#nuisance foreigners | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

lubdubology · 2 months ago

Text

Take My Love and Wear It

SYNOPSIS: Taking care of Charles has its own special challenges, but you didn’t expect the hardest one to be the man who hired you. Distant, gruff and rough around the edges, Logan still manages to worm his way under your skin. But you’ve worked your way under his, too.

PAIRING: Old Man Logan x fem!reader

WC: 10.8k

WARNINGS: smut 18+; mdni; angst; swearing; non-explicit mentions of wounds, blood and use of stitches; extreme physical pain; Charles is a lovable, meddling little shit; fluff sprinkled in for good measure; Logan in a tub (if I had a nickel for every time I bathed him, I’d have two nickels—which isn’t a lot, but its weird it happened twice, right); touch-starved Logan; handjobs; shower sex; fingering; dirty talk; oral (f receiving); sex with feelings; unprotected p in v; creampie

A/N: There’s something special about Old Man Logan, isn’t there? Old and grumpy and desperately in need of some love and affection. I know the Charles caregiver story has been done before, but I couldn’t get this idea out of my head. And then Charles starting talking in my head and well...it blossomed into this. As always, thank you to @joelsgoldrush for allowing me to send her snippets of this as I went along and offering her love, support and suggestions. I hope you enjoy this and any likes, comments and reblogs are always appreciated!

You stare down at the remnants of yesterday’s cold and congealed dinner and sigh. Scraping the food into the trash, you resist the urge to pack everything you have and leave.

One month.

One month of helping Charles—making his meals, washing his clothes, giving him his meds, making sure he doesn’t hurt himself (or others), assisting with daily tasks—and Logan still regards you as a nuisance, like a gnat needing to be swatted away.

At best, he ignores you, moving around the house as if you don’t exist.

And at worst, he treats you with barely concealed contempt, his scowl deepening the lines of his face whenever he’s around you. As if you’re invading his space uninvited even though he’s the one that sought out help.

You grip the edge of the sink, staring down into the porcelain basin as if it holds some hidden answers. Every day you’ve tried to break through walls Logan’s built around himself, held onto Charles’ promise that eventually he’ll soften, just give him time, but he only seems to have grown more hostile. And you’ve done nothing to incur his ire besides watching him come home every day battered and bruised, his very bones weary with exhaustion, and offering your assistance.

Part of you is angry—angry that you care so much when your main focus is supposed to be Charles. Angry that despite all his efforts to come across unapproachable and cold, Logan’s worked himself under your skin and takes a little piece of you with him whenever he leaves.

Angry that somehow he’s stolen a piece of your heart.

You hear shuffling behind you and turn to find Logan entering the kitchen, fingers fastening the last buttons on his dress shirt. “What?” he asks gruffly and for a moment you wonder if he can read your thoughts.

You straighten and meet his gaze head on, swallowing down your nervousness. “How much longer are we going to keep doing this, Logan?”

“Doing what?”

“This,” you say, gesturing between you. “You walking around here like I’m some stain upon your life, acting like I’m a problem when all I’ve ever done is try and help.” Your voice is steadier than you feel. “You asked for me to be here, Logan. It’s not like I barged in here without permission.”

Logan holds your gaze, his jaw tight, and for a moment you think he’s going to grab his keys and leave, head off into the night and drive until sunrise. His eyes soften for just a moment, something like regret crossing his features.

“I know why you’re here. And I do…appreciate it,” he says, his words coming out low and rough. As if the words taste foreign in his mouth.

“Wouldn’t kill you to show it,” you challenge.

You’re waiting for him to lash out and instead he sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Look, I’m not good at this.”

“I’m not asking you to bow at my feet,” you say, hoping to ease some of the tension in the air. “Although, I wouldn’t be mad about it.” You think you see the briefest hint of a smile flicker across his face. “I just want us to be able to live in the same space. I’m here to help, Logan. Let me.”

“You have no idea how hard this life is.”

A rueful smile tugs at your lips. “I understand more than you think I do.”

Logan’s gaze sharpens, inquisitive as he searches your face, as if he’s trying to decipher the meaning behind your words. He rubs a hand across his face, scratching lightly as his beard. “I’ve gotta couple jobs tonight. Maybe more,” he finally says, changing the conversation. “Should be back before sunrise.”

You nod, his switch in topic not lost on you, but you don’t push him. “Alright,” you say softly. “Just—just take it easy, okay?”

He glances down at you, relief softening his gaze and you know a part of him is grateful you didn’t push further.

Grabbing his keys, Logan heads towards the door but pauses just before he’s about to leave. He turns to look back over his shoulder. “Thanks,” he murmurs, the word awkward on his lips.

You give him a small nod of encouragement as he slips out the door. He may not be ready to full open up, but you feel as if he extended a tiny olive branch tonight, cracked open the door just enough to let you peek in.

+++

Over the following weeks, Logan’s a little less avoidant. He doesn’t go out of his way to make conversation—you didn’t expect him to—but he at least as acknowledges your presence. Small nods and murmured goodbyes when he leaves and sleepy hellos when he returns. It’s not much, but you’ll take it.

You’re cleaning the last of the dishes from dinner, Charles safely settled in front of the TV watching an old movie when Logan comes home. He’s earlier than you anticipated, but exhaustion lines his face nonetheless. You expect him to slip away quietly, but he pauses instead, lingering in the doorway.

“Smells good,” he says softly, nodding towards the pan of half eaten lasagna still sitting on the counter.

Surprised, you turn around to face him. You brush the hair from your face and say, “Sit. I’ll make you up some.”

Logan hesitates and for a moment you think he’s about to decline, but then he nods, his shoulders dropping slightly as he sits down at the table. You fix him up a plate, setting it down in front of him with a bottle of beer as you slide into the chair across from him.

He tucks quietly into the food, his fork scraping against his plate as he eats, pausing only to wash it down with a few swigs of beer. You watch him, a strange satisfaction tugging at you at the sight of him actually sitting down, enjoying a meal with you, even if it is in silence.

“Long day?” you ask quietly, gesturing towards his bruised knuckles.

He flexes the fingers on his free hand before tucking them under the table. “Nothin’ I can’t handle,” he mutters, taking another bite of lasagna. “They’ll be gone in a day or two.”

You know not that long ago an injury like that wouldn’t have even marred his skin. Now, the simplest of wounds can take days to heal and it’s not the appearance of his skin that bothers you, but the newfound ache he experiences, the heaviness of constant pain.

You want to help him, ease his discomfort, like you know you could. But you know he’s not ready for that. Not yet.

“You’re good with Charles,” Logan says then, his gaze steady on his plate. “He seems calmer around you.”

Logan’s admission is so unexpected, you find yourself staring at him in disbelief. At your silence, his eyes flicker up to yours and you see more than simple acknowledgement in his expression. It’s subtle, but it’s there, a current of something more, something you’re not quite sure how to address.

“Thank you,” you murmur, your voice softer than you intended. “Charles—he means a lot to me.” You pause briefly, but something compels you to continue. “You both do.”

His gaze is focused on you and you don’t miss the flicker of surprise that breaks through his usual stoic expression. Clearing his throat, he looks down, pushing around the last bit of lasagna on his plate and then after a moment, he sets his fork down and leans back in his chair. “You mean a lot to him, too,” Logan finally says and you wonder if he’s talking about more than just Charles.

From the living room you hear Charles call for you, his voice soft but insistent. The moment between you still crackles as you stand from the table and as you begin to walk away, Logan reaches for your hand. His fingers are warm and rough against your skin and you’re barely able to suppress your shiver.

“Thank you,” Logan says, his voice surprisingly soft.

His grip against your skin is gentle, a stark contrast to all his roughness and you can feel the weight of his unspoken words curling around you. Charles calls again, his voice breaking through the moment, but Logan’s hand lingers just a beat longer before he lets go, fingers trailing along your skin.

+++

“He likes you, you know.”

You glance up from shaving Charles’ face and find him staring at you, a mischievous glint in his eye. You give a soft hum. “Did he tell you that or did you read his mind?”

Charles scoffs and waves his hand dismissively. “What’s the difference, dear?”

You chuckle, shaking your head as you rinse the razor. “With Logan I’m pretty sure there’s a big difference.”

“Bah, if Logan wanted to keep me out of his head, he would. Stubborn man.” He tsks softly to himself and shakes his head. “But, no my dear, he can be quite loud if you know how to listen.”

You raise an eyebrow, giving him a playful look. “Loud, huh? And what exactly is that brain of his telling you?”

Charles gives you a knowing smile. “Oh, just little things,” he says casually with a wave of his hand, but you can tell by the look on his face that he’s holding back. “He notices you—what you do for me, this place, for him. He may not realize it himself, but his thoughts linger on you more often than he’d like.”

A flicker of hope sparks in your chest and despite yourself, you feel a blush creeping into your cheeks. “Logan doesn’t strike me as the sentimental type.”

“Logan has spent so much of his life running,” Charles continues, his tone and expression growing more thoughtful. “The loss he’s experienced has led him to believe it’s better to be alone than form meaningful connections with people. But you’ve somehow become something of a home for him. And he doesn’t quite know what to make of that.”

Your heart skips a beat as you take in his words. The idea of being a home for Logan, a comfort, feels surreal, and yet...there’s a part of you that dares to hope what Charles is saying is true. That this isn’t some fictional truth his brain has concocted, a product of his disease riddled mind.

“Home.” You repeat the word softly to yourself, testing the word on your own tongue as if it might shatter into pieces.

Charles nods, his hand reaching for yours, his gaze warm and knowing. “Yes, home. He feels it, deep down, in a way that’s unfamiliar and frightening for him.”

You glance down at your hand in Charles’ grasp, his touch grounding you as his words settle over you.

“Logan’s spent so long hiding from himself,” Charles continues. “I think he’s convinced himself he doesn’t deserve that kind of peace.”

“And you think I can give him that peace?” you ask quietly, your eyes flicking back up to Charles’ face.

He smiles knowingly and gives your hand a squeeze. “You already have, dear.”

+++

“Want some help?”

You turn to find Logan standing in the entrance of the kitchen, hands tucked into his pockets.

It’s a rare night—one where Logan’s chosen to stay home, taking a night off from the almost endless driving he does. He’s dressed down, well worn jeans and a button-up flannel, and for once you actually think he looks comfortable.

You smile, surprised, but happy to see him there. “Sure, the company would be nice,” you reply as he comes to stand next to you. “Want to wash and dice the potatoes?”

Logan nods and rolls up his sleeves before reaching for the bowl of potatoes you had set aside earlier. You watch him for a moment as he settles into the task with a quiet focus.

“Smells good,” he comments, gesturing towards the oven. “What’re we having?”

“Charles has been asking for beef tenderloin for weeks now, so I’m finally indulging him.” You finish trimming the last of the green beans and toss them into the bowl beside you. “You know, if you have any favorite meals you’d like me to make, you can tell me.”

Logan pauses and glances at you as he shuts off the tap. He clears his throat and says, “You already are.”

You blink in surprise as Logan’s words sink in and then the realization dawns on you. A soft smile spreads across your face as you piece together the extent of Charles’ meddling. You can’t find it in you to be annoyed and only feel a mix of amusement and fondness towards the old man as you chuckle softly to yourself.

“What’s so funny?” Logan asks, raising his eyebrow as he catches your expression.

“Oh, nothing,” you say, waving him off with a smile.

Logan doesn’t look convinced, but he doesn’t pry as he picks up the knife and begins to deftly dice the potatoes. You watch him for a moment, captivated by the simple domesticity of the task. It’s in direct contrast to the man you’ve seen numerous times before, brooding and gruff, brimming with an almost untamed violence.

It suits him, you think, this quieter version of himself.

You both finish the prep with relative ease. He helps you set the table as the rest of the food cooks, plates clinking softly as he sets them down. You busy yourself with finishing the green beans in a garlic butter as you wait for for the tenderloin to rest enough to carve into.

“Ah, my dear, this smells wonderful,” Charles announces as he rolls into the kitchen, a warm smile on his face. “And you managed to pull Logan out of his room. What a treat.”

Logan snorts in response, giving Charles a pointed glare.

“I dare say it’s because the company has improved much as of late,” Charles says, his eyes twinkling in amusement as he glances between the both of you. “We all know he’s not out here for my benefit.”

You laugh as you bring the dishes to the table, noting the faintest of blushes creeping along Logan’s cheeks. “I’ll take that as a compliment, Charles.”

“As you should, dear. Your personality is quite sparkling.” He looks over towards Logan. “Isn’t it, Logan?”

Logan’s eyes land on you as he answers, “Yes. Yes, it is.”

Dinner begins quietly, the three of you settling into easy conversation as the first few bites are consumed. Both Charles and Logan hum in delight and a warmth blooms within you watching them both. This—this is the simplicity you’ve been craving with Logan.

As the meal continues, Charles launches into his usual repertoire of stories, those of the school and his students, his words brimming with nostalgia and pride as he talks. Logan sits back in his chair, arms crossed as he listens to him speak, shaking his head fondly at some of the memories.

“You know,” Charles begins, setting his fork down with an air of mischief, “I don’t think I ever told you how I met Logan, have I?”

Logan’s head snaps up. “Don’t, Chuck.”

But Charles is already smiling at you, ignoring Logan’s warning. “It’s a good story, dear. See, Logan had quite the career as an underground cage fighter.”

You lift your brows in surprise and you glance over at Logan, who’s thoroughly unamused by Charles’ choice of topic. “Cage fighting, huh?” you ask, unable to suppress your curiosity.

Logan shifts uncomfortably in his seat, stabbing at his potatoes with a little more force than necessary. “It wasn’t a career,” he mutters. “Just a distraction. Way to get by.”

“Mmm, yes, perhaps,” Charles chuckles, clearly enjoying himself. “Regardless of the reason, it lead you to this exact moment. Didn’t it, Logan?”

Logan narrows his eyes at Charles, though the glare is only half-hearted. “You make it sound like all it all had some grand purpose.”

“Did it not?” Charles says gently, his tone shifting into something more serious. “Kept you alive, for one. But more than that, it brought you to us. To me.” He pauses for a moment, his eyes darting towards you. “To her.”

The words hang in the air and you glance over at Logan, whose expression softens just slightly. Without thinking, you reach across the table and give his forearm a gentle squeeze. His eyes meet yours, a flicker of a smile tugging at his lips.

Charles watches the exchange with quiet satisfaction before clearing his throat. “Well, I believe my work here is done,” he announces, wheeling himself back from he table. “Logan, fancy a game of chess? I haven’t made a player out of her yet.”

You laugh to yourself as Logan follows Charles into the living room. After clearing the kitchen from dinner and loading the last of the dishes into the dishwasher, you join them both in the living room. Tucking yourself into the couch, you read while the two of them play, the clinking of wooden chess pieces and the occasional dry quip from Charles filling the room.

From your spot on the couch, you glance up from your book every now and then to watch them. Logan’s brow furrows in concentration, while Charles’ face is more relaxed as they play. You smile to yourself, wondering how often they played like this in the past, when times were simpler.

You’re not sure when you fell asleep or how long you’ve been out, but you’re jostled awake as two large, warm arms wrap around you, holding you close as you’re lifted off the couch. Logan’s familiar scent—cigar smoke and pine—fill your nose and you blink up to find him walking you down the hall towards your room.

“Logan?” you mumble, voice thick with sleep. “D’you really cage fight?”

Logan chuckles softly, the sound rumbling through his chest. “I really did.”

“Did it hurt?”

“No.”

You blink slowly, your sleep-laden mind struggling to process his answer. “Not even a little?” Your voice is barely audible as you nestle closer into the warmth of his chest.

“Not in the way you think,” he answers, nudging open the door to your room with his foot.

You’re too drowsy to ask what he means and instead you hum softly, a noncommittal sound that Logan feels more than hears. Lowering you onto the bed, he moves with a gentleness you’ve never felt from him before. He brushes a strand of hair from your face and pulls the blanket over you before he turns to leave.

Your limbs are heavy, eyes barely open, but you call out softly—“Logan?”

He looks back towards you. “Yeah?”

“I’m glad Charles found you,” you murmur, closing your eyes.

Logan doesn’t answer, but you swear you feel the lightest of kisses against the top of your head before he leaves.

+++

It’s deep into the night when you hear the front door finally open. Your heart flutters against your ribs as you swing out of bed, unsure of what condition you’ll find him in. He was expected back two days ago, those extra hours away feeling like an unfathomable eternity.

You find him sitting at the kitchen table, dress shirt hanging off one shoulder, the rest of his clothes rumpled and bloodied. A large gash oozes from his shoulder and you can’t stop the gasp that falls from your lips.

Logan looks up at you, eyes narrowed and lined with exhaustion. “Don’t look at me like that,” he grunts, tugging off the rest of his shirt.

“How else am I supposed to look at you?” you ask, taking a tentative step forward. “No phone call or text letting me know you’re not coming home and then you waltz in after midnight soaked in blood and covered in wounds.” Unshed tears burn in your eyes but you will yourself not to cry.

“Didn’t ask you to care about me,” he bites back, but his tone is more weary than argumentative.

“Oh, fuck you, Logan,” you snip, but your tone lacks venom.

He ignores you, pushing up from the chair with a heavy groan and limps over towards the cabinets. He shuffles through one of them, pulling out the makeshift sewing kit before sitting back down. You watch as he attempts to thread the needle, growing increasingly frustrated when he keeps missing.

Shoving down your own frustration, you pull up a chair next to him and reach for the needle and thread. He pulls his hands away from you, turning in the chair to keep you away. You chase after his movements, finally grabbing his wrists and removing the supplies from his grasp.

“I don’t need your help,” he growls.

You sigh, tired of this same argument, this same endless loop every time he comes home injured. “Goddamit, Logan, just let me help you.”

He drags his gaze up to yours, eyes tracing the lines of your face. His chest still heaves with heavy breaths, but you can see the anger bleed from him. He nods once, turning just enough so that you have access to his wound. Threading the needle, you place a gentle hand on his shoulder, ignoring the flinch he gives at your touch.

“I’m not going to hurt you,” you whisper.

Logan huffs. “It’s a needle, darlin’. It’s not gonna feel nice.”

You try to ignore the flip your heart does at his use of the word darling. Despite his earlier gruffness and proclivity to push you away, Logan has softened to you over the last couple of months. Since that first dinner you shared, he’s joined you and Charles more often. Or if he comes home late, sought out the leftovers you’ve kept for him. He’s engaged in conversation, offering small pieces of himself, pieces that you’ve cradled close and nurtured.

But there’s a tension between you, thick and heavy in the air, and you wonder if he feels it too. Feels that same undeniable pull you’ve always felt in his presence. You’d like to think so, otherwise you were doomed to love him silently, your feelings for him bound in the quiet of your mind.

“Just trust me,” you say.

Slowly, you release your power, warmth spreading from your fingertips, easing his pain and discomfort as you begin to stitch him up. You try to ignore the heavy press of his gaze on your face and you can almost hear his unspoken thoughts, his words still stuck on his tongue.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” he asks, his shoulder relaxing as you continue to work.

You glance up at him then, finding his expression softer than you’ve seen it. “A mutant is a dangerous thing to be, Logan,” you answer, your voice soft. “Few people know what I can do. Those I trust.”

For a long moment, Logan just looks at you, his eyes unreadable. Then, a rough, tired sigh falls from his lips. “You coulda told me.”

You take a steadying breath, his words lingering in the space between you. “Maybe,” you say, your fingers brushing against his skin as you continue to stitch. “But you don’t make it easy to talk to you.”

Logan lets out a low huff. “No. I guess I don’t, do I?”

You finish the last stitch, securing the knot. Your fingers linger a touch long than necessary, the warmth of his skin a comfort you’re loathe to lose just yet. Slowly, you lift your gaze to his and you feel your heart beat solidly against your ribs as he looks back at you like he’s seeing something there he hadn’t allowed himself to before.

Logan’s voice is low when he finally speaks. “Why you keep stickin’ around? Watchin’ me come home time after time covered in blood?”

“Because you deserve it.” The words tumble from your mouth before you can stop them. “Even if you don’t see that.”

He doesn’t respond, not right away, as he continues to watch you, his eyes tracing the lines of your face. Then he reaches up for you, fingers curling around your wrist, his skin warm and rough against yours. He holds you there as if grounding himself in your presence, his thumb drawing random patterns against your skin. The gesture is simple, but vulnerable and open in a way he rarely shows.

“I’m no good for you,” he murmurs, glancing down at where he’s touching you. “For anybody.”

“How ‘bout you let me be the judge of that?” you answer, your voice steady. “You’re more than you think you are.”

Logan clenches his jaw, a flicker of disbelief crossing his features, and you know deep below the surface he’s waging a war against himself, one he’s been fighting for far too long. His thumb stills on your wrist, his grip loosening slightly, but not letting go.

Placing your hand over his, you give him a soft smile. “C’mon, let’s get you cleaned up.”

+++

You’re surprised that he doesn’t argue, doesn’t try to brush you off or push you away as you gently nudge him towards the bathroom. He still gives you a dubious glance as he looks down at the tub, but you just ignore it, moving past him to run the tap.

You give him privacy to undress and get settled before you reenter the bathroom. The sight of him, as large as he his with his knees pulled up to his chest, makes you laugh, garnishing a terse look from him.

“You find this amusing?”

“Big man in a little tub? Yeah, I do,” you reply with a smile. “Just relax, Logan. This’ll be our secret.”

He huffs, but does seem to visibly relax, resting his arms over his knees. You kneel down in front of him, resting one hand gently against his forearm as your other reaches for the washcloth. You can feel the tension release from his muscles as your power floods through him and he breathes out a soft, “Oh,” as all the pain and discomfort is eased from his body.

You wonder how long it’s truly been since he’s felt like this, unburdened by the pain and suffering of his own body. Your heart aches for him as you slowly begin to wash him, rubbing soft circles over the scarred flesh of his back, rinsing away the blood dried to his skin.

Even battered and marred as he is, you still find him beautiful—you always have. When you first started working with him all those months ago, you felt that pang of attraction when you met him, you’d have been blind not to. Ruggedly handsome, so strong and sure of himself. But you know that wasn’t all that drew you to him. Deep down, below all the tough, seemingly impenetrable exterior, you saw the man he truly was. Someone born of scars and rough edges, yet gentle. Someone who would selflessly put himself before others, even at his own expense.

