#my wretched little girl

[sparingiscaring]

For A Secret

Part of the @fallenlondonficswap!

For the General Swap, for @neathyingenue and for @thedandy-detective

I liked the ideas of incorporating cat-catching between a Normal Child and a Very Prissy Kitty, and realized. Oh. I co-own cat just like that with one VERY dandy Detective. Hope you both enjoy!

General : Cats, Urchins, Cat-Catching, Baxter Berkeley (Briefly)

(1968 Words) | AO3 Link

In the outskirts of London, far above the dirty-stained streets of London, an immaculate, perfect creature sat proudly upon her throne, staring down at passerbys with a well-deserved sense of superiority. The Queenly Kitten was royalty, after all, and it was in her blood to sit here, high above the peasant-humans that walked below.

It was tradition to laud herself above the denizens of this wretched city during her bathing time, to lazily listen in on their nonsense-arguments, their love-tyrsts, their shameless physical brawls, all while lapping idly at the glossy fur of her paw. It was entertaining to hear what so concerned those humans so far below, so ignorant to the perfect creature that shone above them like the brightest of False-Stars, like naïve children.

The Kitten purred as she rolled onto her back, burying herself deeper in the cushions of her window-box throne as she licked at a lacre-white leg that stretched towards the sky, that rolling sound emanating from deep within her fluff-hidden chest. She takes great pride in her purrs – no one could force them from her, without giving her proper due.

The Man who lived in the Rooftop Shack, the building her throne attached to, was, unfortunately, currently the only human who treated her with any of the respect she deserved. And so much disrespect that it hardly even mattered!! Her paws instinctively went to her neck, pushing up on the collar, although not truly trying to remove it. The concept of a collar was fine, but this one? One of such poor quality, without even a diamond to show her true value?! And not even the decency to leave the place for a name blank, when the Man had inflicted her with such a humiliating one?

That collar, that name, why she refused to use his own name, ever. Not until he respected her enough to grace her with a proper name.

Rolling again in her cushion-lined box, the Queenly Kitten settled to a rest on her side, stretching out, as if to take up the whole of her bed place. Her perfect jaw opened in a yawn, needle-like teeth glinting in the light of the False-Stars – she was tired, and one so great as her must have her beauty sleep! She wriggled once more, letting her eyes close as she readies herself for sleep. Perhaps the Man would be home then, and have dinner ready for her, by the time she awoke from her nap…

Perhaps she’d even let him pet her, if he washed the dirt from his hands first…

The Queenly Kitten is on the edge of sleep, the first rays of warm light and pampering hands reaching for, when she’s torn from her slumber by a pair of real hands, hands covered with a layer of grit and grime that instantly pulls the Kitten into a screaming yowl! She’s been pulled from her throne! She’s been pulled into the air by the scruff of her neck! UNHAND HER!

“Unhand me!” The Kitten screeches, clawing wildly at the air with the ferocity of a wild beast, all of her perfectly-groomed fur now standing on edge, turning her into a spikey, spitting mess of fluff and rage! However, it’s the fault of her biology that lets none of her murderous blows land, that lets her kitnapper live on – she cannot reach the back of her neck to land a blow! “Unhand me now!”

“In a minute!” It was an unfamiliar voice, childlike and girlish, and the Kitten instinctively bristles further! Not even the Man, or one of his circle of friends! A Stranger had her! A Strange Child!

Unceremoniously, the Kitten feels herself spun around in the air, legs rabbit-kicking uselessly at nothing, as her kidnapper comes into view. An Urchin! A grubby human, holding royalty in her hand like a common street-cat, holding a forgotten fishing pole in her other hand, down at her side. The human is a kitten herself, wide, reflective eyes set in her round face.

The Child grins, her teeth far flatter than the Kitten’s, but all the bigger. A fearsome predator in her own right. “You gotta give me my secret, first!” The Child says, dropping her fishing pole completely, reaching forward, and…

Petting her! Petting the Perfect, Pure, Queenly Kitten, with her soot-smeared hand! Grit! Grime! Muck! The Kitten yowled out pathetically again, so debased by the action!

“No! No, nothing! Nothing for you! I will give you nothing!” Secret?! A SECRET?! Extortion! Extortion!!

“That’s not how this works!” The Girl said cheerily, sitting down against the home of the Man, shifting to hold the wriggling Kitten underneath her armpits. “You’re s’posed to give me a secret for catching you! That’s how cat-catching works!” The Child says it with a knowledgeable superiority, and a fitting, know-it-all grin. “Everybody knows that! Even the baby cats!”

The Child purses her lips, spinning the Kitten around again, examining her from the sides. Pristine white fluff, all marked with grubby fingerprints. The horror! The Audacity of it all! But the Child does not seem to understand the gravity of this situation, instead letting out a giggle. A giggle!

“You don’t even have the excuse of bein’ a baby cat! So, c’mon, give me the secret!”

