#still working my way through the requests

[dilf-rot]

Hot Summer - MDNI 18+

TAGS: Wolverine x Reader, Logan Howlett x Reader, Logan has a knot, idc if wolverines are not a canid species I’m doing my best ok, Femme Reader, Friends to lovers sort of deal, Mentions of rut / heat, maybe a little feral?, also im giving this bitch fangs because he should have them, smut with very little plot, creampie, helping a horny mutant in need, PinV, oral (fem receiving) ((for like 1 moment)), marking / hickeys / scratching, this is literally just smut with minimal plot

WORD COUNT: 2560

A/N: Hey, remember when I asked if you would still love me if I wrote Logan with a knot? Yeah well here it is, may it comfort you in this terrible world <3 

If you enjoy my work consider sending me a tip at https://ko-fi.com/rotwrites  (Not required by any means, writing requests are still free!) 

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The summer at the institute was always a little boring, or even very boring. You were one of the few students who hadn’t made plans and ended up stuck in the mansion, doing mindless tasks and trying to not be bored out of your mind. It was mostly empty, and as you walked the halls, you hardly even noticed the change in atmosphere. It had just been you, Charles, and a few other kids that would pop up every now and then. So, you were rather surprised when you rounded the corner and saw him standing there. 

“Logan,” You call, and he turns to look at you. Your breath catching in your throat as you take in the sight of him, sweaty and a little dirty from whatever he had been doing. “I thought you were out for the summer?”

“Yeah, was. Chuck called me back, gotta fix up some things.” He looks you over, and smiles, the flash of his sharp canines sending flutters right through your stomach. 

“Oh, well it’s good to see you.” You try not to stare, wondering if he has somehow gotten even more alluring in his brief absence. The length of your shorts, and thin fabric of your tank making you feel much more bare now than before. “I’ll let you get back to it,” 

“Thanks, doll. We’ll catch up when I’m done.” Something in his voice feels different, but you try not to focus on it as you head over towards the kitchen. He did look rather good, maybe even more than he usually did. Though you had been trying desperately not to think of him in that way, to preserve one of the few friendships you had built here. But the image of him dripping in sweat, in a dirt stained beater and jeans that were tight in all the right spots. That image would make things harder for sure. The thoughts of his teeth sliding along your neck, his rough hands clinging to your hips. 

You pushed those thoughts down as best as you could and decided you would attempt to read, lounging in the corner of the kitchen, book in hand. Your eyes flicking across the pages, barely absorbing the words, just trying to give yourself a reasonable distraction. You weren’t sure how long you had been doing this before Logan had made his way into the kitchen. 

“Reading?”

“Barely-” you laugh, but are briefly silenced when you look up to see Logan, shirtless. He has his dirty tank in his hand, using it to wipe the sweat from his brow. It wasn’t even that hot out for the season, and yet he was somehow soaked in sweat. You couldn’t imagine the work Charles had him doing to be that strenuous. 

“Oh yeah? Something on your mind?” He loops the fabric of the tank through one of his belt loops and walks over to the fridge. 

“Uh-” You can’t help the way your mind practically goes blank as you watch him. He’s taken a beer from the very back of the fridge and popped the cap off on the edge of the counter, hopefully he hadn’t chipped it or that would be another thing to add to his list of repairs. 

“You want one?” He references the drink in his hand, you nod and stand up from your chair. Whatever book you were reading was quickly forgotten and left on the floor. You stand next to him leaning against the counter as he opens the beer for you and hands it to you. He must’ve bought them and hid them in the back of the fridge whenever he had gotten back to the mansion, cause you couldn’t recall seeing any in there for the past few months. 

As you take the beer from him your fingers brush against his, and as if he had been shocked he flinches. His eyes are dark as he looks down at you. He grits his teeth and tries to regain his composure, but you can tell something is going on. You step closer to him, your hip almost touching him. He leans down towards you, as if he was going to tell you a secret.

You want to turn your face towards his, to swallow him up in a kiss, to beg him to tell you what he was thinking. But as he moves closer to you, you find yourself paralyzed.

“You smell good,” he breathes in, his face inches away from your neck.

“So do you…” You turn your head to avoid his gaze. He smells better than usual. Something about the smell of sunshine, dirt, and whatever sawdust or debris had been falling onto him made you want to reach out and grab him, but before you could, he corners you. Your back against the counter, his hands finding your hips and effortlessly lifting you on top of the counter. He presses himself against you. You're caged in by his large arms, the muscles taut and glistening.

His face against your neck, his teeth almost brushing against your skin. His rough fingers digging into your hips. The fabric of his jeans rubbing up against your thighs, now wet from his sweat and your sudden excitement.

“Logan-” you whine, practically trembling, and he seems to remember himself.

“Sorry, doll.” He steps back and looks you over, a devious glint in his eye. Without another word he is gone from the kitchen. You are unsure of what to do, or what even was happening but eventually follow him.

He has resigned himself to his room, and you can hear him pacing back and forth behind the door. You knock gently and the sounds stop. He opens the door just a crack, he seems even sweatier and disheveled from when he had found you in the kitchen. His eyes piercing and intense, his pupils blown wide, his breath slow and shaky. 

“Logan, are you alright?”

He grunts in response, shaking his head. 

“What’s wrong?” 

He looks you over, and opens the door wider. You step inside and he quickly shuts the door. He looks even wilder than he had in the kitchen, still shirtless, only in his jeans. Which you try not to make note of the very large and obvious bulge in the crotch. His hair is messy and disheveled, you imagine he had been running his hands through it as he was pacing around.

“Logan?” You walk towards him and he makes a strangled sound. “Are you feeling ok?”

When he turns towards you, your heart races and your breath catches in your throat. He looks so pathetic. Rendered down to some poor animalistic creature. He walks slowly towards you, and when he is a mere step away he grabs your hands and pins them up above you, your back pressed against the door. 

“You should go,” He growls into your ear as he brushes his nose against your jaw. “Too dangerous for you to be in here.”

“Why? You’re not gonna hurt me,” You lean into his touch, resting your head against his.

“Might,” He drops your wrists and tries to step away, but you follow. Keeping the gap between you as small as possible. He groans as you run your hands along his arms, trying to be gentle and encouraging so that he may tell you what’s going on. Before you can ask, he takes one of your hands and slides it underneath the waistband of his pants. 

Your eyes widened as you feel the weight and heat of his cock in your hand. You curiously push your hand down more and feel a swollen bulb at the base of it. Oh. 

Oh. 

Now you understood. You had at some points wondered just how animalistic his mutation was, but now you got it. Late summer was a rather common breeding season for a variety of mammals and it seems as if Logan was one of them. 

“Let me help you,” You slide your fingers up the length of him, tracing the prominent vein on the underneath of the shaft.

“Don’t think that’s a good idea,” He shudders as you wrap your fingers around his cock.

“Why not?” You smile up at him, and you feel him straining to not thrust up into your hand.

“You might regret it.”

“I don’t think so,” you lean up so that your lips are nearly brushing his, and his restrain snaps.

He closes the distance and practically devours you, kissing you rough and desperately. 

It was as if a fire had been reignited within him and he could do nothing to put it out. His hands grasping and clawing at you, wrapping his arms around your waist and squeezing you tight against him. His lips leaving frenzied kisses against your jaw and neck, his teeth grazing the soft skin and his tongue soothing the small marks left in their wake.

He lifted you easily, dragging the both of you towards the bed where he tossed you down against the mess of sheets and pillows. His hands running along the curvature of your body, as if removing himself from you would cause him great pain. His face was wild, that of a crazed man who finally had found whatever he had been searching for.

You were utterly breathless and your heart beat rang in your ears loud as could be. He makes quick work of your clothes, tossing them off somewhere, his hands hardly leaving your body for more than a few seconds. He drags himself away from you for just long enough to find himself kneeling in front of you, pulling you down to the edge of the bed, your legs resting on his shoulders, his head between them, looking up towards you with the most pathetically hungry expression you could have ever imagined.

“You’re sure doll?” His voice is strained and rough. 

You nod, your hands finding their way to tangle in his hair to softly encourage him to continue. He growls and presses his lips to your inner thigh, kissing the soft skin and taking the flesh into his mouth to nibble and bite at. Trailing up and down the length of each thigh, relishing in the small whines and moans leaving your mouth as he decorates your delicate skin with marks. Feeling satisfied that you were now his in this moment, he brings his attention to the aching spot between your thighs, dragging his tongue up through your folds to lap and suck upon your clit. The feeling electric and mind numbing. He slides his tongue along your clit in sloppy circular motions, sucking it in gently, generating small whimpers from you. He growls as he hungrily slurps you up, his patience growing thin as he becomes entirely enveloped in your scent. 

He pulls away from you, a small whine leaving your lips as you sit up and rest on your elbows to watch him. He quickly kicks off his pants, and you gasp when you see him. The tip of his cock is red with need and practically dripping. You feel a bit more intimidated now as you stare wide-eyed at the bulb throbbing at the base of his cock. You could only pray that it would fit. 

Logan smirks and hovers over you, caging you in with his large arms. “Having some regrets, princess?”

“No,” you lift your hips up to shamelessly rub yourself against his erection and he groans. One hand moving down your body to roughly grab your hip pushing you down into the mattress. He slides his cock between your wetness, your breath hitching when the head of his cock bumps against your clit. Your arousal coating him, the slick wet noises make your head spin. 

“Please,” You whine. He presses the tip against your entrance and you try to lift your hips closer to him, begging for it to slide inside. Your breath hitching when it finally does. He moves painfully slow, the drag of his cock slowly stretching you out. A sort of burning rising in your stomach as you strain to be closer to him.

“So desperate,” He huffs, wrapping an arm around you and holding you close against him as he bottoms out. Your whines make his heart ache. “I’ve got you princess, I’m right here.”

You claw at his shoulders, his arms, his back, anything you can reach. The knot at the base of his cock pressing into you, you feel like you could break. Heat spreading over your entire body. You can’t get close enough. You want him to devour you. To take what he needs and worry about you later, but he’s being so gentle that it makes your eyes water. 

His pace stays slow, once he feels you relax, he pulls himself back before pressing in again. Slow, deliberate, patient. He watches your face as you try to play tough, acting like you can handle it despite your trembling. When you flutter around him and a broken moan falls from your mouth he falters.

“I don’t think I can be gentle for much longer,” He whispers against your neck, kissing right below your ear.

“So don’t be,” your whimper flips a switch in him. He would have preferred your first time together to be different than this, to be softer and sweeter. To be kinder to you. But when you beg to help him, and try to take him so good, he can’t help himself. 

He barely hesitates before his pace quickens, and the sheer force of his movements is enough to make your brain fuzzy and dumb. The headboard smacking into the wall with every rough movement, the bed frame creaking beneath you. You’d feel bad about all the noise if you were in any position to feel anything other than Logan ruthlessly fucking you. 

His cock stretches you in such a way that each thrust presses against that sweet spot inside you. The knot at the base pressing against your clit. The slap of it sends little waves of pleasure throughout your body. His pace hardly falters, as you grip onto his arms, your legs tightly wrapped around his waist, desperately trying to take it. To help him through it. Wanting him to use you and be satiated. 

“Fuck, that’s a good girl,” he groans as he feels you tighten around him. You tremble and whine, shaking as your orgasm takes over and you can hardly think of anything as his motions begin to falter too. 

He shudders as he pumps into you, his ruthless pace being diminished into small quick thrusts. You groan as you feel the knot slip in, and he cums. You feel so utterly full as more and more cum is spilled into you. So much so that it’s dripping down onto the mattress beneath you. Your eyes rolling back in your head, and you can feel drool leaking from your open mouth. Your body feeling limp, you can hardly manage to keep your eyes open and steady enough to look at Logan. He seems hardly affected. 

“We’re gonna be here a while, Doll. Don’t get tired on me already,” Logan grins, pressing his lips against your neck and you shudder as you feel his sharp canines graze the sensitive skin.

At least the rest of your summer would be far from boring. 

[hereforthehitsbaby]

prompt: hugh is your sugar daddy and he just bought you a new dress to wear at a movie premiere after party, but he cant resist wanting to take it off of you (also ur writings are fantastic 🩷)

Don’t I Look So Pretty? | Sugar Daddy!Hugh Jackman x F!Reader

Warnings: Sugar Daddy, Age Gap (Reader is in their late 20’s – Hugh is 56) Secretive Relationship, Heavy Make Out, Hugh is Touchy Feely, Mentions of Smut, Mentions of Divorce, Choking, Biting, Thigh Riding, Slight Pain Kink,

Rating: M – No Minors

Word Count: 4.1k

Author’s Note: Thank you so much for being my first ever High request! I was on the fence about doing RPF but you know what? I cannot pass up Sugar Daddy Hugh like that! Also I 100% spaced on the fact that you said after party and just wrote the premiere. I hope that was okay!

To be tagged in any future work of mine, please fill this out.

How did you get so lucky? That was the age-old question in your mind. How did you go from working a 9-5 office job directly after getting your Masters, to now being a sugar baby? It still surprised you, knowing this was your life. A small studio apartment turned into a lavish penthouse. Your car that barely turned on anymore got upgraded to a brand-new Aston Martin; You’ve never driven it though – why would you if you have a private driver now? How you went from living and working independently to being a princess in less than a few months boggled your mind, but you wouldn’t trade it in for the world. You were happy, for the first time in a long time.

Meeting Hugh Jackman was luck of the draw. You never realized how close your old job was to his home in the city, nor to his favorite coffee shop downtown. That was your solace after long days and dreaded mornings; Extra strong coffee and a bagel was your go-to. Seeing him each time meant that your day was going to be okay, his tender smile and short but sweet conversations got you through your week. It first started off as your favorites being already paid for, not having to waste your own dime anymore. Then it was your parking lot fees being comped, gas being prepaid, food constantly being delivered – all the way up to your rent being paid in full for four months. That is when things took a turn, Hugh didn’t just chat you up to keep your company in the mornings, this time around he was setting terms. Falling into the roll of his sugar baby came so naturally, it was hard to know anything else. You felt bliss, complete happiness knowing you didn’t have to go back to your boring office job. You didn’t have to appease people who truly wanted to use you as a stepping stool for their own success, you could be free from the bullshit of it all. You never looked back, and you never would. Everything you needed was in front of you, and you wanted to keep it that way.

A year of being Hugh’s sugar baby was everything you wanted, and everything he needed. Though this was the first time he had ever asked you to come to a movie premiere with him. It was hush-hush, especially after the divorce he went through. Hugh didn’t take you on as his sugar baby for sexual reasons, but more for companionship. You both were lonely, seeking a connection and why not do it with someone who made you two feel comfortable. As time went on though, those fleeting touches and longing stares burned right through you. Ryan always said it was a match made; He could see through the charade. So here you sit in your closet, at your vanity getting your makeup done. Staring into the mirror while your personal glam team dolls you up, you reminisced about how things have been for the last year, how much happier you are, how deeply you fell in love with Hugh. Not that you’d ever admit it to him, what you had now was good. You didn’t want to ruin that.

“Alright gorgeous, you are set.” Your makeup artist smiled as your hair stylist finished up with the hairspray. Looking up into the mirror, you were taken aback by the image in front of you. You knew you were pretty, beautiful even but right now? You look ethereal. There was a glow on your face not even the makeup could cover up, the way your eyes shined like you were blissfully happy with life. You looked like a painting, nothing seemed real but a perfect portrait of a girl in love. Tears welled in the corner of your eyes as you took yourself in, gasping lowly as your makeup artist set his chin on your shoulder, smiling with you. “Those heart eyes are all you, babe. He’s going to drop to his knees when he sees you.” You couldn’t help but feel the heat creeping up your neck to fan over your cheeks, your body shivering at his words. “I hope, I really hope.” You smiled small into the mirror, heart hammering as you thought of Hugh.

Before you could even begin to silently ponder the reaction he would have to you, a line of giggles fluttered in from the open closet door, humming ensuing as the blonde bun came back in sight. “Special delivery for a special girl,” your hair stylist laughed as she held the box in her hands. You cocked a brow as you spun around in your chair, flicking a silent what in her direction before looking at her hands. An ivory box with a gentle purple ribbon tied in a bow sat in her palms, causing your heart to swell. Biting your glossed lip, you took the box slowly from her hands, seeing a little envelope with your name written out tucked beneath. As you placed the box on your lap, you reached out to run your fingers across the ink, feeling how your fingers shook with anticipation. Gently you grasped the corner of the envelope, opening the back with a quick flick of your finger before pulling the card out.

I couldn’t stop thinking about you when I saw this. I knew I needed to see you in it. Can’t wait to see my pretty girl tonight. Having you by my side is going to feel so right.

Yours, Hugh xx

If you had any doubts before, you knew now that no matter what, Hugh was going to be obsessed with you. It never crossed your mind that he was going to buy you a dress for tonight, much less get it wrapped and ready to go. Especially on such short notice, it was the little actions he did that made you love him even more. Holding the sweet note to your chest, you swooned softly as you let your free hand work the box open, seeing the pearlescent tissue paper covering your dress. Your hair stylist didn’t waste a moment to help you out, lifting the paper back so you could see what Hugh had picked. A deep sapphire blue dress, with little beads twisting to mimic vines across the bodice of the dress, all the way down well passed the hips. The sweetheart neckline perfectly complimented the sheer long sleeves that came down to your wrist.

As your makeup artist and hair stylist grabbed the dress out for you, holding it up, you noticed the deep slit up to the middle of your thigh, causing your breathing to become labored. It was stunning, truly a beauty you have never seen before. Hugh has bought you so many lavish pieces of jewelry, purses, dresses, but nothing ever so you. This didn’t feel like something perfectly curated to fit what you wanted, but something that you would’ve made yourself. Something you would’ve dreamed of wearing. The small notion that he saw this and thought of you made you want to cry – it was too sweet for you to begin. Quickly your makeup artist came over to fan your face, making sure no tears fell over his hard work. That simple action had you laughing away the emotion welling up within you, making it hard to overthink.

A couple face fanning and strategically helping you into the dress so your hair nor makeup go ruined, finally you were in your dress. It felt right against you, like truly it belonged to you, was curated for you, was meant to be for you only. Now as you stand in front of the full length mirror staring at yourself, you felt like you. The way the color complimented not just your figure, but your skin color was the best. You felt like a goddess, you felt like an angel on Earth. You felt powerful, enough to take down an entire empire. Chewing on the inside of your cheek, you took a deep breath as you smiled, ready to show Hugh what he had really bought for you. Your glamour team rubbed your arm and back as you began to walk out of the closet, giving you that extra boost you may need.

