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rememberwren · 8 months ago

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Skin Deep

Tattoo artist!Simon x fem!reader. Reader, looking to expand your horizons, you get your first tattoo from an enigmatic artist deemed “Ghost”. 8.4k. Features: soft!Simon who is bad at people-ing, vaginal sex, lots of nipples, like at least three nipples, poor writing, abrupt transitions, shy and awkward reader. Based on this post.

Sequel here.

“I bit the bullet!” you shout over the music, hand cupped around your friend’s ear to be better heard. She shrieks in delight at the sound of your voice, turning to wrap her arms around your waist and pull you close to her swaying body. Many eyes in the club follow her movements. She has always been the wild child to your wallflower, attracting attention wherever she goes.

“You bit what?” she shouts back, her breath like a mint julep.

“The bullet,” you laugh. “I called that guy you recommended and set up an appointment. For the tattoo I wanted!”

She stares at you blankly. Her silky little tank top is drooping off of one shoulder, so you reach out and tuck it back into place. The longer she stares, the more nervous you grow. She’d been so encouraging after your last boyfriend dumped you—encouraging you to step outside your comfort zone, to ‘make more mistakes’, to live life more fully. Now she’s staring at you like you’ve grown a second head and it’s the one doing the talking.

“What guy I recommended?” she asks.

“Kevin!”

“Oh no. No, no, no. Not Kevin. Not Kevin. Why, Kevin?”

You frown. “You said you went to Kevin.”

“It wasn’t a recommendation, sweetie, if anything it was to caution you away from him! He’s a creep; there’s a reason why I never went back.”

You deflate like a balloon, going limp and letting her drag you to the nearby free seats at the bar where you sit heavily. It’s not just the tattoo. It’s the icing on a shitcake of a day.

A new song seamlessly starts, and the dancers nearby go wild with excitement. Your mood is the antithesis of the event; everyone seems to be having a great time except for you. Story of your life.

“You conveniently left that out. Ugh. I’ll cancel it. What am I even fucking doing—thank you—” you accept the cup of ice water the bartender slides in front of you with a shy smile, sipping at it and keeping your hand curled over the top of it protectively. “—none of this is like me.”

Your friend frowns. She steals your drink and sips at it. “You were the one who said you’d always wanted a tattoo. You’re an adult. These are exactly the kinds of decisions you’re old enough to make. Look, fuck Kevin. All my friends hate Kevin. I know another guy, and he’s highly recommended. Let me give you his number. Alright?”

“Alright,” you sigh. You make a silent promise to yourself though: if it doesn’t work out with this next tattoo artist, then you won’t be getting one at all. You’ll take it as a sign from the universe to get back in your comfort zone and stay there, once and for all.

What kind of a moniker is Ghost? you wonder to yourself as you skim the Instagram of the shop this Ghost owns. The profile picture is one of the building itself, and all of the pictures are of various inked body parts. Beautiful ones, admittedly. But no hint of the mysterious figure who owns the shop. There is a personal instagram linked @GHOST89 but it is private when you try to click on it.

The phone number your friend gave you rings straight through to voicemail. You let out a shaky breath. Fuck, you hate voicemail. Talking to people was difficult enough; talking to people’s disembodied machines was even worse somehow. It isn’t until you’ve hung up after leaving your message that you realize you forgot to tell him your fucking name (genius!). Groaning, you contemplate dialing him back when the phone in your hand rings—and it’s him.

“Hello?”

“I’m free Wednesdays for consultations,” says a baritone voice from the other end of the line.

Nice to talk to you too, you think dryly. Maybe this guy is as bad at the phone as you are. “I work Wednesdays. Are you free in the evenings?”

He sighs, like this is going to be very strenuous for him.

“Name a time. I’ll pencil you in. Half is due at the end of the consultation upon booking an appointment. Cash only,” he says.

Jesus Christ, could he be anymore abrupt? While a tiny part of you is grateful that he isn’t trying to make small talk, a larger part is terrified that you’ve already made an impression so foul that it’s incurred his wrath. What other reason could he have for being so stilted?

“Alright,” you answer cautiously. “How’s five?”

“Five. Don’t be late.”

He hangs up on you, leaving you wondering why every step outside your comfort zone must be so bloody far.

You arrive early to the consultation, only to find that the building itself—a tidy little brick two-floor, adorned with a sign that dubbed it SKIN DEEP tattoos & artisan piercings, which you recognize from Instagram—is locked. A note written in neat handwriting taped to the door declares NO WALK INS. Your palms are sweaty. You wipe them on your work slacks, but it doesn’t help. How are you supposed to get in?

All at once a shadow appears on the other side of the door. The shadow is enormous: well above six feet tall, and broad shouldered. A black surgical mask is tucked up over his mouth and nose, which only adds to his intimidating aura. Judging by the impressive sleeve of tattoos he has, you imagine that this is the guy.

Jesus, Mary, and Joseph. And Ghost.

Dark brown eyes stare down at you when he opens the door, cocking a hip against the frame, staring at you. Waiting.

Waiting for you to explain your presence, you realize.

“I have a consultation,” you blurt out. “At…five?”

He opens the door wider to let you pass without a word. He’s so broad that you can smell him as you pass him: clean and masculine. The inside of the tattoo shop is bigger than it looks on the outside. There is a reception area with a desk and a computer and printer. The glossy wooden floors are polished to shine, leading to an open floor plan. There is a small sitting area with armchairs, a wide sofa, and a table on which rests two bottles of water, a notebook, and a steaming mug of liquid.

“Sit,” he says, his voice the same deep rumble you recognize from the phone. He chooses the chair beside the mug. His body is so goddamn long, his legs lean and thick all at once where he stretches them out in front of him. He reaches for the mug and takes a sip—of tea, judging by the smell. “Name?”

You tell him, perching yourself anxiously on the other chair. He glances up at you, eyes raking over your posture. Suddenly he tugs the mask down to rest beneath his chin, revealing a full, pale mouth. A straight, noble nose. A pink scar stretches across his lips and up towards his cheek.

“The water is for you,” he says.

“Oh!” You reach forward and take one bottle, breaking the seal. “Thank you.”

“This is your first tattoo.”

“What gave me away?” you ask with a weak laugh.

He doesn’t laugh. “Everything. Is someone putting you up to this? This smells like Soap.”

“What? No, of course not. I want this, I’m just, I’m an anxious personality. I promise.” You hesitate and then add: “I probably smell like soap because I showered this morning.”

His mouth twitches. He leans back in his seat and sucks on his teeth, and you get the distinct feeling that he is trying very hard not to laugh at you. Why had you mentioned to him that you showered? What was wrong with you? Just as you’re comprising a list of things, he picks up the pencil and the notebook, opening to a fresh page.

He asks what you want and God, that’s a harder question.

You do your best to express your idea, but your words feel halting and silly. His pencil scratches rapidly at the paper as he listens in total silence—pausing only once, when you say that you want this to be a sternum piece. Only then does his pencil seem to hover over the paper, his dark eyes seeking you out and pinning you in place on the armchair.

He reaches for his tea to take a generous sip and then continues writing.

He asks a few pointed, concise questions (and you’re just thrilled he was actually listening), following your answers up with more scribbling in his notebook. At length, he shuts the book.

“I think I see the vision. Give me thirty to sketch something and we’ll see if you want to book an appointment. Something this size, on your sternum could take more than one session, depending on how well you sit. How do you take pain?”

“I mean, it hurts?” you offer.

He stares. “Two sessions. Let me sketch something. Drink your water.”

You think that maybe he’ll move to another room to sketch, but he just flips to a clean page and begins to work right there (drawing the mask up over his nose and mouth again). With nothing else to do, you can’t help but watch him.

He’s handsome, in an odd sort of way. His brow is a little too low, his gaze a little too intimidating to be considered conventionally attractive, but you find him fascinating to look at, especially when he is so clearly in the throes of something he enjoys doing. It’s almost like watching someone have sex. The thought makes your face go warm. You pick up your phone, determined not to look at him again.

“Here.”

You glance up from your mindless scrolling. What he shows you is a beautiful rendition of what you had expressed wanting. There are a few key differences, and he patiently explains why he made the decisions he did. He didn’t make the changes because he thought your idea was stupid. He made them so the image would better fit the contours of your body. He made them because the ink will spread over time, and he wants the look to stay clean.

His thoughtfulness touches you.

“I love it. I want it,” you say, enthusiasm getting the better of you.

“This is just a first sketch,” he says dryly, making that warmth return to your face. “I’ll text you a few variations this week, and we can nail down the final piece. You want to book?”

“Yes,” you say, nearly buzzing. “I really want to book.”

He’s expensive—but judging by the book of his artwork that is available for you to flip through at the front desk while he quotes you a price and writes you up a receipt, he is more than worth the money. Fuck, he’s got skill. You thought that maybe his art style was too dark for what you wanted, but you found that he was able to adapt styles nicely. You just hoped this tattoo wouldn’t bore him to death.

“Thanks again for meeting with me,” you say as he sees you out. “I’ll be waiting for your text.”

“You’ll get it.” He glances past you out the window. It’s dark. “Did you walk?”

“No, my car is just there.”

“I’ll wait.”

And he does. His figure darkens the doorway until you have shut your car and locked the doors, temporary insanity making you give him a short wave. He raises two fingers and then disappears.

You didn’t tell me this guy was cute, you text to your friend.

GHOST? Cute? I’ve never even seen his face lol. He’s always wearing one of his masks.

You chew over this information. Yes he’d been wearing a mask, but he’d lowered it for you. Did that mean something? Did it mean something that you wanted it to mean something?

Masks are cute, you say.

Fuck the tattoo artist!!!! she says. Maybe he’ll ink you for free.

You’re terrible.

You’re…thinking about it.

Two days later, you squint blearily into the darkness at your phone after it vibrates on your nightstand. The time reads twelve past one in the morning. It’s from GHOST.

The two images he sends are beautiful; enough to rouse you straight from sleep into wakefulness.

I love them both, you tell him. But the second one is amazing. I think that’s the one.

Keep your appointment. Ten minutes later (after you have already fallen back to sleep) he sends: wear something appropriate.

And fuck, you didn’t even think of that.

“You’re being ridiculous,” you mutter to yourself in the mirror, turning sideways to assess yourself. On the bed behind you are a series of button up shirts, all of which you have tried on at one point or another.

“You are,” your friend agrees from where she lounges on your bed, scrolling on her phone. “Your tits are cute. Let Ghost see them.”

The look you give her is the one the phrase ‘if looks could kill’ was modeled after, surely. She doesn’t even see it, so the effect is lost entirely. You turn your gaze back to the silicone nipple adhesive covers again, still stuck to their adhesive backing. You’ve already used one set of the pack of three, and they covered your nipple and areolas nicely, but still left you feeling so exposed.

“Be glad you’re not going to creepy Kevin anymore,” your friend says.

“Very glad of it.”

You felt reasonably safe with Ghost, but still a degree of embarrassment about your own body. Or perhaps that was too strong a word—it didn’t embarrass you, but it felt private. Baring your breasts to a near stranger (especially one you had a grudging attraction to) made your anxiety reach epic level proportions.

“You should text him about it, see if he has any advice for you. He’s been doing this for years. I’m sure he’s seen it all,” she says—the first good idea she’s had all night, miles ahead of ‘Just let Ghost see your cute tits’.

That night, you take her advice and text him, hoping you aren’t overstepping some weird artist-client boundary.

I’m a little nervous.

You can cancel, is all he says. I’ll refund your money.

It’s not that.

What is it?

Not really accustomed to the nakedness tbh. There. You said it. Let him think you some prim priss; it was true.

But all he said back was: how can I help?

I don’t know, you admit. Then; sorry. I’m probably bothering you with this while you’re working.

I’m not working. Five minutes later, when it seems as if you aren’t going to message back: I keep the shop closed to the public. One customer at a time: you. I’ll let my piercer know I’m with a client and not to walk in. I’ll keep you covered every moment I can. Better?

Relief, warm and sweet curling low in your belly, you let him know: much better.

You bring the pasties anyway.

The day of your appointment, you are so nervous you are shaking. Now you know the truth behind the phrase ‘knees knocking together’, as you stand outside SKIN DEEP waiting for Ghost’s hulking figure to appear on the other side of the glass.

When it does, he’s like a little punch to the gut. That black surgical mask is in place—typical for him, if your friend’s words are to be trusted—but his blond hair, cropped short to his scalp is riotous in a way that is adorably charming, like he hasn’t been able to keep his hands out of it. His black t-shirt stretches across his broad shoulders, and his jeans fit him nicely around his thick thighs.

You’re horrified to find that your attraction to him has grown. Exponentially. Your friend’s words echo in your mind—fuck the tattoo artist, maybe he’ll ink you for free.

“Hi,” you squeak.

Ghost raises both his brows. He opens the door wider for you to slip past him. Fuck he still smells good.

“I’m still nervous,” you blurt out, hoping that speaking the truth out loud will help you feel better. It doesn’t.

“That’s normal. You can back out at any time, but the earlier the better. Come look at the image and tell me if it’s still what you want.”

It’s exactly what you want, and more.

“It’s perfect. You’re very talented.”

He huffs a little, like you shouldn’t have said such a thing.

The chair is a great leather contraption which reclines comfortably once he’s gotten you in it (after making you use the restroom first, during which you took the time to splash water on your burning face and double check that your pasties were in place covering all the cutest bits according to your friend). Simon moves around you, making preparations with the ease of someone who has done this work for many years.

You fight the arousal that blooms in your belly at the sight of him doing such benign things as washing his hands, putting on gloves, opening fresh needles, preparing little wells of ink and sticking them to the movable cart with Vaseline. There’s just something about a person who knows exactly what they’re doing and who is able to do it with efficacy.

“Ready?” he asks at length.

You nod, hoping your nerves don’t show on your face. Steeling yourself, you unbutton the shirt you’re wearing. His eyes follow your hands, but there is a detached, clinical sort of expression in them. He’s not watching a strip tease, he’s looking at a canvas.

Finally, you sit in front of him in only the pasties, the shirt lax around your shoulders, and your sweatpants, socked toes curling in anxiety in your shoes. Without missing a beat, he leans the chair all the way back. Then he opens a fresh disposable razor and shaves you.

“Am I hairy?” you ask, resting your hands oh-so-casually over your breasts to keep them out of his way.

“Yes,” he says. Then his eyes flicker to yours. “Everyone is. Everywhere. It’s normal.”

“I’m just teasing you.”

“Didn’t think you had the breath in your body left to tease me,” he mutters, voice nearly lost behind his mask as he carefully works the razor across your skin removing the baby-fine hairs from beneath your breasts and across your sternum. “You’re nervous, I mean.”

“Would you take the mask off?” you ask on a whim. It had helped last time, to see his face.

“No,” he says. He adds: “Sorry. It’s more sanitary f’you if I keep it on.”

You get the feeling that he really is sorry—and that’s well enough. Some of the anxiety in your belly fades away. He would take it off if he could. The most anxious part of the process (baring yourself to a stranger) has already passed. Maybe now you can begin to relax.

After cleaning your skin, he carefully lays the stencil and has you stand up to look at it in the mirror and make sure the placement is correct and holy fucking shit. It’s sexy. You’ve always been attracted to tattoos, and fancied the idea of getting one on your sternum for far longer than you’d ever admitted to anyone, but seeing it come to life gives you a rush you hadn’t expected. You feel so…badass.

“Good?” He asks.

“Very good,” you answer, sitting back down, hoping he ignores the way your breasts bounce a little as you do. He leans you back again and this time breaks out the needle gun.

But before he uses it on you, he carefully takes a clean towel and lays it over your left breast, covering the parts of you that are not nearest to his eyes. His gentleness and thoughtfulness go straight to your cunt.

“Thank you,” you say softly.

He just nods. The gun buzzes to life. “I’ll make a line and see how you feel. Last chance to back out without any souvenirs.”

“I’m not backing out.”

He clicks his tongue as if to say, It’s your funeral. Then he lays his hand on your sternum above your breasts, pinning you in place, and makes a gentle line.

It burns more than you expected it to. There’s a sandpaper quality to it, almost like the rasping of a cat’s tongue. The pain is sharp and bright, but it isn’t overwhelming. In fact…a strange part of you sort of enjoys it. Maybe it’s the rush of endorphins.

“Good?” He asks.

“Good,” you squeak.

You hear his quiet laugh, no more than an exhale of breath.

“Let me know when you need to break.”

You don’t know how you feel about the way he phrases that: when you need to break. He adjusts his mask a little, leans over you, and gets to work. Sometimes the needles pass over a place that is more sensitive than the others, making you flinch. He pauses when this happens, eyes flickering up to your own, making sure you are alright even though he can likely feel the pounding of your heart beneath his hand. That hand on your chest, wrist just brushing the top of your breast, is a solid warm weight that seems to tether you back down to the earth as he lines you. He is very careful not to brush against your breast when he wipes away the excess ink and traces of blood, but you feel hyper-attuned to how easy it would be for him if he wanted to. How huge his hand is compared to your tit. Beneath the pasties, your nipples ache with tension, a tension that is mirrored between your legs.

“Alright. Break,” he says, abruptly turning the gun off. He covers your exposed breast with another towel. “Take ten.”

He disposes of his gloves and disappears behind a curtain in the back, leaving you throbbing between the legs. Worming your phone free from your pocket, you scroll aimlessly, hoping to calm your raging hormones. He returns right at the ten minute mark, just as his cellphone rings. He glances toward where it rests on the table, but makes no move to answer it.