The Kitten opens her mouth as wide as it will go, and lets out a hiss, her hair prickling up against the Child’s skin. “I will do no such thing! I am not some street cat to be caught!” She’d heard of this game – catch a cat, and it’ll tell you it’s secret, in return for being let go. A barbaric practice! And on the Queenly Kitten had thought she’d never experience firsthand, being so far above it all…

Eyes narrowed, and another hiss escaped the Kitten’s maw. Of course some little human kitten had been the one to find her! And to catch her napping! The indignity of it all! “I am a proper housecat! Now let me go, before I must take drastic measures!”

The Child blinked. Her pupils are so big, so dark and reflective, that the Kitten can see her own reflection in them. “You’re still a cat, though.” The Child observes astutely, touching the tip of the cat’s triagular ear to prove its reality – the Kitten flicks it away before it even make contact. “Or at least, close ‘nough.” She thought on it for a moment, then shrugged. “So, secret? Or else I’ll have to get you a leash, until you do, and I dunno know to make a leash. Or maybe I can put you in m’ pocket, and carry you around, until you tell-”

“What’s going on here?”

THE MAN! He had returned, he had returned, he had returned from… from… job, maybe? Did he even have a job? Was the Queenly Kitten living with a mooch?

IT DIDN’T MATTER! HE WAS BACK!

“Please help!” She yowled out in distress, squirming anew! “Save me!”

The Man looked confused, as he always did! But before the Kitten could please for safety, the Child clasped a grubby hand over her muzzle, pulling the kitten to her lap. Why was a human kit so strong?!

“Is this your kitty?” The little girl asked, staring up at the Man with a big grin. “I’m s’posed to be stealing people’s hats ‘n things, but I wanna play with her instead! Can I, pleeeeeeeeease?”

The Man shrugged, not a care in the world. “Alright. Fluffles, don’t bite her.”

And then he walked into his home, and closed the door.

For her part, the Queenly Kitten was too shocked at her utter mistreatment to even bite the Child. Limp, like a wet weasel, in the child’s grip, as the hand was removed from her muzzle, and took to petting the soft fluff of the furball.

“Your name is Fluffles?” The Child asked, her nose crinkling up with a withheld giggle! One hand went to the collar, but what for..?

Oh no.

The Full Name.

The Kitten rocketed out of the girl’s hands, but it was too late. She had seen. And the laughter…

“Miss Fluffles Truffles?!” The girl asked, her face going red as she struggled to breathe from laughing. “ Like Fluffy? And Truffles?! Like the things pigs find?! You’ve got a piggy name! Piggy kitty! Piggy Kitty!!”

This, the Kitten realized, is what Devils looked like as kits.

Even though she was free, there was no reason to run. Not anymore. The Queenly Kitten’s life was positively ruined, and there was no coming back from this embarrassment. Her fur was dirty and sticking up at all angles, her name was being belted out to any that could hear it in fits of side-clutching laughter, and this child had called her… called her a pig. Swine.

But… she was the Queenly Kitten after all. She was better than that child. Better than her owner. Better than everyone. This was a problem, yes, but one as immaculate as her would not falter at such a challenge!

The Queenly Kitten sat down a few feet away from the child, and gave herself a quick once-over with her tongue, smoothing down errant spikes, and taking off as much of the dirt and grime as she could easily reach, taking particular care to smooth down her cheeks with a well-placed flick of her paw. She was better than this! She was perfect!

Chest fur puffed out as the Kitten straightened her posture, rising to stand proud, like the tigers of the Elder Continent she’d heard street-cats gossip about, like the great lions that roamed every speck of land of the surface above (probably)!

Her footwork was precise, even, and perfect, as she stalked back to the Child, still up against that wall, still laughing like a fool.

“It’s not a very good secret if you yell it.” She said with supreme authority, turning her muzzle up at the ill-made attempt at secret-keeping. “For one so knowledgeable on cat-catching, you’re rather terrible at it.” No one could prove she’d not intended to share it! It was genius. Brilliant. Just like her.

“That’s no secret! It’s right on your collar!”

Oh. That wasn’t grand.

The Kitten settled back onto her haunches again, another flurry of licks to her chest to smooth the natural-fluffing of it at such a challenge to her dignity and honor. She would be composed! She would be composed, and prove her lie, and leave this child humiliated! She would reign supreme! The Queenly Kitten would win, and avenge the loss of her respect in this strange kit’s eyes!

“You know the rules,” The Kitten chastises, her perfect tail flicking in time behind her head, left, right, left, right. Like a metronome, one used by a proper musician! An artiste, just like her! (Or so the Man said, when she’d drag whatever food she’d been given all over the kitchen.) “Catch a cat, and in exchange for their secret, you let them go. I just happened to be clever enough to put my secret in the perfect place, so only those who catch me see it!”

The tail flicked out to the left and did not move. “Now, off you go, child! I have a nap to get to, you know!” Irritation rose into her formerly-composed voice, a clear strain that bled into a hiss. “Continue your thievery of the people below in peace, and perhaps I’ll refrain of clawing you the next time dare cross my path.”

Perfect. It’s going perfect. The Kitten raises a paw to her mouth, and licks the underside, flexing her claws in a display of dominance, just as she always was meant to.

Instead of yowling, this time she just sighed at the Child scruffed her, one more dangling helplessly from a grubby hand.