Thankfully living with Hugh made it so much easier to surprise him, not having to walk down a grand staircase or even stand outside of the door. Simply you could walk out of the closet, into your bedroom, and right into the living room where he was standing. His back was facing you as his front faced the fireplace, a hand pressed against the mantle as his other nursed a glass of water. In this moment you didn’t have to say anything or move an inch. Hugh could feel that you were behind him, he could smell your perfume and instantly felt his body run hot. He longed for you, each and every day. Though you two weren’t intimate, it didn’t stop the deep connection you developed with each other. Having that emotional connection was perfect, even if a physical one didn’t happen. Being a sugar daddy was new to him too; Ryan told him not to fall in love but, with you he couldn’t help it.

Slowly Hugh turned around from his position, his eyes unfocused behind his glasses. From his fuzzy vision he could make out the color of your dress, and knew he wasn’t going to be able to handle this. As his vision came back into focus, Hugh sucked a breath in, eyes dilating at what he was seeing. Starting at your face, he let his eyes wander over your features, taking in your beauty from a few steps away. He was wondering how the hell he got so lucky, how he had the fortune of existing at the same time as you, you were everything to him. Slowly his eyes careened down to your neck, ghosting over your chest and down your front. Each flick of his gaze caused your body to grow warm, the slick between your thighs growing more and more. Once his eyes fell upon the generous slit in your dress, once emerald eyes turned obsidian. His facial features never moved, they stayed in their frozen state as his eyes flicked back to you, his mouth agape.

“Woah,” Hugh breathed out, his heart pounding in his chest. You couldn’t stop yourself from giggling, biting your lip as you slowly made your way to him. The strawberry vanilla lotion you had used wafted through his nostrils, mixed with your perfume made him feral. It was then you noticed how his tie matched the color of your dress, causing you to feel warm and fuzzy. The little details like that made it special for you, made this relationship feel not monetary – but real. “That bad, huh?” You snorted out, running your fingers down the collar of his blazer as your eyes remained on his. You could see there was something more brewing beneath his gaze, but he wasn’t showing – he was shutting it out for his own sake. Hugh laid his hands on your lips as he looked deep into your eyes, smiling like a man obsessed. “You look perfect. I knew this dress was made for you.”

Hearing him say that made your smile turn wide, leaning forth to give him a small kiss on the cheek as you let your breath waft over his ear. “Thank you for this, Hugh. That was too kind. You’re too sweet.” They were the best set of words you could string together; Under his stare this time around, you couldn’t think coherently. The energy between the two of you had shifted – once full of pink and purple lights now swam in dark reds and emerald. It was thick, not suffocating but held you both in. You felt your body pushing against his without even thinking about it, Hugh could feel it too. Bringing his hand up to caress your jaw, his eyes fell to your lips, enraptured by the color chosen to compliment the dress. “Anything for my baby. You ready?” He smiled, his eyes never leaving your mouth. Nodding against his hand, you moved your head slightly to the side as you kissed his palm, holding your other hand against his chest. “As I’ll ever be.”

That was all Hugh needed to hear to grab your hand, bringing the back up to his lips as he let his kiss linger. Taking your hand into his, you both made your way out to the town car with his driver, making your way to the premiere.

-----

Everything that you could’ve possibly thought a red carpet for a premiere could be, you got to experience. It was a blur of lights and yelling but it was magical. Seeing how the cast latched onto Hugh and his excellence made your heart grow fond. Seeing how many of his friends came out to support him warmed your insides. Tonight was about him and his amazing performance, to be tagging along with him to experience this was a dream come true. Though you didn’t want the full red-carpet experience; Seeing the plethora of lights and cameras shuttering made you feel lightheaded. Instead, you made your way over his Hugh’s assistant, falling right behind him in step as he made his way around to interviews with Hugh. This was your choice at the end of the day, Hugh was okay with what made you feel safe, but a part of him wishes he could’ve had you on the carpet with him, showing off his girl.

Everything flew by in the snap of your fingers, interviews and pictures were completely done with now as you two made it into the packed theater. The complimentary concessions stand was buzzing to life with all the celebrities wanting a snack, the chatter gradually got quieter as people started to make their way to their seats. You could feel your nerves on edge as you looked around. Hugh leaned closer to you as he laced his arm your waist, holding you to him as he ran his thumb over the dress. Turning your face up to look at him, you could see that his brows were pulled together. He looked upset, worried even as his eyes panned around the room. It was something you have never see Hugh do before, and you wondered what was the matter. “You okay, Hugh?” You asked as you held him close, placing your lips near his shoulder

Your words seemed to have broken him out of his internal thoughts, causing him to come back into reality. “Hm? Oh yeah, I’m great!” He chimed, leaning down to lay a kiss on your temple. It felt staged, artificial. Was he nervous about all the people? About bringing you along? Was he not wanting to see someone? Too many questions placated your mind as you tried to read Hugh’s expression. You could see a small glimmer of pain in his eyes as he searched the room, his breathing become harsh. Rubbing your hand along his lower back, you placed your hip against his, leaning as close as you possibly could so only he could hear you. “You sure? You look distracted.” You knew he was, and you were silently hoping he would tell you why, but alas he looked down at you with a blank stare, trying to mask how he was feeling. “I’m okay, my darling.”

Nodding up at Hugh, you gave him a small smile as you looked back at the crowd. It was then that you heard a small gasp of success from Hugh’s lips, not giving you time to ask what was going on. Hugh was a man on a mission, and wasn’t going to stop until he got what he wanted. His hand wrapped to yours tightly, tugging you through the theater. As you pushed your way through the line Hugh had made for you, you couldn’t help but let out a small laugh at his eagerness. Hugh wasn’t upset but he was excited for something, of which you could not tell. But the way he looked back at you made your skin alight in adoration, his eyes sparkling with something more than like. You felt your body run hot as he stared at you, pulling you closer. Rounding the corner near the theater entrances, Hugh noted the light blue door at the end of the hall, humming out as he started to sprint with you.

Gathering the skirt of your dress in your free hand, you made good pace with Hugh as he led you to the door. Pushing it open with ease, you were met with the brightly lit interior of the bathroom, causing you to squint slightly. The bright light threw you off your balance as Hugh fully pulled you into the bathroom, maneuvering your body while you tried to adjust to the light. As your eyes finally focused, you felt your back being pressed up against the bathroom door, locking it with a harsh click. Hugh had both of your wrists clasped into his hands, holding them strictly above your head. Your eyes went wide at the action, staring into his blackened ones, your breathing labored in comparison to his easy one. “Hugh! What-“ You yelped out, but were cut short by Hugh shaking his head. His salt and peppered beard ran over your cheek as he tucked his head down, his breath sliding across your neck. “Sshh, don’t talk. Don’t talk.”

You obeyed his command as you whimpered, letting your eyes fall closed naturally at the feeling of him pressed against you. Hugh pulled his head back from your neck as he stared down at you, bringing his left hand down to grab at your chin, pointing your face up towards him. You could see the feral nature wanting to slip out and play with you, wanting to add physical contact to your relationship. You could see how Hugh was fighting it back with each breath, the small line teetering the deeper you gazed. You didn’t want just an emotional connection anymore, you wanted to make good on your job of sugar baby, giving Hugh exactly what he needs. He could see that in your eyes as well, the conflict of whether it would be a good idea. Tonight was a night of firsts, why not add that to the menu? A slight whimper left Hugh’s mouth as you pressed your breasts to him, leaning forth to nip at his bottom lip. “Earlier you asked me if I was okay. I lied, I’m not okay.” He sounded as if he was in pain, causing a wave of arousal to slip through your lower lips.

You felt your mind going hazy at the lack of space you two had, adding to the tension you wanted to slice with a knife. “W-What’s up?” It came out more as a moan than a sincere question, and you felt Hugh’s reserve slipping away. A chuckle of arousal slipped from his parted lips as he slid his left hand from your chin, to your neck. The action itself made your body sing, your eyes rolling back as he pushed. He was holding you hard enough so you couldn’t move, but not hard enough to where you couldn’t breathe. Instead, his thumb and first finger found your pulse point, pushing down to restrict the blood flow to your head, making your sight go fuzzy. “Fuck it,” Hugh let out with a growl. There was not enough time to respond before he pressed his mouth to yours, invading your senses.

Time stopped in that moment, slowing down enough to fully take in this moment. The first kiss of your relationship with Hugh, something you two have been wanting so bad over the last year. The floodgates had broken in this moment, letting you two embark on this voyage of discovery. His lips slotting against yours like he was made for you, how your mouth formed perfectly to his. The simple flicks of your tongue against his ignited the fire from within, causing you to burn to ash and be born anew. You struggled against Hugh’s grasp, wanting nothing more than to hold him close to you, feel every ridge of his body under your palms, to feel his burning passion. As if he had read your mind, Hugh had let your hands go, deepening the kiss. A sultry moan slipped past your parted lips as he licked into your mouth, letting him swallow it down.

Your hands slid down as he released his grasp, finding purchase on his hips. Letting your left-hand maneuver upwards, you tangled your fingers into Hugh hair at the base of his neck, giving the roots a soft tug. A growl escapes his lips and pours into your mouth; His right hand working its way under the slit of your dress to hold your plush thigh. The tantalizing touch of his calloused fingers against your baren skin made you want to scream in pleasure, to let this man ravish you all across the world. Hugh pulled back, panting like an animal as he gripped at your neck tighter, his touch shaking. “I can’t stop thinking about stripping you out of this dress.” Hugh sounded like he was in pain, a primal sound you have never heard him make. He sounded like a man possessed, the only cure was to make you scream his name.

A moan slipped out of his mouth as his hand slipped between your legs, feeling how sopping your cunt was at making out with him. Feeling his fingers slide against your panties made your knees buckle. Hugh stuck his knee between your thighs to hold you up, burying his face into your neck. “God, I fucking need you baby. I can’t do this any longer.” Hearing his desperate he was for you made you feel powerful, your hand gripping his hair tighter as he ravishes your neck. Hugh’s lips latched on roughly to the skin of your throat, suckling against the sweet scent of you. His knee on the other hand, slid back and forth against you, letting your erect clit nudge the soft fabric. Everything was too much, every feeling was too much, yet you didn’t want any of it to stop.

Grinding yourself down against his thigh, Hugh took that as an opportunity to bite into your neck, not hard enough to break skin but enough to mark what’s his. That was enough to send you over the edge, digging your nails into the back of his neck as you tossed your head back against the door. Against your core thigh you could feel Hugh growing harder, silently begging to make him cum. The mere size of him shocked you, knowing he would give you a good stretch if you tried. Just the thought was enough to put you on edge, his words aiding in your arousal. “If I’m not inside of you in the next two seconds, I might pass out.” You couldn’t take it anymore, you were sweating like a bitch in heat. You needed Hugh, and needed him now. You needed to feel him inside of you, to mark you, show everyone that you are his. “Would you-“ You began, not able to finish as Hugh pulls his face back from your neck.

“Yes.” How quickly he responded made you laugh, which in turn caused Hugh to roughly press his knee against your clothed clit, sending a wave of arousal through your body. Never tearing your eyes away from his, you licked your glossed lips sensually, putting on your best innocent eyes you could muster as you spoke. “You didn’t let me-“ Hugh had heard enough to know what you meant, because he needed the exact same from you. Hugh brought his face up inches from yours, pecking your lips slightly as he groaned out, your hand gripping his erect cock through his slacks. “Would you like to go home and let me worship you? Yes, I would baby.”

-----

Taglist: @anamiad00msday @coowayeoo @craziersarah98 @tezooks @pedroscurls @logansbaby

[veganthranduil]

(This is a slightly re-worked version of my 2021 Terror Camp talk on the subject. You can request access to past recordings via the TC email.)

In a show full of unapologetic imperialists, Harry Goodsir, beautiful cinnamon roll (too good for this world, too pure), is often exempted from the scrutiny that other characters are subjected to, based on his ‘innocent’ nature and his good intentions. I argue that precisely these characteristics that are most formative for his imperialism, but that his imperialism is not legible to us because it is the same form of imperialism we* still practise today. As the character who seems most modern to us because he is, in many ways, quite liberal, he serves as a prime audience surrogate to excuse, and to question our excuses of this imperialism.

We may think of empire as an unapologetic entity, too large to deny its own existence. The fact of its violence is all-encompassing. In the eyes of those who suffer from under it, the empire cannot be ignored—but there are also those who depend on its invisibility for the functioning of their world. This is a story about how the empire hides itself from itself, through the story it tells about itself.

The origins of empires fall together with the historical emergence of liberalism in the 18th century. Mehta (1999, p. 194) writes on this co-emergence:

“It is tempting to see the triumph of liberalism and the concurrent extension of the empire as either discontinuous facts that do not relate to each other or as plainly contradicting each other, and therefore casting doubt on the authenticity of the former. The thesis of discontinuity misunderstands the role of liberalism generally, and especially in this period. From its very inception in the seventeenth century, liberalism had been much more than a mere political doctrine with a local reach. By the early nineteenth century and with added vigor through the course of it, it was a robust mindset with a confidence in its global vision. This liberalism did not mysteriously get transformed into some demonic urge to rule the world the instant the British ventured beyond their shores. [...] liberalism and empire were tightly braided threads such that their separation would have resulted in the fraying of a well-woven mental and political tapestry.”

At the same time, liberalism, in its elaborations as a theory, is at odds with many aspects of empire. Liberalism, on the one hand, relies on the resources and globalisation provided through colonisation. On the other hand, the liberal tradition purports that its values—individual self-determination, basic rights, democracy, or tolerance—hold the world over. These liberal values extend rights that the empire violates and denies. This is not to say that liberalism has not also served as the argument in struggles of liberation and for rights. The language of liberalism can be used to challenge liberalism and demand inclusion, just as the language of liberalism can be used to dismantle it. Suffragists successfully did the former. The globally resurgent radical right is succeeding in a strategy of normalisation that is achieving the latter. What I am saying is that within liberalism, which is caught between needing the empire for its political survival and being at odds with the fact of empire in its moral system, there is a particular rhetorical trick that hides the empire from liberal eyes. Even today, we western liberal subjects deflect when it comes to the existence of this connection.

I use Jeanne Morefield’s concept of “imperial deflections” (Morefield, 2014). She defines an imperial deflection as “drawing critical attention away from the liberal empire’s illiberalism by insisting upon its fundamental character.” It’s a bit like a magic trick: showing you the card by acknowledging the empire’s illiberal acts, and then drawing the attention away from it. Morefield examines British liberal thinkers around WWI and US liberal thinkers post 9/11 to show how the liberal justifications of empire are surprisingly similar in both instances. In both pre-WWI Britain and post 9/11 America, liberals insist it is impossible for them to act illiberally—because they have always been liberal, because they are at heart liberal, or because the long arc of history bends towards a liberal society in both cases. It is these deflections we can see Goodsir employ in the show, at different times, and with different degrees of success.

Goodsir as an Audience Surrogate

At numerous junctures in the show, we are encouraged to view the world we are presented with through Goodsir’s eyes. He, like the viewer, has never been to the Arctic, and approaches it with a sense of wonder. The audience is encouraged to empathise with him through small moments that endear him to us (such as when he insists that he, too, can haul the boat-sledge in 1x02 and promptly falls over, inexperienced at hauling as he is.) In episode 1x02 Goodsir as a viewpoint character also becomes explicit when we hear his testimony after what happened to Lieutenant Gore. Although all members of the sledge party are interviewed offscreen, it is his point of view that we hear and believe, and that helps us makes sense of what we just saw happen. The fact that the captains interviewing him are sceptical of his account just solidifies putting the audience in his corner.

What most solidifies Goodsir as an audience surrogate, however, is his ideology and therefore his position in the show as a “modern” character. My argument is that it’s precisely Goodsir’s liberalism that allows us to identify with him.

Goodsir as a Liberal Subject

Goodsir’s role as a scientist (an anatomist first, and then also a doctor) position him closest to Post-Enlightenment liberal ideas about scientific progress, rationality, and also a new form of masculinity. Goodsir is a decidedly “modern” character, especially when contrasted with other characters: Goodsir is less set in his ways than most of them. While describing the bear prints, for example, the captains are dismissive of his description while Goodsir is sceptical but not dismissive of the idea that the bear could have tracked them to the ship. (He is, of course, very set in other ways, for example in his total embrace of class hierarchies.) He is also positioned in contrast to Stanley’s overt racism when Stanley refuses to perform surgery on Silna’s father.**

Goodsir’s approach to life is informed by his belief in science. We are given little hints throughout the show that approaching things from a detached, scientific angle gives him comfort. When David Young dies, Goodsir is distressed, but the first thing he does is check Young’s pulse. Similarly, he can perform Young’s autopsy only after covering his face, reducing him from “person” to “body.” His account of Gore’s killing, likewise, is focussed on the observable details and reads more like a scientific report than a report from a man who witnessed a traumatic event.

This rationality and distance from emotion is also indicative of an alternative masculinity. The show contrasts Goodsir’s liberal masculinity with the more familiar “male warrior” masculinity of the sailors that surround him. In episode 1x03, Goodsir’s demand of an escort back to the ships is played for a laugh, though immediately undercut when the Tuunbaq does attack the hunting blind, leaving him the character with the more realistic risk assessment. Goodsir embodies an alternative hegemonic masculinity: a liberal masculinity that expresses itself not in outbursts of aggression but in a distancing from emotion. When Goodsir seeks to test his lead poisoning theory, for example, he entices Jacko with gentle words to eat from the food he suspects to be poisonous. He is aware that—should his theory be correct—he is killing the monkey. We are reminded of his gentle words to David Young and realise, perhaps, that his gentleness is not backed up with a deep concern for the person/animal he speaks to. In both cases, the knowledge that can be extracted from dead bodies supersedes sentimentality. Neither masculinity, one might extrapolate from that, offers a way out of the predicament these men find themselves in. Neither can serve as the basis of a new kind of living with each other.

Goodsir’s Liberal Deflections of Empire

Goodsir’s character is an interesting case of nominative determinism. There obviously was a historical Harry Goodsir, but this is not the man we are looking at. We are looking at the fictional “good sir” who was, at first glance, written as the only good man among imperialists. At second glance, however, his name itself becomes an imperial deflection. While other characters make their investment in empire clear from the beginning, Goodsir’s is perhaps harder to spot. Sir John has already failed at one imperial endeavour and is adamant to prove himself. Fitzjames’s stories illustrate that he has no qualms with the mission of empire. But at various points in the show, Goodsir is seen to express discomfort with the logic of action that imperialism dictates. He wants to save Silna’s father (even though he ends up making things worse for him and the crew in the long run.) He expresses discomfort at the treatment of the body of Silna’s father, while he himself tries to be respectful of Inuit customs (though, once again, making things worse by burying his charms with him.) When Francis wants to ask Silna how to kill the Tuunbaq, Goodsir does not translate the question, perhaps out of a sense that “these matters are quite private in her culture.” It is because of this discomfort that Goodsir becomes the prime apologist of empire. The other characters do not feel like they have anything to be sorry for, and therefore do not need to invent justifications. Goodsir employs these justifications at various moments in the show, but two instances stand out for their similarity in phrasing and context, and the differing extent to which Goodsir believes them.

