#take me back to when i managed to watch all of the untamed in like a week instead of now when i cant even finish a 12 episode show i really | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

sceletaflores · 6 months ago

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SINK IN ME WITH YOUR DOG TEETH!

ೃ⁀➷ pair: logan howlett x fem!reader

ೃ⁀➷ wc: 7.0k

ೃ⁀➷ contains: 18+ SMUT MDNI, swearing, established relationship, feral nasty unhinged logan yes god, logan only slightly losing his humanity but like it’s a lot less sad than it sounds, maybe some toxic relationship dynamics but who cares it’s porn, predator/prey dynamics, p in v, unprotected sex, multiple orgasms, HEAVY scent kink (like don’t make me say it…but beware of some very subtle armpit stuff), pain kink, biting is just another form of sexual penetration guys, blood, so much come and come talk, creampie, squirting, this is just gross, porn w/o plot, no use of y/n.

ೃ⁀➷ nat's note: hi…hi y’all…so here’s the winner of the poll and i need everyone to just hear me out for a second! walk with me! this is probably the most unhinged thing i’ve ever written, like omg those tags. this upsetting depravity was inspired by this post by @stupidfuckingwindow and this post by @monimccoythings which both altered the chemical balances of my brain so fiercely i blacked out for a while and when i came to this was in front of me. merry christmas and happy holidays! take this not at all christmas themed fic as my present to you my precious angels. kisses!

dividers by lovely @saradika-graphics!

you notice a strange shift in logan...

There’s something off with Logan.

The changes were subtle, but you’ve been with him long enough now to pick up on them. And while he's always had a raw, untamed edge to him, a sort of wildness simmering just beneath the surface, this feels different.

It started with the way he would go quiet for longer than usual, like his mind was too far away for you to reach—lost to somewhere distant.

Logan has always been quiet, but this was a different kind of silence. Conversations that used to flow with ease now hang in the air, unfinished. All of his responses reduced to nothing but low grunts and clipped words.

And he was more territorial over you, so much more.

His hand has started to linger at the small of your back or the curve of your waist for a lot longer when you’re in public, his strong grip firm enough to remind you—and anyone nearby—that you’re his.

He would fume at even the slightest hint of someone else's interest in you, a low warning growl escaping his throat to anyone who spared you a second glance.

It wasn’t just the physical closeness, though. It was also in the way Logan has started to watch you—his sharp gaze a never ending constant. An all imposing, heavily looming shadow.

There were even times late at night when you thought he was asleep, that you’d find him staring at you in the dark.

Not the usual, protective gaze he’d have when he thought you were vulnerable, but something deeper, more intense. His breathing would be slow, measured, but there was this energy, this tension that hummed between the two of you.

The nights he did manage to sleep, he’d hold you close to him, his grip iron-tight, his face buried in your hair. If you tried to shift away, even for a second, he’d stir, his arms pulling you back with a quiet, possessive growl that sent a shiver down your spine.

There were bite marks on your neck when you'd wake up, small enough to pass off as nothing—at least, that’s what you tried to tell yourself, but each one felt like a brand. They were deeper, more deliberate.

Then there was the scent—his scent.

You swear it’s gotten stronger, more potent. It clings to you like a second skin, lingering in your clothes, your sheets, even your hair. An intoxicating blend of leather and pine and musk that makes your head spin.

Each time you left the house without him, he’d pin you to the mattress and rub himself all over you before begrudgingly let you walk out the door. His hands or his face running along the delicate skin of your neck, of your stomach, of your wrists.

Everywhere.

He was claiming you in ways—new ways—that left you both exhilarated and confused.

There were other things too, smaller but no less odd things that were starting to add up.

More and more of your clothes have slowly started to go missing over the past few weeks. Each morning when you open any of your dresser drawers, it seems like there are less and less filling them.

Shirts, shorts, socks, bras, panties. All things you’ve found shoved under his side of the mattress or tucked under his pillow. The most memorable hiding place was the front pocket of his leather jacket, your favorite pair of panties haphazardly stuffed inside.

You haven’t said anything about it yet, unsure if you should be concerned or amused.

It isn’t like he’s truly hurting anyone.

He’s just acting…strange.

A part of you can’t help but be drawn to it—the new intensity, the new rawness. There was something undeniably magnetic about the way he clings to you, like you're his anchor in a world constantly shifting beneath his feet.

You’ve seen Logan at his worst—bloody, broken, and lost. But this? It’s never been like this before.

Whatever it is, it has its claws in him deep, and by extension, you.

You just got home from a run, barely walking through the door and kicking your shoes off when a call of your name rings out from the bedroom.

Logan’s tone stops you in your tracks—low and rough, like gravel crunching underfoot.

Your reaction is nearly instant, breath hitching in your chest, heart skipping a beat as a warmth that has nothing to do with the temperature outside starts to pulse through you steadily.

It’s like you’ve become reprogrammed to respond to him this way, your body reacting before your mind can even catch up as his deep, familiar voice rolls over the sweaty expanse of your skin.

You drop your bag at your feet and slowly make your way to the bedroom, a bead of sweat trailing down your temple as you push the door open.

All the curtains are closed, the only light in the room a yellow glow that shines from your bedside lamp.

Logan is sitting on the edge of the bed, leaning back on his palms, but there’s nothing casual about his posture.

His gaze is locked on you, dark and intense, tracking every step you take, like a lion stalking a gazelle as it drinks from a watering hole.

“Didn’t tell me where you were going.” His eyes gleam as the lamp’s rays reflect off of them, his pupils dilated so he can see you better in the darkness that shrouds your room.

You swallow hard, trying to be as nonchalant as you can as your feet carry you to your dresser. “I went for a run,” you reply, your voice a little too steady, a little too casual.

You tug open the top drawer, rifling around for a clean shirt with a little more focus than necessary to distract yourself from the way his eyes burn a hole into your back.

“You didn’t tell me,” Logan repeats, his voice a low, dangerous rumble that sends a shiver down your spine. “You know I don’t like it when I don’t know where my girl is.”

There’s a sharp edge to his words, but it’s not anger—it’s something far more primal.

The energy in the room crackles like a storm about to break, and you feel it in your bones, in the way your skin prickles under his gaze.

"I was only gone for an hour," you say, your voice measured, careful. "You were still asleep when I left, I didn’t want to wake you."

You chance a glance over your shoulder, and the sight of him steals the air from your lungs.

Logan hasn’t moved an inch from his perch on the edge of the bed, but the sheer force of his presence keeps you rooted in place, heart hammering in your chest.

“Hmm, that’s real sweet, baby,” he drawls, sitting up straighter now, leaning forward.

The motion makes him seem larger somehow, shoulders broad and imposing in the dim light. His tongue drags slowly across his bottom lip, and the way his gaze rakes over you feels like a physical touch, leaving a trail of heat in its wake.

Your fingers still in the drawer, fabric slipping from your grasp as your pulse pounds in your ears. You can’t bring yourself to look away from him, caught in the snare of his sharp, predatory focus.

You turn slowly, arms falling to hang limply at your sides. "I wasn't gone long."

Logan tilts his head, a low, amused sound rumbling in his chest as he rises to his feet with a fluid, deliberate ease that makes your stomach flip.

“Didn’t feel that way to me, darlin’.” His voice is a deep, gravelly purr. It sends a shiver down your spine. “Felt like forever.”

His eyes never leave yours as he crosses the room, the green completely swallowed by the dark black of his pupils as they seep into the color like oil spilling out over the surface of a lake.

You’ve never seen him like this before, so hungry.

"Logan," you say slowly, back pressed tightly against your dresser. "You're really starting to freak me out."

Logan hums idly, head cocked to the side as he watches you. "I can hear your heartbeat."

His tone is calmer now, but there’s still a dangerous edge to it, like a knife pressed just lightly enough against the skin not to break it.

Your pulse races, heat simmering in your stomach despite the slight edge of fear clawing its way through your chest.

He stops in front of you, so close that his scent invades your senses strong enough to make your knees feel like they’re about to buckle beneath you.

“There’s nothin’ to be scared of baby,” he mutters quietly, thick arms coming up to cage you against the dresser.

Your hold on the wood tightens, your knuckles turning white with the strength of your grip.

It’s almost chemical, the way you can feel your body start to give in to him. The thought fills you with as much arousal as it does unease, a heady combination that churns in your stomach.

You muster up enough will to breathlessly nod in agreement, a quiet submission.

Logan’s lips quirk into the faintest smirk, his heavy gaze dipping to the curve of your neck, lingering on the rapid flutter of your pulse. “That’s my good girl.”

Any words you might say get caught in your throat as you stare up at Logan, wide eyed and steadily leaking wetness into the gusset of your panties.

His nostrils flare, and a knowing sound rumbles from somewhere dark and low in his chest as his eyes flutter shut on a deep inhale.

Your thighs clench together instinctively, the overwhelming need to be filled wracking through your body like thunder.

When Logan opens his eyes again, there’s no trace of anything but pure animal need. The muscles in his jaw working furiously under his skin in time with the strain of his forearms still caging you in place.

“Yeah…” he trails off slowly, tone both condescending and soothing all at once. “I know you’re not all that scared, honey.”

He leans in, tearing a small whimper from your throat at the way his beard scrapes against your cheek as he crowds you.

His breath fans over the shell of your ear, hot and enticing as they brush against your skin when he speaks again. “I can smell how fuckin’ wet you are.”

Logan’s words send a sharp jolt through you, a broken moan falling from your parted lips as your cheeks heat up so fiercely it’s as if you’ve been slapped.

Your body moves without thinking, pressing up into his hard, unyielding frame like you can’t help it—and maybe you can’t.

“L–Logan…” Your voice trembles, a weak thing that dissolves in your throat as he noses along the skin of your neck.

His hands come down to rest on your waist, palms rough and possessive and warm and a perfect fit where they lay over your curves, anchoring you in place.

“Shhh.” His lips trail down your jaw, leaving wet kisses in their wake. “You don’t gotta say a thing, princess. I know what you need.”

Logan’s hands slip lower, cupping the backs of your thighs with ease before hoisting you onto the dresser like you weigh nothing. The sharp edge of the wood digs into your legs, but you can’t find it in yourself to care about the discomfort.

Your hands go to his shoulders without much of a second thought, nails digging into corded muscle as you try to keep your balance.

Logan’s hands stay on your thighs, his grip strong enough for you to feel the power behind them without hurting you.

He noses along your sweaty skin like a hot-tempered hound, desperately inhaling greedy lungfuls of your scent wherever he can get it.

Behind your ear, in the crook of your neck, along your collarbone, the exposed swell of your breasts, dangerously close to your underarm.

He groans against your shoulder, a full body shiver jolting his frame. “Smell so fuckin’ good darlin’, drives me goddamn crazy.”

You can’t form a coherent thought, let alone a response. His mouth finally finds yours, claiming you with a ferocity that steals your breath.

Logan's tongue slides against yours, a messy, desperate kiss that has you moaning into his mouth, your fingers tangling in his hair to pull him closer.

It’s filthy, fueled by nothing but raw need and desperation. Spit drips from your chin to trail down the length of your throat until it gathers in the valley of your breasts. Whether it’s his or yours, it doesn’t matter.

It’s a perfect mix of the both of you, lewd and messy in the way it claims your skin.

Logan breaks the kiss with a low moan, his chest heaving the same as yours as you both inhale harsh lungfuls of air.

His lips are red and raw, swollen in a way that your own must mirror. A string of saliva keeps you connected, drooping thinner and thinner in the space between you until it breaks under the weight of gravity.

Logan doesn’t give you long to catch your breath. His lips trail down your jaw and latch onto the sensitive spot just below your ear, teeth scraping against skin before he sucks hard enough to leave a mark.

Your head falls back against the wall as his mouth moves lower, dragging the strap of your sports bra down with his teeth.

The way he’s acting—like a man crazed, like he needs you more than he needs air—has you dizzy with need. But there's a part of you that’s still trying to hold onto some semblance of control, to hold onto something familiar in the chaos.

It’s only then that you realize this may be a bad idea.

Whatever this is, is clearly an accumulation of all the things you’ve noticed over the last couple of weeks.

Maybe indulging Logan will only make things worse, like giving in to him when he’s in such a state could be the tipping point to a much deeper and all consuming issue buried somewhere inside of him.

It can’t possibly be healthy for him to act like this, and it can’t be healthy for you to bask in it as much as you are.

“W–wait.” Your thighs slip shut, hands coming up to push at Logan’s shoulders weakly.

There’s no real force behind your ministrations and you keep your neck bared to him all the while, but he stops anyway, rearing back with a displeased noise.

His face hovers inches from yours, and for a moment, you swear he looks almost pained—his brows furrowing, jaw tightening as though reigning himself in is a Herculean effort.

His hands remain on your thighs, trembling slightly as he keeps himself rooted in place, clearly fighting every instinct roaring through him to just take what he wants.

“You don’t want me to stop, sweetheart,” he murmurs, voice low and gravelly, a stark contrast to the restraint in his expression. His thumbs stroke idly against your skin, his touch soothing even as his words drip with pure, feral confidence. “I can smell the way your pussy’s achin’ for it. I can feel it. You’re shakin’ for me.”

You are—your whole body feels like it’s on the verge of unraveling under his touch, your resolve crumbling faster than you’d like to admit.

Everything you were going to say gets clogged in your brain on the way out, leaving you silent as you hold his gaze.

You don’t even have the capability to feel embarrassed at the way you blanch, lost in the way his scent attacks your senses, in the rough drag of his palms over your bare thighs, in the way your lips still tingle from his kiss.

Logan sighs, long and all suffering as his hands come to rest on both of your shut knees. The impatient raise of his brow paired with the dissatisfied curl of his lips is enough to shake you to the core.

“Now, you gonna show it to me?” His fingers drum along your knee, his patience thinning. “Or am I gonna have to make you.”

And it may sound like one, but you know it’s not a question.

It’s a choice.

Your mind races, hands clenching and unclenching on Logan’s shoulders as you weigh your options. His own hands squeeze your knees, just hard enough to let you feel it in your bones.

You spread your legs.

Logan doesn’t waste a second, dropping to his knees in front of you with a satisfied rumble and a predatory gleam in his eyes. His hands grip your thighs, pushing them even wider. Wide enough to make you feel exposed, vulnerable in the best way.

Your head dips, chin falling to your chest as you watch the way Logan takes up the space between your legs. Your shorts are soaked, fabric so drenched that it’s melded to the shape of your cunt, your puffy folds on display for his greedy eyes.

“Fuck,” Logan breathes, his voice cracking like a whip in the quiet room. His hands find your waistband, and the dull sound of fabric ripping rings out.

The sturdy cotton tears like tissue paper in his hands, the scraps of your shorts falling carelessly to the floor, leaving you in nothing but the light blue panties you slipped on before your run.

The way he gazes at the space between your thighs is feral, unrestrained, like he’s a man starving for his next meal—and you’re it.

“Look at that…” Logan mutters, almost to himself as he runs his knuckle along the wet cotton of your panties. His touch is featherlight, barely any pressure at all, but it’s enough.

Your breath hitches, a sharp intake of air at the teasing touch, and your hips instinctively cant forward, silently begging for more.

Logan's eyes flick up to yours, a dark smirk curling his lips like he knows exactly what he’s doing to you—and how much you're already falling apart.

“Eager fuckin’ thing,” he drawls, voice rough with arousal. He leans forward, his hot breath ghosting over your soaked panties, sending a shiver racing down your spine. “You want me to give your pussy some kisses, baby?”

You open your mouth to respond, but the words never make it out. Logan’s lips press against the damp fabric, placing a kiss right over where your covered clit throbs with need.

Your head falls back to rest on the wall behind you, a shocked moan bursting from your lips.

“Logan.” His name is pulled from your mouth like a plea, but he doesn’t let up, the sharp edge of his teeth scraping over the sensitive bundle of nerves hidden beneath the soaked barrier of your underwear.

“Hmm?” He hums against you, the vibration sending shockwaves through your core. “Thought you wanted me to stop?”

The taunt is maddening, the rasp of his voice and the teasing flicks of his tongue combining to unravel you piece by piece.

You shake your head furiously, thighs trembling where they rest on his broad shoulders. “N-no—don’t stop. Please, don’t stop.”

Logan chuckles darkly, his hands sliding up your thighs to hook his fingers into the thin waistband of your panties.

“That’s more like it,” he taunts. With a single, sharp tug, the ruined fabric joins the scraps of your shorts on the floor.

Logan groans at the sight of your bare cunt, slick with your juices and flushed with arousal. His mouth waters, his tongue running along the sharp points of his canines in anticipation.

You’re already so ready for him.

“You smell so fuckin’ good,” he growls, leaning in to drag his nose along the slick seam of your folds. The deep inhale he takes is obscene, sending a ripple of anticipation through your entire body. “Know that you taste even better.”

Logan licks a broad stripe through your folds, groaning like the taste of you is enough to satisfy him completely. His hands grip your thighs tighter, keeping you spread and utterly at his mercy as he begins to work in earnest.

He alternates between laving the tip of his tongue over your clit and dipping down to fuck into you, his beard scraping along the skin of your thighs in a way that’s almost too much. Your head falls back, hitting the wall with a soft thud as your vision blurs.