“Do you need to get that?” you ask, offering him an out.

“No,” he says. “I make everyone leave a message. Weeds out the cowards.”

It had almost weeded out you, you think about telling him, but in the end you decide against it. He gloves back up.

“Good for more?”

And so it repeats.

At one point, he runs into a patch of sensitive skin on your ribs just overlaying the bone. It has you sucking in a breath through your teeth, eyes squeezing shut. It’s too late to turn back now you tell yourself; the only way out is through.

His thumb gently strokes your sternum.

“It’s rough. You can take it,” he says, quiet and focused. The buzzing of the gun never ceases as he tries to make his work as quick as possible, his words a little distant and distracted. “Just keep breathing. That’s it. Good girl.”

Jesus. Did he not have any idea what those words could do to a girl? A groan escapes your lips, and he clearly mistakes it for pain, because his thumb strokes again the soft skin over your heart, just above the curve of your breast.

“You can do it. Just a little longer for me, and we’ll break.”

“Hurts,” you breathe, flinching again.

He hushes you, surprisingly tender.

“This is the worst of it.” This time, his thumb does brush the edge of your breast, making you suck in a gasp. He recoils, hand lifting away from you and curling into a fist. He rests that against you instead, taking away any further hope that he might brush his fingertips against you. You make it through the rough patch with tears in your eyes but no worse for wear.

“Break. Ten minutes,” he says again, already shredding his gloves and moving to disappear behind the curtain.

You call out: “Hey, wait—I’d rather just get through it in one go if I can. If this really is the worst of it.”

“I need breaks too,” he says stonily.

You duck your head, feeling silly. “Right. Sorry.”

“Don’t be.” He vanishes again.

He is late to return to you. Only by five minutes or so, but noticeably for a man so usually punctual and so demanding of punctuality in you. His face is stoic—what bits of it you can see from behind the mask—as he washes his hands thoroughly and preps his work station again.

This time his hand keeps a very respectable distance from your breasts—a fact which you both lament and appreciate all in one. He works with single-minded efficiency, giving you his entire focus. You break once more, but this time he breaks in the room with you, stretching out his back and neck (giving you a generous glimpse of his belly when his shirt rides up, exposing cut abs and a happy trail you’d give your life to follow).

“I think we could do this in one sitting, if you have nowhere else to be,” he mutters at length.

“Eager to be done?” you wonder.

He stares at you, expression flat, and says nothing. Nothing needs to be said.

“I don’t have anywhere to be,” you murmur, staring up at the bright adjustable light that he has positioned over you. You hope he mistakes that for the reason behind any mistiness in your eyes, his rudeness cutting you deeply.

So the two of you push through later into the evening, until you are sweating at your temples and the base of your neck from the continuous pain for so long. At last he lays the last gradient for the shading, sprays you down, and wipes you clean so very gently.

“Go take a look. I’m going to cover it up.”

It’s beautiful. Stunning, even. You let your shirt gape closed and cover the pasties, revealing a broad glimpse of the sternum tattoo, and it is the sexiest you have ever felt. It almost makes your eyes burn anew.

“I love it,” you choke out. “Thank you.”

“Can I take a picture of it?” he asks. “For Instagram.”

“Sure!” It will feel a little like being famous, you think, judging by how much notice each of the photos on his Instagram garners. He crouches down on the floor to be at the perfect height, reaches out and gently adjusts your shirt. Parts of the tattoo are covered—the very far edges—but you can’t deny how sexy it is. Maybe he feels the same way.

After he takes the photo, he posts it and asks for your handle to tag you in it. Then he says: “Let me cover it up. Keep it covered overnight, but tomorrow let it breathe. Keep it clean. Don’t do anything stupid to it. Understand?”

“I understand.”

“And if you have any questions—text me.”

You get home to find that Ghost’s personal account has requested to follow you. Thrumming with nerves and excitement, you accept the request and send one of your own, spending the night scrolling through his Instagram (so, so carefully to avoid any incidental ‘likes’). Plenty of the photos are of his artwork, still. But there are ones of his dog: a German Shepherd that is thankfully much more photogenic than her surly owner. There are three or four photos featuring Ghost himself, and only one has his full face in the picture. You find yourself staring at his fixated expression for longer than is respectable.

Three days later when you find yourself panicking, you don’t text him like he asked you to. You call.

Your skin is peeling off. Peeling. Off. The sight of it makes your stomach roll. The entire tattoo is hot to the touch, and the skin around it feels warm as well. Flushed. Is it supposed to hurt this much?

The internet doesn’t help. The peeling is normal, sure. But everything else is suggesting that your tattoo could be infected. What sort of ink did Ghost use? Was it reputable? What if the infection reaches your bloodstream? You were too young to die! Your anxiety spirals like a plane with one wing, trailing smoke as it soars straight down, determined to take you with it.

With shaking hands, you don’t even think about texting Ghost. You go straight to calling him, tapping his number in your phone and pressing it to your ear, listening to the ring.

He’s going to send you to voicemail, just like he does to everyone else—except he doesn’t. All the sudden there is glorious feedback from the other end: a cacophony of voices and laughter, clearly some sort of gathering.

“Yes?” Ghost says into the phone, as if that’s a decent hello.

“There’s something wrong with my tattoo!” you cry.

“Wait—get out of my goddamn way.” There is rustling, and then the noise decreases substantially. You can almost see him standing outside whatever bar his friends have brought him to, mask down around his chin, hand over his other ear as he strains to listen to you. “Say it again. Now I can fucking hear you.”

“There’s. Something. Wrong,” you say through your teeth. “With my tattoo!”

“Well? What is it?”

“It’s falling off, for one!”

He snorts. “That’s normal. That's why you called?”

“It’s all swollen and hot. And it hurts.”

Now that shuts him up. He sighs a little, switches the phone from one ear to the other. “Hurts how bad?”

“Worse than getting it.”

“Fuck me. Alright. Meet me at the shop in…twenty?”

“Twenty minutes from now?”

“From when else?” He hangs up. Man doesn’t know the meaning of the word goodbye.

The night is cool. You don’t bother with a bra, not when it irritates your tattoo so much. Pulling your jacket closed more tightly around yourself, you walk from your parking spot along the street to the tattoo shop.

Ghost stands outside at the curb. His figure is unmistakable. He is smoking, mask down, the lit end of his cigarette a burning ember that flares bright in the darkness. When he sees you coming, he crushes the cigarette beneath his boot and opens the door to the shop, which is still and dark. He flicks on a light switch as he goes, casting the place in a warm glow.

He’s dressed in his usual dark jeans and an obscenely tight t-shirt, his sleeve of tattoos on display. He leaves the mask down. His eyes are on your tits—or resting where your tattoo is beneath your clothes.

“Well. Sit. Show me.”

You sit in one of the armchairs, your shoulders rising in defensiveness. “What, just flash you?”

“Nothing I’ve never seen before.”

Gritting your teeth, you begin unbuttoning your shirt until it gapes open. You cup your breasts with your hands, maintaining your modesty while putting the tattoo on full display. He narrows his eyes, leaning down. His fingers reach out, but then he thinks twice and washes his hands.

“I was smoking,” he says when you roll your eyes in exasperation.

“You’re worried about getting the chemicals on my skin but not in your lungs?”

“Fuck my lungs,” he mutters. His fingers hover over your tattoo. “Can I?”

You nod. His fingers are cool when they gently prod and ghost along the edges of the tattoo, feeling for the signature warmth of an infection. “Any fever?” he asks.

“Not that I’ve noticed.”

“You feel warm, but I’ve felt warmer. I don’t think it’s infected. Have you tried icing it?”

“No,” you admit.

“Ice will help. Just use something clean, for fuck’s sake.” As he speaks, his breath fans across your chest, making you shiver. He sees this, his eyes darkening. “When you called, I thought it was for me.”

“It was for you,” you say, brow furrowing. “Who else?”

He snorts, lips quirking. It tugs on the scar across his lips. “Forget it.”

“Forget what?”

“Talking about it goes against forgetting it.”

You groan, tossing up your hands. “You’re impossible.”

He reaches out and jerks your shirt closed, hastily doing up a button. Your face burns as you do up the rest of the buttons—you end up having to backtrack and redo them because he was off by one.

“Thank you for meeting me. I’m sorry it was for nothing.”

“It wasn’t for nothing,” he says. “And I wasn’t doing much.”

“You were with friends,” you insist.

His eyes narrow. “Who told you that?”

“I saw it on your Instagram tonight.”

“Nosey.”

“I could buy you a drink sometime,” you offer after a lengthy pause, your heart pounding loud enough to fill the silence between you. Are you really doing this? Are you really asking him out? “Make up for the ones I lost you tonight.”

“Maybe.”

God, it’s like he’s not getting it. Maybe you need to be bolder. Fortune favors the bold, doesn’t it? Your hands are shaking when they fall back to the buttons on your shirt.

“Would you take one more look at my tattoo? Just to be…positive?”

He sighs and makes an impatient hand gesture. Your fingers fumble through the buttons again. You don’t cover yourself with your hands this time; just keep the halves of your shirt over your nipples. He dutifully exams the tattoo again, prodding gently, laying the flat of his fingers against it to feel the warmth it lets off.

“Maybe you should look closer.”

His eyes flicker up to yours. “Closer.”

Your mouth is dry. “Yeah.”

“Can’t get much closer than I am.”

“You could—if you wanted to.”

“If I—“ it hits him then. You can see it in the fractional widening of his eyes, the way his mouth parts softly in blatant surprise before he shuts it, dark eyes returning to your sternum. He says: “Closer.”

“Mhm.”

The back of his hand brushes against your breast, causing your breath to hitch. His thumb traces softly along the outline of the tattoo, following the path just beneath your shirt, nudging the fabric aside slowly, so slowly, until your breast is bare, nipple puckered and aching.

“Fucking hell,” he mutters. His eyes flicker to yours as if to see if you really want this—and whatever he sees must reassure him, because then he is sweeping his fingertips along the bottom curve of your breast and taking it into his hand, his palm rasping gently over your nipple. All the breath rushes out of you. Your thighs clench together. Already you’re aching—have been since you saw his mouth around that cigarette on the street—but he moves with determined caution. His thumb finds your nipple and teases it, pulling a desperate little sound from the back of your throat.

“Pretty little tits,” he says, his voice a warm, smoky rumble that goes straight to your core. He captures your nipple between his thumb and forefinger, pinching softly.

“Fuck,” you gasp, one hand reaching out to brace yourself against his shoulder. He is solid and firm beneath your touch, unmoving and unmalleable. Your breasts have always been sensitive, but it feels like every touch is directly related to the feelings in your cunt. You find your back arching, hips searching for friction against the seat of the chair.

“Be still,” he says firmly. Another pitiful sound slips past your throat. “Let me play with you.”

“Please,” you gasp. “Play with me—even if that’s all you want—just don’t stop, please.”

His mouth parts as he listens to you, his eyes so, so dark. The pupils have nearly swallowed his irises whole, until you can see yourself bare from the waist up in the reflection. He shakes his head a little. “You don’t even know what you’re saying.”

“I do. I—“ your words are cut off with a gasp as he hauls you out of the chair by your wrist and onto his lap. He’s so thick thighed that it stretches you obscenely to have him between your legs. His hands tear the button-up off your shoulders and down your arms until it flutters to the floor, leaving you half naked. Dipping his head, he presses a heated kiss to the place on your sternum where he had rested his hand during the tattoo—and then trails wet kisses towards your left breast, taking your nipple into his mouth and sucking with a decided softness.

You let out an unflattering, choked groan, resting your weight heavily against him until you can feel the prominent bulge in his tight jeans. His hands find your ass and grip you tightly, working you back and forth, rubbing that bulge against your clothed sex.

“Driving me fucking crazy,” he mutters against your skin, opening his mouth to drag the sharp line of his teeth against the curve of one breast before switching to the other and flicking his tongue over your nipple.

You gape at his admission. Had you been? He’d been so closed off and cool…though now that you thought back, maybe that was just his way of hiding it. Suddenly he grips the back of your neck, where your hairline ends, and pulls you to his mouth. He tastes faintly of smoke, even fainter of the drinks he had had earlier in the night, but it is an intoxicating mixture. Your tongues find a rhythm as your hips do the same, both of you fucking in every sense of the word except the literal kind.

He takes one of your thighs and wedges it between his own, until you’re no longer grinding against his cock but instead his denim-clad thigh. “You the kind of girl who can cum like this? Just from this?”

“Uh-huh,” you promise, head bobbing.

He buries his face in your neck. “Good. I won’t last when I’ve got my cock in you. I’d like you to cum at least once before then.”

“Oh god,” you groan, gripping his shoulders fiercely as you begin a halting, stilted rhythm against his thigh. The denim is rough against your leggings. He feels all around you: his scent, his taste, his touch. When his hands find your hips to help you work yourself against him more smoothly, a sigh of gratitude fans from your lips.

“What else do you need?” he asks.

“My—touch me—“ He abandons your hips once you find a suitable rhythm. He finds your nipples again, teasing them with clever fingers. The stimulation has your peak approaching faster, building like a storm in your lower belly.

Ghost leans back to look at you, eyes trailing over you from head to toe: your face burning with warmth, your breasts with peaked little nipples, your leggings nearly soaked through at the crotch with how wet you are. He shakes his head, like he can’t believe what he’s seeing.

“Fucking perfect.” You bury your face in his neck, feeling a warmth inside your chest. He grips you by the neck again and tugs you back. “Look at me. Look at me.”

You look at him for as long as you can, but when the band in your belly finally snaps, your eyes roll up and slip shut, your mouth drops open in a choked gasp, nails digging into his shoulders as you shudder and shake in the throes of your pleasure.

He leans down to kiss you through it, tongue teasing at your slack mouth.

When he stands, he takes you with him, hauling you up until you wrap your shaking legs around his waist. It’s probably a good thing too. You aren’t sure you could walk otherwise. He carries you the few steps to the couch and lays you down, curling his fingers in the waistband of your leggings. You nod. He strips them off you, along with your flats, and your panties until you are naked as the day you were born.

Your thighs clamp together shyly. He lets them, reaching behind himself to pull his shirt off. Something catches your eye in the streetlights streaming in through the window: Ghost has one of his nipples pierced, a neat little barbell through the sensitive flesh.

Fingers enter your vision—your own—reaching out on instinct. You hesitate, unsure if he is receptive, and a little afraid to hurt him. He’s so bloody tall, too…but he takes care of that himself by kneeling down by your side, his eyes cautious. Closer, you can see the scars: silvery in the moonlight, crisscrossing over his torso.

“Does it hurt?” You ask, softly stroking your fingers beneath the pale pink skin of his areola.

“No,” he says. You can feel the timber of his warm voice vibrating through his chest, up your fingers, straight to your pussy. “You can play with it.”

You shyly run your thumb over it the way he had yours. He sighs, breath fanning across your arm. His eyes go heavy-lidded, tongue flashing as he wets his lips. After a moment, you grow insecure and move your hands away from his nipple down to a scar that crosses his sternum. He lets you, very patient, like a dangerous creature withholding its bite.

“You’re so—“ the words are whispered dreamily before you have any idea how you plan to finish the sentence. Flushing with embarrassed heat under his wary stare, you finish: “—hot.”

He physically turns away, expression inscrutable. You can’t help but feel like you have said the wrong thing. He puts a hand on your belly, stroking the softness. “You broken, or can you take more?”

“I want more.”

“Want my cock?”

You nod, feeling like a bobble head.

“I want to hear you say it.”

“I want your cock.”

His hand reaches for his belt, unbuckling it. Your eyes track the movement with hungry nerves. His hands put butterflies in your belly: thick palms with long, slender fingers, veins criss-crossing along the backs. An artist’s hands. He works his belt free with nimble grace and shucks down his jeans and underwear in one smooth movement, revealing his cock to your gaze and the light from the street lamps.

He is huge here to match. Downright intimidating in length and girth, uncut with a nice curve toward his belly. He grips himself and gives a series of smooth strokes, the muscles in his abdomen flexing into sharp relief.

“Oh my god,” you mutter.

“No gods here,” he says, kneeling up on the couch. His hands part your thighs, and for a long time he just looks at you, that sensitive, swollen place between your legs. He stares so long that you nearly cover your face, embarrassed by whatever he is thinking. Then he touches you, and when he does, he touches you with surprising reverence. He touches you like you are art.

“Can’t believe you let me ink you,” he mutters, stroking your vulva with his warm palm. His eyes are on the sternum piece now. “Practically let me carve my name into your skin. Anybody around here who sees it will know who did it. They’ll know who touched you.”

“Good,” you breathe.

His sigh is shaky. You’re learning his reactions, his very breaths. That shaky sigh means he’s pleased with you. You’ve said something right.

He reaches down to his jeans on the floor and works a hand into his pocket, pulling free a condom. He hands it to you—for inspection, you realize, though you’ve had so few one night stands (try zero) that you’ve never had the need to inspect a condom before. The package is intact at least. There appears to be an expiration date which you squint at. All looks well. You hand it back to him and he tears it open, rolling it down his considerable length.

Then he goes back to touching you. One hand braces himself against the back of the sofa so he can lean down to kiss you, tasting your mouth deeply. The other hand finds your entrance, circling it with a finger before slipping inside you all the way to the last knuckle. You are wet enough and relaxed enough that he slips in easily.