“That secret’s dumb. Gimme another.”

[heartorbit]

can i get a magical girl set please

[chiropteracupola]

this outfit came to me in a dream.

[chaosmagetwin]

Tanya, my OC from ff14 and thoughts

Some spoilers ahead for each of the expansions, up through Endwalker.

Original Tanya (name unknown) was a Viera conjurer Adventurer from Gridania during the Battle of Carteneau. She witnessed the fall of Dalamud directly, and saw the original Warrior of Light (though she forgot them, as everyone else did, except for the ring of light). She was within the main host of the Grand Eorzean Alliance Army. Unfortunately, OT did not survive the fall of Dalamud. Her body, among others, was recovered by a surviving squad of the Lambs of Dalamud, but they were unaware that the fight was over. At this point, Tanya was summoned into the corpse of the Viera, and given life. 

Whether the voidsent was inexperienced, weak, incapable, or whether the Viera's latent White Mage power briefly awakened is unclear, the Viera's soul and the voidsent merged into one creature, completely new, with the memories of neither. The body also mutated, gaining the black horns of an Archdemon, and marred black hands that looked as if they had been stained by tar. Tanya, as she would come to call herself (unaware of the proper naming conventions of Viera), was used by the Lambs of Dalamud as a proficient fighter and, after some time, thaumaturge. She was taught that she was a weapon, a creation intended for nothing more than violence.

During this time period, she murdered, stole, and made sacrifices to a god she didn't know or appreciate. However, due to being a creation (however flawed) of the Lambs, she was often given work that others didn't want to do... including taking care of sacrifices until the time of their execution. No one sacrifice changed her mind, but the combination of several made her question what she knew. Despite this, she didn't leave the Lambs of Dalamud until nearly 4 years later. She spent the final year before "A Realm Reborn", learning how people really lived within Eorzea, more or less wandering; at times she killed to protect herself, at other times because she felt drawn to it, like there was a hunger. She ended up in Ul'dah, after learning how to glam her horns and hands (at least temporarily) and became an adventurer professionally, seeking to use it as a way to learn more about the world, and continue exploring without being questioned for her reasons. It was also a way for her to continue what she see's as her purpose; violence. At this time, she yearns to be useful, to put her skills to use for society.

As the story progresses, Tanya learns a few things about herself - being what she is, she is impossible to temper. Her internal aether is weak(it grows over time), but she does have access to drawing in aether from her surroundings passively and actively; one of the active ways in which she can draw in aether is vampiric. Unlike Minfilia and Krile, she does *not* have the echo. During ARR, she has Thaumaturge and Black mage powers. She is found by the Scions, and their access to the Echo allows them to find out what exactly she is. Rather than destroy her, they decide to put her to use, believing her to be a good weapon, at least until they find someone with an Echo who can fight as well as she can.

The scions, for their part, are not necessarily fond of Tanya; she's rather frightening, often inhuman in her mannerisms, with questionable morals and ethics. They wanted a tool, someone who could fight the primals that were draining the land. There was some concern that she'd simply become a replacement for the primals. Ultimately, she's capable of communication, and can't temper people so she seems like the better option. Near the end of ARR, their opinions have changed only a little, especially for Thancred, after Thancred's return after possession. Tanya, during this period, is simply happy to travel and be of use. She learns a little about what she is during The Crystal Tower series, and especially within the World of Darkness, where she feels the most comfortable existing. Some of the creatures within even seem to recognize her among the adventuring group. Hydaelyn never interacts with Tanya during ARR; the crystals still fall to the ground, and Tanya picks them up, but there are no visions, no information gained from them.

The end of ARR sees Tanya fall deeply in love (platonically, not romantically) with the scions, becoming fiercely protective of them all after the banquet, and nearly openly hostile to outsiders; some would call her a chained rabid dog. The scions do not return her love in any regard, though they continue to pretend she is one of them, especially with her. The journey of Heavensward tests Tanya's patience with the local religion, forcing her to stay as glamoured as possible throughout. During this time period, she impresses the ghost of Midgardsormr, and after a short test, gains an echo for the first time. She also becomes a Dark Knight, allowing her abundance of dark aether to thrive. Tanya is at her lowest point during this expansion; despite having a small cadre of people she trusts, she can feel that trust is not extended to her; no one has told her what she is, but Y'Shtola knows, and has told the others. She connected deeply with both Ysayle and Estinien, even developing a crush on Ysayle before her untimely demise. However, neither learned the truth of her existence at this point. She also interacts with The Void Ark, Mhach, and Dun Scaith. It is at this point that Tanya, as part of a group of raiders, accidentally becomes much more powerful after absorbing a portion of the Nullstone's power, simultaneously revealing what she is and empowering her. It is also revealed that the nullstone could remove the voidsent portion of her soul, but that doing so would destroy who she is currently. She is uncertain of what to do, afraid of death and can’t make a decision. Instead, she puts it off for later, squirreling the nullstone away, telling no one about it.