“God, Logan.” You squirm on the vanity, but he holds you steady, growling low and deep into your core like your moaning only spurs him on.

“That’s it,” he mutters between licks, his words unmistakably smug. “Make those pretty little sounds for me, baby.”

Logan circles your clit with the flat of his tongue, alternating between firm, deliberate strokes and light, teasing flicks that leave you gasping for air.

You cry out, fingers tangling in his thick, unruly hair as he repeats the motions, your thighs starting to tremble on either side of his head.

Every time your hips buck against him, he growls, the vibrations of it sinking into your skin and amplifying the pleasure coursing through your veins.

“Stay still,” he orders, his voice muffled against your dripping core but no less commanding. His hands tighten on your thighs, holding you in place with an unrelenting grip. “You’re not in charge, sweetheart.”

You whimper, your whole body trembling as you fight the urge to grind against his face. But it’s impossible to stay still when he’s licking into you like a man possessed, his mouth working you over with an intensity that has your vision going hazy.

“I know, you're just so damn needy, aren’t you, baby?” He drawls , pulling back just enough to speak, his lips glistening with your arousal. “You love this, hmm? Lettin’ me take care of you?”

You can only nod, words failing you as his fingers replace his mouth, sliding through your spit soaked cunt.

“You’re so goddamn pretty down here.” Logan mutters, almost to himself, spreading your puffy, abused folds obscenely wide.

He teases your entrance, fingertips dipping into your warm heat only to retract a second later. You whine, high and embarrassing as your hips twitch with want.

Logan watches your face closely, his expression equal parts smug and adoring as he finally sinks one thick finger inside you, curling it just right.

“Fuck,” you breathe, your head lolling back he adds a second finger, stretching you in a way that has your toes curling. He pumps them slowly at first, each deliberate thrust sending waves of pleasure radiating through your body.

“Takin’ me so well,” Logan murmurs, his thumb brushes over your clit, drawing tight circles that make your thighs tremble. “So tight and wet for me. You’re makin’ me crazy, darlin’.”

Your moans grow louder, unrestrained, as he picks up the pace, his fingers plunging into you with a rhythm that has your skin burning hotter and hotter.

Logan’s mouth returns to you with renewed fervor, tongue and lips working in perfect tandem as he drags you closer to the edge.

He shakes his head back and forth like an animal, his nose rubbing up against your clit deliciously as buries his tongue as deep in your cunt as it’ll go. The coarse hair of his beard scratches the sensitive skin of your inner thighs red and raw.

You can’t think, can’t breathe, your entire world narrowing down to the feel of his mouth on you.

“Logan—” Your voice cracks, your head falling back against the wall as the spring of pleasure inside you winds tighter and tighter, threatening to snap at any moment. “I’m—fuck—I’m so close—”

“Good,” he growls, pumping his fingers in time with the flicks of his tongue. “I can feel you squeezin’ me. I want you to come for me, baby. Wanna taste every fuckin’ drop.”

You’re powerless to resist.

You cry out, thighs clamping shut on either side of his head as you come on his tongue. Your body shakes so violently you knock a few things off the vanity, the distant sound of glass shattering hardly registers.

Logan growls, low and dragged from the back of his throat in such a way that makes it reverberate in the space between your legs. His own arms come up, grip strong and encouraging as he forces your legs around his head even tighter than before.

He doesn’t stop, doesn’t let up, licking and sucking and pumping his fingers to drag you through the aftershocks like a man obsessed.

When you finally come back to yourself, panting and trembling, Logan’s holding your shaking thighs apart, his mouth still pressed to you in soft, languid strokes.

“Fuckin’ perfect,” he mutters, voice rough and gravelly as he presses a final kiss to your oversensitive clit.

Logan’s hands slide up to your hips, gripping tight as he rises to his feet, towering over you with that same dark, predatory gleam in his eyes.

His lips are even redder than before, swollen and slick with your juices. His beard is damp and shining in the low light, and the smug, satisfied smirk on his face sends another pulse of heat through your already spent body.

“Good girl,” he purrs, not even bothering to wipe his mouth before leaning in to capture your lips in a kiss that’s all heat and possession.

You can taste yourself on his tongue, the salt and musk mingling with the raw hunger. It’s filthy and intoxicating, and it leaves you gasping for air when he finally pulls away.

But Logan’s far from finished.

His hands slide under your ass, lifting you off the dresser with ease. Your legs wrap around his waist instinctively as he carries you to the bed and tosses you on it with little preamble.

Your back hits the mattress hard enough to have you bouncing on it once, twice, three times before Logan is crawling up to blanket your body with his.

The heavy weight of his metal laced bones sink you into the soft plushness, keeping you stuck beneath him with nowhere to go.

Which you know is exactly where he wants you.

He slots his hips between yours, dragging the straining jut of his cock along your sensitive cunt. You can feel the warmth of him even through the thick material of his sweats, a scalding plane of heat that makes your cunt ache with need.

You can feel the damp patch where his clothed tip nudges against your clit, and you know from that alone he’s already soaked through the cotton with pre-come. His cock leaking like a faucet in the harsh confines of his bottoms while he ate you out.

“Feel that?” Logan asks, voice hoarse as he buries his head in your neck. “That’s all ‘cause of you, baby. Got me drippin’ like I busted a damn pipe.”

The sharp intake of air you suck in at his words does nearly nothing to help your breathlessness, your desperation bleeding through as your frantic hands push at the waistband of his bottoms. “Off. Off.”

Logan huffs a rough laugh against your neck, his warm breath skating across your skin as his lips ghost over your pulse. “So fuckin’ bossy.”

He doesn’t move to help you, not right away, savoring the way your hands fumble and tug, your frustration bubbling over in breathy little gasps.

“You want it that bad, huh?” he teases, the rough timbre of his voice a stark contrast to the gentleness of his lips pressing along your jaw. “Look at you, so damn needy. Can’t even wait for me to get my cock out.”

You only tug harder, patience nonexistent as your fingers curl into the waistband. “Please, Logan. Don’t tease.”

“Alright, alright.” Logan finally gives in, sitting back just enough to push them over his hips, freeing his cock.

It springs free, slapping against his stomach heavy and slick with pre-come, the ruddy tip glistening in the low light.

The sight alone has you clenching around nothing, a devastatingly desperate noise falls from your lips as the ache between your thighs builds to an almost unbearable throb.

He makes quick work of ripping his shirt over his head, carelessly tossing it behind him before he’s back on you.

This time, when he bullies his hips in between yours, there's nothing separating you.

You feel every inch of his cock as it grinds along the seam of your cunt. The velvety skin is almost scalding as it drags against your own, the drool of pre-come only adding more to your own wetness.

Logan presses you into the mattress harder, rutting against your cunt almost desperately as he noses along your damp, overheated skin.

His mouth is everywhere. Sucking marks where the junction of your neck meets your shoulder, lapping up the sweat that pools in the valley of your breasts, licking a filthy stripe across the side of your face that has your cheeks burning.

He buries his nose in the sweaty skin of your underarm, whining and panting like a surly dog all over again. Each breath is hot and wet against you, and it only seems to make him hungrier, greedier. His cock blurts even more pre-come onto your skin with every inhale he takes.

It should gross you out.

It should be utterly mortifying, but the sight of Logan like this only leaves you thrumming with want.

His desperation, the raw, unfiltered way he takes you in—like he can’t get close enough, can’t have enough of you—has your pulse racing and your mind spinning out of control.

You feel his nose press harder against your skin, the heat of his breath fanning over you as he groans, a deep, guttural sound that reverberates right through you.

“Fuck,” he rasps, voice gravelly and broken. “You smell so goddamn good. Can’t help it. Can’t fuckin’—” His hips jerk, the weight of his cock sliding slickly against your cunt, bumping up against your clit in a way that makes you shiver.

“Logan,” you whimper, your hands clutching at his broad shoulders, nails digging into his skin. Your hips lift instinctively, chasing the friction, the relief, the unbearable stretch you know only he can give you. “Please, I can’t take it anymore. I need you—need you so bad.”

He smirks, his lips curling against your skin as he nips at the curve of your jaw. “Need me, huh?” he murmurs, his tone dark and teasing. “Need my cock inside you, stretchin’ you open? Tell me, baby. Tell me how bad you need it.”

“So bad.” Your hips tilt up instinctively, desperate for him to push inside. The head of his cock catches at your entrance, the blunt pressure sending a jolt of electricity through your body. “Need you so bad it hurts. Please—please don’t make me wait.”

Logan growls, a feral sound. “Such a good girl when you beg for me.” he snarls, big hands gripping your hips hard enough to bruise so he can flip you on your front, gently manhandling you until you're on all fours. “Gonna fill you up, princess.”

His hands knead the soft flesh of your ass as he lines himself up behind you. The weight of his cock presses against your entrance, slick and ready, and for a moment, he just stays there, teasing.

Your arms shake beneath you, elbows locked as you force yourself to stay still, patient.

The head of his cock nudges against you, spreading your slickness, and your body trembles in anticipation. He sinks himself into you in one deep, unrelenting thrust.

The stretch is instant, the burn delicious as he pushes inside, inch by inch, filling you in one fluid, devastating stroke. A choked gasp spills from your lips as he bottoms out, his cock seated so deep you swear you can feel him in your stomach.

“Fuck.” Logan stills, his cock pulsing inside you as he lets you adjust, but the restraint is fleeting.

His hands glide up your back, palms rough and grounding as they map every curve, every quiver of your body. He starts grinding his hips in slow circles, pressing every inch of his cock along your velvety walls.

Your head drops between your arms, brows pinched together as you take in greedy lungfuls of air. You’ll never get used to this, the way Logan fills you so perfectly, no matter how many times it’s been.

“Come on, baby.” Logan leans down to press a soft kiss between your shoulder blades, his lips fever hot. “You wanted to fuck me so bad you could hardly wait. Now’s your chance, fuck me.”

It takes a few long seconds for his words to cunt through the molasses clouding your mind, the small thrust of his hips hinting at what he wants you to do.

You let out a pitiful whimper, hands digging into your bed’s puffy comforter as you start rocking your hips.

You start slow, letting yourself build up a nice, steady rhythm as Logan purrs words of encouragement from behind you. His hands never leave your hips, thumbs rubbing soft circles over your skin as you start to pick up the pace.

“That’s it,” he encourages darkly, giving the rippling muscle of your ass a sharp swat. “Find the fuckin’ spot, baby. Write your name on this cock, tell everyone who it belongs to.”

You cry out at the sting of his palm, bouncing yourself on his length impossibly faster. Your arms burn under the strain of your movements, but you can’t stop chasing the high of pleasure that shoots up your spine.

The sound of skin on skin fills the room, a lewd slap slap slap as you fuck yourself on Logan’s cock like he’s a replacement for the cheap suction cup dildo collecting dust in a box hidden away in your closet—like he’s nothing but a expertly shaped lump of silicon molded solely for your pleasure.

You can feel yourself getting close to the edge, and in nearly no time at all. The telltale coil buried deep in your belly winding tighter and tighter as you work yourself on Logan’s cock hard enough that the cheap frame of your bed thumps against the wall.

It might be embarrassing if you weren’t so far gone already, so fuck drunk that the too loud moans falling from your lips hardly phase you.

It's like there's nothing but the feel of Logan inside you, bumping against that spot inside you that has stars shining behind your closed eyes.

“Close already?” Logan taunts from behind you, voice just the tiniest but breathless, but the way his cock pulses and jerks where it’s sheathed in your cunt lets you know he’s right there with you. “I know you are, honey. I can feel how she’s squeezin’ me, so damn tight.”

His hands dig into your hips, not even waiting for a response as he starts thrusting in time with your bounces. He pounds into you, hips snapping against your ass hard enough to sting.

“Fuck, I’m gonna come too baby,” he bites out, the rhythm of his hips getting sloppier. “Gonna come so fuckin’ hard, fill you up so good. Shit–”

Logan pulls out enough that only the thick tip of his cock stays sheathed in the warmth of your cunt, his body falling to hunch over yours as he pumps his come into you with a feral growl.

You whine at the feeling of his release filling you, painting your insides with spurt after spurt of thick come. It’s so much, it’s always so much. A rush of warmth that floods your insides each time without fail.

And just like that, the feeling alone has you coming.

Your back arches as your cunt gushes over the tip of his cock, drenching his thighs and the rest of his shaft in your essence. You think you may scream, but it’s hard to tell over the white noise rushing through your ears.

Your arms finally buckle under you as Logan helps you ride out the last few tremors of your orgasm with a few slow rocks of his hips, and your spent body collapses onto the mattress.

Logan’s low noises of pleasure barely register as your chest heaves almost violently, your lungs desperately trying to get as much air as they possibly can.

But you barely have time to catch your breath before Logan plants his knees back firmly on the mattress and starts thrusting, again.

“Logan!” Your hands scramble for purchase on the mussed sheets of your bed, the overstimulation making your legs kick out frantically.

“You thought we were done?” Logan asks, his tone equal parts amused and mocking. “You popped twice already, baby. S’only fair that you let me catch up.”

With no warning, he takes you in his arms, pulling his cock out just long enough to flip you on your back. He throws your legs over his shoulders before plunging back inside your fucked open cunt with a filthy squelch.

He feels even bigger like this, yet your body swallows his cock like it’s nothing. The spongy warmth of your walls melding to the shape of him like it’s what you were made for.

The coarse hair of his happy trail drags across your clit each time he thrusts, adding to the blistering feeling where the knife's edge of too much too much too much meets not nearly enough.

His come stuffed in your trembling cunt only makes it all the more filthy, his cock plunging inside you and coming back out slick and wet on every thrust.

Your lips fall open on a broken moan, eyes screwing shut as you work your cunt around him, feeling the way his release gets fucked deeper and deeper inside you.

Logan notices, of course he does.

A dark chuckle rumbles against your own as he leans down enough to whisper into your slack mouth. “You like havin’ someone come in your pussy, baby?”

You moan into his mouth unabashedly, loudly. Both of your eyes burning as tears threaten to fall down the flushed skin of your cheeks, your throat going dry and scratchy in the best way possible.

“Shit–” Your hands claw at the rippling muscles of his back desperately, nails digging into his skin hard enough that you feel the unmistakable slickness of his blood coating the tips of your fingers.

The pain spurs him on, his head tips down on a low groan and his eyes squeezing together for a split second before he’s spewing filth again.

“You want some more?” Logan asks, tone going dark like he already knows the answer as his hips speed up impossible faster. “You want me to come again?”

You don’t respond, you can’t respond. You can barely make a coherent thought.

All you can manage are whiny moans that fall from your slack lips, broken little uh uh uh’s that get punched out with each new thrust. Your nails rake down his back mercilessly, leaving behind deep red welts that heal as you go.

“Yeah, I know you do.” He turns his head to nip at the skin over the delicate bone of your ankle where it bounces near his head, sharp teeth digging in enough to have you whining pitifully. “You love havin’ a messy fuckin’ pussy, don’t you? Love being stuffed so full of my come you can’t even hold it all, huh?”

His words hit you like a physical blow, lighting up your body from the inside out. Your thighs shake where they’re wrapped around his hips, ankles locking over his lower back so he couldn’t pull out if he wanted to.

His come mixes with your juices to coat his cock, completely drenched all slick and shiny in the dull light of your bedroom. It drips down almost leisurely compared to the near feral snap of his hips, trailing all the way down his length to his heavy balls.

“Yes.” He groans, reverent. “Give it to me, baby. Wanna feel you come on my cock again, feels so fuckin’ good. Can’t ever get enough—”

You’ve never heard him like this, so high of pleasure that his speech slurs and his words all meld together into one filthy stream of ramblings that has you sinking your nails even deeper into his back and coming on his cock with a loud wail.

Your cunt convulses around him, shaking with the force of your release, milking him.

“Fuck, princess.” Logan pitches forward, his sweaty torso covering yours as he keeps fucking into your shaking body, desperately chasing his own release.

Finally, with a muted roar of your name, he sinks his teeth into the tender skin of your neck and comes for you.

You cry out at the sharp sting of his teeth bearing down hard enough to draw blood, your vision whiting out with the pleasure of being claimed in every way imaginable.

Logan’s hips only stop when he’s drained of every last drop, his body shaking where it lays over yours. He laps at the broken skin of your neck, a soft gesture that isn’t quite an apology for making you bleed—because you know that he isn’t sorry whatsoever—but it’s nice nonetheless.

Your arms come up to circle around his neck, eyes fluttering shut as the exhaustion hits you all at once. You get lost in the steady rhythm of Logan catching his breath, in the way his heart pounds against his ribcage where his chest is pressed to your own, in the way his fingers twitch and flex on your hips.

The last thing you hear as you drift off, his come starting to leak down your thighs in thick streams of white, is a hushed whisper of “I got you, baby. I’m right here, I’m always right here.”

It puts you at ease, all the worry you felt over the last few weeks slipping from your mind like grains of sand through your fingers.

Maybe, this new side of Logan isn’t so bad after all.

tags are now in the comments! if you want to get tagged for any of my works just fill out this form!