The first instance of an imperial deflection is when Goodsir brings supper to Silna. She has just been kidnapped by Hickey, Hartnell and Manson. When Goodsir introduces himself to Silna, he has a first moment of realization of the meaning and scope of empire and his place in it. He explains their purpose (“For our economy. For trade.”) and seems to have a moment of self-awareness that those are neither good reasons for dying nor for killing. A moment later he points at himself, hoping to introduce himself. “Goodsir,” he says, which is both his name and also an insistence that while the policies that brought him here may be flawed, the men sent to die were good men, not deserving of the scorn we direct at them for the imperial policy they carry out. “This is not how Englishmen act,” he says, despite evidence to the contrary that Englishmen have, in fact, just acted this way. This is the first instance of a textbook liberal deflection: insisting on the character over the actions of empire. What does it matter for Silna that he means well? The helplessness is emphasised by the abrupt ending of the episode after Goodsir’s desperate introduction.

The second time Goodsir insists on the character of Empire over its actions is in quite a different context. A hunting party has just massacred an Inuit family, people that Silna knew, and now Silna is being exiled from Terror Camp. Goodsir knows that it’s safer for her to go, but selfishly wants her to stay. He feels for her, and perhaps feels he must offer some sort of apology for the behaviour of his co-nationals. Then he tells her: “I wish you could come to England and see for yourself. It’s not like we are here. People there are good.” Once again, he insists on the fundamental character—the “English” character—of the empire that exculpates them from the crimes they commit abroad. But even in the speaking, he appears to realise the futility of this deflection. This second deflection is followed by a word spoken in Inuktitut for which no translation is provided.*** Silna reacts with a small smile and a nod of her head. The choice not to subtitle or translate Goodsir’s last word to Silna can be read in various ways, but it remains first and foremost a place to which we—the liberal audience at home—cannot follow Goodsir, who has been our surrogate up to this point, implying perhaps that he has taken a step that we have yet to take in confronting our own imperialism.

Both of Goodsir’s deflections follow violence done to Silna (or threatened against her.) In the first instance, it’s her kidnapping by Hickey and his associates for which Goodsir first apologises, then makes excuses; in the second instance it’s the violence that will be done to her should she return to Terror Camp, as well as the violence done to other Inuit. In both cases, it’s Goodsir’s job to draw attention away from the liberal empire’s illiberal actions by insisting on its liberal character. The extent to which he succeeds—or fails—opens up these liberal deflections of empire for us. Goodsir is not an uncritical liberal audience surrogate. I watched The Terror for the first time during the March 2020 lockdown, and hearing “For our economy. For trade.” hit hard for me as a person living under a capitalist system where economic necessity is continuously valued over human life. Goodsir realises, in justifying, the hollowness of some of his justifications, even as he fervently holds on to others.

Goodsir stays alive long enough to witness all the ways that Englishmen may act, and is made to participate in them. His disillusionment with his co-nationals at the end is nearly complete. But his commitment to liberalism, I would argue, remains.

In the end, Goodsir returns to science. His final vision is that of the beauty that no doubt inspired his career, the wonder that he told Crozier he still feels. But it’s also a vision that remains within the ordered boundaries of the liberal empire: the specimens are foreground on a white background, they are separated from nature, standing contextless and only for themselves. Goodsir’s final vision is that of the liberal imperial project, realised.

* When I write “we,” I am, of course, aware that not everyone reading this falls under the umbrella of Western liberal subjects that this “we” assumes. Like Goodsir as an audience surrogate, this “we” hopes to function as a mirror of reflection for our own deflections of empire. I do not understand myself as a “liberal,” certainly not in the sense that most US-Americans use the term. I see liberalism as the bedrock of how we do politics in the 21st century. In that sense, we are all “liberals.” From the position of someone who is a “liberal,” as a subject of a liberal democracy, I do not exempt myself from the category of people that has, at various points in their lives, made excuses for empire, knowingly or unknowingly. These rhetorical strategies, so ingrained in how we talk about who we are, make it all-too-easy to fall into the trap of convincing ourselves that there is something redeemable at the heart of our empires. We must make these strategies explicit to recognise their falsity.

** Stanley’s refusal did not come out of an assessment of the futility of the procedure, which might have spared Silna’s father further suffering. In that sense, both Goodsir (in his belief that his knowledge can save the man) and Stanley (in his racist refusal of medical aid) fail Silna and her father, because neither of them centre the well-being of the man.

*** I am aware that you can find this translation in many metas written about it. Do not come into my comments to tell me what it means. I looked it up.

Bibliography

Bell, D., 2014. What is Liberalism. Political Theory 42, 682–715.

Hooper, C., 2001. Masculinities in International Relations, in: Manly States: Masculinities, International Relations, and Gender Politics. Columbia University Press, New York, pp. 79–116.

Mehta, U.S., 1999. Liberalism and Empire. A Study in Nineteenth-Century British Liberal Thought. University of Chicago Press, Chicago and London.

Morefield, J., 2014. Empires Without Imperialism: Anglo-American Decline and the Politics of Deflection. Oxford University Press, Oxford.

[stars-tonight]

SLEEPY SHENANIGANS (FT. ANAKIN SKYWALKER)

synopsis: anakin skywalker always needs something to hold on to when he sleeps, and that something is you! fluff, pre-established relationship

word count: 443

anakin was generally a nice person to sleep next to. he was warm and brought a sense of security to you, even when both of you were comfortably off in dreamland. he always, always, always slept with you in his arms, and he’d never go to sleep if you weren’t right next to him, even if it meant he had to flick his own forehead to stay awake. when he sleeps, there’s a little crease in his eyebrows; his lips are slightly parted, and he either bear-hugs you from the back or clings onto your arm like a koala. it’s adorable. usually. when it’s summertime, it’s a different story.

“ani,” you whisper-groan, after waking up for what feels like the third time just tonight. “let’s sleep separately, please? just for tonight? it’s so hot.”

he’s still happily snoring away, so you try to wriggle away from his grasp. at your movement, anakin lets out a small whine, arms snaking around your waist to pull you back next to him comfortably. he lets out a satisfied little sigh, air puffing through his lips in a short exhale, and you can’t help but feel your will disappear. he’s still asleep, but anakin has been through years of strength training, so there’s no way you can force your way out of his grasp. and right now, you don’t really want to anymore anyway.

there’s no more cool spots on your pillow, and anakin’s skin is definitely not an option. you try to maneuver yourself into a comfortable position, feeling your pajamas stick to your skin with a sheer layer of sweat. you let out an uncomfortable sigh, wiping the perspiration off your forehead.

you look up at anakin. his facial muscles are twitching slightly--he must be dreaming. you reach up and brush some hair out of his face, and his face relaxes almost immediately. he pulls you even closer, tucking you safely into his warmth. even while asleep--especially while asleep--he clings to you as if he’s afraid you won’t be next to him when he wakes up.

you lean your head on anakin’s chest. the stifling heat is inescapable, and you might as well embrace that. besides, it’s not often anakin has a peaceful night of sleep, and it’s starting to look like this night will be one of those rare but highly treasured ones. you lean up and quickly press a kiss to anakin’s nose, before wrapping your arms around his waist, fully accepting the fact that you will wake up with your legs tangled and sweat glistening on your faces. and with that, you fall asleep listening to the sound of your lover’s heartbeat.

A/N: hey everyone! i’ve honestly been in quite a slump recently, a concussion and writer’s block is not a great combination. (it's been almost three weeks since i wrote anything. . .) so here’s a quick star wars fic--my first, hopefully of many!--i whipped up today. i promise promise promise i am working on requests and matchups. they will get done, i promise, and i’m so sorry for the wait

[yaut-jaknowit]

I really love "The Wrong Secret to Hold". Can I request the yautja in that fic ? He and reader are just enjoying their day and reader is an artist and Ahtaal(?) is very intrigued of readers creativity.

An Artist's Touch

Character: Ahtaal (Male Yautja) x GN!Reader

Summary: As an artist, a talent not many Yautjas possess, you are seen commodity like no other. There are few humans on Yautja Prime. Let one's that are under the empress's protection. Being different, you strayed away from the palace with her permission to stay in a town far in the world. Ahtaal's town. He's intrigued to see someone make something out of nothing.

Author Note: This is what I wish my life to be. I want to be resting on Yautja Prime, sketch book in hand, and just enjoying the deadly nature. Gods, I wish!

Masterlist

Ao3

Underneath an awning that offered plenty of shade a pencil and sketch were hand. Despite the credits you hold, you’ve found a spot within a tribe that resides in temperate area on Yautja Prime. It’s small. Less than fifty Yautjas are strewn across the territory, But it was perfect for yourself along the clan. They accepted you due to your talent.

Creating art. Murals painted on walls in important Yautjas houses. Including the empress all the way in Kov. She tried to offer you all the riches to stay at her palace. But, your wanted to explore, see the planet from a deep, inside look. Being inside the empress’s palace, practically trapped, offered you none of that. A city filled with Yautjas. What you wanted to see was the outside world. How they hunt, how they think. It made the murals you created come to life.

A morning dew softened the air that would soon turn hot. This area was considered temperate to them. To a human, it was far too hot for you to stand directly in the sunlight. The suns themselves would turn your skin red in less than five minutes. A planet that wasn’t meant your kind. That didn’t stop you from being out in a designated spot that had been crafted just for you.

The thatch on top plenty thick to prevent a single strand of sunlight from slipping through. You were sitting on a plush bean bag like chair. It was soft and body conforming. The furs used to cover it came from a creature you couldn’t even try to say the name. But their fur was so soft, it felt like being on a cloud. You enjoyed the calmness that floated through the air. The sketch book and pencil in your hand is all you needed for the morning.

Nearly silent footfalls had you picking up your head and finding a familiar red figure walking into the shade. A bright smile graced your features. “Ahtaal,” you greeted. The strong male strolled up to the foot of the plush seat you’ve taken and gazed down at you. “What do I owe to be graced with your presence?”

After picking a tribe to live with, Ahtaal had made a blood oath to the empress to ensure your safety. Though humans and Yautjas are an uncommon sight to see, you were one of the very few to be allowed to live freely. There were no ifs, ands, or buts to your presences amongst the Yautjas. Your talented hands ensured you had a place. The empress gracing you sanctum anywhere on the planet. Here you choose to be, of all places. But the face of Ahtaal was one you’d never pass up on.

The lumbering giant squats down in front of you and peers over the edge of the book. “I see you working away on another project,” he explained, eyes curiously running over the sketch you’ve started. Another commission for an ancient somewhere on the planet. Maybe she was up north? You let the book fall flat on your lap. Your artwork wasn’t something you hid, let alone from him.

The sketch book is turned around to face Ahtaal. “Yep, someone up north I think commissioned me. Got some more credits in the pockets.” Even as someone protected by the empress, you still liked to work for your own money. There was plenty you had since you had little to spend it on. No clothes, food, shelter, or supplies. It was just there so when anyone commissioned you, they could pay for your work. Though, gifts were another way for them pay you. There are a few trinkets you enjoyed happily every since you got them.

Carefully, Ahtaal ran just the side of his sharp claw over the pages. He traced over some of the darker, more permanent lines that marked what you truly had in mind. A deep hum rumbled from his throat. The male focused on what you’ve created on paper. A talent he will never possess, no matter how many times you egg him in.

“What do they ask for?” he questioned and brought his bright eyes up to yours. The contrast was stark. Calm, soft verses fierce, predatory. He wished there was a way to capture the beautiful color of your irises and color it somewhere in his dwelling.

The way they brightened at the question. “That snarly beast that reminds me of a carnivore looking horse that lives near the north pole.” The hairs on your arm raised at the thought of the creature. It was beyond ugly and terrifying at the same time. It looked completely unnatural when you try to give it a logical look to it with earth creatures in mind.

Ahtaal snorted, mandibles twitching with a few slow nods. Then, his gaze drops back down to the sketch book. The pages were nearly full. A constant thing for yourself.

For such an advanced species… their entertainment was limited to mainly hunting. As a human that can’t participate in such a thing, you have limited ways of filling the time. You wield pencils, not swords.

“Is this your last sketch book?” Ahtaal was responsible for your wellbeing. That includes taking care of all needs and wants under the order of the empress. But, it wasn’t only just because he was under oath.

The hand on your book lifted off. A sharp, black ended talon tipped your chin back up to meet his intense stare. You licked at your suddenly dry lips and swallowed hard. You felt mushy. “I-uh…” you cleared your throat. “Uh, yeah, it is.” Your heart stuttered in your chest while gazing into his eyes. If only you could look into them all day.

“Then, I shall go get more when time permits. I cannot have my little ooman without paper to draw on,” he grunted. The back of his shiny claw was dragged across your jawline, all the way up to your ear. With a swipe, it left your skin. More goosebumps rose across the skin on your arms. “Will you survive until tomorrow for me to get more?”

Your throat was dry. His words had soared over your head. All you were able to focus on was his gentle, mind consuming touch. You melted.

When you found your voice, you speak in a tiny voice. “Yeah.” How could one person reduce you to a school girl in front of her crush? You gnawed on your bottom lip and pulled on the skin harshly. Blood painted your tastebuds.

Red finger grasped your chin and lightly jerked down on it. “Don’t,” he warned and stopped you from mutilating your lip again. You licked at the new wound, unable to look away from his eyes. Ahtaal swipes over the moisten skin with his thumb. You weren’t able to stop yourself from licking at the deadly, pointed claw that tipped the end of his finger.

All the muscles in his body tensed up in the same manner as your own. You couldn’t believe you had just done that. It had only been a thought. Yet, apparently, your body had a different thought of its own.

At first, your mouth opened and closed. Your brain couldn’t figure out a way to make up an excuse for the stupidity you had just pulled. “Shit, I-I didn’t… Fuck, why did I do that?” you whined to yourself and pulled away.

Except, Ahtaal tightened his grip on your chin and tugged you in closer. Your lips were parted, eyes wide as you looked up at him. Stars sparkling in them. Something changed within his gaze. A darker, heavier tint to the usually light colored irises.

“You… play a dangerous game, little ooman,” he growled out and emphasized his point by tugging you an inch closer to him. The warmth of his breath fanned over your face. “And I don’t know if you know what you’re getting yourself into.” You wettened your lips again. A habit hard to break. His eyes darted down to watch the action then seemed to soften. Like a whine was on the tip of his tongue.

Everything he said… Your heart continued to thunder loudly in its cavern. You swallowed hard and raised a hand to just touch at the column of his throat. The scales soft under your touch. A vulnerable place for any creature. Ahtaal lets you freely run your finger pads from his jaw down the front to where his collarbones meet.

The texture of his scales weren’t like anything you’ve felt before. Tough in a fight. You let your dull nails to trace a pattern through the spaces of the scales. Your hand continuously moving even if the two of your don’t look away.

“And what if… I do know,” you whispered just loud enough for him to hear. The surrounding space didn’t need to listen in on your conversation. “What if I want to play this game?”

A deep bellow vibrated throughout his chest. The tone so low you felt it more than heard it. You whimpered. Goosebumps covered your forearms. His eyes darkened. “Are you sure? Are you willing to let me have that power?” To hand over your power to him is a huge sign of trust. Let alone to someone who wasn’t event he same species.

“Yes,” is all you needed to say. Ahtaal towered over you, body leaning over your curled up form. His hand had shifted down to your fragile throat. Just enough pressure, just a flick of wrist and you would be nothing but a memory. Your eyes drifted close. Everything you were doing made the Yautja go wild. Every sign of submission to him. You, someone of high talent, was allowing to take that power from you.

Ahtaal growled from the back of his throat. His thumb ran along the pulse point on your throat, feeling the way it rapidly fluttered just under the skin. “Such a delicate thing under my hand. You are letting me have this.” You only gave a subtle nod, not wanting to move too much. The moment was thick with tension yet soft like clouds. You didn’t want to break a thing.

“Oh little ooman,” he cooed in a husky voice. Your eyes gently open to find him still so close to you with a low whine. His hand drifted up to cup your cheek. The large, dark red male leaned in to press his forehead to yours. “Mine?”

More of a question rather than a statement.

A smile graced your features. “Yes.” An artist and their hunter.

He finds himself scooping you off of the lounge chair and up into his arms. A surprised yelp escapes you as you clung to his neck. The sketch book and pencil you once held fell to the ground with a subtle thump. Ahtaal takes your seat and sets you down in his lap. You glared at him with no real heat in your eyes then leaned over his knees to grab at your fallen supplies.

“Well, good sir, I could’ve moved all by myself you asked,” you huffed. One of your hands was able to pick up the items off of the ground. As you go to sit back up, Ahtaal hooks an arm around your midsection and pulls you flush with his chest. The things in your grasp nearly fall back to the ground. You whipped your head to the side and narrowed your eyes on him.

All he did was chuckle from deep within his chest. The tension in the air has passed now. The soft clouds were the only thing left in their wake.  

His arm flexed around your torso and kept your lower back snug to his stomach. You could only wiggle without a chance of escape. “Ahtaal, at least let me get into a more comfortable position then this.” Ahtaal listened to you. You gave him a pointed look before twisting into a position that you were able to still draw in.

Only your butt was planted firmly in his lap. You lounged sideways and used the side of the cushion to keep yourself slightly upright. Just enough to have the book on your lower thighs and draw. You peer up at Ahtaal with a pointed look that turned into a soft smile. The expression on his face was at ease, relaxed, and gentle with the sight of you.

Ahtaal placed a hand on your knee and rubbed his thumb against your skin. “How’s this?” he purred in a tone that made you want to smack him. Somehow, you refrained from fulling such a thought. Instead, you scoffed and started back on the project in hand. Ahtaal watched an artist at work, amazed the way you create something out of nothing.

[halfwayhearted]

hey i was wondering if i could request a pau cubarsí x reader. maybe one where he gets jealous of a guy hitting on the reader or talking to her at the balon d’or? thank you, i love you and your work ♥️

Love Between… — Pau Cubarsí.

Pairing: Pau Cubarsí x Fem!Reader

Summary: In which you make it clear Pau is all you want.

Word Count: 530+

Disclaimer/s — Guy, just comfort/fluff really!