At the start of Stormblood Tanya’s class is that of Astrologian. Physically, and magically, Tanya is at her most powerful, utilizing the nullstone's strength, and often draining aether from the world around her at alarming rates; she uses it the most during fights with primals, where she can blame it on them, though the scions know the truth.. However, mentally, Tanya is doing quite poorly; Haurchefant’s and Ysayle’s deaths impacted her deeply, and she greatly feared losing any scions. She refused any and all help. This backfired with Zenos, as she nearly died when she prevented anyone else from facing him; she couldn't drain the land's aether without someone to blame it on. Most of stormblood continues as normal, with the added caveat that Tanya slowly learns to let the scions do their work again, despite her stress. Tanya’s relationship with the scions at this point is one of begrudging trust. She's sacrificed too much to merely be a tool, too much to merely be their weapon, and the truth of what she is has been revealed and, ultimately, accepted. Tanya still dearly loves each of the scions, as they have finally accepted her for who and what she is, even if she is still somewhat strange and inhuman at times. Unfortunately, her worst fears come true as the scion’s souls are whisked away to The First. Her relationship with herself, however, is strained. She feels that she is a monster, a horrible creature that has stolen a body never meant for her.

It is fortunate that Tanya is physically transported to The First, as it’s unclear what would happen if only her soul had been sent. During Shadowbringers, Tanya finds that absorbing the Lightwarden’s power is easy for her, due to her aether vampirism, but containing it appears to be incredibly difficult. She is at her weakest during this story, forced to rely on the scions to handle any combat task. Unwilling to be a simple passenger, Tanya picks up the White Mage class for the rest of Shadowbringers, stating that if she can’t fight or foretell the future, then she can at least heal their injuries directly, if somewhat weakly. It is during this period that she loses the power to glam herself at all, and she is forced to allow others to view her as she really is. Fortunately, voidsent seem rare among the first, and none associate her with the sin eaters, so it was questionable if it was necessary to begin with. Between the final lightwarden and the final fight with Hades, Tanya barely manages to hold herself together, and still bears the scars of it today; white and gold streaks and horizontal striped scars that cross her entire body, as though she were being pulled apart by a great force. She manages to survive, however, and is able to purge herself of the light. The end of Shadowbringers, after she finishes recuperating, is one that sees her still weak - the light corruption had weakened the power she had received from the nullstone, and there wasn’t much aether for her to absorb from her surroundings. 

She helps Ryne with the Eden project, and finds herself feeling connecting with and understanding Gaia to some extent. However, the most disturbing part of the entire series was certainly fighting the reborn Cloud of Darkness; a creation, such as herself, who's only purpose, instead of violence, is to die.

During this time, it is discovered that those with tempered souls can be cured with no negative effects. With effort, she returns everyone, including G’raha Tia, to The Source. After this, Fourchenault Leveilleur disowns Alisaie and Alphinaud, and she appropriately curses the man out of the meeting, angry that a parent would ever give up their child for any reason. She vows to never forgive someone who would give up their family, and offers (fruitlessly) to adopt the twins.

Before Endwalker begins, Tanya is healing in nearly all ways; her scars ache, she feels aetherically starved, and her emotional state is distraught. The scions, however, have finally fallen in (in various levels of platonic and romantic) love with the creature. They are interested in helping her to recover, to heal, to get the therapy she needs.

During Endwalker, Tanya becomes a Dancer, and, for the first time in The Source, allows herself to exist without glamours. She receives no small amount of fear, but fortunately, her efforts as The Warrior of Light and the support of the scions protected her from most backlash. During this time period, Tanya is at her most stable, emotionally speaking. Physically, she is capable, but no longer as strong as she had been during Stormblood. This is all relatively good, as it allows her to survive The Final Days without becoming a Blasphemy, something that would have previously been impossible for her, during any point of her life. For her, the most important time of Endwalker was during Elpis, and being able to interact with the Ancients of the unsundered world; she developed a strong crush on Venat, Elidibus, and Hythlodaeus. She found them to be relatable in ways that others often weren’t, and connected on an emotional level to Hermes and Meteion, Though she didn’t agree with their choices, she understood how they reached those conclusions. Ultima Thule just about broke her as she lost her friends, one at a time. The only thing that drove her on at the end was the hope that Meteion could be persuaded to use Dynamis to return her friends. Or, failing that, revenge. 

Zenos is of particular note, in all points he appears in. Few understood Tanya on such a visceral level as Zenos did; he understood her to her core, from the moment he met her. It is not unfair to say that he was a mirror, and the only difference between the two of them was the support of allies. When Zenos called Tanya a friend, she earnestly accepted, and agreed. In a way, she felt that they completed one another. She deeply loved Zenos. She deeply hated Zenos. She wanted to kill him. She wanted to be killed by him. By the time she fought Meteion, she was ravenous for the fight to come. Their fight was one of devouring; of all-consuming love and hate. Tanya is incapable of describing their fight in anything but in terms of erotic cannibalism, of pleasure, and fullness, and pain. In many ways, she feels empty now that he is gone, and she is alone. She fears that she may never find another like him.