You let the cloth linger a moment longer against his skin before dipping it back into the water, watching as his blood rinses from the fabric. Squeezing the excess water out, you press it back against his collarbone, tracing the warm cloth along his neck and over his shoulders. Logan doesn’t move, his eyes half-closed, his expression relaxed in a way you’ve never seen before.

Something deep tugs at you as you realize how vulnerable he is right now, how trusting. He hides behind a gruff exterior, his true self guarded so carefully so that he doesn’t let people in, doesn’t open himself up to the hurt that trusting another person can bring. But maybe you’ve finally cracked through, broken down a little bit of that wall he surrounds himself with.

The warm water drips from his skin as you continue to wash him, letting your fingers trail gently along the newly cleaned lines of his arms. Logan shivers at your touch, but he doesn’t pull away. If anything, he seems to lean into it, his breathing deepening, muscles falling even more slack.

“Feel nice?” you ask in a murmur, voice barely above a whisper.

He nods, finally glancing up at you through his half-lidded gaze. “’S very nice,” he replies, his voice rough.

“Good. You deserve it,” you say, repeating your sentiment from earlier.

You feel a flicker of warmth as his eyes meet yours and he simply nods. It takes everything in you to not smile too widely, to keep the moment gentle, but you take his acceptance to heart.

Running the cloth down his ribs, you pause when you feel the misshapen knot of a bruise beneath your fingers and glancing down, you find a deep purple hue coloring his skin. Your eyes dart to his with worry, knowing that an injury like that will take him at least a week to heal, if not longer, in his weakened state. That with every breath he’ll feel the pain of his muscles pulling and the bruise spreading if you’re not touching him.

Dropping the washcloth in the water, you press your palm against his side and take in a deep breath to steady yourself. Then, a warmth spreads from your skin into his as you pull his injury from him, feeling his skin knit back together, feeling his abused muscles realign themselves under his skin. A dull, yet sharp ache, blooms along your ribs as you continue to pull his pain into yourself, erasing the injury from his body. With a final gasp, you draw back, your fingers now running along unmarred flesh knitted whole.

Logan tilts your chin up, forcing you to meet his gaze as the back of his knuckles brush against your cheek. His eyes flicker to yours, holding your gaze, and for a moment, the room falls into a deep quiet.

That pull between you, the magnetic force that you’ve felt since the beginning, feels amplified now. You’re acutely aware of every inch of space between you—how small it is, how easy it would be to close it. How badly you want to close it. You swallow, feeling the tension coil in your belly as he continues to hold your gaze, unblinking, but more open and raw than he’s ever been before.

“What are you doing to me?” he asks.

Your breath catches in your throat at his question, voice rough and laced with something between wonder and disbelief. As if he can’t quite fathom what you’ve done for him—what you’ve given him so freely.

Logan’s eyes search yours, his fingers drifting from your cheek to trace along your jaw, lingering with a tenderness that belies the man he presents to the outside world. His gaze is steady and intimate, as if he’s trying to understand you in a way that goes beyond words. But you say nothing, your heart pounding too loudly in your ears to form a reply.

“You took it on yourself, my pain?”

You simply nod, distracted by the way Logan’s fingers continue to brush along the edge of your ear, tracing the lines of your face as if he’s afraid you’ll vanish if he lets go.

“Why?”

“Because I want to,” you whisper, unable to resist the pull of his hand against your skin, the warmth of his touch that you feel with every fiber of your being. “Because it’s the one thing I can do to help you.”

A beat of silence passes, the air thick and heavy with unspoken words. He exhales, shaky and deep, letting his hand slide to the back of your neck. The calloused pads of his fingers press gently against your skin, anchoring you in place and you can feel him pull you closer, his gaze dropping to your lips, his breath mingling with yours in the small, intimate space between you.

“I shouldn’t want this, want you,” he says, voice so low it’s almost a rumble. “But, fuck, I do.”

His confession is raw, leaving him unguarded for the first time in a long time and before he can pull back, before he can throw those walls back up around himself, you close the gap, resting your forehead against his. You bring your hand up to touch his face, thumb brushing over his cheek as you breath him in, feeling the heat radiate between you.

Logan’s hand slides further along your neck, his fingers tangling in your hair as he finally, gently, presses his lips to yours. His kiss isn’t demanding or rushed or filled with passion, but a lingering connection, the promise of something more. His lips are softer than you imagined, his touch more careful than you expected, as if he’s afraid he’ll break you. Slowly, his thumb traces circles against your cheek, steadying and soothing, pulling you closer.

When he pulls back, he rests his forehead against yours, eyes closed. His breath is warm against your skin. “I don’t wanna push you away anymore,” he murmurs.

“Good because I don’t want you to.”

Logan lets out a breath, a hint of a smile finally softening his features.

Reluctantly, you pull away and pick the washcloth up again, intent on finishing what you started. The water turns to rust as you wash him of blood and grime, making sure you reach each cut, each bruise, each scar on his body that makes up the map of who he is.

You turn off the tap and hand him a towel, averting your eyes as he stands, wrapping the towel low across his hips. Logan reaches for you, tugging on the collar of your shirt to pull you closer. You stumble a bit as he pulls you in, surprised by the insistence in his grip. Logan’s eyes meet yours, an intensity behind his gaze that makes your breath catch.

“C’mere,” he murmurs, hand slipping along your jaw, his thumb pressing against your bottom lip.

You’re drawn forward as Logan’s lips find yours again, but this time there’s an urgency behind the kiss, a desperation and need he’s no longer trying to hide. He holds your face gently in his hands as he deepens the kiss, his nose pressing against yours, his beard scraping against your skin and you find yourself melting against him.

This is what you’ve been craving since you met him. Despite it all—the rage simmering just below his surface, the sharpness of his exterior, the sometimes shocking callousness of his words—you always knew there was a tenderness underneath, a softness that even his tortured past couldn’t erase.

Logan’s hands drift from your face, trailing down your neck and tracing along the curve of your spine as he presses you closer until there’s no space between you. The dampness of his skin bleeds into your shirt and you gasp into his mouth when he shifts his hips just enough and you feel heat of his erection against your thigh.

He pulls away from your mouth long enough to husk against your lips, “I’m old, not dead.” His teeth nip lightly at your bottom lip. “I’ve gotta beautiful woman lettin’ me kiss her, what did you expect?”

Your fingers trail along the edge of the towel slung low across this hips and a thrill runs through you as you feel his abdominal muscles flutter beneath your touch. You peer up at him, noting the flush of his skin, the black of his eyes as you tug the fabric just enough to loosen it. “How long has it been since someone has touched you, Logan?” you ask, your breath warm in the space between you.

Logan’s hands urge your hips closer, seeking friction as he starts to slowly rut against your thigh. You hear him swallow as your fingers dip below the fabric, brushing along the damp hair at the base of his cock.

“F—fuck,” he groans, guttural and low, his head dropping down to your shoulder. “Since before you.”

The weight of Logan’s confession presses into you and in that moment you want to give him everything. Wrap him in all the love you can muster, show him something other than pain and suffering.

You move your hand from the towel, allowing the fabric to fall from his waist and pool forgotten on the floor. Logan’s breath catches as your fingers wrap around him fully, the heat and weight of his cock pressing against your palm.

A ragged groan escapes his throat. “Christ,” he mutters, voice thick and vibrating against your skin. “You don’t gotta—”

“I want to,” you interrupt, slowly and deliberately dragging your hand along his length, tracing the vein along the underside of his cock with your fingertips.

Logan’s hips jerk involuntarily, seeking friction, chasing your hand, and you oblige, tightening your grip just enough to elicit another groan from him.

“What do you like?” The question lands in the sliver of space between you, your strokes still light, teasing.

“Firmer, more ah—” He breaks off as you tighten your grip on the upstroke. “Fuck, yes, like that, sweetheart.”

A shiver runs down your spine as his hands find your waist, fingers clutching at you almost hard enough to bruise. His breaths are growing uneven, each exhale warm against your neck as he fights to maintain some semblance of control.

“You keep that up,” he rasps, lips grazing your ear, “and I’m not gonna last long.”

His admission sends a rush of pride through you and you tilt your head back to look at him, your thumb brushing over the sensitive head of his cock, spreading the wetness there. Logan’s eyes meet yours, dark and heavy-lidded, his expression raw and unguarded. You like him like this, such a large, imposing man boiled down to pure wanton need.

“I don’t mind,” you reply, keeping your movements steady, your strokes firm yet gentle. You focus on the subtle shifts in his breathing, the way his fingers grip you tighter each time you find the right rhythm. “Just wanna make you feel good, Logan.”

He leans forward, capturing your lips into a kiss that’s both rough and messy, teeth nipping at your lip as his tongue licks into your mouth. He groans are muffled against your mouth as his hips begin to thrust in time with your strokes, his movements growing more erratic as he chases after his release.

“Can’t believe—ah, fuck—can’t believe how good you’re makin’ me feel,” he growls against your lips.

You smile into his mouth, your free hand brushing along his hipbone as your strokes quicken. His whole body tenses, the muscles in his shoulders and arms flexing, his abdominal muscles taut as he teeters on the edge.

“Let go, Logan,” you say. “I’ve got you.”

With a strangled groan, he comes, his release spilling over your hand, hot and thick. His body shudders against yours as he buries his face in the crook of your neck. You hold him close as he continues to thrust lazily into your grip, your own movements slowing as you guide him through the aftershocks.

For a moment, neither of you speaks, then Logan lifts his head, his hazel eyes soft as they meet yours. “You walked into my life and I knew—I knew—you would ruin me.”

You smile to yourself, unable to stop the thought that floats into your head—he’s ruined you as well.

+++

The text comes in at a little over one AM—hurt.

You jump out of bed, adrenaline rushing through your veins as you slip into one of his discarded flannels and head out into the night. Pacing the driveway, your heart jumps into your throat at every passing headlight, your thumbnail almost bitten down to the quick as you wait for him.

The minutes bleed into eternity until you finally see the limo turn down the long drive and it takes all your willpower to not run and meet him halfway. You’re bouncing on your heels as he finally comes to a stop, the driver’s side door opening with a faint groan of steel.

Your heart stutters in your chest as he emerges from the car, blood soaking through his shirt, dark and spreading, as he steps towards you on shaky legs. Logan’s face is pale in the moonlight, his breathing uneven and shallow and white-hot dread shoots up your spine as you see his arm hanging limp, two of his claws unsheathed and dripping blood.

“Oh, fuck, fuck!” you gasp, rushing to his side.

Logan tries to wave you off, gritting his teeth as he grips the doorframe. “”M fine,” he grits, but the tremor in his voice betrays him.

You reach for him, hands already attempting to steady him as his knees buckle and he collapses to the ground beneath him. “Careful. Claws,” he rasps as his left hand seeks purchase against your shoulder.

“I don’t fucking care about your claws, Logan,” you snap, although you both know your anger isn’t at him. You glance up at him and for once you think you actually see fear in his eyes. “What happened?”

“Gas. Robbery.” Each word punches out of his chest, the effort to speak sending tremors down his limbs. “Got ‘em.” He nods down towards his limp arm, claws still unsheathed, but slowly, so slowly starting to retract.

He winces as you help him peel off his coat to get to the shirt underneath. Your fingers shake as they trace the holes the bullets made—one in his shoulder, dangerously close to his lungs and the other just below his ribs. Hooking your fingers through the fabric, you rip it from his chest—the wounds are deep and his skin is hot and slick with sweat.

Panic claws at you and unshed tears burn in your eyes. You’ve seen Logan hurt before, but this—this was different. His breathing is painfully shallow, his usual gruffness and resilience absent.

“Logan, you’re not healing,” you whisper, your voice shaking as your fingers stain with blood. Logan simply grunts, trying to wave you off, but lacking the strength. “I can’t…I can’t lose you. I can help.”

Logan’s eyes widen as he grabs for your wrist. “No. You’ll hurt yourself.”

“I don’t care!” you shout. “I love you, dammit, and I’m not just going to sit here and watch you die!”

Before he can protest, you press your palms over his wounds, the familiar warmth of your power surging through you as it spreads from your palms into his torn flesh.

The pain hits you like a freight train.

It’s sharp and relentless, searing through your shoulder and into the softness of your belly like molten fire. You gasp, biting back a scream as your body jerks instinctively away from the intensity, every cell in your body demanding you withdraw from the torture.

But you don’t stop. You cling to him, tears streaming down your face as you channel your power into him, knitting his flesh back together. You can feel it, the way his muscles, bones and tissue rearrange themselves, months of healing taking place in mere moments. Every second feels like an eternity, but you refuse to let go.

You’re dimly aware of Logan yelling at you to stop, his own pain momentarily forgotten as he watches you endure his agony.

Black dots dance in your vision as the last of his wounds come together, the spent bullets clinking to the gravel and you finally collapse against him, trembling, your breath coming in ragged gasps. The fire in your body begins to dull, fading to a cold, hollow ache as Logan wraps his arms around you, pulling you tight against his chest.

“Hey,” you mumble against him, your voice barely above a whisper. “You’re okay now.”

“Me?” Logan’s voice is low, disbelieving as his hand cradles the back of your head as if you might shatter. “You’re the one—why the fuck would you do that? You could’ve—dammit, you—”

His words break off, his forehead dropping to yours as his breath shudders against your cheek. You can feel the tension radiating through him, warring with himself between his gratitude and anger, between his guilt and the love he’s too afraid to speak out loud.

“I told you why,” you answer, lifting your head to look up at him.

Logan’s jaw clenches, his words caught in his throat, but his eyes say everything is voice won’t. You don’t need him to say it, not yet, but you can feel it, pressing just below the surface.

“C’mon, let’s get you inside.”

+++

There’s a reverence in which Logan washes you.

Steam swirls around you as he works the thickly lathered loofah over your shoulders, down across your collarbones and down along the soft planes of your stomach. The water rinses away the faint metallic tang of blood, leaving behind the fresh scent of soap. He continues with a silent determination, as if the act of washing you can erase all the pain you’ve taken from him.

You know better than to convince him you’re fine, that the pain is always temporary, that it only lasts for a few minutes, sometimes just a bit longer. That the pain is something you’d endure for him again and again if he’d let you.

His thumb brushes along the underside of your ribs, searching for a wound you know he won’t find. You reach for him, lacing your fingers together with his. He blinks up at you, hazel eyes holding far too much worry for such a stoic man.

“I’m not going to break, Logan,” you say softly.

A wordless noice escapes his throat as he removes himself from your grasp and continues to work, ditching the loofah in favor of his hands. His fingers are warm and calloused against your skin as they glide lower, down over the swell of your hips, over your thighs, down towards your knees.

His touch morphs from one of care and comfort to one more sensual, simmering with unspoken tension as his fingers rest in the hollow behind your knee. You glance down at him, water droplets catching in his hair, running off the slope of his nose.

Though you’ve seen him bare before, you can help but trace the lines of his body—the broadness of his shoulders, the well defined muscles of his chest, the sturdiness of his thighs, the scars that mar his skin. The sight of him stirs something deep within you and you feel your pulse thrum beneath your skin.

“Logan,” you murmur, your voice almost lost in the sound of the water.

He looks up at you then, eyes locking with yours. A storm swirls within them, a mix of guilt, affection and an intensity that takes your breath away. Leaning in, he presses the barest of kisses to the inside of your knee before he rises to his full height, pressing you close.

“D’you mean what you said before?” he asks, voice low.

I love you, dammit!

“Yes,” you answer without hesitation.

Logan exhales sharply, the tension he’s been holding coiled in his muscles loosening as he loops his arms around your waist. “I’m not very good with words,” he admits, his breath fanning across your damp skin. “Can I show you?”

There’s no mistaking the meaning behind his words and you can only nod, your voice catching in your throat.

His lips find yours, mouth moving over yours slow and deliberate as if he’s savoring the taste of you. The first touch is a spark, the second a fire, and by the third, it’s an inferno that engulfs you both and leaves you breathless. Logan kisses you like you’re his anchor, his salvation, his touch desperate and full of everything he can’t yet put into words.

Your fingers slide into his hair, gripping the strands at the nape of his neck as you pull him closer, deepening the kiss. He groans against your mouth, the sound swallowed in the space between you. His tongue brushes against yours, teasing and exploring and you respond in kind, your nails scraping along his scalp.

Logan’s control is fraying. You can feel it in the way his teeth nip at your bottom lip, the way his hands press along the curve of your spine, the way he can’t seem to find enough of your skin to touch, to caress. A low growl rumbles through his chest as you slip a hand between your slick bodies, finding his cock, thick and heavy against your belly.

You give one slow drag of your palm along his length before he’s gripping your thighs and forcing your legs around his waist. His mouth leaves yours, trailing down to the curve of your jaw as he presses you against the wall, the coolness of the tile a direct contrast to the heat of your skin and you can’t stop the gasp that escapes your lips.

Despite his age, the metal bones inside him slowly poisoning him and causing him human aches and pains, he’s still able to hold you up solidly with one arm as the other trails along your hip bone and dips down to where you’re warm and wet.

“This all for me?” he asks in a murmur, sliding a finger along the seam of your cunt, just barely brushing against your clit.

Your breath hitches and you grip his shoulders, nails pressing lightly into his skin as you nod. Logan’s eyes darken at your reaction, the faintest hint of a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth.

“Yes,” you finally manage to whisper. “Always for you.”

“Good,” he growls, leaning in to nip at the skin just below your ear. The deep rumble of his voice vibrates through you, his touch deliberate and almost torturously slow as he slides his fingers through your folds, spreading your slickness with a focused and unrelenting precision.

“Oh, fuck,” you gasp, your head tilting back against the wall as he finally presses his thumb to your clit, circling it with just enough pressure to have your thighs trembling around his waist.

“I got you,” he coos against your skin, his lips trailing from the pulse point in your neck to your collarbone. His teeth scrape along the curve of your shoulder, his free hand gripping your hip tighter to steady you as his fingers continue to tease and coax. “Lemme make you feel good.”

Every nerve ending is afire beneath him, every motion, every stroke of his fingers against your cunt leaving your mind reeling with pleasure. Your nails dig further into corded muscles of his shoulders, desperate for something to anchor yourself to. You pull back when you see the tiny, crescent shaped cuts marring his skin.

His eyes snap up to yours, sharp and molten. “No, do it,” he urges, fingers still moving. “Mark me with somethin’ pretty.”

“Fuck, Logan,” you gasp.

“Say my name again,” he demands, his voice rough and commanding. There’s a quiet desperation in his tone, as if hearing it grounds him. Grounds him to this moment. To you.

You can’t help but obey, whispering his name like a prayer, and he rewards you by slipping one long finger inside you, the sensation sending a jolt of pleasure along your spine. Logan watches your face intently as if memorizing the way you react to his touch. When he adds a second finger and slowly begins to thrust his hand, you cling further to him, the heat inside you building to an almost unbearable intensity.

“Good girl,” he murmurs, his voice low and reverent. “You’re so beautiful like this. So wet and warm and tight around me.”

His words barely register in your mind, too focused on the way his fingers curl and thrust inside you, finding that soft spot that makes your eyes roll back. He’s relentless now, his thumb pressing hard against your clit as he brings you closer and closer to the edge.

“Logan, I’m so close,” you whine, your hips beginning to roll against his hand, seeking just a bit more friction, forcing his fingers deeper inside of you.

The tension coiling low in your belly finally snaps, your orgasm washing over you in waves that make your whole body shudder as you cry out his name. Logan holds you through it, his hand continuing to thrust against you as he draws out every ounce of pleasure from you, his own breathing ragged against your skin.

When you finally come down, Logan presses a kiss to your temple as he helps you unwrap your legs from his waist and carefully sets you down, keeping you close.

You tilt your head to meet his gaze, your fingers tracing the line of his jaw. “I didn’t think you’d be into shower sex, old man,” you tease with a smile.

His laugh is low. “I can make exceptions. I need a bed to fuck you properly, though.”

“Prove it,” you challenge.

+++

The heat and intensity between you doesn’t diminish as Logan helps you out of the shower and guides you down the hallway towards his bedroom. A shiver of anticipation crawls up your spine as you get closer, knowing that once you cross this line, there’s no going back, that he will have claimed you fully.

You scoot back onto the bed, watching as he approaches you with a fire in his gaze that doesn’t waver. He climbs onto the mattress, knee pressing down between yours as he cages you in from above, gently pinning you beneath him.

Leaning down, his lips brush against yours, teasing. “Still wanna challenge me, sweetheart?” His voice is a low gravelly growl that sends a prickling rush of arousal down your limbs.

“Always,” you reply breathlessly, arching into his touch as his hands slide down your thighs, parting them with ease.

His grin is sharp as he leans back to take you in fully and you acutely feel the weight of his gaze against your skin. He traces his calloused fingers over your damp skin, along the dips of your collarbones, under the swell of each breast, mapping the curve of your hips as if committing you to memory. Dipping his head, he leans down between your legs, his beard grazing the sensitive skin of your inner thighs and you can’t help but shudder at the sensation.

“You’re so fuckin’ beautiful,” he says, almost to himself, his voice dripping with desire. He drags his lips higher, brushing along your damp cunt, his breath hot and tantalizing. “And all mine.”

The possessiveness in his tone has you clenching around nothing, heat pooling low in your belly and your fingers tangle in his hair, urging him closer. But he ignores your silent plea, almost deliberately testing your patience as he kisses you everywhere except where you want him most.

“Logan, please,” you gasp, the ache between your thighs almost painful.

“Patience,” he chides with a smirk, though his own resolve seems to be thinning. His hands grip your hips, pulling you closer before he flattens his palms against your thighs, opening you fully to him. Then, his tongue is on you, lapping at you with flat, broad strokes in a rhythm that quickly has you teetering on the edge.

Logan’s focus is unrelenting, his low growls of approval vibrating through you as he works you over with an enthusiasm that proves to you this is about more than just pleasure—he’s claiming you, showing you just how much you mean to him. Making you his.

Your thighs tremble around him and his warm, rough hands hold you steady as he slips one, then two fingers deep inside of you. It’s embarrassing how quickly you come as he thrusts his fingers against that spot inside you, your second orgasm of the night crashing over you as his name falls from his lips in a breathless moan.

Before you can properly catch your breath, Logan is moving from between your thighs, making his way back up your body, leaving wet, open-mouthed kisses against your skin. His lips finally find yours in a kiss that’s messy and desperate and you can taste yourself on his tongue, sharp and bright, and the intimacy of it sends a thrill through you.

“You taste so fuckin’ good,” he groans against your lips, his voice wrecked as he grinds his hips against yours, his cock hard and insistent against your hip. “Could spend the rest of my life between between those thighs.”

