#ripple rug

[angsty-aliens]

My beloved cat had an unfortunate hairball on his absolute favorite toy: the ripple rug. (Seriously it’s expensive and stupid but your cat will love it.)

This meant I had to WASH the ripple rug and the cat was Offended.

Today the ripple rug is dry and all is right in the world again.

The end.

[toyastales]

If there is magic on this planet, it is contained in water

- LOREN EISELEY

[herbalnature]

Golden folds of earth ripple across Zabriskie Point, offering a feast for the eyes with the warm hues of Death Valley. The setting sun casts deep shadows, highlighting the rugged beauty of this natural wonder.

[almostbeautifulicreator]

[eyrys]

[dmitriene]

inspiration link

you wake up needy in the middle of the night, simon is here, rugged face nuzzled in the juncture of your neck and shoulder, large body pinning you into the softness of the mattress, muscles softened, and you know he's exhausted, but you can't hold down the pitiful whimper that stumbles down your lips, your hands rubbing along his bare back, up his spine with clawing nails, as he stirs.

it's the throb of your warm pussy beneath your legs and small, syrupy sounds that coat his ears, making his browny eyes flutter open groggily, seeing your glossy gaze, the burning press of your warm body against his, heavy cock swelling up when he shifts, rubbing against your pussy, already soppy and fluttering, as you hiccup a muffled whimper, clinging to his wide shoulders and burrowing your face into his neck.

simon doesn't pushes you off, chuckling hoarsely when his groggy mind comes to understatement of what you want, of the needy buckle of your hips, as he rolls his heavy body fully over yours, cloaking your frame completely, his face bending down to nuzzle against your jaw, with smudgy, wet kisses, as he lowered his hips, resting his meaty cock against your folds, the drippy tip nudging up and down, coating himself in your slick and his precome.

it takes some time for him to sink down, as he nibbles across the curve of your neck, lazy, open mouthed kisses that turn down in heavy groans when his cock splits you open, pushing agonizingly slow, careful not to hurt you in the complete darkness of his room, moving on an instinct, as your walls clamp tightly around, sucking him with rippling spasms, until he doesn't sinks down to the pelvis, breathing out at your sobbing whine.

you hold tightly onto him, body jerking up with each thrust of his rolling hips, pressed against him as your suppleness rubs against his constricting muscles, your ankles looping around his lower back, heels digging into his plump ass, as he humps your leaking pussy, grinding down heavily with all his weight, drippy tip pounding against your spongy spot each time he sinks back down, feeling how your hole twitches.

simon's mouth on your skin again and again, falling open to coat your jaw with suckling kisses, leaving blooming marks that warm you up, tucking your face under his sharp jaw, as he holds you delicately, squeezing at the supple curves of your sides, down to your hips, helping you move against him when your legs start to tremble, shimmering heat of your approaching orgasm low in your tensing belly, and he holds you tightly when you come down in shakes.

main masterlist. quidelines.

[d1stalker]

All of You, All of Me [Logan Howlett]

Summary: In a world of black and white, the only person who could bring colour to your life is the last one who'd want to.

Warnings: au where everything is black and white until you meet your soulmate, fem!reader, slow burn, angst, running away from feelings, pining, grovelinggg WC: 14.2k - MASTERLIST - A/N: help i'm sorry i didn't mean for it to get this long, but this fic is my baby

----

You've always cherished the idea of having a soulmate—someone who would love you unconditionally, waiting just for you as you them. The thought of finding that perfect match, the one who complements you in every way, is something you’ve always dreamed of. 

But as you get older, the hope you carry seems to dwindle more and more each year. Everyone around you has found their other half, reveling in the newfound ability to see colours in all their glory, and soaking up every moment of shared affection.

Everyone, except for you.

Your world remains a stark, colourless void, as if the universe is deliberately withholding the one thing you desire most.

And to make matters worse, despite not finding your soulmate, you are unequivocally, irrevocably in love with someone who has.

Logan Howlett.

You can’t remember a time where you didn’t feel anything toward him. His rugged, lone-wolf demeanor snuck its way deep into the crevices of your heart, and made itself a home there.

You and him formed an unlikely friendship, formed through the desire to fight back against all the people who’ve wronged mutants. Over the years, you had accepted the fact that while he wasn’t yours, at least you were alone together. Well, until she came.

Jean Grey.

She was strong, charming, and everything you felt you weren’t. It was no wonder her and Logan were meant to be together—the stoic, brooding mutant and his graceful, strong-willed counterpart. 

You remember the day it happened so vividly, it’s almost like you were the one who found their life partner. You and him had been walking around the mansion, when Charles had called you into his office to meet someone new. One look at their faces when they made eye contact and you knew you’d lost him.

It pained you to see them all over each other, all the time. Your once-regular walks in the garden became rare, then vanished entirely. On missions, he no longer looked out for you; his attention was consumed by protecting her. And as much as it hurt, you couldn’t deny they seemed perfect for each other—just as soulmates should be. You had no right to feel jealous.

Then, just as quickly as she had entered his life, she left it. 

The Pheonix was too strong, ripping her apart from the inside out. The pained scream he let out as not only his heart died, but as the world around him faded back into black and white, was forever ingrained into your memory. 

Logan was never the same after that.

 —

You trudge down the familiar halls of the mansion, your feet heavy with the weight of the day. It’s been long, filled with training sessions, team meetings, and a lot of paperwork. All you want to do is retreat to your room, lose yourself in a book, or maybe just sleep until the ache in your chest dulls.

As you walk, you hear faint commotion down the hallway—a low murmur of voices and the occasional clatter of something being moved. But you pay it no mind, too lost in your thoughts to care. Another mission, another discussion, another moment where you aren’t needed. It’s all so routine now.

Lost in your reverie, you don’t notice the figure walking toward you until it’s too late. You collide with a solid chest, the impact jolting you back to reality.

“Oh, sorry—” you begin, stepping back, but the words die on your lips as you look up.

It’s Logan.

Your breath catches in your throat as you stare at him, shock rippling through your body as you process his presence. And for a moment, neither of you speak. You just stand there, taking him in—the man who was once your closest friend, the man who was torn apart by grief and loss. His clothes are rumpled, his skin rougher than you remember, like he’s been through hell and back. 

You hadn’t seem him in a long time. After the devastation, he stopped talking to everyone. He holed himself up in his room for days at a time, only coming out in the dead of night to eat. Either that, or he was away on a mission–anything to stay distracted. 

But now, looking at him, there’s something different off. Something you can’t quite place your finger on. Did he always look like that? Maybe it’s the way the light above is reflecting off of him. Or maybe it’s—oh.

Looking around in surprise, you watch as the usually dark, stoic walls explode into a deep, rich shade. The carpet below you—no longer a mural of grey—radiates colors you can’t name. Your hands, his eyes, his hair-

You want to open your mouth and say something, anything, to the man who has caused your world to shift on its axis, but he’s already turned, walking away from you.

“Give me a fuckin’ break.”

----

Brown. Logan’s hair is brown.

After Logan leaves you paralyzed in the hallway, you run to your room, find the book on colors you had stashed in your bedside table, and throw open the cover. In it is a diagram that displays every known colour and their names. You learn that your favorite pair of pants are maroon, your bedsheets are navy green, and the X-Men suits are bright yellow and blue.

You stare at the page, each word blurring as your mind tries to process the impossible. Logan’s hair is brown. The thought keeps repeating in your head like a mantra, over and over again, until it becomes a steady thrum, drowning out everything else.

Brown.

You sit back on your bed, letting the book slip from your hands, the pages crumpling as it hits the floor.

Why him? Why me? Why now?

You begin to fidget, the adrenaline of the prior moment causing your heart to flail in your chest like crazy. You can’t stay here, you think to yourself. The idea of locked in your room with only your thoughts for company does not sound appealing. You need air, something to ground you, something to clear the haze clouding your head. Without thinking, you jump out of bed and find yourself heading up to the roof, the one place where you can breathe without feeling like the walls of the mansion closing in on you.

The trip up the stairs feels longer than ever before, each step heavy under the weight of your mind. It’s like every thought adds ten pounds. When you open the door, the cool night air hits you like a welcomed slap to the face, and you exhale deeply.

Walking to the edge, you lean against the railing. You’re in a daze - wondering if you made up the entire thing in your head. The only proof that you haven't, and that Logan being your soulmate is real, is the colours that coat the mansion’s grounds. The moonlight bathes everything in what you now know as a soft, silver glow, and for a moment, you just stand there, looking out into the distance.

It doesn’t make sense, and the more you try to wrap your head around it, the more tangled your thoughts become. You don’t want to face the possibility of what it could mean, but you can’t just brush it aside either. It has quite literally changed your entire life. 

You close your eyes, taking a deep breath in an attempt to quiet your racing mind. But when you open them again, you freeze.

Logan is standing at the other end of the roof, leaning against the wall with his arms crossed, his gaze fixed on the sky. He hasn’t noticed you yet, and for a split second, you consider turning back, retreating before he sees you. It would be a wise idea - he didn’t want to talk to you then, and he probably doesn’t want to talk to you now. But, it an act that can only be seen as your own body betraying you, you take a step forward. 

The sudden movement catches his attention, and his head snaps in your direction, his eyes locking onto yours. 

“Why are you here?” he asks accusingly.

You hesitate, unsure of how to answer. Seeing him out here was the last thing you had expected, and now that he’s in front of you, you are at a loss of words.

Logan’s eyes narrow, and he pushes off the wall, walking toward you. “You shouldn’t be here.”

“I needed air,” you manage to say, swallowing the lump in your throat. “I just needed to clear my head.”

“Well, find somewhere else to do it,” he snaps, “I don’t want company.”

“Logan, I—”

“Don’t,” he interrupts, not even bothering to hear you out. “Don’t start. I know what you’re gonna say, and I don’t want to hear it.”

You blink, taken aback, and hurt at his coldness. “What are you talking about?”

He lets out a low, humourless laugh, running a hand through his hair. “You think I don’t know what’s going on? God, I… this is all so fucking stupid.”

Your heart skips a beat, and you feel a flush of embarrassment rise to your cheeks. “I wasn’t—”

“Enough!” he barks, his voice echoing in the night. “I’m not interested, alright? Whatever it is you think is happening between us, it’s not real. It’s just some stupid trick of the universe, and I’m not playing along.”

His words hit you like a physical blow - like you’ve just been shot at right in the heart - and you have to bite your lip to keep from crying out. “I don’t understand. I didn’t mean for any of this—”

“Yeah, well, neither did I,” he snaps at you, “And I’m not gonna sit here and pretend like there’s something here,” he gestures between you two, “when there isn’t. You’re not mine, and I’m sure as hell not yours.”

The finality in his tone leaves you breathless, and for a moment, all you can do is stare at him. You have nothing to say back, he’s not giving you any slack. The reality of his rejection sinks in with a brutal, crushing weight, you have to put in effort to not stumble over. 

After a long moment, you finally collect yourself. Then, “Okay,” you whisper. “I understand.”

Logan’s expression doesn’t soften; if anything, it grows colder, more distant.

“Good. Then stay away from me.”

You nod, eyes filling with tears. You quickly turn your face away, not wanting him to see just how much he’s hurt you.

“I’m sorry,” you murmur, barely audible. “I didn’t mean to make things worse for you.”

He doesn’t respond, doesn’t even acknowledge your apology. He just turns away, his back to you, effectively shutting you out.

You stand there for a long moment, watching him walk away for the second time that night. The colours that seemed so vibrant, so full of life just a moment ago, now feel like a cruel reminder of everything you could never have.

—

When you eventually return to your room, all you can do is lay in bed and stare up at the ceiling as your encounter with Logan on the roof replays in your mind on an endless loop, each harsh word he’d thrown at you cutting deeper than the last. It’s causes pain unlike anything you’ve ever felt before, pain that seems to have no end, no respite.

If he doesn’t want you in his life, you’ll accept that. You have to - it’s not like you have a choice. Soulmates are a two-way street.  

You can’t force him to feel something he doesn’t, can’t make him see you in a way he clearly never will. And you understand, don’t you? You can’t even imagine how difficult this would be for him. Losing your soulmate, and then the universe saying Fuck You and giving you another? 

You’ll never ever forget how wrecked he was when Jean died. How her death shattered him into pieces so small you weren’t–no–you’re still not sure he’ll ever be whole again. 

And you—where do you stand in the grand scheme of things? Just as the unfortunate recipient of a bond that neither of you asked for? Are you even allowed to be upset about this?

—

Waking up the next morning, you honestly wish you hadn’t. You knew you weren’t on good terms with Logan after his little rooftop showcase of emotions, but nothing could have prepared you for the way he starts to treat you.

His face is stuck in a perpetual scowl when you’re in his vicinity. He’s leaving every room the moment you enter, refusing to look at you, speak to you, or acknowledge your presence in any way. It’s as if you’ve become invisible, a ghost haunting the same halls you once shared with him. There’s only one thing you two seem to wordlessly agree on: don’t tell anyone. 

Each day following becomes a struggle, an unbearable test of your strength as you try to make it through without breaking. You begin to avoid Logan as much as he avoids you, but the mansion is only so big, and there are always moments when you catch sight of him in the distance, his broad shoulders hunched, his brooding face glaring daggers in your direction. 

It hurts you every time, an unending torture that leaves you stumbling. Still, you bite your tongue and keep moving, pretending you don’t care.

But you do care. You care more than you want to admit, more than you think is possible. Because despite everything—despite the rejection, the coldness, the anger—you still love him. 

And that’s the cruelest twist of all.

So you endure it, day after day, week after week, month after month. Letting it tear you apart piece by piece, because what else can you do? You carry this burden alone, just as you’ve carried your feelings for him all these years. And maybe one day, the pain will fade, the bond will weaken, and you’ll be able to move on.

—

The only person you tell is Charles.

“What’s on your mind, my child?” he asks one day, while you’re sweeping the dust in his office. 

You hesitate, your gaze dropping to your hands as you focus on cleaning. You know he’s just asking out of courtesy, and that he could easily crawl into your mind and figure it out himself. He probably wouldn’t even need to put in that much effort, given how loud your thoughts are. But still, you don’t yield to his probing.

“Nothing, really,” you mutter, forcing a small smile that doesn’t reach your eyes. “Just… tired, I guess.”

Charles watches you carefully, his eyes full of the warmth and compassion he always has, but this time, it makes you feel uncomfortable. Like he can see right through the facade you’re trying so hard to maintain, which you have no doubt, he does. 

“I’m here to help, whatever the burden.”

You want to groan. It’s not like he’s doing it on purpose but damn does it feel like he’s trying to guilt you into confessing that you just recently had your heart shattered. 

“I know, Professor. But… it’s nothing you need to worry about.”

“You forget, I worry about all of you,” he replies gently. “It’s in my nature.”

The chuckle that crawls out your throat is nothing short of bitter. “It’s just… complicated.”

“Complicated doesn’t mean you have to face it alone.”

You bite your lip, trying to keep the emotions at bay. Do you really want to explain to him the insurmountable suffering you’re in, the rejection you faced from the one person who is supposed to be your soulmate? How can you tell him that the bond the universe forged is the very thing tearing you apart?

“It’s just… I don’t know how to make sense of it, Professor,” you finally admit, your voice barely above a whisper. “Everything’s so… wrong.”

He leans forward slightly, his gaze never leaving yours. “Wrong how?”

Knowing that you’re teetering into confession territory, you hesitate, needing time to collect your thoughts. 

“Logan… he… we… It’s not supposed to be like this, is it?” you eventually get out. Not your best work, but you know he’d get the gist. 

Understanding dawns in Charles’s eyes, and you can see the sympathy there, the quiet acceptance of the truth you’re struggling to voice. “The bond you share… it’s more than you expected, isn’t it?”

You nod, feeling the tears well up again. “But he doesn’t want it. He doesn’t want me.”

The professor sighs softly, and he looks at you like you’re a lost puppy. “Logan has been through so much, more than most could bear. His heart has been wounded in ways that are difficult to heal, and it’s not surprising that he would resist this new connection.”

“So why me?” you ask. “Why bind me to someone who will never love me?”

Leaning back in his chair, his fingers steepled thoughtfully, he says, “I wish I had an answer for you, my dear. The universe works in mysterious ways, ways that often defy our understanding. But I do know this: the bond you share is there for a reason. Whether it’s meant to bring you closer or to teach you something important… that remains to be seen.”

“It feels like a punishment,” you whisper, the tears finally spilling over. As much as you hate being put on the hot seat, you can admit that it feels good talking to someone about it.  “Every day, it hurts more. And he won’t even look at me. I don’t know how to make it stop.”

“The heartache you’re feeling is profound, but you must understand that it’s not your fault. Logan’s reaction isn’t a reflection of your worth, but of his own pain and fear.”

He reaches out, placing a comforting hand on your own before continuing.

“To love, even when it’s not returned, takes incredible courage. But you must also take care of yourself. Give Logan the space he needs, and in the meantime, allow yourself the grace to heal.”

So you do. In the days that follow your conversation with Charles, you make a promise to yourself—to try, really try, to focus on your own life, to reclaim the parts of yourself that have been overshadowed by the pain of this unrequited love.

The colours are still there, vivid and vibrant, and though they sometimes feel like a bittersweet reminder of what could never be, you find moments where they bring you joy. You marvel at the deep blue of the sky, the rich greens of the trees, the way the sunlight filters through the leaves and paints the world in golden hues. It’s like seeing the world anew, and in those moments, you allow yourself to feel happiness.

Moreover, you busy yourself, volunteering for every assignment that comes your way. The adrenaline, the focus, the purpose—they all help to drown out the pain, even if only temporarily. And when you return from each mission, tired but satisfied, you feel a little more like yourself again.

The mansion, too, becomes less of a prison and more of a home once more. You start spending more time with the others, rejoining them for meals, for training sessions, for movie nights. 

You laugh with Rogue, spar with Scott, and even find yourself engaging in playful banter with Remy. It’s not perfect, and there are still moments where you catch yourself faltering, when the weight of everything threatens to pull you under, but those moments are becoming fewer and farther between.

You’re healing, slowly but surely, and with each passing day, you feel a little stronger, a little more in control of your life—of your emotions. 

But then there are the times when you cross paths with Logan, and those moments are the hardest.

One evening, after returning from a particularly grueling mission, you find yourself heading toward the kitchen, your mind on the sandwich you plan to make. The place is quiet, most of the team out on various assignments, or finishing up on some work, and you relish the peace as you walk down the corridor.

However, just as you reach the kitchen door and push it open, you find Logan standing there, preparing to exit the room at the exact same moment. Your heart lurches, and you stop dead in your tracks, almost like a deer caught in headlights. 

His gaze meets yours, and all you can see is his impassive, stoic expression. He steps back, giving you space to enter, but the tension between you is palpable.

“Sorry,” you mumble, stepping to the side, trying to make yourself as small as possible.

Logan doesn’t say anything, barely nodding—if you could even it that— before brushing past you, his shoulder grazing yours. The brief contact sends a jolt through your system, and you have to force yourself to stay still and not physically react. 

Once he leaves, you let out a shaky breath, your heart still racing from the encounter. It’s been so long since you’ve been this close to him—so long since you’ve seen the deep brown of his hair that you love so much. You hate this. 

Why does he have no reaction to at all? Why is it only you who seems to care? 

Because you are the only one who does care.

You move into the kitchen, still intent on eating, but it’s a challenge. Your hands are trembling.

—

It all comes to a head one night during dinner. In this rare occasion, both you and Logan are in the same room. You’re supposed to be celebrating Rogue and Gambit’s anniversary, and even though you insisted that they share this special moment together alone, they didn’t take no for an answer. 

That’s how you find yourself, sitting at the grand dining table with all your friends, and Logan. 

He’s across from you. Just your luck.

He refuses to spare you a single glance, his eyes staying busy the whole night. And while it’s been months and months of this, you have never gotten used to it. Still, you can’t help but sneak a few looks at that chocolate-coloured hair. Brown. 

Everything seems to be going smoothly, the food is delicious and the dessert even better, but when Gambit presents Rogue with a giant painting, that’s when you slip up. 

“I love how you blended the red with the blue!” You compliment, loving the way he managed to create the perfect contrast between shades. You’re too caught up in staring at the artwork to realize the table as gone deathly quiet, all eyes on you.

Rogue's expression is one of gentle confusion, her head tilted slightly as she tries to make sense of your words. “Darling, I thought you couldn’t see colour?”

In any other situation, you’re sure the team would have laughed at how comically large your eyes got, and how all the blood draining from your face makes you look like a gaping fish, but in this moment, nothing is funny. You can feel Logan’s eyes on you, and when you finally muster the courage to glance at him, you see that his all-too familiar glare you’ve been subject to for the last half-year. It makes your heart thud painfully in your chest

“I…” you begin, but you falter. Your mind is going through a thousand thoughts per minute, searching for an excuse you can use to deflect, to pretend it was just a mistake, but the silence is too heavy, too demanding.

Rogue’s confusion deepens, her gaze flickering between you and Logan, who is now staring at you with an expression that’s impossible to read. She starts to say something, but Remy gently places a hand on her arm, shaking his head slightly as if to tell her to let you speak. 

Logan’s gaze stays locked on you for a moment longer. Then, without a word, he pushes his chair back, the legs scraping harshly against the floor. The sound echoes in the silence, and before you can react, he stands up and walks out of the room, his movements stiff, almost mechanical.

The door closes behind him with a quiet click, and the tension in the room thickens. You feel a rush of embarrassment flood through you, your heart sinking as the reality of what just happened crashes over you. 

You lower your head, your eyes stinging with tears that you fight desperately to hold back. But it’s no use. The emotions you’ve been trying to keep buried for so long bubble to the surface, and before you can stop yourself, the tears start to fall. 

“I think I need a moment,” you manage to whisper, your voice trembling as you stand up from the table. Without waiting for a response, you hastily excuse yourself and head for the door, not before mumbling a quick apology to the couple in which you were there for.

Soon you find yourself outside in the gardens, the nightly breeze hitting your face as you make your way to a secluded bench. You can’t even appreciate the beauty in what you see, because all you feel is the overwhelming sense of failure and sadness that threatens to swallow you whole.

Sitting down heavily on the bench, you bury your face in your hands and let go. The sobs come hard and fast, each one ripping through you with a force that leaves you breathless. You’re heartbroken and angry and absolutely over it, but at the same time you feel like a massive asshole because who are you to be upset with a man who’s mourning the loss of a soulmate? 

It’s not fair.

You don’t know how long you sit there, lost in your grief, but eventually, you hear the sound of footsteps approaching. You look up, wiping at your eyes, and see Scott walking toward you.

“Mind if I join you?” he asks gently.

You shake your head, unable to find your voice, and Scott sits down beside you on the bench. 

“I’m sorry,” you croak, “I didn’t mean to ruin the night.”

Scott clicks his tongue in disagreement, his gaze focused on the gardens ahead. “You didn’t ruin anything. It’s clear you’ve been carrying this burden for a long time. It’s no wonder it slipped out tonight.”

“So everyone knows now?” you ask. He nods.

“It wasn’t hard to put two and two together,” he concludes, and you groan, bringing your hands to your face.

“I just… I didn’t want anyone to know. I didn’t want to be pitied.”

“Pity isn’t what anyone feels right now,” Scott says softly. “We’re worried about you. You’ve been hurting, and we didn’t see it. That’s on us.”

“It’s not your fault,” you bring your hands down from your face. “I’ve been trying to deal with it on my own. I thought I could handle it, but… clearly I was wrong”

With a serious expression, Scott turns to look at you. “I know what you’re going through, more than you might realize.”

You glance at him, surprised by his words. “You do?”

He nods, a sad smile tugging at the corners of his lips. “I was in love with Jean, remember? When her and Logan found out they were soulmates… it tore me apart. I didn’t think I’d ever be able to move on, and for a long time, I couldn’t.”

The mention of Jean’s name brings a fresh wave of emotion crashing over you, but there’s also a strange comfort in knowing that Scott understands your pain. “How did you… how did you get through it?”

He sighs, “It wasn’t easy. It took a long time, and I had to accept it.”

You wipe at your eyes again, sniffling as you try to compose yourself. “I’ve been thinking about leaving for a while. Taking a longer mission, just to get away for a bit. Maybe then I can figure out how to move on.”

He is quiet for a moment, considering your words. “If that’s what you need to do, I understand,” he says, “sometimes, a change of scenery can help. Though I think you should try to talk to Logan again.”

Letting out a bitter laugh, you shake your head. “I don’t know if he’ll even listen to me. He’s made it pretty clear how he feels.”

“He’s hurting too,” He decides, “He’s not handling it well, but that doesn’t mean he doesn’t care. You both need closure, and running away won’t give you that.”

“What if it just makes things worse?”

“It might.” Scott places a comforting hand on your shoulder. “But it might also give you both the chance to start healing. You deserve that chance.”

You nod slowly, letting the weight of his words sink in. “I’ll… I’ll think about it.”

“Take the time you need,” he says. “We’re all here for you.”

“Thanks, Scott. That means a lot.” You offer him a small, grateful smile.

With a final nod, he turns and walks back toward the mansion, leaving you once again alone in the quiet of the gardens. You take a deep breath, the idea of leaving still tugs at you, but now, there’s also the thought of confronting Logan—of finding some kind of closure, whatever that might mean.

You really don’t want to do it, and you’re pretty sure it’s just going to end the same way it did last time - with him shutting you out. But Scott’s words echo in your mind, reminding you that healing often requires confrontation, not avoidance.

Goddamn it.

You huff as you stand up from where you’re seated. You can’t keep running from this, can’t keep letting him run from this. You need to talk to Logan, to lay everything out on the table, even if it tears you apart in the process.

Your anxiety builds with each step as you approach his room, and you pause outside his door, your heart pounding so loudly you’re sure he could hear it if he was listening. This is it. There’s no turning back now. With a shaky breath, you finally raise your hand and knock. 

There’s a long, agonizing pause, making you strain to hear any movement on the other side. For a second, the silence causes you think he might not answer, that he might just ignore you like he’s done so many times before. But then, you hear the faint sound of footsteps approaching the door. Your heart catches in your throat as it slowly opens, revealing Logan standing there, his expression hard and unreadable.

The moment he realizes it’s you, his eyes darken, and he immediately moves to close the door, shutting you out yet again. However, you’re not letting him get away that easily. Before the door can fully close, you stick your foot out, blocking it with more force than you intended.

“C’mon, Logan,” you press. “You know we need to talk.”

He freezes, his grip on the door tightening until his knuckles turn white. His jaw clenches and unclenches, nostrils flaring. He still doesn’t look at you, his gaze fixed on some distant point as if he can will you away if he tries hard enough. But he doesn’t push the door shut either. The room is thick with suspense, both of you standing there in a silent standoff.

Finally, with a low growl of frustration, Logan steps back, opening the door just a smidge wider, barely enough for you to squeeze through. It’s a reluctant invitation, but it’s all you need.

“Fine,” he mutters, his voice rough, edged with irritation. “Talk.”

You step into the room, and he closes the door behind you, lingering close to it, as if he’s ready to bolt at any second. You feel vulnerable and exposed. It’s suddenly hard to gather your thoughts when he’s standing so close, when the heat of his presence and the distance he’s placed between is right in your face.

“Why did you come?” Logan questions. He still refuses to look directly at you, his gaze fixed somewhere over your shoulder.

“Because we can’t keep pretending this isn’t happening,” you reply, “We need to talk about what’s going on between us.”

His jaw tightens further, and his teeth grind with barely contained frustration. He finally looks at you, his eyes hard and defensive. “There’s nothing to say,” he says bitterly. “I told you how I feel. I thought that was enough.”

“It’s not enough!” you shoot back, your own frustration bubbling to the surface. “You think you can just push me away, pretend like this bond doesn’t exist, and that’s supposed to solve everything? It doesn’t work like that, Logan.”

He flinches slightly at your words, but his keeps his expression hard. “Well what do you want me to say?” he demands, his voice rising. “That I’m sorry? That I didn’t mean to hurt you? Because I am, and I didn’t. But that doesn’t change the fact that I can’t be what you want me to be.”

His words hurt. 

“I know you told me how you feel,” you start, “but you’ve never let me tell you how I feel. You’ve never given me the chance to say that it’s been tearing me apart.”

A flash of guilt. “I didn’t think… I didn’t think you needed to say it. I already knew.”

“That isn’t fair,” you argue.

“You don’t understand,” he counters, “I lost Jean. I loved her, and when she died, it broke something in me. And now… now I’m supposed to just… move on? With you? It’s not that simple.”

“I never asked you to love me, Logan,” you say, your voice trembling with the intensity of your emotions. “I never pushed for anything more than friendship—it’s not like you gave me the chance! You’ve been shutting me out, ignoring me, making me feel like I’m nothing more than a burden, like I don’t even matter!”

You can see that the pain in your voice hitting him hard, but he doesn’t apologize. Instead, he looks away, his expression conflicted. “I’m trying to protect you,” he mutters, the words sounding hollow even to him

“Protect me?” you echo incredulously. “All you’re doing is make me feel like shit. Like I’m worthless. I can’t even be your friend, to help you through this.”