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readwritealldayallnight · 3 months ago

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Simon Riley is a stubborn bastard

Always has been

Likely always will be

His parents told him so

His teachers told him so

His commanding officers told him so

Whether it’s how he prefers to take his teas or how he listens to no one but himself, there is no doubt that Simon Riley is a stubborn bastard, if not the most stubborn person he knows, with a long list of references to confirm it

That is, until he meets his match

Until he meets you

A firecracker housed in the body of a woman nearly an entire foot shorter than him, you were reaching new heights of strong headedness that would have left any other man reeling, but he wasn’t any man

Your unshakable determination and his relentless tenacity landed the two of you in more spitting matches over the next few months than a boys locker room, often ending up chest to chest and toe to toe as two unmovable forces collided

You clearly had no qualms about the differences in stature as you never failed to step up to the man who soon was finding any reason to pick fights with you, if it meant you ended up close enough for him to smell the adrenaline radiating off of you, to see the smaller details in your irises as they flamed with untamed passion

Like they say, it takes two to tango, but eventually someone’s toes are bound to get stepped on

It takes over half an hour after the debrief for you to convince the behemoth of a man to grow a pair, roll up his shirt and let you see his injury already, the both of you practically fuming but the time you get your hands on his pale flesh, pointedly choosing to ignore his slowly dwindling protests as you clean and dress his wound

As stubborn of a bastard as he is, as the minutes tick by and you remain in his orbit, he can’t help how his gaze softens the longer your soft fingers are poking and prodding at touch starved skin no one else has even seen in years, can’t help how his breath catches as he watches his favourite spitfire take care of him with a gentleness he never knew she possessed before

He’s thankful for the mask hiding his reddened cheeks every time you lock eyes with him, your gaze checking in on him in a way your words would never dare to

He’s almost starting to wonder if he’s been too harsh with you, if he should be more lenient, but then you go and open your mouth and say-

“You like me.”

“Fat fuckin’ chance.” He’s grumbling all too quickly, eyes now looking anywhere but at you or your hands on his abdomen that are so close to inching towards his-

“You definitely like me.”

“No.”

“Yes.”

“No.”

“Yes.”

“There a fuckin’ gas leak in ‘ere? Lucky I even bloody tolerate y-”

“Okay.” You cut him off, snapping your first aid kit shut and coming to stand, forcing him to meet your gaze head on. “I’ll just go get Johnny then. He can help you finish up wit-”

“Sit down.” He manages to grind out through clenched teeth, hands reaching out to pull you back in your seat, if not a little closer than you were before

“Thought so.”

Two of, if not the two most stubborn people they’ve ever met, the rest of the 141 are already placing bets as to when the wedding will be, Soap willing to put a 20 down betting that you’re both too bullheaded to be the first to say I love you until you’re at the altar

#simon ghost riley #simon riley #simon riley x reader #simon ghost x reader #ghost x reader #cod fanfic #call of duty fanfic #call of duty #call of duty fic #readwritealldayallnight #simon ghost riley x reader #simon fluff #cod simon ghost riley #ghost x you #ghost fanfic #call of duty ghost

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nerdy-novelist017 · 9 months ago

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Trouble (Eric Draven x Rebel!Reader)

Bill Skarsgard, covered in blood and acting feral as he violently kills people to avenge the woman he loves?? Yeah, that really did a number on me….but I couldn’t help but fall in love with Eric’s quiet character in the first act so pls enjoy my ramblings! 💕

Eric Draven Masterlist

Word Count- 1.5k+

Summary- Eric's carefully guarded solitude is disrupted by a bold newcomer who seems to be trouble incarnate.

“I wanna get in trouble.”

A voice, sudden and electric, broke Eric from his reverie as a figure’s shadow fell across the intricate lines and shadows of his drawing. He glanced up hesitantly, shielding his eyes from the harsh sunlight behind you. His eyes were met with the sight of you – a tempestuous spirit with wild, untamed hair that cascaded around your face like a mane, defying the order and discipline of this facility. There was a glint in your eyes, mischievous and daring, that seemed to challenge the very atmosphere around you. You loomed above him, a figure of restless energy, waiting for a response that he was unprepared to give.

“What?” he managed, his voice barely above a whisper, a stark contrast to the boldness of your intrusion.

You grinned cheekily, and with an audacity that left him momentarily stunned, you stepped up onto the picnic bench he was perched at, planting yourself so that you were sitting on the table as if it was your own personal stage. Your feet, clad in worn, oversized sneakers rested casually on the seat in a silent declaration of your disregard for rules. “Don’t you?”

Eric blinked at you, his brows furrowed as he hastily pulled his papers closer, as if to shield them from your encroaching presence. “No.”

“No?” you parroted, a suggestive playfulness tone to your voice. “But this place is so boring.”

He glanced around the yard, taking in the stark reality of the rehab facility, his eyes lingering on the chain link fence with its towering barbed wire glinting menacingly in the afternoon sun. “It’s supposed to be,” he said with cold detachment. “And you’re not supposed to be fraternizing with me.”

You followed his gaze, casting a sly look to the guards who stood at the back door, and a smirk danced on your lips. “Uh oh, I wonder what the consequences for that will be.”

Eric wanted to roll his eyes at your attitude. This was how all the newbies were when they came in: brash, defiant and convinced they could outwit the system. They came in with fire in their eyes only for it to be extinguished within days by the crushing reality of their situation. Nobody stayed trouble for long. He watched as their bravado withered, soon to be replaced by resignation. And the ones like you – those who pushed the boundaries with reckless abandon – often found themselves confined to solitary confinement, their spirits slowly eroded by the wright of their own demons.

“You think I could seduce one of these guards to sneak us in some contraband?” you asked, raising your brow in a conspiratorial way as you nodded toward a pair of male guards standing near the backdoor, idly chatting and sharing a cigarette.

Eric’s gaze traveled over you, from the oversized, ugly pink sweatshirt that swamped your frame to the untamed hair that framed your face like a wild halo. You spoke of “us” as if any semblance of companionship existed between you too. There wasn’t. It was just him and his solitary existence. He had no need for friends, no desire for connections – especially not from someone like you.

“No,” he said finally as he returned to his sketch, hoping his blatant disinterest would be enough to drive you away. “You need to get off the table.”

He could feel your eyes on him, your gaze almost too intense. When you tilted your head, studying him in amused disbelief, he knew what was coming. Another newbie thinking they could crack him open like some sort of nut, put together the broken pieces like a puzzle. He kept his attention on the drawing, hoping you’d take the hint and leave him alone.

“C’mon, you don’t look like someone who’s this much of a stick in the mud.” Your voice was playful, teasing but Eric could sense the challenge beneath it. His silence seemed to fuel you, as if his resistance was exactly what you were hoping for. “What’s your name anyway?”

He hesitated, hating how you were forcing him to interact with you like some needy puppy. “Eric,” he muttered, keeping his gaze locked on the drawing.

“Eric,” you tasted his name on your lips quietly. It grated on him, the way you spoke as if you already knew him, already had him all figured out. “You’re an artist, huh? I bet you’re all dark and broody, right? The strong, silent type?”

His jaw tightened, his pencil pressing a little too hard against the paper. He didn’t want to give you the satisfaction of getting a reaction out of him, but he could feel your words digging right under his skin. Dark and brooding? Strong and silent? You didn’t know anything about him, didnt understand the darkness that lingered in the corners of his mind, the weight of the silence he carried, yet here you were, already trying to pin him down with labels. And typically, Eric didn’t care what anyone else here labeled him with, but your unnervingly amicable voice was something he wasn’t used to. It was almost laughable, except it wasn’t. It was annoying.

Your words struck a nerve. He remained quiet, instead choosing to focus on the shading in the corner of his page, tried to drown out the sound of your voice, but he knew his silence was betraying him. The tension in his jaw, the way his grip on the pencil tightened – it all gave him away, and he could almost feel you noticing it, filing it away for later. God, why couldn’t you just leave him alone?

Then you leaned in closer, your voice dropping to a whisper for only his ears to hear. “You know, I think you want to get into trouble. You’re just too scared to admit it.”

His eyes snapped up to meet yours before he could stop himself, his heart racing at the sudden intensity in your eyes. And there was something in your gaze that unsettled him. Annoyance flared up first, hot and defensive. But beneath that, he felt a flicker of . . . curiosity. And he hated that too – hated that you were getting under his skin. What the hell did you even know about him? What gave you the right to pry into his life, his thoughts.

“You don’t know anything about me,” he retorted, his voice sharper than he intended, the words escaping in a rush of defensiveness.

You shrugged, unbothered by his tone, a playful smile tugging on your lips. “Maybe not yet, but I’m good at figuring people out. And I think you’re bored out of your mind here, just like me. You’re dying for something – anything – to happen.”

Eric shook his head, forcing himself to look back down at his sketch. “You’re wrong.”

Even to his own ears, the denial sounded weak, and that only served to deepen his irritation.

You let out a dramatic sigh, stretching your arms overhead, and Eric resisted the urge to glance up. “Well, if you change your mind, you know where to find me. I’m always up for a little fun.”

“Fun,” he echoed, the word leaving a bitter taste in his mouth. He wasn’t even sure why he bothered to respond, but something about your persistence was unraveling him bit by bit. “That's what got us in here in the first place.

You paused, and for a second, Eric thought maybe he had finally shut you up. He looked up and caught a flicker of something else in your expression, something serious that made his chest tighten with a feeling he couldn’t quite name. But just like that, it was gone, replaced by that infuriating grin.

“Maybe,” you said, your voice softer, thoughtful in a way that made him uneasy. “But maybe that’s what will get us out of here too.”

Eric watched as you slid off the table, landing lightly on the ground. For a moment, he thought you might actually leave him alone, and the relief that washed over him was sweet. But then you turned back, hands stuffed into the pocket of that oversized sweatshirt, your grin still in place – though it didn’t seem to reach your eyes quite the same as before.

“See you around, Eric,” you said before sauntering off, as if you didn’t just turn his whole world upside down in a matter of a few minutes.

He stared after you, watching as you kicked at the feet of another unsuspecting patient who grumbled at you as you passed. His mind raced, his drawing forgotten, the lines and shadows now blurring together in an indistinct mess. He hated how you so easily managed to disrupt his carefully-constructed isolation, how you made him think about things he thought he’d buried a long time ago. He wanted to believe you were just another reckless newbie, just another faceless patient in a sea of addicts who would burn out soon enough. But something in the pit of his gut told him you were different – something he couldn’t shake.

In the silence that followed your departure, Eric was left to grapple with the realization that the trouble you brought was not just a disruption, but a catalyst for change, a challenge to his solitude. And now as he returned to his meaningless drawing, he wondered briefly if perhaps your indelible, chaotic presence was exactly what he needed to rewrite his own story in the hell hole.

And that scared him more than he’d like to admit.

Tagging some of you who seemed interested!

@apolloanddaphnis @one-of-thewalkingdead @m00npjm @maimai-0603 @redwitchbitch1 @at-midnight @fandom-fanatix @spoiled-bat13 @alinahdee @mrsalwayswrite

#i’m just a girl #I see a sexy man covered in blood and I have to fantasize #i could go on #the crow #bill skarsgard x reader #bill skargard #the crow 2024 #bill skarsgard imagine #bill skarsgard fanfiction #eric draven #imagine #eric draven x reader #eric draven x you #bill skarsgard x you

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acapelladitty · 2 months ago

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moonlight pursuit

Summary - Giving chase to Jonathan Crane through an old cornfield proves to be a dangerous move when he turns the tables and reveals more than just your identity.

(tw for: physical assault, handcuffs, dubious consent, age gap, groping, mentions of student/professor, floor sex, fingering, forced orgasm, restraints, unsafe sex)

Link to AO3 ☆ Fic Masterlist ☆ Kofi

The anonymous tip had been good, but all the useful information in the world could not replace sheer bad luck and you unleash a frustrated growl into the cold night air as you watch Crane slip from the edge of the cornfield into a storage barn. The pursuit had been tiring, his stamina and agility surprising given his age, and your feet kicking up a storm against the dusty ground as you chase him hotly.

The barn is huge, but the incredible darkness lends it some claustrophobic qualities as you slip through the wooden doors and immediately struggle to detect any movement.

"Another little hero," Crane spat, the origin of his speech difficult to detect between the abandoned machinery which littered the barn and sent wild shadows across the space, "running around this city trying to clean up something unsalvageable. Have you ever stopped to look at what you're trying to save? You lose yourself in a baseless fantasy. Fear will mend this city before misplaced hope ever could."

You squint into the darkness but find nothing as you refute his words.

"Shut up, Crane."

He had been your professor once. A man with little tolerance and a commanding presence as he delivered his lectures with varying intensity. You had graduated before news of his removal had reached your ears but hearing about the gun incident hadn’t been too surprising, given some of his other teaching choices.

His re-emergence as the Scarecrow, however, had held a little more shock in its presentation.

The inky black looms as your eyes fight to adjust, every shadow threatening as you weave your way across the stone slats which make up the floor. You can feel the weight of his unseen observations, anxiety spiking in your heart as a sense that you were now far more out of your depth than you had anticipated pinched at your thoughts.

A sharp movement catches you off guard as Crane takes advantage of your momentary hesitation. Hurtling at you from the void, the shock of his appearance allows him to slam his body into your own – gathered momentum and larger frame giving you no chance of defence as you find your body smashed harshly to the ground.

Stunned into silence, you feel the cold stone against your lower back and realise that your costume has ripped across the spine to expose your skin to the chill.

Rolling quickly to your front, athleticism nowhere near enough to allow you to rise directly from your back, your palms press against the stone as you make to rise with a shuddering inhale. But Crane is faster that you expect and horror washes across your face as you find your body pinned to the ground by his foot as he pushes his weight harshly into your lower back. Panicking and with blood rushing in your ears, you manage to scratch out at his hand as he wraps his fingers around your own - quickly tugging at and securing your hands into the metal cuffs which had been hanging loosely from your belt.

Now trapped and experiencing an almost feral level of panic, the metal of the handcuffs bite into your wrists, sharp and freezing, as you growl like an untamed beast and attempt to kick up at Crane with your feet.

Satisfied with his handiwork, Crane takes a step back to avoid the attack and his expression is open in how sadistically delighted he is in his success.

"Silly girl. Playing at a game she has no business engaging in. To allow a professional his observations, I believe these risk-seeking behaviours stem from a much darker psychological need, little mouse. You did not fear following me into this dark place but your anxiety now hangs in the air like a fog."

In no place to listen to his wicked musings, you tilt your head back enough to work out exactly where he is standing as you glare up at him with open hatred.

"Fuck yourself."

Smacking his foot out from under him with a sharp sweep of your leg, you muster all the energy in your body to swiftly pounce on his frame as he falls to the ground with just as much dignity as yourself, the only difference being that he made the decision to land on his back rather than his front.

Wind pulled from his lungs, Crane looks stunned as he lays there and you don't give him a moment to recover any of his posture. You launch yourself down at him, ignoring the screaming pain in your wrists at the sudden motion as you take advantage and climb atop his much longer body.

Knees hugging his hips as you straddle him, you can't ignore the sudden feel of the bulge of his cock pressing against your ass but it's quick to disappear as you react on instinct - smashing your head down to headbutt him with as much force as you can, hoping to cause enough disorientation or damage to allow you to escape for a moment and rethink your plans.

Crane reacts without thought, the threat of your imminent attack springing him into action. His hands shoot up to wrap around your neck, the strength in his wiry arms enough to stop your violent descent and the surge of vulnerability, of the hard and threatening pressure on such a dangerous place, makes you freeze, like a rabbit caught in headlights with no easy escape.

The thin digits squeeze harshly enough to force your breath to stutter as it fights to break free of your lungs and the sudden shift of sensation, the adrenaline pulsing through your veins and making your heart feel like it is going to burst free of your chest, drags the worst possible noise from your throat.

A moan.

Crane, despite all his posturing, cannot hide his surprise at the noise as the violent fury in his expression shifts quickly between surprise, confusion, and suspicion. Time appears to still between you in an instant, both unwilling to be the first to break the moment even as every nerve in your body tells you to flee.

The memories rise unbidden. Of your old lectures with the man now pinned beneath you. How consuming and electric his presence felt as he strode across the stage and delved into his teachings. The speed with which he could determine if a student held genuine interest in his class or if they considered psychology an easy set of credits. How swiftly he managed those who dared to grow unruly within his walls.

With his stuffy suits and merciless teaching pace, he was not exactly popular with the students but there were many, yourself included, who enjoyed his strong character and the immature whispers of what kind of lover he would be were never too far from any study group.

You shift uncomfortably, but the movement of your ass glancing across his groin adds a fresh humiliation that only adds to the reasoning of why Cranes' actions were just as strangled and stilted as your own despite his apparent victory. He was hard, painfully hard, with the chase and adrenaline clearly affecting him as much as yourself.

Again, your thoughts drift to the past.