“Why stop there?” you tease, your lips tugging into a smirk. “I thought you said you’d fuck me properly.”

Logan’s eyes darken, your challenge seeming to light something dark and primal in him. His grin is all teeth as he sits back on his heels, hands curling around your hips and pulling you down the bed like you weigh nothing until your hips are flush with his. “You gotta mouth on you, sweetheart. Should we see if you can still talk stuffed full of my cock?”

The weight of his cock brushes against your slick folds and you gasp at the sensation, your nerve endings exquisitely sensitive. Logan grips himself at the base, giving himself one languid stroke before running the thick head along your cunt, teasing you with shallow thrusts. Each slow, deliberate stroke of him sliding against you leaves you desperate and aching and you lift your hips in search of more.

“Look at you,” he murmurs. “So needy. Bet you’ll take me so well, huh?”

“Yes,” you breathe, nails digging into the muscles of his forearms. “Please.”

He presses into you then, the stretch of his cock making your jaw drop as he takes his time, sinking in inch by inch, filling you completely. Logan’s gaze is locked on yours, heavy and possessive as he watches every flicker of pleasure cross your face.

“Fuck” he groans when he’s fully seated against your hips, his body trembling with the effort to stay still. “You feel…so fuckin’ tight. So damn perfect.”

Your hands clutch at his shoulders, anchoring yourself to him as he starts to move, pulling out torturously slow before thrusting back in harder, setting a rhythm that’s relentless and consuming. Each stroke of his hips has you crying out, your body arching into his as you meet him thrust for thrust.

“Takin’ me so well, sweetheart,” he growls, his fingers gripping the flesh of your hips hard enough to bruise as he continues to pound into you. “Like you were made for me.”

The sound of skin slapping against skin fills the room, mixing in with your whimpered moans and Logans own ragged groans. He leans down, bracing himself on his forearms, the wiry hair on his chest teasing your nipples as his lips find your neck, biting and sucking marks into your skin that feel like promises.

Your legs wrap around his waist, pulling him in deeper, your heels digging into his back as the coil inside you begins to tighten once more. He feels it too, the way you body clenches around him, and his pace falters slightly, his breaths coming faster.

“C’mon,” he rasps against the pulse point on your neck. “Wanna feel you come. Wanna make you fall apart.”

It doesn’t take much more—just a few more well-angled thrusts that hit that spot inside you and the tension finally snaps, your orgasm ripping through you with a force that leaves you trembling. Logan’s finesse is slipping, thrusts growing erratic as chases his own release.

“Come Logan,” you manage in a whisper. “Come for me.”

His hips stutter as he groans your name, spilling into you as his body tenses, lazily thrusting against you as he wrings out the last of his pleasure. He stays deep inside you, still for several moments before he shifts just enough to collapse against your side.

For a long moment, neither of you moves, the only sounds in the room being your heavy breathes and the pounding of your heart. Logan rests his head against your chest, heavy and sweat slick between your breasts. You brush at the strands of hair against his forehead before running your finger along the old scar on his cheek.

He lifts his head to look up at you, his gaze soft yet still simmering with hunger. “I do, you know,” he murmurs. His fingers brush idly against your skin. “Love you.”

A smile spreads across your face, warming blooming in your chest.

“I know.”

+++

You wake before he does, rolling over to find him prone, face buried in the pillow he hugs close to his chest. Sunlight filters in through the half slatted blinds, catching on the silver in his hair and beard and you can’t help but admire how handsome he looks, how at peace he is beside you. He’s relaxed in sleep for the first time since you came here. You’ve heard his growls and yelps of terror that echo in the night, seen the claw marks that pierce his sheets.

Your mind filters back to last night and how he looked as he came apart inside you, how desperate and needy he was for your touch upon his skin. The memory of his gasps and groans send a rush of warmth over your skin, making you dimly aware of the ache between your legs. Logan, so guarded, so unyielding and seemingly unbreakable, trembled as he came, his voice rough and wrecked as he called out your name. You shiver thinking about it.

You want to hear it again. But not now.

Resisting the urge to reach out and brush the hair from his forehead, you leave him undisturbed and slide out of bed. Padding into the kitchen, you find Charles sitting in his chair at the kitchen table, the newspaper spread out in front of him. He looks up at you with a warm smile as you start a pot of coffee, the machine humming to life.

“Ah, I see,” he comments, a smirk tugging at his lips.

You glance over at Charles, his eyes back on the paper in front of him, but his smile still paints his face, sly and knowing. Heat creeps up your neck as you busy yourself with the coffee. “Are you reading my mind?” you ask, trying to force nonchalance into your tone.

Charles chuckles softly and taps at his temple. “I don’t have to. You’re projecting. And quite loudly, at that.”

You bite your lip as you fill your mug, leaning against the counter as the coffee warms your hands. You attempt to clear your mind, trying to think of anything mundane—the weather, baseball, laundry. Charles just shakes his head. “Relax, my dear. What the two of you do together as consenting adults is none of my business.”

“Oh, God,” you groan, your cheeks aflame. “That’s what I’m projecting?”

“Not that explicitly, no. You think more in feelings, rather than words. But they’re quite powerful emotions and rather hard to ignore when they’re radiating as strongly as yours are this morning.”

You bury your face in your hand, peeking at Charles through your fingers, which only seems to amuse him further. “You’re enjoying this far too much,” you mutter.

“Perhaps,” Charles says with a laugh. “But you’re helping him. Healing him. And that, my dear, is worth everything.”

Before you can respond, you hear the sound of heavy footsteps coming down the hall. Logan rounds the corner, hair tousled from sleep, his body still bare except for the pair of low slung sweatpants clinging to his hips. His eyes find yours first, softening in a way they rarely do for anyone else as he scratches at the back of his head and mumbles, “Mornin’.”

“Morning,” you reply with a smile, thankful for the distraction. You pour a second cup of coffee and offer it up to him. “Coffee?”

Logan grunts in affirmation, moving towards you, but instead of reaching for the mug, he loops an arm around your waist, pulling you against him. He buries his face in your neck, beard scraping against your skin as he sighs. “Didn’t like wakin’ up with you not there,” he breathes into your hair, his voice so low you almost don’t hear him.

“Sorry,” you whisper. “I didn’t want to disturb you.”

“S’okay,” he says softly, pressing the lightest of kisses just under your ear. “Next time, wake me.”

Your heart stutters against your ribs at his open display of affection, the softness and warmth in which he holds you, and the promise behind his words. From over his shoulder you see Charles give you a slight nod, a bright smile on his face before he turns his attention back to the newspaper in front of him.

You think back to what Charles told you all those months ago, about how you were a home for Logan. Those words echo in your mind as you feel Logan’s steady weight against you. He’s so different now, soft and unguarded and in that moment you know.

You’re home, too.

#logan howlett #wolverine #wolverine x reader #logan howlett x you #logan howlett x reader #wolverine x you #deadpool and wolverine #logan howlett fic #logan howlett fanfiction #logan x reader #logan howlett smut #logan howlett x fem!reader #wolverine smut #wolverine x men #wolverine fanfiction #old man logan #old man logan x reader #old man logan smut #logan x you

2K notes · View notes

nightingale-prompts · 14 days ago

Text

"Halfas are like cats" I get it but i raise you "Halfa are like birds"

Loud, annoying, nuisances that are smart enough to know what they are doing.

They can mimic voices and scream to get attention.

They require constant supervision or they will disappear and cause trouble.

They could be cute and fluffy but they could also attack you with the fury of a goose for looking at them wrong.

They gather like crows in a murder. They speak and repeat like humans but are far more knowledgeable and foreign then believed.

They have their own nesting (haunting) grounds that humans are forbidden from entering.

Add more if you agree

#dc x dp #dpxdc #dc x dp prompt #danny fenton #danny phantom #dp x dc prompt

653 notes · View notes

paperdice · 7 months ago

Note

Hii! I saw you write for saiki k, so i was wondering if i could please request Kusuo x foreign reader hcs? Reader is a transfer student from somewhere outside of Japan (maybe australia because i’m australian, but anywhere is fine if you can’t do that 💕), and she (or they, up to you) ends up in saiki’s friend group and they get feelings for each other. If you end up deciding to do this, tysm!! xx

𝐊𝐮𝐬𝐮𝐨 𝐒𝐚𝐢𝐤𝐢 𝐱 𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐞𝐢𝐠𝐧 𝐟𝐞𝐦!𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫 (𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐜𝐚𝐧𝐨𝐧𝐬)

"Is it sad that my heart's beating frantically? you give me that look and I'm over the edge."

small note, reader will be Australian for the hcs but it won't be heavily influencing in all the hcs

When you first joined the new school, it was naturally nerve-wracking for you. New country, new culture new everything, it was one scary ride that only made you hope for the best.

Thankfully, you wouldn't be alone much longer, not with the new friends you've made. In fact, one of them had been tugging at your heartstrings for awhile now, and the melody felt right for both of you.

⋆.˚ ᡣ𐭩 .𖥔˚ Kusuo knew your intentions and how you were rightfully afraid during your first day. He knew how you truly feel, just as he does for everyone else in his life. Your thoughts and feelings were another book for him to read clearly, so why was it he was slowly growing an interest in you?

⋆.˚ ᡣ𐭩 .𖥔˚ He's got a sharp mind, he knows himself better than anyone else, or so he thought. He always knew that he wasn't interested in romance and thought he would never feel it due to his psychic abilities. His romance radar seemed to be a little 'nonfunctional' but he didn't care.

⋆.˚ ᡣ𐭩 .𖥔˚ After awhile of getting to know you, he realized he was feeling off when around you. A feeling he didn't recognize was growing within him, and he quickly realized it. In the deepest farthest back of his mind, Saiki understood it had to be a romantic feeling.

⋆.˚ ᡣ𐭩 .𖥔˚ He was stung by the idea, though the more time flew the more he was okay with it being towards you. The hidden love you had for him was no secret that you could possibly hide from Kusuo, he observed the gradual blossoming of your feelings for him firsthand.

⋆.˚ ᡣ𐭩 .𖥔˚ When you first arrived, people were curious about your life in Australia and shared their thoughts and comments during your conversations. Although Saiki didn't say anything to you, internally, he was interested in the life you lived before moving.

⋆.˚ ᡣ𐭩 .𖥔˚ He knew you snuck in a lie or two about encountering a snake that tried to eat you, or how you threw in scares with exaggerations about the snakes and spiders. Or how overly dramatic you made yourself when addressing the pure hatred felt towards the city of Melbourne, Saiki never knew there was a city in Australia that was heavily frowned upon. And from what he heard in your thoughts, you didn't know why either, not from personal experience that is.

⋆.˚ ᡣ𐭩 .𖥔˚ Trying to evoke reactions without ill intent, you seemed friendly. Over time, quirks like these grew endearing to Kusuo. He saw right through your choices more and more, only to find more things about you he liked. So, how is he now that he knows he likes you and you like him?

⋆.˚ ᡣ𐭩 .𖥔˚ He definitely looks out for you. Naturally, he knows better than to be a stalker constantly following you around. His abilities underline that idea as useless; though it's not like he'd ever do it. That's why he checks up on what nuisance is bothering you or what future nuisance will be. People do have a habit of barging in on you. You'll never say how tiring it is, so Kusuo does you favors.

⋆.˚ ᡣ𐭩 .𖥔˚ He enjoys your new-found company in the friend group, whenever you come around he subconsciously moves more in your direction. You don't like bothering him too much so he doesn't have to worry about you being a problem, he knows you don't wanna make some foolish mistake in front of your crush. Though you don't have to worry, your flaws to him are meaningless.

⋆.˚ ᡣ𐭩 .𖥔˚ Sadly Kusuo doesn't get butterflies around you, but being near you disrupts his control over his powers and makes it hard for him to maintain while solving unthinkable problems. This can be frustrating, but he's never been mad at you about it, he can't control his heart after all.

⋆.˚ ᡣ𐭩 .𖥔˚ Ever since he developed a crush on you, he has been smiling without even realizing it. It's just a small, soft smile that creeps onto his face when he sees you enjoying yourself with others. Luckily, he manages to catch himself before anyone else notices.

⋆.˚ ᡣ𐭩 .𖥔˚ Saiki can't help but be a little jealous if guys are flirting too much with you, he knows you won't accept them however for some reason his mind can't help but feel envy.

⋆.˚ ᡣ𐭩 .𖥔˚ He finds your opinions and morals interesting, internally giving dialogue on breaking down your thoughts and why you might think that way. An unspoken way of his is that he shows he cares about how you think by breaking it down like some analysis.

⋆.˚ ᡣ𐭩 .𖥔˚ If you have any hobbies or interests, he'll take some time out of the weekend to take a look at what's got you all hooked. Music tastes, collections, shows, podcasts literally anything you're into he'll give it a try. The appeal might rub off him, you do have good taste in things, to Saiki that is.

⋆.˚ ᡣ𐭩 .𖥔˚ His crush on you was a secret for a long time, and was almost accidentally figured out by Nendo. That mindless Nendo somehow connected the dots out of nowhere, maybe he saw how Kusuo looked at you, or maybe how close he gets naturally. Whatever the case, Kusuo freaked as Nendo was calling your name. But when you turned, it was just Saiki standing there, you felt crazy..

⋆.˚ ᡣ𐭩 .𖥔˚ Kusuo has only ever thought of you two being in a relationship as a maybe thought, which says a lot. But he decided that if he truly does want more in the future, he will make a move, a slight one at least. Just for you.

Saiki is such a cutie pie, maybe ill write dating hcs at a later date. Thanks for the request, feel free to return to ask another!

#saiki k x reader #saiki x reader #kusuo saiki x reader #fluff #headcanons

533 notes · View notes

luvjunie · 2 years ago

Text

— sleepover

pairing: e-1610!miles x fem!reader

contains: fluffff! jeff and rio being realistic parents, miles being stubborn per usual

summary: miles’ parents finally agreed to letting the two of you have a sleepover, on one condition. however, miles was never the best at following directions. wc: 1,630

New york. The city that never sleeps.

The faint murmuring of bustling cars and the habitual honking of horns seeped through the tight seal of the shut apartment window; ironic in the way it somehow lulled you. An imperfect melody you welcomed—also the same one deemed a nuisance by those foreign to the chaos that naturally assimilated to comfort the longer you remained in Brooklyn. It usually helped you slip into a slumber with ease—but now— was succeeding in its attempt of doing the exact opposite.

And when you heard Miles expel a weighted, disgruntled sigh; you were led to believe the two of you had more in common with each other apart from the fact that you both lived here.

After weeks and weeks of begging, and endless explanations as to why exactly he needed his girlfriend to sleep over when they wouldn’t even get to utilize the time spent together because they were supposed to be asleep, Miles had finally convinced his mom and dad to let the two of you have a sleepover.

Fun, right?

Yeah, well you thought it’d be. Until his mom insisted the two of you bring your pillows and blankets and fantasies of your life as a matured couple to the living room and sleep out there. Six feet away from each other. You guys were practically social distancing like it was 2019 all over again.

The curt reasoning she offered included something about her not wanting the two of you in his room alone at night; not that she thought her son would actually be dumb enough to do anything along those lines with her in the house. You loved Mama Rio, but even if you didn’t, it wouldn’t matter. This was her house, and that meant you had to follow her rules. The fact that you were even able to come over as much as you did was a blessing in itself, so you took everything else in stride.

Miles let you take the couch of course, and he was currently sprawled out on his back on the floor, a pillow tucked beneath his head as he studied the minuscule cracks in the ceiling as if they truly interested him. Scrolling through his instagram timeline had gotten old fairly quickly, and at 1:00AM in the morning, neither of you were really motivated enough for conversation.

You were more than grateful to spend a night with your boyfriend, but this wasn’t necessarily how you expected it to go. Whenever you guys would hang out during normal hours of the day, you’d always end up in his embrace, curled and cuddled into each other comfortably. Whatever movie or tv-show you’d put on in the background begging for the same attention you’d give each other. After growing used to such a routine, that was really the only way you could fall asleep at his house.

But alas, holding your pillow close to you instead of him would have to suffice, you decided, as you let your eyes close once again.

“Baby?” Miles called out into the darkness, lip chewed in anticipation.

Silence.

He’d said only a word but you knew better than to engage. A conversation would end up with the two of you in trouble in the morning, so you pretended to be asleep.

“I know you’re awake. I counted exactly three seconds between your last two breaths and when you’re asleep it slows down to five.”

You stifled a laugh, ultimately blowing your cover. “Okay, now that’s just creepy.”

“People who are asleep don’t laugh!” he quipped.

A smile snuck onto your lips and you hadn’t the heart to reprimand it, lids peeling back open to stare up at the same ceiling he was.

“Yes, Miles?”

“Can you not fall asleep either, or have I become an insomniac all of a sudden?” The question came with a sigh, long arms spread to their full wingspan as he tried to count how many full rotations the ceiling fan made in a minute. That was how bored he was.

You sighed disappointedly, toying with the frayed tassels on your blanket. A moue on your face. “No, I can’t fall asleep either.”

“I think I know why.” he sung the last word in suggestion, hands absentmindedly drumming against his abdomen.

“Miles,” you warned, letting your head fall to the side so you could stare at the top of his head and address him directly. “Your mom gave very specific instructions, and personally, I would like to return home to mine with my head still on my shoulders.” grumbling your response, you shoved down the urge to invite him up there with you like your mind was telling you to.

He propped himself up on an elbow at that, eyes immediately making contact with yours. Your first mistake was not looking away, because those pretty pools of hazel were already starting to convince you and he hadn’t even opened his mouth yet.

“But how is that fair?” he complained, sounding exasperated. “We take naps together all the time when you’re here, I just wanna cuddle with you.” he sulked, as if you were the one who’d come up with the rule. Never in a million years would you submit the both of you to this kind of torture. You loved falling asleep in his arms.

You rolled your eyes at him, “Well, yeah. But that’s during the day, when she can check on us anytime she wants to. I don’t think your mom wants us that close to each other at night for,” The last part of your sentence faded to a jumbled murmur as your gaze traveled back to the ceiling. “…obvious reasons.”

He impishly raised a brow as if he didn’t know what you were referring to, chin resting in the palm of his hand. With only the faded lights of the city to illuminate the living room, the cheeky smile on his face went unnoticed, though you could hear it in the tone of his voice, loud and clear.

“And what reasons are those?” Miles asked, feigning innocence. His long lashes blinking at you.

Hand smacking to your forehead, you recited a silent prayer, a plea for strength. It was beginning to look like you weren’t going to get yourself out of this. “You know exactly what I’m talking about.”

His hand gestured to the air, plainly. “Well obviously. But still, we’re not dumb. That’s why I always take you to the roof when we—“

“Miles Gonzalo Morales do not finish that sentence!”

He snorted at the squeak of your voice and you used your pillow to hide your heated face.

“This is not going to help us fall asleep.” your irritated statement was muffled from the fabric of the pillowcase.

He hummed. “Exactly, meaning there’s only one thing left to try.” Slow to catch on, you didn’t realize what he meant until you felt the couch dip from the weight of his knee.

A hand trickled up the exposed skin of your thigh and it stopped when it met your sleep-shorts clad hip, the pillow snatched from your face and tossed onto the floor where he previously resided just a second ago.

“What are you—?”

He hovered over you, one hand pressed into the cushion beside your waist to hold himself up. Your question fell short when he swiftly parted your legs with his other hand and comfortably slotted his body between your thighs. A relieved sigh escaped him, his cheek nuzzling into the soft of your chest when he laid on top of you. His favorite way to cuddle.

“Shhh, trying to sleep.” murmuring a dismissive answer to your query, he let his eyes flutter to a close and snaked his arms around your waist, forearms cradling the curve of your back.

Contrary to the fight you were putting up just a minute ago— your arm curled over the expanse of his shoulders, fingers idly twirling at the baby curls that dusted the nape of his neck, something you always did to help him fall asleep faster. He let out a low, satisfied sound and relaxed into you completely, his hold on you tightening. While a part of you wanted to protest, an even bigger part wanted to remain under him like this. His weight was comforting; made you feel secure in the way a weighted blanket did.

“Your mom is not going to be happy with us.” you reminded him, stretching your other arm down enough to grab your blanket and pull it up over the two of you.

“It’s worth it. I’ll happily take the blame,” he drawled sleepily, snuggling in closer to the kiss that grazed his forehead. “I love you…” The laggard pace to his words let you know he was already dozing off, and you smiled, fatigue finally catching up with you too.

“I love you, Miles.”

— extra scene

Jeff stood in silence, arms folded over his broad chest and lips puckered awkwardly. Rio occupied the space next to him, hands perched on her wide hips, fingers tapping against them and her jaw clenched in disapproval. Her expression was everything but amused at the scene in front of them. He stole a tactful glance at his wife every two seconds, silently trying to gauge how irritated she was without having to ask her.

Sometime during the night you and Miles had switched places, and now his lanky legs were draped over the arm of the small couch and you were on top of him, clung to his body like a wet T-shirt, face barely visible seeing as it was nestled into the crook of his neck. With his mouth hanging slack as he loftily snored, Rio felt her eye almost twitch while she stared down at her stubborn son, who seemed to have magically teleported from his assigned spot on the floor and into yours instead.

“Well, I coulda told’ya that would happen.” Jeff said quietly with a laid-back shrug, to which Rio responded with a back-handed swat to his chest.

“Ow!”

Through her aggravation she still kept her voice low as to not wake the two of you, eyes narrowed at her husband. “I am going to strangle this boy, Jeff. Dios ayudame. ¡Tu hijo nunca escucha! (God help me, your son never listens!)” she griped, gesturing towards Miles’ arm that was loosely circled around your waist. She tramped down the hall, hands tossed up in defeat while she grumbled something incoherent under her breath.

Lips downturned into an offended frown, Jeff coddled his chest with his palm and followed after her, voice kicked up an octave like a nagging child. “Why is he only my son when he does something you don’t like? We made him together!”

- please do not plagiarize, copy, or repost my works to other platforms!

likes, comments, and reblogs are much appreciated 💗

#junie’s works ᥫ᭡#across the spiderverse #1610 miles morales #miles morales #earth 1610 miles morales x reader #miles morales fanfiction #miles morales fluff #miles morales x black!reader #miles morales x fem!reader #miles morales x you #across the spiderverse fanfiction

7K notes · View notes

clanwarrior-tumbly · 2 months ago

Note

"I won't let anyone hurt you, you're safe with me" I imagine this as Sebastian saying it to Reader. But the thought of the reader saying it to Sebastian after he wakes from a night terror (in this scenario, they have escaped Urbanshade) is very sweet to me

True to their word, they got you out.