You pause. “You expect us all to know how you’re feeling, but you can’t even communicate it.”

Logan winces, his eyes flicking up to meet yours, filled with a torment you’ve never seen before. He opens his mouth to say something, but the words seem to get caught in his throat. Finally, after what feels like an eternity, he breaks the silence, his voice barely above a whisper.

“I can’t be what you want me to be,” he admits, his tone filled with a deep, aching sadness. “I don’t know how to let you in. Without her, I feel like… I can’t let anyone in.”

Your eyes soften a fraction his confession, but there’s also a deep frustration that burns inside you, a frustration born of months of pain and rejection. 

“You haven’t even tried,” you say softly with a quiet resignation, “You haven’t even tried to let me in, to see what we could have been, even if it was just as friends.”

What follows is a long, nagging silence. You let it linger, giving Logan the chance he needs to think of something to say. But there’s no answer, no promise that things will change, and then you realize, with a sinking feeling, that he’s not going to take that step, too broken to try.

That’s when it really hits you. 

Whatever you were fighting for, was a losing battle from the start. 

You give up.

This time, it is you who turns your back on him. 

“Goodbye, Logan. Take care of yourself.”

You don’t wait for a response. You don’t glance back. You walk out of the room, the door closing softly behind you, and with it, the last remnants of hope you had for something more.

— 

You decide to go on the mission.

It’s nothing complicated. Your task is to survey different regions of Europe, ensuring that there are no burgeoning anti-mutant operations threatening the safety of anyone. The primary goal is gathering information, and quiet observation. No violence, Charles told you in the debrief. 

The lack of immediate danger doesn’t make leaving any easier, though. This is as much about finding yourself as it is about fulfilling your duty.

Rogue and Kitty are with you during your final preparations, helping you pack the essentials and offering support in their own ways. They don’t ask many questions, probably sensing that this decision was not just made on a whim. And for that, you’re grateful.

“I still think you’re crazy for going solo,” Rogue says with a half-smile as she zips up your bag. “But if anyone can handle it, it’s you.”

You manage a small smile in return. “Thanks, Rogue. I just need some time…”

Kitty, who’s been quietly folding clothes and tucking them into your bag, looks up, seriousness clouding her gaze.  “We get it. Just promise you’ll keep in touch, okay? And don’t hesitate to call if you need backup.”

“I promise,” you assure.

She hesitates for a moment before reaching into her pocket and pulling out a small device—the X-Men communicator gadget. She holds it out to you, and you reach your hand out. 

“Here,” she says softly, pressing the device into your hand. “This is so you can update us on your whereabouts, your status, or any important mission details. Even if you don’t need anything, just… let us know you’re okay, alright?”

You look down at the communicator in your hand, and close your fingers around it, nodding as you meet Kitty’s gaze. 

“Alright, I’ll check in regularly. I won’t leave you guys in the dark.”

Rogue finishes the last bit of organization. “You’ve got this,” she says, “And we’ve got your back, even from a distance.” You nod, appreciating their support more than you can express. 

It almost feels like a walk of shame—leaving the mansion. Everyone knows why too, and that makes it a thousand times worse. But you won’t let it get to you. With one last look, you get in your car and begin on the windy path to the airport. 

—

When you arrive in Europe, the first thing that strikes you is the sheer beauty of the landscape. Each city, each town, has its own unique charm, its own story to tell. The bustling uphill streets of Porto, the serene canals of Venice, the ancient ruins of Athens—they all offer a distraction from the turmoil inside you.

The only good part about this whole mess is that you can see colour, and truly appreciate the sights before you.

You move from one place to the next, blending in with the crowds, quietly observing, gathering information, and sending brief updates to the team through the communicator Kitty gave you. Every message is short, to the point, just enough to let them know you’re safe and on track. You don’t share much beyond the essentials, not wanting to burden them with your personal struggles.

Then, in a small café in Rome, you meet a man named Marco. He’s a traveler like you, exploring Europe with a curiosity that matches your own. He’s warm, easygoing, and before long, the two of you strike up a conversation over coffee.

He is charming in a way that makes you feel at ease, his laughter infectious as he shares stories of his travels. You don’t tell him much about yourself, keeping the details of your mission and your mutant abilities hidden. To him, you’re just another traveler, searching for something—though he doesn’t pry into what that something is.

As the days pass, you and Marco continue to cross paths, and it’s nice to have someone to talk to, someone who doesn’t know about your past, about the things you’re running from. With him, you can be anyone, and for the first time in a long while, you start to feel a little lighter. You find yourself laughing more, the weight on your chest lifting a little each day. You don’t talk about the mission, and you certainly don’t talk about Logan.

One evening, as you’re both sitting on the steps of the Spanish Steps in Rome, watching the sunset, he turns to you with a grin. “So, where are you off to next?”

You hesitate, not wanting to reveal too much, but then you smile. “I’m heading to Florence. There are some places I need to check out.”

His eyes light up. “Florence? I’ve been meaning to re-visit. Mind if I tag along?”

A part of you wants to say no, to keep the distance you’ve carefully maintained, but another part—the part that’s been lonely for so long—nods in agreement. “Sure, why not?”

—

Back at the mansion, things haven’t been as positive. The once lively atmosphere has dimmed, replaced by an uneasy tension that lingers in the halls. The X-Men carry on with their duties, but there’s a noticeable shift—a missing piece that everyone feels but no one talks about. Logan, in particular, has become even more withdrawn, if that’s possible. The man who was once brooding and distant now seems even more so, his mood volatile and unpredictable.

His behavior has become a source of concern for the team. He’s always been rough around the edges, but now, it’s like the slightest thing can set him off. He snaps at everyone, his temper flaring at the smallest provocation. On missions, he’s reckless, throwing himself into danger without a second thought, as if he’s trying to outrun something—or someone. 

In many evenings, Logan finds himself in the mansion’s gym, trying to work off the restless energy that’s been plaguing him for months. The room is always empty, save for him, the steady rhythm of his fists pounding against the punching bag being the only sound. Sweat drips down his face, his muscles straining as he channels all his frustration and anger into each punch. Yet, no matter how hard he hits, he can’t seem to shake the thoughts of you that have been haunting him.

This night, door to the gym creaks open, and Logan doesn’t need to look up to know who it is. He can sense the other man’s presence, feel the weight of his gaze as he steps inside. He doesn’t slow his punches, doesn’t acknowledge Scott’s presence, but he knows why he’s here. They’ve had this conversation before—or something like it—but nothing’s changed. Nothing’s gotten better.

Scott watches him for a moment, his expression unreadable. He’s been watching Logan spiral for weeks now, but he’s kept his distance, knowing that he’d only be pushed away. But this can’t go on—Logan can’t keep doing this, can’t keep tearing himself apart over something he refuses to confront.

“She wouldn’t want this,” he finally says, voice cutting through the steady thud of Logan’s fists against the bag.

Logan’s movements falter for just a second before he resumes, his jaw tightening. “Who?” he growls, not bothering to turn around. “Her or Jean?”

Scott doesn’t flinch at the harshness in the other man’s tone. He steps closer, his eyes steady on their target as he answers, “Both.”

Finally, Logan stops. His fists still as he leans against the bag, his breath coming in ragged gasps. His shoulders are tense, the weight of Scott’s words pressing down on him like a physical burden. He doesn’t want to hear this, doesn’t want to be reminded of what he’s lost—of who he’s lost. 

Taking a step closer, Scott’s voice is firm. “Look, I’m not a spiritual person. But I also don’t think the universe messed up with this.”

Clenching, his fists, Logan knows what the other man is getting at, but he doesn’t want to acknowledge it. Doesn’t want to think about what could have been, what he’s been too scared to even consider.

“I know you know how I felt about Jean,” Scott says quietly, knowing he’s breaching a sensitive subject. “Losing her… it killed me too. And if I had been given a chance—a real chance to be with her, to make things right—I would have taken it. No hesitation.”

Logan’s breath hitches at that. The truth is, he’s been running—running from you, from the bond you share, from the possibility of something real. 

“I’m not saying you should chase after her,” he continues. “But I am saying that you need to stop running from her. The universe doesn’t just throw things like this at us for no reason. And you know that.”

The weight of Scott’s words settle over Logan like a shroud. He knows the other man is right—deep down, he’s always known. But that doesn’t make it any easier. The fear, the guilt, the pain of losing Jean—it’s all still there, gnawing at him, holding him back. 

There’s something else too, something he’s been trying to ignore but can’t any longer: the way he feels about you, the way he’s always felt, even if he couldn’t admit it to himself. One of the first thought’s that ran through his head when his world re-erupted into colour was that, had this happened before Jean, maybe it could have worked. Maybe he could have been what you wanted, felt something real.

Scott takes a step back, giving Logan the space he needs. “Just think about it,” he says softly. “Think about what you really want. And don’t wait until it’s too late to figure it out.”

Logan doesn’t respond, but Scott doesn’t need him to. He’s said what he needed to say, and now it’s up to him to decide what comes next. With a final look, Scott turns and leaves the gym, the door closing softly behind him.

The clawed mutant stands there for a long time, his fists still clenched, his mind racing. He knows he can’t keep doing this—can’t keep tearing himself apart over something he can’t change, something he’s too afraid to confront.

But change is terrifying, especially when it means facing the truth. The truth that maybe, just maybe, the bond he shares with you is something worth fighting for. Something that Jean wouldn’t want him to throw away.

With a deep, shuddering breath, Logan finally lets his fists unclench, the tension in his body slowly ebbing away. He doesn’t have all the answers—hell, he barely knows where to start—but he knows one thing for sure: he's can’t run away anymore. Not from this, not from you.

—

You’ve now spent days in Florence, wandering through the Uffizi Gallery, marveling at the works of the Renaissance masters, and evenings enjoying the quiet serenity of the Arno River. With you, Marco. You’ve grown to trust him. He’s never made you uncomfortable, never had any intentions to take advantage of you, and knows all the best restaurants. 

But there’s always been a small, nagging doubt that you’ve pushed aside—a feeling that something isn’t quite right. You’ve ignored it, convincing yourself that you’re just being paranoid after everything you’ve been through. After all, he has been nothing but kind, always knowing the right thing to say, always showing up just when you need someone.

It isn’t until the two of you are exploring a quieter part of Florence, that the doubt flares into something more. You’re walking through an old, narrow alleyway, the kind that tourists rarely venture into, when Marco suggests you take a shortcut through a small, unmarked door in the side of a building.

“I found this place the last time I was here,” Marco says, his smile as easy as ever. “It’s a hidden gem, leads right to a beautiful courtyard. You’ll love it.”

You hesitate, something in his tone—or maybe it’s the way his eyes gleam just a little too brightly—sets off alarm bells in your mind. You’ve come to trust him though, haven’t you? You’ve traveled together for weeks, shared countless stories and laughs. Surely, he wouldn’t lead you into danger.

Still, as you step through the door, the darkened space beyond immediately feels wrong. The air is colder, damp, and the walls are lined with strange, unidentifiable equipment. You glance back at Marco, and that’s when you see it—the change in his expression. The warmth is gone, replaced by something cold and calculating.

Before you can react, you feel a sharp prick in your arm. Your vision blurs, and your body goes numb almost instantly. You stumble back, trying to push away, but your legs give out, and you collapse to the floor.

Marco looms over you, the smile gone from his face, replaced by a look of triumph. “Did you really think I didn’t know?” he sneers, his voice dripping with disdain. “You’re a mutant, and you thought you could hide it from me?”

The world around you spins as the drug takes full effect, but you force your mind to stay focused. “What… why?” you manage to whisper, the betrayal cutting deep.

“Why?” He laughs, the sound harsh and devoid of any warmth. “Because mutants like you are worth a fortune. My clients pay top dollar for… research subjects. And you, my dear, are about to make me very, very rich.”

You try to move, to fight back, but your body refuses to respond. Panic rises in your chest as he kneels beside you, pulling out a small device that looks like a portable scanner. He runs it over you, and it emits a low hum as it registers your vital signs, confirming what he already knows. You’re weak. 

“You won’t get away with this,” you say.

“Oh, but I already have,” he replies with cruel satisfaction. “No one knows where you are. And even if they did, it’ll be too late by the time they find you.”

With the last bit of strength you can muster, you reach into your pocket, fingers trembling as you fumble with the X-Men communicator that Kitty gave you. His attention is momentarily distracted as he prepares a syringe filled with a clear liquid, and you seize the opportunity. You manage to pull out the communicator, your fingers barely able to grip it. Then, with a deep breath, you press the SOS button, the screen flashing to life.

You type in the message as quickly as you can, your vision blurring even more as the drug takes hold. 

Location: Florence. 

Message: Help.

Just as you hit send, Marco notices what you’re doing. His eyes widen in anger, and he grabs your wrist, yanking the communicator out of your hand. “You little—!” he snarls, but it’s too late. The message has already been sent.

His face contorts in rage as he slams the gadget against the ground, smashing it to pieces. He glares down at you, his hand tightening painfully around your wrist. “You think you’re so clever, don’t you? But it doesn’t matter. They’ll never get here in time.”

Your strength is nearly gone, the drug pulling you into unconsciousness, but you manage one last defiant look. “You won’t win,” you whisper with the last of your energy.

Marco releases your wrist with a sneer, standing up and looking down at you with contempt again. “We’ll see about that,” he mutters before turning away, leaving you on the cold, hard floor as darkness overtakes you. 

You can only hope they—that Logan—will reach you in time.

—

The signal comes through during a meeting. A sudden, loud beep cuts through the room,  and everyone freezes, their attention immediately drawn to the source of the sound. To Kitty’s pocket. It’s the X-Men communicator, the one linked to your device. 

Logan’s head snaps up, his eyes narrowing as he recognizes the tone. He’s on his feet before anyone else can react, his heart pounding in his chest. “What the hell was that?” he demands, his voice tense with urgency.

Kitty quickly pulls it out of her pocket, her eyes widening as she reads the message that’s flashed across the screen. Her face pales, and she looks up at the others, her voice trembling as she speaks. “It’s from her… Florence… Help.”

There’s a brief pause, maybe a second long in length, and then the room erupts into a flurry of movement. 

Chairs scrape against the floor as the team rises to their feet, already preparing for action. But Logan is the first to react, his face a mask of fury and determination. “I’m going,” he growls, already heading for the door.

“Logan, wait!” Scott steps forward, blocking Logan’s path with a firm hand on his chest. 

“Get out of my way, Summers,” He snarls, his voice filled with barely controlled rage. “I’m not waiting around while she’s in danger.”

“We can’t just rush in without a plan,” Scott insists, trying to keep his own emotions in check. “We need to know what we’re dealing with.”

Logan shoves the other mutant’s hand away, his eyes blazing with anger. “She sent an SOS, Scott! She needs help, and we’re wasting time standing here talking about it!”

The rest of the team watches the confrontation with anxious eyes, knowing that things could easily escalate. Logan’s been on edge for weeks, and the urgency of the situation—of you— has pushed him to the brink. 

“Logan,” Ororo interjects, “We understand how you feel, but we need to think this through. If this is a trap—”

“I don’t give a damn if it’s a trap!” He snaps, his voice rising. “She’s part of our team! We can’t just leave her there!”

“That’s not what we’re saying,” Scott tries to reason, but Logan isn’t having it.

“Then what the hell are you sayin’?” He demands, his frustration boiling over. “Why are we wasting time when we should be getting her out of there?”

There’s a brief, uncomfortable silence, and then it’s Rogue who steps forward, conflicted. “Logan… what if… what if she doesn’t want to see you?”

He freezes, the words hitting him harder than any physical blow could. He stares at Rogue, disbelief and anger warring in his eyes. “What the fuck are you talking about?” he growls.

Rogue swallows, her eyes filled with worry. “She left because she needed time, Logan. Because things between you two… they weren’t good. Maybe she—maybe she doesn’t want you to be the one to save her.”

Clenching his hands into fists, his body is taut with tension. “Fuck that!” he roars with a fierce, protective rage. “She’s part of our team! She sent that message to us, to the X-Men, because she needs our help. I don’t care what’s happened between us, I’m not leavin’ her there!”

The room falls silent, the weight of Logan’s words settling over everyone. They know Logan is right—she’s part of the team, and they can’t leave her behind. But they also know that the situation is more complicated than that.

Scott takes a deep breath, his gaze steady as he looks at Logan. “We’re not saying we shouldn’t go after her, Logan. We’re saying that you need to be prepared for whatever we might find when we get there. She might be in a bad place, and she might not be ready to face you.”

“I don’t care,” he says after a brief pause, his voice quieter now, but no less determined. “I’m going to get her out of there. Whether she wants to see me or not, I’m not lettin’ her go through this alone.”

Scott studies Logan for a long moment, then finally nods. “Alright. But we do this together, as a team.”

Logan nods, his jaw set in a grim line. “Fine. Let’s go.”

—

Your eyes snap open, the dim light of the room piercing your vision. You’re in a large, abandoned warehouse. Your head feels heavy, like it’s filled with cotton, and there’s a dull, throbbing pain at the base of your skull. As you try to move, you realize with a jolt of fear that you’re restrained, your arms and legs strapped tightly to a chair. Panic flares in your chest, and you struggle against the bonds, but they don’t budge.

And then you see him—Marco, standing a few feet away, watching you with a smirk that sends a chill down your spine. His eyes gleam with satisfaction, and you realize with horror that you’ve been caught, trapped in whatever twisted game he’s been playing.

“Ah, you’re awake,” he says, voice dripping with mock concern. “I was starting to wonder if I’d given you too much of the sedative. But it seems you’re tougher than I thought.”

You try to respond, but a gag in your mouth muffles your words, turning them into incoherent sounds. You glare at him your eyes burning with fury.

He only chuckles, clearly amused by your resistance. “Oh, don’t bother trying to speak. We wouldn’t want you calling for help, now would we? Though, I must say, I’m impressed you managed to send that little SOS before I caught on. Clever, but ultimately futile.”

He steps closer, his eyes narrowing as he looks you over, his expression turning cold. “You know, I’ve dealt with a lot of mutants in my time, but there’s something special about you. Something… unique.” He reaches out and grabs your chin, forcing you to meet his gaze. “Too bad your powers won’t do you any good here. The drug I gave you should keep you nice and powerless for the foreseeable future.”

Straining against the bonds, you continue to try to break free, but he drug in your system dulls your abilities, leaving you feeling weak and vulnerable. All you can do is stare at him with hatred as he continues to taunt you.

“Such fire in your eyes,” Marco murmurs, almost to himself. “It’s a shame you’ll never see the light of day again. But don’t worry—I’ll make sure your abilities are put to good use.”

He lets go of your chin, his hand trailing down to your shoulder in a way that makes your skin crawl. “Now, let’s see what we can do to make you a little more… compliant.”

Just as he reaches into his coat pocket, presumably for another syringe, a sudden, loud crash echoes through the warehouse. The sound of splintering wood and shattering glass fills the air, followed by the unmistakable hum of energy blasts and the heavy thud of boots on the concrete floor.

The X-Men have arrived.

Marco’s eyes widen in surprise and then narrow in anger. He spins around, barking orders at the security guards scattered throughout the warehouse. “Stop them! Don’t let them get near her!”

The guards rush forward, weapons drawn, but they’re no match for your friends. The familiar sounds of battle flood your ears—Rogue’s powerful punches, Scott’s optic blasts, and Storm’s lightning crackling through the air. You struggle against your restraints again, desperate to free yourself, but it’s no use. 

Then, you catch a glimpse of Logan. He’s fighting his way toward you, his claws out, slicing through anyone who gets in his way. For a brief, heart-stopping moment, your eyes meet his, and you can see the raw determination in his gaze. He’s coming for you.

But just as he takes a step forward, something changes. He hesitates. You can’t hear what he’s thinking, but you can see the conflict on his face—the way he seems to second-guess himself, the way his steps falter. Your heart sinks as you realize he’s unsure, almost as if he's torn between wanting to save you and fearing that you don’t want him to.

In that split second of hesitation, Rogue swoops in, landing beside you with a determined look on her face. She doesn’t waste any time, using her strength to tear through the restraints that bind you. “We’ve got you, sugah,” she says, her voice steady and reassuring as she pulls the gag from your mouth. “You’re safe now.”

You nod, your throat too dry and your body too weak to speak. Your muscles scream in protest as you try to stand, but she quickly wraps an arm around you, helping you to your feet. You’re shaky, your body still reeling from the effects of the drug, but you’re free. Out of the corner of your eye, you see Logan still standing there, his eyes locked on you, his expression unreadable. He wanted to save you. He wanted to be the one to pull you out of that nightmare, but something held him back.

Rogue helps you toward the exit as the rest of the team continues to subdue the guards and Marco. You lean heavily on her, your legs barely able to support your weight, but you force yourself to keep moving. 

And when everyone else has back in the jet, hugging you and comforting you, you look over to Logan, who sits far away, on the opposite side, refusing to meet your gaze. 

—

Returning to the mansion feels like stepping back into a familiar, comforting embrace. You missed the soft, warm bed in your room, the quiet serenity of the gardens, and the comforting presence of your friends. It's been a few days since the whole ordeal in Florence, and the drug has finally worked its way out of your system. Your strength has returned, and physically, you feel like yourself again. The mansion, too, seems unchanged—still the safe haven you’ve always known.

But as the days pass, you begin to notice that while many things have returned to normal, some things have not. You’ve seen most of your friends, their faces lighting up when they see you, their hugs tight and full of relief. There have been quiet conversations and laughter, shared meals in the kitchen, and moments that remind you why this place is home.

Except, there’s one person you haven’t seen. Logan.

His absence is like a shadow that follows you wherever you go. You’ve felt his presence in the mansion—heard his voice in the halls, the sound of his footsteps on the floorboards—but he’s kept his distance. He hasn’t sought you out, hasn’t tried to talk to you, and that stings more than you want to admit.

You’ve tried to stay strong, to remind yourself of the resilience you found during your time away. You’ve reminded yourself over and over that you don’t need anyone else to validate your worth, that you can stand on your own. Yet the longer Logan avoids you, the harder it is to hold on to that strength. The old wounds, the ones you thought had begun to heal, start to ache again, and you can’t help but wonder if anything has really changed at all.

More often than not, you find yourself retreating to the front lawn. The sun is warm on your skin as you lie down in the grass, a book in hand. The soft rustling of leaves in the breeze and the distant hum of life inside the mansion create a peaceful background, and for a moment, you manage to lose yourself in the pages of your book.

Still, even here, in the sanctuary of the garden, the thoughts you’ve been trying to push aside keep creeping back in. The memory of Florence, of Logan’s hesitation, lingers like a bitter aftertaste. You replay the moment over and over in your mind, trying to make sense of it, trying to understand why he stopped, why he didn’t come for you.

You’re so lost in your thoughts that you don’t notice the shadow that falls across your page until a deep, familiar voice breaks the silence.

“I’m glad you’re alright.”

The voice startles you, and you jerk slightly, looking up to see Logan standing above you. His expression is guarded, as if he’s not sure how you’ll react to his presence. There’s a tautness to his posture, a stiffness that you recognize all too well. 

For a moment, you just stare at him, caught off guard by the suddenness of his appearance. He’s as rugged and intimidating as ever, but there’s something different in his eyes—something a tad bit softer. You close your book, sitting up slowly as you meet his gaze. The question that’s been gnawing at you since Florence rises to the surface, and you know you can’t keep it inside any longer.

“What happened?” you ask, your voice steady but filled with quiet intensity. “In Florence?”

His jaw tightens, and he looks away for a moment, his gaze shifting to the trees in the distance. He doesn’t answer immediately, and the silence stretches out between you, thick with unspoken words. 

You just watch him, waiting for an explanation, but there’s a part of you that’s already bracing for disappointment. You’ve been here before, waiting for Logan to decide what happens next, to take the lead. And you’re tired of it. You’re tired of being the one left in the dark, of being the one who has to wait for him to be ready.

Finally, he lets out a heavy sigh, his shoulders slumping slightly as if the weight of the world is pressing down on him. “I… I hesitated,” he admits huskily, almost in a growl. “I wanted to save you. Hell, I was going to. But then… I didn’t know if you wanted me to.”

His confession hangs in the air, and you feel a mix of emotions—surprise, confusion, and sadness. You hadn’t expected this, hadn’t realized that his hesitation was rooted in something so painfully human.

“Why wouldn’t I want you to?” you ask softly, searching his face for answers.

Logan finally looks at you, really looks at you, and the raw emotion in his eyes takes your breath away. “Because of everything that’s happened between us. Because I pushed you away. I hurt you, and I thought… maybe you’d be better off if it wasn’t me.”

You shake your head, trying to make sense of his reasoning. “Logan, this can’t keep being about what you think is best,” you begin. “And it’s not about who saves who. It’s about being there when it counts. You were there. You came for me.”

He doesn’t have a response to that, at least not right away. He looks down at the ground, his fists unclenching, his shoulders slumping even further. It’s like he’s carrying the weight of everything he’s done, everything he’s failed to do, and it’s crushing him. 

“I’m sorry,” he finally manages to get out. “For everything.”

You stare at him, your heart pounding in your chest.

“I know I’ve messed up,” he continues. “I know I haven’t been there for you like I should’ve. But I’m here now. And if you’ll let me… I want to try to make things right.”

You know you should be happy—this is everything you’ve wanted to hear from him for so long. But it’s also too much, too late. The doubt, the pain, it can’t just disappear with a snap of your fingers.

“I don’t know if I’m ready for that,” you admit. 

There’s pain on his face. “I get it,” he says, his voice rough but steady. “I know I’ve got a lot to make up for. And I know it’s not going to happen overnight. But I’m willing to do whatever it takes, if it means I can earn your trust back.”

“I need time. I need time to figure out where I stand, and where you stand with me.”

He nods slowly, his gaze dropping to the ground again. “Take all the time you need,” he says quietly. “I’m not going anywhere.”

“I appreciate that,” With a small nod, you stand up, brushing the grass off your clothes. “I need time,” you repeat, more for your own benefit than his.

“And you’ve got it,” Logan replies. “As much as you need.”

—

Days turn into weeks, and weeks into months. You focus on yourself, on healing the wounds that were reopened during your conversation with Logan. It feels strange, being the one who needs space, but you know it’s necessary. You find things to take your mind off him: you train more, read more, spend more time with Rogue, Kitty, or Remy. It’s nice.

But Logan… Logan doesn’t give up. He knows you need time, and he respects that. He doesn’t push, doesn’t pressure you to make a decision, but he makes it clear through his actions that he hasn’t forgotten about you, and more importantly, that he isn’t going anywhere.

It starts with the small things—things so subtle that you almost don’t notice at first. You probably wouldn’t have suspected anything if you hadn’t known the kind of person he is. He’s nothing if not persistent. He knows you better than you realize—the rift he created after Jean’s death muddling with your memory—and he uses that knowledge to quietly, almost imperceptibly, work his way back into your life.

In the mornings, you wake up to find your favorite snacks waiting for you in the kitchen, carefully placed where you’d be sure to see them. He never mentions it, never takes credit, but you know it’s him. It’s in the way he glances at you from the corner of his eye as you take a bite, a small, almost imperceptible smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. He never makes a big deal out of it—just a quiet, unspoken gesture that says, I’m thinking of you.

Then there are the late-night training sessions. You go down to the Danger Room or the gym, hoping to clear your mind with a bit of solitary exercise, only to find Logan already there. At first, you’re tempted to leave, to find somewhere else to work out, but something in his demeanor stops you. He doesn’t approach you, doesn’t speak unless you initiate it. Instead, he just… exists beside you, his presence steady and reassuring, like a rock in the storm.

It’s in these moments that you begin to see a different side of Logan—one that’s patient, understanding, and perhaps a little unsure of himself. He follows your lead, mirroring your exercises or silently spotting you during weightlifting, always attentive to your needs without ever making you feel pressured or overwhelmed. He’s just there, offering his support in the quietest, most understated way possible.

And then there are the little surprises in your room—small, thoughtful gestures that you can’t help but notice. A favorite book you’d mentioned in passing suddenly appears on your nightstand, its pages pristine and waiting for you to dive into. The time-worn leather straps on your gear are suddenly replaced with new ones that fit perfectly, the stitching unmistakably done by Logan’s hand. Even your plants, the ones you’d worried would wither away while you were on a mission, seem to thrive in your absence, the soil freshly watered and the leaves turned toward the sun.

He never asks for thanks, never draws attention to what he’s doing. It’s all done quietly, behind the scenes, as if he’s afraid that if you notice too much, you might push him away. But you do notice. How could you not?

At first, you try to ignore it, telling yourself that these gestures don’t change anything, that they’re just a way for Logan to assuage his guilt. You tell yourself that he’s just doing this because he feels bad, because he wants to make up for the past, not because he actually cares. You’ve built walls around your heart for a reason, and you’re not ready to let them down just because he’s being nice.

But over time, those small gestures begin to chip away at those walls, brick by brick. You start to realize that Logan isn’t just going through the motions—he’s really paying attention, noticing the little things that make you who you are. It isn’t just about the snacks or the books or the plants—it’s about the way he remembers the details of your life, the things that matter to you, the things that make you feel seen and understood.