A/N: The summary lowk doesn’t even fit but whatever I guess. First of all, thank you so much??? I love you :3 This was beautiful. I hate this but I don’t at the same time, soooo. Soz.

Smoothing down the hem of your dress with your free hand, you stood close to Pau, whose pinky was still, to your surprise, interlocked with yours.

It wasn’t anything stressful. He knew what he was doing and you were just there. Pau and his tendency to be attentive was something you’d grown to love. Then, suddenly, “There’s Lamine!”

At the sound of your quiet voice, the boy looks down at you before looking up, meeting the gaze of his friend you had just pointed out. “I’ll say hi to him later. Are you thirsty? I’m sure they’ll have water bottles around here somewhere,” he says.

“I’m okay. Go talk to him—I’ll be fine. I’ll manage.”

“I don’t know…” he drawls. “Do you want to come with me? He’ll want to talk to you. You can, I don’t know, maybe congratulate him or something.”

Rolling your eyes at his insistence, you poke his arm. “Pau, please, have your moment with him.”

“I—okay! Okay. I’ll… be back before you know it.”

While he walks away, the Yamal boy starts talking to him the second he spots him. You see the way your boyfriend’s smile widens when he hands him his trophy. You loved him so much. It was insane.

Before you have the chance to keep your gaze fixated on them, you hear a voice catch your attention. “I’m sorry, excuse me, are you lost?”

“Oh. Oh!” Awkward, okay. Haha. “No, I’m not—”

“‘Cause I can show you around if you’d like. I know this place like the back of my hand, y’know.”

“That’s nice… I’m not lost. Thank you, though!”

His expression drops and he nods, but your answer doesn’t stop him from continuing. How disappointing. “Did you come here alone?”

Can Pau come back? “No, I’m here with my—”

“She’s here with me.” Oh, thank God.

Stiffening, the man purses his lips. “Ah, I see. You two have a good rest of your day and… goodbye.”

Watching him depart, Pau looks over at you and frowns. “Odd of him. What did he want?”

“To know if I was lost,” you answered honestly.

“He was looking at you weirdly. Are you okay?”

“I didn’t see how he looked at me, but I’m fine. He offered to show me around or whatever, I refused. I was about to mention that I was here with my boyfriend—you, and that’s when you stepped in.” You fidgeted with your fingers. “Thank you for that, by the way. He just came out of nowhere.”

“Didn’t he? I left you alone for, like, a second.”

That gets a laugh out of you, and you warmly loop your arm with his. “Have I mentioned how glad I am that you came in when you did? Seriously.”

He smiles and shakes his head. “You haven’t.”

“Well, in that case, I’m glad you came in when you did. So… how about that water! I’m a bit thirsty.”

“Water, okay,” Pau hummed, placing his other hand on your arm. His cheeks flush when you lean into him and begin to walk around in hopes of finding your beverage, that’s if you guys could.

You couldn’t, however, you both pulled through.

Likes, reblogs, and comments are always appreciated ^_^.

DT(s) — @planetpedri + @spidybaby + @sakashq ! ౨ৎ

[vrystalius]

AAAAJAJA I LOVE UOURR BLOGGG AND HOW YOU ENVISION EACH CHARACTERS XDD may I pretty please make a request for angst/fluff hcs on female human reader, who’s very insecure, paired with the upper moon trio and Muzan?Whether it’s about her looks, or that she feels like they don’t genuinely love her (esp since they are demons and she’s a human, so what’s stopping them from leaving/killing her and dating other demons instead(˃̣̣̣̣︿˂̣̣̣̣ )

Insecurity

What stops your demon s/o to get bored of you one day and eat you? What if they’re only pretending to love you? And what will your partner do to fight those insecurities?

Pairing: Kokushibo, Douma, Akaza, Muzan x gn!reader

Kokushibo

He is taking your insecurities very seriously. Kokushibo knows and felt it himself plenty, during both his demon and human years. Despite that, his “comfort” and “reassurance” methods are quite unique. Your husband will not react immediately to your feelings, rather being more quiet and reserved than usual, wich at first makes you doubt yourself even more. Perhaps he is finally realising that he is much better off with another human or even demon… Although you started to notice how Kokushibo was hovering around you more and more. Silently, but he was still there, watching you while you go on with your day. You could be doing some mundane task like cooking yourself a meal and he would be standing behind you, not noticing how intimidating he is being right now.

In his mind, Kokushibo was showing more interest in you. He believed that you felt insecure about him not being around you enough or paying attention to you, instead being out on missions or training. So, now he’s watching you everyday all day, trying to show you through his ways that he cares about you and cherishes you very much. Once he finally notices how he is achieving nothing but making you confused or intimidating, Kokushibo begins to show affection more openly, although it felt forced at first.

His calloused hand would slowly slip into yours, intertwining fingers while he was meditating, or him holding you close to his body while you napped or slept on his chest, spending the precious and scarce nighttime with showering you in affection while you were resting, not even aware about how he was trying to show his love in his own way.

“I’ll stay for the night, I asked that man to give the other Upper Moons any of my remaining missions. I’d rather spend my time with you.”

Kokushibo is silently worrying about not being good enough for you. Although he is Upper Moon One, wouldn’t a human want to marry another human and start a family? What stops you from leaving him? He will not stop or hurt you when you choose to do so, he would completely understand.

Douma

You immediately saw Douma’s face shift into the expression he gives to all his followers once they start speaking about their woes, while you were trying to explain to him how you were feeling. You silenced yourself the second the pity-tinged smile appeared on your face, knowing that he is not listening or acknowledging your feelings in any way. He told you times before how he feels exhausted when listening to his followers whine and cry about their problems while Douma barely cares, giving them the usual advice. Talking about your insecurities will definitely not work with Douma, so you’ll have to resort to other things to make him listen. Ignoring him is a not very nice way to do it, but at least he’ll start to wonder why you are not around.

He notices immediately when you stop being near him. You’re not sitting by his side during sermons, you’re not in your shared bedroom and the followers commented about how you were seemingly avoiding the Founder. That’s when it finally clicks, you were talking about not feeling enough for him and being insecure about yourself earlier, right? Once Douma chased you down (and persuaded you to leave the garden and step into the shade with him so you two can have a conversation without him needing to yell all over the estate), he theatrically kissed the palm of your hand and kept apologising over and over, almost nervously trying to explain how much he loves you and how irreplaceable you truly are to him and his heart.

You are the first human, first being he felt emotions for. Happiness, sadness, anger, jealousy and most importantly love— all the beautiful and unpleasant feelings, Douma began feeling them because of you!

To prove his point in a way, he introduced you to all the unimpressed Upper Moons and his master as “the love of his life”, his wife, his life partner, soulmate and so on and on, mentioning many other petnames until Muzan finally silenced him. Douma invites you to sit right beside him during sermons, instead of having your own cushion, keeping you closer and having the opportunity to openly shower you in affection. He sometimes sends out followers to pick up flowers for you in the garden and then presents then to you as if he picked them out himself, acting like the sun wasn’t out for the last hours, making it not possible for him to get those flowers for you. You appreciate it nonetheless.

“I have an idea! How about we hold an official wedding ceremony with all my followers! We cab invite my other friends too! Ohh, Akaza can be my best man, imagine how that could be, haha!”

Even if Douma is rather comical and theatrical, deep down inside, he is rather afraid of you getting sick of him one day. He knows he can keep his followers charmed and close, but his speeches and charms do not work on you. You see right through him and know the true person, or demon, he is. He is insecure himself because why would you stay with a man-eating demon? Once you mentioned your own thoughts and feelings, he took it as an opportunity to prove that he does cherishes and loves you so, so incredibly much.

Akaza

You… You seriously think that you are not good enough? Not pretty or strong enough? Seriously?

You are the best thing that ever happened and will happen to him. You are patient with him snd so kind, so gentle and affectionate. You heal his soul and now you are talking about being replaceable? He feels incredibly horrible for making you feel so terrible about yourself.

Akaza tries to be more obvious about his feelings for you, trying to reassure you how beautiful you look or saying “I love you” more often, taking your smaller hand into his, nuzzling his cheek in your warm palm. He gets much more touchy, trying to get you to cuddle more and more so he can relish in your warmth and bask in your arms. His time with you is scarce, especially with how Muzan keeps drowning him in more and more exhausting missions that keep him away from you (and sometimes it feels like his master is doing it on purpose), that’s why his eyes do not leave your form for even one second, sometimes quietly mumbling “I love you” against your warm skin, his lips placing kisses between his muffled words.

“There’s no one else I want by my side, bunny. You make me feel warm, fuzzy… safe, y’know. It’s weird but nice. You should feel like that too.. you deserve it.”

Akaza sometimes notices how disgustingly desperate he sounds to comfort and reassure you. It made him cringe once he realised how hard he fell for you, how much he clung onto you and how desperately he craved your love, your touch. Once you start talking about your insecurities about your beauty, self-worth and so on, he realises how much he appreciates you more and more. You’re the most beautiful human he ever came across, you’re heaven-sent. Is it selfish of him to think of you as a blessing from the gods themselves?

Muzan Kibutsuji

He was very perplexed when he first listened to you talking about being insecure, not quite understanding how you out of all people feel replaceable and not enough for the demon king. How could you think such things? Do you not understand how vulnerable he is with you without an audience? At first, he’d dismiss your worries for you just being confused or not feeling well, but a little after a day after your initial conversation, the gears inside his five brains begin to shift and work again. At that moment, he finally realised what you really meant.

Muzan didn’t want to be more affectionate with you, mistaking love with weakness, but after finally realising how you needed the reassurance from him, he begrudgingly gave into his fears of appearing soft and began to show his love more openly.

The demon king began to shower you in various gifts that mark you as his partner, such as a necklace with a ruby matching his eye colour, multiple rings he owns himself so you two can match and an artificial flower crown for you to wear as his soulmate and in a cute way to show off your “royal status” as the partner of Muzan.

“You are the one and only for me, and I am the only one for you. If the gods exist, they have blessed me with merely meeting you in your lifetime… it would be a pity to let it expire so soon. I will happily give you my blood if you’d like, my sun.”

💠

I am back with the Upper Moons, I hope you don’t mind if I changed the female reader to gn, anon! I felt like I wrote a lot of fem reader lately so I wanted to switch it up again. I wonder if it’s obvious wich demon is my favourite XD Anyways— I’m heading to bed now, I an exhausted :,)

Make sure to EAT, SLEEP and DRINK enough!!

Take care of yourselves <33

[nvtstvrns]

Prettied Up - Chris Sturniolo

Smut, dom!chris, sub!fem

Summary: you and Chris are getting ready to go to dinner with Nick and Matt when he sees you doing your makeup in the mirror, he decides to eat you out while you do your makeup.

Contains: smut, sub!fem, dom!chris, oral (fem!receiver), almost getting caught, pet names (ma, pretty girl, etc)

Authors note: I am so sorry I put this story off for so long, here it is 😭

Divider Credits: @bernardsbendystraws @adornedwithlight and @cafekitsune

Chris and I were getting ready for dinner with Nick, Matt, Mikayla and Nate, we were in Boston for a few weeks and we wanted to get together with our old friends. I was standing at the mirror starting my makeup, Chris was in the shower.

“Ma, can you hand me that towel, please?” He asks me his finger pointing through the shower curtain. I walk over to the towel and I hand it to him. I quickly go back to doing my makeup, we only had twenty minutes left before we had to leave.

Chris comes behind me and wraps his arms around my stomach and he lays his head on my shoulder.

“Chris, you’re getting my clothes all wet.” I say pushing him off my slightly.

“That’s not too bad though right-“ he says hugging me from behind again. This time his hands trail to my bare waist. “Clothes will dry…” he reaches up and cups my breast.

“Chris.” I warn as I watch him run his hands all over my body in the mirror. “I’m trying to do my makeup.” I say blending out my blush trying to shake off the goosebumps. I could feel myself throbbing in need and I took a deep breath.

“You gettin all prettied up f’me?” He says as he puts on his underwear and then his pants. I grin and turn around. “Chris stop making me-“

He gets closer to me and grabs my jaw. “Stop making you what?” He says in a husky voice. My knees buckled. His grip on my jaw was light and soft but it still put a huge effect on me.

I look up at him with puppy eyes and he lets me go.

“Can I make you feel good baby…give you a little reward…”

“For what?” I ask quietly.

“You deserve it…but keep gettin prettied up for me ma.”

He gets down on his knees in front of me. This was a new thing from him, it’s always me getting on my knees for him, was he really going to make me feel good with no returns at all? I feel his hands fiddle with my button on my pants and then he unzips them, pulling them down to my ankles and then pulling them all the way off. His eyes trail up to mine and he places a soft kiss to my lower abdomen.

“Keep doing your makeup don’t watch me.” He says pulling my underwear off and throwing them somewhere with my pants. He doesn’t even hesitate, his mouth quickly attaching to my clit, I let out a gasp and I hang my head back. He taps the back of my thighs telling me to continue doing my makeup, so I do, trying to line my lips with all of this pleasure is not working, so I move on to my mascara.

“Oh my-fuck Chris…” I say as my legs begin to shake, I can’t focus on just my makeup, the image of him pumping his fingers in and out of my wet pussy while his mouth abuses my clit was way too much. “I’m gonna cum, Chris! Oh my fucking god, Chris…” I say grinding my hips on his face.

“Mmm yeah grind my face ma, cum all over me.” I continue grinding my hips reaching closer and closer to my high, with a final cry my legs jerk and I cum all over his face…luckily my makeup was fully finished, it didn’t look exactly how I wanted it to, but I did my best.

“Chris! Y/n come on! We have to leave!” Matt yells, in a daze I put back on my pants and he puts on his shirt, and puts on deodorant and other things. He wraps an arm around my shoulder.

“Don’t let it affect you too much baby.” He says kissing my temple “we still have dinner to eat, and then you can have me.”

This was a lot of fun to write, and thank you sm for all of your support lately (I recently did a face reveal) so thank you for all of your compliments on that. Thank you for reading my fanfictions and if you ever have a request just send me a silly little message.

[domm1etae]

Hello!! If requests are still open can I ask for a Seonghwa/reader office fic? Ever since I've found that one office asmr video he did I can't stop thinking about it 😭

Overtime Attraction

seonghwa x reader

oneshot | mdni

2.5k

Y/N’s strict, no-nonsense boss Seonghwa calls them in for a late-night “work session” that quickly turns into way more than just project revisions

nsfw tags under

readers gender not specif. , top seonghwa, boss/employee, workplace tension, power dynamics, praise kink, slow burn, buildup, desk sex, possessive seonghwa, tension release, passionate make-out, teasing, thigh touching, mutual pining, eye contact, unguarded moments, lap straddling, finger teasing, deep kissing, after-hours intimacy, needy touches

Y/N hurried down the marble hallway, heels clicking in sync with the beat of the clock ticking on the wall. It was 8:59, and every second mattered when it came to Park Seonghwa. As their boss, he was notorious for his unwavering punctuality and no-nonsense attitude. Nothing frustrated him more than tardiness, and Y/N had been on the receiving end of his reprimands enough times to know they didn’t want to push his patience any further.

Sliding into their desk just as the clock struck nine, Y/N let out a small sigh of relief. But the relief was short-lived. Seonghwa’s office door opened, and he stepped out with his usual commanding presence. He scanned the room, his sharp gaze briefly landing on Y/N, and for a moment, they could feel their pulse race.

“Team meeting in the conference room. Now,” he announced, his tone clipped and direct. No unnecessary pleasantries. Just business as always.

Y/N grabbed their notebook, gathering themselves before following him. As they settled into their usual seat, they couldn’t help but feel a rush of nerves. This project was crucial, and Seonghwa had been working them all hard to ensure everything went perfectly. His expectations were high, and they didn’t want to be the one who let the team down.

Seonghwa took his seat at the head of the table, flipping through his notes with focused precision. He went over every aspect of the project, analyzing each detail and making it clear exactly what he wanted. His calm, authoritative tone filled the room, and Y/N found themselves hyper-aware of every word, jotting down notes to ensure they wouldn’t miss a thing. But despite their efforts, Seonghwa’s expression remained as unreadable as ever.

At the end of the meeting, as everyone else began packing up to leave, Seonghwa’s gaze fell on Y/N. He raised an eyebrow, his face as composed as always.

“Y/N, stay behind a moment.”

Y/N felt their stomach tighten with a mix of anticipation and dread. Had they made a mistake? They waited as the room emptied, glancing up at Seonghwa as he watched everyone file out. Once the door closed, he leaned back, his fingers steepled in thought.

“There’s a section in your report from last night that has some errors,” he said, his voice firm but not unkind. “Some critical data was left out. I’ll need to go over it with you later to make sure it’s fixed before tomorrow.”

Y/N nodded, feeling a pang of embarrassment. They’d spent hours on that report, meticulously checking each line, but evidently, it hadn’t been enough to meet his standards. “Of course, sir. I’m really sorry about the oversight—I thought I’d gotten everything.”

Seonghwa’s gaze softened, but only slightly. “I know you worked hard, and I appreciate the effort. But my standards are high for a reason.” He glanced at his watch. “I have meetings the rest of the day, so we’ll handle this tonight after hours. Make sure you’re available.”

Y/N’s heart skipped at the idea of being alone in the office with Seonghwa, especially given the tension that had been building between them over the past few weeks. There was something about him—his intense focus, his precision—that made it hard not to be captivated by him. And though they’d never admit it, the idea of a private meeting with him was thrilling.

“Understood,” they replied, maintaining their composure despite the rush of anticipation.

Throughout the day, Y/N worked tirelessly to finish other tasks while nervously glancing at the clock. The office gradually emptied, and by 7 PM, they and Seonghwa were the only ones left. As the last few coworkers waved goodbye, Seonghwa finally emerged from his office, his expression as composed as ever.

“Y/N,” he called, gesturing for them to follow him. They stood up, clutching their notes and laptop, and walked into his office, feeling a mix of nerves and excitement settle over them as he closed the door behind them.

He sat down across from them, pulling up the document on his computer. “Let’s start from the top,” he said, his tone matter-of-fact as he scanned through the lines. They worked through the report, his voice low and steady as he pointed out each section that needed correction.

But as the minutes ticked by, the air between them grew more charged. Every time his hand brushed over the mouse, or his shoulder accidentally brushed theirs, Y/N felt their heart skip a beat. His closeness was almost dizzying, and the usual stoic, unbreakable mask he wore seemed to falter slightly as they moved through the corrections together.

At one point, as they both reached for the same section on the screen, their hands met, lingering longer than necessary. Y/N looked up, catching the flicker of something deeper in his gaze—a hint of warmth, of something that wasn’t entirely professional. His fingers lingered on theirs, and he didn’t pull away.

