k-k-k-knew it!"

"yes, yes. can't have your wires frying every time we fuck, love."

[carbonfiction]

cross to bare

Summary: A continuation of line to cross. This time its you who catches Logan in a compromising position; Behind the safely locked door of your bathroom- or so he thinks. After your last encounter you feel its only fair to return the favor.. right?

Warnings: 18+ SMUT, male masturbation/caught masturbating, blow jobs/deep throating?, mentions of bodily fluids (spit and pre/cum) dirty talk, teasing?, pretty much just giving DBF!Oldman!Logan nice sloppy head.. (also known as the dreammm)

Masterlist part 1 Words: 2K (i may have gotten fractionally carried away with how bad i wanna give that old man head.. oops?)

"Well would ya look at this.." you giggle playfully as you stand against the bathroom door; little metal hairpin in hand as you wiggle it mockingly towards him.

You watch as logan huffs but he doesn't scramble, doesn't panic the way you had. His movements do slow however until they cease to a stop with a squeeze to his flushed tip; a hand still wrapped around his leaking cock while the other rests on the wall ahead of him.

"Think your real funny huh?" he pants breathlessly. Groaning quiet from the depth of his chest as his thick fingers hastily tuck himself back into his briefs; the bulge sitting heavy and still uncomfortably hard under his open slacks, shamelessly attracting your eyes.

You nod in response, a mischievous grin spreading over your lips and Logan watches as you pad through the doorway. The hairpin slipping back into your hair as you turn to relock the door.

His uneven breaths fill the echoing bathroom, pulse pounding in his ears as you saunter further in. He watches intently as you situate yourself on the counter in front of the mirror; and Its at this point he realizes what your playing at by breaking in, by catching him out like this.

He doesn't need to find your eyes to see the hunger that radiates from you. Doesn't need to hear your pulse, smell your arousal burning up at the sight of him. Logan thinks he knows exactly what your game is and it draws an assured smirk to his lips.

"Somethin i can help you with here babydoll?" he questions, gesturing between you both with a low rumble in his throat, gazing up your body.

"No-pe" you draw the word out, applying extra pronunciation to the 'p' as you exaggeratedly shake your head for what he thinks is good measure.

Logan chuckles, deeply amused by whatever plan you think your executing. it still has his cock throbbing in its confines at your gaze; but he's quick and ready to throw you off track.

"tell me" he mutters, "you still fuckin those fake cocks up in your room when you think no ones home sweetheart?”

The broadness of his question pinks your cheeks, the memory of how he'd fucked you to tears with your dildo filling your head for the umpteenth time. Logan can see the moment it flashes through your mind, how your lip dents between your teeth, legs closing tight just like the moment he'd found you.

He said it as a jab, a tasteless mock, but In truth its not like that day stopped being on either of your minds since.

Yet shaking off the delicious memory with as much confidence as you can muster you square your shoulders again. “Mhm, got a new one.. vibrates." you release your lip, a sparkle in your eyes as you look him head to toe. he just nods, eyes dark as he digests your answer, before your gaze connects with the bulge of him once more. "Anyway, looks like your still fuckin your fist too old man”

Logan throws his head back, a deep chuckle echoing around you both and he watches the way you think you've won. When he steps closer, he can practically see the confidence that rests heavy above your shoulders. Although, as always, he's ready to test its integrity, poke and prod until it has you snapping back.

He's closer now, rough hands finding your covered thighs, pushing them open to stand between them as he tuts disapproving. “Less’a that babydoll"

Logans broad torso bends forward, salt and pepper scraping at your neck. he feels your fingers clutch at his shoulders, tips pressing tight into the fabric of his shirt.

His head dips closer, lips resting just under your left ear. You gasp, breath stuttering in your chest at the feeling of his smirk pressing against your skin and you feel his next words before you hear them. "think I recall you begging this Oldman to get you off not so long ago”

There's absolutely no use trying to muffle the little needy sound that builds in your chest.