You and Sebastian were finally free from Urbanshade's horrors.

Innovation Inc. managed to extract enough data from all the loose assets you've given to him to formulate an escape plan.

Thank god you have connections to the labs, otherwise you would have been just as doomed as any other EXR-P.

But you were more relieved that Sebastian didn't have to stay trapped in that place anymore. He didn't have to move from place to place and fight to survive constantly.

Even better?

There was actually a way for him to become human again.

Urbanshade deemed him too far gone in his mutation to reverse the countless painful surgical processes they put him through....but they were nothing but liars who didn't see the point of investing in the resources needed.

They could have done it all along.

Innovation, on the other hand, got every bit of data on the experiments that they needed, going right to work on him as soon as you both arrived to the labs.

Obviously, he resisted at first...as all the trauma he experienced from before didn't go away instantly.

He was afraid of another surgery, being touched and injected with foreign substances and restrained. Not to mention the heavily potent anesthesia he needed since he's developed such a strong immunity to it.

But you convinced him that if he hoped to become human--he needed this.

It took a week or two, with him being in and out of the operating room and you trying to pass the time by chatting with your colleagues about exposing Urbanshade's secrets to the world..but eventually they did it.

They gave him legs again. HIs ear fins were now back to being human ears--and anything else that made him look like an anglerfish was removed and replaced with stitched flesh. His third arm was amputated but preserved for future study.

Somehow, they even got his size to shrink. No longer was he a gigantic beast, but instead an actual human-sized person who got to sleep on the bed beside you.

The only things left of his previous self were some of his sharp teeth (which he didn't mind keeping) and his skin still bearing a somewhat light blue tint to it, although it was not as pale.

It was incredible.

He cried the first time he saw himself.

He felt..human, again. And you were happy for him.

Although...

While he was getting better physically, no amount of surgeries would be able to get rid of the emotional pain Urbanshade and the criminal justice system had put him through.

From getting an unjust sentence for something he didn't even do to screaming in horror at his monstrous reflection for the first time...all of those events still like to replay in his mind.

Not to mention he conditioned himself into never letting his guard down for any reason.

He'd wake up if he heard somebody so much as cough in the next room or squeak their shoes a little too loudly.

While the hardest part was over, it was still going to be a long and agonizing recovery process for him.

Tonight, however, Sebastian was sound asleep, whereas you were sitting at the nearby desk, pencil scratching at the notebook in your hand. You were just trying to brainstorm ways to get Painter and Eyefestation out and away from the Blacksite.

Of course those two were nothing short of a nuisance during your many runs to escape with the Crystal...but Sebastian considered them friends, as they were the only ones who could communicate with him and never tried eating him. So you did feel a little bad for leaving them behind.

You were sure Eyefestation was put out of her misery, knowing that she couldn't swim very far up due to the pressure changes in the ocean--plus she wasn't willing to let go of her vendetta against humans.

Innovation could very easily turn her into a normal shark again who could still speak telepathically...but they couldn't cure her hatred.

For all you know, she could want to kill Sebastian now simply because he was (mostly) back to being human.

Painter, on the other hand, could have escaped with you if you had more time. He deserved a better life besides wasting away mining robux and being tethered to the IDS. He always talked about Sebastian's promise to get him out, too, so you wondered if he felt betrayed and lied to...

Until you recently learned that Innovation figured out a way to communicate with him and help throw more dirt on Urbanshade via an encrypted channel. So there was a chance his AI could be transferred over to this facility if his physical body was destroyed.

That gave you hope to see him again.

But until then, they told you to look after Sebastian, and that was fine by you. He was all you cared about right now.

"GAH!"

Snapping your head over, you could see the man jolt upright all of the sudden, eyes wide as he clutched at his chest, breathing hard. You noticed the sweat dampening the front of his shirt, and closed your book. "Seb?"

"Shit. I was...am I...a-am I still...?" He mumbled to himself, bringing a trembling hand to his forehead, before he squeezed his eyes shut. "Please don't be there..please, please, please, god.."

To his relief, he felt nothing but the tiny bumps that formed a stitch beneath his black bangs. But even so, his fingers kept grazing over his skin and ears, wanting to be certain those things weren't there anymore.

"It's okay. You're still at Innovation. My buddies got rid of them."

Feeling the mattress dip, Sebastian looked to see you sitting on the bed, too. You looked concerned, but not overly worried--as this has become a rather normal occurrence ever since he finished those rounds of surgeries.

"I know that, but..I've had them for a long time." He lightly scoffed, trying to calm himself down, but you could tell he was still shaking and very overwhelmed by his nightmare, tears stinging his eyes. "I..I-I can't just...forget about it like it never happened, you know. Like those bastards didn't.....gh.."

He got choked up, and you opened your arms to him, waiting to see if he was willing to accept your offer. Being a giant anglerfish, he never wanted anybody to touch him, and you understood perfectly why.

So for him to curl up into your embrace was a bit of a surprise, but you held him closely; not too tightly so he was uncomfortable, of course. "I won't let anyone hurt you. You're safe with me." You consoled, feeling him rest his head on your shoulder, sniffling quietly.

A few tears dampened your sleeve, but you didn't mind them.

It made you realize that he probably took his humanity for granted--now there was no longer a huge size difference between you two.

Ever since escaping the blacksite, he's become a bit more attached to you, wanting to constantly be near you. Even back then, he's been friendlier to you than most expendables.

He'd never outright say your presence comforts him. But you could tell through the small gestures and "exceptions" he makes for you that you're the only good thing to enter his life at Urbanshade.

"You're okay, Seb. We're both okay now."

"Y-Yeah, I know..I know.." He muttered, slowly trying to wriggle out of the hug, to which you let him go and allowed him to sit up. "Sorry you gotta put up with me being like this. Thought I would've been over it by now.."

Despite his words, he was still physically shaken up, the nightmares not so easily leaving his mind.

"There's no rush to "get over" any of this." You frowned a little, putting your hand on top of his as a comforting gesture. "I sure as hell haven't. Every time I think I can get some sleep, I find myself getting chased by those stupid mutant fish over and over again.."

Sebastian just scoffed. "You think being chased by one is bad? Try becoming one and having to live through-"

But he stopped himself after seeing the look on your face, as well as you removing your hand and getting up. "Sorry. I'll..get you some water-"

"No. Don't leave. Please."

You blinked in surprise as he grabbed at the hem of your shirt with lightning speed, although when he realized you were staring...he quickly let go and coughed awkwardly into his fist.

"I know I'm not the only one who went through some messed up shit. I don't know how you dealt with it."

"What?"

"..dying over and over again. I would've gone fucking insane if I had to live through that."

"Well, I almost did...but it was worth it. Because we're both free now." You offered him a reassuring smile. "And technically Painter, too. We'll have to talk to him sometime."

"Yeah? Think he'd wanna chat with me after I basically lied to him?" He muttered, sounding uncertain. "I promised him that we would get out. And he could paint all the landscapes he wanted to."

"My colleagues are still figuring out how to unhook him from the IDS without further corrupting him, but they're making good progress. He'll be on his own little computer in here in no time."

"That's good. I just hope he can forgive me. I really only asked him to stall.."

"I'm sure he'd understand, Seb." With a sigh, you picked up your book. "He knows we're safe and he's giving Innovation whatever they need. So I wouldn't worry."

Sebastian simply nodded, looking to his hands--specifically to the ring imprint that was still on one of his fingers, frowning a little as he stared at it.

Even though his humanity was restored, he had already been declared dead a long time. Everyone he knew and loved was convinced that he was a guilty man who deserved execution. It didn't matter if they caught the actual criminal or not.

He just couldn't return to normal life after all he's been through. After all he's seen.

No.

But he could start over with you.

It was funny to think that you were once an expendable prisoner he glossed over, assuming you just wanted to buy his wares and march onwards to your next death--to which he'd laugh in your face and show you the document you already had memorized.

Now, you were the only person he could trust. The only person he was willing to be vulnerable around.

Because you helped free him.

You were the reason he was able to become human again.

#clanask #roblox x reader #roblox pressure x reader #pressure x reader #sebastian solace #sebastian solace x reader #human sebastian x reader #angst/fluff prompt #hurt/comfort

248 notes · View notes

sinofwriting · 1 year ago

Text

Wait - Ollie Bearman

Words: 4,936 Summary: Ollie Bearman doesn’t wear necklaces, it’s just not his thing. So why during the 2023 Mexico GP is he spotted wearing a necklace with a familiar ring hanging from the chain Note(s)/Warning(s): This is in fact the purity ring fic. It’s a bit NSFW. Reader is Max Verstappen’s little sister. I nearly included lestappen because the idea of both Verstappen siblings dating a Ferrari (or Ferrari adjacent) driver was funny to me, but I didn’t. Also, thank you to all the people who told me to write this. I’m going to go somewhere, but I’m glad I did!

Masterlist | Support Me!

A ring sits on her finger. The same finger that will one day have an engagement ring then a wedding band to join. The band is thin with two knots and between both knots are four tiny pearls, barely the size of a grain of rice and in the middle of those four pearls is a mix of her birthstone and Max’s. She had gotten it when she was eleven shortly after she had heard Max joking with some of his friends about sex and she went to their mom asking what exactly they meant and for the past six years it had sat there.

It was the first big purchase Max had made with his F1 paycheck. The seventeen year old had felt ashamed and horrified at his baby sister overhearing the things him and friends were joking about. And even worse when their mom had to give her the talk. It had been nothing however compared to what their father had thought when learning of it. Max had swore his ears were ringing as Jos had yelled at him for first having his friends around her and second talking about sex when he knew that she was in the house and liked to randomly join them.

The ring had been a nice way to ease the tension and though he had been a bit red as he explained what it was to her, she had nodded along with his explanation, looking serious before putting it on and then smiling at him and hugging him.

At eleven it hadn’t really been an issue, wearing a purity ring, promising that she’d wait to be married before having sex. It hadn’t been a problem when she was fifteen and her first spike of hormones hit and suddenly sex wasn’t something that felt so far away or like a weird foreign concept. It hadn’t been a problem at sixteen either when she got her first boyfriend, who Max had quickly run off.

It had started to be a problem after she turned seventeen and got together with Ollie.

Ollie who she was never supposed to meet. Was only supposed to know of because she followed F2 and F3. But then she joined Max for the remainder of the 2022 season in July. Done with school and unsure if she wanted to go to Uni, unsure really of what she wanted to do.

She had planned to stay home with her mom, putter about the house, maybe do some small writing for Redline and Verstappen.com that she’d email to Kris, who would send her the money that they got paid for them instead of submitting them herself where Max would be sure to give her a stupid amount of money for something that took maybe thirty minutes to write.

But then Max had heard about her plans and she was officially employed by her brother. Managing his website, instagram, and Redline’s social media, going with him to every race, which meant that she had far too much free time and meant that she found herself following around Jack Crawford as he finished up his F3 season which meant running into Ollie Bearman.

Ollie, who was so unexpectedly sweet and cute, who made all the blood rush to her face as her heart worked overtime, made butterflies appear in her stomach.

It had been the second time that they saw each other that he had asked her on a date and now a year later, the two are now both eighteen and head over heels in love, and the ring that rests on her left ring finger feels more like a nuisance.

She had never had sex, hadn’t even really touched or been touched until Ollie but as the F2 season had grown to a close it felt like that was all that was on her mind and Ollie’s.

The kisses they shared when alone quickly grew into heated make out sessions and when they had time, they found themselves in his hotel room under the covers, underwear still on but hands exploring each other's bodies.

She falls in love with the pattern of freckles on his back and the way he shivers when she traces them with her fingers. The spot above his heart that always makes his breath hitch when she kisses it. His strong calves that always tense right after his thighs when she settles on his lap. His hands and how much bigger than hers they are. And his fingers that he lets her play with, kiss and nibble at just to see and hear the stuttered breath he gives as his cheeks turn red.

He falls in love with the small tattoo that still only he knows she has, it’s small enough to just barely be hidden by even her more risqué bikinis. The scar she has on her knee that makes her shiver when his fingers or lips touch it. The soft skin of the underside of her breasts, because it feels nice to stroke when he gets the chance to dip his hands underneath her bra. The moan she gives when he settles in between her thighs and rests his weight on top of her as they kiss.

Ollie knows what the ring is, what it means, what she promised Max. It’s the one thing that always reminds him to stop, that pulls him back when he’s about to dip his fingers beneath her underwear to feel her wetness against his fingers or about to ask her to take her bra off, to let him see more of her. The feeling of her ring always draws him back. Makes him refocus on just kissing her and not getting ahead of himself before he makes another mess of himself.

He sees it every time he sees her, he kisses it every time he lifts her hand to his lips, first kissing the ring, a silent promise to himself that one day he’ll replace it with a ring of his own, before kissing her hand.

So Ollie doesn’t think anything when he comes home from simulator work to his flat in Maranello smelling like brownies. It had taken a bit to convince Max that she didn’t want to go home but rather wanted to go on a little trip with her friends. She just neglected to mention that there was no trip, and by friends she meant boyfriend, and really she meant during the week break they’d have she’d be going to Italy to stay with Ollie.

“That smells so good.” Ollie groans, kicking his shoes off before moving further into the flat. She beams at him, accepting the kiss he presses to her cheek. “I know you had dinner there so I made brownies. And not a whole pan.” She adds. “I know you can’t indulge too much.” “Thank you.” He murmurs, wrapping his arms around her waist and pulling her back into him.

He starts to sway them both as he stares at the small pan of brownies, the smell of them mouthwatering.

“Can I have one?” “They like just got out of the oven.” He pouts, bending his neck and pressing his face into her neck. “Please?” “You're going to burn your fingers and mouth.” She laughs. “Pretty please?” He tries. She makes a humming noise, one he feels more than hears. “Only if you give me a kiss first.” “Deal.”

She giggles as he quickly turns her in his arms. “Hi.” She greets as she wraps her arms around his neck. “Hi.” He parrots back and the thought of the brownies are gone from his mind as he looks at her.

She’s got a piece of his merch on, one of the sample sweatshirts, but also a pair of his boxer briefs. It’s like she’s drowning in him and he just wants to add to it.

Pressing their lips together, he grunts when her nails dig lightly into the back of his neck.

“Sorry.” She murmurs against his lips. He shakes his head, “it’s fine.”

They stand there for a while just kissing, but then his hands are moving underneath the top she’s wearing, grasping at her hips before fingers trail up her sides before back down and she’s pulling him to his bedroom.

They’ve done this so much that it takes barely any time for him to take his FDA polo off and then his jeans before joining her in bed, settling between her thighs. It doesn’t however stop him from rocking his hips into hers a couple of times before he can stop himself, hunger only growing when her hips hitch upwards and she’s wrapping a leg around him, pulling him closer.

“Fuck, darling.” He gasps, pressing kisses to her exposed throat. She moans, her hands resting on his bare back and it’s the feeling of her ring that makes him stop. Hips nearly thrusting again when she whines, but he tenses his whole body, not letting it loosen even when he kisses her again, swallowing the next whine she lets out.

His right hand makes his way underneath her top as they continue to kiss, his body relaxing into hers as he gets control of himself again.

As his fingers creep up her side, he wonders what they’ll feel. The spandex of her sports bra? The cotton or whatever it is of the one bra she likes to wear to media days? Maybe lace? His mind spins at the last option and he gulps.

She’s only worn lace once and it was on their year anniversary, their first approved sleepover. Though Max had made sure to get her from his hotel room at 11 am. But he considers they have the rest of the week just them together and he doesn’t have to go into the factory anymore. And she made him brownies, homemade. He knows because of the way she had been standing at the kitchen counter, carefully looking at them. So, maybe another treat for him was her wearing lace.

But as fingers reach where he’d normally feel the edge of something there is nothing. He goes to frown but before he can, her chest rises, his fingers graze the underside of her left breast and his hips are snapping into her again.

“Oh my god.” She moans at the feeling. “Fuck.” He curses and he feels out of breath as he feels more of her. “You’re not,” he mutters. “You’re not wearing anything.” She shakes her head, bucking her hips wanting more friction. “Please, Ollie. Want more, want it off.” He should be saying no, he can already feel his control hanging by thread at the knowledge that she’s not wearing a bra, he doesn’t know what he’ll do if he sees her boobs for the first time, but he’s backing away, letting her sit up, and she’s flinging his sweatshirt off.

His jaw drops at the sight, eyes wide and his dick twitches. He sees the way she bites at her lips, arms starting to come up and he’s quick to react. Fingers touching the soft skin, thumbs rubbing at her nipples as he sort of holds them.

“Pretty.” He manages to get out and feels himself blush. “Can we kiss again?” Ollie nods, eager.

He carefully lays next to her, drawing her on top of him, the two both gasping at the feeling of her bare breasts resting on his bare chest.

His hands dance up and down her back, sometimes his pinky fingers dipping below the waistband of his boxer briefs that she’s wearing before moving back up again as they kiss, hips still moving together.

When she shifts a little on top of him, moaning, he grasps at her hips, stopping her from moving as he feels himself twitch and he just knows that he has to be leaking, creating a wet spot in his underwear.

“We have to stop.” “I’m close though.” His head falls back and he groans. “I am too.” “I,” She stops, thinking of the lingerie she had brought with her, the dinner reservation she had made for herself and Ollie tomorrow night, the necklace chain also in her suitcase. “I want more.” She says, before taking a deep breath and meeting his eyes. “I want to have sex with you.” He’s looking at her wide eyes and she’d think that he didn’t want her back if she couldn’t feel how hard he was underneath her. “But,” his eyes dart to her left hand. “I thought we were waiting.” She feels blood rush to her cheeks at his whisper, at the promise he made for and to her.

She had been nervous when telling Ollie about her purity ring and about she would like to wait awhile, maybe even till marriage to have sex, especially after he shared that he had already had sex before. But he had been surprisingly okay with it after he had a few days to think and wrap his head around it, and not that she knew but to talk to his dad about it, before he came back said that he’d wait as long as she wanted.

“I mean, we did.” She whispers back. “I just, I think you’re the one, ya’know. And even if you aren’t, I can’t see myself ever regretting you.” There’s a stinging in his eyes and he clears his throat. “Okay.” He shifts her down a bit so he can sit up, pressing their lips together. “Okay.”

Her hands cup his cheeks as they kiss while his hands stay on her hips. Not moving or doing anything despite the fact that she’s given the all clear. It’s one of her hands dropping from his face to trail down his body, that makes his hands move, grabbing her ass, pressing her down and closer. It makes her gasp.

“Ollie.” He groans at the sound of her moaning his name. His eyes dart to his nightstand, where there should be some condoms in the drawer with lube as well and then he’s cursing, hands falling away from her. “We have to stop, darling. I’m sorry.” “But,” She shifts on top of him and he swears again when he looks down and sees a wet patch peeking out from where she’s sitting on top of him. “I know, but I don’t have any condoms.” He feels himself flush, “I threw them away after we got serious since I figured it wouldn’t happen for a few years.” “No.” She whines, heading dropping onto his shoulder as her whole body sags.

She hadn’t thought about buying condoms, mainly because despite the lingerie she packed and the dinner reservation, she hadn’t actually planned on them having sex. She just wanted more, even some dry humping or at the very least to feel fingers against her that weren’t her own.

“I could pull out.” The words are weak to his own ears. She lifts her head slightly to look at him. “Do you really think you could?” “I could run and get some condoms.” He really doesn’t feel like getting back in the car, doesn’t feel like leaving her, but he’d do it. "No,” she shakes her head. She didn’t like the idea of being alone, waiting for him to come back with condoms. Or him putting clothes back on, the idea makes her nose wrinkle. She then pauses as something comes to mind. “How’s your Italian?” His brows furrow at the question. “It’s decent. Basic and more strategy and car related. But I get by, why?” “I was thinking of Plan B.” “Plan B?” His brows furrow more before it clicks and his eyes widen, “oh, Plan B.” “Yeah, I’d still want it even if you do end up pulling out, but I don’t think that will happen.” He wants to protest, deny, argue that he absolutely could pull out, but it’d be a lie.

“Ollie.” She whines nearly an hour later as he tries to get her to separate her thighs. “You’re all sticky.” He tells her. “I need to clean you up before it dries.” And god was it a bitch to clean up dried cum. “I’ll be quick.” He promises. She pouts, but lets her thighs fall apart, wincing at the burning muscles. He swallows at the sight of their mixed release. He hadn’t managed to pull out the first time, but the second he had managed to, only to finish practically in her anyways. And it was worse because of her own two orgasms that added to the mess. Taking the damp cloth, he carefully cleans her up, apologizing when she whines when he presses a bit too much on her clit.

“Much better.” He grins, when he’s done. Throwing the cloth in the direction of his laundry hamper. “Cuddle?” She asks, making grabby hands at him and eagerly joins her again in bed, slipping the covers over both of them. “That’s better.” She mumbles, when they settle together and he laughs, pressing a kiss to her head.

It’s hard for him to leave when he wakes up in the morning. They’re still both naked and she’s sleeping peacefully beside him. But he’d rather go and get her the Plan B now, then put it off until later when she’ll be fully awake.

Rolling to his side, he presses a series of light kisses to her face. She mumbles a bit and he chuckles. “I’ve got to go, darling.” She mumbles again, turning to lay on her side as well. “I’ve got to go. I’ll be right back.” “Where are you going?” Her voice is low, thick with sleep. “I need to get some things real quickly. I’ll be back in thirty minutes, okay?” “Do you have to?” She pouts. “I’ll be quick.” He promises, bending to kiss her.

It takes him barely any time to get the Plan B and condoms, though he had stumbled his way through Italian to get the Plan B before just pulling up a picture of it.

“Darling?” He calls when he gets back. “Kitchen.” She calls back, a hint of sleep still in her voice. With the bag hanging from his finger, he walks to the kitchen. “I got you plan b and condoms for me, just in case.” “No, just in case. I’d like a repeat.” He grins at her, setting the bag on the counter. “Yeah?” She nods, bottom lip between her teeth. “Yeah.” Bending, he captures her lips in a quick kiss, humming.

“Want to do brownies for breakfast?” His eyes widen and they dart to the counter. “I completely forgot you even made those!” “I’ll take that a yes?” “Please!”