“Relax…there you go. Let me in,” he says under his breath, working a second finger in beside the first. It is a bit of a stretch—he’s thick everywhere goddamn it—but it’s a good stretch, a much needed one. The third finger has you stiffening, whining at the pinch of pain. He slows his fingers and lets his thumb find your clit, muting the pain with little jolts of pleasure.

“Ghost,” you groan, toes curling against the leather of the couch.

“I think you can take it,” he says, thumb so soft and insistent against that aching pearl of nerves. “But what do you think?”

“Your cock—want it—please—“

“Alright,” he laughs, pulling his fingers free and wiping the wetness on his cock. “No need to beg.”

He notches his cock against your entrance and slips inside you. Both of you inhale together, like on cue. Just the first few inches have you feeling full beyond your comfort zone, but he seems to understand in his silent, all-knowing way. He stills, working that free hand between you both to play with your clit until you’re clenching around him, body trying to pull him deeper. He slips further in and then reaches the end of what your body can take. You feel fucking stuffed, your hands shaking where you have gripped his naked shoulders, nails digging into his skin.

His own breathing is ragged, pecs brushing your nipples with every inhale. The little bursts of pleasure help, until you find that your hips have grown restless, working back and forth as much as his substantial weight will allow when you’re pinned beneath it.

“Stay still,” he mutters into the juncture of your neck. “Stay still or I’ll cum and this is all over.”

“Can’t,” you gasp, his revelation electrifying you. “Have to move, ‘m so full—“

“Fucking hell,” he groans. He pulls out, leaving you feeling gaped. “Roll onto your side.”

He gives you instruction but isn’t shy about reaching out and physically arranging you until you are both spooning, your back to his chest. This time when he enters you, it is more shallow, and easier for him to reach around and play with your clit.

You arch your back, seeking more of him, pressing your breast into his free palm. He plucks at the nipple, teeth nibbling at your throat.

“Want you to cum again,” he says, stilling your movements so that you can’t fuck your self back against him. “Give me one more. Then it’s my turn.”

“Ghost—I can’t—“ you’ve never cum twice before. Not even with your favorite toys have you been able to scrounge together more than one illustrious orgasm. This knowledge and your expectation of his disappointment has you stiffening in his arms.

“If you can’t, then don’t,” he says simply, like it’s the easiest thing in the world. He keeps his fingers soft and insistent against you, and only after a few lengthy moments does he feel confident enough to work his hips against you too. He pulls out too far and his length drags across your labia, the head brushing where his fingers play with your clit.

You give a sighing little moan. His head cocks; you aren’t the only one listening to sighs. Now when he gives those lazy, lackadaisical thrusts, his entire length just strokes the outside of your sex.

“Oh fuck,” you whine, feeling that band in your belly begin pulling tight again.

He hums behind you, a smug sound.

“Not sure I want you to cum now,” he says. “Hold it. I’m thinking it over.”

“Ghost!”

He laughs, honest to God laughs at you. Tears prick your eyes from the sheer need (and a bit from embarrassment) but his hips never cease nor slow their tireless thrusts against you, not even when you grow close enough to beg, close enough to plead.

He loops his arm around your waist and pins you against him when you cum to keep you from rolling right off the couch, your body wracked with shivers and spasms. The warmth of your release washes over you from head to toe, and you are still basking in it when his cock finds your entrance again and enters you.

The position keeps the penetration blissfully shallow (otherwise he might give your cervix a painful beating), but he still reaches new lengths inside you, filling spaces you didn’t know were empty. The shop is eerily quiet except for the sound of his hips snapping against your ass and the frequent breathy sounds his cock punches out of your lungs.

He buries his face in the crook of your neck and lets out a series of sounds that are toe-curling: deep groans and raspy curses, whispered praise and hisses through his teeth. His hand grips your hip tightly, leaving shadows the shape of his fingerprints on your skin as he fucks you.

Sooner than you’d like—but he’d warned you, hadn’t he?—his thrusts grow sloppy, the sounds messy thanks to your wetness as he finds his release and moans it into the skin of your throat.

“Fuck,” he whispers. And again: “Fuck, fuck. You broken?”

“Yes.”

He snorts. Then it turns into that laughter, warm and rumbling against your back. You smile where he can’t see.

“Sorry about this,” he says as he ties the condom off and throws it away, naked as the day he was born. You’re still naked too, though much more shy, legs crossed demurely and arms wrapped around yourself.

“Regretting it already?”

“Yes,” he says. Then, when he sees the stricken look on your face, he adds: “Should have at least taken you to dinner first.”

“Dinner?”

“You owe me drinks. I owe you dinner.” He finds his boxers in the darkness and slips back into them. Then, because the expression on your face still hasn’t relaxed, he says: “I don’t regret the sex. Do you?”

You shake your head.

He scoffs a little.

“I mean it,” you insist. You touch your tattoo. “I wanted it…the day you did—this.”

He raises both brows at you, silently calling your bluff.

“I didn’t think you were interested,” you admitted sheepishly.

“I jerked off in the back just from seeing half your tits,” he admits, slipping into his jeans now too. His mouth curls a little at the corner when he sees the way you gape at this news. “I was interested.”

You laugh; you can’t help it. “Dinner, then? Or drinks?”

“Yeah,” he says. “Alright. Get dressed.”

#simon ghost riley x reader #simon riley x reader #skin deep

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vifilms · 21 days ago

Text

nsfw themes, eighteen+

gymrat!vi who frequents the gym every day except for sundays. giving into his wishes to be present for their weekly dinner. any other day? she’s getting her pump in. an absolute given in her world. pink-hued strands stick to her scalp as she pushes for a new personal record on the bench, especially when vi’s bulking. whenever she’s training, she’s so zoned in, nothing can distract — well — it used to be nothing.

gymrat!vi who secretly enjoys nothing more than working out with jayce. accountability between two best friends turns into a friendly competition. nothing at stake except their egos. seeing who can outdo the other set after set. something to keep them both in line, fit, and violet enjoys the hit to jayce’s ego whenever she can push weight heavier than jayce.

gymrat!vi who isn’t oblivious to the attention thrown her way. with the heatwave of summertime, her muscles are on full display, defined biceps, toned thighs, and god her tattoos are basically a honey-trap. she would be a fucking liar if she acted disgusted by it, part of her likes it a little too much. but hey, everyone likes to be appreciated from time to time and vi is no exception. and she never really saw a problem with it until a one night stand who then not not so subtly stalked her every time she was in the gym, learning her schedule until she had no choice but to leave her favorite gym. silently, she made a vow to not fuck with girls she met at the gym.

….well, until you.

gymrat!vi who is a known regular. she knows all the girls at the front desk, flirts with many of them, but to her it’s as platonic as chatting up the barista who brews her dose of caffeine in the morning. it’s ingrained into her morning routine, simply just a part of who she is. so, when she sees you at the front desk she nearly has to do a double take. there’s not a hot chance in hell she’s seen you before — vi would have definitely remembered you.

gymrat!vi who becomes shy for the first time in her life, bringing her membership card up to the scanner and offering a small smile but when looks back you seem to take a second look, eyes locked into her powder-blue eyes. even if just for a moment, you’re veering into her thumping soul. vi can’t help but smile. she reminds herself, you’re just another pretty girl. you’re new, probably won’t even last long. yeah, that’s what vi’s going to let herself believe. it’s not like she’s thinking about your gorgeous lips when she bench presses, or thinking about your gorgeous eyes taking her breath away — or when vi’s powerlifting she’s so not thinking about lifting you on top of her.

“if you talk to her, she might actually know your name.”

“w-what, i-i’m not, sh—”

jayce raises his eyebrows at vi, shaking his head as his very questionable friend spots her as she moves the weight the fluidity, her movements only struggling to push through when she reaches the final set.

“she’s the gym owner’s daughter, he’s wanting her to take over the reins, old age and all.” jayce responds as violet places the bar on the rack, her set complete until she moves onto the next one. “your little theory of her not being around for long is kinda crushed. unless you want to find another gym….”

“that’s the whole point of me not talking to her, m’not finding a new gym again. that’s a promise. i can control myself.”

jayce just laughs. fucking laughs.

“what’s so funny, bro?” vi pouts.

“that you genuinely believe you’re gonna be able to stop yourself and that you think you have a type….and she fits the bill.”

“oh, fuck off.” vi grunts.

dropping the fifty pound dumbbells by the bench, lifting up her shirt to wipe some of the sweat off her face only to find you on the other side of the gym, staring directly at her abs like her glistening sweaty skin like it’s a golden ticket to heaven.

“well…fuck.”

gymrat!vi who notices your presence more and more in the coming weeks. this time not just behind the front counter. you’re with the personal trainers, helping new customers fill out paperwork, and this morning you go wherever vi goes, her eyes can’t seem to stop searching for your figure. especially with those tight leggings you always seem to wear, vi couldn’t stop looking at the fat of your ass if her life depended on it. she managed to squeak out more than a hi to you yesterday, but it’s as far as her pleasantries extend.

gymrat!vi who has her headphones placed on her head, her all black workout set; this time something more modest at her disposable. the black and cotton hoodie covers her head, flares of bright pink wisps shadow from the hood but her shorts reach mid thigh, the overworked muscles in her legs flexing as she lifts the weight. jayce isn’t with her today, which means she basically had to physically restrain herself from talking to you today. even if she can see you sneaking glances at her through her workout, eyeing her legs each time she’s on the leg press. greedy, hot, goddess — vi is so fucked.

when she walked the following day, you said her name, violet.

you know her name.

it’s just the database, it’s the only reason.

pull yourself together, idiot.

gymrat!viwho is at the end of her workout, taking her final rest before she does her last set, but here you go again, gawking as you pretend to be readjusting the weight on the racks but you finally stop looking at her, trying to put the last weight, the one-hundred pound bell but you just can’t. even then, vi is trying not to smile with how adorable you look as you struggle.

before making her way over to you, she slides the black pair of headphones on her tattooed neck, popping the hoodie, seeing if anyone else was going to help you — just her luck — there wasn’t a soul in her at midnight besides her….shocker.

“stupid, piece of shit, would you just—”

“need some help there, princess?” vi looks over at you from the workout beach she’s perched on, legs spread wide as her jaw juts out, eyes naturally gleaming with curiosity.

“i should be able to. i can do this, right? yeah? i definitely can do this.”

but it only sounds as if you’re trying to convince yourself. the weight of responsibility crushing your spirit by a singular dumbbell. you’re huffing and puffing. life and death here, and all because of a stupid, petty, weight.

vi stands up, her height towering over your hunched finger. “pick it up with your legs. next time, make it’ll easier.”

violet doesn’t really use her legs though. the beautifully strong woman kneels on the ground with you, her gloved hand picks the weight up with ease and places it back on the rack.

“obviously, i know that.”

violet hums before she offers a hand, helping you stand tall. “of course you do.”

the sensation bubbling on her fingertips from touching your skin almost seems downright electric — and now vi feels like running ten miles in the other direction for the sole purpose of settling her heartbeat for just a moment.

“anyways, yeah, sorry to disturb you.”

“not a problem, princess. never going to say no to a pretty girl in distress.”

the smile violet offers is adorable, the one she flashes the girls when she comes in for her late work out, from wherever she comes from. but the way she scratches the nape of her neck? that’s just for you.

gymrat!vi who can’t stop thinking of you, despite her best efforts. constantly, she wonders if you’re seeing someone, but the way you watch her, vi suspects your single as can be. it isn’t until one friday night, just as she’s trying to leave, one of the front girls, rich and pompous, is trying to coax her into meeting her and some friends at the bar tonight. when she’s about to say no for a finale time, growing more uncomfortable by the second, you’ve come up to where she is and, well fuck, violet’s even more embarrassed that one of your employees is hitting on her right in front of you.

“c’mon! jayce says you haven’t been out in ages. you deserve it, you’re always working out so much. if anyone deserves a treat, it’s you.”

cursing out the little shit in her mind, she rolls her eyes, trying to contain herself from having an aneurysm. “little shit, divulging all my secrets.”

sabrina laughs more than she should, tossing her purple hair over her shoulder. carefully, you hover, absentmindedly scrolling on your phone and violet wonders if you stay there for a reason.

if she’s the reason you’re eavesdropping.

“so….is that a yes?”

violet sighs, she hates this. “maybe another time.”

gymrat!vi who wonders what you thought of the entire time. quiet as a mouse, you hadn’t said a single word to her since you were there to witness the rejection of her employee they still couldn’t seem to just stop. this is what she wants. silence…..right? it’s what she keeps telling herself but now vi can’t stop trying to catch your attention, just an ounce of it is all she craves. today, you only spared her a glance before you talked to jayce. pathetically, she decides to do something to catch your attention, hip thrusts.

gymrat!vi who looks up as you watch her pelvis lift the weight placed on her abdomen, pushing sturdy hips through the set as you keep sparing glances gawking at her porcelain skin exposed. she can tell you’re at least trying to pay attention to whatever jayce is saying but you’re interest loses focus when she grunts with one final thrust, the bar rolling away from her legs.

“did you hear that?” vi rolls her eyes at the sound of his chipper voice.

“what?” violet slips her headphones off, trying to even her labored breaths. not just jayce, but the both of you stand above vi as she tries to catch her breath.

“i invited her to our brunch with mel on saturday.”

“oh, is that this saturday?”

oh, he really is playing fucking dirty.

“is there a problem, vi?”

little chicken shit is grinning, goddamn it. she takes another swing from her water bottle, hoping to god you’ll think it’s too forward, too weird, and you’ll just instantly decline.

“not a problem.” vi grits her teeth as she speaks, jaw clenching as she knows this is surely to be a hole there will be no digging out from.

or one she so desperately wants to fill.

rayray rants — UM IDK HOW I FEEL ABOUT THIS???? it's kinda different than what i normally post but i might turn it into a little hc series. anyways! hope you like and i have a very special vi post coming soon that i'm really excited about. but yeah! hopefully, i can continue this because vi working out is literally all i can think about. alright, um, see you next time ♡

#❝ ⋮ ⌗ ┆𝐫𝐚𝐲𝐫𝐚𝐲 𝐩𝐨𝐬𝐭𝐬 ❞#IM KINDA SORRY ABOUT THE LAST LINE?????#but i’m also trying to make an effort not to take my writing so seriously #and this post is entirely devoted that so i hope you enjoy!#vi arcane #vi x reader #violet x reader #vi arcane x reader #vi x you #violet fanfiction #league of legends #arcane #arcane x reader #violet arcane x reader

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nebulousmoon3990 · 2 months ago

Text

GHOSTS OF THE PAST (Batfam x neglected hero reader)

III𓂃› SPIDER

Warning: violence, swearing, sensitive topics, bad things, spelling mistakes (English is not my first language) and the reader has black hair and blue eyes (sorry), female reader!, I accept criticism, but please don't be rude, everything is fictional!

Hey guys! I'm really sorry it took me so long to post (I was sorting out some things in my life). well, enjoy the chapter!♡

Clark really didn't know what he was getting himself into.

He had expected to come to New York to do a simple interview for the Daily Planet, write the report and spreadsheet right here while eating at a café and if possible bring back some souvenirs for Lois and Jon.

Fighting a supervillain was definitely not in his plans.

It had happened out of nowhere, while he was waiting for the meeting with the businessman, the urgent news on television warning about a monster attacking the city made him leave urgently. He could solve this and finish it in time.

He just didn't know that he wouldn't need to solve it.

While flying, now as Superman, he easily found the villain, it wasn't very difficult to see him in fact. He was the size of a building of at least nine or ten stories, his skin was rocky and hard, made purely of stone. Clark was about to attack the giant when he heard a scream.

Looking through the villain a helicopter was in the way, the pilot tried to maneuver away but they would be enveloped in the confusion. Using his speed, Clark tried to get closer to the helicopter, however it was not enough since it was still far away.

The rocky hand would catch the vehicle before him.

Well, he is not alone.

Before the walking rock caught the propeller and possibly destroyed the vehicle something got attached to the hand and pulled it up, bringing the villain's focus to another place, his distraction was enough for him to catch the helicopter. He noticed as he moved away that what had stopped the giant was... a web? He followed with his gaze the path of the white rope and saw a figure pass quickly on it.

What?

Leaving the helicopter on top of a landing area of a nearby building, he approached the frightened journalists. "Are you hurt?"

The one who answered was the cameraman, who was still breathing heavily, "N-no, Mr. Superman. We're fine-"

"IT'S HER! TYLER FILM, FILM!" The woman's excitement made the man quickly grab his camera. She looked at him and gave a shy smile while holding the microphone, perhaps a little embarrassed by her euphoria. "Oh, Superman, thank you very much. It's just that we never get clear images of her, so you can understand our excitement."

She? She who?

No one needed to answer his question because when he looked at the monster he saw the "she".

A super heroine

Her figure swayed between the giant and the buildings. She wore a suit that covered her entire body, leaving no room to see any of her features. All Clark could see was that she was short, perhaps indicating that she was a teenager.

The monster tried to grab her with its free hand, moving much faster than it had when it was with the helicopter. She, however, brought her webbed wrist towards the giant's face, causing him punched his own face. Swinging away from him, she taunted, her voice echoing off the buildings. "Hey big guy, is that all you know how to do? For someone so tough, you're softer than jelly!"

Hit a nerve, for sure.

"Who is she?" He asked the man who was filming the action with the reporter, even in a situation like that the cameraman looked at the heroine with a glint in his eye, a glint that intrigued Clark.

"Her? She's Spider-Woman."