After a particularly long and stressful day, you return to your room exhausted, and all you want is to collapse into bed and forget the world for a while. But when you walk in, you find a small bouquet of wildflowers sitting on your nightstand, the beautiful colors a stark contrast to the dark thoughts that have been swirling in your mind all day. There’s no note, no explanation—there never is—but you know who left them.

You just stand there, staring at the flowers, your heart squeezing in your chest. It’s such a simple gesture, and yet it means so much. You’d forgotten that Logan knew how much you love wildflowers—you’d mentioned it once, years ago. The way they’re resilient, thriving even in the harshest conditions, blooming where others wouldn’t. It’s as if he’s telling you that he sees that strength in you, that he admires it.

And it’s then, in the quiet of your room, surrounded by the small, thoughtful gestures that Logan has left behind, that you realize something. This isn’t just about making up for the past. Logan is showing you, in the only way he knows how, that he wants this. Wants you.

He's finally picked up the pieces of him that fell apart after Jean’s death, and he is willing to pick up the pieces of you that fell apart after his rejection.

So, one evening, months after that fateful conversation on the lawn, you find yourself standing in the common room, staring at the fireplace, lost in thought. The mansion is quiet, the rest of the team either out on a mission or asleep. It’s just you and the flickering flames, the soft crackling of the fire the only sound in the room.

But when you hear footsteps behind you, heavy and deliberate, you know instantly who it is. Without turning, you can sense his presence, the way he moves with that quiet confidence, the way the air seems to shift when he is near. Logan has always had a way of grounding you, even when you don’t want him to.

He walks up beside you, stopping just short of touching you, his warmth radiating in the small space between your bodies. He doesn’t say anything at first, doesn’t ask why you’re here or try to force a conversation. He just stands there, his hands shoved into his pockets, waiting patiently, giving you the time you need. It’s something you’ve come to appreciate about him in recent months—his newfound ability to just be, without pushing or demanding more than you’re ready to give.

"I’ve been thinking," you say finally, your voice soft, as you continue to gaze into the flames.

"Yeah?" Logan asks, his tone careful, as if he’s afraid of saying the wrong thing.

You turn to face him, your heart pounding in your chest. "You’ve been… different. Doing all these little things… I see them, you know."

Logan’s eyes meet yours, and for the first time in a long time, you see hope there. "I just wanted you to know that I care. That I’m sorry," he says, with so much emotion. “You were never a burden to me.”

You swallow hard. "It’s hard for me, Logan," you admit, "I’ve been hurt before, and I’m scared. Scared that if I let myself love you again, you’ll just… break me."

He steps closer, his hand reaching out to gently cup your cheek. "I’d never hurt you again," he says, "I’d rather cut off my own damn hand than hurt you. The past is the past, and you are my future."

That’s enough to make your walls crumble completely. You know, deep down, that Logan is telling the truth. That he’s willing to do whatever it takes to earn your trust again.

And in that moment, you realize that maybe, just maybe, you’re ready to let him.

You don’t say anything. Instead, you let your actions speak for you. You close the distance between you, standing on your toes as you press your lips to his in a gentle, tentative kiss. Logan freezes for a split second, as if he can’t believe this is really happening, but then he kisses you back, his arms wrapping around you as he pulls you close, holding you as if he never wants to let go.

The kiss is slow, tender, full of everything that has been building between you for so long. It isn’t just a kiss—it’s a promise, a commitment to try again, to rebuild what has been broken. When you finally pull back, your breath mingling with his, you rest your head on his shoulder. "I’m still scared," you whisper.

"I know," Logan replies, his arms tightening around you. "But I’m here, and I’m not going anywhere. We’ll take this slow, darlin’. Whatever you need."

You nod. "Okay."

Logan smiles then, a real, genuine smile that makes your heart flutter in a way it hasn’t in years. It’s a smile full of relief, of gratitude, of love—a smile that tells you that he understands just how much this moment means, just how much you’re giving him by letting him back into your heart.

—

The time that follows is a slow, steady journey of rebuilding trust. Logan is true to his word—he is patient, understanding, and surprisingly tender in ways you hadn’t expected. The small gestures continue—coffee waiting for you in the morning, a gentle hand on your back during missions, quiet moments of companionship where no words are needed.

You can feel the doubts you’ve been holding onto slowly begin to fade. Each time Logan shows up for you, each time he puts your needs above his own, it chips away at the fear that has kept you guarded for so long. It’s in the way he listens when you talk, truly listens, as if every word you say matters. It’s in the way he looks at you—not with the same fury he once had, but with a steady, enduring affection that speaks of something deeper.

With Jean, he loved her because she was his soulmate, she was who the universe destined him to be with. He loved her because that’s what he thought he had to do.

With you, he has a choice. He doesn’t need to acknowledge the bond, but he chooses to. He chooses to everyday and he’ll never stop. He loves you because he wants to, not because he has to.

One evening, you find yourself sitting on the mansion’s porch watching the sunset. Logan joins you without a word, sitting close enough that your shoulders brush. 

“You’ve been quiet today,” he says softly, breaking the comfortable silence.

“I’ve just been thinking,” you reply, leaning your head on his shoulder. It’s a simple gesture, but one that speaks volumes about how far you’ve come in trusting him again.

“’Bout what?” he asks, his voice gentle.

“About us,” you say, your voice steady. “About how things have changed. How… how good they’ve been.”

Logan’s hand finds yours, his fingers lacing through yours in a way that feels so natural, so right. “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” you echo, squeezing his hand. “I’m not scared anymore, Logan. Not like I was.”

He turns to face you, his eyes searching yours. “You sure?”

You nod, smiling softly. “I’m sure. You’ve shown me that this bond means something to you, that you’re not going to hurt me. And… I want this. I want us.”

Logan’s face lights up with so much love, that it takes your breath away. He leans in, pressing a tender kiss to your forehead. “I’m glad, darlin’. Because I want us too. More than anything.”

—

It isn’t long before the rest of the X-Men begin to notice the change in Logan as well. At first, it’s subtle—small things like the way he looks at you during briefings, or the way he seems to be more patient, more relaxed when you’re around. But over time, it becomes impossible to ignore.

During a training session in the Danger Room, you’re paired with Logan for a simulated mission. The others watch as Logan moves with you in perfect sync, his focus not just on the mission but on you—making sure you’re safe, supporting you when needed, and trusting you completely. It’s a far cry from the Logan they had seen when he was in mourning, where his moves were rash and careless.

After the session, as you and Logan leave the Danger Room, you catch sight of Ororo and Scott exchanging a look, the kind of look that speaks volumes, full of surprise and a touch of amusement.

“What?” you ask, raising an eyebrow as you approach them.

Ororo smiles warmly, a knowing glint in her eyes. “Nothing, just… noticing how good you two are together.”

Scott nods in agreement, his expression softening as he glances at Logan. “Yeah, it’s… different, finally seeing him like this. In a good way.”

Logan shrugs, but there’s no hiding the small smile that tugs at the corners of his mouth. “What’re you guys talking about?”

“Just that it’s nice to see you happy, Logan,” Ororo says gently. “Really happy.”

Logan looks at you then, his smile growing as he meets your gaze. “Yeah. It is.”

More members of the team begin to notice the change in Logan as time goes on. Rogue, who has always had a soft spot for him, comments on how he seems more at ease, less burdened by the weight of his past. Hank, ever the observer, points out how Logan’s demeanor has shifted—less brooding, more open. Even Charles, who has seen Logan through his darkest times, pulls you aside one day to express his approval.

“I must say,” Charles says, his tone warm and approving, “I haven’t seen Logan like this in a very long time. Whatever you two have managed to sort out, it’s working.”

And it is. Slowly but surely, the wounds that had once held you back have healed. The doubts that had kept you from fully embracing your relationship with Logan have faded, replaced by a deep, abiding love. It isn’t just the little gestures anymore—it’s the way Logan makes you feel seen, heard, and cherished in a way that no one else ever has.

—

“I never thought we’d get here,” you admit one night whilst looking up at the stars.

Logan looks at you, his expression tender. “Neither did I,” he says, his voice full of sincerity. “But I’m damn glad we did.”

You smile, leaning into him as he wraps his arm around your shoulders. “I love you, Logan. And I trust you. Completely.”

His grip tightens slightly, as if to hold onto the moment, to hold onto you. “I love you too, darlin’. I never thought I’d feel this way about someone.”

You know what he’s trying to say. So without thinking, you reach up and cup his face, drawing him closer until your lips are just a breath away from his. “Show me,” you whisper, your voice low and filled with desire.

He doesn’t need any more encouragement. He closes the small gap between you, capturing your lips in a kiss that is soft at first, almost tentative, as if he’s savoring the feel of you. 

You can feel the heat between you building, the kiss growing more fervent as your hands roam over his chest, feeling the hard planes of muscle beneath his shirt, then into his hair. Brown. 

His hands slide up your back, one hand tangling in your hair as he angles your head, deepening the kiss further until you’re both breathless.

When you finally pull back, your foreheads resting against each other’s, you’re both panting, your hearts racing in sync. His eyes are dark with desire, his breath coming in ragged gasps as he holds you close.

“You’re everything to me,” he murmurs. “I never thought I’d get my happy ending, but here you are… and I’m never lettin’ you go.”

You smile, feeling the last remnants of pain melt away, replaced by a certainty that this is where you’re meant to be. “And I’m never leaving,” you whisper back, sealing your words with another kiss that quickly reignites the fire between you.

This kiss is hungrier, more urgent, as if you both need to make up for lost time. Logan’s hands roam your body with a possessiveness that sends shivers down your spine, his touch igniting a fire in your core.

That night, you lose yourself in him, in the way he tastes, in the way he makes love to you as if you’re the most precious thing in the world. Because this time, you’re not just in love—you’re in love with a man who loves you back, fully and completely. 

And that makes all the difference.

----

a/n: i love you if you made it this far. please check out my new series The Feeling's Mutual

[viridescentelf]

Yandere Elf x Reader - Escape

Character and Art belongs to @meo-eiru (thank you so much for making him, I owe you my soul)

Part 2

Word Count: 1000

The silky hair bellowed behind the tall, grinning elf, as he skipped back home. Having found wild strawberries and thyme in the forest, Silas was excited to bake a beautiful cake for his little treasure.

Oh, how they love my cakes with my special fondant! I can’t wait to see them!

The elf practically floated back to your shared home, wanting to see your cute little face when he burst through the door. Briskly strutting to the oak tree door, he grasped the handle, infusing it with magic, and opened it quickly.

“My sweet! I’m back! Look what I found in the woods!”, he called gingerly.

No answer. But this was normal.

“Daaaarling!”, he cooed with his hand next to his mouth, placing the basket on the dining table, after closing (and locking) the door behind him. Silas looked around, his tresses floating as if in water behind him. The home looked just like when he left it, with a few furniture items moved slightly. That was no cause for concern, either. His darling usually stacked items in his absence. Why, he did not truly know.  

Is this the game you like to play? Conceal and Find, was it?

Silas looked in closets, under the bed, under pillows, under rugs, in big kitchen pots, in every nook and cranny he usually found his sweetheart tucked away when he played your game. Still with a slight smile etched across his face, that flickered briefly, the elf placed his hands on his hips and looked around the living room once again.

“Oh, darling. You’ve got me. Come out now, it’s almost time for dinner!”

Silence, besides the brief rustling of his attire while he traced around the room, checking a few spots he had already looked at. A cold ripple slithered up his spine. He had usually found you by now with his keener senses.

Silas felt the kiss of a breeze on the back of his nape, turning his head to see the high window slightly ajar. Below it was a dining room chair. On the ground, three big boxes of his collection of human toys lay upside down or strangely tilted, a bit dented – like they had fallen down from somewhere.

Squinting his eyes slightly, he identified soft nail markings on the windowsill and foot scrapings on the wall. Even some of that gorgeous hair his beloved had, littered the frame of the narrow window.

His whole being thundered with horror. The, albeit slow, realization that … you had gotten out! Through the high window – a feat the elf had thought was impossible for such a short being.

Silas crashed through the door, whipping his hair back and forth in a frenzy.

“Darling!?!” he squealed. “It’s not safe out here! Come back to Mama!” His eyes darted to the ground, where he quickly discovered some deep footprints, even knee markings, in the wet soil. Thank the trees it had rained the night before. It seemed his precious had fallen from the window down into the soil. Oh no! Were you hurt????

The tears stung his eyes and marked his ethereal, yet panic-stricken visage, as he bolted after the trail you had unwillingly left behind. Pummeling through the trees and thickets, a few branches scraped his wide chest and cheeks. He didn’t seem to notice or care. Loud whimpers escaped him, but these were dedicated to the potential loss of his love.

Silas bolted through the forest, looking erratically in every little corner his wet elven eyes could pear into, continuously squeaking the words “Darling” and “My love” into the distance. As he dashed into a small clearing, he saw the footprints once again, leading to a hollow tree trunk.

Sobbing loudly, he tilted his head, as he bent down, letting his golden locks collect on the grass. A pair of angry eyes met his.

“DARLING!”, he yelped, seeing your small frame crumbled against the wood holding a severely bruised knee. His face was completely soaked, with new tears cascading down relentlessly, in sweet relief that he had found you.

You stared at him weakly, but said nothing. Internally, you were screaming. Why had the window been so goddamn high? And why had it been so freaking tiny? If not for the stinging pain in your legs, you probably would’ve gotten away.

Silas forcefully pulled you out of the husk and squeezed you into his body, your face buried in his scratched up, enormous chest.

“YOU’RE HURT! MY POOR LITTLE ANGEL!”, the tears were dripping onto your head, drenching your scalp. The elf pulled you up to him, hands under your armpits and forced you to stare into his desperately weepy face. He sniffled disgustingly, looking down at the bloody knee: “Here, let me-“

As he tried to bring your wounded leg up to his lips, you recoiled hastily. Silas lost hold of your leg, but still maintained his grip on your back.

“Oh, my love. You must be in so much pain! You must’ve been scared to death out here!”, he croaked and slung his massive arms around them – despite the excessive wriggling. He put his thumb on your chin and yanked you into a deep caress. Feeling your soft lips made his tears dry slightly, as he sighed heavily into your face. No matter how much you tried to wince away, Silas hold was so robust, that no amount of struggle helped.

That damn saliva of his. You felt your body weaken even further, with a tingly sensation trailing through your lower half.

Finally releasing your lips, his eyes glittered as he gently stroked your face, ignoring the death glare.

“Come, let’s go home. I can treat your wounds better there.”

Carrying you in his arms and plastering kisses all over your face, Silas walked briskly towards your home.

“I found strawberries!” His mood was suddenly as chipper as a small child’s in the rain as he pranced through the forest. “I’ll bake you a cake after our bath!”

You let your head hang in defiance, but there was no point of fighting.

“Fine,” you murmured through gritted teeth.

What was it with this stupid elf?

[dreamertf]

Follow the Instructions

/hello! Hope you enjoy this one, im gonna start tagging ai as #ai tf so if you dont want to see any ai images in your tfs you can block that tag. Ill also be putting a disclaimer at the top of each post that has ai.

/contains ai images & video

/includes; muscle growth, suggestion tf, straight to gay tf

"Yeah, Im feeling fine!"

Jason was tired of how weak and scrawny his best friend Max stayed throughout their time in high school and now, college. So he had given Max a new black market roid that promised to "make him a bro." He crushed up a few of the pills without looking at the instructions and baked it into a cookie he gave Max.

Jason wasn't so bad himself, 6'4" and muscular, with a charming face. Little did he know that his height that he had since he was a sophmore in highschool would be changing.

Jason stared at Max as his skin started to ripple and shift.

"Are you sure?"

"Never better, bro."

Max ripped his shirt off as his muscles swelled. A deep canyon of rippling abs leading up to two giant slabs of muscle. He flexed and stretched as his biceps filled out.

"Sorry, im feeling a little hot." Max said non chalantly. His muscles continued to grow as he flexed them.

"Oh my god it worked"

"What worked?"

"Oh nothing, dont worry about it."

"Ok brah"

Their surrounds changed from school as it turned into a living room, a living room Jason had been in so many times before, Max's living room. All of a sudden, Jason felt a pull towards Max. He couldn't stop looking at him, like literally. He traced Max's outline as each muscle became more prominent. He stared at the giant as he grew taller and taller, but something wasn't right. It was like everything around Jason was getting taller too.

Unfortunately, Jason hadn't looked into how the roid actually worked. On the back of the small blue box, it read ;

Are you tired of being weak and nerdy? We got you covered. We believe the human mind is a powerful tool, and our Bro Pill helps you to use it to your full potential! Not only does it shift your mindset to be more focused on sports and the bros, but it also changes various other aspects of your life in order to fit your new you! We recommend taking one pill weekly until desired affects.

WARNING: taking more than one pill a week may intensify the effect you have on other people

Jason panicked as he felt himself losing muscle and height. His features softened as he turned from a rugged man into a young 20 something twink. It looks like the god of Jason's creation has type cast him as his twinky boyfriend. Making Max a jock apparently didn't override his sexuality.

"What are you doing to me?"

His voice was still deep, too deep for someone like him.

"Make that voice a little higher, and can you please quit being so worried brah? Be like me, stop thinkin as much little guy huhuhu."

A wave of relief came over Jason as he collapsed onto the couch. His body continued to shrink as he lost his height, becoming about 5'6" compared to Max's new 6'8". His musculature toned down more, not as defined anymore.

"Whatever you say babe" Jason giggled, his voice much higher and more flamboyant.

"Thats my pretty boy." Conversely, Max's voice became much deeper and demanding. Jason felt himself starting to get hornier.

"I'm so happy i couldfind you. Your ass was like made for my dick huhuhu" Max said as he spread his legs wide as his pouch grew bigger. He had one more explosive growth as his shoulder broadened and his pecs filled out more. Jason shifted in his seat as his ass grew more plump and muscular.

"What do you mean?" Jason feigned innocence, turning the ditziness all the way up.

"Come here and I'll show you, slut."

[beanlot]

butterfly knife

a tlou canon love story, a collection of ellie's memories, and a butterfly knife.

wc: 4k (fluff + major angst, brief vanilla smut segment)

reader referred to as ‘pretty’ and ‘ma’am’, major character death, mutual masturbation. just a sappy story.

─── ⊱ ─── ⋅ʚ♡ɞ⋅ ─── ⊰ ───

“how long have you been collecting all this?”

she was astonished, gawking at the collection of daggers, folded knives, dual blades. your first knife, a typical switchblade, laid there neglected and rusty - you refuse to use it, she doesn’t ask why. “since i was.. twelve, maybe.” you answer, your singular karambit swinging back and forth between your fingers. “still waiting for my first butterfly knife.”

“butterfly? yeah.. good luck..” she scoffs, inspecting one of the daggers closely, her fingers gliding alongside the handle’s delicate intricacies. some are brand new, handcrafted with glory.

it was hard enough finding a serrated piece of metal that wasn’t blunt and rusted to shit, never mind a functional butterfly.

its habit, the way the karambit spins in your fingers; you’d spent years collecting knives, learning them until mastery. she watches as the metal swirls around your thumb, hypnotised under its beauty, she’d never seen one in person.

“which knife did you use first.. y’know, for your tricks..?” 

“mm. this one. it’s pretty basic, but.. it’s a good starter knife.” you tap one of the combat knives, and when you do, ellie observes the rugged scars on your hands from practising over the years; the side of your hand littered with slices and morbid consistency.

“been going through infecteds’ pockets and everything.” you mumble, and she releases a breathy laugh under the impression you’re bantering - when she looks up and sees the earnestness in your gaze, her laugh falls flat. “oh.. you’re being serious..” she gawks.

she admired you. the tangible things, from the bruises on your shoulder blades to the indented scar on your collarbone; the intangible things, like how willing you were to clear a corner first incase you needed to bite a bullet, or how you made her stomach ripple whenever you returned a witty remark.

“look at you being a little garden gnome.” you hear her approach from behind. your arms are sunburnt and itchy under the blistering wyoming sun. and so you snap at her, a sour “not in the mood.” through the dehydration and empty stomach. “it’s boiling hot, i can’t breathe in this fucking greenhouse, and there’s spiders everywhere.”

“want me to come join? i can do the cabba-“

”even fucking worse. get out my face.” 

she knew it was your relationship friendship. it was her ‘tsk’ing you teasingly, understanding the sarcastic dynamic between you both. you were partners in crime, rum and cola, two broken people who found comfort in eachother.

winter was nice though. she’d amble into her little cubby in jackson, hanging up her jacket with a spirited hey you when she’d notice your curled figure stirring under a blanket. the ground outside is crunchy with thick snow, the wind whipping against the windows and the wispy air barbaric against your skin.

she’d slide a vhs tape into the tv, gather some more sheets from her bed and cove herself behind you. body warmth intermingling as your back presses against her chest, her arm settling around your collarbone.

she’ll inspect your face, alarmed by the brutish graze on your cheek, fingertips impulsively feathering against the wound. “holy fuck. what’s this?”

“ow! don’t touch it!” you flinch, rolling on your back.

“sorry.. sorry..” she’d whisper yell, before you feel her wintry touch along your jawline, framing the abraded skin. you hear her tut, her verdant globes darting along your cheeks,

down to your lips,

and then to your eyes.

“your pretty face.. all ruined..” she sighs. she’s not sure what she’s doing, how to initiate; all courage in her stomach rotting to doubt when she sees your eyes nailing into her. you look confused, so she decides to play it off. “i’m joking. you’re not even that pretty.”

“ellie.”

“that was also a joke. you are that pretty.”

“ellie.”

“hm?”

“just stop talking, or i’m gonna beat your ass.”

“.. yes ma’am.”

it’s silent for half an hour, the occasional rubbing your legs against eachother like crickets or her fingers tracing circles on your arm. she wishes she could settle her hand on your waist, or your hip. but she struggles with establishing boundaries, the mere handshake or high-five is too awkward for her.

“have you ever liked someone?” you hear her murmur, her breath fluttering against your neck. you think for a little, eyes glued to the tv screen. “i guess.”

“did you ever tell them?” her nails are delicately feathering against your bicep, soothing patterns that heat your stomach with vim. you tell her a simple no, rolling to your back and maintaining eye contact with her.

she studies you, much like you study her. her cheeks are florid, peppered with subtle freckles that could be counted up close, pupils dilated and pooled with something you could only describe as adoration. “same..” she whispers, eyes mesmerised when they scan your lips. “sometimes, i wonder if i should’ve said something.”

you’re not stupid. and she knows you’re not stupid. you’re piecing the puzzle together, analysing the way her gaze softens with vulnerability, a sweetness which is such a stark contrast to her usual hostility.

“ellie..” you clear your throat, breaking her trance. it’s like she’s asking you, wanting your guidance, your permission. “if you want to kiss me, then do it. stop being such a pus-“ you’re interrupted as she leans in, tilting her head and swallowing your words.

her lips are weightless against yours, a years-in-the-making kiss, longing yet patient with you. her hands hold her up, one by your head and the other beside your waist; she parts her lips again, inviting you to connect with her, deepening it experimentally.

she wants to dart her tongue out and taste you, but the unknown boundaries of.. whatever this is.. is suspenseful and terrifying to her. so she’ll let you take initiative, her lips only smooching at yours with yearning, tilting her head to ease into it.

when you do part, her eyes are brimming with intimacy, as if she’s savouring you in this moment. you rub your lips together, and tastes like coffee, which makes sense. considering it has been all she’d been drinking this morning.

“.. ew..” you whisper, your hands cupping her jaw. she rolls her eyes, and she’s about to say something, but you pull her down towards you; your lips brushing together, feather-light and exploratory, before she kisses at the corner of your lips.

“m sorry-“ peck. “you’re just-“ peck. “too fucking-“ peck. “pretty-“

her kisses dot around your jaw, mindful of your tormented cheek, spreading to your neck. she was nurturing, taking your hand in hers, bringing it to her graceful lips and kissing each knuckle; each scar, each rugged slice.

the verdant shade in her eyes reminds you of the outside, the earth, the soil and the overgrowth; her pupils dilate as you maintain eye contact, bleaching that infected overgrowth with adoration. “can i..?” she whispers, fingers tracing the dips of your hips, dusting your stomach in circular motions.

“no. those are places you can’t touch.” you whisper, jokingly. but when she looks at you with soft brows and convincing eyes, you feel like siren bait.

“places i can’t touch.. yet?” she whispers back, genuine softness in her voice that seeps out like caring silk.

she’s a little bit of a loser. but it’s okay, because you’re wanting it just as much when you look down and see her slender fingers, admiring veins around her knuckles.

your legs subconsciously part at it, accepting her, inviting her. she takes the hint, manipulative fingers dipping under the fabric of your torn sweatpants.

it was essentially lovemaking, her obsessively pecking at your lips as your hands are nested into eachother’s underwear, mutually masturbating. you provided for eachother, blossoming pleasure when you feel her finger tease your swollen clit.

“feel good, baby?” she’d whisper against your cheek, lips lazily grazing your skin, breath hitching when you’d circle her clit.

at first, it was being careful around the edges, tracing each other precisely; then it was hips rutting against each other’s hands messily, the silent room filled with your heavy breaths and your thighs walloping sloppily against her hand as she’d fuck you with her fingers.

“fuck, more up. more up.” you’d whimper, core tightening as her dilated pupils look at you.

you wish you could make sense to her, but the stimulation is forcing your words to melt into difficult blether. “more up? like this?” she whispers, and you feel her fingers curl more, your clit pulsing with its own heartbeat as she does so.

“holy shit, you’re so good.. so fucking good, ellie.” your head would fall back, legs quivering as her fingers would twine inside and rock into you how she learnt you like it.

“that.. that was-fuck, you.. you’re incredible..” she’d swallow, trying to regulate her breathing, feeling your clit throbbing under her palm; your tight core and clenched hips relaxing post-orgasm. “you-you came so quick..” you hum, your hand gliding out from between her legs, her cum glossing your fingers seductively.

“can you blame me? you’re in my ear going mmph.. mm-mhm, mmphm..” she would mimic your whines, because your relationship friendship situationship was teasing. you’d roll your eyes, nudging her shoulder from embarrassment.

she loved you, to pieces.

but those pieces started to crumble after joel.

“didn’t mean to wake you..” you hear her mumble as she zips her bag up, consumed by grief. she’d been packing as you slept, which wasn’t totally out of character - ellie’s always been sneaky. “what are you doing?” you sit up, scanning the puce bruise under her eye through your blurry vision, framing her bloodshot and revenge-driven pupils.

she’s silent for a little, as you rub your eyes and try to regain consciousness from your heavy sleep. she’s wondering if she should tell you this truth, but she knows you’re not stupid.

“i have to find her..”

she seems cold, distant, too numb to remember everything you had both built. it’s hard to see her go down this route, this isn’t your ellie.

“so.. you were gonna.. what? sneak out?” you slowly rise to your feet, tilting your head in challenging. “you were gonna leave me here? i’ll be waiting here for months.. when i could just go with you?”

i think this was the first time where ellie found something she hated about you. your ambition, your selflessness, your urges to wrap her in cotton wool. she wished you could just.. listen.. please listen. even though she knew you were so capable, you took charge of the ground you were on, domesticated it.

but her gut feeling told her something was off. you can’t come with her.

“i just.. no offence, but.. you haven’t exactly been the most helpful recently.” she mumbles, and she hopes you don’t hear. she can’t bear to look at you, your narrowed eyes hammering into her relentlessly. “what are you saying?” you contest, “you think everything revolves around you, ellie.”

and it was a spiteful comment from you, you know that. but it gives ellie some courage to look back at you, eyes of conflict. “you’re not like me, you don’t have to do all this shit. you have nobody.”

you bite back your malicious words, eyes shutting to adjust your temper. “i’ve done this, ellie. i was just asking to go wi-“

“i don’t want you with me.” she interrupts, and it’s then that you find something you hate about her. ellie’s always blinded by rage, she likes getting her point across, cutting you off. “it’s just gonna slow everything down, i’ll be here qu-“

“slow you down? me?”

“fuck me. this is the thing, you think you’re something special because you’ve done this and that-“

“woah, i do not think i’m-“

“yes, you do! i see through all of..” she gestures to your body, and you look down at the scars on your arms, the slices on your hands. “all of that. you think it’s made you all strong and mighty, you aren’t shit.”