Cutting him a piece and then one of herself, she puts them on a plate as Ollie gets them both something to drink before they both go to the living room and sit on the couch.

“These are so good.” He mumbles, catching a crumb before it can fall. “You say that everytime.” “Because it’s true! These are really good.” Her brownie was a good bit smaller than his so as soon as she finishes her, she’s standing up and retrieving something from her suitcase, ignoring him asking where she’s going.

Sitting back down, she places a box in his lap.

“What is this?” He asks, setting the plate on the coffee table, only a few crumbs on it. “I bought it for you a while ago and have been carrying it around since, just wasn’t sure when exactly I’d give it to you.” He looks at her intrigued, before looking back at the box and carefully opening it.

Ollie’s brows furrow at the thin chain that rests inside. It was nice, very nice, though not by a brand that he recognized. It was also a weird gift considering he didn’t wear necklaces, though if he was going to wear one, it would be this one.

“What’s it for?” He asks. “I, uh,” she stutters a bit over her words, playing her ring before carefully pulling it off, flexing her fingers at the odd sensation of it not being there. “It’s for this.” And she drops the ring she’s worn since she was eleven into his palm. “But this is yours.” “And I can’t wear it anymore.” She tells him. “I intended to wait longer to have sex, but I don’t regret last night and I won’t regret anything we do in the future. It’s yours now and I kind of liked the idea of you carrying it with you wherever you go.” He stares at the ring, tries to ignore the pulse of want and smugness, because he got to have her first and he was fairly certain he’d be her only and last.

Lifting the chain out of the box, he carefully unclasps it, threading the ring on, before clasping it around his neck, the ring resting just below the hollow of his neck, easily hidden behind any shirt he wears if he has it tucked in.

Turning his neck, the sensation of something there is odd and he says that. “It’ll take some getting used to, but I like it.” “Yeah?” “Yeah.”

It doesn’t take him long to get used to the necklace and he practically never takes it off, only in the shower or when doing certain training sessions and it hasn't happened yet but when he has to get into the F1 car and then his F2 car, he’ll be taking it off then as well.

No one really notices his new accessory, he’s not doing much on social media, his mum and dad had asked him about it and he had flushed but just said that it was something she had gotten for him and lucky they didn’t press for more. It gives a false sense of security that comes crashing down in Mexico.

He’s on a bit of a high for doing his first free practice and not placing dead last even though it’s only free practice and placing doesn’t really matter. He’s out of his race suit, having been able to not shower but wipe himself down with a damp towel before getting back into the Haas polo and jumping in to do more media. And as he does some interviews he doesn’t notice the way her ring that’s kept underneath his shirt is on full display.

But it does come to his attention when he finally gets his phone and sees so many mentions and a strange text full of exclamation marks that has him quickly hitting the call button.

“Is everything okay? I got a weird text from you.” “Ollie.” “What’s wrong?” He’s about to exit the Haas hospitality, he could be at Red Bull’s in about a minute at the strained sound of her voice. “My ring, everyone saw my ring.” His eyes widen and he’s cursing. “Oh no.” “Yeah.” “And they all know.” “Yeah.” She confirms again. “Because Max had to make it clear what the ring was.” She laughs, but it’s clear that she’s on the verge of tears, her voice tight. The sound has him wanting to wrap in his arms, shield her away, but it also has him confused. She never cared about what fans thought of her. She was very much like her brother in that matter. It was all water off a duck’s back. “What’s wrong, darling?” He asks, dropping his voice as someone looks at him weirdly. “I just, Max hadn’t noticed, no one has really. And I don’t regret it Ollie, but that was a promise I made to Max, to save myself.” The last three words come out as a whisper. “And now he’s going to find out because the whole of F1 twitter is talking about it. I should’ve told him.” “It’ll be okay.” He reassures her, but now the realization has hit that he’s going to have deal with Max and not just Max, but Daniel and Charles and fucking Arthur, which is a bit insulting because it’s Arthur of all people, but the Leclerc’s liked her a lot, Charles liked to argue with Max that she was actually their younger sister and not Max’s, which lead to a headache of bickering between the two drivers.

“Can I come to you?” He looks down at his watch even though he knows that he doesn’t have any more interviews, just needs to stay to watch the last session play out since he already did his debriefing as well. “Yeah, do you want me to walk you over?” “No, I’ll be there in a second.”

Meeting her at the doors of the hospitality, he quickly ushers her in before leading her to a back corner, the both of them sinking to the floor, somewhat hidden from view by a couch.

“You alright?” “Yeah.” She breathes, pressing close to him. “I just should’ve said something to Max. I just didn’t want to say anything y’know?” And he can feel her nose wrinkle at the idea and his does the same. Because yeah it was a bit gross to think about telling your sibling that you’ve had sex just so they won’t be blindsided by the media. “He’s gonna hate me again.” She doesn’t say anything and he groans, throwing his head back against the wall. “I just made some progress with him.” “I know, bear.” She murmurs, kissing his cheek. “I could put it back on? Say that I gave it to you as a good luck charm.”

It’s a good idea, a perfect solution for their problem, but it’s clear that she doesn’t like the idea and he doesn’t like the idea either. He’s grown used to the small weight of the ring resting below the hollow of his throat and he’s not fond of the idea of seeing a ring that’s not his on her ring finger again.

“Maybe I should propose.” She jerks away from him like she’s been burned. “Fuck, that’s not what I meant.” He quickly says. “I just I don’t want to give it back. I don't want to see you wearing it again and I just,” he waves his hands around. “My brain was running. I’m sorry.” Her eyes are focused on his and she slowly presses back into him, though she keeps her head pulled back so they can look at each other. “Is that something you really want in the future? To be married to me?” “One hundred percent.” She blinks at the quick response, a smile starting to bloom on her face. “Not now, just because I don’t want to rely on nothing but sponsors and my dad for money, but maybe once I got an F1 seat and then got a contract extension or new seat. I’d have money to help support us, to buy you a nice ring, house.” He hopes that she can’t tell how much he’s thought about this, how much he’s rambled to both Jak and Fred about this even though if either of them got the chance they’d happily rat him out for being such a preteen girl, and he just knows that Jak told Fred what that means. “I want that too.”

Ollie wonders if him intending on marrying her, on putting a ring on her finger will lessen the brunt of anger he’s sure to receive and it doesn’t.

“You defiled my sister!” The eighteen years old both make a face at the Dutch man’s words. “No one defiled anyone.” Max ignores her, glaring at the British driver. “You touched her.” Ollie nearly reaches out for her hand, but keeps his hands to himself, as he gives a tiny nod. “Max, it’s alright. I wanted it.” Max and Daniel both make a face at her words. “Ew. You shouldn’t even know what it is.” “Well, Max kind of ruined that for me when I was eleven.” She snarks and her brother flushes. “Which is why I gave you the ring! You were supposed to save yourself for marriage! Keep yourself away from boys like Ollie!” “What’s wrong with me?” He asks, offended. “You’re a teenager.” Daniel tells him with a shrug. “And you’ve got a dick. That’s all it really takes.”

“What happened to waiting?” Max asks, voice a little quieter as he looks at her. “Max,” she starts and then includes the Alpha Tauri driver who’s inched closer. “Daniel. I thought I was going to wait for marriage, or at least a few more years, but Ollie,” she pauses, feeling blood rush to her cheeks. “Ollie feels like the one.” She reaches out for his hand, intertwining their fingers. “And even if he isn’t, I won’t regret what we did.”

The two older men stare at her, at them. One who can remember holding her just hours after she was born, and the other who got to know her shortly after Max’s fuck up when she was eleven. Both her brothers, one just a bit longer than the other.

Max swallows harshly, the full realization hitting him that his baby sister isn’t a baby anymore. She’s an adult and he’s never really had the right to get mad at her for things she does but he really doesn’t now. He can feel Daniel standing behind him, and knows that the older man will go with him whatever way he chooses.

Stepping forward, he pulls her into a hug and wonders where the time has gone. “As long as you don’t regret it, yeah?” She hugs him back tighter, tension in her shoulders loosening at his acceptance. “Yeah. Love you, Maxy.” He laughs, a quiet thing. “Love you too.”

@arshiyuh @mangotaitai @gemofthenight @peachiicherries @lpab @copper-boom @topguncultleader @iloveyou3000morgan @benstormy

#ollie bearman imagine #ollie bearman x reader #f2 x reader #f2 imagine #formula 2 imagine #formula 2 x reader #oliver bearman x reader #oliver bearman imagine #sins fics

2K notes · View notes

qwimchii · 1 year ago

Note

Could I request a fanfic where reader has an aversion of men (due to trauma) and her coping mechanism is to regard men as an "it" so she can get through day to day. When she's assigned to work alongside Task Force 141, she tends to get the most along with Ghost because it's easier to talk to him due to his mask and also simply because he's not very chatty and touchy. And through her time working alongside him, she falls in love?

If requests are closed please disregard this! I love your writing, thank you!

𝘴𝘮𝘢𝘴𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘱𝘶𝘮𝘱𝘬𝘪𝘯𝘴 (pt 1) — 𝘚𝘪𝘮𝘰𝘯 𝘙𝘪𝘭𝘦𝘺

pt 1 pt 2 pt 3 pt 4 pt 5

𝘨𝘩𝘰𝘴𝘵 𝘹 𝘤𝘪𝘷𝘪𝘭𝘪𝘢𝘯!𝘧𝘦𝘮!𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘥𝘦𝘳

𝘴𝘶𝘮𝘮𝘢𝘳𝘺 — 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘩𝘢𝘵𝘦 𝘮𝘦𝘯, 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘪𝘵'𝘴 𝘯𝘰 𝘴𝘦𝘤𝘳𝘦𝘵 𝘵𝘰 𝘢𝘯𝘺𝘰𝘯𝘦 𝘢𝘳𝘰𝘶𝘯𝘥 𝘺𝘰𝘶. 𝘦𝘴𝘱𝘦𝘤𝘪𝘢𝘭𝘭𝘺 𝘯𝘰𝘵 𝘵𝘰 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘮𝘦𝘮𝘣𝘦𝘳𝘴 𝘰𝘧 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳𝘢𝘱𝘺 𝘨𝘳𝘰𝘶𝘱. 𝘣𝘶𝘵 𝘚𝘪𝘮𝘰𝘯 𝘙𝘪𝘭𝘦𝘺, 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘯𝘦𝘸𝘦𝘴𝘵 𝘮𝘦𝘮𝘣𝘦𝘳, 𝘫𝘶𝘴𝘵 𝘩𝘢𝘴 𝘵𝘰 𝘤𝘳𝘢𝘴𝘩 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘣𝘶𝘳𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘱𝘦𝘢𝘤𝘦𝘧𝘶𝘭 𝘭𝘪𝘧𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘺𝘰𝘶'𝘷𝘦 𝘤𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘵𝘦𝘥 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳𝘴𝘦𝘭𝘧. 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘩𝘢𝘵𝘦 𝘩𝘪𝘮 𝘮𝘰𝘴𝘵 𝘰𝘧 𝘢𝘭𝘭. 𝘸𝘤 — 3.3k

𝘨𝘦𝘯𝘳𝘦 — 𝘧𝘭𝘶𝘧𝘧, 𝘢𝘯𝘨𝘴𝘵, (𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘯𝘵𝘶𝘢𝘭) 𝘴𝘮𝘶𝘵

𝘸𝘢𝘳𝘯𝘪𝘯𝘨𝘴/𝘵𝘢𝘨𝘴 — 𝘴𝘭𝘰𝘸𝘸𝘸 𝘣𝘶𝘳𝘳𝘳𝘳𝘯𝘯𝘯, 𝘭𝘰𝘸𝘬𝘦𝘺 𝘦𝘯𝘦𝘮𝘪𝘦𝘴 𝘵𝘰 𝘧𝘳𝘪𝘦𝘯𝘥𝘴 𝘵𝘰 𝘭𝘰𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘴, 𝘤𝘶𝘳𝘴𝘪𝘯𝘨, 𝘢𝘭𝘤𝘰𝘩𝘰𝘭, 𝘴𝘮𝘰𝘬𝘪𝘯𝘨, 𝘮𝘦𝘯𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯𝘴 𝘰𝘧 𝘴𝘦𝘹𝘶𝘢𝘭 𝘵𝘳𝘢𝘶𝘮𝘢 & 𝘳𝘦𝘭𝘪𝘨𝘪𝘰𝘶𝘴 𝘵𝘳𝘢𝘶𝘮𝘢 & 𝘮𝘦𝘯𝘵𝘢𝘭 𝘩𝘦𝘢𝘭𝘵𝘩 𝘪𝘴𝘴𝘶𝘦𝘴, 𝘧𝘰𝘳𝘤𝘦𝘥 𝘱𝘳𝘰𝘹𝘪𝘮𝘪𝘵𝘺(𝘪𝘴𝘩 𝘭𝘮𝘢𝘰), 𝘣𝘢𝘯𝘵𝘦𝘳, 𝘧𝘭𝘪𝘳𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘨, 𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘥𝘦𝘳 𝘩𝘢𝘴 𝘥𝘢𝘥𝘥𝘺 𝘪𝘴𝘴𝘶𝘦𝘴, 𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘥𝘦𝘳 𝘪𝘴 𝘬𝘪𝘯𝘥 𝘰𝘧 𝘮𝘦𝘢𝘯 𝘪𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘣𝘦𝘨𝘪𝘯𝘯𝘪𝘯𝘨 :(

note: im so sorry for taking so long on this anon!!!! but i loved the idea so much that i ended up making this a multipart series in honor of friday oct 13 & halloween.... 🤭 also i know that you requested her to be on the 141 task force but i ended up amending that a bit so i hope that's alright?? anyways enjoy lovies!

you walked down the sidewalk, a pool of cold sweat collecting at your back. it was freezing outside—the midst of a fall unfurling across the landscape, orange leaves crunching underfoot as you approached the church looming in the distance. the glare of a car’s lights illuminated the white structure as it passed.

we’re adding a new person to the support group, Kate had texted into the groupchat a few hours before the meeting. Sarah had added a bunch of flowery heart emojis after it, saying how excited she would be to meet the new person.

the dread continued to drip down your back in a sweat.

in response, you had texted back a flat: why?

you knew what you were doing was considered plain mean.

you checked your phone again, the glare of it burning your eyes in the darkness. still no response to your text—no doubt purposeful on Kate’s part.

but this support group had become…

you strode through the church parking lot, shivering, and walked up a set of concrete steps, swinging the heavy, brass knuckled entrance open.

…special to you.

as you entered the familiar chapel, the old musk of the building a comforting scent now, you adjusted to the dim, warm light dispersed overhead before moving towards the basement steps.

your aversion of men wasn’t foreign to your closest friends and family. you knew it was a nuisance to them, but your past betrayed you, and sometimes, on the darkest nights like this, you could feel the tendrils of your trauma clutching at you.

you used to go to church with your father too. now, you would avoid any church like the plague, save for this one.

you made your way down the steps to the basement—the musk of mold and age drifting through the place.

the girls in your support group had become much more than just a kind word. they were your friends. they accepted your strange quirks without so much as the bat of an eye.

adding a newcomer… complicated things. things like closing yourself off again, getting jittery and nervous every time you even spoke in front of the group, overwhelming you to the point of quitting entirely.

it had happened three times already but Kate had coaxed you back every time someone new joined. eventually, you had come to accept each of them. but it was no less difficult.

passing through the long, carpeted hallway, miscellaneous boxes here and there, you neared a familiar wooden double-door.

Kate rounded the corner on the far side of the hallway and gave you an easy, but tired, smile. she was holding some papers as she strode up to you.

“hey honey,” she called, patting your cheek gently in greeting when she neared you. “you’re early.”

you shrugged. “i’m always early.”

to these meetings at least, you didn’t voice, you wouldn’t miss them for the world.

Kate swallowed, then nodded, brushing back the strands of blonde wisps that fell into her eyes. “i know.”

you cocked your brow. she was acting strange—avoiding your eyes, and swallowing up words she wasn’t saying.

“Kate,” you said, tongue feeling heavy, “what’s this new person thing about?”

she bit her lip, finally meeting your eyes. “apparently, the newcomer has a habit of being early too.”

your brows rose. “yeah? let me meet them—”

your hand itched towards the knob of the door, but Kate stepped in front of you, blocking your way to the entrance.

your eyes were narrowed now. shifting on your feet, you tried to doge the petite woman, but she swatted at you, side stepping so that her back was flush with the door now.

“what are you doing?” you asked with an amused huff, bewildered by her strange behavior.

“is the newcomer a bit of an oddball?” you offered, your brow furrowing when she tilted her head.

“not exactly.”

you nodded slowly, trying your absolute best to appear optimistic with an indifferent shrug. “s’fine to me. we’re all a bit strange.”

definitely strange, that voice in you sang. you tried not to feel offended by your own mind.

Kate’s head dropped, breathing out a long and heavy sigh, before her blue eyes were on yours again. “just… don’t run away.”

“she can’t be that bad can she?” you asked with a laugh, a new muddled swirl of something dark and alarming pooling in your stomach.

Kate shrugged and that made you really nervous. she swung the heavy door open and stepped inside, disappearing from sight into the meeting room.

you stood there for a good moment, fumbling with your hands before, and you made it halfway through the doorway before—

you saw a man.

you stopped short. he was huge—muscular, no doubt, under several layers of black attire, body dwarfing the folding chair he was sitting on. half of his face was shrouded by a black surgical mask, hood drawn up, the cords of his earbuds trailing into the pocket of his black sweatshirt where his hands were shoved into.

immediately, you slammed the door shut.

turning on your heel and making your way back down the hall, you only hurried when you heard the door fling open behind you and quick footsteps following that.

“wait!” Kate called, and you covered your hands with your ears.

apparently, Kate was faster than you, because her hand was grabbing a fistful of your clothes before you knew it, and you reeled on her, seething, “i’m not going in there.”

apparently Kate was stronger than you, too, because she started half-dragging you back down the hallway and hissing through gritted teeth, “like hell you have a choice!”

“no—don’t want to—!”

by the time she had dragged you all the way back down the hallway, your shoes desperately scrambling against the carpet, panting with exertion, you had accepted defeat.

she still loosely clutched at the collar of your shirt, for fear that you may run again, and you swatted her hand away, fixing the wrinkles of your clothes as she brushed back her hair with a deep scowl and closed eyes.

when she gave you a side long look full of bitterness, your face scrunched, sending her the nastiest expression you could muster, hands balled into fists.

she completely ignored you, jerking her head in the direction of the open doors. “go.”

it wasn’t a request.

you bit down on your tongue hard, and with the most dramatic sigh you could muster, you sulked into the room, completely ignoring the man sitting within a circle of chairs.

Kate tutted behind you, half-pushing you out of the way to the desks shoved into the corner of the room. you trailed after her, watching her set down the now crumpled papers, smooth them out, stuff them into cardboard boxes, and then reorganize the boxes.

you searched for the words.

“you didn’t tell me that person was…”

a man.

you looked back over to the hulking man leaning back in the rickety, tin folding chair. it creaked under his weight, and he cocked his head, eyes shut like he was sleeping. you didn’t really care if he heard you or not.

rather immaturely, you rephrased the sentence. “you didn’t tell me it was—”

Kate shot you a look that immediately shut you up. “anyone can come to our support groups, missy. you know that.”

you rolled your eyes. you knew that. but still.

“but…” you couldn’t find the words to say.

she sighed out, moving the box of papers to an adjacent desk. “and i thought this would be a good thing,” she grumbled.

your eyes snapped to her the back of her blonde head, a keen suspicion brewing in your throat. “good thing?”

she turned back to you, hand on her hip. “yeah. a good thing.”

it was a deadpan.

“honey, you’ve been in this group the longest, and we’ve been struggling with this i hate men thing since the beginning.”

you flinched. ouch.

she was right but that didn't make it any easier to come to terms with, and luckily for you, you were stubborn as hell.

“so?” you said with a shrug, shoving your hands into the pockets of your jeans.

“see?” she said, gesturing to your stiff posture, “you’re getting defensive.”

you blinked. “no i’m not.”

she let out a laugh but it was mirthless—more of a frustrated huff. “since you’ve been here the longest, i’m gonna need you to do something for me, honey.”

your voice was strained. “do what?”

she pointed to the man, whose eyes were still closed, and hissed at you in a half-whisper, “you’re going to talk to him first, introduce yourself, get his name and occupation, and then you’re gonna introduce him to the rest of the group yourself.”

your skin crawled with disgust at the idea. Kate always did introductions. not you.

you stepped forward, opening your mouth to protest but—

she held up a hand in your face and skirted around you. “no. i don’t care what you have to say. this is how we improve, honey.”

you know that she wanted to say you.

you stood stock still behind the desk, seething, clenching and unclenching your fists as you heard Kate disappear from the room. leaving you alone with that thing.

turning on your heel, you jolted when the man’s gaze was already on you, half-lidded and piercing. his eyes had a dark, grayish film to them—brown with a murky depth.

it took everything in you not to snap at him to look away.

sighing out with exasperation, you rolled your shoulders and neck, and took stiff strides towards him. you hesitated mid-stride when he lazily looked away, seeming like he was just going to try and ignore you. that irked you even more.

you stood right in front of him so he couldn’t look anywhere else. you saw the furrow of his brow, the snap of his eyes up to yours in a hard glare, and felt a pleasant curl of satisfaction soothe you.

“hi,” you said, voice rough, as you shoved your hands back into your pockets.

he shifted in his chair, tilting his head back at you, taking you in fully. you wanted to slap that look off his face.

arrogant asshole.

his accent was thick and grating. “hi.”

after a long moment of tense silence, his eyes narrowed. “you got a name?”

you gave him a sweet smile. “nope. yours?”

his brows rose slightly, something playful flashing in his dark eyes.

you cringed. was he smiling?

that was not your intent.