You had always thought there was something about him. Maybe it was the passion for his subject or maybe it was the sheer intensity of his gaze as his eyes zeroed in to receive an answer from his audience, but regardless, back then you had allowed hormonal fantasy to indulge. Once it was a private meeting, a discussion of your upcoming dissertation which quickly turned heated and found you pinned to his desk screaming his name into the wood. Another saw the fantasy shift to the lecture hall itself, your knees spread wide across the seats as his head disappeared between your legs-

Snapping free of the fantastical memories, the very real bulge of his cock against your ass freshly ignites an overwhelming sense of panic and shame which settles into each of your pores and spurs you into motion. Rolling from his body as you snatch your neck free of his grip, the scent of hay and dirt tickles at your nose mercilessly. Your body aches from the exertion, the chase and fight taking its toll, but you push through the discomfort as you struggle to your feet - a vague plan to return to the cornfield and lose Crane within the long stalks seeming like the best possible solution to a safe escape.

Making your escape as you quickly stumble away, you are harshly reminded that fate was not as forgiving as you would have liked.

A thin foot retaliates in kind to kick out the back of your left knee, forcing your legs to collapse out from under you as you are sent hurtling to the floor once again. It is instinct and instinct alone that makes you tilt your head to the side as your chest and face take the brunt of the fall. Immediately, pain flares in your cheek as it scrapes along the stone paving of the barn floor and as you lay there, dazed and wheezing once again, you can feel that the skin is torn and bleeding.

Crane capitalises on your misfortune as he quickly reverses the positioning, flipping you to your back and straddling your lower stomach to secure you into place as your wrists continue to scream their abuse - the metal cuffs harshly pressing against the cold stone below your back.

Crane's expression is heated, anger and the slightest tendrils of shame making his eyes flash and the high points of his sunken cheeks flush as he fights to regain control of himself. "Let's see who our precious vigilante is, hmm?" He drawls. "You are no bat- definitely too under sourced and woefully prepared to be one of his spawn."

His fingers press into the mask which hides your features, the fabric thin and breathable to ensure comfort, and you attempt to snap at his fingers with your teeth - a final, last-ditch attempt at maintaining your identity as fear of his discovery makes your blood run cold.

He tuts with disapproval, pulling his fingers away and pressing two against your forehead, roughly pushing your head against the stone with a thoroughly mocking frown. "Sit still or taste my toxin, little mouse. I am not above using it and leaving you hear to scream into the night with no one to hear you."

Frightened into obedience by the very real threat, you stop struggling - a rabbit frozen in headlights - and hold back a whimper as his fingers pull the mask free of your skin and drop it to the filthy floor.

Open surprise lights up his eyes, widening his features for a moment as he gazes at your face - obvious recognition immediately giving the game away as disappointment in your own failure rolls across your stomach and guts you from the inside out.

"I know you. You were a student. One of mine." Crane mutters, mostly to himself, as he eyes rove across your features.

"Fuck off!"

A sharp sting, the sudden shock of it more surprising than the pain itself, laces through your uninjured cheek as his fingers glance off the skin there in an open-palmed slap - the hit more of a warning than anything else as his eyes quickly narrow at the choice language. Feeling the heat of the blow settling across your skin, you can't help the flush which follows as humiliation is quick to rise in your chest.

A slap.

Not even enough of a threat to be worthy of a solid punch.

Without thought, your teeth appear to bite at your lower lip as you feel the warmth spread across your body. Creeping across your skin, the heat leaves a ruddy flush which is only made worse as your eyes lock with Crane's - the piercing blue so intense that you can't help but picture that same wicked hand elsewhere as it reddens other, more enjoyable skin.

Whether it was the flush, or the flush combined with the earlier moan, that gave you away, you didn't know, but what was clear was the look of sudden understanding which flashed in Crane's eyes - a suspicion confirmed by whatever thoughts or feelings he saw projected from your wild eyes.

"Some of my former colleagues used to joke that attending my classes was a sport for masochists. You, little mouse, seem determined to embolden their claims."

"Let me go."

"Now? When you've just become so interesting? I see it, that flicker of delight which sparks when misery knocks. I know it. I've lived it, dear. You cannot hide from your kind."

"You're insane. You're seeing things which don't exist, Crane." You lie, his callout over your slight masochism making you defensive.

"It appears I can teach much but common sense is lacking. Oh well. Maybe further tuition will see you learn something."

Crouched beside you, his attention is piercing and pins you to the ground in such a way that you feel utterly trapped and vulnerable - the fierceness of his gaze only adding to the slight throbbing heat of arousal which teased at your skin through the anxiety.

"Some vigilante," Crane scoffs as he wipes his hand across the front of his costume, "damp as a whore at the thought of being debased by the very monster she is chasing."

The vulgarity catches your breath in your lungs. You had never heard him speak like this. Not as a professor. Not even in the few scant appearances and interviews which had appeared online over the years. Heat flares across your skin as the words sink deep.

"I'm not." You deny, continuing to lie through your teeth and determined not to give an inch. "You're sick and deluded."

"Really? Let's check."

His fingers slip past the waistband of your costumed pants and slide down through the curls of trimmed pubic hair which cover your mound before settling comfortably against their prize - fingertips quick to press through your dampened folds to the warm hole they hid away. Scandalised and struggling despite the lack of free movement your positioning afforded, you grunt and whine in discomfort as he freely cups his hand against your cunt.

"Have you fantasised about this since attending my classes?" There is a demand in his voice, one laced with a heated mockery which makes you flush as he continues to stroke his long fingers against your slit. "You would have been what- very early twenties? Is that how you ended up in such a dead-end, thankless role? Spent too long thinking about fucking your professor and too little on your studies?"

"N-no." Unable to use your hands, you squeeze your thighs together but it only adds to the pressure as his hand is gripped too tightly.

"Did you see my name plastered across the newspapers?” Crane continues. “See the brilliance of my toxin and my work? Are you secretly here to volunteer for one of my experiments, little mouse? I would be very happy to have you."

Genuine fear stabs at your chest. You had seen them, the few videos which the trashier news stations had managed to secure of the poor people who Crane has experimented on. Panicked, your heels scrape on the stone as you attempt to scramble away once more - this time backwards and away from his wicked hand.

It's a useless attempt, Crane's fingers easily pulling you back towards him as they remain greedily pressing between your legs - teasing the wettened skin there with a lazy certainty.

"Leaving so soon, little mouse? I thought you wanted my attention? A whole chase through a cornfield only to end up on flat your back with your legs spread in a filthy barn? Surely not a mistake on your part- perhaps I underestimated your original intentions?"

He rubs you as he speaks, his fingers teasing your folds and hole before sliding up to brush across your clit - hands angled in such a way that he's able to press just enough to spark sharp bolts of sensation up your spine with every slightly brush.

"No. You deserve to be taken in and sent to Arkham for what you've don- oh my god…"

Unable to really believe what is happening, you feel fresh shame as your knees widen to give him easier access as his fingers grow more damp with every passing moment; arousal betraying the more sensible, rational part of your brain as heat flares in both your groin and the pink of your slapped cheek.

You come undone around his fingers with a choking gasp, the thrill of pleasure spreading across your skin in waves as you tighten your thighs and feel the tremble in the flesh there.

As the pleasure passes, it leaves a cold sensation in its wake. Disgust, embarrassment, and hatred fill the void but you have no time act on the conflicting emotions as your eyes drop to Cranes groin while he falls to his knees and frees his cock from his costume.

"I don't see the harm in allowing you to fulfil your fantasy, little mouse." Crane grunts, one hand stroking his cock while the other pulls at your pants and underwear, exposing your soaked sex to the cold air of the barn. "In fact, it may satiate me enough to reconsider my use of you as a trial participant in my next toxin batch. In those early stages, I would hate to see a former students potential go to such waste."

Despite it all, you raise your ass and allow him to slip your clothing from you - a willing participant to your own downfall even if you were unwilling to admit it. From burgeoning vigilante to a panting mess, the irony was not lost on you that Crane was the one to reduce you to this; a man whose academic demands had left you close to tears more than once.

No one would ever need to know.

"Just fuck me." You demand, giving in to the pressing voices which called for something salvageable to come out of this horrible night. "Dr. Crane." You breathe his name with some contempt, unwilling to quite give in fully.

He doesn't answer but the vicious grin which lights up his narrow features is all the reply you need. Moving swiftly, his hands are cold against your thighs as they spread you wide so that he could enjoy his prize. "You lack the skill for vigilantism, little mouse. Admirable though your foolish efforts are, if you fell to me then you would never survive my less reasonable colleagues. This is a much better use of your time."

You had agreed to fuck him, not listen to him preach to you from between your legs.

Unable to move your hands, you instead use your foot. Bringing it up, you push at his lower back hard enough to make him fall forward a little as he remained on his knees. He takes the unsubtle hint in stride, returning his hand to your cunt as he sinks two of his fingers as deep as possible in a single swift motion. It's careless, rough, and so fucking good that you don't even care how obscenely wet the noise it creates is as you moan out your appreciation.

Still fresh from your first orgasm, the sensation of his fingers pressing against your sensitive skin is divine and you mourn the loss as he only pumps them within you for a minute before snatching them free, content with how prepared you were to receive him. In a flash, his hands lock around your hips and pull you almost flush to his groin as he lines the blunted, slightly flared head of his cock up with your hole.

Feeling the girth of him, you grit your teeth and slow your breathing. His two fingers had already been a little snug and you both gasp as he breaches your hole, the sensation making your head spin, and sinks his cock a few inches deep in one sharp push. The stretch is deliriously good, every slight motion pulling at your walls as Crane quickly shifts his hips to start building up a frantic rhythm.

His breath comes in short, sharp huffs as he thrusts away and the slight puffs of air are visible in the cold barn air. Your wrists ache with every movement, his hips driving into you and pushing your hands harder against the stone. It’s almost enough to make you cry out, the discomfort mixing with the chill making your skin quiver and tremble, but it’s made all the more bearable by just how focused Crane’s eyes are as they pierce into your own – drinking in every small whimper and twist of your lips.

With one hand gripping your hip so hard that you can feel his fingertips digging bruises into your covered hip, Crane keeps his other hand busy as he slides it up your costume. Thin fingers leave gooseflesh in their wake as they crawl up towards your chest, sliding over your stomach as his cock slows down for a moment. His palm cups the thick material of your bra, squeezing your tit roughly as his lip curls up at the corner, some unknown thought making him smirk. The squeeze is heady, making your hips roll against his cock as you wordlessly encourage him to continue.

Your mind flashes back to his lectures, to the assured confidence and utter disdain which he showcased in every interaction, and how that same man hung over you now – his intensity having only grown with his infamy. Tension growing tighter across your groin, you don’t bother attempting to hide your arousal as you willingly rock your hips up to meet him and kick your feet against his back to push him deeper.

He meets your aggression with his own, hand continuing to split its attention between your tits as he growls and grunts his way to his release. The scent of burlap cuts through the sex and you attempt to pull your gaze from his intense expression to get a closer look at his costume but a sharp growl from his throat snaps your eyes back to him. His irritation is clear and it catches your breath as you realise he needs you to look at him. He wants the attention. Wants your eyes on him as much as you want his on your own.

A particularly messy thrust is enough to push your over the dangerous edge which he had you straddling and your trapped fingers curl into the stone as you gasp and ride out the harsh pleasure. A huff breaks through the pitiful noises which escape your lips as you feel his cock twitch and the heat of his release pulses deep in your cunt – a fiery heat which sparks fresh panic in your chest as you realise what you’ve done.

“Dr. Crane-” You gasp out, eyes wide but body unwilling to respond to reason and you clamp down around his cock, taking everything he has as the aftershocks of your orgasm keep your legs feeling tense.

He doesn’t acknowledge you, instead snatching his attention from your face to tilt his head down and watch as he pulls his cock free of you. The noise is obscene and you immediately feel the chill of the cool air on your slickened skin as your hole clenches, missing the sensation of being filled as Crane neatly tucks his stained cock away and rises to fix his costume fully.

In the absence of a loving afterglow, a sense of shame and disgust fills your chest – a self-hatred which instantly causes your throat to churn as you feel just how wet you are due to the mixed releases.

"Pursue me or attempt to interfere in my work again and I will not be so kind, sweetheart." Crane announces, throwing the last word out with a mocking lilt that makes you hyper aware of his release at it continues to drip from you to the cold stone below. "Unless, of course, you are looking to continue your education in a way that only a woman like you would understand."

A woman like you.

A whore who spreads her legs to a monster responsible for causing the suffering of so many.

It is a comment which stings more than you would like to admit.

"May I suggest you flee home quickly.” Crane continues, reaching into his pocket to pull free the handcuff keys which he had detached from the cuffs linking your wrists. “Not all shadows in the city belong to the Scarecrow and I would hate to think of a former student becoming little more than a statistic."

He drops to one knee by your fallen figure and a smirk tilts his mouth as you flinch at the sudden, unexpected proximity. Before you can say anything, he pushes his head towards your own and his fingers are warm against your neck as he pulls your mouth tight against his. The taste of him is immediate; an obvious smoking habit lingering against his tongue as he takes what he wants from you once more.

So caught off guard by the forceful intimacy, you allow it.

Eyes wide, you see every fine line which maps his skin and you grunt in surprise as his free hand presses something sharp against your stomach. Glancing down to see the handcuff keys, you find yourself released from his grip as he gives you access to the freedom which he had denied thus far.

“Time to flee now, little mouse. The night will only grow darker and we both know what lurks within.”

The faux-concern which poisons his words ignites something within you as you recover from the kiss, firing up the irritation and self-hatred with such fervour that you cannot help your mouth move of its own accord as you snarl up at him.

"I hate you."

"Yes, I suppose you do. But you hate yourself even more for what happened here tonight. For your shortcomings. Your inability to maintain that righteousness which has no doubt inspired you. May I suggest a good therapist? Such failure and self-loathing will only lead to further destructive behaviours."

Mask abandoned and laying in a messy pile near your head, you don’t doubt for a moment that he can read the various emotions which whirl within your skull and shift your features as you watch him prepare to leave. He spoke the truth, you both knew it, but that didn’t take away the instinct to deny everything he said.

“Take heed, little mouse. This city will swallow you up whole if you let it. Fear drives people to actions which they would find abhorrent in the light of the day.”

“Like this?” You spit out with venom, glaring between his face and crotch.

Crane shrugs, drawing himself to his fullest height as he takes a step back from your body – visibly matching your movements by drawing his eyes between your furious expression and abused sex with a stony expression.

“Live with your choices, little mouse. As I live with mine.”

And with that, he disappeared through the barn doors without sparing a glance back at your prone figure. Now left alone, the pressing weight of how quickly events had spiralled makes you feel light-headed for a moment before you shake that feeling away and focus on getting the hell back to your apartment.

Aroused. Beaten. Cold. Used.

You were ready to go home and take a long hot shower. Indulge in something real before the inevitable mental toil took hold. Rolling to the side, you pick up the handcuff keys with aching fingers and set to work on releasing your hands so you can re-dress your lower half.

Live with your choices, little mouse.

Despite it all, he had been a surprisingly good fuck, and that knowledge was possibly more irritating than anything else which had occurred this night. He had even had to gall to suggest that he was open to further education if you sought him out.

Bastard.

#jonathan crane #scarecrow #jonathan crane x reader #scarecrow x reader #jonathan crane smut #scarecrow smut #x reader #jonathan crane x you #scarecrow x you #gotham rogues #dc comics

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girl-next-door-writes · 7 months ago

Text

And Everything Changed

Characters: Eddie Munson x reader

Summary: Eddie Munson’s D&D game takes a surprising turn when a new player arrives, leading to unexpected romance and vulnerability.

Word Count: 1527 words

Prompt: ‘Now Kiss her.’

A/N: This is for @caplanbuckybarnes Disney Celebration

Eddie Munson sat in the dimly lit room, drumming his fingers on the table, waiting for the Hellfire Club members to arrive. This was their big campaign night, the night when their characters would either emerge victorious or face unspeakable doom. But there was a problem—Gareth had dropped out last minute, flu. A replacement was required, and fast.

When Dustin suggested the idea earlier in the caffeteria, Eddie had balked.

"Are you sure about this?" Eddie asked, his fingers still tapping a restless rhythm. "She's never played DnD before."

"Trust me, Eddie. She’s cool. Plus, she's into fantasy stuff," Dustin replied, already confident that this would work out.

Eddie sighed and ran a hand through his untamable hair. It wasn’t that he doubted your ability to grasp the game—it was something else. You’d been hanging out with them more lately, joining their lunch tables and occasional after-school hangouts. And as much as Eddie tried to play it cool, there was something about you that made his pulse race and his thoughts jumble. You were... different. And maybe that’s what scared him.

"Alright, fine. Bring her in. But if she can't handle the pressure, it's on you," Eddie said, pretending to be casual, even though a small part of him was excited at the thought of spending the evening with you.

When you walked into the session that evening, Eddie’s breath hitched. You looked a little out of place, unsure of what you were stepping into, but still radiating confidence. Dustin had given you a brief rundown of what you were getting yourself into, but nothing could have prepared you for the theatrical spectacle that was Eddie Munson running a Dungeons & Dragons campaign.

"Welcome to the Hellfire Club," Eddie said, his voice deep and theatrical as he gestured to the table. "I hope you're ready for the most intense adventure of your life."

You smiled, a little shy but intrigued. "Thanks. I hope I don’t mess up too much."