Exploring the 13th, AKA the Void, has been a strange and sad feeling for her. In some ways, there is a feeling of belonging. In others, she feels alien. And, finally, she meets Zero, who I did NOT know about when I first wrote all of this up, back at the start of Endwalker, before any patches came out. Zero is a mirror to her in so many ways; a mirror of what she could have been, if she'd been in the 13th instead. The transactional nature of all relationships. Where Tanya clings and clutches at allies, of feeling useful and needed, Zero has pushed away and isolated herself. Where Tanya has thrown herself under the bus for the slightest praise, Zero holds herself aloof to it. What Zero see's in Tanya, besides kinship with a voidsent who is at some sort of halfway point like herself, is unclear.

[winterstellars]

inferno. cain & abel aegond plus "lyanna stark if she were certifiably insane" oc. coming sometime.

[kiddokori]

kim dokja is like if a guy was a bug to me hes crawling around on my wall and im just staring at him enraptured by him using his little bug legs to brush his antennae im getting a cup and letting him outside except he gets stuck to the cup awkwardly so i have to like shake it around and he goes flying and lands on his back and starts flailing and i have to poke him to get him back up. and then sometimes i see him and i go oh you fucker and i smack him into oblivion. i am crouched down on the ground appreciating the beauty of his exoskeleton and also i am holding a sandal above my head to bring down holy retribution onto his tiny frail body for the crime of existing

[whimsicalcotton]

.

[skrunksthatwunk]

aint a character out there that does it quite like fink. she's so funny to me. you just KNOW she has unrestricted internet access and that it made her worse. shes a gamer. she's canonically had worms. she is a playground bully AND she likes lord of the rings. she's literally a rat bastard. fink more like stink. she's the most scuffed little guy. she's a mutated(?) green sewer rat and she loves her dad boss. she copies the big words he says like "inane". she is a victim of emotional neglect. she can drive but she can't drive well. she's mean. she calls people bub. she smells her boss's lab coat bc she finds it comforting but cannot call him dad. her voice is exactly like how you think it's gonna sound. she has terrorized every single one of her babysitters so badly they've never returned. she loves her siblings coworkers (eventually) even when they're lame and annoying. she skips out on her piano lessons. she's so gosh darn eepy she has to be carried away after one of these babysitting events. i cannot name a single fictional girl child half as bastardous as her and that is frankly TRAGIC.

[poltergeistsoup]

Tank thing

[sexy-necromancing-bird]

Huge fan of the dynamic where a sophisticated, elegant intelligence individual is in love with a disheveled little freak that doesn't know how to talk to people normally

[whatareyoudoingwithamaserati]

Oh yea !! I forgot to ask if you have any favourite screenshots you'd want to see drawn ¤3 (also I'm heading to bed after this lol)

I do have a couple, but I’m not sure how easily drawable they’d be!

Huge fan of when there are Guys . In Situations

[thebirdandhersong]

songbird's season of general sadness/first real grief/sorrow is coming to an end: (in chronological/journeying order) songs and poetry that helped my heart a lot these past few months :)

Always Good, Andrew Peterson / Marjorie, Andrew Osenga / Ask Polly article I read on a whim: 'My Boyfriend Refuses to Change' / You're On Your Own, Kid, Taylor Swift / One Foot in Front of the Other, Griff / Heavy, Mary Oliver / Monday by @madamescarlette / The Letter, Linda Gregg / Summer's Retrospective by @madamescarlette / Ode to Some Lyric Poets, Gregory Orr

(bonus--from the scraps of writing that came out of this chapter of life, which are slowly being assembled into a more coherent story:)

[clubolive]

Justifying spending a lot of money on winter clothes with the simple fact that it’s cheaper to buy clothes than it is to get treated for frostbite <3

[i-cant-believe-its-not-silk]

And they lead me from my dirty hovel decrepit wasteful thing it was

Lead me by the hand through shacks and ugly houses I felt like a doll being pulled on a string

They pulled me all the way to a palace so high in its majesty and colorful in its beauty.

Open flew the gates and my gaze was cast upon a Goddes for that is the only word in our pitiful pathetic wretched little world of meat that does HER any justice

Deeper than my fragile little mind could understand 

HOW COULD ANYONE EVER WANT TO LOOK AT ME AGAIN

HOW COULD ANYONE EVER WANT TO LOOK AT ME AGAIN

I HATE THESE FUCKING CHAINS

HOW COULD ANYONE EVER LIKE THIS

HOW COULD ANYONE EVER LIKE THIS

I WOULD KILL TO KEEP THIS FEELING INSIDE ME CAUSE FEELING ANY OTHER WAY WOULD BE DENYING HER BEAUTY

I SEEK VALIDATION 

AND SHE IS SMILING

If there is a God she is not the benevolent creator nor is she a malevolent tyrant 

She is the cruel performer dancing further out of reach 

She's the light to the only path that feels right

And the only thing that has ever mattered is her. 