“Simon Riley,” he said curt, “but i prefer Ghost.”

you ignored him, scratching at your neck, ready to get this over with. “right, Simon, welcome to the support group. i guess.”

he stared at you. “thanks.”

suddenly, his gaze felt too heavy and awkward on you. something dark and miry drenched your heart, tugging it down with a weight. it felt unfamiliar and strange. something bordering on regret or guilt.

fumbling with your hands, you stepped back and found a chair on the very opposite side of the circle. the very opposite side.

his eyes were still locked onto you, and you crossed your arms, looking anywhere but him, the carpeted floor, the peeling posters plastered with religious slogans on the wall, Kate’s desk, the entrance of the room where Sarah and Maya stepped in.

seeing them was like a release, and that ugly thing weighing down your heart was lifted. Sarah gave you a beaming smile, waving enthusiastically with a loud greeting. Maya trailed behind, giving you a soft, shy smile.

both of them edged around Simon and flanked your sides in the seats.

you watched her glance to Simon, eyes wide, then looking back at you. there was something like apprehension in her face.

she mouthed, is this the new person?

you glanced to him. he was barely registering the other two girls in the room, eyes untrained and looking somewhere else, black boots crossing over each other.

with a bitter feeling, you nodded at Sarah and she clutched at her mouth, sharing a look with Maya who was perfectly undisturbed by the newcomer’s presence.

Sarah, being Sarah, sat up straighter in her seat and leaned forward, waving a hand to get Simon’s attention.

“hi,” she called with a soft voice, smiling big. “i’m Sarah.”

Simon dipped his head politely. “nice to meet you.”

you scowled. where were his manners before?

though, you thought meekly, you hadn’t really showed your best manners either.

sighing out, you watched Sarah and Maya launch into a conversation with him that you refused to join, withering into your chair. all his responses were polite, curt, and bordering on uninterested.

“what are you listening to?” Maya asked in that soft angelic tone of hers, and Simon took out his earbuds.

“smashing pumpkins.”

Sarah gasped, gesturing to your face with a wild hand that almost knocked against your chin. “that’s her favorite band!”

Simon’s gaze snapped to you, and you felt like puking.

fumbling for words, you protested in a tone too strong. “no it’s not.”

Sarah gave you a confused look. “but we went to their concert last summer remember? in las vegas?”

oh you remembered. you specifically remembered because their band was getting old and their farewell tour felt like a looming threat in the near future. you remembered because you wouldn’t have missed it for the world.

but you couldn’t say that so instead you said, “no, my favorite band is… is…”

you glanced at Maya’s curious expression.

“taylor swift,” you shot out.

you grimaced. that’s not even a band.

Maya cocked her head. “no, taylor swift is my favorite singer.” she gave you a knowing look. “and you love the smashing pumpkins.”

she turned to Simon. “she even has posters in her room.”

you groaned out, slumping further down into your chair and wanting to disintegrate on the spot as Maya continued to talk about your avid love for smashing pumpkins. but Simon’s gaze was pinned on you. it didn’t even look like he was listening.

you pretended you were invisible for the rest of the conversation until the rest of the girls had trickled into the room, watching with a curling disgust at the sight of them fawning over Simon and his alluring presence. he seemed indifferent enough to their attention.

not like you cared.

the circle slowly filled till Kate took the last spot.

she had a stack of papers on her lap, smoothing over them with that tight-lipped smile of hers as she started the meeting.

her words were flying through your ears. words you didn’t really want to hear as you tugged on the hem of your hoodie, slumped over in your chair.

you didn’t hear her calling your name either.

Sarah knocked her foot against yours and you shot up in your seat, flushing when you noticed everyone’s attention on you.

your eyes darted around the room, feeling hyper aware of Simon’s blank, bored stare sweeping down your body.

“hi,” Kate said in a sweet tone, leaned forward in her seat, though her face was laced through and through with that burning exasperation that you were too familiar with.

“since you were the first to acquaint yourself with our guest,” she said, gesturing with a polite hand to that big masked thing on a chair, “we would love for you to introduce the new member to us.”

shifting to sit further up in your chair, you swallowed, voice falling flat and dead. “sure. this is Simon. he’s uhh…”

you took him in and all his hulking demeanor. “an accountant.”

his eyes flashed with that same look as before—something playful that really pissed you off.

Sarah snorted and Kate just smiled, though it was wholly devoid of warmth, and you resisted shivering. “right. i’ll do it then.”

she looked around the circle slowly. “this is Simon Riley. he’s in the military. i met him a couple years back.”

your eyes snapped to Kate’s, a whole new sense of betrayal swelling in your chest. she had already known him and wanted you to introduce him anyway?

“traitor,” you grumbled under your breath, crossing your arms over your chest.

the girls, in a chorus, sang out a hi Simon, a couple of them giggling, poking at each other. you noticed Maya blushing beside you and rolled your eyes.

was he really that attractive?

he just nodded, with a very low, “hello,” and sat up properly, drawing back his hood.

there was a light tussle of blonde hair on his head, shaved down at the sides and hanging down his forehead.

you bit your tongue, looking away. maybe he was.

“welcome Simon,” Kate said with a gentle smile, “i’m glad you decided to come.”

there was something knowing in her gaze when Simon’s eyes darted to hers that had a new curiosity perk up in you.

you watched the whole interaction with narrowed eyes.

just how well did they know each other?

as Kate dished out the upcoming schedule for the group, your gaze burned into his face. his eyes, trained on Kate, made you jolt when they flicked to you.

he slowly tilted his head, eyes narrowing a smidge. you frowned deeply, and in a stubborn haze, met his piercing gaze with one of equal stature. after a long moment, he huffed, a weird breathy sound, eyes flashing again, and looked away, and the moment you shared was gone.

you shifted in your seat, blinking, feeling strange and light.

what the hell was that?

you looked around, seeing if anyone else noticed. when you were sure no one had, you scolded yourself.

no fraternizing with the enemy, you chided, shifting your attention back to Kate who was listing off the predetermined pairs for the fall session. Kate always claimed that she pulled the pair choices out of a hat. the fact that you had never been paired with Maya or Sarah for a single season left you questioning that.

besides that, many of the sessions required getting one-on-one quality time with other group members through predetermined partners and different activities, even outside of group meetings. the fall session was always the busiest, preparing for upcoming events with weekly meetings.

it was something unique to your group which you wholly appreciated.

your gaze flitted to Simon.

except for when there’s newcomers.

“finally, you,” Kate nodded her head to you with a bitter tone, which made you wince, although you knew guessed you deserved it, “and Simon.”

what?

“what?” you croaked, and you visibly saw the girls in the room shift with discomfort, gazes avoiding you.

they had seen your immature outbursts before about newcomers. you were not afraid to show them again.

Kate gave you a very nasty sidelong look. “don’t start.”

you bit your tongue so hard you think it almost bled.

Maya’s hands fidgeted with the hem of her skirt, looking a bit crestfallen at the conclusion designated pairs, and in the sweetest tone you could muster, you offered, “what about Maya?”

her head whipped to you, jaw dropping open and a flush on her cheeks. you sent her a weak, apologetic look, sneaking a hand over to hers but she just smacked it away.

Simon only laxed back into his chair, blinking slowly like he was about to fall asleep, gaze flitting lazily between you and the bashful girl beside you. when his eyes lingered on her, you truely, utterly, wished with every fiber of your being that Simon had been paired with Maya instead.

Kate just ignored you, sorting through papers to find the next one that she read aloud. more on the upcoming fall activities that you would be helping the church with.

usually you’d be ecstatic.

but when your gaze fell on Simon, lazy, hulking, and donned in black, he cocked his head at you, eyes swirling. then, he put his earbuds back in, eyes sliding shut.

you jerked your hood up over your head and sulked.

this was going to be the worst few weeks yet.

okayyyy soooo i wanted to make these chapters shorter and ive already prepared quite a few so i'll be posting every 1-2 days for this series leading up to halloween!!!! im so excited 🤭 i hope you guys enjoyed this first silly part <3 more silly parts to come!

taglist: @ivybeeloved @babygirl-riley

#simon riley smut #simon riley x reader #simon ghost riley x reader #cod mw2 #ghost cod #call of duty #call of duty modern warfare #call of duty modern warfare 2 #ghost smut #ghost angst #ghost mw2 #simon ghost riley #simon riley x you #simon riley #ghost x reader #ghost x you #ghost fluff #simon riley fluff #simon riley angst

2K notes · View notes

gojosvoid-moved · 5 months ago

Text

gojo satoru, who is so sensitive the first time you touch him— actually touch him without infinity separating your skin from his.

you're caught off guard by the gasp he lets out as your knuckles brush against his cheek bone, so gentle yet still so foreign of a concept to him that his reaction is imminent. uncontrollable. because while he is a cocky little shit most of the time, bragging about experience and strength, it turns out that the strongest sorcerer of the modern age is quite inexperienced when it comes to physical touch and intimacy.

gojo satoru, who, as you start to retreat your hand with brows furrowed in worry, is quick to clasp his fingers around yours, though. who is so eager to keep you close, licking his lips as he averts his gaze, almost shy at the same time because you're close and warm and oh, you're so pretty.

„no, you– you can keep going.“ he takes a deep breath, then looks back up to meet your eyes, the familiar crystal clear blue brimming just a little bit with tears. your heart squeezes at the sight. „please, can you keep going?“

gojo satoru, whose breath comes out a bit more shaky than he would like as you nod and tentatively reconnect your hand to his cheek. you're so careful, so tender, in your ministration that he has to close his eyes this time, entirely too overwhelmed by the care you're showing him.

you're smiling now. you can't really help it. he's so out of his element, so innocently sweet in this rare display of raw emotion— another ragged intake of breath as you trace your fingers to his temple, the flutter of his eyelashes as you bring your other hand up to cup his jaw, the soft sigh he lets out as you mirror the action on the other side, holding his face in both your palms.

gojo satoru, who only opens his eyes (all-perceiving, clever, breathtakingly beautiful eyes) again when he hears his name slip off your lovely lips. who has to visibly gulp when he becomes aware of how close the two of you have gotten to each other but doesn't dare take his gaze off of you when you're looking at him like this.

there's a reverence in your eyes he's never seen before. he's gojo satoru, the strongest, nuisance to colleagues and the higher ups alike, a deadly threat to every opponent. but here you stand before him and it's like you actually see him. there's something akin to childlike wonder in the way you hold him in the palms of your hands like he's a precious thing worth being held by you in the first place. like he's a man deserving of you and all that you are. like you could love him, maybe, despite all that he's done.

gojo satoru, who swears to himself to never forget this moment of pure connection, who will joke later about how it wasn't even that big of a deal to be touched (caressed) like that but will forever keep it locked away in that special place in his heart that belongs entirely to you.

author's note ⊹ lemme know if you want a nsfw version wonk wonk bc i have a lot of thoughts 😗

#jujutsu kaisen x reader #gojo satoru x reader #gojo x reader #satoru gojo x reader #gender neutral reader #jjk x reader #reader insert #⠀ mine #mine: jjk #I LOVE HIMMMMMM

298 notes · View notes

heartz4shauna · 1 month ago

Text

thinking about being one of tashi’s best friends and you finally come visit her at stanford! you think it’s just gonna be the two of you but , nah , cause it never is. pat’s there, because obviously he is, and so is art. it’s not awkward , you’ve heard enough about the two boys that you feel like you really know them.

you’re all conversing on the floor of tashi’s dorm when you notice it’s getting late. letting out a displeased hum , you rise from the floor with a stretch , mumbling something like “ i’ve gotta go , ‘m getting tired. don’t wanna be a nuisance in the mornin. ” tashi rolls her eyes and tugs you back onto the floor with a scoff , “ no , stay. you won’t be a nuisance, honestly. pat doesn’t mind sleeping on the floor. ”

and after another hour and half of conversation , you’re completely wiped out , laying flat down on the floor , your hand stretched out over your face to cover the blinding fluorescent light hanging overhead.

soon enough , tashi notices and points it out to the other two. art lets out an exaggerated yawn and lays back onto the floor , maybe a little too close to you , but he acts too tired to notice. funnily enough , this causes a chain reaction. pat stretches his arms out above his head , settling down close to tashi.

she chuckles lightly , shifting about on the floor until she’s close enough to rest her head on your stomach , and so she does. both of the boys are quick to notice this , the casual sort of intimacy that the two of you seem to have. they swiftly follow suit , pat practically curled up on tashi’s lap , art nestled against your side like it’s the most normal thing for him to be doing.

it’s after 1 in the morning when you stir , taking notice to the foreign weights thrown upon you , limbs stretching over you from all different directions. you quickly glance between pats , tashi’s and arts faces , peacefully sleeping so close to one another other that it tugs at your heartstrings a little.

patrick gripping restlessly at the fabric of tashi’s clothes in his sleep like it’s the only thing keeping him there. tashi’s hands in patrick’s mop of dark hair , her own disheveled as it fanned out across your torso. arts hands both tightly holding onto one of your arms like he was searching for consolation after waking from a bad dream. your eyes flutter shut after a moment , falling back into a warm , familiar sleep. #puppy pile

#this was supposed to be shorter.#i got carried away. sorry.#i miss my girlfriend #and her boyfriend #and her boyfriends boyfriend #daisy writes again #challengers #tashi duncan #patrick zweig #art donaldson #tashi duncan x reader #art donaldson x reader #patrick zweig mention. not really x reader…

222 notes · View notes

willowser · 10 months ago

Text

HMMMMMM interesting to think about arranged marriage with prince shouto...............

i think he wouldn't know. what to expect with you. i think he'd have an idea, as in, what his father, the king, has taught him; the duties of a wife, where your importance ranks in relation to his duties. what he's not meant to discuss with you, like politics and matters at court and foreign relations. how you will speak to him. what to buy in the event that you become...unhappy. a nuisance.

("and she will," enji had muttered, briefly glancing up from the parchment on his desk to fix shouto with a look he didn't understand. "they always do.")

you don't meet until the royal wedding, when you're coming down the long aisle of the grand cathedral, dressed up in a swathe of silk and lace. a thin, gossamer veil hides you from him, but he can feel the ardor in your eyes, the intensity burning through the material. it doesn't seem real until your bare face is only a breath from his own, until he has to see the earnestness in your stare, too.

your kiss is simple and chaste, nothing spectacular, something that leaves his mind as soon as it's over. ever a todoroki, a hundred other things enter his mind, all regarding his now iron-laid obligations: it's vital he meet with advisor keigo to reiterate the plan to establish his authority among the council; general aizawa is in attendance to the wedding, and shouto has not yet received word on his opinion of the new king's ideas to modernize their armed forces; midoriya is somewhere, no doubt wanting to go over state affairs again.

truthfully, shouto doesn't spend long "celebrating". there's already too much that's required of him, hardly enough time to even scarf down a few bites of the banquet laid out before he's being chartered off into discussions on foreign relations and infrastructure development. maybe once or twice does he look back to check on you, chatting pleasantly with his mother and sister at the front of the great hall, and that's satisfying enough.

it's not until much later that he sees you again; freshly bathed and wearing something sheer and long and white, atop his bed.

or his marriage bed, he must remind himself.

enji didn't spend long going over consummation, with him or either of his brothers—natsuo, red-faced and annoyed at the very subject, always storming off, and touya had seemed well-aware of the process, at the time (back before he'd been ex-communicated). it had sounded simple: strip off your dress, get his cock out and into you, and only retreat once he was sure his seed had been spilled.

—so he's not exactly sure what to do or think or how to feel, when you're laid bare and reaching up to hold his face.

it's so startling that he sits back on his knees, to frown where he's looming over you.

you stare at him quietly, like you're expecting him to say something, and he only has a moment to wonder if this is you becoming an unhappy nuisance—what had been the answer, to solve this, anyway?—before you let out a soft laugh.

"c'mere," you tell him, sitting up, too, when he keeps his distance. "i want you to kiss me."

"i already have."

"yes," you laugh again, amusement glowing in your eyes, like the warmth off the fireplace, as you reach for the ties on his trousers. "but you're meant to do it again."

and up until then, he'd felt confident in his achievements, his executions; he'd managed a lot today, in one evening, and he had a lifetime to manage more. it was a good a start as any, he'd thought, but now—

shouto almost can't get the words out when he feels your hands ghosting up the inside of his shirt, nails tickling over his ribs. "a-am i?"

you wrap your arms around his waist in what could be a hug, scooting forward to look up at him with your chin against his chest. "yes," you smile and—it's familiar in a way, how touya would whenever he was teasing. "you're my husband, you're meant to kiss me whenever i want."

that—was not something his father had ever said, he was sure, and it was a too-rare exchange between his own parents. now that he thinks about it—and he does, then, because he's faced with the reality that he doesn't know as much as he should—he's not sure the former king and queen even sleep in the same room, much less the same bed.

much less hug and touch and even smile, the way you do now.

there's no argument he can make against it, aside from finding keigo to find his father to verify the truth to such a statement, and he's only meant to retreat from this bed on one condition.

and if this is what it takes to meet that—then shouto supposes he'll have to do it, for now. he's a brand new king, after all, and it would seem he still has much to learn.

#i just really like the idea of shouto being raised to be like #alright. meet with advisors. council meeting. get married. consummate. find general aizawa.#like it's just another stepping stone #to be married #and you are very much like oh 😊🩷 my husband 😊🩷#and he's SOOOO thrown by that #that's not how he was taught it would go LOL #and you want to hug and kiss and hold hands 🥺#if he spends too long in meetings you take the dinner from the royal dining table and march right into that room #to have dinner with your husband god damn it #LOL #and maybe he even asks his mom like 'is this right ???' and she's like #yeah 🥺🥺 it is 🥺🥺#and then he finds this weird odd unexpected happiness with you that he was never taught to expect 🥺#✿ thoughts: shouto #✿ willow writes

767 notes · View notes

twilightkitkat · 2 months ago

Text

What if Worst Wolverine was the same Wolverine from Origins? What if he learned that "Deadpool" Wade Wilson was "Weapon X" Wade Wilson?

Inspired by this ask.

---

When Logan first met Wade in the bar, he felt oddly familiar. Like he knew him, but he couldn't quite place where. He felt nostalgia and regret and something else bubbling up to the surface without his consent. It felt foreign, and he brushed it off when he sobered up. But he kept it in the back of his mind.

But he kept being familiar. His voice, the way he fought, his mannerisms... it was all reminiscent of somebody he felt he should know. Someone long gone.

But it couldn't be, right? All of his old teammates were dead. If this world followed a similar timeline, there's no way this could be someone he knew. He must just be grasping at straws. Delusional, as usual.

It all came to a head a few weeks after the dust had settled. Wade and Logan were drinking together in their apartment, and Wade lopsidedly grinned at Logan with flushed cheeks. Logan felt his heart stutter.

"You know, you were just as cool back then," Wade giggled. "You looked good when you were younger, though I think the silver fox look fits you more with the grey streaks."

Logan frowned. "What do you mean when I was younger?"

"C'monnnnn Wolvie," Wade cooed as he leaned his head against his hand. "Back when we were in the Weapon X program together? I mean, we might not have been the best of buddies but it's kind of mean of you to forget about me."

It's like a part of Logan's brain unlocked. Wade fucking Wilson. Of course Logan remembered him, but he was so different that Logan had never made the connection.

Logan had a complicated relationship with Wade. He both respected him and thought he was a nuisance. Wade's skills were undeniable, but so was his motor mouth. Logan groaned in annoyance most of the time, but Wade's quips had managed to pull a snicker out of him on more than a few occasions. He tried to feign annoyance, but despite what people said, Wade was funny. His jokes were one of the only things that brought any life to the dreary and harsh environment.

Back then, Logan had still been tangled up with Victor and didn't let himself get too close to others (for both his own and their sakes). Still, Wade had found him in the corner of a bar a few times when the rest of the team was partying. He'd sat next to him and just... kept him company. He rambled on about inconsequential things, avoiding the more serious topics. He offered a distraction, a reprieve from the constant violence and solemn atmosphere. Logan appreciated it more than he could convey at the time.

And on the rare instances where Logan wanted to talk, Wade listened. Even if it was drunken gibberish, regrets and frustrations and feelings spilling out into the open. More notably, he didn't report him for having second doubts about the missions. Anyone else would've. Logan didn't do friends back then, but he'd consider Wade the closest thing he had to one.

And then Logan had quit. And left behind his teammates, cutting off all chance of further development. And then Logan had returned, but too late. By then, Wade had been turned into that... thing... by Stryker.

Oh god. The thought of it made Logan want to throw up. Wade, always chattering, with his mouth stitched shut. A mindless drone made to obey orders, a complete antithesis to the man who bent the rules and smiled privately at Logan when he rambled about what could be interpreted as treason. A mockery of everything he stood for.

That Wade was... the same as his Wade. Deadpool was Wade Wilson. Wade Wilson now was the same Wade Wilson from back then.

That means in his world, he'd let Wade down. He'd abandoned him and left him to be experimented on. Worse, he'd killed him. Logan killed Wade.

Fuck. The reason he didn't recognize Wade in the bar was because his was long dead. A clone that he himself had killed.

He looked at Wade, blushing and smiling with adoration in his eyes even as he feigned indignation at Logan not remembering. He looked at Wade and imagined him trapped in his own body, personality erased and gone. He imagined him with his mouth sewed shut, never to speak again. With a flat and empty stare instead of the twinkle in his eye.

Wade had saved him from himself. He'd given him a new home and fought for him to keep it. He'd been willing to die for Logan when nobody in his own universe would so much as look at him. Logan owed him an insurmountable debt, one that he couldn't even begin to repay in this lifetime. But he was trying. To make Wade happy, at least. It was his purpose in this world and would continue to be until Wade decided to throw him out or he finally kicked the bucket.

So the realization that he'd failed his own Wade so horribly made him viscerally ill. Even back then, Wade had been the only one to really see him when nobody else did. When even Victor just looked for a distorted reflection of himself and when everyone else wanted a mindless tool, Wade acknowledged Logan.

In a time when Wade didn't owe Logan shit, when he could've gotten in trouble for being complicit if Logan actually went through with what he said, Wade still protected him. And Logan didn't even think to check up on him in return. (Even when he knew Wade checked up on him. The Tylenol and water beside his bunk didn't appear out of nowhere. He didn't even remember climbing into bed before he passed out.)

Logan left him to die. Logan let Wade die. Wade, who was smart and funny and charming and caring and everything Logan was not. Wade, who had all of that stripped from him while Logan got to keep living. Logan, who took that chance and spat on Wade's fucking grave by ruining it all.

Logan wanted to throw up.

#kitkat #poolverine #deadclaws #deadpool 3 #deadpool and wolverine #logan howlett #wade wilson #deadpool movie #wade x logan #wade/logan

168 notes · View notes

lethby · 6 months ago

Text

The story of how Mammon fell first (and hard) ⍣ ೋ

Pairing: Mammon x GN!reader

Summary: What was going through Mammon's stupid (-ly cute) head the first few chapters of the game. And how mc survived the Devildom (mc angst yay)

You were a stupid human. There you stood, with that dumbfounded look in your eyes, scanning the foreign area with tensed shoulders. You couldn't look any more similar to a deer. A yummy and juicy deer in a lion cage.