"Nah, you'll be fine," Dustin chimed in. "Eddie's a good teacher."

Eddie shot Dustin a glare, as if to say 'don't oversell me,' but then he turned back to you and gave you one of his trademark devilish grins. "Alright, sit down, newbie. Let’s get started."

As the game kicked off, Eddie watched you carefully. You were picking things up quickly, asking questions when needed but mostly diving into the story with surprising enthusiasm. The room was buzzing with energy as everyone got lost in the game, but Eddie couldn’t help but be distracted by you.

It wasn’t just your character’s quick thinking or the way you seemed to take to the fantasy world so easily—it was you. The way your eyes lit up when something exciting happened in the game. The way you leaned forward when your character was in danger. And how, when you laughed at one of his ridiculous voices, it felt like a little victory.

As the campaign progressed, something shifted. The game wasn’t just a game anymore—it became a stage for something bigger. Every glance between your character and Eddie’s NPCs seemed to carry more weight. Every time your characters interacted, it felt like the two of you were playing out something just beneath the surface, something neither of you had the courage to confront directly.

And then it happened.

The group had just survived a major battle. Your character, an inexperienced mage, had managed to cast a spell that turned the tide in their favor, saving everyone from certain doom. Eddie, as the dungeon master, described the aftermath in vivid detail.

"The smoke clears, and all that’s left are the charred remains of your enemies. But as the dust settles, you realize something—your companion, Sir Andor," he said, referring to the noble knight NPC he’d been playing, "is badly wounded. He falls to the ground, bleeding."

You looked at Eddie, your brow furrowing. "I rush over to him. Can I do anything?"

Eddie leaned forward, the intensity of the moment pulling everyone in. "Sir Andor looks up at you, his breaths shallow. 'I fear... this is the end...,'" he said, dropping his voice low to play the character.

"No," you whispered, your voice filled with genuine emotion. "It can’t be the end."

The rest of the group was watching in silence, completely wrapped up in the drama unfolding between your character and Eddie’s. Even Dustin, who usually cracked jokes during the game, was unusually quiet.

"I want to... try to heal him," you said, almost hesitant.

Eddie’s heart skipped a beat. He wasn’t sure if it was the game or if it was you, sitting right there, your eyes locked with his. For a moment, it felt like everything else fell away.

"Roll for it," Eddie said, trying to keep his voice steady.

The dice clattered across the table. It was a high roll—just enough to succeed.

Eddie cleared his throat, slipping back into character. "Sir Andor looks at you, his eyes softening. 'You... you saved me,' he says, his voice filled with gratitude. He reaches out and touches your hand."

The room was thick with tension, everyone waiting for what would happen next. Your character had saved him, but the moment felt bigger than the game.

Dustin, sensing something in the air, leaned forward with a mischievous grin and whispered, "Now kiss her."

The table erupted in laughter, breaking the tension. But Eddie, instead of laughing it off, looked at you. He wasn’t sure why, but he couldn’t pull his eyes away. His heart was racing, and the playful comment had hit a little too close to home.

You looked back at him, a small smile playing on your lips. "Well, Sir Andor?" you teased, breaking the silence.

Eddie chuckled, but there was something different in his laugh now—something real. "I think Sir Andor... owes you more than just a kiss."

The rest of the game played out smoothly, but the dynamic between you and Eddie had changed. What had started as a game had turned into something far more personal. By the end of the night, as the other players packed up their things and said their goodbyes, you lingered behind, waiting for Eddie.

"I had fun tonight," you said softly, your voice carrying more meaning than just the game.

"Yeah? Even though you got thrown into the deep end?" Eddie asked, trying to sound casual, but his nerves were betraying him.

You shrugged. "I think I did alright. Plus, I had a good teacher."

Eddie smiled, but there was a vulnerability in his eyes now. He wasn’t sure if it was the game, the way you’d thrown yourself into the character, or the fact that you’d stayed after everyone else had left—but something had shifted. He wasn’t just crushing on you from a distance anymore. There was a real connection here, something deeper.

"I, uh..." Eddie started, his voice faltering. He wasn’t sure how to say what was on his mind, so he just blurted it out. "I’ve kinda liked you for a while, you know."

Your eyes widened slightly, but instead of pulling away, you stepped closer to him. "I know," you said quietly.

Eddie blinked, surprised. "You do?"

You nodded, a small smile tugging at your lips. "I’ve noticed. And... I kinda like you too."

Eddie’s heart skipped a beat, the world around him fading into the background. For a moment, he didn’t know what to say. He wasn’t used to feeling this vulnerable, this exposed. But at the same time, it felt right.

"I, uh... I don’t know how to do this," Eddie admitted, his voice softer now. "I’m not exactly the guy who gets the girl, you know?"

You reached out and took his hand, your touch grounding him. "You don’t have to be perfect, Eddie. I don’t want perfect. I just want someone who sees me, who’s willing to stick around even when things get messy."

Eddie looked at you, his heart swelling with something he hadn’t felt in a long time—hope. "Yeah?"

"Yeah," you said, stepping even closer. "I want someone who can love the parts of me that aren’t always easy."

Eddie swallowed hard, his eyes searching yours. He couldn’t believe what he was hearing. It was like you were speaking the words he’d always longed to hear but had never dared to hope for.

For a moment, there was nothing but the two of you, standing there in the dimly lit room, the echoes of your words hanging in the air. And then, without thinking, Eddie leaned in and kissed you—not in the way Sir Andor would have kissed your character in the game, but in a way that was real and raw, like it was the first time he’d ever truly let himself feel this way.

When he pulled back, his heart was pounding, and he could barely catch his breath. "So... does this mean you’re coming back to Hellfire next week?" he asked with a teasing grin.

You laughed softly, still holding his hand. "Yeah. I think I’ll stick around."

And just like that, everything changed for Eddie Munson.

#Eddie Munson #Eddie Munson x reader #Caplan's Disney Challenge #gndw fic

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cevansbrat0007 · 11 months ago

Text

Indecent Exposure Pt. III: Poolside Promises

Summary: You convince Ari to finally let you have a little fun this summer. But at what cost? Check out Part One!

Warnings: Mature Themes, Ari Being A Menace, Brat!Reader, Dad's Best Friend Themes, Older Men/Younger Women Themes, Brief Allusion to Oral Sex, Cursing, Minors DNI

A/N: Please heed all warnings. Part of my Indecent Exposure Series. If you'd like to be added to the tag list, please let me know.

Almost Two Weeks After Your Father's Departure...

You glide through the water effortlessly, seeking a brief relief from the summer heat. While the news had promised you and everyone else that today’s weather would be one for the books, the warnings still hadn’t been enough to prepare you for the heat that assailed you the moment you’d stepped out the back door.

However, it’s not until you allow your head to break through the surface that you realize you were no longer alone. You had company. And he was also staring at you.

Again. It was something he had a habit of doing.

“Can I help you?” It’s a flatly delivered question.

The man only shrugs, dragging a hand through his shaggy, chestnut brown locks. Frankly, he looked so much like his brother you were almost surprised that you’d never really noticed just how many similarities they actually shared.

Same striking blue eyes. Same massive build. Same chiseled jaw that looked great with or without a beard. But where Steve always possessed an aura or control, Ari emanated something a little more raw and untamed.

You found found that it sometimes did funny things to those annoying butterflies that had seemingly taken up residence in your belly these days.

“Did you need something?” You try as you continue to tread water in the middle of the pool.

“Nothing you're quite prepared to give, sweet Clover.” Ari responds cryptically, his head cocking to the side as he continues to survey you.

“Then why the hell do you keep staring at me?”

That was another thing you’d recently come to learn about Ari over the last couple of days. He didn’t seem to care whenever you decided to take a spicy tone with him – a fact you’d discovered when you’d found him sitting in your father’s study just the other morning.

You’d been so happy until that moment, especially since you’d previously been granted three days free of Bucky, Steve, and Andy. Your time alone had been glorious, even if it had proved to be short lived.

You watch the older man closely, fascinated by the increasingly pronounced tick in his jaw. Hell, if he was allowed to stare then so would you. However, the question was, who would blink first?

Turns out, that award belonged to Ari.

Humming a tune under his breath, he proceeds to grab a lawn chair before pulling it closer to the edge of the pool. Neither one of you says a word as he takes a seat, his sinewy muscles bunching and flexing beneath the thin fabric of his light gray t-shirt.

“Just came out here to check on you.” He reaches up to scratch at his beard. “See how you were managing in this heat.”

“I’m managing by planning to spend all afternoon in the pool, like any other sane person would.”

“Ya know, I’m pretty sure Bucky and the boys made it clear that they don’t appreciate your little penchant for snark.” He muses, leaning forward to rest his elbows on his knees.

Probably. You inwardly concede. It definitely hasn't been winning you any favors. Which is why you often preferred to play the part of a mute. Whenever they allowed you to, that is.

“Doesn’t seem to bother you.” You respond honestly before closing your eyes and flipping your body so that you can float on your back, giving Ari a glimpse of your peaches and cream-colored bikini.

“That’s cuz’ not too much bothers me. I don’t allow it.”

“Hmm…” You spread your arms, silently wishing you could simply float away from this conversation entirely. “Maybe you should talk to the others about that. Seems like I find a new way to piss them off every time I open my mouth.”

“Nah.” Ari shrugs away your words as he continues to appear unbothered by the heat. “Something tells me they don’t quite know just what to do with a pretty little thing like you.”

“Oh. And you do?” Well, you could safely say that you hadn’t been expecting that answer.

“I’d certainly like to think so.”

His statement hangs in the air as you both fall silent. While you weren’t quite sure what your would-be caretaker was talking about, it was definitely enough to make you think. And it’s at that moment that you decide to change tactics. Instead of floating here annoyed, perhaps it was time to use Ari’s seemingly indulgent personality to your benefit.

A friend of yours was throwing a party tonight. And you wanted to go.

When you’d previously brought it up to Bucky and Steve, they’d both hemmed and hawed over the subject – asking you all kinds of questions and refusing to give you anything more than a non-committal “we’ll have to see” or "we'll have to sit down and talk about it". And when you’d tried to play the ultimate trump card by calling your father, he’d sided with them.

“I’m not there, pumpkin.” Your Dad had said while you’d been holed-up pouting in your room. “I asked your Uncles to watch over you, which means I’m gonna have to defer to them in situations like this one."

And, as luck would have it, you hadn’t been able to get your answer before they’d just up and disappeared on you like the overbearing assholes they were proving themselves to be.

“Yeah, well, I’m not sure I trust the judgment of anyone who’s crazy enough to sit out here in this heat and roast – not when there’s a perfectly good pool, like, right in front of them.”

“Not sure that pool of yours is big enough for the both of us.” Ari mutters, scrubbing a hand over his jaw. Although you get the feeling he’s talking more to himself than you.

“It’s plenty big.” You eagerly reassure him, adjusting your position so that you can float closer to where your pseudo-guardian is sitting. “See? There’s aaall this space.”

For a second Ari appears unsure. And the closer you get, there’s no denying the fact that he was finally showing signs of feeling the heat. It’s hard to miss the thin line of sweat dotting along his brow.

“C’mon…” You urge, playfully splashing him. “Don’t be such a hard ass, Uncle Ari.” You decide to tack on the last bit for his benefit, all the while trying hard to keep the edge out of your tone. But if he notices, he thankfully doesn’t comment.

“Fine. Melt.” You heave an exasperated sigh when he still doesn’t move. Climbing onto a nearby pool raft, you turn your attention back to your companion. “Jesus, you guys are always so serious, like all of the time. I mean, what’s wrong with having a little fun?”

“Alright.” That’s all you get before he reaches to pull his shirt over his head, revealing the sculpted body hiding beneath.

You scarcely have the chance to appreciate the sight before you’re treated to the sound of a splash. You let out a squeal as water goes splashing everywhere, rewetting your already rapidly drying body. Seconds later, Ari’s head breaks through the water.

“Happy now, princess?” He disappears again, only to reappear closer to where you’re currently lounging.

“Depends.”

“On?” He asks, seemingly content to tread water alongside you. You’d be lying to yourself if you didn’t at least admit that the man was kind of attractive.

Or, as your friends had put it, sexy as hell. Yeah, you weren’t quite sure how you felt about that one.

“Well…” You hedge, giggling when he splashes you to encourage you to hurry up.

“Out with it, Clover. A closed mouth doesn’t get fed.” Or fucked. He silently adds.

“There’s this party I kinda wanted to go to tonight. All my friends will be there and I haven't really had the chance to celebrate my birthday with them yet.” You finish, your teeth going to worry your bottom lip.

Ari studies you for a moment as he tries to figure out the best way to respond. “What did Uncle Steve and the others say?” He already knew that you'd asked them, and he wanted to make it clear that he’s not one to be so easily manipulated. “I’m assuming you asked them first.”

“They said “maybe”. Well, two of them did anyway. But then they left without ever giving me a real answer.”

“I see.” He offers you a cheeky grin while pausing to swat at a wayward fly. “Maybe we should call them. See if they’ve finally made up their minds–.”

“No!” You shoot straight up on your perch, accidently flipping the raft and sending you tumbling back into the icy cool water. You come up sputtering and coughing, and while you can’t quite tell, you’re also fairly certain that Ari is laughing at you.

“You all good?”

“Yeah.” You gag, hating the taste of chlorine.

Ari nods before moving to retrieve your float. He’s even kind enough to hold it still long enough for you to climb back on it again. Only once he’s satisfied that you’re secure does he seem interested in continuing the conversation.

“So…it sounds like you really wanna go to this party. Don’t you, Clover?”

“Yes.” You breathe, refusing to say anything more than that just in case he was actually considering it. You’re so desperate that you don’t even balk when he begins swimming towards the edge of the pool, dragging you along with him. He doesn’t speak again until he’s reached his destination.

“Tell me, will there be any drinking at this party?”

“Wha–no!”

“Now’s not the time to lie to me, princess. Will people be drinking at this party?” He reaches up to cup your chin, his brilliant blue eyes boring into yours as if he's attempting to unravel all of your secrets.

One by one.

“I swear! Grace’s parents would positively kill her if they found out she threw that kind of party.”

Ari quietly mulls over your answer before deeming it to be honest enough for his liking. “How about boys?”

Fuck. While you couldn’t be honest, you also didn’t want to lie. Not when you were this close to getting what you wanted. Which was freedom.

“Her little brother will be there. He’s a couple grades below us. But it's not like she can kick him out or anything.”

“Just her little brother, huh?” You could tell he was feeling more than a little skeptical. However, you’re surprised when he seemingly lets it slide. Releasing his grip on your chin, he gives you a little push, content to let you float away.

“I swear. We can’t do anything too crazy with him around – he’d rat us out sooo fast.”

Please believe me. Please believe me. Please believe me.

Holding your breath, you watch as he climbs out of the water. He makes a beeline for your towel, patting himself dry to the best of his ability before draping it over his shoulder.

“Okay, sweetheart. I might be willing to make an executive decision on this one, provided you’re willing to do something for me in return. Something that’ll keep at least some of the heat off of me when it comes to dealing with Steve and the boys.”

What you didn't know was that they had already discussed your desire to attend this party – him, Bucky, Andy, and Steve – and they'd decided that the answer was "no". But since you'd gone the last couple days without throwing a tantrum, Ari felt inclined to give you what you wanted. It also helped that he found your bratty ways to be rather endearing.

So long as you weren't outrightly disrespectful.

“Anything.” The word flies out of your mouth before you can catch it. And just like that, that damn tick in his jaw is back.

“The only way I feel comfortable enough letting you go is if you promise to text me every 30 minutes. Doesn’t have to be long. Just a message to let me and the other guys know you’re okay.”

What the hell?

You open your mouth to protest before deciding you’re better off not. Right now, you’d take the win and try to renegotiate the rest later.

“Take it or leave it, princess.”

“I’ll take it!” You reply, albeit probably a little too enthusiastically. “Thank you so much!”

Ari doesn’t even crack a smile. Instead that damned tick of his only seems to grow even more pronounced. “Alright.” With that, he turns and begins striding towards the door. “I’ll, uh…I’ll get you another towel.” He pauses once he reaches his destination, turning to face you once more.

“And Clover?”

“Yeah?” You call back, feeling happier than you have in almost two whole weeks.

“Don’t make me regret this." Ari rumbles, allowing you to get a good, long look at his muscled, hair covered chest. "I'd hate for my kindness to come back and bite me in the ass. It would be a shame to start the summer off on such a bad note.”

“I…”

His words leave you so speechless that you can only watch as Ari proceeds to waltz through the sliding door, leaving you outside all alone once more. But not before reiterating his promise to bring you another towel so that you can get ready for lunch.

“Well, fuck…” Is all you can muster before rolling yourself off your float and into the cooling expanse of the water. You swim down to the bottom, touching the floor with both hands as you work to center yourself.

You hold your breath for as long as you’re able before the need for oxygen forces you to resurface. As you greedily gulp air into your burning lungs you tell yourself not to give a fuck about Ari and his bullshit. Instead, you decide to focus on the most important aspect of tonight, namely…

Just what in the hell were you going to wear?