“ellie, respectively, you’d struggle making it there alone even if you had five hands and six legs.”

and when the insults bounced back and forth, you decided to sit out on the porch. it’s quiet, an owl hooting amongst the stifled streets of jackson, snowflakes settling on the ground.

after half an hour, you hear the door open, her bag shuffling against the wooden floor as she sits beside you. she’s not good with apologies, and you’d find it cute if she hadn’t annihilated your self-esteem just now.

her eyes are fixed to an invisible point in the floor, and she’s testing the waters, her breath misty with every exhale. you feel her reluctant eyes on you, as she bites her lip out of newfound anxiety. “i wanted to say sorry.. i said some nasty things..” she mumbles, looking ahead at the streetlights and the hushed streets of jackson. “you deserve the world. i wish.. i could give it to you..”

you look at her, feeling your insides marshmallow up inside with her endearing and sincere words. her eyes are overflowing with apology, and you nod at her, grateful. “i’m sorry, too. i didn’t.. mean anything i said.”

she processes your words, eyebrows peaked, as if she’s melting with your apology. “i know..” she whispers, shuffling beside you and her lips planting a remorseful kiss on your shoulder. “i love you..”

you feel sedated under her touch, your lids low as she brings her lips from your shoulder to your forehead, pecking it fondly. and so you whisper back that you love her too. it feels like home to her, confirmation that the relationship between you is okay.

· · ─ ·𖥸· ─ · · · · ─ ·𖥸· ─ · · · · ─ ·𖥸· ─ · ·

idaho falls was stop number one. it’s hard to believe tommy had made his way through it alone.

ellie was focused on eastlake, that was the golden ticket. although she was affectionate enough to put her hand on your waist on horseback, or send you quick reassuring nods, she was rather inanimate. you can’t blame her, you’d be the same.

“bastard things..” you huff, trudging through the disarray of infected corpses, trying to retrieve your knife, lodged deep inside a clicker’s shroomy neck.

you’re both blood-soaked, heavy breathing from the ambush. you’d gotten used to shivving through large groups like this, but it was game over when you’d set off nail bombs. it was as if the whole town had came alive and started sprinting at you, screeching and cackling.

“what are you doing?” ellie mumbles when she sees you look through a dusty bag that had seemingly fused into the clicker. “there’s no way you’re actually looking.” she releases a breathy laugh, wiping her eyes with her sleeve.

“you never know, it’s how i found one of my daggers.” you look at her defensively, fingers carefully diving into the bag, only to find a crumpled letter and a lighter. “i mean.. these guys used to be people, ellie. with hobbies, and memories and people who cared about them.” you mumble under your breath, “if someone ever found me like this, they’d have a fucking field day going through my pockets.”

“don’t say that.” she sighs, eyes softening as you rise to your feet. she’s trying not to imagine it. “besides, remember your whole i don’t die talk yesterday? if anything, it’s your ego that’ll get you killed.” she smirks, and you’re a little surprised. because it’s the first time in a while ellie’s taking intuition to lighten the mood with some playful banter between you.

you return a subtle smile when you remember the conversation from yesterday, wiping your knife clean against your shirt, watching the muddy blood smear the fabric.

e: “if you die, i’m gonna be so fucking furious with yo-“

“i don’t die.”

e: “whatever, fine. don’t disappear on me then.”

“yeah, i don’t disappear either.”

fuck, she loved you so bad. even the cockiness, the snark, the things that made you such a smartass. but as she watches you wipe the blood off the knife, her smile just.. suddenly drops. her usual barbaric eyes are blank and cluelessly staring at you all of a sudden.

you think she’s daydreaming, or maybe thought of a bad memory.

“what’s with you?” she thinks she’s seeing wrong, because it’s not possible. there’s no way.

denial.

“ellie..? what is it..?” you watch as her eyes start brimming, a glassy reflection of sorrow pinned to your hands. she approaches reluctantly, before she takes it in hers, and tilts it. whilst she’s used to seeing your usual scars and slashes, she’s not used to the fresh bite mark, fungal teeth that have torn your skin.

you stare, your hand piping hot and starting to tremor. because there’s not much for her to imagine anymore, it’s reality.

it’s nobody’s fault. you didn’t feel it, the adrenaline helped block it out. you hadn’t even realised one had gotten that close to you. “i didn’t.. but i didn’t feel it..” you blink in refusal, trying to remember if you’d felt it, when you’d felt it.

“i told you. i fucking told you to stay. and you just, don’t fucking listen.” her voice cracks, hands clenching into wrathful fists. she can’t believe you’ve been bulletproof all these years, untouchable, survived wounds from the neck; the head, every limb. yet a measly bite was all it took.

anger.

maybe you’re immune, you’re like her. maybe it’s a mistake, you didn’t get bitten at all. maybe if she’d fucking knocked you unconscious and left before you had woken up, you’d be okay.

bargaining.

“ellie. listen.. it’s not your fault.” you state bluntly to her, cupping her face in your hands. she struggles to hear through the stressful ringing in her ears, it’s as if she’s already screaming on the inside. “ellie.. can you hear me?” you ask when you notice her eyes go blank for a second, eyebrows furrowing with confusion. it feels as if she’s exiting her body, pretending it’s not real.

“ellie.. listen. i don’t know when this shit is gonna kick in, but when it does. i need you to think straight.. okay..” you explain to her, noticing the life in her eyes revive only slightly as she reads your lips. “you need to think straight, because i won’t be.”

and she slowly nods, blinking through the tears.

she decided to wait it out with you, she’s not sure why, it’s not like you were going to get better. by the second hour, your vision was pixelated, violet blurs that you try to blink away as you look at the sculptures around you.

it’s a museum, and you smile slightly.

“always wanted to visit one of these.” you slump into the leather chair, head aching and eyes feeling as though they’re being hammered from the inside. ellie kept her distance for the first hour, regretful eyes that scan you - your skin is glistening with sweat, and she doesn’t think you notice how your limbs keep twitching.

you look at her, eyebrows arched as you spin your karambit between your fingers. “talk to me.. please, ellie..” you plead quietly, noticing she hasn’t said a single word. she’s void, a mourning shell.

she ambles towards you, hands out as she delicately takes your arm, tilting your hand to inspect the wound. “let me look..” she whispers, as if she’s still trying to convince herself it isn’t real. but how can she, when your hand is ice cold, stripped of its usual warmth?

by the third hour, ellie could tell you were really struggling. really struggling. you had kept asking her to repeat what she said, when she hadn’t said anything - you’re hallucinating, it feels like you’re going crazy.

“baby..” you hear her murmur through the deafening ring in your ears. “please.. please tell me it’s a joke.. you’re fucking with me..?” she clears her throat, releasing a breathy laugh. “please.. i’m fucking begging you, say you’re just messing with me..”

her fingers intertwined with yours as she kneels infront of you, on her knees, helpless. “i.. don’t make me do this.. i can’t.” she can’t see through the puddles in her eyes, it feels like she’s talking to herself.

because she knows she has to stop this, your misery, your suffering. she has to walk away and make peace with the fact she did it for you.

“you’re gonna be fine, ellie. people like you always are..” you whisper breathlessly, your lungs feel useless, paralysed by something growing inside.

“ellie..” your lids are low, eyes morbidly rolling to her, feeling heavy and strenuous. you’re so fatigued, seeing ellie’s bloodshot eyes and her cheeks raw and worn from the constant rubbing of her tears. she maintains eye contact, shuffling closer until her forehead presses against yours.

her lashes are dark and thick, and she closes her bleary eyes. you used to cup her face when she’d press her forehead against yours, but you’re so cold, and limp, and lifeless.

“give those bastards hell.”

and it took until the fifth hour - until you were unresponsive, until you’d start begging her with pained tears to end it - that she’d muster up the courage to let go of your hands, give you a graceful kiss on the forehead,

“i love you..” she’d choke back a sob, lips against your forehead, “you.. you are.. the most magnificent person.. i have ever met..”

and shakily aim at your head, pistol quivering in her hand as her finger rests along the trigger.

· · ─ ·𖥸· ─ · · · · ─ ·𖥸· ─ · · · · ─ ·𖥸· ─ · ·

jackson, wyoming. blissful summer, two years later, the grass dehydrated.

she’d be kicking at the dry ground, scraping her converse against the cracked mud simmering under the heat. she needed air, time to think, to dilute her thoughts. she’d cut her hair recently, it hurt. you fucking loved the half-up half-down, and she knew it.

it feels like she’s erasing you, which aggravates her. it wasn’t just the hair, or the sound the scissors made when she cut the tiny ponytail off, or watching the strands streamline down the sink. it was dina’s confession, and constantly taking out the roll bag you kept your knives in when she felt strong enough, only to quickly roll it back up and hide it in her drawers when she realised she wasn’t.

but she’s done well recently, she’s sleeping more, dreaming less; eating bigger portions, and she’s able to look people in the eyes. her dead rabbit lays beside the stream, bow slung over her lanky shoulders.

she kicks against something solid, slowly kneeling when she realises it’s caved in the ruptures of the ground. there’s a metallic glint as she tilts her head, digging into the parched earth and slowly dragging it out.

“still waiting for my first butterfly knife.”

“butterfly? yeah.. good luck..”

it clicks in her hand, her fingers trying to rub off stains of mud, and she sighs. she sees your face, pretty lashes fanning your cheeks, the echo of your laughter when she’d kiss at the ticklish areas of your body.

“so.. how does this work?” she looks at you, knife in hand.

“you see that red thing right there? you throw the knife at it.” you point at the target on the wall, crossing your arms as you inspect her.

“wow.. so helpful, baby..” she murmurs under her breath, before she adjusts her shot, and throws the knife at the wall. it lands beside the red bullseye, a decent throw.

“wow. that was..” you start, eyebrows arched as if you’re impressed. she feels a gratified smile pull her cheeks upwards as you walk towards the wall, clutching at the knife’s handle before pulling it out. “ass. go again.”

you were beautiful. she’ll never love like that again.

and so she slowly tucks the knife back into the ground, respectively concealing it in the soil, it feels as if she’s burying you within these meadows - letting go of you a final time.

acceptance.

[malavera]

Peaches: “We can’t do this here!” (18+) — Logan Howlett

summary: You’ve been a brat all day and Logan doesn’t want to leave you all alone in your house so he invites you to hang out at his while his friend from work is also visiting.

warning: SMUT! MDNI. Dry humping, thigh riding, a bit voyeurism (?), foul language both are going at it while there’s a person beside’s them.

↬ peaches masterlist

↬ logan howlett masterlist

taglist: @hughverine @girlimjustherr @weallhaveadestiny @kholdkill @wcndercore @peachyystuff @narjuko @seasonofthenerd

Logan never really gives you what you want.

You thought you were the teaser, but you’ve thought wrong. Ever since you both embraced the strange, intoxicating dance between you, he’s proven to be the biggest tease of all.

It’s one of those relentless summer days, the kind that sticks to your skin and makes you languid with heat. The sun is high, pouring down like honey, and Logan is in his yard, shirtless as usual, wearing nothing but his worn-out denim jeans—the kind that hang just low enough to make you wonder. His muscles ripple with each movement as he waters his garden, the cool spray from the hose glistening on his skin, making him look like some rugged, mythic hero. And he knows you’re watching.

You try to get back at him, taking a slow, deliberate dip in the pool, the water a perfect contrast to the scorching sun above. Your bikini is skimpy—by design. You lounge by the edge of the pool, letting the water lap against your skin, casting sidelong glances his way, hoping for a reaction.

But Logan doesn’t falter. Not even a hint of distraction. He’s fixing up his den now, just outside the house, hammering away at some project that doesn’t need doing. You arch your back a little more, let the sunlight catch the curve of your body, but he doesn’t even glance your way.

He never gives in. Never crosses the yard, never stops to give you that look you crave, never comes over to do the things you’re aching for him to do. It’s infuriating, exhilarating, this game he plays. And somehow, in the heat of the day, you’re always left wanting more.

So you decide to up the ante.

You slip into the house, the cool air inside hitting your sun-soaked skin like a breath of fresh life. You rummage through the kitchen, finding a popsicle, something icy and sweet. You step back outside, feeling the heat wrap around you again, and you make your way back to the pool’s edge. This time, you’re more deliberate. You take a seat on the hot concrete, the warmth almost searing against your thighs, and start licking the popsicle slowly, letting the cold drip down your fingers, the sweetness lingering on your lips.

You can feel his gaze now, a flicker of something like interest, like curiosity, like that familiar tension that’s been threading between you both for so long. You stretch out your legs, tilt your head back, and let out a small, satisfied sigh, as if the icy treat is the only relief you’ve found all day.

Logan pauses. It’s just a split second, but you see it—the briefest hesitation in his movements, the smallest crack in that tough exterior. He looks over, and your eyes meet. For a moment, the world seems to stop—the heat, the sun, the entire summer day suspended in that charged gaze.

But then, he smirks. Just a slight curve of his lips, as if he knows exactly what you’re doing, and he’s not about to let you win that easily. He picks up his hammer again and returns to his work, the muscles in his back flexing under the hot sun, every movement deliberate, controlled.

You’ve had enough. Frustration bubbles over, mingling with the heat and the sweet stickiness of the popsicle. You stand up abruptly, toss the melting treat into the grass, and storm over to his yard, your flip-flops slapping against the concrete with every determined step.

“What are you doing?” you demand, standing over him, hands on your hips, your voice a mix of exasperation and heat.

Logan doesn’t even look up. “What does it look like I’m doing, peach?” he asks, his tone maddeningly calm as he hammers another nail into the wood.

You let out a frustrated breath, your eyes narrowing. “Why are you always doing this?”

He finally glances up, his eyes locking with yours, a hint of a smile playing at the corners of his mouth. “Doing what?”

“Acting like… like you don’t care!” you blurt out, your cheeks flushing, both from the heat and the sudden burst of emotion. “I’m out here, right in front of you, and you’re just… hammering away, like I’m not even here!”

Logan leans back, wiping the sweat from his brow with the back of his hand. “I see you just fine, peach.” he says, his voice low and steady, sending a shiver down your spine despite the scorching day.

“That’s not what I mean,” you say, throwing your hands up in frustration. “You know what I want, Logan. You know exactly what you’re doing.”

He stands up slowly, his full height towering over you, the sun casting a golden glow around him. He takes a step closer, his voice dropping to a near whisper. “Maybe I do. Maybe I don’t. But if you think a little show by the pool is gonna make me come running, you’ve got another thing coming.”

You bite your lip, torn between wanting to scream and wanting to pull him closer. He’s so infuriatingly calm, so perfectly composed, and it drives you mad. “Why do you have to be like this?” you mutter, more to yourself than to him.

Logan’s smile widens just a touch, his eyes softening as he looks at you. “Because it’s fun watching you get all riled up,” he says. “And because I like seeing you fight for what you want.”

You stare at him, caught between frustration and something else, something deeper that you can’t quite name. The heat of the day seems to intensify, wrapping around you both like a living thing, and for a moment, the air is thick with something more than just the summer sun.

Logan takes a step back, picking up his hammer again. “Besides,” he adds, turning back to his work with a casual shrug, “I’m not that easy to get.”

You let out a breath, a mix of anger and reluctant admiration bubbling up inside you. Logan might never give you exactly what you want, but maybe that’s what keeps you coming back, keeps you pushing, keeps you yearning for just a little more... But you've had enough of it. You've been trying to get with him, and you've tried everything. You've sent flirtatious texts, you kept sleeping with your window open sometimes naked sometimes not, until this one.

After your heated exchange, you storm back to your house, frustration and embarrassment swirling inside you like a storm cloud. You can’t believe you let him get under your skin like that. It’s like he enjoys watching you squirm, enjoys seeing you desperate for his attention. Your cheeks burn, not just from the blazing sun but from the realization that you’ve been acting like a brat, throwing a tantrum because you didn’t get your way.

Once inside, you slam the door behind you, the cool air a stark contrast to the heat outside. You try to keep yourself busy, moving from room to room, picking up things that don’t need tidying, flipping through channels on the TV without really watching anything. But no matter what you do, you can’t get Logan out of your head—his calm demeanor, his teasing smirk, the way he looks at you like he’s always one step ahead.

You flop onto the couch, a heavy sigh escaping your lips. Why does he have to be so infuriating? Why can’t he just give in, just once?

Time passes slowly, the minutes dragging on as you stew in your frustration. You tell yourself you’re done playing his games, that you won’t give him the satisfaction of knowing how much he gets to you. But even as you think it, you know it’s a lie. There’s something about Logan that keeps pulling you back, something that makes you want to push his buttons just as much as he pushes yours.

Just as you’re starting to lose yourself in a book, trying to distract your mind from Logan, there’s a knock on the door. It’s firm but not impatient, and you know immediately who it is. You hesitate for a moment, your heart skipping a beat, before you get up and open the door.

And there he is, leaning his hand casually against the doorframe. This time he’s wearing a shirt—a faded gray tee that clings to his chest in a way that’s almost worse than if he were shirtless. “I’m sorry, Peach,” he says, his voice low and warm, but his smile feels like a mock to you, a tease as always.

Your cheeks flush again, this time with a mix of anger and something else—something that makes your pulse quicken. “Don’t call me that,” you snap, crossing your arms over your chest, trying to look unaffected.

"C'mon, I'm serious, Peach. Anyway, it's almost dinner. How about you come by and have one at mine?" Logan says, his voice a mix of exasperation and something softer, almost like concern. "A friend from work is coming over, and I don't want to leave you all alone."

You cross your arms tighter, trying to hold onto your irritation even as his words make your resolve waver. "No, I can do it by myself," you snap, turning away slightly, but not enough to hide the way your eyes flicker back to his.

"I'm not playing here, Peach. Go get ready, and I'll cook you dinner," he says, his tone firmer now, but still carrying that teasing lilt that always makes your heart race.

You shake your head, trying to maintain your stance. "No."

Logan’s expression shifts, a frown creasing his brow. He takes a step forward, closing the distance between you two. His sudden closeness makes you inhale sharply, and your eyes dart upward, slowly meeting his intense gaze. You can feel the heat radiating off him, mingling with the warmth of the day, creating a charged atmosphere around you.

“Now,” he commands, his voice low and insistent, leaving no room for argument. Sighing, you turn around and walk upstairs to your room. A light bulb appears on top of your head, you've got an idea in mind.

"Peach, I better see you at my house later. My friend's just arrived." You tilt your head slightly, catching his words but choosing not to respond. Instead, you roll your eyes, a smirk forming on your lips as you continue rummaging through your closet. You grab the short baby pink dress—the one that clings in all the right places and leaves little to the imagination.

If Logan wants to play games, you’re ready to play right back. If he isn’t going to give you what you want, you’re going to make him want to. You’re determined to push him to the brink, to see just how far he can be teased before he snaps.

You slip into the dress, the fabric cool against your skin. You check your reflection in the mirror, smoothing out the dress and fluffing your hair, a wicked smile curving your lips. Tonight, you’re going to turn the tables on Logan. If he wants to keep pretending he’s in control, he’s about to find out just how wrong he is.

Logan opens the front door just as his friend arrives. “Nice place you got here, Lo. Totally suits your vibe,” Wade steps inside, taking a quick glance around. Wade says, his tone light and friendly as he surveys the cozy, rustic charm of Logan’s home.

Logan chuckles, closing the door behind him. “Thanks, man. It’s still a work in progress, but it’s getting there. Make yourself at home. Dinner will be ready in a second.”

“Yeah, sure,” Wade replies, dropping onto the couch and kicking his feet up. “Have you heard from Peter?”

Logan nods, moving into the kitchen to check on the food. “Yeah, he’s been busy with that new project. Said he might swing by next week if he can get away.”

Wade leans back, his hands behind his head as he glances around. “Sounds about right. Peter’s always buried in something. How’s life been treating you here, though? You settling in okay?”

Logan grabs a few plates from the cupboard, setting them on the counter as he shrugs. “Yeah, it’s been good. Quiet, mostly. Just how I like it.”

Wade raises an eyebrow, a grin spreading across his face. “Quiet, huh? That doesn’t sound like the Logan I know. What’s the catch?”

Logan smirks, stirring the pot on the stove. “No catch. Just… trying something different, I guess. Besides, it’s not always quiet,” he adds, a hint of a smile playing on his lips.

Wade chuckles. “Oh, I see how it is. You got some company keeping you on your toes?”

Logan doesn’t answer immediately, but his grin widens slightly. “Something like that,” he mutters, his thoughts momentarily drifting back to you. He shakes his head, trying to focus on the task at hand. “Anyway, I hope you’re hungry. I’ve got plenty to go around.”

A knock on the door catches both Logan and Wade’s attention. Logan is focused on setting the table for dinner, so Wade steps up, his natural curiosity getting the better of him. “I’ll get it,” Wade offers casually, heading over to the door.

As the door swings open, Wade is greeted by the sight of you standing on the porch in your short baby pink dress. He raises an eyebrow, surprised but clearly intrigued. “Why, hello, pretty girl,” Wade says with a playful grin. “Can I help you with something?”

You smirk, recognizing the playful banter in his tone. “Yeah, Logan invited me for dinner. Are you his friend?”

“In fact, I am, yes,” Wade replies, his grin widening. “I’m Wade. And you are…?”

Before you can answer, Logan’s voice cuts through the air. “Peach?” he calls out, his tone sharp with surprise and a hint of something else—something closer to frustration or concern.

Wade turns slightly to look back at Logan, a mischievous glint in his eye. “Oh, I see I’ve met your other company now, Logan,” he says, clearly amused by the tension in the air.

Logan’s expression shifts the moment he sees you standing there. His eyes narrow slightly, his jaw tightening as he takes in your outfit. The short dress clings to your body, accentuating every curve, and he can’t help but feel a mix of annoyance and something more primal stir within him. He knows he’s being irrational, but the thought of Wade, or anyone else for that matter, seeing you like this makes his blood run hot.

Wade notices Logan's darkened expression, he knows his best friend too well to set his pants on fire therefore, he decided to step out of the thickening air situation. "I'll be in the kitchen." Wade grinned mischievously before he slipped out of the tense situation.

“What the hell are you wearing?” Logan growls, his voice low but laced with frustration. He steps closer, his towering presence making the small space between you feel even more charged.

You cross your arms over your chest, lifting your chin defiantly. “It’s a dress, Logan. It’s hot outside. Besides, I thought you liked it when I wore pink.”

Logan’s jaw tightens, his eyes narrowing. “That’s not the point, Peach. This—” he gestures at your dress, clearly struggling to find the right words. “This is too much. Or too little, rather. Especially with Wade around.”

You scoff, rolling your eyes. “Oh, please. Wade seems nice enough. And you’re the one who invited me over, remember? Come on. I smell my favorite food." You pushed past him and make your way towards the dining room.

The dinner turns out to be surprisingly enjoyable—at least for you and Wade. The two of you hit it off almost immediately, slipping into an easy rhythm of conversation. Wade’s charm and quick wit make him a fun dining companion, and before long, you find yourself laughing more than you have in days. He’s the kind of person who knows how to keep a conversation light and entertaining, effortlessly pulling you in with his stories and humor.

Logan, on the other hand, is another story. He sits at the head of the table, brooding silently, only speaking when absolutely necessary. His responses are curt and to the point, as if he’s simply going through the motions. It’s clear he’s not as engaged in the banter, his mind elsewhere, occasionally glancing in your direction with a look you can’t quite decipher.

"Anyone down for a movie?" Wade offered and you instantly shot up. "Ooh, me, me! What are we watching?"

"Well actually, the original plan was to binge watch Die Hard with the old man here. I don't know if it's your kind of movie but—"

"That sounds fun, I'm in!" You cut Wade with excitement laced in your tone, Logan scoffed. "It's an action movie, you don't like action, peach." You looked at him frowning.

"Whatever, I'll have whatever you guys are having." You smiled proudly.

"Alright, I'll go set up. Get the beers will you, peanut?" Wade said to Logan before patting his cheeks.

Logan was right, the movie is boring. Action movies are supposed to keep you on the edge of your seat, but this one just isn't doing it for you. The plot is dragging, and your interest is fading fast. You're halfway through Die Hard 2, and instead of thrilling action, all you can focus on is how long it's taking to get to the good parts.

A soft snore suddenly pulls you out of your thoughts. You glance over and see Wade, his head tilted back, mouth slightly open, his body slumped comfortably; fast asleep. Logan notices it too and chuckles to himself before he takes a swig of his beer.

You clear your throat quietly and shuffle a little closer to Logan. As you are feeling bolder, you let your head rest against his broad shoulder. Logan glances down at you, his lips curling into a slight smile. "You enjoying the movie, Peach?" he asks, his voice low rumble that sends a shiver down your spine.

"No," you admit, your voice just above a whisper. Logan chuckles again, the sound deep and warm. "Didn't think so." You sighed, your fingers lightly trailing over the fabric of his jeans. "I'm bored," your hand rests on his thigh.

Logan’s eyebrow quirks up, his gaze dropping to where your hand has landed. He stays silent for a moment, just watching you, as if weighing his options. You feel your heart thump a little harder in your chest, the air between you charged with something electric.

“Yeah?” he finally says, his voice low and soft, almost like a growl. “C’mere.”

Before you can fully register his words, Logan’s hands are on you, strong and sure, guiding you up and over onto his lap. You feel a thrill race through you as he settles you down, his arms wrapping around your waist to hold you in place. You let out a small sigh of contentment, snuggling against his chest, seeking his warmth.

“I’m sorry about before, Peach,” Logan mumbles, his calloused hand gently tracing the curve of your bare back. His touch is careful, almost reverent, as if he’s afraid of hurting you. The contrast between the roughness of his hands and the softness of your skin sends a pleasant shiver down your spine. You feel the heat of his palm, every ridge and scar, as he caresses you with a tenderness that feels almost out of place on him.

You hum softly in response, eyes half-closed, savoring the warmth of his touch. Logan glances down at you, his gaze intense but softened with a hint of regret. “I really like this dress on you,” he murmurs, his voice low and rough. “I don’t want anyone else to see you in it but me.” His words are possessive, but there’s a vulnerability there, too, a hint of something deeper that he’s struggling to keep hidden.

A smirk tugs at your lips. You like hearing him talk like this—like he can’t help himself, like you’ve got him wrapped around your little finger. The corners of your mouth twitch upward, and Logan catches the teasing glint in your eyes. He reaches over to the remote, turning the volume down just a notch, not wanting the loud explosions and gunfire from the movie to disturb Wade’s sleep. Or maybe he just doesn’t want Wade to ruin this moment. This closeness. This intimacy.

Logan’s hand, which has been lazily stroking your back, moves lower to your hips, his grip firm but still gentle. His other hand slides around to your front, fingers splaying across your stomach as if to steady you. The heat of his body radiates through the thin fabric of your dress, and you can feel every breath he takes, the rise and fall of his chest.

With a gentle but insistent tug, Logan urges you to pull back slightly, just enough so he can see your face. You reluctantly shift away from his warmth, turning to look up at him, your eyes searching his. 

You could feel a tent growing in his pants, and that's when you finally have him wrapped around your finger. You intended to give him the blue balls, just like he did to you when he forced your mouth down on his cock and then left you hanging there. Did not attend to your needy pussy just once.

By now you learn the control was never really with you.

Logan possessively grab your hips and force you to grind your clothed cunt against his rough fabric of jeans. You quietly gasped as you watched Logan with surprised, him on the other hand, didn't seem to budge. He stares at you with a frown, a different kind of frown that gives the indication that one is really enjoying this. The kind of frown that screams, I am in control, don't push it.

"L-logan," you gasped. "We can't do this here!"

He gruff, "Hmm, why not, Peach? Isn't this what you want?" His eyes drooping, enjoying the feeling every time your pussy grinds down against his growing bulge. "Come on, Peach, rub that pussy against my cock." Logan released your hips to cross his arms against his neck, as he lay there, expecting you to proceed.

"But, Wade-" You started to turn your head towards the sleeping Wade but Logan roughly grab your chin and turn your gaze back to him. "Don't care, just look at me." He hissed.

"Move that hips." You nodded your head and started grinding your pussy.

"There we go, feels good right, Peach?"

Here we go, you thought. His filthy words, he always has a way with them. When he started to sing those praises to you, you're sure you're going to come undone anytime soon. Fuck, control, I wanna cum now, you thought.

You increased the speed of going back and forth against his bulge, a soft moan escaped from your lips. Logan chuckles before moving his hips upwards, "Such a whore." You whimpered.

"Such a greedy whore, always wanting my cock." You gasped when you can feel his cock twitch in his pants. Slapping your own mouth with your own hand, afraid you might let out the biggest moan.

"Mmmh," you whimper. "So good, daddy." Screwing your eyes shut.

Logan's hand found its way to the back of your neck to push your face closer to his. Listening to his rugged breath as he is to your adorable chants so good, so good.

"I know, I know," Logan coo'ed. "You're gonna cum, Peaches?" You whimpered.

"It's okay baby, break for me. Don't worry, he's not going to wake up. Nobody's stopping you, come on, break for me." His words felt like a spell to you and before you know it, your thighs stuttered as you came down your high, creating a wet spot right on top of his clothed cock.

"Theeereee.. We go, good job, Peach. Good girl." Logan coo'ed at you, pushing a strand of hair away from your face as you tried to catch your breath.

"Bu- But, you haven't-"

"There's always another time, Peach. This is not gonna be the last."

And you have a feeling, he's right. It feels like it's going to be forever, with him.

If you enjoyed this one, do support me by buying me a coffee 😉

[frudoo]

Two days too late, but here’s Price in lingerie ;)

Warnings: SMUT. John is bound by ropes. Humiliation/degradation. Ball gag. Lingerie, obviously. Boot grinding. Orgasm denial. Ass eating, anal fingering, prostate milking. Mentions of cunnilingus but no scene of it. Dom/sub dynamics. Fem!Reader.