Seonghwa cleared his throat, finally releasing their hand. But his gaze remained intense, locked on them with an unreadable expression. “Y/N,” he began, his voice lower than before, carrying a hint of vulnerability. “I… don’t usually let things like this happen.”

Y/N’s heart pounded. “Me neither,” they whispered, barely able to find their voice. There was something raw in his expression, something they hadn’t seen before. And in that moment, the weight of his controlled, disciplined exterior finally broke.

He leaned forward, his hand reaching out to brush a strand of hair from their face. “You’ve been working so hard,” he murmured, his fingers grazing their cheek with surprising tenderness. “But I think there’s been something between us for a while now.”

Y/N’s breath hitched, and before they could respond, he closed the distance between them, his lips brushing softly against theirs. The kiss was gentle at first, almost cautious, as if testing the waters. But as they melted into his touch, his grip on their waist tightened, pulling them closer. His strict, measured demeanor fell away, replaced by a passion that left them breathless.

Seonghwa lifted them onto his desk, his hands exploring with a newfound freedom that left them shivering. He whispered praise, his words quiet and reverent, as if he were savoring each moment. “I’ve wanted this for longer than I should admit,” he murmured against their skin, his voice thick with desire.

Y/N wrapped their arms around his neck, pulling him closer, their own restraint slipping away. The air was charged, heavy with everything unspoken between them.

Seonghwa’s lips brushed against Y/N’s, deepening the kiss as his hands found their waist, pulling them flush against him. Y/N’s legs shifted, one knee rising as they positioned themselves on his lap, their skirt hiking up as they straddled him. A low sound rumbled from his chest, sending a shiver down Y/N’s spine as his fingers traced circles on their thighs.

“Y/N…” Seonghwa’s breath ghosted over their lips, his voice thick with a want he had carefully kept buried until now. “You… have no idea…”

Y/N’s fingers traced up to his tie, tugging it slightly, silently urging him closer. He let out a soft groan, pressing his hips forward so they could feel the evidence of his own need. His hands traveled up their sides, grazing over the fabric of their blouse, his touch just shy of indulgent.

“More,” Y/N whispered, the word escaping them in a needy breath. They felt their pulse quicken as his hands finally traveled to cup their face, his thumb brushing softly over their bottom lip before trailing down, brushing over the sensitive spot at the base of their neck.

A sly smile played on Seonghwa’s lips as he watched their reactions, reveling in every hitch of their breath and the faint flush on their cheeks. “Oh, you want more?” His voice held a note of control, deep and rich, as if he was savoring each moment of their unraveling.

“Yes…” they murmured, and he raised an eyebrow, his hands sliding back down to grip their waist firmly. They gasped softly as he lifted them onto his desk, his expression darkening as he took in the sight of them, legs spread just enough to reveal the hint of lace at the edge of their skirt.

He leaned in, capturing their lips again, a little rougher this time, his gloved hand reaching to cradle their cheek while his other hand trailed to their thigh, inching upward with a slow deliberateness. Each kiss became more intense, more consuming, until they felt dizzy with need. His thumb traced small circles on the bare skin just below the hem of their skirt, his lips moving to trail down their neck, nibbling softly as he went.

Y/N’s hands clutched the back of his blazer, pulling him close as he teased them, letting out a quiet whimper as his hand finally ventured to the edge of their underwear. “Seonghwa, please…”

He smiled against their skin, his breath warm as he whispered, “Shh, we’re not alone yet. Do you really want someone to hear?” But despite his caution, his thumb pressed into them through the fabric, earning a muffled gasp from Y/N as they bit their lip to keep quiet.

"Good. Just like that,” he murmured, his voice heavy with approval, as he toyed with them, keeping the touch just light enough to drive them wild with need. “Be good for me, and I’ll give you exactly what you want.”

Unable to contain their need any longer, they pressed their hips up to meet his touch, their body aching for more as he continued to tease, his fingers tracing soft circles around their most sensitive spot, still separated by just a thin layer of fabric. His control, his restraint, was maddening, and he relished every second of watching them unravel under his touch.

With his other hand still steady on their cheek, he finally whispered against their lips, “Hold on to me, Y/N.”

Seonghwa’s voice was steady and sure, like he was holding the reins even as the world tilted beneath them both. Y/N’s pulse quickened, their hands clutching his shoulders, fingers digging into the firm line of his back. His words echoed in their mind—Hold on to me. They did as he commanded, wrapping their legs around his waist, drawing him closer still, as he continued his slow, torturous exploration.

His fingers traced the waistband of their underwear, skimming over their skin just enough to leave a tingling path. He maintained eye contact, a look of both mischief and fierce intent in his gaze, as if savoring the power he held in their shared secret, here, alone in his office after hours. Y/N was panting softly, struggling to keep quiet even as their restraint unraveled under his measured, relentless touch.

Seonghwa’s lips met the edge of their jawline, and he brushed his nose along their cheek, lingering by their ear. His whisper was barely audible, but it sent a shiver down their spine. “You’re so beautiful like this, Y/N,” he murmured. “So responsive… so ready for me.”

Y/N’s head tilted back, giving him access to the curve of their neck, and he didn’t waste the opportunity. His lips trailed down, placing open-mouthed kisses along their throat, teeth grazing just enough to leave a whisper of pressure before he soothed each spot with his tongue. His hand slid up their thigh, and this time, he didn’t stop at the edge of their underwear. His fingers slipped beneath the fabric, finding their center, slick and warm with anticipation.

A shaky breath escaped Y/N as his fingers began to move, slow and sure, teasing and tracing over every sensitive spot he discovered. Y/N’s hands found his tie again, tugging at it reflexively as their head fell back, eyes fluttering shut as they lost themselves in the sensation. His touch was skilled, and the friction drove them to the brink, each movement adding fuel to the smoldering fire between them.

“Look at me,” he commanded, his voice low, a trace of roughness seeping into his usually controlled tone. Y/N’s gaze met his, and the intensity in his eyes made them feel as if they were laid bare, every inch of desire on display for him alone. He didn’t look away, his fingers moving with greater purpose now, watching every small gasp and whimper, reveling in the effect he had on them.

When he finally withdrew his hand, Y/N bit back a whine of protest, only to feel him shift them back on the desk, guiding them to lie back. The cold surface beneath was a stark contrast to the warmth radiating from his body as he loomed over them, lips curved in a self-assured smirk.

“Be patient, Y/N,” he whispered as he leaned down, his hands tracing the curves of their body before he carefully unbuttoned their blouse, his touch gentle yet decisive. “We don’t want to rush this… not after all that time spent building up to it.”

With each article of clothing he removed, his gaze became more intense, drinking in the sight of them with an appreciative, possessive gleam. When they were finally bared before him, he let his hands roam, mapping every inch of them, his touch both comforting and electrifying.

His lips claimed theirs again, and this time, there was no restraint. His kiss was demanding, consuming, his hands gripping their hips as he settled between their legs. They could feel the hard press of him against their core, both of them beyond any semblance of control. His fingers laced with theirs as he aligned himself, pressing forward with an exquisite slowness that made them gasp. His forehead rested against theirs as he whispered, “You’re mine tonight, Y/N. Every part of you.”

With every thrust, his control slipped just a bit further, and he abandoned the careful restraint he had kept around his desire for so long. They clung to each other, their shared need overcoming any lingering hesitations, their breaths mingling in the heated silence of the empty office.

Each movement was a promise fulfilled, a long-held tension finally released, as he guided them to the brink, his voice a steady, grounding presence in their ear, murmuring words of praise and desire that left them trembling beneath him. And as they reached their peak together, Seonghwa’s name fell from Y/N’s lips in a breathless whisper, echoing into the quiet, marking the end of one kind of distance—and the beginning of something far more consuming.

They stayed close, breaths slowing as they held each other, still entangled on his desk. Seonghwa’s fingers gently traced along their arm, as if reluctant to let them go, even now. He smiled, soft and real, his usually sharp expression softened in a rare, unguarded moment.

“Tomorrow…” he began, a hint of amusement in his voice, “you might just have to stay late again.”

[sc4rrc]

Jealous much, but for a 'solid' reason

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- 2012!Donnie x reader - Jealous much, but for a 'solid' reason - Fluff - Warnings: None Request: Nope, just came up with this on my own whilst reading through some one shots of my personal favourite creators. You like Donnie, he likes you. But you're both as oblivious as ever, despite clearly showing each other that you care. And as a date is set between you and someone who is -clearly- NOT Donnie, he finds it hard to not feel jealous. ════════════════════

For quite some time, nearly since you met, both you and Donnie had held an affection for one another. Whether it was how he saved you and your friend, April, from the Kraang that first drew you to him, or the fact that he so easily got along with you from then on, it didn’t seem to matter. You became close from that point, and eventually you even took part in most of their missions—after you’d gotten more familiar with fighting through Splinter’s lessons.

A few problems did arise between the two of you though, like how oblivious you both seemed when it came to actually catching on that someone might be interested. Or the way doubt crept in because of your close friendship. He’d compliment you a lot, always ensuring your safety on missions, and you did the same for him. But somehow, you both missed the bigger picture. “It’s not something new; he worries about all of us during fights,” you’d tell yourself whenever April pointed it out.

And it was true; he always watched out for his brothers, too. How could he not? They were family. But there he was, watching you train, helping you improve when Splinter was busy.

Other times, you’d be the one to assist him. Sometimes you’d grab things from the top that he did not have easy access to, or simply keep him company in the lab to make sure he took breaks. Lunch, water—the basics. But one thing you both did constantly, no matter how oblivious each of you seemed in the moment, was stare. Even from across the room, one of you would be looking at the other. On movie nights, for example, you’d sit on the couch, Mikey on your right and Casey on your left, everyone focused on the screen—except Donnie, whose gaze would occasionally drift toward you.

He’d become well aware that he was absolutely, undeniably infatuated with you. Even he knew he sometimes went a bit too far with his attention, though his brothers never hesitated to tease him. Raph, mostly. But with his feelings also came doubt, for both of you. After so long, with neither of you daring to believe the other felt the same, you both wondered if it could ever work. You didn’t want to risk your precious friendship on a confession that might lead to rejection. So, silence it was.

“I don’t know, April. Just think about it. If I say something, and he doesn’t feel the same, then this might just ruin our friendship. And I don’t want that.”

Harsh words to admit, really. The thought wasn’t exactly pleasant. April had been trying for ages to nudge you both toward a confession, convinced it would lead to something good. Or maybe that was just the hopeless romantic in her, but she hoped nonetheless. And despite her efforts—along with the boys’ attempts to coax Donnie out of his safe shell—neither of you would budge. Sighing, she finally said, “That is fair, I suppose. But I still stand by what I said earlier. Forgetting doesn’t sound like the best alternative. I’ll help, but that doesn’t mean I’m agreeing with this plan.”

Her words made you smile in gratitude. Crushing on Donnie, though a genuine feeling, had become almost frustrating. He seemed so unaware of your feelings—close, yet so distant. It made you wonder if maybe he really didn’t feel the same. And yes, that stung a little. But it also made you realize that moving on might be necessary. For everyone’s sake, including your own. So, when a boy in your History class asked you out, you accepted. It felt like progress for a moment, but only for a moment. Soon, it became a test to see how quickly you could let go of Donnie, knowing that dwelling on him wasn’t helping you move forward. And after all, it was just a date—a way to focus on someone else. ════════════════════

When it came to being in that position—being told by the girl he couldn’t stop being so fond of that she had a date with some guy, a human guy no less—Donnie wanted to dig himself a hole in the lab and never come out. He’d imagined this day might come, and he felt like he was losing his chance—if he ever even had one. His heart sank as the words left your mouth, and it was hard not to show his disappointment. But for your sake, he put on a smile and congratulated you. He even wished you good luck. Then, once you left the lair, he retreated to his lab, shutting the door behind him, eyes focused on his work. Anything to avoid thinking about his growing jealousy, even for a moment. The others noticed the slump in his shoulders as he walked away but decided to let him be. They knew it might be a long evening in the lair, but they figured the situation might resolve itself—if it could.

--- Time Skip ---

Hours went by, some faster than others, and soon you found yourself back in your apartment, changed into a new set of clothes, ready to sleep the day away. Reflecting on what was supposed to be a date, you thought back to what he’d said: “Listen, I’m not really one for these serious things, ’kay? You’re cute, I’ll give you that. But I’ve got my ways around relationships, if you want to keep me happy.” That was about all you’d heard before mentally checking out of the “date.” He seemed nice at first but turned out to be a self-centred idiot—not the good kind of idiot either. And with all his talking, you made little effort to understand what he really meant.

You couldn’t recall the whole conversation, but you knew there was no way you’d repeat the experience. The things he said—about you and about others—were all wrong for you. He kept going on about some “party with girls” he had to get to, and the moment he crossed a line, you’d made your exit, realizing just how little interest you had in seeing him again.

You’d only just drifted off when a soft, rhythmic tapping at the window stirred you back to consciousness. Groaning, you pulled the blanket tighter around your shoulders and shuffled toward the window, squinting through the curtains. It could only be one of the guys, you knew, but the last thing you expected was to find Donnie, hanging upside down on the fire escape patiently, his expression hovering somewhere between nervous and excited.

Fighting back a laugh, you pushed the window open. “Donnie?” you whispered, the surprise obvious in your voice. “What are you doing here?”

He offered a tentative smile, voice low. “Hey. Sorry if I woke you. Just, uh… thought I’d check in. Make sure you got home okay.”

You laughed softly, raising an eyebrow. “It’s a bit late for a check-in, don’t you think?”

“Yeah, I know, but…” He shrugged, his calm exterior cracking just enough to reveal a hint of nervousness. “Couldn’t help myself. April mentioned the date didn’t, uh… go quite how you planned?”

A sigh slipped from you as you pulled the blanket around yourself a little tighter, rolling your eyes. April, of course. “You could say that,” you chuckled. “He was… something, alright.” You caught his amused grin, the faint hint of relief there not lost on you. You shook your head, feeling a smile tug at your lips despite it all.

Donnie’s face softened, his eyes meeting yours. “Yeah, well… I think you deserve better than that.” His voice was quiet, sincere, but even he looked surprised by his own words, cheeks darkening just a bit under his mask. “I mean, someone who’d treat you better than that. A lot better, actually.”

A warmth spread through you, his words settling in, making you feel a little lighter after such a disappointing night. His gaze hadn’t wavered, and you felt yourself holding your breath, caught off guard by how much his simple words meant.

“Thanks, Donnie. For worrying about me,” you said, the words barely a whisper. Before either of you could overthink it, you leaned out the window and pressed a soft kiss to his cheek.

Donnie froze completely, his eyes wide, his usual calm vanishing in a heartbeat as he stared at you, utterly speechless. It took him a second—maybe two—before he swallowed, blinking a few times as if to process that the kiss had actually happened. A deep blush crept over his face, nearly reaching the edges of his mask.

“Oh. I, yeah.. Anytime,” he stammered, his voice slightly higher than usual. His hand moved almost instinctively to where you’d kissed him, and for a second, he was all but suspended there, entirely lost in the moment.

You bit back a laugh, giving him a little wave before you gently closed the window and pulled the curtain back in place. A small thrill ran through you as you moved back toward bed, a smile lingering even as you settled back under the blankets.

Outside, Donnie remained still, one hand pressed to his cheek, replaying the moment over and over in his head. A grin broke out slowly across his face, unable to hold back the ridiculous happiness building up inside him. "Oh, man... She kissed me. She actually kissed me.” He couldn’t help the ridiculous grin on his face as he clambered back up the fire escape, his heart still thudding as he slipped back into the shadows, feeling no more of that jealousy from earlier. Not even the knowing looks from his brothers as he made his way through the entrance of the lair brought him fully back, his mind still stuck in that moment.

════════════════════ A/N: Here's my first one-shot. I think it turned out pretty good, considering nearly half of what I made the other night in drafts did not save. But idk if I should make a part 2 for this? I could, if I feel like it. It also depends on what you guys want so I might pole it, but the main idea is that I did it. (Also I love Donnie so much, he's so bf material.) - I do NOT give permission for any of my work to be republished on any other sites, or even here. Not Ao3, not Wattpad, nowhere. This is simply for entertainment purposes and I would appreciate respecting this.

[ahllohehn]

🔱 THE GODS HAVE CHOSEN THEIR HERO! 🔱

>> about au >> au tag >> discord

By the power vested upon me (lol), I am now announcing the official winner of the Hermits and The Olympians Fanfiction Contest :] !

Once again, to remind everyone, the winner was chosen through amount of kudos/votes/likes and can choose from either prizes; a comic based on their submitted work or requested rendered art.

All submissions have been acknowledged to be amayzin' so I encourage everyone to read everyone's works nonetheless if they won or not :)

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FIRST PLACE 👑 OFFICIAL WINNER (42 kudos)

I will protect you (at least I'll try) by @star-cluster-nyx & @tallassredwood

Officially congratulations to our winners for the contest! Your fanfic has genuinely been a heartwarming experience. Grian and Pearl had nothing but each other, but sibling relationships aren't always that pretty. You showed that relationship dynamic really well in a very fun style and pacing.

Do tell me which one will be your point person so I could discuss about your prize :p ! ───────── ⋆⋅ 🔱 ⋅⋆ ─────────

SECOND PLACE 👑 RUNNER UP (32 kudos)

like roots, burrowing by @unreliable-bean

Our first submission and one of the works that won over our Mumscarian hearts </3 (after wrangling it around with angst for a few scenes /j). A mix of Minecraft mechanics and PJO mechanics is always fun! You fused them really well with such a nice pacing. The use of Scar's abnormal origins was a good touch to provide solutions to the conflict. Exciting writing as always :D

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THIRD PLACE 👑 RUNNER UP (17 kudos)

I’ll always be there (sparkling and shining) by Munchkin1156

Always a joy to see Grian-centric fics, thank you for submitting this! With the addition of the watchers to an unseemingly normal PJO AU, you've written the journey of Grian under their influence really well! A shame that the image still won't load on the link, but I would also like to say that your friend's art was amayzin'! An amazing drawing paired with an amazing work :]

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ALL MY (as well as the secret judges') FAVORITES :>

The Saint of Apollo by Nerdking14 Thank you for participating, genuinely. I know you've been writing about this even since before the fanfiction contest was announced and I truly commend you for putting your time, effort, and wonderful writing for our darling Empires campers. The way you adapted the previous small drabbles and headcanons to your story was exciting and I was happy those were done justice. You did justice to Camp Empires and I'm sure the gods would commend you for that too.