Logan smirks against your neck, inhaling your perfume as he presses a single scratchy kiss to your skin before pulling back to face you once more.

When he finds your eyes your already looking at him, a fire burning so brightly that it takes him by a flicker of surprise. He steps away, just a fraction, evaluating his next move but you immediately follow. Scooting yourself forward until your socked feet hit the tiled floor.

You walk him back so he's standing against the wall. Neither of you move for a moment, just looking each other over a minute more, until its you that shifts.

You drop to your knees in front of him, heart drumming steady in your ears as your left hand traces up his black slacks.

"Should let me help" you murmur, looking up at him as you find his open zipper with ease. Tugging the fabric down until they pool around his ankles; open belt clinking as it connects with tile. "S’only fair right..”

Logan inhales sharply, cock twitching at the feeling of your nails dragging across the haired expanse of his thigh, your lips pressing feather light on the scared skin.

"So.." He feels you breathe against his covered length, feels you mumble your next words against him over the damp fabric; Inhaling the heady scent of him that's already leaking though the fabric. "Gonna let me suck your cock Logan?"

The guttural groan that falls from him, a sound so rough and ragged, drenches your panties as his rough hand finds home in your hair. Powerless to resist the look in your eyes; the smell of you in the air.

“yeah babydoll" he breathes, adams apple bobbing. "like you said, s’only fair”

And with that confirmed you drag his briefs down his legs. His thick cock bobs hard and flushed in front of you; leaking tip slapping against his belly button as it springs free. The motion has shiny droplets of precum slathering against his skin.

You waste no time in tasting him however, plush lips coming up to the toned expanse of his lower stomach. The hair that sprouts across his skin tickles your face as you plant mouthy pecks- almost all tongue- lapping at the pre covered skin of logan's abdomen to the heavy base of his cock.

A growl boils in logans throat at the feeling, his grip tightening the pull on your scalp as you drop back on your heels to lick at his flushed tip.

You smile as your eyes meet his, wet tongue lolling out to cushion the underside of his length as you bob back and forth. The tugged grip on your hair grounding. Your cheeks hollowing; the suction of your mouth making logans cock leak needily.

The slow, spit stricken rocks of your mouth feel good, but its not enough. Logan knows it and hell do you know it- you didn't break your way in just to lazily lick at his cock like this. So you pull off with a wet pop, still licking at his slit.

"What was it you said to me? 'wanna fuck a plastic cock you've gotta at least do it properly?'." you recall, teasing a grin up at him between your lashes as you move to lap your tongue wetly against his balls until they sit sloppy against you.

You rest your hands against his thighs and the goading look you give him has him grunting; aching hips bucking forward of their own accord. "c'mon Logan, take your own advice and do it properly. Fuck my mouth like you mean it. I can take it and you know it”

Logan looks down at you then, his large free hand cupping your hollowed cheek almost lovingly as you suck him back in; enveloping him tip to base in warmth.

You even suppress a gag of surprise as his hips buck, pushing the thick head of himself past the back of your mouth, down your throat.

“God, the mouth on you babydoll" he groans, hips picking up a steady pace as he starts fucking his cock down your throat. "s’fuckin filthy, your daddy would be ashamed.”

Spit coats your chin, eyes streaming, as lewd 'Gluck Gluck Gluck's' echo around the bathroom. Logans full balls plapping heavy against you with each cant of his hips.

But Jesus fuckkk do you look a picture each time logan makes eye contact with you. Deep down he knows he shouldn't of made you cum that time up in your room and he certainly shouldn't have his cock down your throat right now; it was- is- wrong considering his relationship with your father. Yet he cant find himself to care when you look at him the way you do; the sweet smell of arousal in the air tangling with your perfume. It pushes the growing throb of his orgasm closer, feeling his balls tighten with each thrust.

"Your one to talk" you choke, the words still muffled around the head of his cock as you pull back to breathe for a moment; nails digging harder into the haired flesh of his thighs. "Feels good?”