She's the end the requirement and the punishment 

None of you fucking understand 

I just want to be a girl

[screampied]

Omg hi can I request like a loving, cozy, domestic pronebone with Suguru?? Like he’s just like “shh be quiet Satoru is in the room next door we can’t wake him up” while pressing adoring kisses to the back of your neck omg😵‍💫

trying to keep quiet with suguru ★

cw. fem! reader, prone bone, unprotected, finger sucking, dirty talk, praise

“. . . shhhh,” he’d shush against the corner of your ear, presenting you deep low strokes. a winded gasp wretches from your throat as a palm of geto’s glues against your mouth. he’s so deep, a free hand of his ghosts against the backsides of your spine. an eye roll overtakes your pupils as he’s giving you such righteous hits against your yawning core. geto’s weight just narrowly hovers over you as he’s pressed right up against you, spit slicked lips of yours gnaw and gnash together before you whine again. “gotta be quiet sweetheart. unless you want ‘toru to hear us. you want him to hear how sloppy you are f’me, hm?”

craning your head slowly, you shake a sweet little no and he chuckles, a kiss going against the crown of your head. “so cute,” he purrs in a husky tone, a hand of his gripping against the very edges of your arced hips. fingertips of his dance alongside the very curvature of your body — he takes pride in the way your body responds to him. you’re flinging back and forth, forward against the screeching mattress. geto’s skin, coated with a sweetened sheet of sweat sticks against your own m with each ruthless thrust. “ugh, h-hey, are you licking my palm? mhm, such a filthy girl.”

you were,

with the flatness of your tongue, it lathers against the very center of geto’s palm — tasting the insipid areas of his hand. it follows the creasing flexion lines that runs against his skin.

not before long, you dig your teeth into his hand as your muffled moans vibrate against his luscious tasting flesh. “ah, let me guess. you wanna suck on my fingers too, baby?”

“mmf, y- yes,” you whine as he momentarily departs his hand away. a nice trail of spit looks almost adhesive, its stickiness pastes against his hand as he pries his hand away from your wet mouth. geto’s sharpened hips still deeply drilling into you in the background. your loving hole flutters as you’re just vigorously being pounded beneath the sheets, each wheezing gasp that snatches from your lungs feels like it’s going to be its last. “pleaseee.”

“my pretty girl,” he whispers, the head of his cock never refusing to hit the right angle. with an easy direction of his fingers attaching to your hips, he makes you raise your torso upward to reach more bottomless areas. oh, your mouth forms into the letter ‘o’ at the way he’s stuffing you full of shaft. it’s almost mouth watering,

it is mouth watering.

as you bury your head into the crook of your elbow, geto leans in to place a few kisses near the indenting lines of your back. “look at this gorgeous body,” he purrs, his hips ultimately slowing its maddened pace down — yet despite his tempo suddenly losing its quickened haste, geto’s chest deflates. as he’s leaning up closer to you, his ravened locks of his dance graze up your shoulders as he moves.

back and forth, back and forth,

his rhythm was purely enticing. your jaw aches a bit from how it’s just idly hanging open before he showers you with more delicate kisses.

this time near your neck.

geto’s slow and precise. he starts by your nape, a tongue gradually rolling out to get a taste of your saline, salty skin.

“can never get enough of your taste, fuck,” he murmurs, you’re still plugged in with a good amount of his dick. geto’s so full, swollen rotund balls of his continues to cuff and cuff and cuff against your slick pussy. your ears knell from the never ending paps your own arousal sings as a response. “open wide, baby. get my fingers wet.”

not even seconds later, your lips happily part in preparation for geto to stuff his thickened fingers into your drooling mouth. he grins, already telling how eager you were—milliseconds leisurely passes by and you’re already relishing in the taste of two of his digits curling inside of your mouth.

“thaaat’s it, get it wet ‘cause i want a taste too when you’re done.”

your long lashes flutter against your own eyes as geto starts to pick up his pace again. his other hand still grips onto your waist as he feels your ass writhe against him. fuck, he’s getting closer and closer by the second. geto groans from how you stick against him — he’s already given you a sweet velvety load already. obsidian-black irises of his leer down at the lewd scene at bay. you’re trying to keep up with his pace, but his girth. the wide end stretch alone has you hearing plethora amounts of fuzz pour out of your ears. “s-shit, you’re so perfect arched over for me, sweets..”

with a tongue still lolling around, you merely prevent yourself from gagging once you feel the tips of his digits prod against the very roof of your mouth. just a few inches away from your uvula, a sheeny trail of saliva starts to dribble down your chin before he leans in to kiss you more against your neck.

geto even creates a little trail of kisses . .

numerous times, the warmth of his lips makes your cunt twitch up in total desperation.

trying your best to stay quiet, a loud roaring whimper tugs out of your throat at the head of his cock thwacks repeatedly against your g-spot. you gasp, two fingers of his falling out of your mouth before you’re just pornographically moaning again and again. “f- fuck, right there sugu. hngh.”

“this spot, yeah i know pretty,” and he’s heaving right with you. the undersides of the bed resumes to grate and screech in harmony. he pauses for a bit, popping his own two wet fingers into his mouth. he hums at your taste, relishing in it entirely. so sweet. as geto’s body lingers over you, your ass continuously rebounds against his. a sharp throaty rasp slides out of his lips and he hisses. “gonna cum, f-fuck, ‘m gonna stuff you so full again.”