Spider Woman, he had never heard of this superheroine, but that didn't matter now.The "Spider Woman" swung again on her webs at the stone man's aggression towards her. Superman moved away from the reporters and headed towards the brute. He was quick to bump his fist with the giant's, preventing him from punching a building. The action made the heroine finally notice the Kryptonian. She widened the white eyes of the mask when she saw him flying. "Superman?"

She hung from a building, climbing the glass to get closer to him, she looked at the monster and then at him, her head spinning until she realized something, knowing that he would help her she addressed him. "Hey, Superman. Can you immobilize him for me for at least a few seconds?"

The Kryptonian looked at her, hesitating a little, but then a smile appeared on his lips "Leave it to me."

They moved together at that moment. Clark used his freezing breath on the stone legs, freezing them and immobilizing him to the ground. With the giant still, the spider woman climbed on his back and reached his neck. While the monster struggled, he saw her take a syringe and apply it to the rocky neck. With the liquid entering the monster's veins, he began to scream. Clark was about to intervene when the thunderous scream stopped.

Slowly, pieces of stone fell from the giant, and when they found their end on the ground, they turned into sand, being carried away by the wind. Little by little, the monster began to disintegrate until there was nothing left of him, just a cloud of dust in the place. Approaching to see the damage, he went down and came across the individuals.

The villain, once gigantic and grotesque, was now a thin and small man, passed out in the heroine's arms, while his breathing stabilized, Clark for the first time observed Spider-Woman up close, without being in the heat of battle.

The costume she wore was outlined in black and golden, the fabric was a mix of a dull color and another bright color, the symbol of a spider displayed proudly on her chest, the hood covered the mask on her face, making it difficult to see the white eyes of the mask. What intrigued him most was that it was not common fabric, since when he tried to use his x-ray vision he could not see Spider-Woman's identity.

She certainly knew how to hide her identity.

Just like someone he knew.

"Looking at he now, he doesn't look like a villain."

"And he isn't, they forced him, he's just an ordinary citizen." The dust slowly cleared, now revealing the street they were on. "Honestly, it's a surprise to see you here, shouldn't you be in Metropolis?"

Clark started to sweat a little. True, he should be in Metropolis, not New York, but he couldn't just watch everything on TV, there was a villain attacking the city! And he didn't know New York had a heroine to protect them! How careless of him. "Yeah, actually, I was..."

"was?"

"I-I flew past here! That's it." Spider-woman looked at him before starting to laugh, well at least he tried to hide it, in fact the excuse had been pretty bad.

"Okay, I'll take this as truth, you must have your reasons, don't you, Mr. Clark?"

The aforementioned froze, looking at the spider, who stood up carrying the injured man. The sounds of sirens were heard in the distance, indicating that the police were coming. "What?"

This time, it was the spider woman who froze, realizing her carelessness too late. She looked at him, and even with the mask on her face, he could have sworn a bead of sweat was on his forehead. "Ah, I and my big mouth."

"Do you know my identity? How did you-"

"L-look, I swear it wasn't intentional, seriously! I have... my reasons to know, but I promise! I didn't tell anyone and I won't tell anyone." Superman just looked at her in astonishment, it wasn't intentional? How did she find out then? While the police and ambulance finally arrived, the woman was quick to hand the man over to the police and briefly explained everything, she distanced herself from the police, ready to leave as quickly as possible when he approached her.

"Who are you? Like, really?" She looked at him, clearly anxious to get out of there. "That's... a secret, but like I said, I won't tell anyone, don't worry."

She pulled away from him again, releasing a web from her wrist, already trapping her in a building to resume her run. But before that, she turned to Clark, the tone of her words showing no lies, only truths. "After all..."

"If I wanted to do this, I would have done it nine months ago."

And with that she was gone.

Again, Clark didn't know what he was doing.

It had been a few days since his encounter with Spider-Woman, the revelation that she knew his identity disturbed him, but that wasn't what was going through Clark's head now.

That was who she was.

That woman (or teenager?, Clark doesn't know) had been saving New York for at least a year and absolutely no one in the league knew, she was literally under their noses the whole time and no one knew! But while they didn't know anything, but New York knew, you weren't liked by everyone but most definitely liked you, you gave those people security every day and they trusted you.

You were a real mystery.

In addition, there was the identity issue. Clark wasn't rich, so he didn't have spectacular security to hide his identity, but he always took precautions. You, however, found out so easily. Clark knew that your "it wasn't intentional" statement might be wrong, but whether it was intentional or not, you still did it.

Clark knew that you wouldn't reveal your identity to the world. Your statement made that very clear, but even so, his head itched and itched to meet you.

Maybe he was being hasty, but you were a great heroine, there was no denying that. You fought well, you were smart, and you had experience. You could be a good ally. Besides, Clark doesn't know if you're an adult, so it would be a good way to keep you under supervision.

That's why he's heading back to New York now.

The sun had already set, giving him a view of the beautiful night that had fallen while he was flying, but at that moment Clark was trying to find you.

He didn't know where you could be, in fact he didn't know what to do when he found you, he didn't even know what sparked his interest, he simply... felt. Something about how you were, the mystery surrounding you intrigued him, and Clark simply followed that instinct.

His thoughts were interrupted when his super hearing picked up a sound, of what sounded like running, it could have been anything but his instincts told him to follow the sound, to find the source.

He did.

And thank goodness he did, because he found you.

You were jumping over the buildings, like he had seen you do before, and it was only when you stopped that he could approach you. You were on the edge of the building, looking down at the floors. Clark intended to approach you, but it seemed like you had other plans.

"I thought you had already left." Your voice was neutral, showing no irritation or pleading, it was as white as a sheet, which made him stop, a little surprised that you had discovered him. "I did."

You turned to him, the eyes of the mask you were wearing showing him your confusion, looking him up and down, your reasoning led you to realize why he was here. "You- wait, are you following me?!"

"Following is a very strong word-"

"But you just admitted that you went to the metropolis and came to New York again!" Your arms gestured so quickly thanks to your nervousness that when you realized it you put one of them on your waist and the other you ran your hand over your face.

Clark couldn't help but find this cute.

"Look if this is because of the identity-"

"More or less, but that's not all." Clark's mouth turned into a gentle smile, your brain thinking about the possibilities again, all while you looked at him.

Silence reigned between the two, neither of them wanting to comment before the other, but it seems that Spider-Woman didn't have much time because a sound came from her gauntlet, she quickly accessed it and Clark saw that the "bracelet" was a type of miniature screen attached to the fabric of the suit, you looked at the messages before turning to Clark.

"I'm sorry but I have to go." You looked at the city below, looking at the lights that illuminated the place. Clark was about to speak when you cut him off before. "No offense Superman, but I think it's better if you go back to Metropolis, I don't have time to talk."

You spread your arms wide as you leaned towards the edge of the building, your eyes narrowed affectionately, which contradicted your voice full of irony. "Then this is our last meeting, thank you~"

And then you threw yourself.

Clark flew to the edge, ready to catch up with you, only to be faced with the emptiness of the city, you disappeared before their eyes, like a ghost.

"Then this is our last meeting."

No, it wouldn't be.

And it wasn't.

For the past four months, Clark has been bothering you, appearing out of nowhere, scaring you, helping you, making you more irritated by his constant appearances, making you more dynamic, more ironic, but happy.

It was a confusion of emotions, to tell the truth.

You expected that after a while he would stop doing this, after all he had things to take care of, for example: a city called Metropolis.

But Clark apparently didn't agree with that, because at least once every two weeks he would go to New York just to talk. The weirdest thing is that he started talking about his life to you as if he had known you for years! He talked about how he loved Lois, his relationship with John and Conner, GOD! He even talked about the Daily Planet!

Dude, he didn't even know who you were and he was just talking about his life to you?

You, however, always listened to him, you didn't tell him anything about your life but you didn't stop listening to him either.

Honestly, if you wanted to, you could very well mess with his life.

Good thing you're the heroine here.

As you jumped between buildings, your danger sensor beeped, warning you of something approaching. Knowing who it could be, you went down to the terrace of a building. Your suspicions were confirmed when you felt a gust of air from above. Turning around, you came face to face with the hero who had been on your tail for the last few months: Superman.

Clark had a gentle smile on his face, the smile of a hero, something that conveyed confidence and comfort. And it really did.

"Hello, Mr. Super, you look as happy as ever."

"Yeah, you look as relaxed as ever." He landed in front of you as you leaned against the building's railing, your elbows keeping your body steady as you assumed a carefree posture. Clark glanced at the buildings behind you nervously, uneasy about something. "I hope you don't mind, but we have company today."

You arched an eyebrow in doubt as your danger sensor went off like crazy, you had a few seconds before you turned around and launched a web at the person. You expected to find a criminal or even a super villain, but you were faced with the sunglasses of a teenager in a costume similar to Superman. "Yeah, she's really fast like you said."

What?

Before you could react, a much smaller figure appeared in front of you, just like the teenager (the difference was that he was a child and didn't wear glasses) he also looked a lot like Clark, he floated in front of you, bright and excited eyes directed at you. "Wow! You're so much cooler in person!"

A drop appeared on your head, turning to the man of steel you muttered to him. "Who are-"

"John and Conner." He chuckled softly, seeing your eyes narrow in irritation. "John really wanted to meet you and Conner ended up joining too."

"Oh." You pulled away from John a little as sarcasm flooded your lips. "That's great!"

Conner chuckled softly as you released him from your web, he approached you as he bent down a little to speak to you, since he was taller. "I thought you'd be happy to see us, it's not every day three Kryptonians come to New York to help with crimes." His voice held an undeniable teasing, the low and deep tone of his voice having the words dragged in his speech, it seemed almost sensual.

You stopped as you watched the other two, John and Clark froze, their gazes fixed on Conner, who you had confirmed was trying to subtly court you.

But you're not the shy girl here.

You approached him, close enough to be face to face, your breath could be felt on his mask. Conner, surprised by your bold move, leaned back, his cheeks flushed with your approach. "Well, New York is already protected by its heroine every day, so I don't need help." The smile on your face grew when Conner turned redder at the sound of your voice.

You quickly moved away from him and hung on the ledge, you turned to him, your figure shining with the lights in the city. "Then watch me do my job, mini super."

You fell from the building, the wind shaking your hood as you fell. Before hitting the ground, you threw a web up and climbed up again, hanging on one at a time. As your figure moved away, Conner and John looked at you. "Damn."

"You better come, or we'll end up losing her."

The night would be very long.

"OH GOSH, I'm so tired!" You yawned as you hung on the webs, it was almost four in the morning and you decided to go home. The supers had already left, you believe they were tired too (Especially Conner, where you and he played flirting all night).

You stopped on the terrace while looking around, seeing if someone or something had followed you, seeing no threat you hung on your web and slowly fell to your apartment, you opened the balcony door and as soon as you entered you were greeted by a satisfied meow.

Looking at the sofa in the living room, you saw Mooly lying on the cushion, the little black kitten moving and going to your ankle, cunning for affection. You laughed softly and picked her up gently, while placing her in your arms. "Hey, haven't you gone to sleep yet?"

As you petted the little one, footsteps were heard throughout the house, when you looked up you came across a large white vinyl robot, its form being embraced by its shadows, its round eyes shining in the dark space.

You looked at it and it did the same, the atmosphere apparently cold and tense to those looking from the outside, but completely the opposite for those who live in this house. The robot bowed respectfully, its voice, calm and tobotic, showed deep down a contained joy, reserved only for those close to it.

"It's so good to see you home." He stood up from his position, round eyes blinking slightly in the darkness of the apartment.

"Master (Name)."

You smiled as you set Mooly down on the couch again, you raised your hand to his neck and squeezed it, causing his mask to retract, revealing his identity. His face, the face of someone forgotten is a frequent presence on the walls here.

(Name) Wayne, the Spider-Woman, the missing daughter, the useless Wayne. His face was older than before, aged like red wine, clearly showing that you took after your father, since your face was just like his. Beautiful and exquisite, cold and deadly.

"It's good to be home Mark, where's Alex?" You asked as you squeezed your shoulder, which was a bit sore from today's patrol.

"Mrs. Alex is already asleep, she said she couldn't stand listening to you flirting with Superboy anymore."This made you laugh out loud, you could imagine Alex covering his ears so he wouldn't hear the two of you. You pressed the bracelet on your wrist and in a flash your suit retracted into the bracelet, showing your figure that had a loose blouse and pants. You stretched, heading towards the bathroom.

"Well, I guess I better go too, tomorrow I have a college project and Mrs. Vivian wants me early at the coffee shop" before you could get there Mark called you, his voice echoing through the house. "You got a message from Master Billy."

You stopped and looked at Mark, the notification displayed on his cute belly from an ologram. "Did he send it at this time?" The robot shook his head and handed the phone to you.

Opening your messages you went straight to Billy's contact, concern starting to creep in on you, but then again, you should know how Billy is.

Because when you saw the message you felt your stomach churn.

Billy Batson was eating the most beautiful and delicious candy you had ever seen in your entire life, and he sent it to you even though he knew about your addiction to sweets.

That little shit-

You quickly typed furiously on the cell phone keyboard, not caring that it was late, just wanting to curse Batson for making you feel hungry when you planned on not having dinner.

'Fuck, I hate you Batson ಥ_ಥ'

His answer didn't take more than a few seconds to come, his response irritating you even more.

'HEY, you finally answered me, I was already worried. Besides, I know you love me 𖹭𖹭𖹭(∪ ◡ ∪)'

'I promise I'll buy one for you, good night little spider ツ'

'...good night Billy.'

You wanted to cry, that's it.

Especially because you were hungry now.

Knowing your fate, you threw the cellphone on the couch and turned on the kitchen light, you heard Mooly and Mark's footsteps following you.

"I think there are still ingredients for a mug cake, right?" eating now wouldn't hurt.

"Bruce? BRUCE!" The aforementioned looked at the entrance of the batcave where Tim and Jason had rushed in. The two looked like they had seen a ghost, sweaty and pale, still in their suits. "Tim, what is it?"

"You- You need to see this!" He sighed heavily as he threw himself into the chair at the control panel, his fingers typing faster than he had seen them on missions. Bruce looked at Jason, who was standing next to him, who had a burning look on his face, hope hidden behind his eyes.

What's going on?

Bruce didn't need to ask, because Tim began to explain to him. "Since the accident with... (Name), I've never found any clues..." Bruce shuddered at the sound of your name, they didn't talk about that subject.

Even after three years it still hurt.

"But that was because I wasn't looking in the right place!" The teenager put up the pictures of the bus that had been carrying you that day, only the wreckage that was left was in the picture. "But now-now I know where to look."

"Last year, Star City had several people kidnapped suddenly, just like (Name) no one found any clues about the case, but Jason and Roy investigated thoroughly and managed to find a kind of underground dungeon where the kidnapped people would be."

Now on the computer was the picture of the bus and of a kind of what Bruce would call a mental hospital. The place was so rotten and filthy that Bruce wondered if anyone lived there. "Apparently there's nothing, but if you look behind each of the huge graffiti on the wall..."

Tim, using the program, removed the graffiti, which gave Bruce a view of the white walls, but in the middle of them, pieces of something nonsensical resided there. "... and put them together."

The movement in Tim's hands moved the images on the wall, distorting and shaping them until one completed the other, making the nonsensical make sense.

"A symbol."

The symbol of a womb wrapped around a two-headed serpent.

"Do you know where else this symbol is?" Tim again returned to the image of the bus wreckage, he shaped the image and put together pieces of the walls that resulted in the same symbol, but with small parts missing. "So you mean-"

"That the same people who kidnapped the people in Star City were the ones who kidnapped (Name)." Jason answered for the two, his tone as dejected as Bruce's.

He can't blame him, he's in a similar state.

"The problem is that I can't find out what it means, I've tried on the Internet, in history books, even on Wikipedia! But I haven't found anything."

The crushing silence suffocated those present, leaving invisible marks on their being. "It has to have a meaning, anything- okay, what does it mean to a womb?!"

"Jason, this is stupid-"

"No, but we have to try! Shit, you only looked in science books or-or whatever, but have you tried to look for anything related to mythology?" Tim thought for a moment, but shook his head negatively.

"The womb refers to the woman, the mother. Now, what does a two-headed snake refer to?" Bruce asked no one in particular, his thoughts searching for the knowledge he had about it.

"Would it be a mother snake? That's nonsense."

Jason thought for a moment and realized something. "Technically, it's not." The red hood searched the control panel while talking to Robin and Batman.

"In Greek mythology, there was a creature that was half snake and half woman." The mythological image appeared next to the symbol. The grotesque figure of the creature somehow referred to the symbol.

"She was known as the mother of monsters."

"Echidna."

HI GUYS, this chapter was a lot of work, I had a lot of blockages but I managed to do it.

Now I have a question to ask: Is Conner treated as Clark's son or brother?

You already know that I haven't read the comics, I've watched Young Justice (at least there it gave the impression that Conner would be treated as Clark's son) but on Wikipedia it says that Conner is treated as John's uncle, please answer me 😭.

I'm also doing a reader drawing (NON-CANONIC), I think I'll do headcanons too. I'll possibly leave a link below.

Ok, let's go to the Tag list \(•◡•)/:

@daiyanomochi - @amber-content - @wizzerreblogs - @foggyv-oid - @kore-of-the-underworld - @theunknowntravel3r - @space1crow - @shortnsweetsposts - @popursocks - @sugasweettea - @salfishers - @itachisank - @jsprien213 - @infirebaby - @yhin-gg -@h-ib

@bunbunboysworld - @h-ib - @sheep-from-rad - @tatsuri-zomushiki - @the-holy-pigeon - @geminis93 - @horror-lover-69 - @mybones537 - @eyeless-kun - @timotheechalametswifeys - @justabreadslice - @nymphzy0 - @1-800-g00ber - @pix-stuff - @jsprien213

sorry for any mistakes.