You don't even give him a moment to respond, sheathing him back into the wet warmth of your throat. so deep he can see the bulge of himself half way down your neck. Logan groans, practically yelping out a swear at the sight. “Y- yeah, shit princess, 'm c-close"

You let him fuck himself headfirst into his impending orgasm, taking every harsh buck and thrust without a whimper of complaint. His weeping cock hammering at the back of your throat, tongue dragging along the underside vein so deliciously Logan's thighs begin to gently tremble below your fingers.

"Fuck fuck fuckkkk..just like that" he jolts, eyes rolling back into his head as he bends at the waist until your head is trapped by his lower abdomen. His head lowers, planting soft kisses to your hairline as he grunts "good girl, G-gonna make me cum babydoll"

and Its then, within another one, two, three uncontrolled thrusts that he growls, primal and deep, grumbling out in pleasure. His balls rising and dropping in pleasure as they press to your chin.

Your throat greedily swallows around him as you're forced to take him to full depth. Musky cum fills your senses, heady and thick as the white ropes paint your throat like honey on a spoon.

"Christ, you tryna kill an old man huh?” he pants heavily, pulling his softing length back from the depths with a sloppy pop. you lick over the sensitive head, cleaning him up until he's hissing.

Silently then, you help him re dress; once he's all completely oversensitive and spent. Its almost intimate, romantic- you tucking him back in and buttoning up his slacks like you hadn't just taken and swallowed his soul down your throat.

When he's presentable again you giggle at him again, girlish and like the devil you are as you shift to stand. A hoarse whimper falls from your lips involuntarily as the drenched gusset of your panties slip across your lower lips. Aroused from the roughness of his touch. You know logan can smell it, the drenching slick leaking from your empty hole, but still you rekindle your restraint, a hand rubbing over your spit stricken mouth and chin as you turn towards the door.

“hopefully not this time.. got other things I wanna do to that cock first..” you call back, hand on the doorknob as you cast your gaze back to him and then the crotch of his freshly fixed slacks.

"S'that right?" he smirks, breath coming in short bursts as his lungs crackle and heave to catch up- his legs still shaking with a soft tremor as he leans his weight against the counter. You'd made him cum like a girl- like you- and the thought turns him on more than he'd like to admit.

"Mhm" you hum in confirmation, shooting a final bright grin his way as you leave- lashes still a little damp from the tears. "Cya around.. Oldman"

annnnnd thats it!! hopefully it lives up to all the wonderful love part 1 got bc i realllly enjoyed creating this one! (im probably even open to a part 3 closer for these if thats what the poeple want!) lemme know whatcha think <333

[vauer]

𝐌𝐢𝐥𝐞𝐬 𝟏𝟔𝟏𝟎 𝐱 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

«────── « ⋅ʚ♡ɞ⋅ » ──────»

ꜱᴜᴍᴍᴀʀʏ: a couple of days ago, you found a strange blondie in his room. it's time to act decisively.

cᴡ: porn, age up, obscene language, cunnilingus, Internal misogyny, fem!reader

(English isn't my first language, sorry for any mistakes 💌)

───♡─────────────

A couple of paint cans fell to the floor with a thud, drowning out the quiet moans. You insistently pulled Miles closer, wrapping your legs around his hips as his warm hands reverently stroked the curve of your waist.

“Do you like my figure that much?” you giggled as Miles gently squeezed the skin on your side.

"I'm studying the texture for authenticity," his embarrassed murmur touched your lips, parted from lack of air.

You two didn't expect the evening to turn out like this. Actually, Miles did not expect it when he invited you to be a sitter for his graduation work at art school. For you, on the other hand, it was a long-awaited chance. From the first time you met, you knew you had to have him for herself. While their classmates saw him as some silly nerd, there was nothing sexier for you than his craving for quantum physics and drawing.