Oracle of Delphi by ethotek Mod [Hyunjin Yoon] expressed personal favorite to our dearest oracle. Extremely in love with how you adapted Gem's little complicated background into your writing. Lovely work that captured Gem's confusion and inner doubts really well :) This would've been a joy to delve deeper into through a comic, but let's return to it another time!

You were able to settle Gem into her home! But is she truly there?

It had always been just a game by Linny Heartwrenching, but captures well the realistic losses demigods would inevitably go through in a mythological world as teenagers. Gruesome, but filled with love for your ships' dynamics. Very good work :]

Again, thank you everyone who participated and even supported/read everyone's works. Although it pains me that I cannot give anything to everyone to show my gratitude, I simply wish you continue to enjoy your time here even if I cannot be much!

From the depths of the Underworld, to the vastness of the Seas, to the freedom of the Skies── Thank you very much for checking out Hermits and The Olympians! GGs to all participants!

[fictional-reylin]

A simple one-shot of Aizawa and his cat gf. People usually write the reader as an opposite to him, but I wanted to experiment with a reader who has a similar personality, maybe even somber. Enjoy !

You are welcome to send requests/asks. Just make sure to read my rules.

As you sat by your desk, working away on your computer, you could hear the sounds of rain hitting on your window. Despite being partially a cat, you liked the rain, it brought to you a strange sense of comfort that you couldn't really explain, like it was a sign that this was going to be a peaceful evening for you.

You looked out through said window and began staring at the droplets sliding down the glass, watching them connect as they slid down, until you saw Shōta's reflection. Not very clear, but you could still see his usual tired expression that greeted you every time he came back from UA.

"You look dead" you said turning around to face him, your usual deadpan expression in place. "Did someone steal your sleeping bag at work ?”

"Verry funny y/n. Did the rain traumatise you ?” He said referring to your face. Never mind his tired state, he quickly made his way over to you and pulled you into a hug by your waist, burying his face into the crook of your neck.

You let out a hum of contentment before wrapping your own arms around his shoulder, hiding your face in his chest, seeking shelter from the cold weather that managed to get into your shared apartment. He was always so warm, it always made you sleepy.

You stayed like this, almost falling asleep, until he started toying with your tail and you shot your eyes open in slight annoyance. Looking up at him, you saw that cocky smirk that adorned his face every time he would do something like this.

“Seriously ?”

“Blame yourself for dating a cat person” He answered, kissing the top of your head.

You were never really annoyed at him. You enjoyed his little shenanigans, how he would always scratch your ears, tell you to purr for him or play with your tail. It was a sweet reminder that your quirk wasn’t just something that made your life more difficult because of loud noises or tail getting stuck somewhere. For him it was a cute part of yourself that he could adore as much as the rest of you.

Of course, you would never admit that to his face. Communication wasn’t really your strong suit, and neither was it his, but you always managed to understand each other through your actions, and that’s what made him all the more attractive in your eyes. You could still be this quiet and introverted self, and he would still get you as if he had read your mind

“But seriously, you look tired. We should nap” you dragged him towards your bed without waiting for his answers, pulling him down with you and laying on his chest under the covers. In the short amount of time that you two dated, you quickly understood that he enjoyed this, being able to wind down, with you clinging to him, your soft purrs rumbling through your chest and your tail wrapped somewhere around his body.

He wrapped his arms around you, scratching the back of your head as he could finally relax in your embrace. He sighed, looking down at you with half lidded eyes.

“I love you, you know that ?”

“You show it to me like a million times a day”

“You say it like it’s a bad thing”

Not wanting to further this discussion you just kissed him, smiling against his lips as he returned the gesture

“Now shut up and let me sleep. Love you too”

And with that, you both felt asleep in each other's arms, the sweet sound of your purrs and the rain echoing somewhere in the back of your minds.

Thank you so much for reading ! If you want to join in my daydream, consider checking out my navigation.

[soaplickerrr]

Long Work Days and A Good Relationship

Idol! Park Jonseong / Jay Park x Reader

It had been a very long day, and Jay had been in the studio for several hours, recording and rehearsing for an upcoming performance. With all the lights and continual motion, it was impossible to find a moment of peace.

But right now, things felt different. The soft hum of the studio, the low chatter of his team in the background, it all felt quieter, almost more comforting. Since all he could think about was you.

He had barely left the recording booth when he immediately checked his phone. You'd sent a message earlier, a simple "Hope your day's going well," but it was enough to make him smile. He quickly typed out his reply in the hopes that he didn't text you after you fell asleep.

"Almost done! Can't wait to see you.”

He had felt exhausted, but somehow, the thought of coming home to you kept him going. Jay made his way out of the building, his jacket slung over his shoulder, the lights of the city flashing beyond.

He knew by now that you would most likely be sleeping, but he simply could not resist the thought of dialing your number.

His fingers danced over your contact name until his heart, lighter by a fraction with the thought of your voice on the other line, made him call you.

You picked up, and your voice was groggy, he chuckled at it. "Jay…? Is everything okay?”

"Yeah, just finished up. Wanted to hear your voice before I head home. You ok?" He said, leaning into the car door as his eyes gazed out into the dark street as he awaited your response.

"I'm good," you mumbled, well awake now. "Just missing you. How was the recording?"

"Tiring," he said, his voice low, but there was a warmth lacing it. "But hearing your voice? That makes it all worth it."

You give a soft laugh, your heart racing at the simple words. "You say that because you're probably just sleepy. Hurry up and come get some rest, Jay. You'll feel better tomorrow.”

Jay silenced for a second; his eyes on the street in the night's darkness. He could feel the sleepiness rising in his bones, but it was all nothing compared to how much he wanted to be next to you.

You smiled, though he couldn't see it. "Are you coming home soon?"

"Yeah, I’m just a few minutes away," he finally said, getting into the car. "I‘ll get there before you know it.”

He soon arrived, the lights off in the apartment, but he knew you still were awake, waiting. He made his way through the door quietly, slipping off his shoes.

He rounded the corner into the living room and found you curled up with a blanket on the couch. Your face lit up when you saw him, and suddenly the long day didn't feel so tiring anymore.

"You're home," you whispered, almost so you wouldn't disturb the peaceful moment.

A lazy grin twisted Jay's lips, and without another word, he shuffled to sit beside you. He leaned in, wrapping his arms around you, nuzzling his face into your hair as you let out a content sigh.

"Miss me?" he asked, his voice low.

"Always," you replied, your fingers delicately running up and down his arms.

He laughed low and slow, pulling back just enough to look at you. "I'll take that as my compliment for the day."

You smiled up at him, your heart swelling as that was all it took to simply be with him. Jay was always carving these moments out in his busy world, reminding him that no matter how apart or how tired he was, you guys always had each other.

"I missed you too, Y/N," he whispered, staring into your gaze.

He leaned in and pressed a kiss to the top of your head before pulling you even closer. "Just want to be here with you. Forever.”

And in that moment, everything was great. No cameras. No bright lights. No staff or group members. Just you and Jay, and the peace of being together after a long, crazy day.

Thank you so much for the request!! I had fun writing this! :3

[nihildenial]

Beggin' On Your Knees by nihil-denial (wc: 4,725)

Rating: Explicit 18+ MDNI

Pairing: Dewdrop x Phantom (x Aether mentioned)

Tags: Smut, PWP, boot worship, light angst, Newly-summoned Phantom, Impera Tour

Summary: Phantom doesn't realize that Dewdrop has a 'punishment' for Ghouls who make fun of his height. Based on the ritual videos where Phantom gets on his knees during Kiss the Go-Goat.

There’s fifteen minutes until they’re required to be ready on stage, and most of the nameless Ghouls are already finished getting dressed. The five male-oriented Ghouls shared a sizeable greenroom in between Papa Copia and the Ghoulettes, only separated from the female Ghouls because of the way Dew and Swiss all hog mirrors.

Dew was taking his time plaiting his hair on top of his head, making sure the ash blonde strands wouldn’t be a complete rat’s nest under his hood.

“Hey look!” Phantom is crouched by the rack that held their Impera uniforms. Now with most of them dressed, the only thing left are Phantom’s and Dewdrop’s shiny, black boots.

He can tell Swiss’ eyebrows are furrowed under his mask. “Are you discovering boots for the first time?”

“No, I know what they are! I was pointing to the size difference between my boots and Dew’s. Mine are like, so much taller!” Phantom chirps.

He's right. Dewdrop may have long legs, but his short torso makes him stand 5 ft 2in and his wiry legs make his boots look like children’s’ shoes. Phantom’s lanky form is made of mile-long legs and his request for a small amount of extra heel makes his boots seem monstrous in comparison.

“You sayin’ something about my height?” Dewdrop crosses his arms.

“Well, yes, I think. But in a good way! Look at how silly our boots look together. They’re proportionate, just like our height.”

Mountain sits at the mirror behind Dewdrop, gesturing with a slash across his throat in the reflection that Phantom can see. “Guys, we have only twelve minutes until curtain.”

The Fire Ghoul cocks his head accusingly at Phantom. “Look, I understand you’re still getting used to being on tour with us and sharing a dressing space, but I don’t appreciate comments about my height.”

Phantom blinks, a little unsure at how the Ghoul was taking this the wrong way. In the four weeks since he was summoned he’s watched Swiss comment about their height difference all the time! Even Papa called Dewdrop ‘Little Man’ at the last ritual. “Sorry, I just thought it was a little funny…” He pouts.

Dewdrop snatches his boots and laces them up with an ease only gained through tying them thousands of times. “The difference isn’t even that big,” He sniffs. His helmet is on and latched as he walks out of the green room.

“Concert mode,” Rain shakes his head. “He always gets a little testy before a ritual. Don’t sweat it, Bug.”

“Yeah, needs to let off some steam. He’s worried about bossing you around because you’re new,” Swiss shrugs. “He’ll get his bossy kink sorted out by dragging one of us back to the bus by our tails after the ritual I’m sure.”

Phantom quietly ties up his boots. He knew the consequences of being Aether’s replacement would eventually show up.

-

Copia is glad his contract gives him a separate dressing room judging by the way Dewdrop is stomping down the hallway. “Save the stomps for the encore, per favore!” He calls as the Fire Ghoul passes by.

Dew flips him off and continues towards backstage.

“That means showtime, Papa,” Kevin pokes his head in the dressing room.

-

The last ritual before the end of the tour is nearing its end on a high note, despite Ghost’s lead guitarist’s earlier fuming. All of the Ghouls are doing their normal antics of chasing each other, Swiss shimmies with Papa, and dueling guitars.

Copia’s encore monologue begins, and Phantom takes his first deep breath in a couple hours. He takes note of his guitar and stretches each of his ankles discreetly. The mid-calf boots are great for support, but his legs get so sweaty under all the layers of pants, socks, and insoles.

Thinking of his boots reminds him of the greenroom incident. He glances over at Dewdrop and sees the Fire Ghoul posing for pictures with the fans at the barrier. He should be doing that—however, he’s still new to the fans and his mind is beginning to spin out of control with racing thoughts.

Phantom wants to be on Dewdrop’s good side. He wants to be a member of the pack and be an addition to Aether, not a replacement. They’ll return to the Abbey overnight and they’ll have time to relax and work things out.

His earpiece clicks with the recorded two-verse intro track of Kiss the Go-Goat and Phantom comes up with a plan to woo the Fire Ghoul—even in front of thousands of fans. Playing this song is easy, so Phantom uses it to keep an eye on the best opening for his plan.

“…You’ve been daddied, by all the dudes that were not dad…”

Copia swings his right hand through the open space of Dewdrop’s knees and nestles his head on the plane of the Ghoul’s thigh. The kneel and next quick movement away from Dewdrop is impressive for a man of Papa’s age.

Phantom can feel the satisfaction at the open display of affection.Well, if Dewdrop likes those who kneel…

The second chorus comes around and the Quintessence Ghoul summons all his courage to march to the center where Dew is riffing. Keeping time with muscle memory, Phantom easily slides to his knees at Dewdrop’s feet. Feeling the shock and surprise from the crowd makes him grin.

He takes it a step further when Dew doesn’t move away for the next riff and spreads his knees, arching his back until his helmet touches the stage. He locks eyes (goggle lenses really) with the shocked lead Guitarist and shoots his best smirk through his mask.

Dewdrop stands still while his fingers continue to dance over the frets. Phantom rocks his hips upwards and over his feet then stands up effortlessly. As he saunters back to stage left, he can feel the hidden amber gaze laser-focused on him.

Copia ends the ritual with heart-pumping Square Hammer. The opening riff is usually conducted by Phantom, Rain, and Dewdrop, gathering the crowd’s applause for one last song. There’s typically a lean involved in their riff between Rain and Dew, and Phantom decides instead his forward towards the barrier, he leans in time with the other two Ghouls.

Dewdrop’s gaze barely moves away from Phantom’s form as they break apart to their sections for Copia to take the spotlight. The song continues until the last repeat of “right here, right now,” and a final shower of sparkles from the overhead catwalk.

Phantom hands off his guitar to the stagehand and returns to the stage with a bag of marked picks to throw.

“Pulled a fast one on him,” Swiss bumps hips with Phantom as they stand around throwing picks to fans.

“I thought I would do something to show him that he has nothing to worry about us fighting,” He shrugs. “Kneeling is a sign of respect in some human countries.”

“It’s also kinky as fuck. He’s going to think you’re propositioning him.”

Phantom once again shrugs. In the few orgies he’s witnessed and been involved in, he steered clear of Aether and Dewdrop. Not only did they have closer moments, but Copia and Cumulus were all too happy to heard the new Quintessence Ghoul’s attention. Phantom totally would not mind being under either the Ghoul couple separately or simultaneously.

Dewdrop saunters past Phantom on the way to center stage for bows, the Fire Ghoul’s elegant hands trailing along Phantom’s lower back. He settles himself in line between Phantom and Papa, squeezing his hand harder than normal.

“Hey, my hand hurts when you squeeze like that,” He hisses when their head are bowed.

Dewdrop’s amber eyes are visible through the mesh of the goggles. They stare at him heatedly.

Phantom tries not to think the heat is anger. He breathes a sigh of relief when Dew lets go of his hand and strides off stage.

“You know, that was so incredibly hot,” Aurora is pressing herself into Phantom’s side as soon as they’re behind the heavy curtains. “Really gave me some ideas about testing how flexible you are.”

She knows he can’t resist her. They were summoned together and share a bond that goes deeper than normal lust and affection. He lets her pull them towards the Ghoulette’s dressing room.

Tonight’s the last ritual of the tour, and though many of them are eager to get back to the Ministry, they’re only a five-hour bus ride away. Copia is probably taking his own time to pack up his cluttered dressing room.

Cumulus and Cirrus are a little upset when they find they can’t access their room, but chat with Kevin, Ashley, and Papa while they wait for the soft moans inside to cease.

-

On the bus, everyone scatters to different areas. Mountain curls up in Copia’s bed at the back, quickly joined by the singer and Swiss for cuddles. Cumulus and Cirrus tangle themselves together on the living area couch, Aurora and Rain head for their bunks, and Phantom sits at the dining table to pull out his markers and coloring books.

Dew surprisingly is the last one to board and heads straight for the bathroom. His phone is already smushed to his right ear.

Cumulus calls out, “Say hi to Aether for us.”

Dew nods and disappears, voice too soft for any of them to eavesdrop.

Phantom watches him go with worried purple eyes.

“What’s got you concerned, Bug?” Cumulus picks up her knitting needles and unrolls the large blanket she’s been working on for the entire tour.

“Just Dew. I said something earlier that I think made him upset with me.”

Cirrus pokes her head out from the couch’s blanket. “Like what?”

“Well, our boots were together on the rack, and I was joking about how different their sizes are. He took that the wrong way I think.” Phantom sighs and colors in a cherry blossom tree.

“I’m sure he’s simply ready to be alone with Aether for a bit. He was a little more restless then usual on stage tonight and I think he’s had enough of being away from the Abbey. All of us are in that headspace. It typically hits Mountain hard as well,” Cirrus reassures him.

He nods. That seems likely. “I’m just so excited to be at all these different places. Staying at the Abbey doesn’t seem as fun to me.”

Cumulus smiles gently, “You’ll get there. You’re still full of raw power and young. Dewdrop’s an old man compared to us. Let the old man have his alone time and then we can all make a comfy pile in the den together. By next tour, you’ll be just as smooth as the two of us at this.”

Phantom begins to color the rainbow that arches over the picture. That sounds nice. The three of them sit quietly and listen to the radio station the Brother of Blasphemy is listening to up in the driving area.

Suddenly, the bathroom door opens, and Dewdrop shuffles out. His pale grey cheeks are flushed pink, and he doesn’t meet any of their gazes, hurrying off to his bunk. The swish of his curtain lets them all know he wants to be left alone.

“Damn I guess he really didn’t like what I said,” Phantom says quietly.

“Give him some time,” Cumulus repeats.

Phantom stares out the windows as they finally reach the highway back to the Ministry.

-

Being the last on, does mean that Dewdrop is the first Ghoul off the bus. He’s clamoring out of his bunk, backpack ready, and sits with the Brother driving for the last ten minutes of the drive.

Papa, Swiss, and Mountain all saunter out of the back bedroom and sit with Phantom at the table while munching on the last few packs of Oreos.

“I’m very proud of you, my dear Phantom,” Copia says warmly as they all stand to disembark from the bus. “I love the energy you’ve brought to the band.”

Phantom leans into the man’s embrace, hugging him tightly. “Thank you, Papa. It was fun to explore the world like this.”

Just as Copia opens the bus door for himself to step out first, Dewdrop weaves under his arm to slip out ahead of him.

He simply sighs and puts back on his smile for the gathered Siblings and Clergy members on the Ministry’s front lawn. Lots of greetings, hugs, and kisses are shared between them all as Ghost is welcomed back home. Phantom is congratulated by everyone and even gets an approving look from Sister Imperator.

He goes down to the Ghoul den with a bounce in his step and guitar case in hand. He would go unpack his Fantomen, change the strings and clean it, then relax for the night.

The Ghouls’ practice room is across the hallway from their bedrooms, so he puts down his duffel bag on his bed. When he moves across the hall to the rehearsal room, he sees that the lights are already on; which is interesting because he’s the first Ghoul to come down here. The others stopped into the dining hall to eat first.

Phantom looks in but doesn’t see anyone on the stage. So, he opens the door carefully and hears the sound of someone restringing a guitar.

Dewdrop is standing off to the far side of the stage by equalizer setup. He doesn’t look up as the Quintessence Ghoul enters.

“I thought you’d be with Aether somewhere,” Phantom says apologetically and goes to back out of the room.