Bye 𖹭

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thinkinonsense · 2 months ago

Note

What about Logan watching reader get themselves off on Logan's pillow? Like he could be holding a glass of whiskey, telling her to keep going when she complains it's too much?

-pillow talk.

cw: pillow riding, f masturbation, dom!logan but also sweet!logan

a/n: adding this as a bonus to sweet temptations :)

all day you've been so needy. craving logan's touch after long hours working in the lab, but tonight he's out on a mission with storm and scott. unsure on when he will be back, you go to his room to wait.

logan's sheets smell like he's never left. the perfect mix of cigar smoke and whiskey could make you arch your back. despite your original intentions of reading in his bed until he return, it didn't take you too long to strip yourself of your clothes and straddle one of his pillows in between your thighs.

meanwhile, downstairs logan pours himself a glass of whiskey to celebrate a successful mission. he checks the common room to see if you were in there but hank mentioned how you'd gone to back upstairs for the evening.

as he walked down the hallway, he could already smell you. logan carefully opens the door to see your naked back facing him as you rock your hips against his pillow. watching the scene in front of him play out makes him harder by the second.

you whimper, spreading your slick back and forth until the seam of the pillow, coating it in your arousal. too fucked out by your own rhythm to notice logan's presence in the room, not that he minded. he knew if you saw him watching you, you would shy away in embarrassment.

this way he can pay attention to every little thing that makes you tick. eyes screwed shut, lips parted, and eyebrows scrunched with pleasure. he'd never seen someone look so angelic.

"ah-fuck!" you moan as logan's big rough palm smacks your ass sharply. you turn back to look at him and feel yourself clench around nothing at the sight.

logan stands tall behind you, holding a glass of whiskey in one hand and your ass cheek in the other, rubbing the tender skin. a lit cigar dangles from his kissable lips deliciously.

"look 'atcha doll..." he teases. "putting on a little show for me, huh?"

you stare up at logan like a puppy watching their owner dangle a treat in front of them.

"p-please, lo..." you whine, eyes watering with tears. "make the ache go away."

logan feels torn. on one hand he loves being the one to make you unravel but on the other hand, he wants to see how you managed to get yourself off before coming to him for help.

instead of answering, logan leaves you exactly where you are and sits down on the chair in the corner of his room.

"i'll help ya'... once i finish my drink." logan says.

you let out a soft groan, tilting your head back a little. as much as you want to beg him, the need to be his behaved good girl was stronger.

"l-logan..." your quiet whimper pulls him from his trance. "want you c-closer, please."

he gives in, bringing the chair to the edge of the bed and nursing his drink. you catch him off guard again when you reach for his hand on the mattress, squeezing hard as you chase after your orgasm. the small gesture almost makes him forget how filthy this scene looks.

"atta girl." he praises, letting you grip his hand as hard as you can while his other hand gropes your breast. "cum for me, sweetheart. i know you can do it."

logan's words were enough to tip you over the edge. broken moans spill out like a prayer. red puffy, tear stained cheeks. he tries his best to sooth them over with his thumb pad as you come down from your high.

"good job, baby." he smiles as you collapse forward on top of him.

you hum, snuggling up to him now. more relaxed than before.

"want ya' reward now?"

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whytheylosttheirminds · 4 months ago

Text

Don't Call Me Kid - Chapter 5 (part two)

(Rafe Cameron x Reader series, 3.8k words)

series summary: You'd had a crush on Rafe Cameron since you were six years old, but he friend zoned you at every turn. Once shy and insecure, you found new confidence and self-love after high school. When your high school friends go on a reunion beach trip, Rafe finally sees what he lost, but he isn't going to give you up without a fight.

tropes: unrequited crush, glow up, she fell first/he fell harder

series content: some angst, eventual fluff, slow burn, tomfoolery and shenanigans, drinking, fem!reader has occasional insecurity and body image issues

⇢ series masterlist

Years later, you’d still wonder if Topper did it all on purpose.

When you asked him, he’d just wink and say “bet you’d like to know.”

As your group walked down the dock towards the rental kiosk, Topper pulled out his phone, grinning down at the screen.

“What’s funny?” Carter tried to read over his shoulder.

“Nothing,” he tucked his phone in his pocket quickly, failing to hide the cheeky look in his eyes, zero poker face. “Kelce is coming.”

The guy Carter had haggled with brought your group over to the three jet skis and gave you a demonstration on how to drive them. You weren’t paying very close attention, more focused on the uneven pairing of the five of you and how to ensure you didn’t end up on the same jet ski as Tom. His rudeness this morning was the final nail in the coffin of your crush.

The guy gave Carter three keys, and you met her eyes, knowing she was thinking the same thing.

Topper looked at Carter hopefully, his big puppy dog eyes watching her with anticipation. You felt for him, the two of you really weren’t all that different. Sure, he’d gotten to hook up with Carter plenty of times, his crush not totally unrequited, but she’d never given him what he really wanted. At the end of the day, you were just two people who were really good at loving people who didn’t love you back. Still, you knew in your heart of hearts that Carter did love him back, even if she wouldn’t admit it. Maybe you would never get your dream, but you could make sure that two people you cared about got theirs, and that might be the only thing that made this all worth it.

You planned it out quick, knowing Carter was seconds from asking you to ride with her so you wouldn’t be with Tom, and also knowing that what she really wanted was an afternoon alone with Topper.

“I told Kelce I’d ride with him,” you blurted out.

“Did you?” Carter asked skeptically, trying to figure you out.

“Yeah, I think he’s still worried I’m mad at him,” you made up off the top of your head. “Thought I’d throw him a bone.”

Carter watched you the whole time she boarded the back of Topper’s jet ski, telling him to wait up so they didn’t leave you alone. Tom and Sabrina didn’t seem to care about leaving you, speeding off the second they climbed on their jet ski, Sabrina’s over-the-top shrieks echoing through the air.

“That bother you?” Topper asked when he caught you scowling in their direction.

“Actually, I’m thinking they might be made for each other,” you concluded.

“So you’re not, like, into him?” Topper asked hopefully.

“Not anymore. That ship sailed so quick,” you snorted.

“Ah,” he tried to play it cool, “good to know.”

“Don’t get any fucking ideas,” Carter warned him.

“I didn’t say anything!” He insisted.

“You don’t have to, you have zero poker face,” Carter said. “No Tom does not equal yes Rafe.”

“I’m just saying it’s good to know. Am I not allowed to know things?”

You rolled your eyes at their bickering, less than surprised they were having this conversation right in front of you.

“Y’know, you guys can just take off, I’ll be fine waiting for Kelce,” you offered, desperate to move this conversation about your love life out to sea and away from you.

“Right, Kelce,” Topper nodded. “Kelce is coming.”

“Why are you being so weird?!” Carter squinted at him.

“I’m not! I just wanna go!” Topper revved the engine of the jet ski.

Carter looked at you one more time, checking that you were okay with this.

“Have fun!” You said to reassure her.

That’s all Topper needed to hear, he hit the throttle and pulled away from the dock as fast as he could. Carter’s laughter filled the air, she grabbed him tight and tucked her chin in the crook of his shoulder as he drove. She was happy, so you were happy. Your whole life, that’s really all it took, and you knew she felt the same way about you.

With that lovely thought, you climbed on the jet ski so you’d be ready to go as soon as Kelce arrived.

⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄

Rafe held the keys a little too tight, Kelce struggling to pry them from his hands.

“You gotta take it easy on the clutch, she’s sensitive.”

“I know how to drive, man,” Kelce wriggled the keys from his grip as he climbed into the driver’s seat of Rafe’s truck.

Rafe stalled by the door for a minute, his feet suddenly feeling very heavy. He looked around the marina, scanning for the group. His heart skipped a beat when he found only you, bobbing in the water on your jet ski all alone.

He’d texted Topper a head’s up that he was coming and asked him to let you know. He didn’t want you to think he was in on Topper’s dumbass scheme to get you two together. If he was gonna do this he was gonna do it right, not try to trick you into it.

Now you were waiting for him, looking so gorgeous with your legs on either side of the seat and your hair blowing gently in the wind.

Usually, he didn’t call girls beautiful, typically opting for hot, or sometimes pretty if he was drunk. But the only word for you right now, and always, was beautiful.

“You gonna let me leave, man?” Kelce asked, gesturing to Rafe’s hands, still clutching the handle of the door.

“Yeah, sorry,” Rafe pulled away, wiping his hand against his board shorts when he realized it was clammy, the sight of you making him nervous in a way he had never been before.

“What’s got you so worried? Are you scared of her or something?” Kelce mocked him.

Rafe was surprised that Kelce had actually caught on to who he was looking at, giving him an annoyed eye roll.

“I’m not scared of her,” he defended himself.

“Don’t even worry about it man, I bet she’s still wrapped around your finger.”

Rafe shot Kelce a steely warning look he’d given him a thousand times.

“I’m just saying, you don’t need to worry,” Kelce explained. “You’re the man.”

Kelce was an idiot, and he spent a good ninety percent of their friendship pissing Rafe off, but he always tried to hype Rafe up. Usually he was annoyed by it, but right now, he actually needed it.

You used to talk about him that way, too. Oh, the money he would pay for you to see him in a good light again. He’d swim across this entire bay just to hear one kind word about him coming from your lips.

“Nah, I’m really not,” he shook his head slightly, looking back toward you. “But I think with her I could be.”

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The audacity, the fucking nerve of him to come strolling down the dock looking that good. The sun actually broke through the crowds at his arrival, like he’d bribed the gods. He strolled towards you so casually, his grin easy, like he didn’t know he was the most attractive man you’d ever seen in real life. It pissed you off.

“What are you doing here?” You snapped at him when he reached you.

His grin faltered, like he was the one surprised to see you.

“Didn’t Topper tell you I was coming?” He asked.

“No, of course he didn’t,” you said, finally understanding the reason for Topper’s strangeness earlier.

“I asked him to,” Rafe swore. “I didn’t want to make you think I was trying to-”

“I think I’m just gonna go alone,” you cut him off, turning the key in the engine of the jet ski, desperate to put an ocean between you and him before he said another considerate thing that he’d just undo later. “You can rent your own.”

“No can do,” said the owner, arriving to hand Rafe a lifejacket. “This is our last one. You better take your boyfriend with you, sweetheart.”

You rolled your eyes at the situation and the misogynistic comment.

“He’s not my boyfriend,” you mumbled.

Rafe felt the correction was unnecessary, but you didn’t seem to be in the mood for constructive feedback at the moment.

“Is it cool if I, uh, can I come with you?” He wasn’t walking back down this dock without trying.

“Fine,” you agreed reluctantly. “But I’m driving.”

“Good with me,” he climbed on quickly before you could change your mind.

With a kick that sent you both lurching forward, the jet ski roared as you tightened your hand on the throttle. Instinctually, Rafe’s hands landed on your side, holding you both in place. You only had a second to feel the pads of his fingers clinging to the soft skin of your waist before he pulled them away.

“Shit, sorry,” he said.

The guy on the dock leaned forward to push the jet ski from the dock, redirecting you out toward the bay.

“No, actually you should hold on,” he instructed. “These babies go fast and it’s a little choppy out there today. Take it real easy out of the marina and then you can kick it up when you’re in open water.”

You could feel Rafe’s hands twitch with hesitancy before they rested on your sides again, so lightly you wondered if he was actually touching you at all.

With a push, you drifted out to sea, slowly picking up speed with the turn of the throttle.

“Do you want me to let go?” He asked, leaning in so you could hear him over the roar of the motor.

Somehow, you thought two completely conflicting thoughts at the exact same time:

Yes, now.

and

No, never.

You settled on, “whatever.”

Rafe started to let go, but the jet ski hit the wake of a nearby boat, and you both nearly flew off the seat. His grip tightened protectively, practically pinning your body down. With his strong hands on you so firmly, it felt like you could hit a tidal wave and he’d still have you in his grasp. You needed more of whatever that was.

Your laughter filled the salty air as you purposefully drove you and Rafe over the choppiest patches of the water, hair whipping behind you into his face, and he didn’t even care. He watched you in the side view mirror on the front of the jet ski, memorizing every inch of your smile like he’d never see it again.

“Jesus, are you trying to kill us?” He teased, yelling over the woosh of the wind.

“It’d be a fun way to go!” You yelled back, meeting his eyes in the mirror.

Rafe’s hands still on your waist, you felt him lean in slightly. Even with two lifejackets between you, the proximity of your bodies was electrifying. You could feel his strong thighs on either side of your hips, closing you in everytime you hit a bump, securing you in place. You wondered if he was doing it on purpose or if it was just his instinct, you didn’t know which was hotter.

The water rushed behind you, a foamy wake marking your path as you continued driving as fast as you could. The others must’ve gone a different way out of the marina, because they were nowhere in sight. The sky was darkening slightly, the shift in weather causing most boats to drive the opposite way, back to the docks. But you just kept going, and Rafe didn’t tell you to turn around, both drunk on the adrenaline of the speed and the feeling of each other’s skin.

After a particularly jostling bump, the engine sputtered slightly.

“Fuck, what was that?” You puzzled, turning the throttle harder but gaining no speed.

“Here, you gotta twist it like this,” Rafe’s arms wrapped around you, his hands covering yours as he guided you to turn the throttle in the exact way you just were.

“That’s exactly what I was doing,” you bickered. “It’s not working.”

“Maybe I should drive?”

“It’s not my driving, something’s wrong with the jet ski,” you argued, swatting his hands away.

“Can you just let me try?” He argued back.

“No, you’re making it worse!”

The engine continued to sputter until it cut completely, causing both your bodies to lunge forward as it came to an abrupt halt.

“Rafe what did you do?” You accused him.

“What did I do? You wouldn’t even let me touch it!” He snapped.

You turned the key in the ignition over and over. The jet ski growled a few times but never started back up. Eventually, you gave up with a frustrated huff.

“I think we’re out of gas,” you conceded.

“Well, did you ask the guy if it was filled before you left?” Rafe questioned.

“Oh, so now this is my fault?” You craned your neck to see him, anger in your eyes.

“No, that’s not-”

“I’m so tired of this, Rafe.”

“We’ve only been out here for like a minute.”

“No, not this,” you motioned toward the water, “this,” you motioned between you and him.

“Oh. Me?” He tried and failed to hide his hurt feelings.

“Not you, just, all this back and forth. One second we’re having a good time and the next you’re pulling away or snapping at me. I have fucking whiplash.”

“Are you sure it’s not just from the jet ski?” He attempted a joke, it only half worked.

“How are we gonna get back?” You redirected the conversation before he could see you were smirking.

“A boat will come by,” he said confidently. “We’ll be fine.”

No boats came by in the following minute, or the following five. You sat in tense silence, your previous words still hanging between you. Your head hurt from the wind and trying to figure this man out.

“I’m sorry,” he mumbled, almost inaudible. “I know I’m…difficult.”

You turned your neck, not quite far enough to see him, but enough to let him know you were listening, that he should go on.

“I don’t know how to act around you,” he admitted. “One second I feel like I’ve fucked it up so bad that there’s not even a point in trying to fix it and the next…”

This time, you do turn, twisting your torso so you could look him intently in the eyes, imploring him to say something right for once, begging him not to let you fall off this cliff alone again.

“…you look at me like that,” he almost whispered. “And then I think fuck it, I’d try forever if you let me.”

For the first time ever, he was with you on the way down, finally jumping together.

“Can I?” He asked, voice low.

“Can you what?” you blinked at him slowly, the moment so surreal you worried it wasn’t happening, that you’d wake up in Carter’s bed, all of this day just one long fever dream.

“Fix things…with you?”

“I don’t know.”

It was the most honest answer you could give him.

“Can I try?” His voice broke slightly when he said it, and you could feel the vulnerability leaking through the cracks.

“Yeah,” you gave in.

“I miss you,” he breathed, and your heart felt heavy with longing and resentment at the same time.

“I don’t think you ever really knew me, Rafe,” you said, turning to face forward again, sad eyes scanning the horizon. “You never paid close enough attention.”

He thought over your words, and you could feel that there was something brewing in his mind, a decision he was making. When he finally spoke again, it wasn’t the words you expected.

“What’s your favorite color?”

You couldn’t help the grin that spread across your face as you said, “huh?”

“Just tell me,” he smiled back, even though you weren’t looking, you could hear it in his voice.

You answered him, and he followed that question up with another, and another, and they kept rolling off his tongue and you kept answering, until the strangeness of it faded and the two of you were just talking.

For over an hour, you drifted, leaning forward on the handlebars with your back to him as Rafe asked you questions and listened intently to your long, detailed answers. You were hesitant, just at first. No one had ever let you talk this long without interrupting you. No one had ever wanted so badly to hear what you had to say. He nodded along to everything, responding with thoughtful mhms and carefully worded follow up questions.

After a while, you forgot about the surrealness of it all, where you were, who you were with. It was just you and your old friend, sharing your lives with each other.

I could do this for a long time, you thought, like maybe forever.

Everytime you thought he must be bored by now, he just kept asking, hanging on every word like he was collecting them for some secret project.

“What do you want to do after you graduate?” and “Who’s your closest friend?” and “Are you still into that one band?” and eventually, when he was running low on ideas, “what’s the last movie you saw?”