END

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running-with-kn1ves · 1 year ago

Note

Hi lovely, to celebrate the new year! I was wondering if you could please do a fluff/smut with Cirden.

Does not have to be hardcore smut only a taste!! thank you so much 4 taking the time out of your day and writing we all appreciate your work.

A/N: took it in me to get this done before January ended!! putting this man in the spicy is so bittersweet b/c it feels so wrong (but so right). And thank you for your kindness!! Lord knows I've been needing some grace. Thank you for being so sweet I'm glad people actually see my stuff <33

CW: NSFW/SMUT, public(?) doing the dirty in the woods, hunting, elf X reader, established marriage

WC:2.8k

Gender Neutral Reader X Male Elf husband

"Raagghh. I haven't caught ANYTHING..." One of your arrows lands in the dirt, it's blade skinning against the ground before it fell flat. You couldn't even manage to stab a lizard that blundered past you, it's skittering body running as your arrow slumped.

"Don't get discouraged," Cirdan mumbled with unmoving lips, focused on the prey only a few meters in front of him. "It's only your first time with a bow and arrow."

He still managed to whisk away your heart in his crouched battle stance as you curled on the forest floor, his arrow flying as it released with a snap. The harsh squeak of a cottontail broke the silence of the ancient trees, a fatal jump being it's last movement before it succumbed to the ground in a helpless flop. Your husband moved forward without you to slice it's throat. You looked away in shame; he had been hunting for your dinners ever since your joint movement into the cottage currently a mile away; he had cut the heads off deer and ducks while you sat back and covered your eyes. You couldn't even shoot down a bird, not only from your poor aim but your heart lurched everytime you saw its feathered breast beat with life, its beak release a hymn of song. Every now and again you could garner the courage to help him defeather or clean the bones of his latest catch but when seeing their heads or lifeless eyes, it made your insides churn.

It was dispiriting, knowing you couldn't provide in the way he had learned to do since he was a child. But by Gods and Goddesses, did he not look fine holding that bow and pulling back its string, showing the strength in his chest and the unwavering focus in his grey-blue eyes. You memorialized the image in your head, toes scrunching deep in your sewn leather boots (created by cirdan and his many talents) with your knees pushed together, gaze focused on the ground.

"Whats wrong?"

You looked up from your place in the dirt and dead leaves, your spouse like a pretty ice mountain that you had to strain upwards to see. He placed three dead bunnies by their ears into the sack that was once on his back; if he were alone, he would've just carried them by hand back to the cottage.

"Nothing, I was just... thinking. It's beautiful out here."

You looked up at the canopy of trees, dappled light speckling between the small empty holes that neither branch nor bushy leaves covered to block the evening sun.

Cirdan bent down, placing his sack on the ground as a warm hand came to cover the top of your head. A calloused palm pushed your hair back, patting you with deadweight.

You couldn't see the rest of him with his gigantic arm in the way, his voice like an omniscient invisible God of the forest.

"Don't worry if you can't hunt...I'll do enough for the both of us," His palm slid to your cheek in a messy fashion, attempting to be heedful of how firm his touch was, too used to handling his bow with untamed strength for the day. His hand was a pillow on your cheek as he pressed his thumb against your temple. "It's my job to take care of you."

He spoke as if mostly to himself, thin silver lashes disguising his eyes while he watches your lips with a small, almost unnoticeable quiver. But he didn't waver as you stared back, gaze running from his deep pupils to his strong nose bridge, down to his dripping jugular.

It was tension inside you and it was unbearable. It took choking yourself back to not scream "just kiss me, dammit!"

But elves weren't the hasty type,(especially your aloof husband), and you didn't know what Cirdan would think if you came forward so hungrily. Would he think you were just some lust-crazed old bat that replaced the careful spouse he once knew?

"Come, let's go back; the wind is picking up. I won't let you catch a cold."

The forest was all but blowing, a leaf tumbling every now and again but practically silent. And yet, who were you to argue with the seasoned elf who had survived in forests like this?

You took the outstretched hand cirdan put in front of you, allowing him to practically lift you to your feet as your bow held limply in your other hand with defeat. Alas, another day with no progress in conquering your woodland fear.

You let Cirdan lead you, following him past old oaks and emptied burrows, unable to keep your wide eyes off of him. It was nice, to distract your disappointed mind from your empty game sack to the hauntingly beautiful portrait of the manly elf before you.

"What is it?" Cirdan stopped, looking at you with those long locks covering his scarred eye, the other staring with a darkened brow.

"Nothing!" You'd repeat, looking away with your antsy feet bouncing, hoping he'd somehow read the growing need inside of you. And this carried on a countless too many times before you saw the clearing that led to the desire path back home.

What were you to say? That you wanted him here and now? That you wished he'd just smile and hold you and tell you to take off your hunting clothes and everything underneath as soon as you got back home? Yeah, right. As if the stoic beast that you married would be so forward, as hopeful and desiring as you.

You sneaked glances, learning better than before when aiming to witness the veins in his forearm that traveled to the hand interlocked with yours, the pants that fit his slightly toned ass just right. Gods, were you really so sinful? But, was it so wrong to want your husband, to think of him panting above you and his beautiful thighs encasing you with heartache and hunger?

Cirdan stopped again. You were about to tell him now this time you really weren't looking but he didn't face you, instead dropping his bag along with an unused set of arrows accompanying his bow.

"I think... I understand."

You tilted your head at him, maybe at a poor attempt to get him to look at your cute side.

"I'm supposed to do more than...be a a simple protector."

You would've pressed for more information, if it weren't for the oddly timed shove towards a nearby tree. Cirdan took the bag from your hands faster than you could ask "what the hell are ya doing," his sharp face only mere inches away and angled as if he was about to kiss you.

But maybe, that was just your imagination, your mind centered only on his smoothened pinkish lips.

"Is this what you wanted...?"

The elf brute inched down, nudging your nose with a deep exhale. His hands engulfed yours, holding them down at your sides as he pressed his lips snuggly to your cupids bow.

The sheer power of his face pushed your skull against the tree; along with it a warm, humid hand came from behind to press along the curve of your back. His pointer finger inched, massaging into your tailbone as the elf's thigh quickly entrapped you between he and the old oak.

That hand moved down to the waist of your hunting trousers, digging beneath them to reach more savory skin.

You almost jumped at the slight clutch of your left ass cheek, your husbands eyes shut as he rubbed his forehead against you.

Lost words were grumbled under his breath with a gentle rasp, his other hand leaving your fingers as they braced against the bark of the tree behind you.

"Cirdan-- wha," you tried to figure out what you were feeling, what the right thing to do would be. Which was, to tell him that this was not the right place, nor the right time. But that gentle nudge of his tented crotch against your leg made any thoughts of lucidity drift.

"Want you..." He spoke, barely above a hum. "Isn't this, what you needed? Looking at me, at my..."

"Don't finish that sentence," you warned, unable to meet his gaze as he softly squinted open his eyes. "Maybe so but--! Right here?? Right now? In the woods?! Even I'm not desperate enough to make us do it...here."

"No creatures come to the edge of the woods... too smart for that. We're too far away for any hunters to venture close enough." You could see even he wasn't one to normally suggest this idea; but if anyone knew this forest, it was him. "Besides, said I want to take care of you.. did you not think I'd follow through on that..?"

"But, wait, I mean-" you nearly whined, hardly able to contain yourself with the hand massaging your backside, the fat of his buldge grinding into your quadricep. He was almost as bad as the rabbits he so skillfully caught, their known libidinous currently rivaling his own.

It was still atleast a 15 minute walk back to the cottage when following the path directly back. Could you make it that long? If not, could you bare the anxiety of having him bend you over in the woods completely out in the open?

"I didn't know you were so... pent up." You choked. "I mean, you're not just doing this for me, right?"

Who were you kidding? He was practically rubbing on you like a fox in heat.

"Please don't make me beg." He looked at you directly, finding your lost-at-sea eyes that had been rapidly searching for any creature or holy figure nearby witnessing you and your husbands' immoralities. He wasn't whining nor desperate but rather asking you, to please, not make him put himself even lower at your mercy-- if that was even possible.

His directness caught you off guard; sure, you had been on the edge of ripping your clothes off and throwing yourself at him but-- to have him beat you to the punch?

You couldn't help yourself when he leaned in, his soft locks brushing against your shoulder as the tip of his pink tongue swiped your lower lip, his confidence having grown since the first time you made love to him in the dark.

You opened your mouth greedily, nearly starvingly so as you wrapped your arms around his broad shoulders. How could you say no, when he asked you so genuinely, when your groin ached to be caressed by him?

With the confession of your open mouth and the lewd noises of your labored breaths, Cirdan moved quicker than with the normal diligent pace he tended to do everything with. In a split second your leg was wrapped around his hip, his large hand rubbing gently at the front zipper of your trousers, reaching in deep between your legs to get a good cup full o' you.

You couldn't just ignore the cries of his loins as he lunged forward, desperate for your affection. You undid the two buttons holding the elf's own wood-colored slacks up. They drooped only slightly to show the clean grey of his happy trail, your palm digging in to reach for the stiff piece that craved a special touch.

It slid out so easily, his tip warm against your wrist. You couldn't help but watch him leak just a bit, slightly hard as a thin vein pulsed under your thumb.

"Gods please...I said t'not make me beg." He muffled in your ear, taken aback uncharacteristically as you stroked with the intent to milk him for all he had.

It was so cute and fat, the small grey-white hairs of the front of his cock leading down to his crowned jewels, making you appreciate the differences between humans and elves. His pointed ears twitched upward as he practically foamed at the mouth against your neck. A gentle palm came to push your shoulder against the tree with simplicity.

Without unzipping, cirdan shifted to pull your pants and undergarments down to your knees; in a matter of two seconds he managed to strip you half naked. Your hand was pulled away from the elf, interlocked instead with his fingers as your bare thigh was hoisted further up against his naked hip.

His chest pressed up against you as he slowed to get inside, looking at you with glazed over, hooded eyes. He didn't look away, he couldn't. There was something about the sweat at the corner of your brow, your slightly ajar lips that kept him going, entering inside of you with raw cock and raw determination, awaiting to see that expression of nearful ecstasy that would wash away all the neediness you had been experiencing.

You didn't know how he could do it, stare at you so intently without any break away while you sweated under his gaze. If he wasn't currently bottoming out inside of you right now, you would've felt like you were under interrogation. You both huffed simultaneously once your hole swallowed up the entirety of him, your right leg limp over his thigh as he pressed you up further against the tree.

"Feel okay?" Cirdan panted, and you could see he was barely keeping himself at bay. What a gentleman, controlling himself from fucking you blind-- not that you would've minded the latter, of course.

You responded in turn by grinding down on him, rolling your hips forward to have that needy, hungry and achingly thirsty spot become just a little farther quenched.

It was difficult to not throw your head back and scream, feeling so warm and full as you gripped the back strands of the elfs hair.

With the time you had spent with him you realized Cirdan wasn't much of a grunter, preferring unconsciously to huff and pant and wordlessly suck through his teeth when he was inside of you. If you were lucky, you'd get to see him furrow his brows in exasperation, frowning as if he was concentrating hard on something important and not just from rocking into you. The challenging part about being his first lover however, was that he was still learning not to finish in the first few seconds of plunging inside.

"Ill.. n'take care of yo..u" he muttered, lifting your hips as your bare ass scraped against the bark of the tree. "Take care so good..."

You would've laughed at his drunken fervor if you didn't find it so endearing, the urge to stick your tongue into his heated cavern of a mouth washing over you like a wave.

Cirdan accepted the kiss greatfully, placing a hand behind your head to grace your thump against the tree. You could hear the branches shake, a stray dead leaf falling on the top of your head as he rutted forward, your own pelvic floor pushing against his thrusts. The elf's nose smushed against the side of your own, lips practically consuming one another as his lashes brushed your cheek. Sweat formed on your back dripping to your legs, but you didn't care. It felt too good, your senses only focusing on where he was caressing or what would be next, the cold breeze reminding you that you were still outside.

That fear remained in the back of your mind, your eyes occasionally opening and scanning the forest that you could see beyond Cirdan. But there was nothing, nothing but the trees and dead fallen logs blocking pathways.

Your kisses drifted away as you saw a hunched over deer, somewhat 10 paces away with its head burrowed in a bush.

Cirdan slowed, the deep drilling inside of you now merely a thick discomfort of occasional thrusts. He could feel you were getting lost in your worry, your grip on his shoulders loosening.

"Ma’sal’shiral," he grabbed your chin, turning you away from the fear of the forest. "Going to make you feel love unlike any creature has known;" he kissed you with wet lips, giving you breath and teeth. "So please, don't turn from me."

The horrible ache in his eyes, the twitch inside of you-- for how torturous it was for yourself, it was just as bad for him. You would've apologized, turned the mood even further south into sourness if he hadn't begun rocking again, holding your back to keep your sensitive skin away from the tree. He huffed into your cheek, pressing hard up against you as he cherished everything he could touch. The deer that once took over your thoughts was now pushed to the edge, your eyes half-shut now that all you could feel was the depth of your husband, his precum mixing with the heat of your hole. The crude sound of skin on skin, the slight slap of elf balls hitting your ass-- it nearly sent your mind into overdrive.

And even with the pain of tree bark rubbing against your skin, the stench of petrichor and sweat in your nose, you wouldn't trade this moment for anything.

This might even be better than the bed... Okay, maybe not. But that didn't matter with Cirdan so far inside of you he huffed with inclination, tempting to keep his orgasm at bay.

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angeliccss · 3 months ago

Text

Signed, Sealed, Yours

Pairing: Joanne x Fem!Reader

Words: 6.7k

Chapter: 1/?

Summary: A smoky bar, a lingering gaze, an offer too tempting to refuse. What starts as a fleeting encounter becomes something neither of you expected—but exactly what you both needed.

Read on AO3

AN: I've read this over once and I'm extremely sleep-deprived, so tell me if there's any mistakes!

Dividers: @cafekitsune

The first thing you notice about her is the cigarette. The way she holds it between her fingers—casual, effortless, like a prop in a play she’s already bored of. Smoke curls from her lips in lazy ribbons, trailing toward the dim bar lights. She doesn’t look at you at first, but when she does, it’s slow. Intentional. It's like she’s already decided how the night will end.

She exhales, and flicks ash into a crystal tray. “Well?” The single word hangs in the air, cutting through the jazz humming from the speakers. “Are you going to say something interesting, or should I just order another drink and pretend you don’t exist?”

It’s not a question—it’s a challenge. And judging by the sharp gleam in her eyes, she’s already made up her mind about you.

It takes you a moment to realize the alluring woman is talking to you and not some invisible person next to you. “Oh– uhm…” you barely manage before she cuts you off with a sly smirk. “C’mon, you can do better than that sweetheart,” she says, her voice like velvet and rich with amusement as she takes a slow drag, the tip of her cigarette burning red-hot before dimming again. Smoke spills from her lips, curling lazily between you.

Oh God, why did that have to be so hot?

You sit there mouth agape, looking like a fool. The mysterious woman's smirk deepens. “Cat got your tongue?” Her words are like a slow purr, laced with mock sympathy. She tilts her head, studying you, learning you, like she's deciding whether you're worth her time. “No.” the word barely scrapes past your throat. You can’t look away. Can’t breathe. Can’t think. Utterly enthralled by the woman beside you.

“What’s your name, baby?” she’s not asking, she’s demanding. She takes another slow, deliberate drag of her mostly gone cigarette. The exhale is intentional, a slow roll of smoke curling toward your face. She watches—amused, waiting—as you fight the urge to cough. The thick, bitter scent clings to the air between you, wrapping around her like a halo, a saint with a sinner’s grin. “[Y/n], my name’s [Y/n],” Your voice barely feels like your own, why is she making you so nervous?

She shifts closer, close enough that the heat of her body seeps into yours. The scent of her perfume, her cigarette, her whiskey-roughened breath—it’s all-consuming.

"Tell me, [Y/n]... are you always this shy, or just for me?" Your name rolls off her tongue like velvet-dipped sin, slow and deliberate, a siren’s song luring you deeper. And Joanne? She’s the ocean—vast, untamed, waiting to pull you under.

She chuckles, shaking her head. "Poor thing. Do you need a drink to loosen up, or should I just keep sweet-talking you?" Before you can answer, she flags down the bartender with a lazy flick of her wrist. "Get my darling here whatever she wants. And put it on my tab."

You wrack your brain for any drink you can think of but come up empty. “Let me guess—you have no idea what you want. How about I pick for you, sweet thing?" the woman mocks, you really need to learn her name.

She doesn’t even look at you when she says it. "Two gin martinis. Dirty." Only after the bartender nods does she glance back at you, amused. "I hope you like gin, baby. If not... well, you'll learn."

“I’ve never had gin before.” you retort, a sweet smile pulling at your lips. “You didn't have to buy me a drink…” you trail off, waiting–expecting– for the enthralling woman to tell you her name. She pauses, head tilting as if measuring your worth. “Joanne,” she says, smooth as silk, the name rolling off her tongue like an afterthought. Confidence drapes over her like a second skin.