“Don’t leave.”

The Quintessence Ghoul freezes. “What?”

Dewdrop continues to turn the pegs of his guitar in-time with the plucking of strings. “Come here.”

“No, you’re going to flick my forehead like you do to Swiss.”

“I’m not gonna.”

Phantom eyes him warily.

Dewdrop glances up at him through his loose ash blonde hair. “Just c’mere. I’m not going to hurt you. It’s just weird to talk across the room.”

Phantom watches him for any sudden movements as he walks over. He sets down his guitar case by the rack and steps up beside him.

“I’m sorry about me exploding at you before the gig,” The Fire Ghoul says. It sounds genuine, even if he’s not making eye contact with him. “In talking to Aether, he made me realize that you didn’t deserve my anger because to you, it looks like everybody jokes on my height without consequences.”

He nods, “I understand. Thank you for your apology, and I’ll make sure not to do it again,” Phantom feels his whole body relax at the apology.

“So now, you’ll know what happens when you talk about my height.”

Phantom’s eyebrows furrow. “But you just said—”

“I said that to you, it looks like there are no consequences,” Dewdrop finally raises his head to meet the Quintessence Ghoul’s gaze. “Only naughty Ghouls disrespect my height and don’t expect a punishment.”

Phantom takes a startled step back at the heat that rushes through his body at the veiled threat. Usually, he’s cornered or wistfully swept off his feet in soft embraces. This feels like Dew wants him to posture back. Phantom takes the argument bait, “A punishment, I was just making a joke!”

“A hurtful one at that,” Dew goes back to tuning his guitar. “Kneel and apologize to me."

“What? No!” Phantom agrees getting down would be hot as hell, but his instincts are warring after he already has apologized.

Dewdrop shrugs. “Okay.”

“Okay?!” What the fuck does he want?

The Fire Ghoul turns and plucks another new guitar string from the open pack on the amp. “You can leave and live with the guilt that you hurt my feelings without making it up to me, or you can suffer through the punishment and we both leave here satisfied.”

Phantom can’t deny that his interest in how this mystery punishment will leave both of them satisfied. Isn’t that the opposite of a punishment? This Fire Ghoul is too confusing for him. “What kind of punishment?”

“Kneeling at my feet and not being allowed to cum for an hour.”

Phantom huffs. “Just kneeling? Sounds easy.”

Dewdrop nods, “Simply kneel right here, and I’ll be more than willing to forgive you.”

“Just kneeling,”’ He repeats dumbly.

“Just kneeling.”

Phantom shrugs off his hoodie and checks his phone. It’s midnight. His sweatpants are stretchy enough for this. Without another word, Phantom steps over until he’s directly in front of the Fire Ghoul just like on stage. He sinks to his knees, relaxing back onto his heels.

Dewdrop watches him with those constantly burning amber eyes. He stays silent and his gaze focuses back on restringing his C string. “Good boy; you’re kneeling so nicely for me.”

A shiver wracks through Phantom. Oh no. He suddenly understands how this is a punishment. He fights the immediate arousal that surges through him. Everything is made worse because he is now eye-level with Dew’s crotch, seeing how he’s not affected at all.

“Am I allowed to talk?” Phantom tries after a few minutes of quiet off-tune tuning plucks.

“No.”

“Oh,” He mumbles. His purple eyes look for anything else to focus on when he thinks too hard about this situation makes his…situation hard. Sitting here and purposefully allowing himself to be below the Fire Ghoul is hotter than he expected. He shifts from sitting on his heels to more of a W kneel. As he moves, his eyes catch a flash of his own reflection.

Dewdrop is wearing his stage boots. It looks silly when paired with his dark blue jeans, but seeing the cause of his punishment sends a searing blaze across Phantom’s pink cheeks.

Another few minutes go by without too much trouble.

“You’re doing so well for me,” Dewdrop says. “Swiss never stays still for this long.”

The competitive instinct in the Ghoul rears its head.

“Oh? You like me talking about how naughty the other Ghouls are?”

Phantom bites his lip and nods.

Dewdrop plays a scale riff to test out the newest string. “Swiss is the easiest to get on his knees for me. He’ll beg me wherever; no matter who could walk in on us. Sometimes he doesn’t even have something to make up to me for, he simply wants to show how much he likes being underneath me.”

Phantom’s mind spins with the thought of walking in on the two of them. Swiss, most likely half-dressed, kneeling and shifting constantly at Dewdrop’s feet. Would the Fire Ghoul be as bored with him as he is right now? Would Dew keep a locked gaze with Swiss’ pretty mauve eyes?

Phantom can’t help it and raises his gaze. He drags it up the shined boot leg, then thick denim to the edge of Aether’s black hoodie, then finally up to his face.

“You’re allowed to look.”

The Quintessence Ghoul smiles as Dewdrop gives him a softer look. It’s not a smile, but an expression that somehow conveys the same warmth.

“Swiss looks too much. He tries to goad me into breaking before he does, using those stupidly pretty eyes of his. You wouldn’t try to undermine your punishment, right?”

Phantom nods, body reacting to the image of a subservient Swiss Army Ghoul compared to the demon grinding on his stage microphone.

“Of course you wouldn’t. You’re such a good boy. I see how sweet and caring you are to our packmates.”

Phantom is very much losing the battle of not letting his arousal show. He has to shift back to sitting on his heels as an ache begins in lower legs. Doing so brings a thread of pleasure as his knees touch, involuntarily squeezing his thighs.

Dewdrop notices. “Remember that you can’t touch yourself.”

Phantom nods. He didn’t say anything about squeezing his thighs together. He does it more slowly, so the Fire Ghoul doesn’t notice.

Another new string is put on. More off-tune plucking until the string sings in harmony during a scale. The repeated scales and sounds of Dew taking care of his precious guitar work as hypnosis to make every part of Dew in Phantom’s visible range seem hotter, more beautiful and sinful.

“Forty minutes left.”

The way Phantom can see the flush on his cheeks in the reflection of Dewdrop’s boots. He looks debauched, and he’s done nothing kneel. Dewdrop has only called him two pet names and described how Swiss is a little shit even during punishments.

“One day I’d like to see you and Aether go at it. He likes to pull hair.”

A soft moan slips out of Phantom’s mouth at that. Cumulus always made sure to scratch his scalp when he went down on her. The grip of her claws sent pinpricks of pain/pleasure down his spine.

“I’m sure he would love to have you under him. We would watch you with Papa, how you were so eager to show your devotion to him. Like a puppy greeting his owner after a long day,” Dew says. He barely has any emotion except for how his lips quirk at the analogy.

Phantom whines in the back of his throat.

“Good boy for holding yourself back.”

Phantom shivers. It forces him closer to Dew’s feet. He’s practically straddling the Fire Ghoul’s right foot. He settles his knees wider, and his ass makes contact with the hard toe of the shiny boot.

“You’re going to ruin the shine of my ‘smaller’ boots,” Dewdrop says. “You better make sure they don’t get stained anything.”

“No, they won’t.”

The last guitar string is expertly threaded through the pegs and down the fingerboard. He doesn’t call out Phantom speaking. “Twenty minutes left.”

Phantom nods. He tenses his thighs to get another wave of pleasure when the pressure of sitting on the toe of Dew’s boot makes him moan again.

“Did someone find a loophole?” Dew questions boredly. “I don’t care as long as you don’t cum.”

The blanket permission has Phantom leaning his hands behind him and slowly starting to grind down on the steel-toe hidden under smooth black rubber.

Dewdrop coos, “So pretty. Papa summoned such a beautiful creature.”

Phantom’s head hangs forward at the praise. He doesn’t care that he’s beginning to openly rock against his feet. His hand slips and he shifts forward on the boot, the taut lacing creating nodes of friction through his sweatpants. It’s impossible not to chase the pleasure racing up his body. He can last twenty minutes! He just has to stop right before he cums.

What Phantom doesn’t expect is for Dewdrop to starting playing music. Circe's opening melody floats down to Phantom’s floaty and desperate mind. When did Dew hook up his guitar?

The amp next to them makes the melody seem all-encompassing, filling both ears until Phantom’s usual solo is haunting him with every thrust of his hips.

“Dew…” Phantom whispers in the noise of the music. His clammy hands keep slipping on the wood floor and he has to arch forward to wrap them around Dew’s leg. He feels the slight tensing of the Fire Ghoul’s thigh under his fingers but sees no other outward expression of arousal.

Phantom rucks his hips up against the vertical lacing. He lets himself grind without holding back as Dewdrop continues to riff different melodies. Each of the spicy shenanigans they pull on stage flashes behind Phantom’s eyelids.

Swiss pretending to jerk off Dew during Watcher in the Sky. Papa kneeling behind him and grasping Dew’s thigh during Kiss the Go-Goat. Aurora kissing Cirrus when she returns to her stage after her Mummy Dust solo. The way Swiss leaned over his stage and kissed him during Square Hammer.

Phantom grips Dew’s thigh tighter and uses it to pull himself harder against the lacing. The front of his sweatpants are damp now, and it only makes the slide of his cock easier and faster. The tip of his cock bumps the knot of his laces, and as he grinds, he lifts his hips to press the knot against the underside of his cock head.

“Seven minutes left.”

Oh fuck, he’s not going to make it at this rate. Phantom shudders and uses all will-power to pause his grinding.

“I like seeing you down there. You’ve been so good for me.”

Phantom whimpers at that. He’s tired from performing and though he knows he’s good at his instrument, praise on everything else makes his heart skip a beat.

Dewdrop begins the Cirice melody again, playing around with harmonies.

It’s like hypnosis; Phantom’s hips buck up without him telling them to. He can feel the pulsing of his heart in his dick, and he so hard that even just staying pressed against the boot laces shoots pleasure into his veins.

Suddenly in the haze of melodies and the smell of Dew’s cologne, there are footsteps.

Phantom presses his face into the meat of his thigh to hide his embarrassed flush as his hips refuse to stop humping Dew’s foot like a he’s in heat.

“I see you two are working this out.”

Aether.

Phantom’s breath hitches. He’s so close that tears are forming in his eyes. He has no idea how many more minutes are left at this point, but it better be soon or else he’s going to explode.

“Four minutes left. Tell him he has been doing good."

A large hand is raking through Phantom’s sweaty black and white hair. Blunt claws scratch at the base of his hairline. “You’re beautiful like this. Making our Dewdrop feel better by being such a good little Ghoul. Does grinding on his foot feel that good?”

Phantom’s head is pulled back until he’s staring hazily up at Aether. His exposed throat and face feel the coolness of the older Ghoul’s aura compared to the heat Dew is radiating against the rest of his body. “Please…I need to…”

“That’s an impressive wet spot. I’d say you were ready to burst, huh,” Aether crouches behind Phantom and kisses his lips. It’s awkward with them being opposites, but he swallows Phantom’s loudest whimper yet. He releases Phantom’s head and lets him grind to his heart’s content.

Phantom’s claws dig into Dew’s jeans, eliciting a hiss from the Fire Ghoul that forces a glob of pre-cum to smear through his sweatpants and onto the black boot laces. “Please…”

“Two minutes.”

“Please,” Phantom cries into his knee, “Please let me cum!”

“I said, two minutes,” Dew snaps. He lifts his foot, and the steel-toe presses up against Phantom’s balls.

Phantom jolts, a startled cry of frustration slipping out. Another wet drool of pre-cum leaks out onto the shiny black surface. “I’m gonna--!”

“No, you aren’t,” Aether takes a handful of Phantom’s white bangs. “If you cum before time is up, then you’ll have to sit here for another hour.”

That causes Phantom to pause his thrusts for a second; but the pleasure is too great and he’s so keyed up from everything. “Please, please…! You said I’ve been so good.”

Dew looks at the wall clock across the room. “One minute and then you can cum.”

Phantom nods and resumes his rhythm---sixty seconds is manageable.

Except it’s not.

Aether’s hand in his hair pulls his head back again. Phantom’s hips cant up against the lace’s knot and the combined pleasure of the friction, the wetness of his pre-cum and the pain of the hand on his head makes him shoot cum into the front of his sweatpants.

He keens loudly.

“That was dirty, Aeth. He still had thirty seconds,” Dewdrop chides.

Phantom pants openly in Aether’s grip. He whimpers when Dew moves his foot upwards again. It forces out another spurt of cum that leaks out onto the Fire Ghoul’s shoe.

Aether shrugs and lets go of the Quintessence Ghoul. “I’d say that’s close enough. Besides, I want to see what his mouth can do next.”

“How much longer do you think you can stay on your knees?” Aether asks. His hand gently lifts Phantom’s tear and spit-slicked jaw.

Phantom slowly slides back off the boot. By the time he’s turned his head, Aether’s already unzipped his fly. He hears the click of the amp turning off and the creak of the rack for their guitars.

“However long you want me to, Sir,” Phantom croaks.

Dew’s elegant fingers trace down the smaller Quintessence Ghoul’s nose. “Such a good boy.”

[badger-tales]

Sick Days// W.W x Reader

a/n: I'm so excited to write my first deadpool request i love wade so much!!!!!!!

request: If it’s possible, can I have Deadpool x nb!reader fluff? I feel like he doesn’t get enough fluff in fanfics. Basically, they’re married (shocker that Deadpool’s dumbass can get married ik). Nb!reader is off from work for being sick (like fever or something probably) and Wade decides to not take any bounties (taking this for the movies kinda so he’s basically a hit man-ish??) to take care of his partner. Thanks if you decide to do it!!!

-🎀 (yes ik it’s a weird signature)

word count: 3.6k

Wade clumsily waltzed into the bedroom, balancing a tray of what could only barely be called breakfast—burnt toast, a misshapen omelette, and an oversized cup of orange juice that sloshed dangerously with each step. The tray wobbled as he approached the bed, his eyes fixed on y/n, who was bundled under layers of blankets, their cheeks flushed from the fever. Wade paused dramatically at the foot of the bed, clearing his throat.

“My darling, my sick little munchkin, I present to you... the finest cuisine this side of the apartment building.” He gave an exaggerated bow, managing to keep the tray steady through sheer luck and questionable balance. y/n blinked blearily at the scene, stifling a laugh as they pushed themselves up on their elbows.

“Wade, is that supposed to be an omelette, or did you just fight it?” they asked, their voice croaky but full of amusement.

Wade gasped, his hand flying to his chest in mock indignation. “I’ll have you know this omelette put up quite the fight. I took it down for you, love. You should've seen the flips it was trying to do in the pan—but I was like, ‘No way, Mr. Egg. Not today.’” He set the tray down on their lap with a flourish, tilting his head as he took in the chaotic sight of breakfast. 

y/n smiled, despite the pounding headache and the heat radiating from their skin. They picked up a piece of burnt toast, eyeing it thoughtfully. “You know, it’s not half bad,” they said, taking a small bite. Wade practically beamed, settling on the edge of the bed beside them.

“Really? I mean, of course not! It’s made with love—and maybe a little bit of ash from the toaster. But hey, nothing says ‘I love you’ like breakfast that might give you extra crunch.” He reached over and gently adjusted the blanket around y/n’s shoulders, his movements softer now, the usual chaos tempered by genuine care.

“Thanks, Wade,” y/n said, their voice barely a whisper as they leaned back against the pillows. “For everything. Even the crunchy toast.”

Wade waved a dismissive hand, but his eyes softened behind the mask. “Hey, you’re my favorite person to take care of. Even if you are all sweaty and gross right now.” He paused, then leaned in conspiratorially. “Don’t tell anyone, but I think the sweaty look kinda works for you.”

They rolled their eyes, nudging him lightly. “You’re impossible.”

“And yet, you married me,” he shot back, his voice full of that playful warmth that made everything feel just a bit better. He picked up the oversized cup of orange juice and held it out to them, the liquid still threatening to spill. “Now, drink up, my love. Vitamin C is the key to beating this fever… or at least, that’s what the internet said after I ignored all the pop-ups about enlarging certain body parts.”

y/n laughed, a real one this time, and took the cup from him. “To good health and burnt breakfasts,” they said, raising the cup in a toast.

Wade tapped an imaginary glass against theirs. “To my favorite patient. May you get better soon so I can go back to being the one who needs all the attention.” He leaned in, pressing a soft kiss to their temple. 

And for a moment, despite the fever and the exhaustion, y/n felt warm in the best possible way.

“You know what you need? A Wade Wilson patented cuddle burrito,” Wade declared, yanking the comforter off the bed. Before y/n could protest, he wrapped it around them like a human burrito, tucking it tightly so that only their head poked out. Wade grinned proudly at his handiwork, stepping back to admire the blanket-wrapped figure before diving onto the bed beside them.

y/n gave an exasperated sigh, though a smile tugged at their lips. “Wade, I can’t move at all,” they said, their voice muffled by the layers of fabric.

“Exactly! Now you’re safe from all potential threats—and by threats, I mean me, because I’m about to unleash the most intense cuddles known to humankind,” Wade said, his voice dropping dramatically as he wiggled his way closer to them.

He snuggled up to y/n, his arms wrapping around the burrito-wrapped form. “There. Snug as a bug in a Deadpool hug,” he whispered, rubbing his masked nose against theirs in an Eskimo kiss. y/n rolled their eyes playfully, warmth spreading through their chest despite the fever that still lingered.

“Wade, you’re ridiculous,” they muttered, though their tone held no real annoyance.

“Ridiculously awesome, maybe,” Wade replied, giving them a gentle squeeze. He shifted a little, making sure the blanket was still snug around them. “Besides, I read somewhere that the best medicine is plenty of cuddles. And I am nothing if not a dedicated cuddle doctor.”

y/n couldn’t help the laugh that escaped, though it quickly turned into a cough. Wade patted their back gently, his tone softening. “Hey, easy there, patient zero. I’ve got you. No coughing your way out of this burrito.”

y/n settled back against him, the tension easing from their body as they relaxed into the warmth of Wade’s embrace. Despite everything—the fever, the exhaustion—it was hard not to feel just a little bit better wrapped up and warm with Wade’s over-the-top affection. They closed their eyes, allowing themselves to enjoy the comfort.

“Thanks, Wade,” they murmured, their voice barely audible. Wade’s grip tightened slightly, and even though they couldn’t see his face beneath the mask, they knew he was smiling.

“Anything for you, my favorite burrito,” he whispered, pressing a gentle kiss to the top of their head.

“Who needs bounties when I can be a professional nurse-slash-chef-slash-best-husband-ever?” Wade muttered to himself as he stirred a pot of what could generously be called chicken soup. The broth looked a little… green. Maybe chicken soup wasn’t supposed to look green? He frowned, shrugging off the doubt as he poured a bowl anyway, determination etched in every exaggerated movement.