You laughed.

“What?” He asked with a timidness that squeezed your heart.

“The last movie I saw was the last movie you saw,” you reminded him.

“Oh, right,” he chuckled, but there was an edge to it.

“It’s a good movie, though,” you leaned back toward him a little, trying to pull him from whatever thoughts were causing his spirit to fall. “My favorite.”

He nodded, “Tom did a nice job putting together that little shindig.”

“I guess so,” you said, not sure how to proceed.

“You know he plays football for U of F?” He said. “Or did I guess, before he graduated.”

“No, I didn’t.”

“Yeah, he was All American,” he nodded. You’d give all the money you had for one glimpse of what was going on in his head.

“He’s an impressive guy,” he admitted. “I can see why you’d end up in his room.”

“Rafe, oh my god,” you huffed, standing suddenly. Your body rose above him, his eyes tracking every movement. You swung your leg over the seat, flipping around so you were facing him, sitting back down so you could look him in the eyes when you said, “I didn’t sleep in Tom’s room.”

“Oh.”

It was all he could muster up, his throat going dry from both the embarrassment he felt for being wrong and the sudden proximity of your bodies. He willed himself not to let his eyes travel down to the way your lifejacket was pushing your chest together, or the soft skin of your bare thighs, now spread open in front of him as you straddled the seat. He kept his eyes on yours, the most respectful option, though it didn’t help his speechlessness. The uninterrupted contact with your beautiful irises nearly put him over the edge. He almost hoped no boats would come by after all so he could look into your eyes for hours.

“Is that why you got up and left last night?” You questioned, not missing the way his eyes were trained intensely on yours.

“The floor was uncomfortable,” he mumbled.

“The floor,” you nodded, “the floor was uncomfortable. Got it.”

“You're mad at me again,” he surmised.

“When was I ever not mad at you?”

“I dunno,” he shrugged sarcastically, “somewhere between the movie and your panties hitting the floor.”

You wanted to slap him. And kiss him. He could tell, teasing you with a sideways smirk. You tried to channel the newfound confidence you’d had last night, addicted to the taste of power.

You leaned forward, hands on the leather seat between you, looking up at him with hooded eyes.

“Did you like that?”

“You know I did.”

He responded so fast and his voice was so low you couldn’t tell if he was pissed off or turned on. Either way, he wasn’t fucking around anymore.

“Then why didn’t you stay?”

It felt like that one question held so many questions, and based on the look on his face, you knew he could hear it too. You weren’t just asking about last night, you weren’t just asking why he went to sleep on the couch. You were asking about years of him coming up short, why he’d failed you so many times, why he never, ever seemed to pick you.

“I didn’t know you wanted me to.”

As he said it, the wind kicked up, and the jet ski began to rock even harder as waves rose and fell beneath you. One particularly choppy wave had you tilting a little too far off the seat, and Rafe’s hands landed on your waist again. This time, there was nothing hesitant about it. When you didn’t push him away, his thumb brushed an experimental circle into your skin.

“Do you want me to let go?”

In lieu of answering, your hands came to rest over his. He assumed you were gonna pull them off of you, and for a moment you thought you might too, but then his words echoed in your mind: he didn’t know you wanted him to.

You could do this. You could lean into it and just let it happen. You were supposed to fight it, make him grovel more, make him pay you back for the years you’d waited. It’s what everyone expected. You were only a few hundred yards off shore, but the rest of the world felt lightyears away, and out here, there was nothing stopping you letting him touch you, kiss you, have you. You could just let it happen, and no one would have to know.

But before you could decide if you wanted to, a deep rumble of thunder broke out across the sky.

“Shit,” you jumped.

“We gotta get out of here,” Rafe looked up at the darkening sky nervously.

“But how?”

“How well can you swim?”

That’s how Rafe ended up in the water, gripping the back of the jet ski as the waves rocked it harshly, water splashing up and landing on your feet. You tightened your lifejacket, feeling apprehensive about the whole thing.

“I can just push us if you want to stay on,” Rafe offered.

“No, it’ll go faster if it’s both of us.”

You stepped to the edge, hesitating, wanting to rip the bandaid and just jump in but not wanting to jump too far off and get separated. Your indecision cost you, your foot slipped and you dropped into the water, your leg scraping against the edge of the jet ski as you fell.

Blinded by pain, you reached for Rafe as your head slipped under the surface, but your hands came up empty.

(Chapter 6: part one)

⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄

a/n: please note, the taglist for this series is currently closed. For updates, follow @whytheylosttheirminds-works and turn on notifs 💕

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darnell-la · 5 months ago

Note

perchance..dry humping with logan….pretty please with all the cherries on top

𝗦𝗧𝗔𝗜𝗡 '𝗘𝗠 𝗕𝗔𝗕𝗬

summary: Logan had just became apart of the x men. he’s always been known to flirt with whoever he could, but when y/n came around, he realized she was the only one he wanted to smell like.

warnings: up late, public humping, embarrassed, kissing, submission, dominance, dry orgasm, love confession, etc.

note: we kind of want to write a submissive!logan… tell us what y’all think.

follow our Instagram @ darnell.la so we can start posting random videos, photos, edits, and memes of the people we write about!

———

“Whatcha doin’ down here, bub? It’s like three in the mornin,” Logan made his way into the kitchen. Y/n had jumped from the man’s voice. She wasn’t expecting anyone down here. She wasn’t expecting him down here.

“God — I-I’m just listening to music,” y/n placed her phone down and took her headphones out. She was lying and somehow, Logan knew that. The way she slammed her phone — He couldn’t hold back his smirk.

“Are you sure that’s what you’re up to?” Logan asked as he sat next to y/n with his eyes on her phone. “Yes, I was-“ she tried to lie but she was cut off when Logan snatched her phone.

“Hey!” She yelled and whispered at the man, praying her phone was locked, but it wasn’t. Shit. “Let’s see what we have here,” Logan leaned back in his chair as he clicked the video he assumed she was just watching.

“Why are you watching us train?” Logan asked, already finding whatever she was doing boring. “You’re not even in the video,” he laughed, trying to figure out what it was that she was looking at until he noticed the video was cropped.

It was cropped to show him closer. The man skipped the video and noticed it was almost an hour long of him fighting.

The smirk that grew on his face, raised y/n’s heart rate. She was caught and she had nothing to back her up.

“Now, what made you do this, bub?” Logan slid her phone across the table for her to look at. “If I’m not mistaken, that looks like me — for an hour,” he pointed at himself fight training.

“I-I can't explain,” she said low, so embarrassed that she got caught. How could she get caught? She knew she should’ve stayed in her room.

“I don’t think there’s much to explain, princess. Seems you get off by watching me fight,” Logan was now hunching over, looking at her with his sweet and soft eyes.

She couldn’t look at him. She swore she would pass out if she did.

“You like watching me fight?” Logan asked y/n, a right hand softly touching her thigh. He’s been teasing her ever since he got here. Tonight was the first time he touched her. She was going inside on the inside.

“I know you do, you wanna know why?” He asked, hands getting higher until he stopped under her nightgown. His fingers were grazing her panties. Y/n looked up at the older boy, eyes shy.

“Because I can smell that pretty cunt leak,” his voice was sweet, yet dark. “And you’re always like that. It’s hard walking past you because you’re always so damn wet,” he tease as he rubbed on her clothes heat.

“Logan,” she whispered, not knowing if she wanted him to do this. They’re in the kitchen, so anyone could come down here and see how flustered she is from the way he’s talking and touching her.

“C’mere, bub,” Logan pulled away before patting his lap. Y/n was confused at first, but got the idea and did was she was told. She got up and went to sit, back facing him until he turned her around to sit, facing him.

As soon as she sat down, she felt how hard he was. It felt like actual metal, but she knew a human cock had no bone — So why is he this hard?

“You feel that, princess? Got me like this as soon as I walked in,” he said, making his cock throb through his pajamas. “I-I don’t know if we can do this,” y/n spoke. She’s never been a submissive kind, but he brought it out of her.

“Why not? I’ve liked you ever since I got here. Had to work weeks to make you nervous,” Logan’s hands traveled from her back, down to her ass to grip and pull at.

“We’re in the kitchen, Logan. A-And I don’t think the girls that you talk to will-“ she went to say but he cut her off quickly. “Ah uh — I don’t talk to anyone, bub. They talk to me,” he corrected her.

“I’ve been workin’ hard to impress you. No one else. Who gives a shit if they want me. I don’t want them,” Logan lifted his hand to cup her chin.

“Are you okay with that?” He asked, now using his hand that was on her ass to move her, making her grind on his clothes cock.

The whine that left her mouth, made Logan’s heart skip a beat. She sounds so beautiful.

“C’mon, baby, tell me — Tell me you’re okay with being my pretty girl,” he said, slowly moving his own hips. He kept asking her, wanting her to reply as her mind fogged up.

“O-Okay,” her head fell onto his shoulder. Logan lifted the girl's head back up only to lean in and suck on her neck. He wanted to make sure she knew he was going to claim her.

“Lo,” y/n moaned, now moving her own hips, feeling her cunt throb on him. She was getting hot and her stomach felt funny. Kind of when she masturbated but better.

She’s never grinned at someone, but this felt so good. This felt amazing.

“Always lookin’ so pretty, baby,” Logan said as his hands lifted her nightgown up so he could touch and feel her skin. “T-Thank you,” she stuttered as she looked into the man’s eyes.

Y/n was the first to lean in and taste Logan. He was sweet. He already knew she was sweet, but finding it out for himself was the best feeling.

Y/n’s hips began to speed up as her moans got a bit louder. Logan knew she was near. He couldn’t help but smirk on her lips. She was falling apart right on top of him.

“C-Cumming,” the word was barely heard from the low she was. Her moan was broken as she shook. She’s never had her cunt throb this hard before. She couldn’t stop it.

“Fuck, y/n,” he groaned under his breath as his hips bucked. He swear he wouldn’t cum in his pants. He’s not one of those, but tonight — he was different. Y/n felt wetness grow under him, and she knew it wasn’t her.

She was confused until she looked at the man in front of her. His breathing stuttered, his body twitched and his shaky arm was holding her back into him so she’d be closer to him.

“O-Oh my god, baby — Fuck,” the man caught his breath and calmed down from his high. In his mind, he thought she was emasculated, but when he looked at her needy eyes, he knew she still felt submissive.

“You’re so good, baby,” Logan gave her a peck. “I think I’m in love,” he joked, but they could both tell he wasn’t joking. “I know I am,” y/n said as her hands rested on his shoulders.

Logan felt relief before he smashed his lips on hers, making out with her roughly but softly at the same time. He eventually took her up to his room, not being able to hold back and tell her how he was going to move everything from her room into his.

He didn’t think he wanted her this bad, but after tonight — After she showed how much she liked him back, he needed to keep her around him at all costs. He was in love and she was too.

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bunnis-monsters · 3 months ago

Text

A witch and her werewolf Pt1

Male!Werewolf x Fem!Witch Reader

Bunni’s Monstertober Event

Oct 25th

Oct 19

Oct 26

summary: You meet a lone wolf in the woods, and realize he’s more than you thought.

a/n: this is a reskin of a Kurapika x reader fic I wrote, but never got past the first chapter. If you want a continuation, please comment or send me a Kofi.

WK: 5k+

It was finally spring, a time where flowers bloomed and the snow melted away to reveal all kinds of herbs and plants for the little witch (Name) to gather.

Today she was doing just that, gathering herbs to begin making more potions. Through the winter, her stock of salves and potions had grown smaller and smaller, until she only had a few left.

(Name) had customers that would be coming by any day now to buy her goods, so she was determined to go out and hunt for all the ingredients she would need.

She was a good witch, focusing on healing salves and helping the villagers nearby. It was partially out of the goodness of her heart, and partly because she wanted to keep a good relationship with the townspeople so they didn’t grab their pitchforks and torches to chase her out of town with.

So (Name) grabbed her hat, wearing a thick pair of boots to protect her feet from the thorny vegetation. She was always careful when visiting the forest. After all, there were rumors that many magical beasts made it their home.

Along the path, she spotted small clusters of mint, frowning. “Mint is so invasive, I thought I told the villagers not to plant it in the ground…”

(Name) did her best to dig up and pick what she could, then moved on along the path. Mushrooms, herbs, and pretty rocks all found a new home in her basket. After searching for a while, she wiped the sweat from her brow. ‘Hmm… I should still have some time to go by the lake before I go home… I wonder if anything is growing near the water's edge..?’

(Name) stepped on a branch as she neared the lake, ready to search for aquatic plant life and maybe even find a good spot to go fishing!

But before she could get too close, (Name) heard a loud howl that made her freeze in her tracks. When she turned, she spotted it.

There was a large, golden wolf near the water’s edge, its ears pinned back and snarling. From the water dripping from its furry chin, the witch assumed it had just been drinking from the lake before she interrupted it by making noise.

She was quick to hold up her hands in a sign of surrender, talking in an even voice. “Easy, boy, I’ll go,”

Backing up slowly, (Name) made sure not to meet the wolf’s eyes, though she did notice they were a sparkling shade of scarlet she had never seen before.

The beast huffed, watching her for a moment longer before turning back to drink. Once it did, she broke out in a sprint, her basket held firmly against her chest. (Name) knew the forest wasn’t exactly safe, but she had never encountered a wild animal besides some chipmunks and bunnies.

‘I’ve never seen a wolf with that coloration before…’ (Name) thought, putting away her foraged goods once she arrived home. ‘Maybe it’s an albino or something? But wouldn’t it’s fur be more white then?’

Despite being a little afraid, (Name) couldn’t get her mind off of the wolf she had seen before. It was easily the top predator in the forest, yet it only gave her a warning growl before minding its business again. Was that normal wolf behavior? She had no idea.

‘I’m thinking too much…’ (Name) thought, changing into her pajamas. ‘I need to sleep, or I’ll be late to the coven meeting tomorrow…’

Turning over, (Name) wondered what exactly she would even speak about during the meeting. She wasn’t exactly the most confident witch, often being spoken over or ignored due to her shy nature. No one would think she was the very first apprentice Ania Quell, the head of the very coven (Name) was a part of.

‘I may have been her first apprentice, but I’m definitely not her best. Miles and Gil have me beat for sure…’ she thought, rolling over onto her side to stare out of the window.

Through the gaps in the curtains, she could see the moon shining up above, big and full. It’s light bathed her in a soft glow, and made her feel both rejuvenated and relaxed.

‘It’ll be okay… after all, I have friends there. Everything should… be fine…’

(Name) drifted off to sleep, the last image on her mind before she was taken to slumberland being the golden wolf peering at her with those scarlet eyes.

—————

(Name) packed a small basket full of jams and jellies, humming a tune as she carefully stacked a small jar of syrup on the top. “I know Jill won’t be there today, but Ania loves my jams and jellies. Hopefully I’ll actually have a chance to speak with her…”

Ania, being the head of the coven, was always busy. She was usually stuck talking with several other witches about various topics, or leaving early to conduct business with other covens. Getting the opportunity to talk to her was rare enough, but being able to sit down and have a conversation was nearly impossible, especially these days.

There had recently been several cases of witches and their familiars disappearing, or even familiars turning on their masters and killing them, so Ania was especially busy dealing with the aftermath.

Each witch had a familiar bestowed upon them during a ceremony after becoming a full fledged witch. Some even had two or three, and witches with high status and great power possessed up to 10 familiars.

And there was (Name), with no familiar at all. At the ceremony, the wizard conducting it simply turned her away, saying she was not yet ready to become the master of familiar. Every other witch present had received their lifelong friend, while she went home empty handed.

It was lonely, all on her own. Watching the other witches go about their lives with the help and support of their familiars made her feel awfully… jealous. It wasn’t a feeling she enjoyed harboring, so (Name) tried her best to be positive!

Ania herself had said that it wasn’t unheard of for a witch to not receive their familiar during the bonding ceremony.

“Some witches just haven’t found their match yet, or perhaps they haven’t really found their true selves,” Ania had said after the ceremony, in hopes of comforting (Name).

(Name) huffed, loading her basket onto her broom. “So much for being a late bloomer. It’s been nearly five years since I became a full fledged witch, and still nothing! No familiar, not a cat or owl, not even a frog! Hell, I’d settle for a tarantula at this point!”

She flew over the forest, tilting her head when she spotted a spot of gold walking slowly near the lake. (Name) flew a bit lower, her eyes widening when she spotted the same wolf she’d seen the day before.

This time, it seemed to be walking with a bit of a limp, a small trail of blood behind it. Her heart ached to see an animal in such pain, so she landed a safe distance away from it.

“Hey there, pup.”

The wolf stiffened, quickly turning its head to growl lowly at her. (Name) held up her hands, her broom floating behind her in case she needed a quick escape.

“Woah, easy. You’re hurt, and I can help you if you’ll let me.”

She didn’t know why she was talking to it, but she kept it up. “There’s no need to be afraid, sweetheart. Shh…”

The wolf’s ears flattened against its head, and it began to bare its teeth. (Name) yelped when it began to approach her, jumping on her broom just in time to escape its jaws. It snapped at her broom bristles, but she was thankfully in the air by then and bar away enough from its jaws to not get hurt.

But… the wolf didn’t seem to be trying too hard to chase her. (Name) had a feeling it wasn’t actually attacking her, more so just trying to scare her away.

She frowned as the wolf became a small speck, her heart hurting for the poor thing. (Name) hoped that the poachers that her fellow witches had chased out from the forest years ago weren’t back.