Before you can get another word in, the bartender slides a glass toward you. The woman—Joanne—nudges it closer, her perfectly manicured nail tapping against the cool surface, slow and deliberate. "Drink up, baby," she purrs, watching you like a cat watches a mouse. The glass is cool to the touch, condensation beading along the sides before rolling over your fingers. You swallow hard and lift it to your lips, feeling her gaze settle on you, expectant.

You take a slow sip, refusing to break eye contact. The gin is cool against your lips, sharp as it slides down your throat, heat blooming in its wake. You fight the instinct to cough, swallowing smoothly—just for her. Joanne hums, pleased. "Good girl."

Her gaze drags down the slope of your neck, lingering on the way your throat moves. That smirk—wicked, knowing—pulls at her lips. “What’s a pretty young thing like you doing at a bar like this?” Her voice is all silk and smoke, wrapping around you like a velvet ribbon, tightening just enough to make you squirm.

She pulls a cigarette from the carton in her no-doubt obscenely expensive purse, rolling it between two manicured fingers before bringing it to her lips. "Want one?" she asks, voice low, smoky in more ways than one. She doesn’t look at you right away—just a sideways glance, like she’s testing you, measuring your resolve.

"Tempting, but I think one of us should keep our lungs intact." You flash her a small smirk, watching for her reaction. Joanne exhales a slow stream of smoke, eyes flickering with amusement. "Oh, baby, you wound me."

In a flash Joanne stubs out her cigarette, looking you over like she’s already decided. "Come home with me, there’s no sense in drinking alone.” She reaches for her coat, movements effortless, elegant—but the way her wedding ring glints in the bar’s dim light makes your stomach twist.

"What about your husband—" You don’t even finish before she laughs, low and humorless. "Larry’s occupied." She downs what remains of her drink in one go, the ice clinking against the glass. Then her eyes are back on you—sharp, expectant. "So? Are you coming, or not?"

It happens before you can even think about it. Your lips part, and before you know it— "Ok." Joanne pauses, just for a moment, her smirk stretching into something almost satisfied. Like she already knew exactly what you’d say. Then she turns, hips swaying, confidence dripping from every step. She doesn’t check if you’re following. She doesn’t have to. You exhale sharply, grabbing your coat and purse with shaking hands before she disappears into the crowd. You don’t even know where she’s taking you—only that you want to go.

The cab is quiet, save for the sound of tires against wet pavement. You can hear your heartbeat thruming in your ears, embarrassingly loud in the stillness.

Joanne sits beside you, close but composed, one hand lazily tracing patterns on her knee, the other resting near the door. Not touching you, but near enough to make you aware of every inch between you. She hasn’t spoken since you got in the car. She doesn’t have to.

You shift in your seat, unsure if you should say something—fill the space—but before you can, she lets out a small, knowing hum. "Relax, sweet thing. You’ll enjoy yourself if you let yourself." She doesn’t look at you as she says it—just watches your reflection in the cab window, smirking.

"Where are we going?" you ask. Joanne lets out a low chuckle, running a hand through her perfectly styled hair. "That’s a good question." She doesn’t look at you when she speaks again, just out the window, watching the neon lights paint the cab’s interior in flashes of red and blue.

"Larry’s got his little plaything. I figure I deserve mine." The words should be biting, but there’s something in her voice—something almost sad. Your heart twists a little. You don’t know what to say, but somehow, you know that’s okay.

She turns to you, studying you, like she’s trying to figure something out. Then, she reaches out, running a single finger down your wrist. "You alright with that, sweet thing?" She’s testing you—but not in the way she was before. And you don’t hesitate before nodding.

The cab stops in front of one of the biggest apartment buildings you’ve ever seen—polished glass stretching endlessly toward the sky, with a doorman waiting in pristine uniform. You should’ve expected it; Joanne doesn’t settle for anything below absolute luxury. Before you can even fully take it in, a warm hand—her hand—wraps around yours, firm and assured. There’s no time to hesitate. You’re pulled out of the cab and into the gleaming lobby, marble floors cool beneath your feet, the air thick with the scent of wealth—fresh flowers, expensive cologne, and something unmistakably her.

"This is the most extravagant building I’ve ever seen," you say, pure awe lacing your voice as your eyes sweep over the grand piano, the gold ornaments, the well-dressed people moving about as if they belong here. It’s like stepping into another world—one you were never meant to touch.

Joanne hums, amused. "Well, you better get used to it. That is, if I decide to keep you." Her gaze is sharp, searching—waiting for you to flinch, to back away, to leave her like everyone else.

You swallow, suddenly aware of how easily she could chew you up and spit you out. And yet… you don’t pull away. “Guess I’ll just have to prove I’m worth keeping.”

Her warm hand finds yours again, guiding you toward the exquisitely designed elevator. The doors glide shut with a whisper-soft sigh, sealing you inside, cutting you off from the world beyond. Without thinking, you ask, “Why me? Out of everyone you could’ve chosen, why me?”

Joanne holds your gaze, unreadable for a long moment. Then, simply: “Because I wanted to.” She shrugs, casual as ever, but there’s something unspoken in her voice, something lingering. "And I always get what I want."

The elevator hums as it ascends, the city shrinking below. Joanne stands beside you, impossibly poised, her presence filling every inch of the enclosed space. Her perfume—something rich and expensive—lingers in the air, mixing with the faintest trace of cigarette smoke.

She turns her head slightly, watching you with that sharp, knowing gaze. “You still haven’t answered me, you know.” You blink, feeling the weight of her attention. “What?”

Joanne smirks, taking a slow step closer, close enough that the heat of her body brushes against yours. “Are you always this shy, or just for me?” Her voice is smooth, and teasing, but there’s something else lurking beneath it.

Your throat feels dry. “I’m not—” You swallow, clearing it. “I’m not shy.”

Joanne lets out a low, amused hum. “Oh, honey… that’s adorable.” She lifts a perfectly manicured hand and, without breaking eye contact, reaches past you to press the button for her floor—though you could’ve sworn she already hit it. Just an excuse to get closer.

The soft chime of the elevator fills the silence between you, the doors gliding open. Joanne steps out first, throwing a glance over her shoulder, her smirk still lingering. “Coming?” And just like that, you’re following her, heart pounding, wondering if she already knows she has you wrapped around her finger.

You follow Joanne down the hushed, carpeted hallway, the air thick with the quiet luxury of the building. Every step she takes is confident, effortless—like she owns every space she walks into. Maybe she does.

She stops in front of a sleek black door, pulling a key from her coat pocket. The lock clicks, and she pushes it open with ease, stepping inside without looking back. You hesitate for only a second before following her in.

The apartment is stunning, just like you expected. Floor-to-ceiling windows showcase the city skyline, lights twinkling like stars below. The decor is modern and elegant—but it feels… untouched. Like a showroom rather than a home.

Joanne tosses her keys onto a glass table near the door and shrugs off her coat, draping it over a pristine leather chair. “Make yourself comfortable,” she says, already heading toward the bar cart. “Do you want another drink?”

You glance around the apartment, taking in the polished surfaces, and the lack of personal touches. It’s beautiful, but cold—like no one lives here. "It's beautiful," you murmur, running your fingers lightly over the back of the sofa. "But it doesn't feel like… you."

Joanne pauses, pouring herself a drink. She doesn’t turn around when she replies. “No?” Her tone is unreadable. You shake your head. "It feels... empty." That makes her chuckle, low and dry. She finally turns to face you, swirling the amber liquid in her glass. "Well, sweetheart, that’s because it is."

For the first time since you met her, she looks almost… tired. The mask slipping, just a little. Maybe that’s why she brought you here.

You don’t know what compels you to move closer, but you do. Maybe it’s the way her voice wavers, just slightly. Maybe it’s the way she looks at her drink like it holds answers she’ll never find.

Either way, you cross the room, stepping into her space. "That sounds lonely," you say softly. Joanne exhales through her nose, a small, humorless smile tugging at her lips. "Lonely?" She repeats the word like it's foreign, rolling it over in her mouth. "Darling, loneliness is for people who expect something different." She lifts her glass in mock toast before taking a sip.

You hesitate, then reach out, your fingers ghosting over her wrist. She stills at the touch, sharp blue eyes flicking down to where your skin meets hers. “You don’t have to be lonely,” you murmur.

For a moment, she doesn’t speak. The air between you shifts, something unspoken passing between you. Joanne isn’t the type to admit to anything, but she doesn’t pull away. Instead, she huffs a soft laugh, shaking her head. "Aren't you just the sweetest thing?" She sets down her glass, turning her hand so she can take yours properly, running her thumb over your knuckles. Her touch is warm and steady.

"Stay," she says at last, and it isn’t a command or a tease. It’s quiet. Almost vulnerable. And how could you possibly say no?

The night blurs together, softened by the haze of expensive liquor and lazy conversation. At some point, you stop keeping track of how many drinks you've had. Joanne, for all her usual composure, is just as flushed, her laughter looser, eyes half-lidded as she watches you over the rim of her glass.

"You know," she says, swirling the last of her drink, "I used to think I had everything. The perfect life. The perfect marriage. A goddamn dream." She exhales, a slow, bitter thing. "And then I woke up one day and realized—I built my whole life around men who never really saw me." She tilts her head, a wry smirk tugging at her lips, but her eyes—her eyes are tired. “Tell me, sweetheart… what kind of fool does that make me?”

"You're not a fool, just a woman in love," you retort. "And love makes you blind."

Joanne huffs out a laugh, low and humorless. She leans back against the couch, tipping her head up toward the ceiling as if there's an answer hidden somewhere in the plaster. "Blind, deaf, and downright stupid," she muses, downing the rest of her glass.

The room is dimly lit, the golden glow of the city filtering through the massive windows. You watch as Joanne's expression shifts—her usual sharpness dulling, something unspoken weighing on her.

"I wasted years on him, on the two before him," she admits, voice softer now, tinged with something almost like regret. "Gave him my best years, and for what? So he could run off with some—some little thing who probably giggles at his jokes and thinks he's goddamn charming?" She scoffs, shaking her head. "Christ, listen to me. I sound pathetic."

"You don't," you say, the words coming easy. Maybe it's the alcohol, or maybe it's just the truth. "You're allowed to be hurt. You're allowed to be angry."

Joanne turns her head to look at you then, really looks at you, like she's searching for something in your face. For a moment, neither of you speaks. Then, with a sigh, she sets her glass down and leans in just a fraction closer. "And what about you?" she murmurs, voice lower now, more intimate. "What kind of foolish things have you done for love?"

A dry laugh escapes you before you even realize it. You shake your head, staring down at the rim of your glass. “I made one of the biggest mistakes in my life.” She hums, tilting her head. “Oh?” There’s intrigue in her voice, but she doesn’t press. Not yet.

You exhale, rolling the cool glass between your palms. “I fell for someone I couldn’t have. A married woman.” The confession hangs in the air, heavy and unspoken for a moment too long. Joanne doesn’t look surprised. If anything, her smirk fades into something unreadable. She studies you, head tilted. “And?” she finally prompts.

You scoff, shaking your head. “And I was a fool. I let myself believe I meant something to her. That she’d leave him for me.” You let out a humorless laugh. “She didn’t.” Joanne watches you closely. There’s no pity in her gaze, just understanding. A quiet knowing. She sighs, takes another sip of her drink, then places it down with a soft clink.

“You’re not a fool,” she murmurs, her voice softer than before. “Just a woman in love.” You glance at her, meeting her gaze. “And love makes you blind.”

Joanne is silent for a moment. Then, she leans back, stretching one arm over the back of the couch, her fingers barely brushing your shoulder. “That it does, sweetheart. That it does.” There’s a flicker of something in her eyes—maybe regret, maybe relief that you understand. Maybe both.

A comfortable silence settles between you, the kind that only forms when two people understand each other without needing to say another word.

Joanne exhales slowly, watching you over the rim of her glass–no–your glass. But then, as if suddenly making up her mind, she leans forward and sets the tumbler down with a quiet clink against the glass table. Her other hand moves with practiced ease, plucking the cigarette carton from the table in front of her, lighting it with practiced ease. She places it between her lips, taking a long, slow drag. She looks at you, tapping the ash into the crystal ashtray beside her, letting soft plumes of smoke out through her nose.

Then, she turns to you. “Open your mouth.” You blink at her, caught off guard. “What?”

She smirks, tilting her head as if amused by your hesitation. “Don’t tell me you’ve never done this before.” Her voice is low, teasing, but there’s something else there, something unreadable. She shifts closer, knees nearly brushing yours. “Come on, sweetheart. Let me show you.”

Your breath catches, but you obey, parting your lips just slightly. Joanne lifts the cigarette again, taking a deliberate drag, the embers flaring bright in the soft light. Then, she plucks it from her lips, fingers curled delicately around the filter, and exhales—slow, controlled—directly into your waiting mouth.

The smoke is warm, curling past your lips, sliding down your throat like silk. You inhale instinctively, letting it settle deep in your lungs before finally exhaling with a fit of coughs, your breath mingling with hers in the space between you.

Joanne watches you the whole time, her expression amused, her eyes—dark, knowing—never leave yours. She hums, a satisfied smirk tugging at the corner of her lips. “Good girl.” Your stomach flips.

The moment stretches, heavy with something unspoken. You’re still close, her perfume and whiskey-laced breath wrapping around you like a slow-burning fuse. She doesn’t pull away. And, God help you, neither do you.

Joanne’s eyes flick down to your lips—just for a moment, just enough for you to notice. The smirk she’s been wearing softens, but the hunger behind it remains. She reaches for the cigarette again, but instead of bringing it to her lips, she presses it out into the ashtray beside her.

And then, she’s leaning in. It’s slow, deliberate, like she’s giving you the chance to stop her. Like she’s waiting for you to come to your senses, to pull away before it’s too late. But you don’t move.

Your breath hitches when her fingers graze your jaw, her touch is featherlight but certain. The moment stretches between you, heavy with something neither of you name, something that tastes like whiskey and smoke and the kind of longing that creeps up when the night is too quiet.

“Tell me to stop,” she murmurs, her lips barely an inch from yours. It’s not a warning—it’s a test. You don’t. And that’s all she needs.

The first press of her lips is soft, almost careful. But Joanne isn’t careful, not really. The hesitation lasts only a second before she deepens it, her hand sliding into your hair, her nails grazing against your scalp.

She kisses like she drinks—slow, savoring, as if she’s trying to consume you one taste at a time, and you don't want her to stop.

She kisses you like she needs to, like she’s been starved for something she can’t name. But then, just as quickly as she leaned in, she pulls away. A sharp breath. A tremor in her fingers as they hover near your cheek before she drops them to her lap.

You barely have time to process before she lets out a dry, humorless laugh, shaking her head. “God, what am I doing?” She tilts her head back against the couch, staring up at the ceiling like it might hold the answer. The confidence, the control—it all unravels in an instant. “I’ve made a goddamn fool of myself.”

You can see it now, the cracks beneath the surface. The exhaustion weighing down her shoulders. The hurt buried under the sharp edges of her wit. You hesitate for only a second before reaching for her hand. “You’re not a fool, Joanne,” you retort softly. “You never were.”

Her throat bobs like she’s swallowing down something thick, something she doesn’t want to admit. She squeezes her eyes shut. “I loved him, utterly loved him.” Her voice wavers. “I knew he didn’t love me, but I still stayed.”

Her walls are down now, her composure slipping. She doesn’t look at you, doesn’t pull away from your touch either. It’s quiet, save for the distant hum of the city outside.

You squeeze her hand, grounding her. “Why did you stay?” Joanne exhales shakily, finally turning to you. “Because I thought it was easier to be miserable with him than be alone.”

It’s the most honest thing she’s said all night. For a long moment, neither of you speak. And then, slowly, you shift closer, letting her lean into you. It’s not about seduction anymore—it’s about something softer, something fragile.

Joanne lets out a shuddering breath as she rests her head against your shoulder, her fingers tangling with yours. “You’re too sweet for me,” she murmurs, but she doesn’t let go. You press a kiss to her hair. “I think you need a little sweetness.”

Joanne hums, her head still resting against your shoulder, fingers absentmindedly tracing the back of your hand. “Stay with me.” It’s barely a request. You don’t answer right away, not because you’re planning on leaving, but because you can feel her thinking—her mind working its way around the vulnerability of asking.

Then, with a slow exhale, she shifts, turning to you with a lazy smirk, one that doesn’t quite reach her eyes. "You could have anything you want, you know. Clothes, jewelry—Paris, even. All you'd have to do is stay."

It’s not a question. It’s an offer. And maybe it's meant to make it easier for her—like if she wraps this in luxury, in things, it won't be so obvious that she just doesn't want to be alone. You hesitate, lips parting, but the words don’t come right away. The offer hangs between you, rich and heavy, laced with promises you don’t know if Joanne intends to keep.

"That’s..." You trail off, eyes flickering to hers, searching for some kind of catch, some indication that this is a joke at your expense. But Joanne only watches you, her expression unreadable. You swallow. "That’s a big offer to make to someone you just met in a bar."

Joanne hums, tilting her head as she studies you, fingers toying with her freshly lit cigarette. "Maybe. Or maybe I knew the second I saw you that you were exactly what I wanted."