MDNI

“On your knees, Captain.”

John’s bushy eyebrows furrow with disdain as he looks up at you from the ground, thick ropes tied taut around his biceps and forearms, wrists intertwined behind his back. Decorating his furry torso is a brown leather corset with mesh straps that fall off of his shoulders, and a matching mesh g-string that’s practically glued to his crotch, soaked through with his precum. It’s obvious by the pinprick size of his pupils that he’s ready to cuss you out—pity, given that he can’t speak around the ball gag you placed in his mouth.

“Look at you, fuckin’ slag. You’re loving this, aren’t you?” You tease, reaching down to gently scratch the underside of his chin where drool is pooling in his beard. “Wearing your wife’s lingerie like a cheap whore.”

John growls in annoyance, and you cock an eyebrow, wrapping your hand around his throat and applying the slightest bit of pressure. It does nothing to settle his bratty attitude. Scowling, you push the toe of your boot onto his throbbing dick, fingertips hooking on either side of his jaw so that he’s forced to be still and maintain eye contact with you.

“Keep it up and I’ll put you outside, you old mutt,” you hiss, smirking when you see the slightest resignation in his crystal blue eyes. “Yeah? Gonna behave, now?”

Your husband nods, and you pat his stubbled cheek in approval. Slowly, you rub your boot along his shaft, biting your lip at the sound of the paper-thin fabric of the panties squelching with every move. You tut down at him with a faux pout tugging at your bottom lip.

“So wet for me, baby,” you coo, watching the slow burn of his skin rising up, cherry-red arousal showing itself in his flushed neck and rosy cheeks.

John whines, hips bucking erratically in an attempt to get more friction on his leaking cock. His jaw is clenched tightly—you’re positive that when this is all said and done, the ball gag will absolutely need to be trashed, chewed up and destroyed like a dog’s favorite toy. His chest is puffing out with every heave, the leather creaking as it pulls tight around his torso, furry belly threatening to break loose.

“Gaggin’ for it, aren’t you?” You mock, grazing your fingertips over his scalp as he looks up at you with glossy eyes. “Oh, I know, honey. I know you need more.”

Your man nods, huffing through his nose as he leans forward to rub his cheek against your thigh. It’s pathetic—he looks like a kicked puppy, and you almost feel bad. Still, the past week of him being home from assignment had been nothing but John being an irritable bastard, taking his anger out on you in screaming fits, and you finally got sick of it. This is his punishment. You let him work himself up until his eyes are rolling back into his skull and you know he’s about to cum, then take a step back, watching as he stumbles forward and lands face-down on the rug. He grunts in pain and you suck in a breath through your teeth.

“Oh, I’m so sorry, Cap, didn’t mean to make you lose your balance,” you snicker, striding around his tense body so you can see where his ass is in the air, completely exposed to the cool air of the bedroom.

“I was gonna have you lay on the bed before I play with this perfect fucking ass, but you just look so good down there, don’t you, baby?” You suck your teeth and give his right cheek a sharp smack, watching the way it ripples and rubbing the mark in a soothing motion.

John groans, the muscles of his biceps flexing so hard that you think he might hurt himself. You get on your knees behind your husband, leaning forward to press a couple of teasing kisses against his white-tinged knuckles where his fists are strained against the elaborately tied ropes. You leisurely kiss your way down to his hips, then the small of his back, until you reach the thin strap of fabric between his ass. You pull it back and snap it so that it hits his puckered hole sharply, making him whimper.

“That the spot?” You keen, repeating the action to watch as he shoves back against you, desperate for more.

Wasting no more time, you pull aside the flimsy g-string so you have complete access to his ass. You can hear John exhale heavily when you lick a long stripe up between his cheeks, flattened surface wet and scalding hot against his tight ring. He lifts his head as best as he can in an attempt to see you, huffing in defeat when you push him back down so that his cheek rests against the carpet.

“You don’t get to look at me,” you inform him bluntly, biting into the flesh of his inner thighs, then back up to your intended target. “Just take what I give you.”

John’s eyes roll back at the feeling of you spitting a glob of saliva onto his hole, allowing the tip of your middle finger to spread the fluid and prod his insides just slightly. It gets him moaning, though, and the sound is divine—enough to make you slowly insert your entire digit into the hot clutch of his ass, knuckle deep.

“So tight,” you mutter breathily, curling your finger downward the way he would if he was the one fingering you in this position.

Your husband pushes his hips back in silent invitation once again. A second finger makes its way inside of him, stretching the ring of muscle deliciously. You pump back and forth steadily, curving your fingers to press right up against his prostate and get him whimpering beneath your ministrations. He’s already pent up from earlier when you denied him his orgasm, clenching pathetically around the digits in his ass, unsure of what to do with his hands although they’re still bound. You shush him gently.

“Be good for me and I’ll give you a treat, yeah?” You bargain, scissoring your fingers inside of him. “Cum all nice for me and I’ll let you lick my pussy, that sound good?”

John nods frantically, squeezing his eyes shut tight as your fingertips relentlessly massage the sensitive patch inside him. There’s a squelch and then a milky substance coats your digits, creamy and slick as you fuck it back into him.

“Creaming all over my fingers, baby, you gettin’ close?” You purr, reaching your free hand around to cup his aching cock.

He ruts against your hand in response, more precum leaking from his slit into the crevices of your palm.

“That’s right, my big bear, cum for me. Show your wife how fucking capable you are of following orders. Yeah, you got it- yes!”

His gruff voice breaks when he reaches his peak, growls dissolving into soft little whines as hot semen spurts from his prick, seeping through the mesh fabric of the panties. His arms tense and rip the sleeves of the corset, making you laugh as you work him through the high. Once you feel his cock twitch and his body relax, you gently pull your fingers from his ass and give him one last spank for good measure.

“Did so good for me, John,” you praise with a whisper, helping him sit up before untying the ropes and removing the ball gag from his mouth.

John stretches his body as soon as you untie the corset, groaning low in his throat when his joints pop. He stands and removes the rest of the outfit before wrapping his burly arms around your waist and pulling your plush body down on top of him. You giggle, bracing yourself with your hands on his shoulders. He pulls you down into a heated kiss, wide palms splaying across your hips to drag you further up his body. He grunts when you hesitate.

“Sit on my face, baby, please. Never gonna yell at you again, swear it, just- please, sweet’eart, I want my treat.”

He begs so prettily with those baby blues, and it doesn’t take much convincing for you to oblige. After all, he was good for you. You go to slip off your boots, but-

“No. Leave ‘em on.”

Maybe you’ll need to put him in his place more often.

[pin-k-ink]

BACK IN THE GAME ⋆✦⋆ hinata shoyo

synopsis ➸ fresh off a trip from brazil, hinata’s crashing at kenma’s place. the last thing he expected? being drawn to his old friend’s daughter

tags ➸ dilf!hinata, dad’s best friend trope (kinda), age gap, sexual tension, hinata and kenma have some tension between them (and it’s not the good kind), sorta ooc hinata, me mentioning his happy trail every five sentences, groping, dry humping, making out, biting, spanking, daddy kink, rough sex, blow job, face fucking, deepthroating/throat bulge, nipple play, fingering, overstimulation, dirty talking, kitchen sex, creampie, unprotected sex, degradation, begging, hair pulling, manhandling

wc ➸ 16.4k 💀

The rhythmic pounding echoed down the hallway, rousing you from your half-doze on the living room couch. You frowned blearily at the Netflix menu awaiting your resumption, ears perking at the unexpected sound of knocking on your front door.

Glancing at the clock, you couldn't help but bristle at the late-night intrusion. Didn't these losers ever just take a hint and leave you alone at this hour? Your dad may have been a famous streamer in his heyday, but that didn't give creeps free rein to wander up to your doorstep at all hours.

"Dad?" you called out in a raised voice to no response. Typical. Kenma slept like the dead most nights these days.

With an aggrieved huff, you snagged your baseball bat leaning against the bookshelf and stomped to the entryway. Through the peephole, the shadowy figure of a sturdily built man loomed close to the door, hand still raised mid-knock.

"Yeah, whaddaya want?" you barked out bluntly before your apprehension could spike any higher.

A brief pause, then a warm, distinctly male chuckle reverberated through the thick wood. "Well now, that's one heck of a way to greet an old friend after all these years! Kenma didn't mention his daughter was so...feisty."

You arched one eyebrow, taking in the rich timbre of his voice - smooth velvet with a hint of rasp that sent an inadvertent shiver tracing down your spine. Repositioning the bat over your shoulder, you pulled open the door to face the mystery man fully for the first time.

And immediately had to tighten your suddenly slack grip on your improvised weapon, lest it go clattering straight to the floor.

This was no vagrant creep or overzealous groupie eyeing you predatorily in the dim lighting. The figure standing there exuded the sort of unbridled masculine charisma that conjured half-baked fantasies about a forbidden tryst with your hot older teacher from high school days. Only...magnified exponentially into the stuff of genuine wet dreams now rendered flesh.

From the tousled carrot-orange thatch to the sculpted musculature rippling beneath his well-worn shirt with every subtle shift, this man was the literal embodiment of tall-dark-and-smoldering personified. And those eyes - vibrant pools of rich amber that seemed to gleam with unbridled mischief even surrounded by the crows-feet and laughter lines of someone clearly on the wiser side of his prime.

You swallowed hard against the sudden dryness coating the back of your throat despite your best efforts. Forcing a disaffected look to the contrary, you shrugged carelessly and made a point of raking an appreciative once-over up and down his form as blatantly as possible.

"Yeesh, you sure this is the right house, old man?" you drawled, deliberately pitching your tone into a low lilt that never failed to rile up horny douchebags in the past. "Because if you were looking for a hookup with a hot young thing like me tonight, we both know you're seriously barking up the wrong tree, Daddy."

Rather than look suitably shocked or affronted by your veiled taunts, the rugged older man simply chuckled again - a rough, airy sound that raised goosebumps anew along your arms in a way that set your nerves thrilling dangerously. Those striking amber eyes positively gleamed beneath hooded lids as he regarded you with an inscrutable expression.

"I always forget how spirited Kenma's little girl grew up being," he mused, the low rumble vibrating straight through you. "But I promise you this - your old Uncle Shoyo would never disrespect you like that if he was looking for a good time tonight."

At those words uttered so casually, your breath stuttered dangerously in your lungs as the ground seemed to shift sideways all of a sudden. Jaw plummeting slack, you gawped at this stranger in your doorway with fresh awareness dawning.

"Uncle...Shoyo?" you echoed dumbly. Like the legendary Monster Generation volleyball star that your dad occasionally reminisced about in his youth? That Uncle Shoyo?

The man's bright smile widened to boyish degrees crinkles radiating outwards from the corners of those molten amber eyes that still somehow managed to glitter with devilish hints despite his mature age. "The one and only! Though I guess it would be more accurate to call me Uncle Hinata these days, now that I'm an old geezer in your eyes."

Before you could summon any further response, another rich baritone voice echoed from somewhere deeper in the apartment. "Shoyo? That really you?"

You pivoted instinctively with your jaw still hanging slack as the familiar silhouette of your father appeared around the hall corner - all tousled bedhead and barely-contained excitement shining from his pale amber gaze now.

"Kenma! It's me alright, just like I promised," Uncle Hinata—Hinata exclaimed, already ambling forward to enfold your dad in a tight embrace. "Brazil hasn't changed a thing, buddy. Still somehow managed to grow taller than you even after all these years."

"Oh please," your dad retorted without any real heat, hugging his apparent childhood friend in turn. "Says the guy who spent a whole decade getting brain damage in the sand just so he could keep jumping a few inches higher until retiring."

The two men - former athletic rivals turned coworkers turned...whatever their bond was nowadays - shared a laugh you felt utterly excluded from. In that suspended heartbeat, you couldn't help but rake your eyes over Hinata's tall, rangy frame once more in renewed scrutiny.

Somehow the man beamed with youthful vibrancy and rakish appeal you'd assumed impossible for someone your dad's age and station in life - everything from that windswept tousle of sunset hair to the laidback charisma radiating from his very pores like some eternal beach spirit entranced you dangerously.

"So you're really him...?" you murmured once your mental faculties finally rebooted with a jolt. "The infamous Ninja Shoyo that Dad never shuts up about?"

A strange mixture of relief and renewed intrigue flickered across Hinata's striking features as his molten gaze returned to you - flicking up and down your frame with unabashed appraisal that made you straighten self-consciously.

"That's me..." he drawled in that low, smoky timbre that plucked straight at something deep in your feminine hindbrain. "Though nobody has called me that kinda name in years now, [Y/N]. Hard to be a ninja master when the rest of the world grows up faster than you do..."

At the playful self-deprecation, his eyes crinkled in that way that did utterly sinful things to your rapidly pounding pulse you refused to examine too closely. You forced a scoffing sound, jutting one hip out in an artless sprawl you hoped came across as aloof rather than captivated.

"Well you sure made one hell of an entrance tonight for being a 'retired old geezer,'" you couldn't resist taunting, relishing in the way his intense amber stare remained riveted to you as the faintest curl teased the corner of that full, expressive mouth.

"I just don't see what the big fuss was about if you were really such hot stuff back then," you drawled, deliberately dipping into that same honeyed lilt that had always been Kryptonite for cocky douchebags in your vicinity before. "But then again...maybe you are a different breed afterall, Uncle Shoyo..."

You held Hinata's gaze steadily, refusing to falter beneath the renewed heat you could have sworn flared behind those penetrating eyes as your meaning registered with naked clarity in the space between you. Your heart hammered a wild, furious tattoo against your ribcage that you couldn't quite place or dismiss the implications of just yet.

All you knew in that suspended breath of charged silence was that no matter how or why, this particular worldly older man - one you expected you should still view in some detached, innocuous uncle-figure capacity - had effortlessly sideswiped your flustered wits and begged exploration of places you could never revisit unscathed again.

The tension only mounted as you hastily retreated to the kitchen, mind whirling while you prepared a tray of tea with shaky hands. Despite your best efforts, you couldn't shake the burn of Hinata's lingering stare nor the visceral lure of his powerfully-built frame.

Unseemly thoughts crept in of how those strong hands might feel on your body - calloused palms mapping every dip and curve with rough insistence as he crowded you against the nearest surface. You bit your lip hard, imagining the scrape of his stubbled jaw branding your fevered skin while pinning you in place with that intense smolder alone.

By the time the tea finished steeping, you grabbed the tray and took a fortifying breath before heading back to the living room. Uncle Shoyo and your dad were settled on the couch, deep in familiar conversation that felt almost jarring in its animation compared to Kenma's usual reservation.

You hung back for a moment, surreptitiously drinking in the sight of the older Hinata with fresh, unfettered appreciation. The sleeves of his t-shirt clung to every flexing cord of muscle in his biceps and forearms with each emphatic gesture, straining in a way you refused to find tantalizing.

More distracting still was the fabric pulled taut across the defined ridges and hard planes of his abdomen - clearly outlining the intriguing trail of auburn hair disappearing into the snug waistband of his pants. You swallowed hard, pulse thrumming as you watched that obscenely fit torso undulate and stretch with every deep inhale and rich laugh rumbled free.

"Oh [Y/N], there you are," your dad's voice rang out abruptly, startling you. He frowned slightly, eyes narrowing as his gaze swept over your flustered expression. "Everything okay there? You look a little...feverish."

Heat flooded your cheeks as Hinata turned those scorching amber eyes towards you once more, shameless interest glinting from their depths. His stare raked over your form in a lingering, unabashed appraisal that made you want to squirm like a prize heifer on display.

"Hmm, you might be onto something there, Kenma," Hinata drawled in that low, rumbling timbre that sent tingles dancing down your spine. "She did look maybe a little worked up about something when she came back just now..."

"Uncle Shoyo!" you sputtered despite yourself, outrage burning away any lingering embarrassment. "I'm perfectly fine, thanks for your concern."

Kenma continued scrutinizing you with that canny, assessing look he always wore when suspecting you were up to no good. You jutted your chin up stubbornly, meeting his stony gaze in wordless challenge until Hinata chuckled softly.

"Hey now, no need to get so riled up right off the bat!" he interjected placatingly, hands raised in mock surrender. "I was just messing around, [Y/N]. We're all friends here, right?"

You opened your mouth to retort, but faltered at the heated undertone of his words and the sly wink accompanying them. Kenma scoffed loudly then, scowl deepening as his focus swiveled to pin Hinata with an exasperated glare that promised retribution.

"Don't even try it, old man," your dad growled with an almost protective edge. "My daughter isn't one of those groupies constantly throwing themselves at your feet back in Rio, understand?"

Hinata laughed again, completely unbothered as he angled that hulking frame forward. His shirt rode up obscenely, revealing a tantalizing strip of tanned, toned abdomen you couldn't seem to tear your eyes away from despite your best efforts.

"Easy, Kenma!" Hinata rumbled, lush lips curved in a wicked grin that promised sweet sin. "I think it goes without saying that [Y/N] here is way out of an old beach bum's league. Was just messing around is all..."

He trailed off then, once more dragging his blatant perusal up the length of your body with liquid heat in his smoldering stare. You clenched your thighs instinctively, desire and outrage warring as your teeth dug into your lower lip to stifle any reactions.

The next few moments seemed to stretch into a thick, electrically-charged silence. You, your father, and Hinata simply regarding one another - the weight of unspoken tension and challenge thrumming through the air with every weighted pause. Until finally, you broke it by clearing your throat and stepping forward.

"Well, I brought the tea you wanted," you announced airily, like nothing untoward had just happened. "Then I'll be going to my room if you two want to keep reminiscing about the good old days."

"[Y/N]..." your dad started in a tone of clear warning, eyes narrowing as you stepped past their tangle of limbs on the couch to set the tray on the coffee table.

"Don't worry about it," Hinata interjected smoothly, rising to his towering height with languid, boneless grace you tried not to notice. "Your old Uncle Shoyo is probably overstaying his welcome as it is tonight."

He cast you one final, heated look from beneath lowered lashes, expression utterly inscrutable beyond the banked hunger simmering there. Then without another word, he turned and prowled towards the guest bedroom in a loose-limbed lope you tried desperately not to track too closely.

Only once his broad, muscular back disappeared from view did you let out a shaky breath. Kenma remained seated on the couch, radiating a silent but palpable displeasure and glaring accusation you refused to acknowledge directly.

So instead, you strode forward and leaned down to press a chaste peck to his cheek while avoiding eye contact entirely. "Goodnight, Dad. I'll see you in the morning."

Then before he could respond or break the tension hanging thick in the air, you spun on your heel and hurried to the sanctuary of your bedroom - every molecule buzzing with the unsettled aftershocks of Hinata's disarming presence so near.

Because as much as you tried to deny or bury it, his raw masculine vitality and promise of unshackled experience called to you on a primal, instinctual level. Echoing through your thundering pulse in a siren song of temptation you knew could only lead to utter ruination in its wake if you let your guard down...but that seemed increasingly inevitable with each passing second.

The next morning, you shuffled out of your bedroom in rumpled pajamas and messy bedhead, stifling a yawn. The memory of Hinata's unexpected arrival had already begun to fade into a vivid but surreal blur against the slate of your drowsy morning routine.

At least, until you rounded the corner into the kitchen and pulled up short with a sharp inhale. There stood the man himself - tall, broad-shouldered, and utterly shirtless, giving you an unobstructed view of his chiseled back flexing as he rummaged through your cabinets.

You felt your mouth go abruptly dry, gaze riveted to the tantalizing vee of muscle trailing down from his sculpted shoulders, dipping into the waistband of those low-slung sweatpants hugging his hips enticingly. Each subtle shift and roll of his powerful frame drew your hungry stare, unable to look away.

"Morning, sleepyhead," Hinata rumbled without turning around, as if sensing your presence instinctively. "Your dad said he had some company stuff to deal with early, so he stuck me with babysitting duty for now."

You blinked dazedly for a beat, still struggling to reconcile this morning vision of masculine glory before you. The crisp auburn hair tousled by sleep, the enticing glide of defined musculature shifting beneath tanned skin, the shameless confidence radiating off him in delicious waves...

Clearing your throat, you finally managed to find your voice around the lump of arousal lodged there. "I hardly need a babysitter, old man," you drawled in what you hoped sounded nonchalant. "Especially not from family friends who look closer to collecting social security than—"

Hinata finally turned then, bracing one hip against the counter and propping his arms behind him as those molten amber eyes swept over your body from head to toe in a single scorching appraisal. Your breath hitched at the lingering heat dripping off the heated rumble of his next words.

"Watch that smart mouth of yours before it really does get you into trouble, sweetheart," he crooned, lips curved into a wicked smirk that bordered on indecent promise. "You really think your dad asked me to stick around and play nice this morning?"

Despite your best efforts, your traitorous gaze couldn't help but skate over every taut line and definition of his exposed torso shamelessly. The crisp trail of auburn hair disappearing beneath those sweatpants seemed like an insistent beacon, taunting your curiosity.

Clearing your throat again, you forced your attention to the half-chopped produce on the kitchen island. With slightly shaky movements, you grabbed a knife and began working on the remaining ingredients to distract yourself from the living sexual fantasy just a few feet away.

"Well considering he pays the bills around here," you tossed out as breezily as possible, still not meeting Uncle Shoyo's stare directly. "I think it's pretty safe to assume your role this morning is closer to the 'creepy uncle nobody likes' end of the spectrum."

A low chuckle reverberated through the open kitchen, low and syrupy in a way that made your heart stutter. You risked a glance over to find Hinata's eyes utterly fixated on you now – devouring your every move as you brandished the sharp knife with utterly rapt interest.

"Whatever you say, pumpkin," he purred, shifting his stance subtly to cross one sinewy arm over his abdomen in a way that made all those flexing ridges pop in sinful definition. "But I gotta warn you, your little jabs don't exactly have the effect you think on me..."

Your mouth went bone dry once more as he raked that brazen stare over your sleep-tousled bedhead next, unruly mop and all. Then those full lips quirked in a way that made you want to simultaneously combust and punch him right in that shameless mouth.

"In fact, they kinda just make me want to bend you over this counter and teach you some proper manners until you're begging for mercy all night, sweetheart."

You almost missed the suggestive lilt at the end, abruptly choking as his words slammed into you like a physical force. The knife slipped in your grip slicing neatly into your thumb as a startled yelp punched its way free.

"Shit!" you hissed, sucking the shallow graze instinctively only to see a few glistening beads of crimson well forth.

"Whoa there, easy!" Suddenly Hinata was crowding into your space without any warning, large hand closing over yours to inspect the damage with surprising tenderness. "Let me take a look at that, [Y/N]."

Before you could respond, Hinata's hand was coaxing yours up towards those full lips with intent simmering in those hooded embers. You watched in stunned silence as his tongue darted out to swipe over the tiny wound in one long, heated glide—only to suck your thumb directly into the wet heat of his mouth with a low groan of apparent satisfaction.

Every muscle in your body instantly seized up at the erotic massage of his tongue swirling deliberately around the pad in a sensual slide. Watching those sharp cheekbones hollow with each languid pull, you felt the throb between your legs intensify to an almost painful ache of pure, thwarted need. But you seemed incapable of looking away, utterly transfixed.

Uncle Shoyo maintained searing eye contact as his dexterous tongue swiped over every nuance of your thumb with devoted reverence, chasing every copper tinge hungrily. Then with one final swirl that made you stifle a desperate whimper, he slowly released the digit from captivity with a harsh exhale – eyeing your swollen lips with naked hunger as a slick trail of saliva clung between you in an obscene string.

"Be careful now, beautiful," he rumbled in that deep, gravelly timbre that sank talons into your very core. His gaze scorched over your body once more as he stepped back slowly and ambled back towards the exit without a backwards glance. "I'd hate to have to really punish you next time if you keep taunting me like this..."

Then he was gone, leaving you standing there bereft and throbbing deliriously with frustrated longing in the empty kitchen. Because you knew deep down the provocative Uncle had just issued point-blank challenge and promise: that this was only the opening gambit in his heated pursuit, and he had zero intentions of backing down until you'd been claimed utterly.

Unable to resist any longer, you slumped back against the counter on trembling legs and slid one hand between your thighs with a desperate keen – already picturing Hinata's smoldering mug as you sought frantic release in his smoldering wake. Because despite your best efforts, you were now officially hooked on indulging in the forbidden byproducts of his unshackled virility – no matter how dangerous or ruinous the ultimate destination...

You barely made it back to your bedroom before collapsing against the door, legs trembling violently as the aftershocks of Uncle Shoyo's brazen stunt continued ricocheting through your veins. A whimper punched free as your thighs clenched instinctively, the memory of his ravenous stare haunting you as he slowly, purposefully released your thumb from captivity.

Heat coiled molten and liquid in your belly as you palmed your breasts roughly through the thin cotton tanks, thumbing over rapidly pebbling nipples. Squeezing your eyes shut, you could practically feel Hinata's searing presence looming over you once more - massive palms engulfing your curves as his calloused fingertips teased sensitive flesh with maddening patience...

Before you could surrender fully to fantasy's sweet oblivion, however, a strange urge gripped you. Almost frantic, you shed your rumpled pajamas and quickly rushed to the shower to freshen up before you busied yourself rummaging through your dresser and closet for a fresh dress to change into. You needed to get out of this house, away from the lingering fog of temptation still swirling thick and cloying after such an intimate morning encounter. At least for a little while...

Finally settling on a soft, breezy yellow sundress, you slipped it on hastily and attempted to secure the back tie yourself. But after several frustrating attempts, you realized with an inward groan that the ribbons were too tangled.

"Dammit..." you huffed under your breath, smoothing the front over your hips with rigid motions. You swept your gaze towards the vanity mirror, preparing to just gather your hair over one shoulder and let it hang for now.

The delicious expanse of tanned skin and flexing muscle that greeted you instead nearly sent you crashing to your knees with a dismayed cry.

There, leaning one broad shoulder against the doorframe and utterly at ease, stood Shoyo in nothing but those obscenely slung sweatpants riding sinfully low on his chiseled hips. Streaks of early morning sunlight gilded every defined ridge and hollow of his upper body in buttery warmth, licking over flaring biceps and the mouthwatering trail of auburn hair trailing temptingly beneath the loose waistband.

"You look like you could use a hand there," Hinata rumbled in that smoky baritone you were quickly growing addicted to hearing. Those molten eyes found yours in the mirror with delicious weight, smoldering openly now rather than even attempting to conceal the naked provocation simmering behind his heavy-lidded stare.

Despite the sudden lurch of panic kicking your heart into overdrive, you couldn't quite seem to tear your gaze from his inviting reflection hovering behind you. Drinking in the indolent sprawl of that powerful frame radiating unchecked masculinity and quiet dominion - like a supreme hunter casually awaiting its hapless prey's next stumbling move on instinct.

You swallowed hard but held his smoldering stare steadily, refusing to falter or acknowledge the way your nipples tightened beneath the silken fabric. Despite having watched on breathlessly while Hinata lapped at your thumb, relishing the debauched slide of his tongue over your heated flesh...something about his supreme confidence sprawled behind you now made it abundantly clear he could and would ruin any last vestiges of innocence left within you given half a chance.

"Just stay right there and let me get that for you, babygirl," Hinata purred in a low rasp that raised goosebumps rippling over your exposed arms and back.

Before you could so much as open your mouth to respond, he was slinking closer with that same predatory, liquid grace you'd witnessed in glimpses during the party last night. The air around you seemed to crackle and sing with electricity, only mounting higher as Shoyo's physical presence blotted out every other consideration entirely.

You held yourself utterly still as those large, calloused palms seared lines of blissful rapture wherever they grazed over your shoulders and waist from behind. Hinata deliberately braced one broad palm across your abdomen, exerting the barest hint of insistent pressure to pull your curves flush against his powerful torso in a silken slide you felt all the way to your molten core.

"You smell..." he growled thickly by your ear, breath fanning hot and teasing over the racing pulse in your throat as his free hand set about loosening the tangled ties at your back. "...like temptation itself, you naughty little thing..."

A piteous keen slipped free as Hinata's questing fingers completed their task, leaving the ribbons hanging undone as his palms skated back up to clasp your hips in a punishing, possessive vise. Those scorching pads scorched searing brands over the indentations of your hips, pulling you even harder against the intractable ridge of his cock notching between your trembling thighs in a single, uncompromising move.

Your lashes fluttered as the delicious pressure radiated white hot sparks dancing across your vision, mouth falling open around a shuddering exhale of helpless rapture. In the mirror, Hinata's eyes found yours swimming with naked hunger – the simmering embers of whatever tinder sparked between you last night rendered a roaring furnace in the wake of this morning's torrid duel.

"You gonna keep tempting me like this, pretty girl?" Hinata husked in a gravelly rasp dripping with promise and lingering challenge. "Or do you finally have the good sense to run now before you really earn yourself that punishment you've been courting so hard after...?"