‘I’ll have to talk to Ania about it… if I can talk to her that is.’

—————

(Name) landed in a vast meadow, wild flowers of various kinds softly swaying in the spring breeze. She took a moment to relax, bending down to pick a daily and place it in her basket.

‘Oh, I always forget where the doorway is…’ she thought to herself as she held out the stick end of her broom to feel around. When it bumped off of something solid, she grinned.

“There it is!”

(Name) reached forward and patted the surface until her hand landed on a doorknob. She turned it, and walked forward.

The empty flower field was replaced with a dark forested area, with lampposts leading down a snowy, worn down path. She could see the moon shining down through the canopy, filtered by the thick leaves until only small rays of light were visible.

‘I see the meeting is being hosted in the northern lands this time…’ she thought, pulling her cloak tighter around herself. The northern lands were often cold, even when spring came, snow still covered the land.

Each meeting was hosted in one of the four sectors of the world, North, South, East, and West. The north was her least favorite, due to the cold weather and people. The citizens of the north were often blunt and rude, having to time for warm pleasantries.

(Name) lived in the southern lands, where the weather was always warm and pleasant. Even the most severe winters in the south were not as cold as the northern spring.

She spotted the soft warm glow of a candle shining from a canon window. ‘There it is!’

(Name) opened the cabin door, revealing a bustling meeting hall. Witches all ages and genders walked around, speaking to one another and trading goods.

“(Name)!”

The woman yelped when she was tackled to the floor, knowing instantly who had done it.

“Miles, what did I tell you about jumping on her like some wild animal!?”

“Miles, Gil…” she smiled as she watched Gil drag his friend off of her, pinching his cheek.

“Hi, (Name)! It’s been so long since we’ve gotten to see you!”

She laughed, ruffling their hair. “Yeah, nearly three months. You weren’t able to attend the last few meetings due to Ania’s training, right?”

The two shuddered. “Uh… we’d rather not talk about that.”

(Name) could remember her own training, which would have been way less intense than theirs due to her weaker body. Even so, she collapsed nearly every day from exhaustion, so she could only imagine the horrors they had endured.

“Ah… okay, how about you show me how your training has been coming along then?”

The three sat in an empty room as the two showed her new, complex spells they had learned. Gil was able to summon lightning and use it as a weapon, while Miles was able to harden his body. Both were spells even she couldn’t do.

“Oh wow, you’ve grown so much! Maybe that training was worth it then?”

Gil groaned. “Barely, I didn’t think we were going to survive another day of it.”

“Aww, it wasn’t that b- no, actually it was that bad. But I’m still grateful Ania taught us so well!” Miles replied, giving her a smile.

She gave them both a hug. “I’m proud of you both. You should really come visit me sometime. Spring is here, so you can go play in the forest. There a lake~”

This excited the two, who both enjoyed swimming. “We'll definitely be coming by this summer!”

Before they could speak anymore, they heard a bell chiming. “Oh, we’ll talk later. The meeting is about to start!”

(Name) took her seat near Ania. As her first apprentice, she had to be at Ania’s side for every meeting. That didn’t mean she got Ania’s attention, though. She couldn’t blame her mentor, for she was the leader of this coven.

“Hello, my friends. Our monthly meeting has begun, and I will announce any upcoming events before opening the floor for discussion.”

(Name) looked around the room, unsurprised when she saw multiple witches waiting impatiently for the floor to be open.

It was mostly the same elderly witches that always had some mundane problem… but what was surprising was Ember, one of the fledgling witches that hadn’t yet gotten her familiar, anxiously tapping her well manicured nails against the oak table.

“And with that, the floor is open to discussion.” Ania said after finishing her announcements. Ember was quick to speak up, interrupting an elder.

“Some creature has been lurking in the south, killing my father’s livestock and scaring what it doesn’t eat half to death! It’s some kind of magical beast, I already did the identifying spell and it��s either some type of fae or a…”

She trailed off, her face going pale. Ania raised an eyebrow, folding her arms. “A what, Ember?”

“A… a werewolf.”

The sound of gasps and whispered conversation filled the meeting hall, only silenced when Ania held up her hand to motion for the noise to cease.

“And you’re sure that’s what the spell said?”

Ember nodded, standing up to offer her grimoire. Ania’s eyes scanned it, then she sighed heavily. “I see…”

(Name) frowned deeply, glancing from ember to Ania. She knew that Ember lived only half a day’s walk from her home, meaning if there was a werewolf causing trouble for her, it could potentially move onto (Name).

“As we all know, magical beasts are drawn to witches due to their magical power. This is good when it comes to making friends or getting a familiar, but leads to some… detrimental outcomes when the wrong creature gets attracted. And with the recent uptick in werewolf based attacks, I wouldn’t doubt this has troubled you, Ember.”

Ania stood, walking around the table. “But be that as it may, werewolves are not evil in nature. They are simply beings that are different from us, and can be reasoned with and befriended just like most magical beasts.”

One witch scoffed. “Miss Ania, with all due respect, all witches know werewolves are dangerous beasts that deserve to be put down to keep ourselves safe. I mean, haven’t the last three witch deaths been caused by werewolves?”

Ania scowled. “That’s the kind of attitude that causes entire species to go extinct. A few werewolves have done wrong, yes, but how many humans have killed each other or other creatures? Do we all deserve to die due to the actions of a few individuals?”

The witch who spoke up immediately shrunk into herself, grumbling under her breath. (Name) noticed that several other witches also looked displeased with Ania’s words, but said nothing.

“Ember, I’ll send you home with a spell that will ward off any fae or werewolves. It’s easy, and very effective.”

“Thank you, Ania!”

The woman turned to the rest of the coven. “Now, what else needs to be discussed?”

———————-

“I respect Miss Ania’s opinion, but werewolves are dangerous beasts!”

“I know, right? My friend’s cousin’s aunt’s stepbrother was killed by a werewolf!”

“And I heard that once a werewolf has seen you, it’ll tell its whole pack to come and eat you!”

“Oh that’s not the half of it! I heard-“

(Name) rolled her eyes as she passed by a group of gossiping witches, ushering Gil and Miles away. “Don’t listen to them, I’m sure not a single one of them have ever even seen a werewolf in person.”

“Have you, (Name)?”

(Name) paused when Miles asked her that innocent question, sighing softly. “Yes, once before. It was only for a moment while Ania went to meet with one for a trade. It gave her some of its fur for a potion in exchange for a protection spell.”

“So… it didn’t attack you or Ania?”

“Nope, so don’t listen to those witches. Not one single creature is the exact same as its kin. Some are more peaceful, some are violent, just like with humans. Once people come to accept that, we could possibly form an alliance with the werewolves.”

Gil huffed, digging in her satchel. Once he found what he was looking for, a bag of handmade candy, he swiped it. “Hey, you remembered to bring it!”

“Of course I did, silly. It’s your favorite.”

Gil popped one of the candies into his mouth as they walked, humming in delight. Miles grabbed one too. “Did you get to talk to Ania, (Name)?”

The woman sighed, handing out her jam and syrup to a few witches she traded with. “Not yet, but I hope I’ll be able to catch her before she leaves. You know Ania, she’s always busy.”

“You’re not wrong, but today I have a little bit of time to spare.”

The three jumped when they heard Ania’s voice from behind them. “Ania!”

(Name) jumped into her arms, easily being held up by the seemingly young looking girl. Everyone in the coven knew that Ania was much older than she seemed, but little knew of her immense physical strength.

“Oh, (Name) my dear, you’ve gotten a bit bigger haven't you? It feels like just yesterday I was carrying you home from the orphanage and giving you your first wand.”

“A-Ania! That’s embarrassing…”

The woman laughed, setting (Name) down. “Alright, alright… what is it you wanted to talk about, dear?”

(Name) gave Ania a shy smile, handing her the jams and jellies she brought for her. “I wanted to give you these and ask how the situation with the rogue familiars has been going.”

Ania stiffened, glancing at the two boys before digging. “Come, (Name). Let’s discuss things in private.”

With a wave of her wand, (Name) and Ania were transported to a vacant room. Ania made sure the door was closed before beginning to speak in a hushed voice.

“I didn’t want to scare anyone, so I’ve been keeping some of the information private. But…” she sighed, looking out the window, into the snow. “Every single familiar that attacked their witch was a werewolf.”

(Name)’s blood ran cold at the revelation, her eyes widening as Ania turned to meet her gaze. “Every single one? That’s…”

“Unusual, I know. Werewolves in and of themselves are rare to have as a familiar because they’re reluctant to be bound to a witch… so the fact that each familiar was a werewolf is suspicious.”

“What could be the motive? I find it hard to believe a familiar would just kill its master like that! In all of witch history, I’ve never heard of such a thing.”

Ania opened her own grimoire. “I agree with you, it is hard to believe. But the detection spell pointed to each familiar being a werewolf. We have yet to find and question any of the suspects due to them fleeing the scene once the bond to their master was broken…”

(Name) frowned deeply. “And with what Ember said today, if this news got out, the entire coven will be in hysterics. There will be werewolf hunts and-“

“That’s why they can’t find out. You are the only person outside of my trusted inner circle that knows of this, (Name).”

She looked at Ania, confused. “But why would you tell me, Ania? I’m not as strong or intelligent as others, so why would you give me this information and not someone more qualified?”

Ania smiled at that, chuckling. “That, I cannot say my dear. You are destined for great things, and I just want you to be informed so when it’s time for you to make decisions… you’ll have all the information you need to make the right choice.”

“That’s really cryptic, Ania.”

The older woman only smiled, beckoning her to follow. “Come, I must take my leave. Let’s walk and talk.”

The two continued to chat as they walked towards the entrance of the cabin. “I’ll send you home with a spell, dear. It is quite late in the southerners sector by now, hmm?”

(Name) nodded, grabbing hold of her broom.

“Oh, and (Name)?”

She looked up as Ania raised her wand. “Yes?”

“Kindness and patience is always key.”

With that, she was sent home. She appeared in her cottage, the fire lighting the second she stepped close.

“I wonder what she meant by that…”

———————

(Name) brushed off her dress, staring out into the forest. She really had to go back into the forest to gather supplies… but she was worried she would encounter that wolf again.

With a sigh, she pocketed her wand and carried her broom. They were just there in case she sensed any danger. Unfortunately, she wasn’t great with defensive or attack spells, it was why she took to healing magic and concoctions instead.

But she knew a few illusion spells that may buy her some time to escape… hopefully those would work.

(Name) walked along the work down path, much more alert than usual. She listened for the sounds of the forest, making sure to listen for any branches snapping or leaves rustling.

She was able to make it back to the lake with no problems, sighing in relief. There, she unloaded her jars from her basket and began placing shells, underwater plantlife, and some of the nutrient rich soil to add to her garden.

Unbeknownst to her, she was being watched from a distance, a pair of scarlet eyes following her as she walked along the lake’s edge.

Once she finished, (Name) was surprised to see the wolf with the golden coat standing only a few meters away from her. Although it growled when she moved, it showed no other signs of aggression, only watching her… as if it was curious.

“Hello, again…” (Name) said softly, staying still as it approached. She kept her hand in her pocket on her wand, but began to relax. It only circled her, chuffing when it moved behind her.

She tensed, but relaxed again when it appeared on her left side. It was inspecting her, sniffing her… was that normal behavior for a wild animal?

Its scarlet eyes focused on her, and she noticed it still had that slight limp when it walked. “Are you… injured?”

As if it could understand her, the creature tensed, the fur on its back rising. “Oh, I’m sorry… I didn’t mean to upset you…”

Taking a chance, she slowly reached out her hand to place it on its head. She had a connection with animals, having rehabilitated many woodland creatures. A wolf couldn’t be that different, right?

Well, she was wrong. The beast growled before snapping its jaws at her hand, barely missing her fingers. It then ran away, slower than it usually would be due to its injured paw.

Her heart hurt from the sight. Had it been trying to ask her for help? It was possible the poor thing was someone’s pet that had been let go after learning how hard it was to take care of a wolf. Maybe that’s why it was both comfortable around humans and also weary of them?

(Name) made a decision that day. She would gain that wolf’s trust, and maybe… even make it her familiar.

———————

As the days turned into weeks, (Name) visited the forest every day she could. She saw the wolf often, sometimes from the corner of her eye, and sometimes it came in direct contact with her.

She always sat patiently, letting it come to her. (Name) had learned her lesson, and eventually she was able to sit in silence with the wolf by her side as she did mundane tasks like cleaning out her jars or sewing by the lake.

It had yet to let her touch it, but she didn’t mind. She would get it to trust her… it needed medical attention, more than she thought. It was scrawny, hungry looking, as if it was having trouble hunting by itself.

She started bringing out raw meat from the market and leaving it by the lake for it, and when its condition started to improve slowly, she knew that it was eating.

Once she started feeding it, the wolf began trusting her a great deal more. It now followed her down the pathway when she walked home, a slight sway in its tail.

She was making great progress, and the two seemed to have a mutual trust that neither would hurt the other. Every time she came to the lake, it was waiting there for her. It would eat, then sit nearby as she did what she needed to do, then walked her home. It had become her routine.

That’s why it surprised her when it wasn’t there when she came.

“Pup?”

(Name) called for it, patting her thigh and whistling. Usually it would have come to greet her by now…

The silence in the forest was almost eerie, as if everything was holding its breath. There was no birdsong, no squirrels skittering from tree to tree… just silence.

“Something is wrong…”

It was growing dark, and she was hurrying back as quickly as she could. (Name) had heard from some other forest dwelling witches that when the sounds of the forest stopped, that meant there was a large predator around, something that made the squirrels and birds hide in fear.

Had the wolf gone into hiding too?

She didn’t have to wonder for long. As she neared her cottage, her eyes widened in horror. There were bloodied paw prints leading down the stone path to her front door, and laying on her doorstep was the golden wolf.

It panted loudly, its fur matted with blood. (Name) immediately kneeled at its side, trying to hold back tears. The injured paw was stuck in a bear trap, and it had gashed on its belly and back… as if it had been attacked with a knife…

When it growled at her touch, she simply shushed it. “Shh, shh, I’m here. You came to my home for a reason, right? I can help you…”

Although it still snarled and yelped as she hoisted it into her home with great effort, it made no attempts to sink its teeth into her flesh.

As soon as it was inside, she summoned as many bandages as she could, along with a metal bar to help her pry the bear trap off.

“This is going to hurt, pup. Don’t bite me…”

The wolf laid its head down, as if telling her it trusted her to help. It growled and snarled in pain as she pried open the bear trap. Once its paw was free, she examined the damage.

His paw was barely hanging on… thankfully she focused on healing magic. She was able to reattach his paw and clean the wound, bandaging it before moving onto the gashes on his body.

(Name) collapsed in exhaustion after hours of working on the wolf. Her efforts had paid off, as it was now sleeping peacefully by the fire.

‘At least one of us is able to sleep…’ she thought, rising from the couch to wash the blood from her hands. She exhausted all of her magic saving the wolf’s life, which worried her slightly. That meant if it were to attack for any reason, she wouldn’t be able to defend herself.

After much thought, she realized that even if it wanted to hurt her, it would be unable. The thing couldn’t stand, much less leap out and attack her, so she decided to sleep next to it… just to watch over it, of course… the fact that it was so soft and warm had nothing to do with it…

———————-

(Name) woke up in the early hours of the morning, the sun not even up yet. She could have only been asleep for a few hours, as the fire was still going…

She sat up, yawning and rubbing her eyes… but paused when she took a second look at the fire.

She hasn’t remembered putting that second log in the fireplace… before she slept, she had even cursed herself for not doing so.

(Name) felt a chill run up her spine and immediately turned to see if the wolf was okay… but instead of seeing its beautiful golden fur and large form, she was met with something much smaller hidden under the blanket…

Smaller, but still bigger than her, whatever it was wriggled the second she spoke. “U-um…”

She expected the wolf to perhaps be some kind of magical beast that turned into something smaller when injured to conserve power… and she wasn’t that far off.

When she pulled back the blanket, instead of a furred creature, she came face to face with a handsome… man?

“… hello…”

For finding a man in the place of the injured wolf she saved, (Name) took the situation well. And by well, she screamed and scooted away, wielding her wand.

“W-who are you and what did you do to that wolf!? Are you some kind of poacher? A pervert? A poaching pervert!?”

The person squinted at her, sighing. “No… I’m neither of those… I-“

He winced in pain, whimpering as the blanket fell around him. (Name)’s eyes went wide as she saw the bandages decorating his form, the same ones she had applied to the wolf last night…

The things that finally clued her in were the wolf ears perched atop of his blonde head, and tail limp on his back.

“Y-you’re…”

“A werewolf…” he muttered, his ears flattening against his head. “You… helped me, and… I understand if you no longer want to help now that you know what I am. I simply ask that… you let me recover until I am able to move…”

She swallowed, shaking her head. “It doesn’t matter what you are. You’re hurt, and I won’t let you suffer.”

The man looked on in mild shock as she helped him onto the couch. “This should be more comfortable… I’ll need to redo your bandages soon…”

The man watched her work silently. She redressed his wounds with a skill that was uncommon for women in their era. Once she was done, it was only then that her eyes trailed down his torso to look for anything else that she may have missed when his thick fur was in the way…

“Oh.”

Her face warmed, her eyes going wide.

He was completely and utterly nude, barely covering his groin with the blanket. His wolf ear twitched as she turned away, flustered.