He strutted into the bedroom, bowl in hand, a wide grin plastered on his face beneath the mask. “Soup’s on! Literally!” He presented the bowl to y/n with a flourish, as if he’d just served up a five-star gourmet meal. They blinked at it, their eyes narrowing slightly as they took in the strange, greenish hue.

“Uh, Wade… why is it green?” they asked, their voice a little hoarse from the lingering sickness.

Wade tilted his head, examining the bowl as if he were seeing it for the first time. “Extra vitamins?” he offered, sounding more hopeful than confident.

Y/n chuckled weakly, shaking their head. “I think I’ll stick to tea for now,” they said, the warmth of their smile softening the rejection.

Wade gasped dramatically, clutching his chest with his free hand. “You wound me, my love. This is the finest soup this side of the multiverse. Gordon Ramsay himself would cry tears of joy—or tears of rage, it’s hard to tell with that guy.”

They couldn’t help but smile at his antics, their head resting back against the pillow. “I’m sure it’s… something, Wade. But I think tea is all I can handle right now.”

Wade set the bowl down on the nightstand, giving a resigned nod. “Fine, fine. Tea it is. But I’m still counting this as a win. You laughed, and that’s all that matters,” he said, leaning down to press a kiss to their forehead.

Y/n closed their eyes, feeling the warmth of his affection through the cool fabric. “Thanks for taking care of me,” they murmured, their voice barely above a whisper.

Wade’s eyes softened, and he reached out to adjust the blankets around them. “Always, my favorite patient,” he whispered back, brushing a gloved hand gently against their cheek. “Even if you won’t eat my magical green soup.”

Y/n smiled, their eyes growing heavy. “Maybe next time,” they muttered, already drifting off.

Wade grinned, standing up straight and giving a mock salute. “I’ll hold you to that, sweetheart. Rest up. We’ve got more ridiculousness to get to when you’re feeling better.”

And with that, he tiptoed out of the room, leaving y/n to drift into a peaceful sleep, their heart warmed by his unwavering love and care.

—-

Wade settled down beside y/n on the couch, remote in hand. “Alright, babe, I picked out the perfect movie for a sick day. *The Notebook*. Because nothing says 'get well soon' like Ryan Gosling crying.” He hit play and then snuggled in beside them, wrapping an arm around their shoulder.

Y/n gave a small chuckle, leaning into Wade. “I never thought I’d see the day you willingly watched *The Notebook*,” they teased, their voice still a little raspy.

Wade gasped dramatically. “How dare you! I’m a sensitive soul. I have layers, like an onion. Or a parfait. Plus,” he added with a wink, “I’m just here for the kissy parts.”

Y/n smiled, shaking their head slightly as they rested against him. Wade gently rubbed their arm, his attention shifting between the movie and y/n’s face. Every time they coughed or shivered, he’d pull them a little closer, wrapping the blanket tighter around them.

“Plus, I’ll be here to provide director’s commentary. Spoiler: Ryan Gosling doesn’t wear a mask. Rookie move,” Wade added, his voice laced with humor.

Y/n looked up at him, their tired eyes full of warmth. “I’m just glad you’re here,” they whispered, their voice sincere.

Wade looked down at them, his eyes softening. “Wouldn’t be anywhere else,” he said, his voice losing some of its usual bravado. He pressed a gentle kiss to the top of their head, holding them close as the movie played on.

As the rain-soaked scene between Noah and Allie unfolded, Wade sighed dramatically. “See, that’s where he went wrong. Should’ve worn a red suit and used a few jokes. Guaranteed happy ending every time.”

Y/n laughed softly, their head resting against his shoulder. “You’re impossible,” they murmured, their eyes growing heavy.

“And yet, you still love me,” Wade replied, his tone softer now, filled with affection.

“Always,” they whispered.

Wade smiled, tightening his hold on them slightly as he turned his attention back to the movie. “Sleep tight, babe. I’ll keep Gosling and all those pesky feels at bay,” he whispered, his voice filled with love.

“Alright, time for the fun part,” Wade said, shaking the bottle of cough syrup enthusiastically, the liquid inside sloshing against the glass. He approached the bed with all the seriousness of a doctor ready to perform a major operation. “Open wide, sweetheart,” he instructed, holding up a spoon filled to the brim with the sticky liquid.

Y/n gave him a suspicious look, eyeing both Wade and the syrup. “Wade, do you even know how much to give me?” they asked, their voice skeptical.

Wade squinted at the bottle, turning it around a few times as if the instructions might magically reveal themselves to him. “Of course I do!” he declared with exaggerated confidence. “It says right here, ‘enough to knock out a bear, but not enough to call poison control.’ Totally safe. Trust me, I’m practically a doctor,” he added, giving a thumbs-up.

Y/n groaned, rubbing their forehead. “Why do I feel like I should be worried right now?”

“Because you’re a rational person,” Wade said, “but also because you clearly don’t appreciate the finesse of my medical expertise. Now, come on. Down the hatch! It’ll make you feel better. And I’ll even give you a kiss after. The good kind, not the peck-on-the-forehead kind.” He waggled his eyebrows suggestively, though the effect was somewhat lost under the mask.

Y/n sighed, their shoulders slumping in resignation. “You better make it a good one,” they muttered before reluctantly opening their mouth. Wade brought the spoon to their lips, his hand surprisingly steady as he carefully fed them the cough syrup.

“There we go. That’s my brave little patient,” Wade cooed, setting the spoon aside once they swallowed the syrup, their face contorting in disgust at the bitter taste.

“Ugh, that’s awful,” y/n said, shuddering. Wade gave an exaggerated nod of sympathy.

“Yeah, no one said getting better was gonna taste like chocolate cake. But fear not!” He leaned in dramatically,“Time for the promised reward.”

He gently pressed his lips against theirs, his kiss soft and lingering, full of affection. Y/n melted into the kiss, their earlier annoyance dissipating. When he pulled away, Wade wiggled his eyebrows again. “See? Told ya it’d be worth it.”

Y/n smiled, their cheeks flushed—not just from the fever. “Okay, maybe it was,” they admitted, leaning back against the pillows.

Wade beamed, pulling the blanket up around them snugly. “Alright, you rest up. Doctor Wade prescribes plenty of fluids, a lot of cuddles, and maybe some more of those kisses—strictly for medicinal purposes, of course.”

Y/n chuckled, closing their eyes as they felt the exhaustion beginning to pull them under. “Thanks, Wade,” they murmured.

“Anything for you, babe,” Wade replied, his voice softening as he brushed a gloved hand through their hair. He stayed by their side, watching over them protectively as they drifted off to sleep, his heart swelling with love for the person who somehow made his chaotic life feel a little more complete.

—-

“Alright, so once upon a time, there was a super sexy mercenary named Wade, and his equally sexy partner, who was sick in bed,” Wade began, sitting cross-legged beside y/n, holding a comic book as if it were a storybook. He cleared his throat dramatically, flipping open the comic book and pretending to read. “And Wade, being the hero he is, fought off the evil Fever Monster with nothing but his charm, rugged good looks, and the most amazing butt in all the land.”

Y/n laughed, though the laugh quickly turned into a cough. Wade immediately shifted closer, patting their back gently. “Hey, hey, careful there. The story’s supposed to heal you, not kill you,” he said, his voice softening. He paused until y/n caught their breath, then continued with renewed enthusiasm.

“So, where was I? Oh, right—the super sexy mercenary. So, Wade, with his trusty sidekick Blanket Burrito—you, by the way—decided to venture into the treacherous land of Sickville.” He waved his hand dramatically, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. “It was a terrible place, filled with snotty tissues, terrible coughs, and the worst of all… bitter cough syrup.”

Y/n smiled, resting their head back on the pillow as they watched Wade with tired but amused eyes. “Did they make it out?” they asked, playing along.

“Did they make it out?” Wade repeated, looking appalled. “Of course they did! Not only did they make it out, but they did it in style. Wade distracted the Fever Monster by showing off his amazing dance moves.” He wiggled his hips for emphasis, causing y/n to let out another chuckle. “And Blanket Burrito used their secret weapon—being absolutely adorable. The Fever Monster didn’t stand a chance.”

Wade flipped the comic book page dramatically, even though it was blank. “And then, after a lot of cuddles and some truly heroic soup-making attempts, they defeated the Fever Monster and lived happily ever after, cuddled up in bed with Wade never leaving their side.” He closed the comic book with a flourish, bowing his head toward y/n.

Y/n smiled, their eyes beginning to droop as exhaustion set in. “Sounds like a good ending,” they murmured, their voice barely audible.

Wade’s expression softened behind the mask. He reached over, gently brushing a few strands of hair away from their forehead. “The best ending,” he whispered, leaning in to press a soft kiss to their temple. “And, spoiler alert, there’s a sequel. It involves more cuddles, more ridiculous stories, and a very stubborn mercenary who refuses to leave your side.”

Y/n closed their eyes, their lips curving into a small smile. “Can’t wait,” they whispered, already drifting off.

Wade settled down beside them, his voice dropping to a low, comforting murmur. “Sleep tight, my love. I’ll be right here, ready to fight off any more Fever Monsters that try to mess with you. You’re stuck with me, y/n.”

——

Wade burst into the bedroom, music blasting from his phone. “I heard the best cure for a fever is… a dance party!” He started doing his best (or worst) dance moves, flailing his arms and shaking his hips. Y/n watched from the bed, trying not to laugh too hard, but the ridiculous sight of Wade’s limbs moving in ways that should defy physics was too much. “Wade, you’re ridiculous,” they muttered, but they couldn’t help the smile spreading across their face.

He spun around dramatically, pointing both fingers at y/n. “C’mon, you know you wanna join me. I’m breaking out all my best moves—look, it’s the sprinkler!” He mimicked a sprinkler, spinning in slow, exaggerated circles. Y/n shook their head, their voice still hoarse. “Maybe when I’m not dying of a fever.”

Wade pouted, stopping his sprinkler dance. “Aw, but you look like you’re already feeling better! Just a little shimmy?” He hopped onto the bed, careful not to jostle them too much. “Fine, fine, I’ll just dance for both of us.” He turned the music up a little, starting to moonwalk across the bed, his socks sliding comically over the blanket.

Y/n couldn’t help but laugh, their eyes watering slightly from the effort. Wade looked over at them, his face lighting up at the sound. “There it is! Laughter—nature’s best medicine. Right after dance parties and questionable amounts of orange juice, of course.” He flopped down next to them, still bopping his head to the beat of the music.

“You’re impossible,” y/n murmured, shaking their head, but their smile remained.

Wade grinned, leaning closer. “Impossible is my middle name. Well, technically, it’s Winston, but let’s not get into that right now.” He wrapped an arm around y/n, pulling them gently against his side. “You know, you could just sit here and let me do all the work. You get all the fun of a dance party without the sweating part.”

Y/n snuggled against him, their body feeling heavy with exhaustion but comforted by his warmth. “Thanks, Wade,” they whispered, their eyelids growing heavier.

“Anything for you, my sick little dance partner,” Wade whispered back, pressing a gentle kiss to the top of their head. He reached over to turn the volume down, the music fading into the background as he settled in beside them. “Rest up, babe. We’ll have a proper dance-off when you’re feeling better. Spoiler alert: I’m totally winning.”

And as Wade quietly hummed along to the fading music, they felt the warmth of his love and care surround them, making even the fever seem a little less daunting.

As the day came to an end, y/n lay back against the pillows, feeling drained but grateful. Wade was sitting on the edge of the bed, his mask pulled halfway up, feeding them spoonfuls of ice cream. The cold sweetness helped soothe their sore throat, and the warmth of Wade’s presence made everything feel a little more bearable.

“You know, you’re pretty good at this whole taking-care-of-me thing,” y/n said, their voice still raspy but filled with affection. Wade’s eyes crinkled as he smiled, a glimmer of tenderness shining through his usual bravado.

“Yeah, well, don’t get used to it. I’m still a badass mercenary. But for you, I guess I can be a nurse every now and then.” He leaned in, pressing a soft kiss to their forehead, his lips lingering for a moment longer than usual. “Love you, even when you’re all gross and sick.”

Y/n chuckled weakly, their eyes fluttering closed as they savored the simple, intimate moment. “Love you too, Wade,” they whispered, their voice barely audible.

Wade shifted closer, placing the empty ice cream cup on the nightstand before wrapping an arm around y/n, pulling them gently into his side. “You know, you’re kind of ruining my reputation,” he murmured, his tone playful. “If anyone finds out that I’m capable of this much mushy, lovey-dovey stuff, I’ll be out of the mercenary business in no time.”

Y/n snuggled into his warmth, a small smile playing on their lips. “Your secret’s safe with me,” they muttered sleepily.

“Good,” Wade replied, resting his chin on top of their head. He could feel the rise and fall of their breathing as they started to drift off, the steady rhythm bringing him a sense of peace he rarely experienced.

He looked down at y/n, his heart swelling with love and protectiveness. “You just focus on getting better, okay?” he whispered, his voice losing some of its usual playfulness. “I’ve got you. Always.”

Y/n gave a small nod, already half-asleep. “Always,” they echoed softly, their voice a mere whisper.

Wade stayed there, holding them close as the room grew quiet. The only sounds were the gentle hum of the heater and the occasional rustle of the blankets as y/n shifted in their sleep. He watched over them, his heart full, feeling more content than he ever thought possible.

“Sleep tight, my love,” he whispered, pressing another kiss to their forehead before settling in beside them. The chaos of the world outside didn’t matter, not when he had this—these quiet moments with the person he loved more than anything.

And as the night wore on, Wade stayed right there, his arm wrapped protectively around y/n, ready to fight off any fever monsters or bad dreams that dared to come their way. For now, all that mattered was that they were together, safe and sound in each other’s arms.

[toxintouch]

Started out as an elaborate “draw me like one of your French girls” joke and spiraled outta control from there... @lu-dao-writes posted the same scenario in their Kinktober 2024 and they were kind enough to give me their blessing to post my take! Please check out their fics as well!  If this scenario in particular interests you, I rec you this post! :3

Further details below the cut so that the above the cut stays safe for anyone who is just scrolling through!

18+ Content MDNI || VERE x AIS x Reader

PROMPT/KINK(S): Dom!Vere, Dacryphilia (Tears)* + Cockwarming + Size Difference + Consensual Voyeurism. Power Play. (Some feral monsterfucking spice sprinkled v lightly on top.) [*original challenge prompt, randomizer used.]

OTHER INFO: “You” pronouns used for MC/Reader. Unspecified genitalia for both POV Character and Vere but Ais has a dick. Reader is the receiving partner in penetrative sex.

“Hmm, hold that pose,” Vere purrs.

Ais huffs a hot breath into your face as he freezes above you.  His brows furrow, mouth twisting into a determined grimace as he grits his teeth.  His forearms tense hard where they are resting on either side of you, fingers flexing against the silken sheets.

You can feel him pulsing inside of you.  A hot, insistent ache.

You try to relax, try to breathe through it but the lack of movement makes you hyper aware of every inch, the raw feeling of him stretching you open, the way your body twitches so sickly-sweet with the effort.  You inhale a slow, shaking breath, chest trembling, and shut your eyes in an attempt to block out some of the sensations—the clawing need gnawing at your core.

“Eyes open, darling,” Vere corrects you, tone somewhere firmly between scolding and teasing.  “And turn your face back towards Ais.  I’m trying to capture the moment .”  Your heart is pounding in your ears but you can hear Vere’s smooth, sly voice with perfect clarity.  Ais is an overwhelming force but Vere is a magnetic presence; no matter how caught up in each other you and Ais can get, Vere will always command attention without effort.

You turn your chin as requested, only to be caught in Ais’ gaze

(Caught and breathless–the same way you were when he was bullying his thick length into your hole, thrusting sharply and sighing in satisfaction, his fingers still at work massaging and pressing and stroking as he sunk into you inch by inch; he'd prepared you until your entrance was puffy and swollen, sopping with thick, medicinal smelling lube and he still had to take his time.  Fucking you slowly until you could take all of him.  And then, the moment you finally could...)

“Hmm, that's better.  Stay just like that.  Let me see those pretty expressions.”  You hear Vere adjusting his heavy vellum paper.  The glide of quick, clever lines being drawn.

You maintain eye contact with Ais, drunk off his breath, his body, the very essence of him, hovering so close above you, and are utterly unprepared to meet his intensity.  The way he looks at you like he’s seconds from devouring you, barely held in check by the challenge that Vere has laid before him.  Before both of you.

You bite into your lower lip as you shift involuntarily, oversensitive nerves still riding the throbbing of Ais’ dick.  He’s so fucking thick and girthy that he presses at the soft spot inside you without even trying. The angry pulse of him is a gratifying thrum, stoking your aching heat by way of mere burgeoning contact.

His cock gives another strong twitch and your insides clench around him.  He feels so fucking good–you almost think you might be able to come like this, if you can get your body to keep on clenching like that. 

—Almost.

Your next breath comes out as a sob.  There’s a high pitched whine building at the base of your throat and your lashes are wet when you blink.

A monstrous snarl escapes Ais’ lips, one that you can feel even more than you can hear, the vibration of it echoing through your body everywhere you're pressed against him.  The pinnacle between your thighs pulses with it, and your toes curl involuntarily as an errant tear runs down your cheek.  Ais is shaking, sweat dampening his face, his pupils expanding and contracting rapidly, his eyes locked on you as he barely holds himself back.  “Sparrow,” he says, gravel in his tone. 

You say his name in return, your head tipping involuntarily, bearing the softness of your throat, faded marks from both your lovers decorating your skin.  You hear the sheets rip below you, torn into shreds where Ais’ nails have dug into them.

Vere sighs pointedly.  You hear him stop his work, tap his charcoal against the paper as if he’s not entirely satisfied with the scene in front of him.  He pauses for a long time, leaving you both in limbo.

When he moves, it’s to stand.  To saunter over to you both.  You’re pinned beneath Ais, unable to look away, but you can feel Vere’s shadow fall over you just before his hand touches your face, forcing your eyes to his as he catches a crystalline tear with his index finger.

“Shame,” he says, dipping his fingers into his mouth, his tongue lapping up the taste of your tears, lavishing the digits with his tongue.  You whine out a desperate, quiet note just from watching his tongue at work and he basks knowingly in the attention.  “I really thought I could get you both crying.”  He smiles dangerously once his fingers have left his mouth. 

He uses them to drag a wet path down Ais' spine.  “Oh, but the night is still young.  Perhaps I may still think of something that will do the trick...”

18+ Master List | SFW Master List ✦"Kinktober Speedrun & Other Gratuitous (TOUCHSTARVED) Smut" on Ao3