With one final squeeze of warning that made your core spasm with empty ache, he slowly eased away and turned to saunter out of the bedroom without another word. You watched him retreat through the mirror's unforgiving reflection - powerless to do anything but gape and tremble wretchedly as the fog of his surroundings presence dissipated incrementally.

Yet this time, rather than any shaky sense of relief, you found your chest heaving with frustrated desperation and need. Because thanks to Uncle Shoyo's heated morning indulgence, you discovered an agonizing new truth:

You didn't just crave sampling the forbidden delights of his singular experience unfolding before you.

No, you utterly ached to immolate yourself completely in the smoldering rapture only he could bestow through sweet, rapturous ecstasy....or hellfire oblivion – so long as you drifted within orbit of his radiant intensity from this moment onward.

Some time later, you finally emerged from your bedroom in a dazed stupor - only to very nearly collide with your father striding up the main hallway towards you. Kenma pulled up short with a frown tugging at his features as his assessing gaze raked over your flushed, tousled state, and the frown deepened pointedly.

"Everything okay, [Y/N]?" he asked in that careful deadpan you knew meant a veiled accusation lurked beneath.

You shook your head in a vain attempt to clear the lingering afterglow clinging from your encounter with Hinata, tugging at the hem of your sundress self-consciously. "Of course, why wouldn't it be? I was just getting ready to go grab some fresh air—"

"Ah." The single syllable came clipped and flat from your father's otherwise impassive expression.

Several fraught heartbeats ticked by in heavy silence before Kenma shifted forward – not quite blocking your path, but radiating an undeniable command for your full, tempered attention nonetheless.

"Going somewhere with my old friend in tow, I take it?" His assessing stare remained level and unreadable save for the undercurrent of warning you recognized all too viscerally from childhood. "I thought we might have a... discussion about setting some ground rules first concerning his company here, [Y/N]."

Despite your frustration spiking anew at his paternal insinuations, you felt a hot flush of shame creeping up your throat. Try as you might, you couldn't meet your father's gaze directly as your mind flashed back in vivid relief to the exhilarating yet illicit thrill of Shoyo's sheer presence looming over you just minutes ago.

Seeming to sense your lack of response, Kenma finally allowed the first cracks to shudder across his typically stoic facade with a weary sigh.

"Look, ...your Uncle Shoyo might still joke and carry that same sunshine-kid energy as back then," he started evenly. "But the reality is he's still a grown man now, with...certain appetites and lack of restraint Hinata's always struggled with at times."

He paused to pin you with a searching, almost beseeching look that somehow made you feel even smaller and more transparent in his presence.

"I'm not saying to stay away from him entirely while he's staying here," Kenma went on more softly. "I remember how much you adored him back when you were little, and that bond means the world to him still."

He shifted closer then, reaching out to brush your disheveled hair aside with a tender yet firm touch that compelled your chin upwards instinctively.

"But I need you to understand that regardless of your...curiosities, your Uncle Shoyo inhabits a vastly different world of adult experience than anything you've had yet, sweetheart. One wrong seed planted could veer things down a dangerous path leading to hurt for everyone."

You shivered despite the gentle warmth and fondness radiating from your father in that infinitely precious moment. Because you recognized the stark sincerity behind his warning, and couldn't necessarily refute its validity after staring down the ravenous, unshackled hunger radiating from Uncle Shoyo's very presence earlier.

Still, even as you nodded mutely in acquiescence, a reckless splinter of thrill lanced through your core. Because now, having glimpsed the erotically-charged path being laid out before you both, you felt all the more determined to keep tumbling headlong and heedless into whatever deliciously ruinous aftermath awaited. No matter the cost or lasting implications...

The sudden, unexpected warmth of Kenma's hand cradling your cheek brought your awareness spiraling back sharply. Before you could quite process what was happening, he'd leaned down and pressed the softest, sweetest kiss against your forehead – just above the crease between your brows.

"Be smart, [Y/N]," he murmured gruffly against your hairline, eyes shining with an emotion you couldn't quite place. "And be back before curfew tonight too, you hear me? No exceptions this time."

Then he was brushing past you towards the front door, thick quiet settling in his wake like physical fog as you remained rooted to the spot. Utterly reeling between the rapidly conflicting currents of exhilarating temptation...and warning stark enough to make even your rebellious core quake in trepidation despite your best efforts otherwise.

You spent the day out with your friends, attempting and mostly failing to clear your head of the heated memories from this morning's encounter with Hinata. No matter where you went or what activity you immersed yourself in, phantom wisps of his smoky presence and provocative words lingered like an intoxicating fog.

On one hand, the lively chatter and antics provided a much-needed distraction from replaying his heated bedroom encounter over and over.

But on the other, your mind seemed to grind to a screeching halt anytime the conversation veered towards your houseguest's identity. Which, given how famous Shoyo Hinata remained in sporting circles thanks to his legendary athletic career, happened far more frequently than you were prepared for.

"Wait, wait...are you seriously telling me the Ninja Shoyo himself is crashing at your place right now?!" Mari, your most relentlessly thirsty friend, practically screeched after some sly prompting from the others.

You shot her a withering glare and mouthed for her to shut up even as the rest of the group devolved into giggles and raucous speculation over whether the confirmed bachelor was as virile and charismatic in-person as rumored.

"Oh come on, [Y/N]!" Aiko wheedled between bites of her burger, dark eyes gleaming mischievously. "You can't just dangle that kind of forbidden fruit in front of us and not expect us to beg for the details!"

Chewing your lip in embarrassed silence, you tried to tune out the rising din of increasingly risqué jokes and pleas to get them invited over for an audience with the legendary Hinata Shoyo. Phantom echoes of his deep, smoky rumble and intoxicating scent seemed to cling to the edges of your consciousness no matter how hard you tried shoving them away.

"At least get us a signed photo if you end up too chicken to let us meet him in person, you miserly brat!" Mari tacked on with a mock glare. "That'll be the closest I ever get to seeing total sex-on-legs unless I end up a cougar!"

Their laughter rolled on undeterred as you hunched further over your meal, cheeks burning and belly clenching with resurgent heat that had nothing to do with the food. Squeezing your thighs together surreptitiously only offered a momentary respite from the low, pulsing ache - one you tried studiously ignoring as well.

"Look, are you all done gawking and gossiping like vultures?" you sighed in fond resignation. "Because let's just say that if you met him properly, you'd realize my uncle is way out of all your horny little leagues..."

A fresh wave of cackling and raucous giggling met your faux-dismissive quip, spurring you to stand and begin making your excuses for the evening. Because despite your best efforts, you could already feel that reckless splinter of need and anticipation resurfacing in your gut at the prospect of returning home to your father...and his houseguest.

So you deflected the suggestive teasing and crude demands to invite Shoyo out properly, firmly refusing to think too hard on why the thought of sharing any part of Shoyo gave you pause. On some deep, instinctual level, you were rapidly becoming consumed by the urge to keep his unbound presence all to yourself from this point on out. Regardless of innocence or ruination that inevitably awaited in his merciless wake.

By the time you reached your neighborhood streets, the crisp night air helped settle your determination somewhat. One last chance to sidestep and avoid tumbling any further down whatever rabbit hole of depravity Hinata seemed intent on leading you both...

But then your apartment building's modest facade loomed into view with the lights still glowing in the windows, and you felt a strange gravitational lurch in your core. Like being reeled inexorably back towards the inescapable flames of illicit temptation despite your best efforts otherwise.

When you reached the front door and paused to let your pulse steady, the subdued sounds of a movie playing somewhere within gave you momentary pause. Maybe your dad was simply unwinding alone – granting you an opportunity to slip inside unnoticed and steer clear of potential pitfalls for tonight at least?

Only as your hand closed over the knob and you pushed the door open a crack, the rich timbre of Hinata's voice reached your ears – gruff and unmistakable in the entryway's dimness.

"Well well, look who finally decided to come back!" he called out in mocking tones. "Your poor old uncle was starting to think maybe you'd slunk off for greener pastures tonight after our fun little morning together earlier."

You froze in place with your heart abruptly lodged in your throat, berating yourself for not simply fleeing in the opposite direction while you still had the chance. But like a moth drawn to flame, you found yourself drifting further inside until the living room came into view.

There sat Shoyo, lounging at ease on the middle sofa cushion with one powerful arm slung along the backrest in apparent comfort. Weirdly, a blanket was draped across his lap – though you found your gaze drifting over the exposed vee of his shirt and every flexing cord of that tanned bicep with reflexive hunger before you wrestled your focus away again.

But it was the other person sitting opposite that really made your heart plummet into your stomach with dread. Your dad, Kenma, sat slouched in his usual armchair – dark eyes trained on the television with characteristic stoicism as he took in whatever movie was playing.

"Evening, [Y/N]," he spoke up evenly without glancing over. "Good timing – Shoyo and I were actually just thinking about putting on another film if you're interested in joining us?"

You opened your mouth, mind racing as you sought some reasonable excuse to demure and retreat to the safety of your bedroom. But before you could formulate a single syllable, Hinata had straightened upright on the sofa and fixed you with those smoldering amber eyes burning through the dimness.

"Actually, you know what?" he rumbled in that gravelly baritone that made your thighs clench reflexively. "I had something better in mind than another boring flick..."

Despite your sinking feeling worsening by the second, you watched helplessly as Uncle Shoyo rearranged the blanket pooled across his lap...then patted the cushion beside him in an exaggerated motion that would've been comically exaggerated in any other circumstance.

"Why don't you bring that cute little butt of yours over here and make yourself comfy next to your favorite uncle for this next one, hmm?" he purred, not even trying to disguise the open insolence and provocation dripping from his every word. "We can kick back...you can cozy up right here where I can keep an eye on you staying out of trouble like a good girl..."

The blatant, unrepentant innuendo left zero ambiguity over his true intentions. Despite your best efforts to shore up your beleaguered senses, you felt your face flushing hotly and palms growing damp with visceral thrill racing in your veins. Because no matter how stern your father's earlier warnings had been...this was Uncle Shoyo boldly commencing his dogged pursuit anew right out in the open.

You shifted uncertainly on your feet for a moment, caught between Shoyo's provocative invitation and the mounting tension radiating off your dad beside him. The living room suddenly felt unbearably charged, rife with unspoken challenges and wordless dares testing the fraying threads of propriety permeating the air.

Just as you opened your mouth, still grasping for some semblance of stable footing, Kenma's measured baritone cut through the hush with deceptive mildness.

"Actually, [Y/N], why don't you go ahead and get changed into something more comfortable first?" he suggested without tearing his gaze from the television screen. "No sense being all dressed up if we're just lounging around and catching up on crappy movies together."

The pointed emphasis on that last part hinted at unspoken layers simmering just beneath the surface of your dad's composed demeanor. You darted a fraught look between both men, but Kenma steadfastly refused to meet your gaze while Hinata...

Well, Hinata simply sat back with that same searing intensity blazing from his heavy-lidded eyes, lips quirked in the barest hint of a self-satisfied smirk you already recognized meant danger. Despite the veneer of this wholesome father-daughter scene being painted before you, the undeniable insinuation of his unabashed perusal made you clench your thighs together instinctively.

"You heard the man," he rumbled, syrupy timbre dripping with implicit promise. Uncle Shoyo's tongue dragged over his lower lip with exquisite leisure, drawing your rapt focus there like a moth to flame. "Don't keep your favorite uncle waiting too long now, sweet girl..."

Kenma shifted infinitesimally then, casting a weighted look of silent warning in Hinata's direction before your dad finally relented and turned towards you fully. Despite the careful blankness written over his features, something simmered and roiled in those pale, flinty depths when he held your gaze with quiet gravity.

"Take your time," was all he murmured with clear emphasis, expression giving nothing away.

You felt distinctly as if you were being weighed and measured against forces rapidly spiraling beyond your ability to anticipate or control. Despite the mounting vertigo gripping your senses, leaving you adrift, a spark of reckless determination lanced through the fog.

With a tight nod, you drew a fortifying breath and spun on your heel without a backwards glance – stoically ignoring the heated undercurrents still crackling along your exposed nape from Hinata's ravenous scrutiny. This morning may have shattered the last vestiges of innocence ushering you along a dangerous precipice with Hinata...

But tonight, some primal instinct whispered darkly, tonight you were well and truly teetering upon that razor's edge with nowhere to go but fully losing yourself to the sweet, ruinous oblivion now inevitable on the other side.

The rote motions of changing into a loose cotton sleep set blurred into a trance-like haze as you moved through your bedroom mechanically. Every nerve was hyper-tuned for more veiled warnings, another blazing gauntlet thrown down anew to tempt or dismay you from your unraveling trajectory.

But deep down, you understood the futility in feigning obliviousness any longer. Not after Hinata had plunged you into the rapturous crucible with his touch, his taste, his ravenous gaze marking you in a way that could never be unmade or forgotten henceforth.

All that remained was answering the final summons echoing amidst your thundering pulse with honesty...and letting the aftermath of indulgence or consequences tear you both asunder into oblivion if need be.

So when you re-emerged from your bedroom in a fresh white ribbed tanks clinging to your curves and miniscule sleep shorts leaving little to imagination, you met Shoyo's searing amber stare levelly. His broad chest expanded fractionally around a harsh inhale, swirling embers of naked desire and insatiable longing burning behind those hooded eyes clear as day.

Even as you made your way closer, edging around the coffee table until within arm's reach of the back of the sofa where he reclined awaiting you, you refused to falter. The indolent sprawl of Hinata's powerful, chiseled form seemed utterly at odds with the palpable, carnivorous threat radiating off him now in molten waves.

You paused there, petrified beneath that searing, loaded stare raking over every bare inch of your silhouette without a shred of shame or restraint. After several suspended heartbeats dripping with escalating tension, Uncle Shoyo shifted imperceptibly. His free hand dragging the blanket aside to reveal bunched sweatpants and a blatantly obscene tenting of the fabric that made your mouth go bone dry around a whimper.

"That'll do just fine," he rasped in a guttural rasp that sent a frisson of electric heat spearing between your clenching thighs. One calloused fingertip crooked lazily, beckoning you closer with arrogant expectation gleaming from his heavy-lidded gaze. "Now get that sweet ass over here where I can keep you close and out've trouble beside me, pretty girl..."

Twin jolts of panic and exhilarating arousal lanced through you simultaneously at the naked provocation. Because even filtered through the dim lighting, you glimpsed the engorged shape promised beneath the thin material and knew without doubt what sort of wanton claiming Uncle Shoyo had in mind for you tonight.

Yet despite the adrenaline screaming through every cell, fueling your instinctive urge to flee, you felt an even deeper, more primal compulsion tugging you inexorably forward until your senses were bathed in his smoky, alluring presence. Hinata radiated unshakable dominion and leashed force, even slouched indolently before you like a serpent coiled to strike at any moment.

"Sho..."

The single hoarse syllable of warning hissed from behind made you flinch despite yourself. You whipped your head to find Kenma staring at the both of you with a stern, paternal gaze - everything about his rigid posture radiating the quiet yet firm protectiveness you recognized so viscerally.

Rather than match your father's intensity head-on, however, Hinata simply exhaled a low chuckle that seemed to reverberate through the charged space between you in a delicious rasp. You watched, utterly transfixed, as he straightened up and shifted the blanket aside in one fluid movement.

"Easy there, Kenma," he rumbled with that infuriatingly roguish half-smirk curling at the corner of his mouth. "You know me better than that. I'm not about to go tarnishing this homecoming and ruin my chances at more of your lovely daughter's..." His gaze raked over you with blatant heat. "...delightful company while I'm in town."

Despite the distinctly provocative undercurrent still simmering in his tone, Hinata seemed to deliberately soften the edges in a show of placation towards your father. You felt the simmering tension ebbing incrementally even as fresh exasperation flickered behind Kenma's carefully schooled expression.

"For old time's sake, fine," your dad relented at last through gritted teeth. His pale eyes found yours with weighted meaning etched into the stony planes of his visage. "But one more toe across any line here, Shoyo, and you're out on your ass before your old bones can even try spinning another excuse. [Y/N] isn't some naive little girl anymore, either."

The naked warning laced beneath that last softly uttered statement wasn't lost on either of you. Logically, you knew Kenma was trying to shield you from potential hurt or missteps in whatever unspoken exchange unfolded before you. But at the same time, you bristled instinctively at the implication you required such explicit paternal protections - no matter how well-intentioned.

Before you could unpack the bristling mixture of gratitude and indignant frustration any further, however, Hinata cleared his throat meaningfully. When your focus snapped back towards him, he simply crooked one finger in a beckoning 'come hither' gesture that raised your hackles anew despite the clear invitation tingeing his amber gaze with yearning heat.

"Well? C'mere and park that sweet little butt already, kiddo," he rasped, patting the couch cushion beside him once more with exaggerated insistence. "Promise to keep my hands where you can see 'em for now if that'll ease your dad's worries some..."

The blatant implication behind his easy words and rumbling timbre was not lost on you in the slightest. Kenma shifted in his armchair with a weighted sigh somewhere between exasperation and fond resignation you recognized all too well. He was placating Shoyo's incorrigible provocations for the moment - not out of obliviousness, but rather mindfulness of allowing both of you a fragile pretense to navigate whatever inevitability loomed ahead.

So you exhaled a steadying breath and made your way across the living room without faltering any further. Despite the scorching simmer radiating from Shoyo's simmering mug as he tracked your approach with utterly unabashed hunger, there remained an undeniable flicker of warmth and tenderness burning behind the primal furnace in those rich depths you'd come to crave. Reassurance and promise alike, vowing he had no intentions of treading upon the sacred boundaries of your father's trust without permission first.

Instead of claiming the cushion directly beside him as originally beckoned, however, you settled primly on the outer edge of the opposite side. Leaving a respectable yet still charged gulf between your forms that both men seemed to silently recognize without verbal acknowledgement. Kenma grunted something unintelligible but otherwise maintained his silence as the weight of expectant tension clung to the air like humid fog. For his part, Hinata’s nostrils flared ever-so-slightly as he drank in this fresh recalibration through hooded eyes - once more adjusting his restless body language until every coiled inch radiated perfect nonchalance and ease despite the undercurrent still humming between you both like a plucked string.

"Well alright then," he husked out at last once satisfying whatever internal calculations measured your positioning as acceptable - for now. "How 'bout I kick us off with something a little light to set the proper mood before getting into the heavy stuff, huh?"

Kenma exhaled an audible scoff as Shoyo thumbed the remote, queuing up some random movie or TV show with practiced ease while slinging one arm over the back of the couch cushions in an artless sprawl. Pointedly avoiding fixing you with any further heated looks, but leaving little ambiguity how aware he remained of your presence like a physical magnetized force beside him.

You swallowed hard despite yourself, painfully conscious of every tantalizing inch between your bodies and the delicious masculine presence rolling off Hinata in waves once more. He may have dialed back the overt provocation for the moment...but that inexorable undercurrent still thrummed with blistering promise of the untamed pleasures lying in wait should you falter further into his orbit tonight.

Almost against your will, electricity zinged along your nerves with each subtle shift and adjustment of his powerful frame beside you. Muscles flexing, fabric straining obscenely over the rigid outline of his cock bunching the sweatpants in teasing hints of his devastating endowment. You squeezed your thighs together hard enough to feel the dig of your nails embedding crescents into your palms, warring desperately with the reckless compulsion to simply throw yourself over his lap without shame or hesitation and indulge whatever incendiary rapture could be had here and now while within reach.

When Shoyo finally settled back fully with a contented grunt, you risked a sidelong glance and immediately felt your breath catch at the heated smolder awaiting you from those heavy-lidded amber depths. His tongue flicked over that full lower lip in a slow, indulgent glide that punched the breath from your lungs before Hinata even rumbled a single syllable.

"Just making myself comfy too, little minx," he murmured in that low, liquid rasp drenched with sinful promise despite his guileless expression. You shuddered despite your best efforts as his gaze dragged over every inch of you shamelessly before fixing on your parted lips with ravenous focus. "No need to go getting all worked up on me...not until we're good and ready to really blow off some of that tension proper, that is."

Your mouth went bone dry as his blatant implication crashed over you in molten waves, stoking the already swirling embers suffusing your limbs and core alike into wildfire ecstasy despite your best efforts. Yet before you could muster even a token protest, Shoyo quirked that same wicked half-smirk of his and deliberately settled back to focus on the film playing out before you.

For a merciful stretch, the only sounds permeating the dim living room came from the television's muted dialogue and occasional commentary muttered between your dad and Uncle Shoyo. You sank further into the plush cushions, knees pulled up to your chest in a subconscious show of self-preservation from the magnetic force radiating off Hinata's form beside you.

Despite his surface placidity now that the films were rolling, you could practically feel the heated undercurrent of his focus sweeping over you in lingering, liquid caresses – drinking you in from the corner of his vision like a serpent savoring its lure. The same leashed intensity and dominance promising utter rapture in the right circumstances from the very marrow of his bones.

You shivered despite the warmth of the room, senses still humming from his earlier provocations and insinuations sizzling in memory. The fleeting image of his thick, mouthwatering cock tenting the front of those sweats flickered behind your lids with maddening clarity. Stoking the delirious compulsion to reach out and caress, grip, indulge the intoxicating mysteries promised beneath with shameless abandon—

Just as you felt your restraint slipping further towards cataclysmic surrender, the unmistakable weight of Hinata's palm settled over your kneecap with searing possession. You flinched bodily but remained rooted in place, breath catching in your throat despite your best efforts.

"Easy, kiddo," he rumbled without shifting his gaze from the screen, somehow pitching his smoky undertones low enough to avoid disturbing Kenma's engrossed state. "You're looking a little tense over there...lemme help you loosen up, hmm?"

With maddening leisure, Hinata's large palm began smoothing up the sensitive expanse of your inner thigh with heavy insistence. You bit back the whimpering keen that immediately welled up, casting a wild glance between your dad's oblivious form and the man openly caressing your bare flesh so brazenly now. Yet not a flicker of reaction showed in Hinata's cool countenance apart from the subtle curve of that infuriating half-smirk ghosting his chiseled profile in the dim lighting.

You squeezed your eyes shut and fought for some semblance of composure as those rough, calloused fingertips mapped higher over your straining hamstrings. The unbearable heat of Hinata's touch seared lines of rapturous bliss through your veins with every teasing inch relinquished until you felt his knuckles graze the hem of your minuscule shorts threateningly.

Just when you thought you might vibrate out of your own skin from the maddening denial coupled with raw primal need, Hinata suddenly withdrew his hand from between your trembling thighs. You risked a single wild peek towards those simmering amber eyes, mouth parted around a desperate plea, only to suck in a harsh breath.

Because Hinata was already twisting upright on the cushion, seemingly ready to rise and depart your coiled position after reducing you to a melted puddle of longing desire. Before you could summon even a meager syllable of reproach, however, his powerful frame angled fully towards you and those devilish eyes trapped you utterly beneath their hooded, Scorching Gaze.

"Have a good night, sweet girl," Hinata husked with sinful roughness that made your core clench deliriously. In one dizzying blur, he dipped down to ghost his lips over your tingling, parted mouth in a blistering almost-caress brimming with unbearable erotic promise. "Try and get some rest after that little warm-up session...because you and I both know I'm nowhere near done indulging my sweet tooth for you proper yet, baby."

Just like that, he straightened up and sauntered from the living room before you could even hope to recover from his relentless provocations. Leaving your reeling in his smoldering wake, swaying dazedly from the delirious whiplash of rapture and untamed yearning still ricocheting through your veins like molten lightning.

When you finally mustered the wherewithal to meet your father's gaze once more, Kenma pinned you with an inscrutable look from across the quiet space. For several fraught heartbeats, neither of you spoke or moved a muscle – hovering on the periphery of whatever unspoken undercurrent now shuddered between you in the aftermath of Hinata's brash moves tonight.

"You should go on up to bed, [Y/N]," he finally rumbled evenly, features schooled into a careful blankness you knew better than to mistake for complacency. "There's no need for you to get further tangled up with whatever your uncle is trying to play at here tonight, kiddo. Get some rest while you still can."

Despite the searing weight behind his words, Kenma refused to meet your questioning stare directly. Almost as if he already knew precisely where your treacherous thoughts ultimately lay in the wake of Hinata's scorching ministrations...and wished to avoid acknowledging the truth staring you both in the face any longer.

Because in the end, you realized with fresh crestfallen resignation, your dad would never fully reckon with the gravity of what Hinata was igniting between you – much less grant tacit approval to see where the smoldering ashes might lead henceforth. Even if it meant witnessing you surrender yourself over to devouring rapture entirely and without reservation from this moment onward...

Over the next few days, Shoyo seemed to revel in keeping you teetering perpetually on the edge of sheer frustration and desperate arousal. Whenever the two of you found yourselves alone, whether briefly in passing or for snatched interludes, he radiated casual nonchalance and ease.

Yet his every glance, murmur, or teasing brush against your side dripped with the same primal undercurrent of restrained hunger simmering just beneath. You quickly discovered Hinata possessed a diabolical talent for igniting your senses into overdrive with little more than a heated look or suggestive comment virtually imperceptible to any casual observer.

He'd catch you off-guard in the kitchen with that smoldering gaze dragging over your body with open appraisal before rasping some ostensibly innocent quip about needing to "cool off" that made your thighs clench instinctively. Or fold his large, calloused hands around your hips from behind while reaching for something overhead - the scorching bulk of his chiseled frame molding against your backside in a delicious grind before withdrawing as casually as if nothing untoward occurred.

More maddening still were the heated glances and subtle lip-licking gestures Hinata indulged whenever your paths crossed in random hallways. His tongue would drag over those plush lips with exaggerated leisure, hooded gaze promising rapturous sin as you fought not to squirm like a prize filly on display.

Sometimes you wondered if the expert teasing was intended as punishment for not surrendering fully to his rapacious desires that first night. Other times, the agonizing compulsion to fling yourself bodily at Uncle Shoyo and beg for release became so overpowering you found every shred of self-control straining not to give in.

And through it all, your dad remained oblivious - too preoccupied with long work hours down at his office to pick up on the delirious tension humming between you and his houseguest. Leaving you utterly unguarded to endure Hinata's shameless flirtations and provocations without interference, until the entire apartment felt saturated in an erotic, static charge ready to detonate at any moment.

When Kenma did happen to be around, Hinata maintained a guileless facade of easy friendship and casual indifference around him. No hint of the lascivious teasing or ravenous heat frequently ignited whenever you two were alone. Leaving you silently reeling and doubting your ability to endure the breathless free-fall into either bliss or ruination promised in his molten stare much longer...

You tossed and turned restlessly in your bed that night, sheets tangling around your legs as you fought against the endless swirl of unbidden thoughts and desires tormenting your exhausted mind. No matter how you tried to clear your head or will your frazzled senses into oblivion, the same searing flashes kept replaying in vivid detail.

Shoyo's powerful frame looming over you, those intense amber eyes burning with naked hunger while calloused palms mapped every curve and hollow with insistent possession. The way his tongue would dart out and trace his full lips in a slow, taunting glide that made you ache with thwarted longing. That low, rumbling timbre swirling like dark velvet through your core whenever he rasped some molten insinuation dripping with sin...

You released a shuddering exhale into the stillness, sweat prickling along your nape and lower back as liquid need unfurled between your tightly clenched thighs yet again. Wetness seeped through the sparse fabric covering your overheated flesh, only fueling the delirious spiral towards capitulation threatening to unhinge your last vestiges of restraint entirely.

With an impatient huff, you shoved the tangled bedding aside and sat up - realizing that sleep, let alone any semblance of inner peace, was utterly forfeit tonight. Not while Hinata's intoxicating aura and tantalizing promise lurked within such maddeningly tempting reach under the same roof, catalyzing your deepest longings with effortless expertise.

Maybe retrieving a cold drink or nighttime snack would temporarily dull the scorching inferno smoldering through your limbs enough for coherent thought to prevail?

You slipped from your bedroom as quietly as possible, bare feet padding across the hallway towards the kitchen's dim glow. The silence reigned heavy and leaden, broken only by your shaky inhales and the muted hum of the refrigerator as you pulled it open with a soft creak.

Peering inside, you allowed the soothing chill to wash over you in waves while your eyes slipped closed blissfully for a precious handful of seconds. Some of the raw, reckless tension eased fractionally from the reprieve of chilly air ghosting over your sweat-damp skin and feverish nerves - at least until a quiet throat clearing shattered the fragile peace.

Your eyes flew wide, heart leaping into overdrive as a startled shriek lodged in your throat. Before it could tear free with enough force to wake the dead, a massive palm clapped firmly over your mouth while the other arm snaked around your midsection to immobilize you completely. The scorching planes of a powerful chest pressed flush against your back, swallowing you up in a masculine heat and presence so intoxicating, so overwhelmingly familiar that the fight instantly left your body in a boneless slump.

"Shhhh...hey, it's just me, kitten," Shoyo's husky rasp tickled the shell of your ear as he pulled you tight against his virile frame. Every syllable seemed to vibrate through you down to the delicious slide and flex his raw physicality shifting behind you with predatory grace. "Easy there, I'm not trying to scare you."