‘I forgot, werewolves lose their clothing when they turn…’

For now, she simply covered him with a blanket, too tired to do anything else. With that, she left him to sleep on the couch and headed to bed.

‘What am I going to do? There’s a werewolf on my couch, right after Ember mentioned one eating her livestock. Is it the same one..? Could it… be connected to the familiars going rogue?’

She sighed, pulling the blanket up to her chin. ‘Well, whatever the case is, it’s my responsibility now. I decided to save its life, and I don’t regret it. Once it’s back to full health, I’ll think of what to do…’

With that decided, she drifted off to sleep, exhausted from her long day.

———————

In the living room, the werewolf stared up at the ceiling, his head filled with the images of the events he had been through.

‘I thought they lost my trail… those damn poachers will do anything to complete their collection…’

His heart ached to think of his pack, their coats skinned from their bodies after they were forced to transform and fight each other for their captors’ amusement. It made his blood boil to think of how scared the pups must have been, how the elders must have died comforting them with their final breaths, just for all of their words to mean nothing in the end.

He hated humans and their endless lust for money and power. For years he had avoided human contact, staying in his wolf form and attacked anyone that came near in fear of being hurt again…

That was until he met her.

Even before they officially met, he had been stalking her through the woods for months. At first, he had planned on killing her and taking over her cabin for himself. In his mind, it was only fair. Humans killed and stole from nature every single day, honestly he thought he was doing the world a favor taking one of them out.

But (Name) wasn’t like other humans. Every day, he watched her take only what she needed, and left behind gifts for the fairies and animals. She tended to the wounded creatures and made sure she never overstayed her welcome.

It would be dishonest to say he liked her, but she was the closest thing to tolerable a human could get in his eyes. So when he met her, he found himself unable to hurt her.

Though at first he kept his distance and attempted to bite her if she strayed too close, he never intended to actually hurt her. If he wanted to, he could have easily tore into her throat and feasted on her flesh… but he didn’t.

This human, this girl had become something akin to a friend to him. Despite his hatred for her kind, he couldn’t help following after her and staying by her side. It felt soothing, safe… almost familiar in a way. It reminded him of when he was just a pup and would follow behind his mother while she hunted or gathered ingredients for dinner.

So when he was attacked by the very poachers that killed his family, he escaped with only one thing in mind.

‘I have to find her!’

He followed her scent, barely dragging his wounded hide to her home and collapsing on the front step. He never would have thought that he would trust a human to help him, not after what he had been put through.

Even now, as he laid there powerless and unable to move, his mind was still conflicted. Was this really okay? Could he truly rely on this human to tend to him when he was utterly defenseless?

‘It doesn’t really look like I have much of a choice…’

Winning his trust would not be easy, but if she could… (Name) would gain a loyal companion.

Only time could tell what would become of these two…

—————————

SFW TAGLIST: @sunset-214 @strawberrypoundtown @avalordream @icommitwarcrimes @im-eating-rn @anglingforlevels @kinshenewa @pasteldaze @peachesdabunny @misswonderfrojustice @i8kaeya @lollboogurl @mssmil3y @spicyspicyliving @namjoons-t1ddies @izarosf1833 @zyettemoon1800 @kassandra-hawthorne @vexillum-moeru @imperfectlyperfectprincess1 @binnieonabike @readeryn68 @danielle143 @omglovelylaila @midromiell @toocollectionchaos-universe-blog @hammerhead96-blog @bubblez-blop @snugglyshoji @wanderlustingcastaway @amberexe2 @swasti8854 @an-ever-angry-bi @nenggie @rainejiang @lostsomewhereinthegarden @idkccdfnfz @xrenka @cavern-creature

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chilumi-shipper · 7 months ago

Text

Little Lamb (3)

Kamisato Ayato x Fem!Reader / Wanderer x Fem!Reader / Alhaitham x Fem!Reader x Kaveh

Warnings: Smut, NSFW, Lambgirl!Reader, Dumb and Innocent Reader, Manipulation, Pseudoincest, Size Kink, Overstimulation, Praise, Slight Degradation

Summary: Genshin men fucking innocent little lambgirl you.

Go check out the other boys (Diluc, Kaeya, and Xiao) and (Zhongli, Childe, Albedo, Kazuha, and Thoma).

~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~

Kamisato Ayato

His parents took you in when you were both just little kids.

The young Ayato's curiosity about you began the very moment you entered the estate with a confused look on your face.

"Ayato, this is Y/N. She really needs our help." His mother was gentle when she introduced you to him.

His mother said to him in a soft voice, she spoke about how you were a poor, helpless girl that they rescued from Kairagi Samurais who were planning to sell you because of your extraordinary features.

Young Ayato's hands couldn't help but reach out for your soft and cute ears in fascination, but you backed away before he could feel the fur of your ear on the pads of his fingers.

"Oh, she's a little shy. But I hope you can treat her like a sister." You hid behind his mother, looking at him as he stares at his mother in disbelief.

"Is that understood, my darling?"

His light purple eyes stared at your small form, looking up at him with such innocent and soft eyes.

"I don't want her as my sister." Tears welled up in your eyes as you hear the young boy say those words.

"...Ayato?!" His mother was at a loss for words, she didn't expect such an answer from her well-mannered son.

When you were rescued, you heard all about Ayato and Ayaka, the former was still a baby, but you were told that Ayato was a kind-hearted and polite boy, and that he will surely accept you within his home.

A family is something that you have always wanted.

Ayato knows that. Although... he has never viewed you as a sister, back when he was a child, you somewhat acted like a pet, especially towards his parents. And now, you act like a servant, constantly trying your best to please him in hopes that he starts to view you as family.

That was all you wanted, so for so many years, you have done everything in your power to meet the young lord's expectations.

As you both grow older though, his demands turned... more unusual.

Your tasks are not akin to the ones of a regular servant.

According to him, your tasks are... more of familial matters, something more important.

"I c-can't... I-I can't do it, Ayato..." Your whimper was accompanied by a few sniffles, tears coating your eye as you held your body up on top of him.

He wrapped his hand around his dick, caressing your folds with his tip. "But it would really really make me happy if you ride me, darling." He pouts at you, and you could only look away for that was your greatest weakness.

You were both fully naked, him laying on his bed and you holding yourself up to try and straddle him. However, for the past five minutes, you were only able to get the tip of his cock in before you turn into a whimpering mess.

"But Ayato... It h-hurts." You frowned at him, your ears folding as a sign of your sadness.

He sighs, his hips shooting forward a little to push some of his length into your cunt. "There..." He grunts in your ear, causing an uncontrollable wiggle of your tail that somehow always happens when he does something like that. "Now keep going..."

You felt his hand tighten around your waist, probably due to your pussy immediately clamping down on him despite not even half being pushed in.

After a few seconds, you try again, pushing yourself down on his length to take him in some more.

You cry out only halfway in, looking desperately in his eyes and shaking your head. "No no! Ayato, I can't..."

You just couldn't anymore, normally, he would be the one to do all the work of fucking you. You felt ashamed, not even being able to fulfill his request.

Ayato merely sighed in disappointment, before switching your position so that he was on top of you. Then, he slammed his cock all the way in, making you scream out in euphoria as you cling on to him for dear life.

He breathes heavily as he fucks into you, "When you can finally do what I ask you to do, perhaps... I'll finally acknowledge you as family."

Underneath him, you acquire some new-found determination, next time, you will try your best so that you can finally be a proper Kamisato.

Scaramouche (Wanderer)

Nahida has been hearing the prayer of a certain lamb girl trying to get into the Akademiya. She senses the pure heart and determination within you and decides that she will help you out.

"I know someone that can tutor you so you can pass your entrance exam!"

And that's why you ended up in the home of a grumpy looking scholar with a big hat. You smiled brightly at him, clutching your books to your chest.

"Lesser Lord Kusanali said you're really smart and that you would love to help me!" You looked at him expectantly, not faltering under his intense gaze.

Much to his annoyance, he couldn't possibly go against Nahida, so he opted to sit you down and actually try to teach you.

Quickly did his annoyance grow when he realized that nothing sticks to that brain of yours except food and delusions. You talk all about getting into the Akademiya but you could not even grasp the easiest subject in the entrance exam.

Your first session wasn't the best, you left his home disappointed and Wanderer knew that Nahida would question him about what had happened and why you looked so sad.

For your second session, Nahida gave him an advice: "Why don't you try quizzing her and giving a prize when she gets a question right. Don't put her down with those insults you usually give."

This ultimately sparks an idea in his head.

You were bent over his counter top, your skirt hiked up and your underwear on the ground. You breathe heavily and closed your eyes as he sinks his cock deeper into you.

"Now... which Darshan in the Akademiya specializes in biology, and the study of medicine?" He whispers in your ear, and he almost chuckles as he sees your tail wiggle, which he know at that point means that you know the answer.

"Amurta!" You answered enthusiastically, your legs twitching as he starts to play with your clit with his fingers.

"That's a good girl..." He started to thrust slowly into you as he plays with your clit. You moaned, feeling warm from his rare praise.

It's simple really, nothing is a greater prize for you than receiving praise, feeling good all over. He knows that you would do anything to be called a good girl, to be acknowledged as smart, you have always been submissive like that.

He's been setting up quizzes like these ever since your second session, and it's proven effective, if you get a question correct, he starts to fuck you play with your body the way you like, throwing in a praise to get you going, but if you get it wrong or take too long to answer, you get a spank and most likely get degraded by him. If you pass the quiz, you get to cum and be treated like perfect little princess, if you fail, you get to go home with a red butt and watery eyes.

"What is the name of the border that separates the desert and the rain forest?"

Your blood runs cold, and he notices it immediately. You know that one, but for some reason it's blurry in your mind.

Wall... Wall of... Saa...

Smack. You yelp as you feel a slap land on you clit. He feels you squeeze around him in surprise, making him thrust according to what speed he wants..

"Wall of Samiel." He spits out, roughly pounding into you. "Stupid slut."

"I-I knew that!" You cried, feeling disappointed that you couldn't piece it together in your mind faster. You cling onto the counter as his brutal thrusts shake your whole body.

At the end of that session, you got an 13/20. Could be better but he decides to let you cum that day, as well as fill you up with his own seed before cleaning you up and sending you on your merry way.

"Bye bye, Hat Guy! Tomorrow, I promise you don't have to spank me once!" You waved him goodbye, oblivious to the weirded out stare the people passing by gave you. You merely thought about how many praises you're gonna get tomorrow.

Alhaitham and Kaveh

He really should charge Kaveh twice as much of his rent.

"...and you will be staying in my room with me!" Kaveh exclaimed excitedly as he proudly presented to you his room.

Your eyes lit up at the sight of the well-kept room, everything neatly in place, thought there were some crumpled paper pooling from his desk, and the decor well-chosen for his own preferences.

"Woahhh!"

As your eyes scanned the room, Alhaitham managed to catch your gaze, merely standing on your left with his arms crossed.

"I don't seem to remember allowing someone else to live in my house." He spoke directly to Kaveh, before he focused his eyes on your ears sitting on top of your head. "Or do you plan to excuse her as your 'pet'?"

You hide behind Kaveh, hoping he would jab at the gray-haired man for you.

"This is both our house, I pay the rent too y'know!"

"Barely."

"Whatever, you just don't understand what being kind is." Kaveh grabbed your wrist and pulled you into his room, before shutting the door in Alhaitham's face.

"Ignore that guy... he's just a bitter lonely scholar!" The blonde said the last part particularly loud, intending to let his roommate hear what he said.

You giggled, nodding as you take in the room you'll be sleeping in.

Kaveh isn't coming home tonight. Apparently, he's gonna be spending the entire night at the Akademiya working on a project that he's been neglecting for a month.

That leaves you all alone with the gray-haired man that you fear so much. Though, without Kaveh to rile him up, he's quite nice to you.

He even made dinner for you and him to share.

As you ate, you keep thinking about Kaveh, if he's gonna come home or not. You've never slept alone, and you are quite afraid.

Alhaitham took note of your troubled expression, "Kaveh isn't coming home tonight." He says, and you begin to panic, shaking in your seat.

"I-I can't..." You shake your head, looking down with watery eyes. "Can't sleep... a-alone."

He merely sighs, not wanting to hear the bleats of a panicked lamb in the middle of the night. "Sleep with me then."

...

He didn't expect to see you fully undress yourself after bringing your pillows into his room. "What are you doing?"

You look up at his clothed form, looking at him as if he's the crazy one for not taking off every garment on his body for bed. "Kaveh says that the only way to sleep right is if you sleep fully naked."

You took off your underwear, making Alhaitham sigh, "Did he now...?" His words were laced with skepticism that you were too stupid to notice.

You nod, making your little nest on your side of his bed. "Mhhmh, the air is nice and chilly, and the blanket keeps you warm." You cover yourself with his blanket. "You should listen more to Kaveh, Mr. Alhaitham, he's smart and nice and caring...."

"And stupid..." He muttered under his breath, taking off his top to expose his toned upper half. Despite his suspicion on what exactly happens in the confines of Kaveh's room, he can't exactly deny his intrigue in you, so he indulges.

He rids himself of his clothes, his weight dipping into the cushions as he lays next to you. Under the blanket, the skin of his muscular arm feels the pads of your searching fingers. He turns to you, seeing you already looking at him while your hands finally wrap around his arm.

You look cautiously at him, all while you guide his hand between your legs. "Did Kaveh teach you this too?" Alhaitham looks at you unbothered, letting you place his fingers against your core.

"Yeahh... when I can't sleep... iiih" You squeal out when his fingers start moving to rub your clit. You held onto his wrist, ever so slowly grinding down on his hand.

Alhaitham pries his hand from your hold, making you whimper as you chase after his touch. "How lazy..." He shakes his head, sitting up to position himself above you. "When you go back to his room tomorrow, why don't you show him what I'm gonna teach you."

You look at him curiously, his hand reaches for his cock, holding it at the base and nudging the tip at you clit. He rubs the tip continuously at it, occasionally running through your hole.

You instinctively open your legs wider for him, moaning as you feel wetness pool out of your pussy. "M-Mr. Alhaitham..." Your ears fold, feeling overwhelmed by such a large thing being pressed against your sensitive part.

As he moves to line up his length to your cunt, his tip leaving your clit covered in his precum, he feels the vibration of your shaking tail near your heat.

"Excited?" Alhaitham scoffs at the sight of your hole leaking with cum as he pressed his tip against it.

You nod, a deep blush evident on your face. "M-Mr. Alhaitham... I like this..." You let him know, nodding at your self-realization.

He eases himself inside you, breathing heavily at how you clamp down on him immediately. "Kaveh ought to treat his little pet better, I bet fingers aren't enough to get you off now, huh?"

Feeling how incredibly tight you are, Alhaitham grips your waist for support, pulling you closer to sink himself deeper into you. You flutter around him so sweetly, welcoming his cock with such warmth and pleasure that it has him lost for words.

Soon enough, he pounds away at you, hitting your sweet spot that pushes you to let out some cute little bleats. While you were losing your mind being fucked by his cock, his expression was as if he was reading a book, blank and intense.

While you were tearing up from the pleasure, slurring as you say his name over and over, your body shaking, he rams into you with feverish intensity, so composed and dominant.

It's when he combines his fingers, rubbing at your clit, with his hard thrusts did you finally scream so loud at him. "M-MR. ALHAI.... AHHH." You held desperately onto his wrist, trying to ease of of the pressure off your pussy, but he was relentless.

"Cum with me." He says so stoically, but it remains a command in your ears, even if you don't necessarily know what it means.

You let go of... something... a knot-like feeling in your tummy, and next thing you know, there was something incredibly hot flowing inside you, filling you up with warmth.

Alhaitham pulls out, and you get a glimpse of his softening cock with cum still staining the tip. "Tell your beloved Kaveh that that's how you get a little lamb to sleep." As he mentions it, you feel your eyes droop, tiredness taking over you after that mind numbing orgasm.

"I will, Mr. Alhaitham..."

...

"He did what?"

You merely nodded at his question, pointing at his pants. "Yes, Master Kaveh... with his cock, almost like yours!"

You were sat naked on his bed, nice and ready for bed, and as Kaveh was reaching out for you to initiate your nightly routine, you started to talk about last night.

"I really like what Mr. Alhaitham did, Master Kaveh. He's really good!" You smiled all innocently at him, unaware of the current eruption of emotions in his mind.

"Good, huh?" Kaveh places himself on top of you, pinning your hands on the bed. "That's the last time I'm spending the night at the Akademiya."

He reaches out to kiss at your fluffy ears, just like he knows you love. "Since you loved it so much, why don't I show you how it's really done. I'm sure Alhaitham is to stiff to let you get the full experience."

You feel your tail shake with excitement, and as he noticed it, he smiled, his hand reaching to rub your glistening pussy.

Long story short, Alhaitham hears some bed creaking and loud bleats from a certain lambgirl coming from Kaveh's room for many hours that night.

He's had a chance to think about it...

Perhaps if that cute little lamb would accompany him in his room more often, then he can let Kaveh get away with not paying rent for a couple of weeks.

~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~

Little Lamb in this day and age?!?! (⁠‘⁠◉⁠⌓⁠◉⁠’⁠)

Hahahahah, yeahhh, it's been a while, I hope you enjoyed!

#genshin impact x reader #genshin impact imagines #genshin impact #genshin impact smut #genshin smut #genshin impact ayato #kamisato ayato x reader #genshin x reader #kamisato ayato smut #scaramouche smut #kaveh smut #alhaitham smut #scaramouche x reader #alhaitham x reader #kaveh x reader

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