“i- inside, sugu,” you whine as he gently delves his teeth into the left juncture of your collarbone. it was all exposed—he couldn’t help but leave a little piercing mark from his pearly white canines. geto loves getting carried away and smothers your entire skin with his own homemade moist, needy kisses. airy hot breath collides against your skin, sending you various shivers before you feel your pussy throb. it’s throbbing only divides and multiplies. he hits you in every angle, the curve of his dick ruptures through you and you moan as you feel the arch in your back perk upward. “don’t miss, wan’ it s’bad, want you.”

“i want you too,” he huffs, though with a deep voice — his voice sounds a bit shaky, a bit needy..

maybe your mind was playing tricks on you, but you were almost positive geto just whined for you. you had him so sensitive, his jaw tightens as he continues to ram his fat cock into your compressing, dense walls.

the bed’s sobbing from the hefty weight wringing against the furniture. the same creaking sensations reverbs throughout your ears and the room itself before within seconds. he’s dumping yet another oozy load into you.

with a sleazy wry grin, geto toots your hips up and he starts to grind against you.

your head’s pressing against the silky reddened crimson sheets before you grow quiet. huffs and puffs were the only noises that could be heard, as well as geto’s whimpering that subsides as he starts to finish his longing high. “god, you always know how to m-milk the shit out of me,” he hoarsely titters, wrapping a good amount of fingers around his twitching shaft. geto fists his cock as he’s still gushing a sizable portion of cum into your rapacious hole. still being a tease, you rub up against his lap as you’re still bent over, feeling his hands trail against the very curvature areas your ass. “huh, want more, do ya?”

“don’t stop, sugu,” you mewl out in a desperate plea, craving for more of his seed. it trickles down between your thighs, leaving you so sticky, a mess.

his mess,

geto can’t help but smear the fat of his thumb over your emitting entrance. the print of his finger ghosts against your gooey slit.

the gooey warm cum that streams down and outside your slit makes him groan. “i’ll never stop, baby. y-you can milk me for as much as you’d like,” he pants, preparing to realign himself again. “now let me,” he pants, the entirety of his lungs inhaling air from each second. his lips press against your neck for a final time before he whispers. “let me love you, baby. bend back over f’me, ‘m not done with this gorgeous body yet.”

[rqnarok]

LATCH | pervy!old man!logan x fem!reader

summary: you come up at logan at night and he finally gives in to his desires. 

content warnings/tags: smut, mdni! little to no plot. old man!logan. unspecified age gap. soft dom!logan. sub!reader. pervy!logan. pet names (kid, kiddo, little girl, princess, etc). logan calls himself ‘old man’. fingering (f receiving). innocence kink. not proofread. wc: 1,5k

Logan Howlett is not a good man. 

“I’m not a good man, sweets.”

He has not been a good man in years. 

Still, when he scoops your sobbing figure in his arms on that day at the X-Mansion, he feels like a good man. 

“C’mon. Let’s go, kid. I’ll take care of you.”

Ever since then, you look up to him as if he is some kind of savior. A hero. A good man. 

And he starts to believe that. 

At first, it started oh, very casual—innocently. By working himself to death for the sake of your comfort. Earning money so that he could see that smile on your pretty face when he gives you gifts: new dresses, books, food—anything you want, really. He’d give it to you.

You walk up to him one Friday, showing your brand new sundress that you bought using his money, “Logan! It fits me so well, don’t cha think?”

The sight of you twirling around and giggling in front of him is enough to be his bad-day-cure, “Spin one more time, princess. Don’t have my glasses on.” 

He lies. He just wants to catch a glimpse of your cottoned panties in the process. 

Logan perceives himself as a sick fuck when he starts seeing you in that way. But hey, he did say that he is not a good man, right?  

He tried to control it, he really tried. Composing himself and creating some moral values in his head in an attempt to be in charge of his corrupted desires. 

But Logan forgot one simple thing: he can control himself all he wants, but he could never control you. 

You may be content but you are far from stupid.

It takes you months to perfect this mastermind plan—or so you call it. This mischief came into you when you decided that you had enough of Logan and his games. You know he yearns for you and you feel the same way, too. 

He peeks over you so… hungrily and thinks you wouldn’t notice? 

When you confront him about it one morning, he nonchalantly brushes it off by letting out a dry chuckle and mutters something around, “What ya’ talking ‘bout, kiddo? Go ‘head finish your breakfast.”  

But you know! You always catch his yearning gazes and… hear him over the shower one time. Moaning and grunting your name when he thought you were out buying the weekly groceries. It upsets you that he does not give in. 

So then, you concluded that you will determine to bring his temptation up to the surface and break his poor self-control through this little contemplation of yours. 

It takes a while to gain your courage and when you finally creep up into Logan’s room, the clock on the wall ticks at half past two in the morning. 2:30 AM. 

Logan said he’d take care of you, right? Said he’d do anything for you, right? Well, you need him now, “Logan? Logan? It hurts.” You whisper into the chilly air as you shake him up from his deep slumber.

And y’know, he’s a tired old man—so it takes him a while to wake up. He grabs his glasses from the nightstand beside him and slides them right on. When Logan sees you standing sleepily before him in your nightie gown, Good Lord. 