You managed a trembling nod against his broad palm, eyelids fluttering despite the rising current of panic and arousal sparking deliriously across your nerve endings. Gradually, Hinata eased the steel bands of his hold, allowing you to pivot and face him properly within the tight confines of his inescapable orbit.

There he loomed in nothing but a pair of loose sweatpants hanging sinfully low on those chiseled hips, fresh from sleep by the looks of his tousled ginger thatch and drowsy bedroom eyes. You swallowed hard while drinking in the sight of his defined torso and powerful shoulders bracketing you - close enough for the humid puffs of his breathing to feather over your parted lips with every exhale.

"What are you doing prowling around at this hour, sweet girl?" he husked out, searching your flushed features with smoldering intensity you already knew was a precursor to much darker, breathless indulgences on the horizon. "Surely you weren't thinking of sneaking off without me again after our last little encounter?"

Your cheeks flushed hotly at the blatant insinuation, eyes darting down to the utterly obscene tenting of his pants now on full display without an ounce of shame or restraint. The thick ridge of his cock straining there seemed to twitch in delicious invitation, spurred by your hungry stare alone.

Your mouth went bone dry at the unbidden urges surging through you in roiling waves. The maddening temptation to simply sink to your knees and indulge your starving curiosity with lips, tongue...mouth yielding in utter obeisance flooded your every synapse without compunction now that opportunity knocked so brazenly.

Almost against your will, you found yourself inching incrementally closer until Hinata's smoldering presence utterly enveloped your overheated senses once more. The hunger, the scorching craving for just a taste of the forbidden pleasures he so unrepentantly dangled ever nearer soon blotted out every other earthly consideration beyond chasing oblivion through rapturous ruin entirely.

Just as you felt your restraint fraying to mere gossamer threads, Hinata cupped the nape of your neck in a searing brand while using his other hand to urge you backwards with insistent pressure. You remained frozen in place, utterly transfixed until his thumb lifted your chin upwards and those smoldering, hooded eyes captured yours in a mesmerizing trance.

"This isn't the time or place for that, baby," he growled thickly, the words rumbling through your core down to your drenched pussy between your quivering thighs in molten promise. "At least not until I've got you somewhere quieter...more private, hmm? Where I can really take my time ruining you by the end of this little midnight rendezvous..."

His calloused palm drifted lower to map the swell of your hip boldly before squeezing with exquisite possession. You arched helplessly into the delicious heat of his body pinning you against the fridge as Hinata continued rasping heated endearments over your feverish skin.

"I've half a mind to toss you over my shoulder and finally show you exactly what happens when you push a starving man's restraint too far like this..." His tongue darted out to blaze an electrifying path along the slender column of your throat, stoking the swirling embers into outright wildfire. "Have you screaming my name and begging to take every last fucking inch until you're left utterly wrecked and spent beneath me, sweet girl..."

You couldn't bite back the desperate whine that punched past your parted lips, even as you trembled in his unrelenting clutches and chills caressed your overheated skin from the open fridge. The aching vacancy between your clenching thighs throbbed mercilessly, liquid arousal flooding your pussy at each wanton promise slipping from Hinata's tongue.

Before you could summon the wherewithal to respond or surrender further into the rising tide of blissful rapture, Shoyo sighed heavily against your jawline. You felt the last fraying threads of tension suddenly ease incrementally from his uncompromising bulk confined behind you, until his palms smoothed over your hips in a gentle sweep.

"But I won't..." he murmured in that rumbling baritone somehow laced with the barest undercurrent of regret now. "Not without your full consent first, kiddo. That's the line I promised your dad I wouldn't cross..."

With aching deliberation, Hinata began extricating himself from where he caged you against the kitchen counters. Every subtle shift and retreat of his rangy, scorching frame sent a new frisson of loss prickling along your sensitized nerves - until he'd repositioned entirely behind you again with respectable distance.

You blinked dazedly for several suspended heartbeats, mind whirling from the roller-coaster of sensations still ricocheting through your limbs and core alike. When you finally mustered the courage to turn and face Shoyo once more, you found his stare guarded yet intense - still burning with the weight of visceral, undeniable yearning despite his display of restraint.

"You should probably head on back up to bed and try getting some rest, [Y/N]," he rumbled out lowly, running one hand through his wild bedhead in a gesture of reasserted nonchalance that rang hollow to both of you in the aftermath. "We can talk things out properly tomorrow after I've had a chance to cool off and think..."

Despite the gently-uttered suggestion, a daring splinter of molten want lanced through you at the weighty implication behind his parting murmur. Some impulsive, elemental part of your soul recognized this as the precipice you'd been hurtling towards all along: the choice to finally tumble into Uncle Shoyo's waiting inferno utterly and surrender whatever innocence remained...or reluctantly retreat from temptation's siren call.

He finally moved to slip back into the shadows—only for your hand to shoot out on pure reckless instinct, snagging his wrist in a vice.

Shoyo froze in place, chest swelling around a shuddering inhale that stirred the tendrils of hair fluttering across your flushed nape. Despite your bravado, you found your throat working convulsively as his piercing focus zeroed in on the fragile point where your thundering pulse danced below your jawline.

"[Y/N]..." he rumbled in that smoky timbre that made your core clench deliriously. "Don't go starting something here you ain't fully prepared to see through to the bitter end now, baby. 'Cause I promise you won't be leaving this kitchen the same sweet, blushing little minx you wandered in here as—"

"Please," you burst out in a desperate, trembling rasp before you could overthink the impulse further. Tears of frustrated yearning stung the corner of your eyes as you maintained your fragile grip on Hinata's wrist through sheer force of will. "Please, Uncle Shoyo...I can't—I need—"

You broke off in a piteous whimper despite your best efforts. Because how could you even begin to articulate the smoldering vortex of compulsion and visceral craving warring through your veins in the wake of his unapologetic provocation? How starved for his touch, his possession, his claiming rapture you'd found yourself since that very first night permitting him to infiltrate beneath your boundaries?

Hinata's chest heaved in visible effort, muscles tensing and bunching as his control clearly wavered on a razor's edge right alongside yours. Then with a low, guttural groan of surrender, he turned fully back into your space - allowing your trembling grip to capture his wrist once more as those smoldering amber depths searched yours from mere inches away.

"Okay, kitten," Shoyo rasped out at last in a voice gone ragged around the edges. "Okay...I hear you loud and clear now. And lucky for us both..."

His free hand snaked around the small of your back in one fluid yet inescapable glide, crushing your body flush against his chiseled torso with insistent possession. Despite your initial startled inhale, every fiber of your being instantly melted into the scorching heat and masculine power radiating from Hinata in molten waves of delirious ecstasy.

"...I would never in a million years dream of denying a sweet, desperate thing like you exactly what she so clearly craves from the very core of her being ever again..."

Those plush lips skimmed teasingly along your cheekbone, eliciting a shuddering sigh as your eyelids fluttered in utter surrender. Then Shoyo's sinful mouth ghosted a trail downwards, tracing the contours of your jaw and neck with such agonizing precision you nearly sobbed aloud from the unbearable ache of anticipation unfurling inside.

"So let's start this proper now, baby," Hinata murmured directly against the shell of your ear. You couldn't help arching against his frame like a bowstring as the low, sinful rumble washed over you - his hands already sliding down to capture and squeeze your hips with bruising force.

"You’re not going to call me uncle anymore, kitten," he continued with a sinful lilt. "And you're certainly not going to refer to me as Shoyo either. Not while I’m fucking you. Understand?"

Hinata's palm smoothed over your trembling flank before cupping your ass in an unmistakable act of dominance. You gasped out a broken mewl, only for him to hitch you tighter against his virile torso as you fought to keep from melting into an absolute puddle at his feet.

"When we're all alone together like this, you'll be calling me Daddy instead," he growled directly against your racing pulse, tongue darting out in a hot, electrifying stroke along your feverish flesh. "Is that understood, pretty girl?"

You managed a dazed nod, eyes slipping closed entirely as molten arousal coursed through you in heady torrents. Hinata clicked his tongue against the roof of his mouth, releasing your hip only to give your bottom a swift, resounding slap. You jumped at the unexpected impact, yelping as a new flood of liquid heat soaked through the already sodden fabric of your panties.

"Words, kitten," Shoyo husked against your fevered skin. "I need to hear the words. Are you gonna be a good girl and obey, or do we need to have a proper lesson before we move on to the fun stuff?"

A shiver raced down your spine as a fresh surge of liquid arousal spilled from your throbbing pussy, dripping onto the hardwood beneath you. You whimpered aloud at the scalding sensation, squirming within Hinata's steely grasp as he pressed a chiding kiss directly below your ear.

"I—I'll be good, Daddy," you gasped out at last. Your cheeks burned with equal parts mortification and wanton desire while Shoyo hummed his approval against your flushed nape, trailing hot kisses and playful nips all along the sensitive flesh.

"Mmm, I knew you'd make a sweet, obedient little angel for me, kitten," he murmured in that low, hypnotic rumble. One hand slid from your hip to trace the line of your spine, teasing along the hem of your tiny tank top with aching slowness. His fingers hooked around the fabric and began tugging it upwards, the pads skimming over the feverish expanse of flesh he gradually bared to the balmy air.

"It's just too bad your first lesson will have to be the roughest," he rasped directly against the shell of your ear. A frisson of raw anticipation rippled down your spine at the dark, dangerous undercurrent of lust that laced each syllable. "After all, we're long overdue for a proper punishment for how brazenly you've been taunting and teasing poor Daddy, don't you agree?"

The tank top soon flew into the darkness, leaving your quivering, exposed form in nothing but the thin satin of your panties. You couldn't help squirming under Shoyo's piercing stare and the searing weight of his touch as it skated back down to grip your bottom possessively.

"So, how does that sound, kitten?" he purred lowly, kneading the firm, supple flesh of your ass in his broad palm. You keened and arched against his towering frame, unable to resist the overwhelming compulsion to surrender every last scrap of your remaining dignity under his sinful ministrations.

"Punish me, Daddy," you whispered breathlessly, eyes squeezing shut as his thumb dipped tantalizingly beneath the soaked silk of your panties and brushed a feather-light stroke against your throbbing clit. "Want you to spank me, please..."

"Spank you? Now there's an offer I can't possibly refuse," Hinata replied with a dark chuckle. His palm smoothed over the swell of your bottom, the calluses sending delicious frissons of sensation zipping through your nerve endings with each passing stroke.

"But, I think it's only fair I give you a chance to make up for all that mischief and teasing you've put poor Daddy through first." His lips captured the delicate skin of your nape in a hot, open-mouthed kiss that made your toes curl against the hardwood. "What do you think, kitten?"

Before you could even process the question, Hinata's other hand abandoned your hip in favor of hooking one finger under the thin strap of your thong. He gave a swift, sharp tug that snapped the delicate lace and left the garment pooling at your feet in an instant.

You trembled with unabashed desire as Shoyo's gaze swept hungrily over the newly-bared expanse of flesh, his nostrils flaring and pupils dilating until his irises were nothing but thin rings of liquid gold. You could feel his thick, twitching cock straining against the sweatpants, and couldn't resist squirming back against his pelvis to draw a choked-off groan from the man pinning you.

"Mmm, you're soaked through, aren't you, pretty girl?" Hinata husked against your flushed, damp nape, his other hand still kneading the firm curve of your ass as he pressed forward. His cock grazed the seam of your thighs, sending a shuddering gasp tumbling from your parted lips as the aching vacancy between your legs throbbed.

"I can feel how desperate and empty you are for it, kitten," he rasped, giving your bottom a brisk, stinging swat. You gasped and jerked into his hips with a helpless whimper, eyes rolling back as another gush of liquid arousal dripped onto the floor between your legs. "Look at you, dripping like a little river and squirming like a bitch in heat, just begging for Daddy's cock to fill you up nice and tight..."

He rolled his hips in slow, torturous friction, cock catching against your drenched pussy and the underside of your clit until a wanton whine slipped from your lips. Then with a low, rumbling groan, Shoyo withdrew and took a deliberate step backwards - putting enough distance between the two of you to make the sudden loss of contact nearly palpable.

"But first we’re going to train that bratty little mouth of yours," he murmured huskily, reaching out to cup your chin and tilt your face upwards towards his. "Get on your knees, baby."

Your breath hitched and your knees trembled as the words registered. Even in your thoroughly compromised state, the implications sent a jolt of fear lancing through the molten haze of arousal clouding your brain. But, when you dared a glance back at Hinata's piercing golden stare, your heart skipped a beat and your pulse quickened at the raw, unbridled hunger etched into every hard line and angle of his features.

"Don't make me repeat myself, kitten," he murmured warningly, giving the supple swell of your ass a swift, stinging swat that had you squealing and stumbling towards him on unsteady limbs.

You sank onto your knees with a soft huff, blinking dazedly up at Hinata from beneath your lashes. He stood above you like a towering titan, silhouetted by the faint moonlight slanting through the kitchen window and the shadows enveloping the two of you. The sight of him, wild and feral and utterly irresistible, left your core clenching and your breath stuttering.

"Go ahead, baby," Shoyo urged you huskily, fingers skimming over the flushed, feverish skin of your cheek before tangling in your hair. "Taste Daddy."

You shuddered, eyes fluttering closed as his grip tightened and he began guiding you forward. There was a single, suspended moment of anticipation as you hovered just before the massive bulge tenting the front of his sweats. Then, just as you reached out to tug the waistband down, Shoyo halted you with a harsh tug on your hair.

"Ah, ah," he warned you lowly, eliciting a whimper of frustration from you that had him chuckling lowly in response. "You don't get to use your hands. Just your mouth, baby."

Heat rushed to your cheeks and a fresh flood of arousal pooled at your core, dripping down your thighs and onto the hardwood in a steady stream. You bit back a frustrated groan, squirming in his grasp as his cock twitched and throbbed beneath the cotton, mere inches away.

Then without allowing yourself another moment of hesitation, you leaned forward and pressed an open-mouthed kiss right where the mushroom head strained the fabric. Hinata's breath hitched and his grip on your hair tightened, a low hiss of approval slipping past his clenched teeth.

You glanced up, meeting his burning stare with your own as you traced the outline of his cock with the flat of your tongue. The taste of salt and musk and him, all man and virile power, exploded across your taste buds. A shudder rippled through you, leaving your core clenching and dripping in the aftermath.

"Fucking tease," Hinata groaned, his eyes falling closed as you began mouthing at his clothed erection, the wet patch slowly spreading and growing more obvious beneath the force of your ministrations. "Get to it already, kitten."

He yanked you forward and you gasped at the sudden pressure against your mouth, squirming and shifting as he ground his cock against the seam of your lips. Your cheeks burned, arousal pooling deep in the pit of your stomach and spreading outwards like molten honey as the musky scent of his precum filled your senses.

Then finally, you caught the elastic waistband between your teeth and tugged it down, allowing Hinata's heavy, aching length to spring free at last. You blinked, momentarily stunned and dazed by the sheer, impossible girth and size of his cock as it bobbed before your face, droplets of precum glistening on the swollen mushroom head and a prominent vein snaking down the underside.

"Open wide for Daddy, kitten," Hinata husked above you, giving your hair a warning tug. You barely had time to suck in a desperate breath before he was thrusting forward, spearing between your parted lips and sliding along your tongue in a hot, thick slide of molten flesh.

A garbled moan spilled from you as his cock hit the back of your throat, making your eyes water and your vision go blurry. The salty tang of precum burst across your taste buds, only to be washed away as he withdrew in a slick, obscene glide and plunged back down with a guttural groan.

"Oh fuck, that's a good girl," he grunted, his hips setting a relentless pace as he fucked your mouth with abandon. You whimpered, tears streaking your cheeks and spit dribbling from the corners of your lips as the force of his thrusts rocked you on your knees.

Hinata's breathing grew labored, his muscles bunching and tensing as he pistoned into your mouth, chasing his own pleasure with a single-minded fervor that left you delirious with want. His cock throbbed and pulsed on your tongue, swelling impossibly larger and harder until you could hardly breathe past the sheer thickness filling every inch of available space.

Your hands scrabbled for purchase against his hips, fingers clawing into his flesh and digging into the ridges of his Adonis belt as he drove deeper into the tight, constricting tunnel of your throat. A strangled groan spilled from him, his pelvis snapping forward until his balls slapped against your chin and your nose was buried in the thatch of hair at the base.

"God, such a perfect fucking cockslut," he grunted, voice reduced to a ragged rasp that had you shivering and quaking with a fresh wave of liquid arousal. You whined in response, eyes rolling back as he slid down your gullet, the flared mushroom head forcing your throat to stretch impossibly wide around his girth.

Then suddenly, Shoyo wrenched your head back by the hair. You sputtered and coughed, gasping desperately for air as the string of spit connecting his cockhead to your mouth snapped and a trickle of saliva dribbled down your chin. Your vision was blurry and tears clung to your lashes, but the sight of Hinata's cock, flushed and gleaming and positively coated in your spit, made your core clench and ache with a renewed desperation.

"Such a pretty mess," he murmured, the pad of his thumb catching the rivulet of drool and precum and smearing it along your lower lip. You whined and leaned forward, trying to catch the calloused digit between your lips, only for him to yank it away with a chuckle.

"Not so fast, kitten," he admonished, releasing your hair and taking a single step backwards. You swayed on your knees, eyes following his movements as he hooked his thumbs in the waistband of his sweatpants and tugged them down in a smooth, sinuous glide.

The fabric fell in a rumpled heap at his ankles, leaving him bare and exposed in the moonlight. His cock jutted proudly from his pelvis, swollen and twitching and absolutely dripping with your saliva and an ungodly amount of his own precum. You licked your lips, the taste of salt and musk still lingering there, and squirmed where you knelt.

"You look so hungry, kitten," Shoyo said with a devilish smirk. He wrapped one large hand around the base of his cock and gave it a slow, deliberate stroke from root to tip. You watched, utterly mesmerized by the flex of his arm and the sinful glide of his fist, until the tip was once more dripping and you could practically feel the throbbing pulse against your tongue.

"But you know, I don't think you've learned your lesson just yet."

Before you could fully process the words, Hinata had seized your arm shoulders and shoved you back until your spine hit the cool marble of the counter. You yelped at the sharp, sudden impact, only to have the sound muffled by Hinata's cockas he leaned forward and stuffed your mouth full.

Your head thunked back against the marble and you whimpered around the heavy, thick length. Above you, Shoyo grunted and set a brutal, unforgiving pace as he speared past your lips and fucked into the tight, hands braced against the edge of the countertop and eyes dark and glinting.

You squirmed and writhed beneath him, eyes rolling back and a steady stream of saliva and precum dribbling from the corner of your lips. Your fingernails scraped at the hardwood, hips bucking and core clenching around nothing as his cock dragged along the flat of your tongue and plunged deeper than before.

"That's right, kitten," he husked, reaching down to grip the hair at the crown of your head. His pelvis rolled forward in a devastatingly deep thrust, drawing a choked gasp from you. "You take Daddy's cock so fucking well, like you were made for it, weren't you?"

A low, needy whine spilled from you, sending a frisson of vibrations racing up his cock. He hissed, head dropping and his fingers tightening to an almost-painful grip on your hair as his thrusts turned wild and frenzied. The wet slap of flesh on flesh echoed off the walls, mixing with the lewd squelch and slurp of your mouth and the ragged groans that tumbled from his lips.

"Fuck, I'm gonna—gonna cum, baby," he panted out, his movements growing erratic and the swell of his cock pulsing. The words were a trigger, sending your head spinning and your vision going hazy. You moaned, a fresh rush of arousal dripping down onto the hardwood between your splayed thighs.

Shoyo's hips snapped forward once, twice more, and then with a strangled, wordless shout, he pulled out and pumped his cock. His release shot in pearly white streaks, splattering over the hollow of your throat and the tops of your breasts.

You panted, blinking up at the ceiling as your head spun and a dazed smile curled the corners of your lips. His cum, warm and sticky, slid down the slope of your chest and between the valley of your breasts. But, the euphoric haze was shattered when Hinata's fingers slid around your neck, pressing hard against the sensitive skin as he squeezed and forced you to tilt your head up.

"Open up," he demanded, the head of his cock nudging against your lips and painting them with a thin sheen of his release. "Be a good little cumslut and clean me off."

You parted your lips and allowed him to push his softening cock past the seam, the salty-bitter tang of his cum exploding across your tongue. He held your head still as you swallowed, his gaze never once wavering from the sight.

"That's a good girl," he purred, the pad of his thumb stroking your cheek. You whimpered, leaning into the gentle touch, only to have it vanish. "Now, on your feet. We're not done here yet."

It took you several long, painful moments to gather your wits and regain control of your limbs. Your thighs were quivering, weak and unsteady, and your mind was fuzzy. You staggered upright, clinging to the edge of the countertop for support, and glanced back up at Hinata.

He had stepped back, the golden halo of his hair glowing ethereal and unearthly in the moonlight and his eyes burning into yours. You shivered, feeling a fresh trickle of his cum slide down your chest and drip onto the floor.

"Look at the mess you've made, kitten," Shoyo drawled, a predatory gleam to his eyes and a devilish smirk curling his lips. "Such a naughty little slut, making a puddle on the floor and dripping with Daddy's cum."

His thumb swept beneath the curve of your breast, smearing the pearly streaks of his release over your flushed skin. He gathered up a thick dollop and pressed the calloused digit onto the sensitive peak, leaving you trembling and breathless as his thumb and forefinger closed around it and rolled the hardened nub between the pads.

"I think it's only fair that I clean you up in return," he murmured, voice dipping into a husky, sinful timbre. He leaned forward, his lips skimming over the sensitive shell of your ear and eliciting a full-body shudder.

Then, before you could even process what was happening, he was crouching before you and his lips were closing around the puckered nipple, lapping at the salty, musky cum with a low, rumbling groan. Your head dropped back, a garbled moan spilling from your parted lips as his tongue swirled around the aching peak.

Your knees quivered and buckled, but Hinata's hand clamped around the back of your thigh and held you in place. His other hand came up, his broad palm cupping the full swell of your breast and squeezing it. He flicked his tongue against the bud, sucking and laving and coaxing the bead to distend even further, before switching sides and repeating the motion.

"S-Shoyo, please," you whimpered, the ache and need between your legs growing more desperate and unbearable. "I-I can't, I'm gonna—"

His teeth immediately closed around the taut peak, sending a jolt of electricity shooting straight through to your core. You arched into the sensation, a garbled whine slipping past your lips as your hips bucked and ground against the air.

"Ah, ah," Hinata warned, lifting his head and meeting your gaze. His pupils were blown wide, a thin ring of molten gold encircling them. "That’s not how you address me, kitten. Be a good girl and try again."

Your stomach clenched and the ache in your core intensified, the molten pool of arousal spreading throughout every nerve-ending. You swallowed, a whine slipping past your parted lips as you squirmed and fought to form coherent words.

"D-Daddy, please," you finally managed, voice barely a whisper and hoarse and raspy.

"Please, what?"

You could see the way his eyes darkened, the gold flecks seeming to glow. It left you shuddering and quaking in the aftermath, your hips jerking and twitching as his gaze trailed over every inch of your flushed, heaving body.

"P-Please, fuck me," you whispered, cheeks burning and the shame and humiliation making you ache all the more. "Please, Daddy, I-I can't wait any longer."

A low growl, deep and guttural and primal, slipped from him. Then, before you could blink, he was standing and spinning you around. His hands landed on your shoulders, pressing you down until your cheek was flush against the counter and your ass was arched in the air.

"Don't move," he grunted, stepping back and giving your ass a resounding smack that had you mewling and squirming. You could hear him rustling behind you, the slick, obscene glide of his hand over his cock. Then, just as suddenly, his hands were on your hips and his pelvis was pressed against the curve of your ass.

"You want Daddy's cock, kitten?" he husked, the mushroom head slipping between your folds and parting them. He dragged his cock up and down, the blunt tip catching against your clit and the flared ridge rubbing against your swollen, hypersensitive folds.

"Yes!" you keened, back arching and hips grinding and trying to force him inside. "Yes, yes, please! P-Please, give it to me."

Hinata chuckled, his hand coming down in another punishing slap against the swell of your ass. You jerked and moaned, the sting and heat sending a fresh surge of arousal pouring down onto his cock. His cock twitched, the mushroom head catching against the rim of your entrance, and a low hiss spilled from his lips.

"Fucking slut, look how fucking wet and eager you are," he grunted. His hips rocked forward, the tip of his cock just beginning to breach your soaked, tight channel. "You've been waiting for this, haven't you, kitten? Just couldn't wait for Daddy to bend you over and stuff you full of his cock, huh?"

"Yes, yes, yes," you whimpered, tears burning the backs of your eyes as the need became unbearable. "Oh god, Daddy, I-I've been such a good girl. Please, just—"

His hips snapped forward, the flared mushroom head of his cock splitting you open in a single, brutal thrust. You choked on a gasp, fingers scrabbling against the marble for purchase as a strangled moan slipped from your lips.

"Fuck, look at you," Hinata growled, his fingers digging into the flare of your hips and his cock buried to the hilt. He kept a firm grip on your waist, not allowing you to squirm or wriggle or try to adjust to his massive, pulsing girth, as he slowly pulled back until just the tip remained nestled between your folds. You were dimly aware of how your feet weren’t even touching the floor, how you were simply being held aloft by his bruising grip on your hips and the sheer, impossible size of his cock.

"Look at how easily you take my cock," he hissed, and then slammed back home with a wet, obscene slap. You cried out, eyes rolling back and blunt nails dragging across the countertop, as he set a ruthless, merciless pace.

"F-Fuck," you whimpered, the tears burning the backs of your eyes now trickling down your cheeks and mingling with the saliva dribbling from your lips. "S-Shoyo, please—"

"What did I tell you?" he growled, his pelvis slapping against the curve of your ass and driving his cock even deeper. He reached around, his fingers delving between the apex of your thighs and finding the swollen, aching nub there.

"You don't get to use my name, kitten," he hissed, his middle and ring finger sliding up on either side of the bud and pinching it between them. You squealed, hips jerking and back arching as the pleasure-pain had your head spinning and your vision blurring. "Now, let's try that again, shall we?"

"D-Daddy, please," you choked out, a sob tearing free as his fingers began to slowly, agonizingly roll the bundle of nerves between his fingers.

"Mmm, much better," he cooed, his tone soft and honeyed, though the brutal pace of his thrusts never faltered. His cock seemed to swell even more, the throbbing length spearing impossibly deep and drawing a garbled cry from you.

"God, such a perfect, pretty little cocksleeve," he grunted, his voice a ragged rasp as he leaned forward, blanketing his torso along your spine and pressing you down. The new angle sent the head of his cock slamming into your g-spot, forcing the air from your lungs and leaving you a sobbing, trembling mess.

"Gonna fill you up, kitten," he groaned, lips skimming over the curve of your ear and his hot breath fanning over the sensitive skin. You shivered, hips arching and thighs quivering and core clenching, and a desperate mewl spilled from your parted lips.

"Is that what you want, baby? Want Daddy to stuff you full and paint your pretty pussy white?"

"Yes, yes, oh god, please," you babbled, the words tumbling freely and incoherently from your lips. Hinata grunted, his hips snapping and the drag of his cock against your g-spot sending sparks skittering across your vision.

"Fuck, gonna cum, kitten," he panted, his lips moving to press hot, open-mouthed kisses against the curve of your jaw. He reached up, his large hand curling around the column of your neck and squeezing. You felt your eyes flutter, a high, keening cry slipping from your lips, and a moment later, you felt his teeth close around the tender flesh where neck met shoulder.

He slammed his hips forward one final time, and the pain of his bite coupled with the unrelenting assault of his cock, his fingers, was too much. Your release hit, hard and sudden, and it tore a strangled scream from your throat. Your eyes rolled back, limbs seizing and spine arching as the pleasure washed over you in an unending torrent.

Dimly, distantly, you felt Hinata's teeth release their hold, and then he was groaning and his cock was pulsing and twitching as his cum painted the inside of your walls white. The flood of his release was enough to prolong your own orgasm, sending another wave crashing over you and leaving you choking and gasping.

Hinata slumped forward, his weight pinning you to the counter and his cock still nestled deep inside you. You could feel the slow trickle of his release and your own arousal slipping from between your folds and coating the insides of your thighs, but you were far too exhausted and fucked-out to care.

His lips skimmed over the marks left by his teeth, and he slowly straightened. You whimpered at the sudden movement, the stretch and shift of his softening cock still lodged inside. His hands stroked soothingly up and down the expanse of your back, fingers dancing across the knobs of your spine and his lips brushing feather-light kisses along the curve of your shoulder and the slope of your neck.

"I've got you, kitten," he murmured, his tone soft and gentle, in direct contrast to the way his cock was still splitting you open and his cum was still leaking out around it. He eased off of you just enough for you to set your feet on the ground, and you felt the instant your knees buckled.

With a grunt, Hinata wrapped his arm around your waist and kept you upright, his cock still buried to the hilt and his hand splayed flat against your abdomen. You shuddered and sighed, a small, content smile curling your lips and the exhaustion beginning to set in.