"Mammon will be your guardian and he will ensure your safety in your stay here."

Say what now? This must be the most unfunny prank Lucifer has pulled on him. After some whining and protests, he learned that it was no prank. Come on, really? THE great Mammon babysitting some lousy human? This is even worst than all the three hour lectures combined!

He hated the idea, and made it very clear. Seriously, couldn't you walk any faster? Cat got your tongue? Stop being so startled by everything, it's driving him insane.

You, on the other hand, were about to cry. You were just sitting in your comfy bed looking through your phone and the next second you spawn on the literal pits of hell. You're following a strange demon that very clearly doesn't want anything to do with you. He was complaining to you nonstop about how much of a nuisance you are, how you look like the perfect meal and you can't really do anything about it because of how weak you are. Thanks.

You're walking a path completely unfamiliar to you under the eternal moonlight that gave very little light to your surroundings. Whispers and growls from the vicinities were driving you insane (that's two). Were they monsters? Demons? You didn't know, and that scared you.

You didn't know when you entered some classy big house, but the walls were already suffocating and the statues were gnawing at your mind.

Suddenly, all of the sounds drowned in your ears and became a mere vibration in your brain.

'I don't wanna be here. I wanna go home.'

When Mammon looked behind, he noticed the lifeless eyes that stared into the nothingness and sighed annoyed. You weren't listening to him! Just how much dumber can you get?

Then, a loud noise interrupted your trance, snapping you out of it. You put your guard up as an angry demon came straight in your direction two steps at a time. He shouted at Mammon for something about money. Your fogged mind didn't really comprehend much.

What you did comprehend was your so called guardian pushing you against the angry demon as bait while he made a run for it. The words spoken earlier about being nothing more than demon food replayed in your head like a broken disk.

'This is where I die'

Fortunately, the demon, whose name was Leviathan, showed the minimum manners you'd expect for a demon and left you be for the most part. Also, his room was nice. Like a peaceful change of scenery from all the dangers and noises of outside. You didn't mention it, but he caught you staring at his aquarium and jellyfish lights, so he hesitantly enlarged your stay. Just a little. Not much. He couldn't stand normies in his room.

Meanwhile, on the other side of the House of Lamentation, Mammon was laughing his ass off. He killed two birds with one stone, avoiding Levi and getting rid of you. At least for now, since he wouldn't hear the end of it if Lucifer found out he was totally evading his responsibility. However, at the moment he was just thinking about going to the casino and win some Grimm, easily forgetting about you. Why would he care, either way?

That night, when all the lights were out, the only soul who couldn't sleep was your own. In the silence of the late hours, there were no distractions keeping your thoughts to wander, so they did. The realization of the whole situation came crashing down like a waterfall. You laid with your eyes open, seeing but not watching. Your body was being hugged in a soft but harsh embrace by the unfamiliar sheets. The light of the little lamps, hanged on the strange tree, slightly illuminated the room. It wasn't even your room. It was a room. An unknown room in an unknown world.

'I'm not going home'

That thought prevailed on top of the other ringing ones. Cold tears slide through your numb face. You didn't bother wiping them as they kept falling from your eyes like dense, thick honey. You couldn't fall asleep, but you didn't want to be awake either. You didn't want to be right now.

The following morning, you tried to maintain a natural facade. Your dry answers made your voice sound alien to you, having used it so little since you arrived.

Mammon couldn't be more fed up with your attitude. Don't you know that makes you easy prey? He made sure to tell you. He was doing you a favor, you know? He doesn't understand why you become rigid at his statement, he was giving you a piece of advice.

The day continued without much change. Demons looked your way and licked their lips. You almost felt naked under their watching gaze, standing with your tail between your legs. You tried to follow along with Levi's plan about Mammon's credit card. Goldie, was it? Anyway, it's not that you were inspired to pass Lucifer's lie detector, but you did it anyways.

Your memory is incapable of remembering much of the day as you stood before the freezer. Levi had a frozen Goldie in his hand and Mammon was yapping about something, mostly complaining.

Your body worked on autopilot until you felt a burning sensation in your hand. You dazedly lifted it to see a yellow mark on the back of it. How did that get there?

Mammon swore he was about to lose it. You just made a pact with THE great Mammon and you looked like you didn't care. He grew himself to hate that emotionless expression on your face. He thought you would be less annoying if you showed any sign of, I don't know, humanness? Even demons reacted more than you! You could at least laugh at his jokes. That would be... Nice, I guess.

From that point on, you drowsily made it to your room. You sat on your bed and looked at the mark on your skin. You should be happy, shouldn't you? At least Mammon was now forced to protect you if you said so. He's the second oldest, that meant strong, or something, right? So why were you crying again? Why was it quietly raining on the golden pact? Yet another night filled with many water droplets that made a depressing pattern on the sheets. However, as numerous as they were, they all felt lonely and abandoned, like the eyes that shed them.

Mammon also wanted to cry, but for other reasons. Say embarrassment, if you had to name it. He was kicking every object in the floor that had the misfortune to make contact with his feet. Not so silent grunts echoed in the walls as he paced through his room. He forcefully shoved a pillow against his own face and screamed his heart out. Stupid human! Stupid! Incoherent curses left his lips until late at night, when he fell asleep.

The next morning, Mammon tapped his foot impatiently. It was already becoming unbearable with the constant berating of his brothers, that were making fun of him. THE great Mammon doesn't wait for no one! Well, except you, I suppose. But that's because he has to!

When you finally came down, Mammon scoffed and pulled you along, not leaving you time to have breakfast. Fine, it's not like you were hungry, anyways. You've lost your appetite ever since coming here. Three days into the Devildom and you looked the same as day one, if not worse. It was getting harder to breathe as timed passed and the dark circles under your eyes were starting to rival the dimness of the night sky.

The day followed as usual. You really hoped you weren't expected to get good grades here, because everything that managed to get into your brain left rapidly like a ghost train with no passengers. You only caught something about a TSL tournament against Levi. Why did you agree to that again? Oh yeah, to enter his room. Why did you want to...? Nevermind, you only knew that one moment you were at RAD and the next you were walking home with Mammon.

He was ranting about something about the casino or Lucifer, as usual. You didn't mind the background noise of a somewhat known (although rather annoying) voice for the most part. However, what he said next as he flicked your forehead wasn't part of that 'most'.

"Ya know, yer lucky I take time off my very busy schedule to walk ya home. If you keep spacin' out like that, yer only makin' yourself an easy prey to any passerby!"

Three times. He now has called you 'prey' three times. You stopped in your tracks with your head low, nails stabbing your palms in a fist. Mammon looked confusedly at you after noticing you fell behind. The sight of your figure made him both exasperated and... was that worry? Nah, just exasperated. You murmured something under your breath he didn't quite catch.

"Huh? You gotta speak louder that that, deer"

That's it. You suddenly lifted your chin, locking eyes with his deep blue ones. Mammon visibly flinched at the hatred they held. That raw emotion radiating from your pure anger was the first time he saw you actually alive.

"I said, stop calling me that. I get it, really do. I'm nothing more than a stupid, defenseless piece of meat that got trapped into a world filled with wild beasts willing to have a bite, I know. You think I asked for this?! I have enough with the situation as a whole for you to keep reminding me of it!"

In that moment, your voice didn't sound like it was yours, but it still spoke what your heart felt. The demon in front of you was left speechless. To him, your outburst was an overreaction that caught him by surprise, not knowing the pent up pressure you hid in your fragile body. Now, it was his brain's turn to not process the information around him, since when he snapped out of his trance, you were already a few meters ahead stomping your way to the House of Lamentation.

He fucked up. He knew he fucked up. Ever since seeing the way your brows furrowed the moment you first interacted, Mammon knew he was fucking up. Every part of him was screaming at him, but he didn't dare to admit it, not even to himself.

So even now, he hid behind a mask of annoyance. Look at you, walking just ahead of him without care. When he told you to show emotion, he didn't mean that you could get angry at him! How dare you yell at the Great Mammon like that?! Don't you know how easily someone could attack you there all alone? Don't you know that any demon could kill you with ease? Don't you know how much you look like prey-...

...

Don't you know how bad he doesn't want that to happen?

By the time you reached the House of Lamentation, your anger hadn't subsided one bit. It was like all your pent up emotions mixed homogeneously into anger and exploded uncontrollably. Even so, you don't regret that happening. Why would you? You've been treated like nothing but a nuisance ever since you stepped foot here. Regret comes from realizing bad choices, and the only one you've made was letting these demons drag you to hell.

You make a dash to the room you've grown accustomed to and quickly close the door without slamming it from frustration, not trying to get unwanted attention. When you stand under the tree lights is when you notice the pools in your eyes, ready to cascade at any moment.

'Shit, this always happens when I'm angry'

You rub furiously at your wet eyes to get rid of the tears and, when that doesn't work, you throw yourself on the bed and scream into the nearest pillow. Too tired to get up, you close your eyes for a moment, waiting for your mind to find peace on its own. Or at least some silence.

You don't realize when or how long you've been asleep, but your cheeks are dry when a knock in your door wakes you up. You really didn't want to answer, but the knocks only got more frequent and impatient the more you ignored them. You hesitantly untangle yourself from your sheets and get to the door.

To your demise, at the other side was the last person you wanted to see at the moment. Mammon stood there in a futile attempt to check on you before nighttime. He looked everywhere except you, hoping he didn't have to stare at your hatred eyes again.

"You didn't come for dinner."

You've slept the day.

"Didn't feel like it." You lied

Mammon furrowed his brows and put his hands in his hips hoping it would boost his own confidence.

"Don't humans have to eat to survive? If ya starve to death, Lucifer will kill me."

You've been like shit for the past three days and now he worries. Real smooth, Mammon. At your lack of response, Mammon realized he was losing you, so he quickly tried to come up with something else.

"Anyways... You have the TSL tournament with Levi tomorrow, dontcha? Well lucky for you, the Great Mammon has brought you the series so you can watch them tonight! I still think yer gonna lose hard against the nerd but-"

You tuned out the rest of his speech and looked at the wall beside you. You definitely didn't want to speak to, listen to or be with Mammon. You didn't want to go to the tournament and you didn't want to spend the night binge watching this random TSL thing. Despite all the things you didn't want to do, Mammon still pushed you inside and prepared the TV. You sulkily sat in your bed making yourself comfortable, trying not to kick the demon off when he sat beside you.

A couple of hours passed and you were hating every part of this. The show, Mammon and everything... Or that's what you thought would happen.

In reality, you felt a familiar yet longing feeling of... Home. The series was actually not bad and, being used to movie nights back in the human world, you were at more ease doing something you enjoyed. Besides, it kept your mind occupied and away from everything, which you wish you could have done before. Finally, though you hate to admit it, Mammon's presence was actually not so bad. His comments were actually funny and it gave you the feeling of hanging out with your friends, forgetting the events from before. You've never felt like this here, but you weren't complaining for once.

Meanwhile, Mammon was having his own silent crisis besides you. He was sure you were having the worst time of your life. How could you not? You skipped dinner just to not see him! Besides, he locked himself in your own room forcing you to watch something for a stupid contest. But he wasn't doing it on purpose, he swears! He actually was here in an attempt to make amends with you. However, getting the words out was proving to be more difficult than he thought. He tried to ease the atmosphere by joking around, but his knee was still bouncing in a constant rhythm. Mammon wasn't akin to apologizing, much less to a human.

Minutes turned into hours and he honestly was about to explode. He stopped paying attention a while ago and even began sweating. Unable to hold off any longer and despite his awkwardness, he turned to you with his eyes closed.

"Human, I-"

A soft, mermaid-like sound followed a funny scene in the screen, interrupting him, but it was not part of the show. The demon shifted his attention to the source of it, and then it hit him. You. It was your laughter.

That was the second time he saw you express any kind of emotion, but the first he saw the way the corners of your lips tilted upwards and your eyes squint while trapping a warm shine within them. Mammon saw you in another light, a light that newly illuminated your features since you came to the Devildom. A light that showed your smile. And damn, how pretty it was.

He then took notice of your posture, with details for the first time. From the way your legs intertwined with one another to how your arms kept a pillow close to your chest with relaxed shoulders. Where you always like this? No, no you weren't. Right now, in his eyes, you were far from the scared deer that annoyed him so much; now feeling like he was looking at one of those elegantes statues in Diavolo's castle. He still hadn't realized, but your smile trapped him like a siren's song. Your humanness he oh so wanted you to show now left him speechless.

He didn't know when the marathon ended, but he found himself waving you goodbye casually at the other side of your door. To his surprise, you tiredly waved back, although with no smile painting your face. In that moment, walking back to his room, he just thought of ways to see it again. To see your light.

When he landed on the comfort of his sheets, he felt once more the pact that tied you together and didn't feel embarrassment or hatred anymore. He felt something else deep within his heart, something that he couldn't quite put his finger on. A sense of connection he never felt before.

Then he sat up in a swift.

...He didn't apologize!

He threw his hands to his face and groaned, although the frustration in it not directed at you now, but at himself. He had yet to realize that it was always at himself.

You on the other hand just went to bed first thing to catch the hours of sleep taken from you. However, your mind stayed clear and your cheeks remained dry for the first time under de Devildom's sky.

The next day followed as usual. Everyone in the House of Lamentation woke up, had breakfast and headed to RAD following their own routine. You and Mammon did no different, but both of you could tell the atmosphere shifted for the better. Your eyes shined in a way that made him forget all the reserved glares, and Mammon made sure to not comment on anything that could make you uncomfortable. It was like a weight cleared off your minds and the heavy air was easier to breathe. Where before you found an obstacle, now you saw a person, a friend even.

At RAD, you even tried to socialize a little more. You found that the best way to cope with the situation was to actually try and enjoy it. Surprisingly enough, chatting with the other exchange students proved to flow rather easily, interacting more than you've ever had here. What stood up to the angels and Solomon, although they didn't mention it and despite their initial surprise, was your contrasting behavior that made the atmosphere so light. Thankfully, they left with content, and so did you.

Although you still had a long way to go, the mist of terror that obscured your eyes dissipated enough to let some light pass through, which you were grateful for.

However, as the school hours finished and the time for TSL tournament approached, a unnerving feeling squeezed your chest. You had come up with a plan in the morning, and you even got the help of Simeon. The plan, unfortunately, had a major flaw, as you were advised that taunting the Avatar of Envy's sin was a dangerous game to play, lethal even. And you weren't in the mood to play games.

The brother's all headed to the tournament's location, whether their intentions varied from amusement to seeking shed blood was not for the demons to judge. Admits the powerful beings, stood one that didn't attend for neither reason.

While Mammon walked at his own pace, suddenly his shirt was tugged. He turned confusedly and, when he saw you gripping his clothes with one hand as you looked directly at the floor, something pulled at his heartstrings. A feeling that was forced out of him when your voice snapped him out of his trance.

"Will you come if things go south?" You said barely above a whisper.

That was the longest sentence you spoke to him ever. Well, when you weren't angrily putting him in his place.

"Huh?"

Confused by the many elements you surprisingly decided to display before him, your question caught him off guard. However, seeing as you kept your mouth shut and shifted in your spot, he quickly turned to you completely.

"Ah- I mean, of course! What kind of guardian would I be if I didn't? Count on me!"

The slight hope in your eyes allowed his to muscles relax. And when he saw that light, he remembered that night. But most importantly, he remembered what he didn't say. His usual easy chat turned dry in his throat at the thought, but he had to get it out of his chest. While you confusedly looked at his still stance with a brow raised, he looked at you with a new determination in his eyes.

"I-" His hands sweaty and his ego shattering, he still looked at you "I'm sorry for calling you prey" ...That was easier than he thought-

"You're forgiven"

What?

I mean, this is what he hoped for but... Your immediate response made his eyes widen as he stared at you dumbfounded. Meanwhile, yours dropped, but not with the melancholy Mammon was used to. They dropped in softness. He already lost count of the times he got lost in them.

Your steps felt light approaching Levi, whether they were from determination or dizziness, you were not sure. Orange irises looked down on you without a drop of doubt he would win. Feeling small, you glanced to the side and caught deep blue eyes looking back at you. With mixed emotions, you took a deep breath as Asmo extravagantly initiated the duel.

You noticed the difference on difficulty on the questions and you didn't know if you should be grateful or worried, feeling the amusement in Asmo's voice as Levi's frustration grew more evident.

Then, the moment of truth came. You played with your fingers as you recited future events that were yet to appear in the show, leaving the demon before you speechless. Just as you finished your rambling, your gaze caught coral-like horns and a dark tail slashing the air with a frightening speed and strength. You tensed and the danger everyone has warned you about ran through your veins with a chill. Levi's predatory look made the hairs on the back of your neck stand up. You were prey.

Mammon jumped in your aid the moment your eyes locked with his in a cry for help. His help. He wasn't the fastest for nothing. You didn't even have to use the pact to get him running in your aid. He wanted to save you. He had to. Not because Lucifer told him or, heck, even Diavolo. He had to because he cared. Because he didn't want to see you hurt. However, the world, along with his heart, made a flip as his knees connected with the floor, his will to get up forced down by the slippery surface.

'Fuck, I'm not gonna make it'

His frown deepened as he saw you backing away from Levi and falling, making a pained expression. Just when he was about to unleash his demon form to get to you, two pairs of black feathery wings blocked your figure from the aggressive demon's way.

His lips let out a shaky breath, but the shine in his eyes still wavered. He couldn't pay attention to the scene unfolding before him; how Lucifer calmed down Levi with the help of Diavolo and his brothers gripped the wood railing in anticipation. No, his focus was entirely submitted to you.

His pupils shrunk as he scanned the way your chest rapidly rose and fell with each panicked breath. How your eyes trembled as they stared at the floor beneath. And most importantly, how you clutched your red wrist close to your chest.

His heart clenched and his thoughts ran wild.

'They got hurt. They are hurt. I couldn't save them. They're scared. I let this happen. I should have saved them. They trusted me to. They hate me. They're hurt. They-'

...

The walk back to the House of Lamentation was tense. Silence prevailed except for the occasional whispers of the brothers. Levi stomped his way to the front leaving the others behind while you slowly walked in the back. Besides you was Mammon, who kept sending you quick glances from time to time. However, you didn't get to notice, occupied in your small steps and shaky breaths.

Your mind ran wild like it never had before. You almost died. That reality felt so far yet so suffocating, enhancing the stinging pain in your wrist. You were helpless. Small. Weak. Every noise and movement in your peripheral echoed in your head like a broken radio. Like before. You were sent back to zero.

The depressing steps to your room fell on deaf ears. Accompanied by two demons, Mammon and Beel, you sat on your bed on autopilot. It felt dry under you, but you knew how it soaked in your sadness numerous times, and you had a feeling it wouldn't be long before it did again.

The mattress sunk on both sides, and you couldn't stop the flinch of your body when a tanned hand reached for yours with a first aid kit nearby. You hated how you were scared of that hand crushing your already damaged wrist. A hand that you've once reached out for. You hated how you couldn't stop your muscles from tensing. How your jaw clenched. How your breath wavered. How you could only see spiky fangs and horns on the demons that came to comfort you.

You didn't register the bickering of the other two, not how one stood up and left until the door closed.

Mammon really tried to bandage your frail wrist as best as he could, but he was distracted by constantly glancing up every few seconds. He checked your eyes and the way they gazed into nothingness. And he checked again and again and again, because he couldn't believe it. Because he didn't want to believe it. The light that once filled your eyes with emotion faded away. That light he grew to search for as a candle in a snow storm, gone; replaced again by the lifeless shell of your irises.

That was until they shone, but with tears. The depressing hour didn't stop for you, even when not alone. You didn't even react until a pair of hands gripped your upper arms.

Two sets of eyes looked at each other, both conveying very different emotions. However, none spoke a word, their voice locked in their throats for their own reasons. The silence of the calm before the storm.

The trance was broken by launching yourself at Mammon in a desperate hug, which he didn't expect at all. It took a moment for his embrace to match your own, messy wrist already forgotten. By that time, you were uncontrollably sobbing in his arms, which made him hide his frown on the crown of your head.

At this point, you didn't know by what, but you were terrified. No matter human or demon. Friend or foe. You needed a shoulder to cry on, rather than something to shed your tears to. You needed someone.

Mammon shared whispered apologies that accompanied your sobs. Neither of your grips loosening on one another, your hands locked into fists behind his back while he secured his own in your hair and waist.

And that's when it hit him. He wanted to protect you. At all costs and by any means. He wanted to give himself to you. He wanted to love you.

I can't believe this is finally finished. And I can't believe I got the motivation from a YouTube video on how to properly write. And I can't believe it worked.

Anyways we all know the game isn't heavy on angst and the fandom has to do the work so here is my contribution! Hope you like it and stay tuned for my rewrite of lesson 16! (I feel like that's gonna be even harder to write)

Do what makes you happy,

Lethby ༊*·˚

#mammon x mc #mammon obey me #obey me mammon #mammon x reader #x reader #obey me mc #obey me #fancition #fanfic #om! x reader #fanfiction #mammon x gn!reader #gn reader

289 notes · View notes

thetxtdevil · 6 months ago

Note

Heyyyyy can u write something about reader getting caught by kai while using a vibrator. Like i imagined an escenario where reader is waiting for kai at the hotel room while kai is out with the boys in the US (since the relationship is a secret, reader cant be seen w them) and she misses him so much and she starts getting horny by some thoughts and starts playing with herself with the vibrator bc she thought kai was going to arrive much later. Poor little thing gets caught with her legs spread open, dripping wet and moaning so loudly by her beloved boyfriend 😙 (i live by soft dom kai so his reaction will be according to it lmao)

Please and thank u, love ur works hehe💗

--nsfw--

You wait in the lobby of the hotel Kai lead you to through text message. He said he would meet you there to give you a key but here you were sitting on a chair feeling awkward. Flipping through the provided magazines on the coffee table you hear loud conversations very distinct not only from the foreign language but the familiar tone of each member of your boyfriend's group. You smile to yourself standing up to look at the men to suddenly have your stomach start to flutter when you see your boyfriend Kai. It's been so long since you two have been in the same vicinity his presence hit you like a truck. You study his much broader shoulders and his arms were very muscular, his once dusty blue hair were now long dark locks which exaggerated his angelic features so well. Your heart rate pumps a faster when you see his chocolate eyes glance at you. You felt like a high school girl when you became shy as Kai walks towards you.