“Hey, hey—what’s goin’ on, princess?” You’re all teared up and your lips are bitten red. You look heavenly in the shaft of moonlight that slips through the window and into Logan’s bedroom. 

Your actions speak for themselves as you make your way onto his lap and nuzzle into his greying beard. “Tell your old man what’s got you so upset. C’mon.” He wants to take a good look at your face but you are so latched to him—snuffling into his broad shoulder all gloomy and wretched. 

“Hurts so bad.” You repeat yourself as your arms make their way around his neck. “Hurts, Logan.” 

“Hm? What hurts?” 

Pure silence as your little fingers wrap around Logan’s wrist and place it on your knee. Then, you’re guiding him up up up and he knows where this is going but he could not stop it. 

Fuck. He curses himself. Should’a know you’d pull some shit like this.

Finally, you stop his large calloused hand on top of your pussy. It’s heating up. Logan can feel the warmth of your cunt through your thin white cotton panties—his middle finger twitches with the urge to palm you. But no. That’s not what a good man should do. He tries to remember all the moral values he has created in his head while he sighs deeply and closes his eyes. 

“Kiddo-”

“Want to cum, please, Logan.” You take his face in your hands in the way that you always do and his hand is still on top of your clothed mound. “Please…! You said you’d help me, take care of me. I’ll be good, promise. Please.” His eyes open and he looks at your big eyes then your lips then your eyes again. That’s when you know you had him. “Hurts.” 

With half-lidded eyes, you watch Logan lose his composure, “Yeah? You’d be good f’me?” His head goes forward as he pampers your face with gentle kisses and you gulp because you don’t know what to do now. 

“Why don’t you lay down and let me take a look?” 

His scent combination of beer, whiskey, and cigars lingers around you as you rest your aching body on his bed. Looking up at him all mesmerized and lust-filled. 

Logan tries to soften his features for you. He thinks the heave of your chest moving up and down, up and down is one of the most beautiful things he has ever seen. He said he’d take care of you and that’s all he’s doin’ now. Taking care of his pretty baby. 

“C’mon. Open up to your old man.” He says, patting the sides of your thighs to part. And you did what you’re told, revealing the wet spot of your panties, and Logan curses. Mutters something under his breath. 

“You’ve been touching yourself here, Little Missy? That’s what got you dripping?” You throw your head back and huff a breathy ‘ah’ at the feel of his big fingers rubbing circles along the slick. Logan wants you to sing for him, “Use your big girl words, c’mon.” 

“Y-yes! Been touching myself…” Your red cheeks heat up at your own answer, suddenly feel so little. Logan hums deeply at your reply, hooking his fingers at one side of your panties and pulling them aside. Oh, he can tell. “Mhm.”

You were in a moment of bliss until he stopped his movement and brought your panties back to its original place, “Show me.” 

“L-Logan…” you respond by shaking your head erratically. Nononono— this isn’t a part of your plan. This becomes humiliating. No way. 

“What d’ya mean no, princess?” Logan grins—he knows you’re playing something and he is not going to lose so easily. “You want me to take care of you, yeah? Gotta show your old man what you were doin’ so he knows what he can do.” 

Well, he is not wrong. You let a huff defeatedly and roll yourself onto your front, shoving one of Logan’s pillows between your plushy thighs. And Logan is bewitched and hypnotized and fuck, so hard. His cock sticks up in his boxers briefs it hurts. 

Through his lens, he attentively watches every move you make: how your nightie gown hikes up to your chest and reveals a glimpse of your breasts, how you roll your hips in circles, how you throw your head back up facing the ceiling. The noises you make—sounds he not-so-accidentally heard when he passes your room at night when he comes home from work. This is what you've been doing? 

“Aight’. I know the problem is, sweets.” You slow down your movements as you gaze at him all doe-eyed. He places his palm on your back to still you. Your head lulls back and forth as you wait for his guidance. 

“You need something inside. Have you had something inside, baby?” He turns you to him oh, so delicately as if you are something fragile. 

You shake your head slightly at his question, suddenly embarrassed. Logan is so hard at this. He can't hold back anymore. “I see. ‘S alright, little girl. Lean on top of me. I’ll show you how it’s done. Y’ just need to trust your old man, yeah?” 

And you do. You always do. You love him. 

He smiles down at you, showing the wrinkles and scars on his face. “I love ya’. Give me some sugar first. Let me kiss ya’.” 

The kiss is more than just a distraction. It’s a repetition of him saying I love ya’ through his actions. What comes next is new to you, his large fingers probing at your entrance as you hiss and whimper and sob. Logan eases you open while kissing your inner thighs, letting you feel his scruffy beard. Raining you with his sweet praises, “Oh, that’s a good girl, alright. My sweet girl.” 

Then it leads you to it. The main purpose of your plan here in the first place. 

The clothes you both had on are thrown all over the floor as he hovers above you, taking off his glasses—placing kisses everywhere he can reach. “Y’want it?” And the tip of his cock finally nudges between your folds in an aching stretch and you mewl.

“Your old man’s gonna take care of you.” 

He always does.