"Such a good girl," Hinata hummed, his lips finding the curve of your ear and his hand smoothing up and over the curve of your ribs. "So, so good for me. Daddy's good girl."

You preened at the praise, a shiver skittering up your spine. The ache between your thighs was becoming more bearable, the overwhelming need and desire ebbing away. You felt him shift, felt the slow drag of his cock as he finally pulled out, and whined.

"Shh, it's okay, kitten," Shoyo crooned, his arm still curled around your waist as he reached around and slid his hand down your front. His fingertips dipped between your folds, smearing the remnants of his release and the thick mixture of his cum and your arousal over your aching, abused pussy. You gasped, hips twitching and thighs trembling and your core clenching around nothing.

"I know, baby," he cooed, his palm resting against the apex of your thighs and keeping the heel of his hand pressed firmly against your throbbing clit. You whimpered, squirming, and his arm tightened.

"Stay still, kitten," he ordered, voice dipping into a growl, and you shuddered. "We don’t want to waste a single drop of Daddy's cum, do we?"

Your stomach clenched and you shook your head, lips parted and a thin, reedy mewl spilling out. His cock gave a weak twitch, the fat, swollen head nudging against the curve of your ass, and you felt the slow trickle of his cum leak out of you.

"N-No, Daddy," you mumbled, a shiver running through you and the molten pool of desire reigniting within your core.

"Then be a good girl and stay still."

You did, the only movements coming from the trembling and twitching of your hips and thighs. His palm kept a steady, unrelenting pressure against your clit, his fingertips slowly stroking the slick, sensitive folds and smearing his cum into your skin.

"That's a good girl," Hinata murmured, pressing another soft, tender kiss to the back of your neck. "Now, let's get cleaned up and get some sleep. It's late."

He pulled his hand away, and the sudden lack of contact made you whimper and writhe. You could feel the mess between your thighs, feel the thick, pearly ropes of his release dripping down onto the floor, and the knowledge of it left you breathless and needy.

"Daddy—"

It was just then that the kitchen light flicked on.

[ninibeingdelulu]

You really like them a lot, don't you ?

synopsis-> You just love your boyfriend’s arms

a/n-> new design, y'all like it ? CLICK ME

The soft patter of rain against the windows filled the cozy apartment as you snuggled closer into Leon's warm embrace on the couch.

His toned arm was draped over your shoulders, the sleeve of his snug t-shirt pushed up just enough to reveal those thick, protruding veins that never failed to set your heart aflutter.

You traced your fingertips lightly over the raised paths, admiring how they rippled underneath his pale skin with each flex of his powerful muscles.

Leon let out a contented hum, clearly amused by your fascination as he pulled you nearer.

"You're at it again, love." he chuckled deeply, the rumble vibrating against your cheek where it rested on his chest.

"When are you gonna get enough of these old things?" he added.

"Never." You murmured without a shred of shame, continuing to reverently follow the roadmap of veins along the underside of his forearm down to his large, capable hand.

Just mapping every ridgeline and groove with your exploratory caresses and committing them to memory all over again.

Leon was all sinewy strength contained in an appealingly rugged package - the epitome of everything you found irresistibly attractive in a man.

He shivered visibly when you traced the thick cords leading into the sturdy bones of his knuckles, seeming to shudder from the featherlight sensations dancing over such calloused skin.

With a sly grin, you began kneading into the tough musculature with your thumbs, relishing every twitch and flutter you could coax out of your buff boyfriend.

"Damn, you really do have a thing for my arms, huh?"

Leon's voice had dropped into a lower, huskier register tinted with growing arousal the more you lavished them with worship.

"Should've known keeping those guns on display was a dangerous game to play around you..."

You raised your gaze to find his stormy azure eyes already drinking you in with a molten, smoldering intensity that made heat bloom low in your belly.

His plump lips were quirked into that trademark lopsided smirk - the one that never failed to liquify your bones into pliant putty under the weight of his mere stare alone.

"Can you blame me?" you purred, purposefully flexing his wrist upwards and mouthing at the thick, flexed veins standing in stark relief against tawny skin and crisp blonde hair.

"With arms like these to enjoy whenever I want...who needs a tv show as entertaining as you are to look at, baby?"

The low gravelly groan that rumbled free was your only warning before Leon captured your lips in a searing, demanding kiss.

His free hand anchored itself in your hair to angle you deeper into his passionate onslaught while your nimble fingers continued their devoted ministrations along every rope-thick tendon and bulging swell they could find.

All thoughts of the show you'd been watching instantly fled your mind when the insistent press of Leon's arousal strained against your hip.

Leaving your mind deliriously empty of anything except worshipping his body like the muscular wonderland it was...

[yearning-for-autumn]

So, here is my humble request 👀:

Reader is afab Illyrian, got her wings clipped (because we hate this tradition that’s why and because I am too much into enemies to lovers) and the Bat Boys consider her something close to a little sister.

When Eris was making a deal with the NC to get their help to kill Beron and that shit, his bond snapped with reader.

Obviously problematic for him because he has been insulting Illyrians since his mom popped him out about 500+ years ago.

So…bonus points for: smut obvs.- go as filthy as you like, Lucien absolutely mocking Eris for FUMBLING desperately to get his charm going, reader being oblivious.

I hope this sparks some ideas and creativity 🥰🤞🏻

Would That I -- Part 1

A/n: This was too good not to make into a multi-part fic, so expect more soon. Smut will be coming!

Pairing: Eris X Illyrian!Reader

Warnings: Allusions to smut, pining, mentions of mental health

Word Count: 3,638

Summary: You hate him. You hate the very thought of him. And yet he's your mate. The Mother has a cruel sense of humour.

Part 2 Part 3

Fury rippled through your body like a forest fire. You were livid. And Cassian had the nerve to laugh at you. Well, stifle a laugh. Rhysand was watching him with a worried look as he tried to give him a silent warning to stop. This progressed to warning him mind to mind when you got up from the sofa, flinging a pillow so far it almost landed into the fireplace. Azriel flinched.

“Him!?” You seethed, finally breaking the silence you had kept since your return from that damned High Lord meeting. Cassian snorted softly and you rounded on him with a deathly calm. Rhys made a small noise in the back of his throat.

“Is this funny to you, brother? I’m shackled to that evil, pompous, ginger-haired freak and you’re laughing?” His smile had dropped and a look of fear was quickly overcoming his rugged features. You stepped closer to him, your finger in his face. “Don’t sleep too deeply tonight.”

Rhysand cleared his throat.

“Look, this doesn’t have to be the end of the world. You don’t have to accept the bond. We can make sure you never see him again.” The bond snarled through you at that and you growled.

“Sure Rhys, because you were so calm when you found out Feyre was your mate.”

His brow furrowed.

“So you want to be with Eris?” The name seemed to physically disgust him. Azriel scoffed, abruptly rising from the sofa and marching out of the room. Cassian eyed the doorway in his wake. You turned to Rhys.

“No!” You groaned in frustration, pacing up and down on the carpet like a caged animal. Cassian’s eyes darted between Rhys and you. Finally deciding to break things up he manhandled you into a hug. You fought it for a few moments, before giving up and collapsing into your brothers embrace, hot angry sobs wrenching through you. Rhys took this as his cue to leave, and winnowed—probably to his office—out of the room. Cassian rubbed soothing circles on your back, careful to avoid your wings that were ever more sensitive after the clipping.

You were clipped at thirteen, which is how you had come to live with the three brothers. In Windhaven, they clipped your wings the day you started your cycle. Once grounded there was no escaping your duties, nor any chance to leave the camp. Unless, of course, you had grown close with the High Lord’s son, who had a mother with a habit of collecting strays.

You were there through all of it, the highs, the lows, and Morrigan’s tumultuous relationship with one Eris Vanserra. The male you were now mated to.

---

In the Forest House, Eris was pacing. His throat was still sore from the memory of Azriel’s scarred hand, and his cheek burned from the slap that had earned him from his father. But all of that had been overshadowed. He knew as soon as he saw you. His heart had lurched in his chest so hard he had thought he might throw up. You were the most beautiful female he had ever laid his eyes on. And of course, you were from the Night Court. The Mother truly did have a cruel sense of humour.

You had walked in, looking as arrogant as the rest of them, sharing a secret smile with the shadowsinger before sitting down next to the High Lord. Eris, next to his mother, couldn’t rip his eyes from you. Your doe eyes, sharp and intelligent captured his attention first. He wanted nothing more than to get lost in them, to find out everything about you: What you liked to read, your favourite food, how best to pleasure you and have you screaming his name. He was pulled from his fantasies by your wings. Cauldron, your magnificent wings. Their beauty stole breath from his lungs as they unfurled, getting comfortable on the chair. You had smiled at Feyre, warm and supportive, and Eris knew he was utterly lost.

He finally stopped his pacing, locked inside his room, and sat down on the edge of his bed. He sat there, holding his head in his hands until he heard the scratch of claws at the door. Getting up with a weary sigh, he opened it only to be knocked to the ground by his oldest and most loyal smokehound.

“Cheddar.” He chided as she licked his face excitedly. “Cheddar Biscuit.” He said, sternly, and she leapt off of him, waiting by the door expectantly.

“Yes alright, I suppose it’s time for a walk.” Cheddars tail thumped faster against the door frame and Eris couldn’t help the smile that grew. “Go and fetch your brothers and sisters then.” He said, grabbing the leashes off the wall. A walk was one way to clear his mind.

---

As you had predicted, Rhys was holed up in his office when you went looking for him. He barely looked up at you as you entered.

Rhysand’s office was always meticulously organised, but as you came up behind his chair you noticed how messy his desk had become. Letters and notes were piled on every inch of space, his childhood stuffed bat sitting atop one pile as a makeshift paperweight.

He loosed a breath.

“We are going to war, Y/n.” He said quietly, and any thoughts of Eris Vanserra eddied from your mind. Rhys looked up at you with bloodshot eyes. Guilt coursed through you for ever caring about something as trivial as a mating bond when you and your brothers were set for battle. You had only just got Rhys back from under the mountain, only to potentially lose him again.

“Is it certain?” You asked, leaning down to rest your head on his shoulder.

“Yes.”

“Is Cass--?”

“Leaving for Windhaven by first light.” He answered.

“Ok.”

Rhys turned, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead. He knew what you were thinking, though you wished you weren’t.

“Eris is an awful male, Y/n. You know I could never support the bond between you. Azriel is...well, I’m sure you already know.”

You did. The moment he had stormed out of the room you had known this was the beginning of a negative spiral for Az. Not to mention the upcoming war. You stood up straight.

“That being said.” Rhys continued. “Eris is ensuring Autumn allies with us against Hybern. There is a certain political advantage to the match.”

You scoff.

“Like there was with Mor?” Rhys turned green. “What did Eris bargain for in return for Autumn’s support? What did you trade away, Rhys?”

Rhysand looked every bit five centuries old when he turned to you.

“Our support in his bid for the throne. Whenever that may be.”

Hatred for the male burst anew in your gut, fiercer still now that you were mated to him.

“That power hungry bastard.” You spat.

Rhysand sighed.

“He could never deserve you, starlight. I will make sure that he never sees you again. I will not lose another sister.”

---

It wasn’t until midnight that you saw Azriel. The last of your brothers to approach you. He let himself into your room, waking you, tattered blanket draped around his shoulders. Rhys’ mother had sewn it for him years ago, before you had come to live with them. It had helped him through many hard nights. So much so that it was threadbare and faded. Rhys had enchanted it not to break further as a solstice gift one year.

You sat up worried.

“Az? Are you ok? You didn’t—”

“No,” He assured, and you relaxed against the pillows, “I’m ok.”

You shuffled over in your bed to make space for him, and he laid next to you, blanket over the both of you.

“I hate him.” He said into the darkness. “I hate what he did to Mor. I hate everything he stands for. I will not let him have you.” He declared.

You snuggled up to your eldest brother.

“I don’t know why you all seem convinced I’m going to somehow fall for this prick.” You said, and he snorted. “I hate him as much as you do.”

Azriel tucked you under his arm.

“I know.” You smiled tiredly, somehow understanding the words Azriel left unsaid. The words Rhys had been able to express. Azriel’s shadows settled over your heart, confirming, and the two of you fell asleep.

---

Months later, Eris sat in a tent, head between his legs to stop from throwing up. Thousands were dead. Thousands more were surely destined to die. Two of his brothers, and his mate, fought on the battlefield.

He only had a moments warning before he was violently sick into a bucket.

Asher, his youngest brother before Lucien, chose this moment to enter his tent unannounced, scowling at the sight of Eris hunched over and retching.

“Can’t handle the bloodshed, brother?” He teased, though he sat next to Eris and put a warm hand on his shoulder. The gaping wound on his neck was healing quickly, as it should with the High Lords power coursing through his veins, but the sight of it set Eris off again. He heaved into the bucket, choosing to ignore the gagging sound Asher made.

“Eris you need to pull yourself together. Father is only a tent over.”

Eris rolled his eyes.

“Just show me your plans, Ash.”

“I don’t know, maybe I’m better off keeping them to myself, seeing as you’re battlesick.” Asher grimaced when Eris finally sat up and pushed the bucket away from him.

“Asher.” Eris’ voice held all the command of General, and eldest brother. Asher groaned petulantly as he handed over the plans.

In Eris’ opinion, not that Beron took any heed, Asher should never have taken on as much responsibility in this war. After Ceres had died, Ash had taken over as Eris’ right hand. Ceres had been more naturally suited to the role, Beron’s bloodlust had run as deep as his bones, and he had a sharp mind for strategy. Eris still mourned the boy he had raised—a quick witted, chess loving, boisterous child—but he had to accept, he had lost Ceres long before he had died. And Eris wasn’t keen on losing anyone else. Asher wasn’t comfortable with a sword, the gash in his neck clear evidence, and he had a wife and child that weakened his resolve. This is what Eris had to work with. And he had a job to do.

He let Asher discuss his plans, though he was unable to rip his mind from providing a hundred different ways that he could die, that Ash or Lucien could die, that you could die.

It took every ounce of training ingrained in him not to falter in his attack the moment he had caught sight of you, fighting your way through the onslaught, Mor by your side. Cauldron, you were ethereal. Your silken wings were spread as if they could carry you into the air, though he had long since guessed that they could not. You cut through your enemies with a frightening ease. Catching his eye, you hesitated just a second, then your face had turned to rage and the next Hybern soldier to cross your path had been beheaded so brutally that even he had to avert his gaze.

When he had looked back up, you were gone, lost in the chaos.

Asher sighed,

“You’re not listening.” He said, and Eris had the decency to feel bad. He looked at Ash wearily.

“Come back in the morning. I’ll be more attentive.” Ash just peered at him over his notes.

“It’s her isn’t it. It’s Y/n.”

“Yes.” Eris said, lacking the energy to lie.

“She’s Night Court. She’s not one of us. One day you’ll find a nice Autumn girl to marry and when you’re High Lord she can pop out a few Autumn court babies.”

“She is my mate.” Eris growled.

“Mate’s aren’t always meant to be Eris. It’s only a biological match, not a political one. When you find an Autumn Court lady you’ll wonder why you ever spent time worrying over some Night Court harlot.” Eris snarled, despite himself. His brothers words were wrenched straight from Beron’s throat and he wouldn’t stand for it. Not from Asher. Not from his kind, loving Ash.

“Get out.” He said. Asher looked surprised, and—Eris was pleased to see—ashamed. He made no moves to leave, so Eris repeated himself, sharper this time.

“Get out.” He snapped, “Come back in the morning with more sense.”

Asher, chastised, fled from the tent, and Eris buried his head in his hands. What use was there protecting you from his brothers when it was certain your own said the same about him. There was no denying the cruel twist of fate the Mother had pulled on the both of you, destined to crash and burn. He imagined you in your own tent, laughing at the thought of him speared on another males sword. Mor sat next to you whispering all the terrible things he had done that day, terrible things to twist your mind and poison the very notion of him. He was too late, he was nothing but soot in the deep pit of your heart, choking the both of you.

He felt blindly for the bond, and found it, rotten.

---

The war was over, but the scars it had left were red raw and bleeding. Rhys had died. Your brother. The one who had sheltered you, loved you, given you a home and a family for a few agonising minutes had been gone. Gone. And yet that Cauldron damned bond had been chafing in the back of your mind. You sat in your bedroom riddled with guilt as it plagued your mind. Eris. Eris. Eris. He infested your mind, your senses, you were consumed by the very thought of him.

Walking through the streets of Velaris had started to feel claustrophobic, being around anyone beginning to suffocate you. You felt safer on your own. Recently you had taken to sheltering in your room, only emerging to eat. Your brothers eyed you with poorly concealed worry every time you walked, ghostlike, through the house, shuffling to the kitchen to fix a plate of leftovers then retreat hastily to your safe space.

Nesta was struggling too, after the war. It had left its scars in all of you. You could feel Cassian’s heart breaking the day Rhys sent her away with him, but all you could think about was whether your brother would do that to you. You thought you knew the looks he gave you.

Disgust.

What use was a flightless Illyrian female, who couldn’t train, couldn’t talk, couldn’t think. He was dead. Rhys was dead. And then he wasn’t. Why were Seren and your mother not afforded the same luxury. You grieved, and cried, and screamed. It truly was a sick thing, to use to the miracle of Rhys’ living to guilt yourself into believing there was hope for them. But then, everything in your mind had twisted of late.

Nesta began training. Nesta began healing. And you were stuck in your room.

Every morning without fail, Azriel came to check on you. He stroked your hair until you woke up, then retreated when you once again rejected his invitations to join them. The Valkyries, they were calling themselves. You would have been proud of Nesta if you could feel anything anymore.

Occasionally, you could feel a light tug on the bond, on the shackles that kept you bound to Eris. The first few times you had thrown up. Now it was little more than an annoyance. You were his dog, disobediently pulling your leash as you fell further and further into nothingness. His face in your mind was as cold as it had been on the battlefield as he yanked you back, choking you. You spluttered. Standing weakly, you made your way down to the kitchen, setting water on the stove to boil.

“Sister.” Cassian’s voice rang out behind you and you flinched, dropping your teaspoon. He bent to pick it up and set it down on the counter. “Azriel says you’ve been ignoring him. You’ve been ignoring all of us.”

You shrugged, the familiar pang of guilt squeezing your chest, making it difficult to breath. You braced both hands on the counter top, taking a ragged breath. Cassian was beside you in a heartbeat, holding you in his arms.

“Y/n, I’m worried about you. We all are.” He squeezed you closer to him, closer than you had allowed anyone in months. “Come and stay with Nes and I. Az is a terrible chaperone, and I need to see you. You could be wasting away down here and I wouldn’t know until it was too late.”

You shook your head, though you no longer knew why you resisted him. Your body melted against him, muscle memory taking over as he enveloped you in his wings. You swore you heard him sniffling as you hugged him back.

“Please, y/n.” He said, voice shaking. It didn’t take much more convincing.

A few days later, Rhys was helping you unpack your bags in your new room in the House of Wind. You took the room next to Azriel, who—Cassian had explained—was falling into bad habits again: Not eating, not sleeping, waking up in a cold sweat when he did finally drop off. Cassian wasn’t doing as well as he wanted you to believe, either. Twice in the following week you woke up to find him taking things from your room. And once, when you had floated downstairs in a miserable haze, you found him throwing up in the kitchen sink, an empty plate that had once held a batch of Elain’s cookies sitting on the table.

Nesta had dragged you to Valkyrie training a few times, and whilst you were beyond their current skill level, it had taken your mind off of things. Cassian’s eyes gleamed with pride everytime Nesta mastered an attack or a block. He touched her affectionately, he teased her, he lingered as she passed to breath in her scent. Watching them together was as painful as it was sweet. How simple love could be.

Would that you could be half as lucky.

Slowly you were emerging from your shell. You could smile again. Nesta invited you to read with her and the Valkyries, and in the silence you found firm friendship. Emerie was a gift from the Mother herself. You bonded instantly, both of you clipped, grounded, but neither broken. Many late nights were spent talking, about books, your brothers, or about Eris. Nesta, Emerie and Gwyn knew little of the Autumn prince, but you appreciated their outside perspective on the bond. It was still a bitter taste in your mouth, but it was becoming more bearable with each passing week.

---

There was a ball approaching in the Hewn City and Rhys had asked Nesta to attend. Not long after, she asked you to join her.

“I can’t do this alone, Y/n, please.” She said one night, sitting at the end of your bed. You bit your lip, unsure.

“Eris will be there.” You said.

“I’ll be the one dancing with him. Rhys wants him falling madly in love with me. He won’t look your way, I promise.” Nesta said. You knew she meant well by that. You had never wanted him anywhere near you before. But something about her oath left a sting. You frowned, which she took to mean you were still unconvinced.

“Please, Y/n. My sisters will be there, Rhys will be there. I’m not ready to face them all on my own, not yet.”

And so you found yourself stood atop the stairs the following week, draped in a black dress with a slit so high up one side your whole leg was practically exposed. The back scooped so low the dimples at the bottom of your spine peeked over top. You were devastating. Death in midnight silk. Rhys’ smile was that of pure brotherly pride as you walked down the steps, your hair pinned in braids and curls.

Nesta stole your breath away as she appeared in the hallway, but it wasn’t your gaze she sought out. You looked towards Cassian and could have sworn he was drooling. Eris would be blind-sided by her, of that you had no doubt.

In the Hewn City, they danced like lovers. Nesta as dangerous in the ballroom as she had become on the training grounds. Every move was calculated, every parting of her lips a dance of the mind, designed to ensnare Eris in her dastardly web. Eris was caught. And you burned.

Standing next to Azriel, heat rolled off you in waves. He took a step towards you, perhaps to offer you a drink, but found something in your eyes to make him change his mind. You hadn’t taken your eyes off of Eris all night. He was sinful. A courtier and a Prince. His hair pooled over his shoulders, one strand to the front neatly braided. You reminded yourself that this was the male that left your cousin for dead at his Court border. Biting your lip, your mind wandered to see yourself lying prone beneath him as he stood, smile widening, cock hardening in his—

“Get me a drink.” You ordered Az. He raised an eyebrow.

“What’s the magic word.”

“Azriel.” You growled, and he turned on his heel. Your eyes stayed pinned on Eris as he led Nesta across the dancefloor in a tantalizing waltz. His gaze finally met yours, and you saw a fraction of surprise before his emerald eyes darkened. He licked his lips, eyes locked with yours as he leaned down, and pressed a kiss to Nesta’s neck.

A/N: I have to thank @fandomsmultiverse for talking to me and giving me about 100 ideas to flesh this story out, I really hope you like it! There will be a part 2 coming soon! I wouldn't just leave you on a cliffhanger like that. We will see more of Eris and Reader interacting, and maybe.....some smut...

[tojisun]

THAT BLOOD AS LUBE THING!!!! HERES MY TAKE!!!!!!

Logan having been punched in the mouth so many times that when he has you finally bent over, your both panting and full of aggressive adrenaline with your knees pushed up to your chest, his giant hands splayed over the backs of your thighs, he lets a bloody string of spit fall from his mouth and onto your exposed cunt from where he’s absolutely shredded the crotch of your costume.

THIS SEXY THING IN REFERENCE TO THAT? GODDAMN YEA cw: smut; f!reader; blood as lube; fucking in public; thrashing bcuz of oversensitivity - all consensual; a touch of poolverine/reader poly :3 this is v short im sorry! // divider by @/plutism!

the guttural hunger ripples in waves as logan tears through your pants, each rip sending his hackles rising, the tension between the two of you brewing, until he’s got you fully bare and ready for him. your scent hits him hard, and he almost buckles down, his cock jumping underneath his suit, before he’s got your thighs cushioning either side of his head.

he takes in a greedy drag, nose flaring at the waft of your aroma—so wet and messy and all his.

logan’s eyes flick up to you for a moment—a question—and you give him the subtlest of nods, and it’s all he needs to pry his maw open. the thick string of blood and spit mixed together falls like a diabolical glob on your cunt, and watching him do this makes your breath hitch.

everything about this is rugged, animalistic, but it is also so, so hot. you try to rationalize past your need, telling yourself that this isn’t the right time to be fucked, not when logan’s bleeding all over your cunt, but a rough tongue presses flat on your slit and your thoughts are razed into fractures.

you keen, bucking in his hold, as your hands fly to grip anything you can, trying so desperately to ground yourself. logan doesn't let you, digging in like a man starved and aching; he ruts his bloodied mouth all over your pussy, hot tongue fucking past your folds and into the tight ring of your cunt, and slurps.

“fuck!” you cry out, fists tightening around whatever remains of your pants. your head falls backwards, exposing your throat as you scream.

logan can eat pussy, you’ve known that for years, but there is a curl of something primal in the way he eats you out tonight—all filthy and overwhelming, his silence making you feel ever more so like a prey being devoured. tears are already springing up from your eyes, beading, until a sob wretches itself from your throat because it’s—

it’s too good!

you’re babbling nonsense, you realize later, your words slurring when you beg and moan, telling him how it’s too much and how he needs to stop—“please ‘gan!”—as you feel your mind getting scrambled with the intensity of this all. you try to dislodge yourself from his hold, thrashing, but logan pushes you down with a firm hand on your belly, subduing every effort to rip his mouth off from your cunt.

you’re fully crying now, shaking, and you try warning him that you’re about to cum—the dregs of your ecstasy peaking with every lick and sharp teeth dragging to nip at your folds and at your clit—but you can’t. you’re too drunk off of the pleasure, and your body feels like a rubber pulled taut, ready to snap as your climax builds—

tipping—

then logan’s pulling away with a snarl.

“no!” you keen, sobbing, trembling hands reaching to pull him back before your euphoria dies down, but logan’s already straightening up and folding himself over you, his bulk easily covering you. “i wan�� cum! logan, please—”

“shh,” he coos, like he isn’t wet with your slick and his tan skin tinged with the slightest of red. you see yourself on his beard, droplets of your slick glinting like little diamonds as he leans in.

he pushes your hair away from your face with a grin, and it looks mean but not unkind; just teasing because he knows how much your need has grown. he must have. no one knows your body more than anyone else, after all, and you are sure that he knew that you were there, on the throes of your orgasm, waiting for it to spill into a stuttering blanket of white.

“i’ve got you, darl,” he continues, like he didn’t just edge you off. “gon’ fuck you good now—prepared you nice f’me, after all.”

oh.

you hiccup, still glaring up at him with vitriol despite the promise, but you feel yourself loosening up as the tension leaves your body. he hums, still petting your cheek, and you grumble, looking away because you can’t stand the force of his attention—all that crinkled-eye smile and raggedly endearing taunts he chirps at you.

logan hums, satisfied at seeing you placated, then he’s moving back up again. the action draws air into your exposed cunt and you move to shut your legs close, at least even for a bit, but he wrenches them apart with a heavy hand pressing down on your inner thigh, and slots himself properly between your legs. you roll your eyes at him, dutifully ignoring the way your cheeks are warming up at being so exposed before logan while he’s still all clothed with his suit.

he chuckles with a fond shake of his head, and paws for the zipper on his suit. the sound of it dragging makes you twitch, feeling hypersensitive again. you feel him getting excited too, his chest heaving when he finally pulls his cock out from his pants. you stare at it, still so unused to the size because logan’s big, yes, and he’s big everywhere—from his thighs to his delts, and now his cock.

it’s girthy, webbed with thick veins, and leaking; pearly pre- beading on the head, and nothing has ever made your mouth water more than seeing it.

you want it in you, yes, but fuck, you want your throat stuffed too. want it fucked raw and ruined; want to be used by logan—

but your cunt is wet and itching, and you want to cum so, so bad.

you wonder what you must have looked because logan’s stuffing his fingers in your mouth, as though in placation, and you suck on them, greedy, not minding the faint taste of earth and salty sweat. it makes you even headier, filling you up with the reminder of where you two are, and you whimper, need bloating, because fuck, you need him now.

logan is still quiet even when he taps his cock over your clit, sending goosebumps to rise all over your skin.

“ready, pretty bird?” he asks like he can’t smell the desperation rolling off of you.

still, you nod, and you try your best to relax because you feel so worked up already with all the dragging—

then, logan’s pushing in, in, in, and you are gone.

.

you don’t even know how many time’s you’ve cum now, only that your cunt is oversensitive and your thighs are a sticky mess and your throat is hoarse, but it must have been hours because the sky has turned dark, almost pitch black, and there’s nothing else but you and logan—

the sound of boots crinkling against rocks makes you freeze, your sharp senses breezing past the euphoric pressure being pounded into your cunt, before you put a hand over logan’s chest, making him stop.

with only the sounds of ragged breathing, the two of you hear where the echoing footsteps are coming from. still perched on your back—and speared by logan’s cock—you tip your head up, not minding the upside-down perspective of your surroundings.

logan groans the moment a familiar red suit walks into view. wade’s got his mask pulled up just enough that you two see his grin, then—

“and where’s my invitation?”

logan groans again, while you give out a breathy chuckle, pussy clenching around logan’s cock. he bucks in with a confused grumble.

what? your throat is still pretty lonely, after all.

wade was lounging atop a building when he sees his two favourite people fight— wait they’re— oh? oh.