In fact, you didn't really want to rush things between you, after all, you had only become friends a couple of months ago. But recently you found a girl in Miles's room and decided that it was impossible to delay. You had no idea who that blondie was, but she managed to shake your confidence. You had to hope Miles didn't have a type. You obviously couldn't call herself ugly, on the contrary, your parents' money was doing its job: a couple of years of wearing braces, expensive cosmetologists and hairdressers, and by graduation you could be confused with someone from the Kardashian family. The problem was, you didn't look alike that blondie at all.

You had well-groomed and neatly styled hair when that girl had a hairstyle that was done by either a self-taught punk or an autistic blind man. She dressed in a similar style also. What could Miles possibly see in her?

Anyway, it didn't matter at the moment, because right now his head was between your legs.

The cold and thick paint that you had spilled on the table slowly flowed down your leg. With a quick movement, Miles pulled off your underwear and smeared a purple stain on the back of your thigh. You took a deep breath and gripped the edge of the table. Your whole body was trembling slightly from overexcitation and excess of emotions.

A slight bite on the inside of your thigh sent a shiver down your spine, forcing you to spread your legs wider. You would never have thought that seeing his charming face between your legs could be the most satisfying part of the process.

"You didn't tell me about it."

You arched her back in a sudden burst of pleasure. Trying to calm you accelerated breathing, you swallowed, looking down. With an innocent expression on his face, Miles clamped the curved piercing bar between his teeth. Every little breath he took sent a wave of goosebumps through your body.

"You didn't show much interest in my holes before," you smiled, possessively throwing your legs over his shoulders.

Blushing slightly, Miles looked down again and wrapped his arms around your waist, holding you still. His hot tongue slowly slid along your wet folds, gently pushing them apart and deliberately brushing against the cold metal of the jewelry. You threw your head back, breathing heavily. You could have finish just from the look of his deer eyes innocently looking up at you.

"You're gonna kill me," you muttered, trying to grab onto something to keep from falling off the table under the pressure of the sensations delivered by his soft mouth. In the end, you ran your hand through his soft curls, pulling him as close as you could.

Miles moaned softly, lightly squeezing your butt, his tongue teasingly penetrating inside you as he leaned slightly towards your gentle hand in his hair.

"I think you're trying to strangle me right now," Miles chuckled. His cheeks were slightly squeezed by your thighs, making the whole picture even more adorable.

Feeling the sweet warmth in your lower abdomen, you pulled Miles even closer, moving your hips towards his mouth, rubbing yourself against his face.

Suddenly, he pinned you against the table, holding you by the waist. Unable to move, you threw her head back, feeling even more aroused. Finally, Miles's plump lips found your clit, sucking lightly on it.

He pulled back your piercing with his teeth once again, hard enough to make you gasp in surprise, but not hard enough to cause real pain.

It was too much for you. Just a couple of movements made you shudder and arch back from orgasm, throwing even more things off the table.

With a soft moan, Miles pressed his mouth to your pussy, prolonging your pleasure with a couple of movements of his tongue along your swollen and wet with excitement folds.

You involuntarily pinched his head between your thighs so that he had to forcibly spread your legs apart.

“Have you invited many people to “pose" like that?” you murmured with a note of jealousy and gratitude in voice. Your chest was heaving convulsively from the lack of air in lungs.

“No one,” Miles's cheeks turned an embarrassed blush as he tried to catch his breath, beads of sweat glistened on his forehead. He sat down on the table and looked at your naked body. Awkwardly reaching out, Miles smeared drops of paint on your collarbone, tracing a red line from your chest to hip while admiring your curves.

“Who was that blondie in your room the other day?” you blurted out, not caring how harsh your question sounded, especially after what he had just done to you.

Miles's eyes widened slightly at the unexpected question.

“Do you really want to talk about her at the moment?” He chuckled slightly. “Don't worry, I didn't do those things to her.”

───♡─────────────

hope I won't get cursed or wished to die for this (´꒳`)��

[masquenoire]

"So the winning result ended up being metal after all, nice. Good that some of you have a brain, metal's a fine element and you can do so many wonderful things with it..."