"Hey beautiful"

"You're the beautiful one."

Kai chuckles getting as bashful as you "lies."

You wanted to grab his chin to look at you but your resisted, "you know I don't lie" He smiles puffing out his chest in confidence, then Kai's eyes widen as if he remembered something, patting down his pocket he pulls out a small card. "Do you have a pen?" he asks and you quickly search for one in your purse. He starts writing something and hands you the card and pen back.

"This is my room key and I wrote down the level and number. I'm going out with the band but I should be back later."

"Oh okay, thanks." You were stunned to see him leave fast watching him go back to the group of men. You awkwardly smile and wave at Yeonjun and Taehyun who were staring at you in suspicion.

"Who's that" Yeonjun nods towards you.

"Oh... uh- a fan" Kai nervously messes up his hair hoping to hide his blush, "noticed her around so I thought I'd finally give her an autograph"

---

You took a deep breath as you bring the electronic key to the pad on the door handle. Making sure you have the right room number once more you swipe the card resulting in a small green light blinking. Opening the door you waddle in with your duffel bag. The room was like any other hotel room, clean, nice bed sheets, warm light, but there was a beautiful view of the city. Admiring the cars stopping and creeping forward, lights illuminating the area making the stars in the sky barely visible. You stop looking to get yourself comfortable in the room removing the extra layers you had on.

Falling onto the bed you let out a huff of boredom. You let your mind wander to your meeting with Kai from earlier, how handsome he is, how big he looked, how much you wanted to graze your fingers along his milky skin. Closing your eyes to imagine him above you, his light sweet kisses pressing into your lips asking about your day or simple "love yous", and his big hands grouping your breasts. As your thoughts go wild your own fingers explore yourself and a hand massage your tit. You flex your thighs together, back arching, your whole body shaking from arousal. You stop for a moment to remember that you brought a little toy for tonight.

Digging through your bag your hand touches a solid object. Picking it up knowing its your handy wand ready to be used. You study the curves of the vibrator remembering how much Kai love to tease you with it. When you both started dating Kai was a little inexperienced with little knowledge of selfcare so you took it upon yourself to show him the great pleasures of sex toys. Stripping away your clothes settling back on the bed you tease your nipples once more. Reaching for the vibrator clicking it on to fill the air with a light buzzing noise. Pressing the vibrations against your clit instantly shot pleasure through your body making it hard to not get needy. You tease yourself over and over again swiping the wand against your folds but never fully fucking yourself.

A small sound of metal of the door knob clicks but was quiet enough to not be noticed by you. However, your smalls gasps and breathy moans could easily been heard from your boyfriend who came through the door. He walks in quietly to see his beautiful girlfriend spread out before him. His cheeks burn a fiery red, big doe eyes shy away embarrassed that he caught you in such a position until he starts to hear your juices that sounded so delicious to him. All his attention came back to you especially when your moans became calls of his name.

He watches the curl of your toes, every spasm of your open legs leading down to your glistening folds moving around your vibrator. Kai's secret cover was compromised when a drawn out groan escaped from deep within him. Your teary eyes open to look around the room finding Kai standing perfectly in front of you, your legs framing his body.

"Kai, angel, I missed you so much a-and I couldn't wa-"

"canieatyouout"

You eyes widen at his abrupt request but then soften as you widen your legs as a sign of welcome. Kai gets on his knees getting a hold of your hips to push you towards him, towards his face so it was morphing into your pussy. You pant at his luscious muscle lapping up every part of you and his nose bumping into your clit so lovingly. Kai lifts his head to grin at your fucked out state then catches a glimpse of the forgotten wand. He grabs it and as his lips latch onto your clit he shoves the vibrator deep inside you receiving a shocked gasp.

You feel lightheaded by the deep penetration. Your vision begins to see stars with every suck and lick of your clit. Looking down at the sight of your boyfriend, Kai, his long dark hair hiding his face that was already hidden in your cunt, his broad shoulders keeping your legs far apart, one hand thrusting the wand in and out of you while the other explores your soft skin. God did you miss him...

A nuisance,

TxT's Devil

taglist: @inkigayocamman, @naoristerling, @incogrio

#txt devil #txt hard thoughts #txt hard hours #txt smut #txt x reader #txt x you #txt x y/n #txt devil asks #huening kai x reader #hueningkai imagines #huening kai x y/n #huening kai smut #huening kai x you #hyuka hard thoughts #hyuka hard hours #hyuka smut #hyuka x reader

189 notes · View notes

wandagcre · 1 year ago

Text

under your spell | sam carpenter 🔞

(Mob Boss!Sam Carpenter x Fem!Reader)

Samantha Loomis will do everything to keep the journey of your love story with her floating, come what may. Even if it takes killing an important figure in your life, she won't risk it.

WARNING: dom!mob boss sam, sub!reader, manipulation, graphic depiction of violence, strap-on sex, teasing, 69 - not proofread | 18+ men & minors dni. Words: 3.5k Note: more of mob boss sam! this was requested by one of my favs, @romanoffsbish! hope i did justice with this one ahhh🫣

[ series masterlist ] | [ masterlist ]

You lost count of how many times you tossed and turned in the bed. It’s particularly lonesome even while you’re enveloped in the comfiest mattress and sheets of layers that provide much-needed warmth. You craved Sam by your side.

It was unimaginable how you didn’t want to be in this bed almost a year ago.

Now, it was nothing but an embarrassing fact as to how your body and mind depended on the woman. You yearned for her touch; her chin perched against your shoulder as her strong arms wrapped around you protectively and how you heard Sam’s light snores that oddly brought comfort rather than a nuisance. In your comfort lies the much-needed presence of the woman.

The thought raised concern for you, as usually, Sam wouldn’t waste any time to join you here.

Having enough time alone, you got up quickly took your robe, and sauntered your way to Sam’s office. You’re immediately relieved that you put on a robe, covering your sheer nightgown underneath. You just saw some of Sam’s men patrolling outside the house as you passed through the wide halls, one of them nodding in acknowledgment as they saw you through the sliding door. The last time someone saw you vulnerable…it did not end well.

You rub your arms for warmth. Entering Sam’s office at your home was an experience. You’ve been here only a few times, understanding that the woman needed her own space – even if that concept felt foreign for the two of you. Pushing one of the two doors, the intimidating air welcomed you. The high ceiling, and the modestly tiered chandelier hued her lair. It was as grandiose as it can get; with the pillars and currently enclosed European rolling shutters, layers that provided extended privacy. If it weren’t for her chandelier and lamps in the room, it would be a total blackout as light did not stand a chance.

Whether it was out of Sam’s paranoia or extra precaution of safety, you love her just the same.

When you carefully made your way through her to the U-shaped table, Sam didn't say much, but you figured she knew it was you already. She’s pensive and painstakingly occupied with the files on her hand.

“Mi amor, come over here…” Your heart soared at her tiny voice.

Sam welcomes your touch with ease. Like a reflex; she freed one of her busy hands to clasp it with yours that hugged her front. Yet, it was her mind that was drifting.

“I miss you, come to bed.” You murmured and felt her soft laughter vibrate against your body.

You ignite a familiar glint in Sam’s eyes. “I like the sound of that. Domestic. Married.” She turns the paper with a faint smile.

In closer view, you have the sight of Sam in her trousers and importantly, her cufflinks and blue button-down undone, hugging her from behind. You take advantage of the proximity, breathing in Sam’s scent which is mixed city dirt and a particular musk that you love, heightening your serotonin. You can’t help but wet your lips with the thoughts you’re being wrapped into.

“Hm. Well, your wife needs attention now.”

“I’m sorry, mi amor.”

“Hey. I knew what I signed up for, Sammy.” A fracture of it, your mind quips. Not that you minded. It blows over quickly as Sam hums. “Nothing that a few kisses can’t solve. You can start by downplaying them now…”

Your sultry words didn’t fly over her.

She indulges your play immediately. “And you’re charging this with interest, I suppose?” Sam can feel your devious fingers dancing on the expanse of her toned stomach, skipping over the material of her work clothes. The air rapidly thickened with the brewing hunger and tension, rousing both of you into a familiar pit of lust.

Sam’s back still is facing you, momentarily pulling away to unbutton her top.

“Very much so I’m afraid.” You lazily murmured against your girlfriend’s back as you jumped back near her. Sam feels herself grounded towards reality, her icy exterior melting. You feel Sam’s tense muscles wearing off. A faint smile comes over you. How do you even do that? Sam wonders each time. “What are you even worrying about? Your beautiful eyebrows are bunched up like a grandma.”

Sam swiftly turned. Her kisses soon trailed over your jaw and lips, insistent.

“I need to pay up first, amor.”

“But Sammy—Oh!”

Sam deflects. Although you noticed, it was hard to be devoid of her wishes as you did not have a choice but to take in her little yet adamant pecks. Soon, it grew into seemingly aggressive and bruising kisses. She tasted a hint of whiskey, burning on your tongue. Letting out a gasp wasn’t too good either as Sam took it as her chance to kiss you harder and swallow your moans. She lifts you to have you sprawled out on her oak table, determined to stir a carnal disarray. With each tilt and lean, the bites and growls that Sam released onto you had made your brain all muddled. You caress her firm shoulder and decide to pay back; you give her breast an adamant squeeze through her sports bra.

Sam pulls back and her matching gold accessories shine from your view. God, she looked beautiful – almost forbidden. Her shiny, half-lidded eyes peer over you lustfully and mischievous.

“M-mm, you’re so good for me… I had something in mind, would you excuse me for a second mi amor?”

You teasingly ran your fingers through her nape and undid her tied-up hair, letting her alluring black tresses cascade messily, and tugged her hair back for good measure. Sam gulped at your assertiveness, gripping your hips firmly.

“I won’t go anywhere but here.”

As Sam came to fetch a spice to spruce up your evening, you gratefully absorbed the time she gave you. She can be an intense lover who knocks the air out of your lungs without fail. Your eyes flit over the mess sitting atop her desk. The sepia-colored portfolios were noticeable, strung up neatly. Her Glock particularly stood out with its metallic shine that made your heart race in nervousness. The daydreams can be hot, sure, yet if you were to be frank; you’re still taking in this new life one day at a time.

Until you saw another notable profile related to you.

It struck a personal vein as it was none other than your beloved partner and coworker for years, only her papers were marked “CLOSED” with a bright, red stamp across her personal description and profile shot. Your stomach churned at the possibility of her in danger. She was the closest figure you had for a mother. Although a part of you feels worthy of the success you have now, you can’t help but also think you have grown selfish and self-centered.

The last time you talked to her was 2 months ago, her birthday. A bittersweet smile spread across your features. You even kept postponing a simple brunch date with her – one that you didn’t have trouble with, until… no.

What’s wrong with you?

It’s not like she also reached out to you. You wonder what Grace thought of your Sam. She appeared skeptical, though you brushed it off knowing that what you and Sam have are unique. Perhaps you left out a few minor details that made her disapprove of it – detecting easily when you’re secretive about things. You didn’t find the point to it, though. You, among all people, were the most aware of you and Sam being from two worlds that happened to collide. But you insisted that it works; both of you put effort and love into it.

Sam is your person.

A hand rubs comfortingly on your shoulder. “Mi amor, are you okay?”

“Sammy, why do you have these files? What does Grace have to do with your business?” You bit the inside of your cheek. “Is she… okay?” The apprehension coursed through your veins unsettlingly.

You’re not even sure if you were ready to hear the truth.

With shaky hands, you gather the papers and examine them. Reading them made the coldness eerily vivid as though you’re holding a decomposing body, as though Grace that you once knew was now nothing but a closed history. Your vision blurred as your eyes trail over the personal information. Not one has registered in your mind.

Meanwhile, Sam carefully examined your reactions, silent as you soaked up the files that appeared to rattle you. Lost in your bewildered thoughts, you didn’t even notice the tanned woman’s presence until she gently took your forearm and her lips were pressed against your wrist.

“You won’t be seeing her anymore. Would you like me to elaborate?”

Fuck, you sure hope so. “Sam. This– this doesn’t look good to me,” Your voice cracked at the end and your eyes were starting to well up. Your figure moved in discomfort.

“You’re right.” Sam sighed and threaded her fingers through her hair. “It does not look good… but for all right reasons. Can you lay your back on the desk?” You tilt your head inquisitively, yet following Sam made her appeased with your actions.

“O-okay,”

She hooked her hands around your legs, making your lower back pressed on the oak table. The robe you wore slid off, but you didn’t mind — Sam did not mind.

“Good girl.” Sam praised you with her honeyed voice. You felt the familiar desire stir in your stomach. However, it did not stop you from staring – waiting – at those plump lips to further elaborate. “She’s gone.”

It expeditiously induced a sharp pain in your chest. Grace is gone – echoed faintly in your head. Your heart and mind throbbed at the sudden news.

Despite Sam’s monotonous tone, you’re unable to dissect the emotion further as you feel Sam lock your lips into a titillating kiss, her body atop you. A tear rolled down your cheek, Sam did not mind, hurriedly swiping them away with her thumb. Your mind ebbs slowly of its previous worries, tangled in the woman’s skillful touch; latched onto your skin with greed that appeases both of your needs. It confused you greatly, while as despair filled you, you were also throbbing, your cunt aroused again and wanting for more.

“My men bagged her head with a canvas, almost suffocating her.” You helplessly groan as Sam places a hand over your mouth. You couldn’t speak at her firm hold. “But don’t worry, she passed swiftly… least as I could let her be. She was interfering with us, mi amor. I hope you do understand – I’m doing this for us. I haven’t failed you yet, have I?”

You only nod weakly. It was the truth; she didn’t disappoint at all. Your body was still in fight mode and attempted to relieve it by desperately clawing on your girlfriend’s tanned bare back – searching for something tangible. Your fingernails dug into them and rewarded you with Sam’s breathy moans, swallowing the lump in your throat. On the other end, Sam was relieved by your response. No matter how it was laced with sugar coating, she still fears that you will never meet each other by the eye.

“I can’t hurt you, ever. You know that I wouldn’t do something bad when it comes to you, (y/n/n).”

She’s real and you’ll be alright… your girlfriend always had a good reason for her decisions, right?

Sam’s carnal ways did not waver; instead, you hear the rustling of her trousers and how she unzipped them. You didn’t even notice how she smoothly set your underwear aside, your wet pussy exposed to the cold air that made you quiver as Sam was ready to plunge in the tip of her strap.

“The things you do to me, amor, fuck!” Sam uttered gruffly as she parted your folds, the action impenitent and dirty. Her thumb probes over your wet insides, resulting in your breathing growing erratic and your head being thrown back, as she didn't hesitate to put a few inches on you unannounced. “I had fun playing Russian roulette with your dearest Grace. I can hear her terror each time my revolver clicked. If only I had the reins to get messy, I would have gutted her stomach apart until her insides spilled!” She punctuates the anguish in her tone by pounding in you harder, rocking both of you and the entire length of the strap almost inside of you.

The squelching and the slapping of skins reverberated in her room. You felt dirty and guilty, knowing it was the place where parts of Sam’s empire were laid tactfully. Though, you fucking loved every second of it. It felt that it was a Cathedral and all you knew was to worship and moan Sam’s name — until every fiber of your being occupied nothing but her.

Your ragged breathing and continuous moans were interrupted with Sam grabbing you by the cheek again. Her brown eyes were pierced into your drunk ones. “I love you. Nothing’s going to wreck that. Not even the slightest.”

This was a real woman in front of you, unashamed to tell the tales of how far she was willing to go for you. You never had that in your life – until her, your Sammy. So, you gratefully nod, your heart felt as though it was going to burst in hopes that your eyes could convey how the feeling was mutual.

It should be disgusting but you can’t help but gush more at the stretch even while in Sam’s morbid monologue. “And I’m here, fucking you with my cock senselessly. Do you like being put in this situation? You have no shame, amor. That’s why we fit perfectly,” She grabbed you by your jaw, “Answer me.”

“Y-yes! Fuck, yes!” You wail as the phallic inside of you feels too vivid against your walls. Your eyes rolled at the back of your head. The shame burned your insides but oh so satisfyingly. “I-I love it!”

“You do, don’t you? This is what you deserve. Goodness and me. Your partner didn’t even cry out for you, they cried out for Marly, the bitch from work that they cheated on you with. Don’t worry mi amor, I’ll gut her next for ever hurting you like this…” The huff and panting of Sam’s eagerness had overpowered the internal dilemma growing out of you. It cemented your mind on one thing; you were hurt, but Sam has once again swooped in to rescue you.

Marly was soon history as Grace was. You couldn’t believe your mother figure had disposed of you just the same.

“You’re always there for m-me… ‘could never doubt you, Sammy,” You choked in moans and felt Sam’s breath ghost to your bare neck. “I-I love you,”

Reeling back to full pleasure, you’ve easily taken it in, both Sam’s strap and the new life you were in. You might as well accept it – take it wholly – no matter how much red is drowned in Sam’s ledger. And Sam? The macabre beast melded inside of her and groaned in satisfaction. Your robe was halfway off, the nightgown almost ripped in half, revealing your skin and breasts that were painted with deep red and purple hues, as you’ve braved through a storm. More importantly, you took her with almost no hesitance and your pretty lips affirmed how much you loved her, even with Sam admitting her sick ways of keeping you both safe.

It made her feel worthy and on top of the fucking world. All of the blood and gruesome journey she has gone through — it was all for you and so, so worth it.

You wail underneath Sam’s relentless pounding that fueled her to thrust in varying angles to make your mind all fuzzy. You feel everything and then nothing all at once, completely spent as your orgasm crashed — the strap still buried inside of you. You were certain that Sam wanted it molded on your velvety walls until all it knew was her.

In your drifting-off state, Sam gently pulls back the robe on you and picks you up, carrying you against her front. You’re perched against the crook of her neck and you want to giggle at her sidestepping, the bodyguards looking away from your sight as Sam is careful to not reveal your current state. It was proving to be a challenge not to moan and simply fuck yourself against the strap, as for some reason Sam kept it in.

You thought it was the end as your girlfriend placed you on your shared bed until Sam fully unbuckled her then loose belt, and her trousers pool by her ankle. She’s bare for you, her blemishes and scars were open to you, and somewhat they made an appetizing touch to her perfectly carved body. Now you feel the familiar throbbing rising on your tummy once again and your thighs spasmed at the light strain it encountered from earlier activities. Sam deviously chuckled at your reaction and crawled her way on top of you.

“I wanted to return the favor…” You whispered against the shell of Sam’s ear, hands busying themselves on undoing the strap laced on her waist. “I need to have you in my mouth.”

Sam’s stomach visibly twitched at your words, her throat drying up at how they dripped with much desire, just for her.

“Funny, because I was planning to eat you, too.” A tender kiss was pressed against your lips. Sam moved teasingly as her words did, affecting you greatly.

“We can do it at the same time, you know…”

Sam’s heart constricted at your suggestion. She would be stupid if she were to turn down your offer. Imagining you between her thighs and putting all of her will not to suffocate you? Sam grew wet. She twitched like a junky in need of a fix and her orbs were glazed with excitement and tenfold desire. Perhaps, Sam was rubbing off on you too much these days.

“Fuck, you mean—?”

You timidly nod. “Yes. It’s a win-win situation for us, Sammy.”

You strip out of your useless clothes quickly. There was no use for it. Sam watches you as if she were hypnotized. How this woman has a nonstop carnal desire to take you at every moment possible was lost on you.

Getting into position was inevitably awkward. It was a new thing, both of you were testing the waters. But given Sam’s words of encouragement, the intimidation soon dissolved and it made you communicate better. In reverse positions, you were met with Sam’s long and toned thighs. Having the strong inner skin wrapped between your head was a daydream much as her face. You can smell her arousal vividly – one that was caused by none other than you – which had made pride surge wildly in your chest. Sam easily slid and handled your body towards her face.

“You’re so wet…” Sam whispered as she peppered your thighs with soft kisses. Each contact had left you squirming and frenzy for more. “My pretty girl, have you imagined this for so long?”

You were too shy to admit it.

Although it was very telling on Sam’s end, seeing your slick smeared. Her mouth watered. Soon it will be all over her face. She grabbed the back of your thighs and eagerly lapped on your wet folds, your cries of pleasure served as wonderful stimulation against her exposed cunt. Her tongue flattened up for good measure, Sam slid perfectly against you. Opposed to her confident moves, your movement was gentle and slow, as though you wanted to savor all of Sam’s fluids. This made your rhythm against hers messy and uncoordinated, but it was you so she didn’t mind.

Your cheeks were heated not only out of disbelief that this was happening, but also from the warmth that Sam emits – somehow that makes you flustered. While you’re lost in the haze of lust, Sam tries to be gentle with her thigh grip. However, as it grows tense and firm, it seemingly pulls out a moan from you that makes Sam weak in her knees.

You feel the tip of her tongue dip inside, as though Sam is curious to extract more – savoring the flavor on her tastebuds. The repeated motions continue with the relentless lapping of her tongue, muscle invasive and fast, almost slurping between. It was addicting, like seeing red, only with Sam’s stimulation and breath existing to reel you in further. You keep up and mimic her actions and soon you two find the groove, moving and grinding on each other’s body – mouths barely detaching from the waterfall of wetness. As happiness is meant to be consumed, you do it with such bliss, eyes closed.

Soon, both of you convulsed at the rush of release. Hurriedly, you lapped on Sam’s cum like it was the last thing you’ll ever drink. Sam was more brutal, and practically buried herself in your pussy until you had to push her away. Your fingers dug into the soft flesh of her thighs, both cunts were tender and as Sam did, your breath was heaving as well. A sheer sweat covered both of your bodies. Fuck, you can’t believe you’ve just done that.

This was fucking heaven.

Sam was the first to get up. You were spent and your clothes were gone, meant for replacement again. She giggled at your adorable sight, a chaste kiss laced with strong remnants of your taste greeted your mouth – ending it with you in her arms, lulled by Sam's heartbeat against your bare chest, and open-mouthed kisses on your tired jaw.

A triumphant smile makes its way to her devious features and whispers I love you against your forehead.

She has done it again. You barely knew what rattled you moments earlier, instead, your mind was filled with the woman and how you can’t live without her.

#gg.writes #sam carpenter smut #sam carpenter x fem reader #sam carpenter x female reader #sam carpenter x you #sam carpenter x y/n #wlw #lesbian #fanfic #au #scream vi #requested #sam carpenter x reader

591 notes · View notes