Your breath catches. There’s something so intense about the way she’s looking at you—like you’ve already belonged to her for far longer than a few stolen hours. "And what if I say no?" you ask, testing her, testing yourself. Joanne smirks, slow and knowing. "Then I’ll take you home, let you sleep it off, and tomorrow, you’ll come crawling back to me anyway."

It’s arrogant. Infuriating. But the worst part is, you’re not sure she’s wrong. You exhale slowly, staring into the soft light of the city outside, as if it holds the answer you’re searching for. It doesn’t. "You’re awfully sure of yourself," you murmur, forcing a smirk that doesn’t quite reach your eyes.

Joanne chuckles, low and indulgent. "Darling, I don’t make offers I don’t intend to follow through on." She leans forward, resting her chin in her palm, watching you with a mix of amusement and something deeper. Something unreadable. "You’re hesitating. Why?"

"Because I don’t know you." The words slip out before you can stop them. It’s not entirely true—you know what she’s let you see. The sharp, smirking woman with a drink in one hand and a cigarette in the other, dripping in wealth and confidence, like nothing in the world could touch her. But you’ve also seen the cracks, the way she downs her drink a little too fast, the way she avoids talking about her husband as if the mere mention of him might break the illusion she’s carefully maintaining.

Joanne tilts her head, lips curling in amusement, but her eyes—God, her eyes—search yours like she’s trying to decide whether to let you in or push you away. "Then get to know me," she says, voice dipping into something softer. "Stay."

Your stomach twists. It would be so easy to say yes, to let yourself sink into whatever this is, to let her pull you under like the tide. But your voice is quiet when you ask, "And if I do? What then?" Joanne doesn’t answer right away. Instead, she shifts, sitting back with a slow sigh, as if she’s deciding how much to give away.

Finally, she says, "Then you get whatever you want, sweet thing. A life most people can only dream of. But most importantly—" She lifts her glass to her lips, watching you over the rim. "You get me." The words shouldn’t make your heart stutter the way they do. But they do.

Joanne takes another slow drag from her cigarette, the ember flaring in the dim light. She exhales through pursed lips, watching as the smoke curls between you. Then she laughs—low, knowing, utterly amused. “You like watching me, don’t you?”

Your breath catches in your throat. “What?”

She tilts her head, studying you with a lazy smirk. “Don’t play coy, baby. I’ve seen the way you’ve been looking at me all night—like you’d let me do just about anything and still thank me for it.” She takes another drag, this time holding your gaze as she inhales, her lips parting just enough to let the smoke swirl between you. “And this?” she gestures with the cigarette between her fingers. “You think it’s sexy, don’t you?”

You don’t answer right away, but you don’t look away either. That’s all the confirmation Joanne needs. She leans in, exhaling the smoke directly between your parted lips. “Breathe me in, sweetheart.”

You do—God help you, you do. The warmth of it sinks into your lungs, heady and intoxicating. Before you can react, Joanne’s lips brush against yours, tasting of gin and smoke, of something dangerous and consuming. It’s not a soft kiss—it’s claiming, teasing, all the things she’s already promised without words.

When she finally pulls back, she hums, looking more than pleased with herself. “You really are easy to read.” You open your mouth to protest, but she just shakes her head, amusement dancing in her eyes as she taps the cigarette against the tray. “Don’t worry, sweet thing. I like that about you.”

She leans back. "Stay?" It’s not a question. But it’s not quite a command, either. And God help you, you don’t even think of saying no. Now you don’t even hesitate. "Okay."

Joanne exhales a breath of laughter, shaking her head like she can’t believe how easy you are. Or maybe, how easy you were always going to be for her. “That’s my girl.”

She leans forward, picking up her cigarette again and taking a long, slow drag before tapping the ashes into a tray. The silence stretches, thick with something unspoken. Then, with a lazy sort of curiosity, she muses, “You know, I’ve never had a sugar baby before.”

Your stomach flips, and it’s not from the alcohol. "Excuse me?" Joanne chuckles, reaching for her glass before remembering it’s empty. She tilts her head, watching you in the way she always does—now you realize it’s adoration.

“Don’t act so scandalized, sweetheart. You’re young, beautiful, and—” she gestures vaguely in your direction, “—naïve enough to follow a married woman home after knowing her for what? An hour?” You open your mouth, but she just smirks. "Exactly."

She taps the cigarette against the tray again, then gestures toward you with it. "Be honest, wouldn’t it be nice? Not having to worry about a thing? Letting me take care of you?" Your throat feels dry. "You’re joking."

“Am I?” she counters smoothly. “Think about it, baby. No more worrying about bills, rent, or whatever cheap drinks you were sipping before I introduced you to real liquor.” She leans in, voice dropping to something almost sultry. “You’d look so pretty draped in diamonds, don’t you think?”

She’s teasing. But she’s also not. You swallow, suddenly unsure of where to look. This is insane. This whole night has been insane. And yet—you’re still here. Joanne watches you, eyes flicking over your face like she’s memorizing the exact moment you start to consider it.

Joanne watches you, eyes flicking over your face like she’s memorizing the exact moment you start to consider it.

She takes another slow drag, then exhales, letting the smoke curl between you. "You don’t have to decide tonight," she murmurs, voice smooth as velvet. "But something tells me you’re not the type to say no to a good thing."

She smirks, tapping ash into the tray, eyes gleaming with certainty. "And trust me, sweetheart—I’m a very good thing."

You’ve never even dreamt of leading a life like hers, glittering and glamorous filled with expensive jewelry and everything you could ever dream of. The more you think about it–about her–the more you want it.

Joanne tilts her head, watching you with that ever-present smirk, like she already knows what you’re thinking. She takes another slow drag of her cigarette, exhaling as she speaks. “Careful, darling,” she murmurs, voice thick with amusement. “That look in your eyes? That’s how it starts.”

She reaches out, her fingers tracing an absentminded pattern along the inside of your wrist, featherlight but purposeful. “First, it’s just a thought. A little indulgence. Then, before you know it, you can’t imagine living any other way.”

The weight of her words settles over you, heavy and intoxicating. Would it be so bad? To let yourself sink into the luxury, the ease? To let her spoil you? Joanne leans in just a little closer, her breath warm against your cheek. “Tell me, sweet thing… are you ready for that?”

“Ok,” you say, turning to fully look at her. Joanne’s smirk deepens, satisfaction gleaming in her eyes as she takes one last slow drag of her cigarette. She exhales, the smoke curling between you like a promise, like a trap you’re already caught in. “Good girl.”

She taps the cigarette into the ashtray, then reaches for you, fingers grazing your chin, tilting your face toward hers. “You won’t regret it.” There’s something almost dangerous in the way she says it, like she dares you to prove her wrong.

You swallow hard, the weight of your decision settling in your chest—but instead of fear, you feel something else. Anticipation. Excitement. The thought of letting Joanne take care of you, of sinking into her world, of belonging to her… it makes your heart race. Joanne’s fingers trail lower, down your arm, her touch deliberate. “I’ll make sure of it.”

The thought lingers in your mind, heavy despite the haze of liquor and cigarette smoke. You can feel Joanne’s confidence pressing in around you, wrapping you in silk and sin, but something tugs at you—a quiet voice of reason, of self-preservation.

The weight of her words settles in your chest, heavy and intoxicating all at once. You should be questioning this more, hesitating more, but instead, you find yourself drawn further in. Still, a lingering thought itches at the back of your mind—Larry. Her husband. The reality of what she’s offering.

You wet your lips, voice cautious but steady. “But what about Larry? What happens with him?”

Joanne exhales smoke through her nose, a humorless little laugh slipping past her lips. “Larry has his distractions, I have mine.” She gestures vaguely with her cigarette, as if the specifics are unimportant. “He won’t care, and if he does, that’s his problem, not mine.”

You nod slowly, letting her words sink in. But there’s still one more thing. “And me?” you ask, meeting her gaze. “What exactly am I supposed to be to you?”

Joanne smirks, tipping her chin as she watches you, appraising. “Whatever you want to be, sweetheart.” She flicks ash from her cigarette, the motion effortless. “A kept woman, a lover, a secret—just say the word.”

Her confidence is dizzying, her offer dangerously tempting. Logic tells you to hesitate, to think this through—but logic has no place here, not with the way she’s looking at you. Not when every inch of you is already hers.

“I just want to be yours.” The words spill from your lips, weightless and certain. It feels good to admit it—to surrender. That you’ve fallen for a woman you’ve known for mere hours, and that, somehow, impossibly, she wants you just as much.

Joanne studies you, her gaze heavy, unreadable. The smirk playing on her lips deepens, but there’s something else lurking beneath it—something almost vulnerable, if you weren’t so intoxicated by her presence to see it clearly. She takes another slow drag from her cigarette, exhaling smoke in a way that makes it impossible to look anywhere but at her.

“I thought you were a smart girl,” she murmurs, tilting your chin up with two fingers. “What do you think I want, baby?”

Your heart stutters in your chest. There are a million things she could say, a million possibilities wrapped up in silk sheets and whispered promises. But you force yourself to swallow down your nerves, to meet her gaze head-on.

“For me to stay?” You ask, voice softer now, hesitant.

Joanne chuckles, amused but pleased. “That’s part of it.” She leans in, just close enough that you can feel the warmth of her breath against your lips. “I want you on my arm, in my bed, at my beck and call. I want to spoil you, keep you, make sure no one else can have you.” Her grip tightens, just slightly. “I want you to be mine.”

It’s dizzying, intoxicating, reckless. You should run. You should say no. But instead, your lips part, and before you can stop yourself, you whisper,

“I already am.”

Joanne's smirk fades, just slightly, replaced by something softer—something almost like relief. She takes one last drag of her cigarette before stubbing it out in the crystal ashtray beside her. Then, without warning, she cups your face in her hands, her touch warmer than you expect.

"You say that now," she murmurs, her thumb grazing over your cheek. "But are you sure, sweet thing? Because once you're mine—" her lips ghost over yours, not quite kissing you, just close enough to steal your breath, "—you're mine."

Your heart pounds against your ribs, but you don’t pull away. You don’t even hesitate. “I know,” you whisper, and you do.

Joanne searches your face for a moment longer, and then, as if finally accepting your answer, she pulls you in, capturing your lips in a slow, lingering kiss. It’s different from before—less teasing, less calculated. This time, she kisses you like she’s sealing a promise.

When she finally pulls away, her fingers stay on your jaw, keeping you close. “Come to bed,” she murmurs, and this time, it’s not a question. She knows you won’t leave. The uncertainty is gone now—Joanne has you, and she knows it.

She stands with the kind of effortless grace that only comes from years of moving through the world like she owns it. And maybe she does. Maybe she owns you now too. When she extends her hand, it isn’t a plea, but a promise. A silent declaration that this is only the beginning.

You take it without hesitation, letting her lead you through the dimly lit apartment. The bedroom is as grand as the rest of the place—floor-to-ceiling windows showcasing the glittering city, and silk sheets that look untouched. Cold. Empty. But none of it matters. Not when Joanne is looking at you like she’s already decided you belong here.

She pulls you onto the bed with her, a smirk playing at her lips as she cups your face, brushing her thumb over your cheek. “You’re mine now, my sweet angel,” she muses, almost like she’s testing how the words feel on her tongue. You don’t argue. You don’t want to.

Joanne tilts your chin up, forcing you to meet her gaze. “And I take very good care of what’s mine.” Her voice is rich, dripping with certainty, with satisfaction. She presses a slow, deliberate kiss to your forehead before pulling you down beside her. “Get comfortable, baby,” she purrs, wrapping an arm around your waist. “You’re not going anywhere.”

And you don’t want to.

The penthouse isn’t just Joanne’s anymore—it’s yours. Gone are the cold, impersonal touches of a life built for someone else. The sterile, hotel-like decor has been softened, transformed into something warmer, something lived in.

Your favorite books sit on the coffee table, stacked neatly beside a glass of half-finished wine that neither of you remember setting down. A throw blanket, far too soft to be one of Joanne’s original choices, is draped over the couch, the scent of your shared perfume lingering on the fabric. In the kitchen, the remnants of breakfast—fresh fruit, a half-eaten croissant—still sit on the counter, evidence of slow mornings spent wrapped up in each other rather than rushing out the door.

Joanne never thought she could have a home that felt like one. The penthouse used to be just another gilded cage—luxurious, extravagant, but empty. Now, there’s laughter in the hallways, and warmth in the once-still air. She catches you humming in the kitchen, wearing her robe like it’s always belonged to you. She finds your perfume on her vanity, your jewelry tangled with hers. And every night, when she slides into bed, she reaches for you without hesitation, knowing you’ll be there.

“You’ve ruined me, you know,” Joanne murmurs one evening, watching as you curl up beside her on the couch, tucking yourself into her side like you belong there. You tilt your head, grinning. “Oh? How’s that?”

Joanne exhales a slow breath, fingers tracing lazy circles against your hip. “I used to like my space.” She gestures vaguely at the apartment, at the place that once felt too big for just one person. “Now I hate being in this place without you.”

You smile, pressing a kiss to her shoulder. “Good thing you never have to be,” Joanne smirks, pulling you closer, her voice a satisfied purr. “Damn right.” Because this penthouse isn’t just hers anymore—it’s yours.

It’s home.

#patti lupone #joanne company #joanne x reader #company musical #patti lupone x reader #wlw #patti lupone fanfic

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thewhirlwindchronicles · 3 months ago

Note

i heard we were looking for divergent requests 🫣

give me four and an initiate!reader and i’ll love you forever fam. i’m a sucker for a jealous man that pines

no pressure, i hope you have a wonderful day! 💗

Unspoken||Tobias Eaton (Four) x GN!Initiate!Reader

Summary: Four knows he can’t have you. He’s your instructor, and there are rules—rules he’s never once considered breaking. But watching you laugh with Uriah, watching you get closer to someone who isn’t him, stirs something dark inside him. When a reckless moment puts you in danger, Four is forced to admit what he’s tried so hard to ignore.

A/n— there are like NO divergent tags 😭😭😭

Four tells himself that it’s just part of being an instructor—watching over his initiates, ensuring they’re strong enough to survive Dauntless. But when it comes to you, it’s different.

You’re a light in a place that thrives in shadows, a spark of something untamed that no one has managed to break. And Four knows he shouldn’t be drawn to that. Shouldn’t want to protect it more than he protects the others.

But he does.

He watches the way you fight, how you push through pain without complaint. The way you throw yourself into every challenge with fire in your eyes. He tells himself it’s admiration. That’s all.

Until you smile at him. Until your fingers brush his arm during training, too quick to be anything intentional, but enough to make his skin burn. Until you look at him like he’s something more than just your instructor—like you see him.

And that’s when he realizes—he’s in trouble.

Zeke calls him out for it, but it’s not just Zeke. Everyone sees it. The way he holds your gaze a second too long. The way his jaw tightens when you’re close to someone else. The way he doesn’t push you as hard as the others, because some part of him can’t stand to see you break.

But he’s Tobias Eaton before he’s Four, and Tobias Eaton doesn’t deserve good things.

Four knows exactly how dangerous attachment can be. He learned it in the beatings his father gave him, in the way pain can twist love into something cruel. He vowed never to be like Marcus, never to let himself become something that could hurt someone else.

He keeps people at arm’s length for a reason. Because when you care, people can use it against you. When you care, people can leave.

And Four doesn’t think he can handle that—not from you.

You’re young, full of life. You still believe in the world, in loyalty, in love. And Four… he doesn’t know if he believes in anything anymore.

That’s why he fights this. Why he pretends. Because letting you in means risking everything.

But then you get hurt.

Four has seen initiates take beatings before. It’s part of training. Pain is expected.

But this time is different.

He sees the moment your guard slips, the second your opponent’s fist connects with your ribs, and something inside him snaps.

He moves before he thinks, breaking his own rule—stepping in too soon, too fast. “Alright that’s enough!” He yelles out making everyone around stop and stare at him The rage in his voice isn’t just about fairness. It’s about you. The sight of blood on your lip, the way you wince when you breathe. It shouldn’t make him feel like this.

But it does.

And that terrifies him more than anything.

Later that evening You’re both standing in the hallway, the air thick with everything left unsaid. Four is good at keeping his emotions buried, but tonight, they’re clawing their way out.

“This isn’t working,” he says.

The words taste bitter. Like giving up before he even starts.

You cross your arms. “What isn’t?”

“The way I feel about you.”

It’s out before he can stop it.

Your breath stutters, and he sees the way your fingers grip your arms, like you’re holding yourself together. He almost takes it back—almost convinces himself that he can keep pretending.

But then you whisper, “What if I want you too?”

And he’s undone.

It shouldn’t change anything, but it does. It makes the air too thick, makes his pulse race, makes every rational thought crumble beneath the weight of want.

“I’m your instructor,” he tries. “You’re an initiate.”

“Does that change how you feel?” you challenge.

He exhales sharply. “No.”

He doesn’t realize how close you are until your fingers brush his. A small touch, barely anything. But it wrecks him.

And this time, he doesn’t pull away.

Because for the first time in years, something in him whispers that maybe—just maybe—he deserves this.

#four x reader #divergent x reader #tobias eaton x reader #divergent fanfiction #four x y/n #divergent movies #tobias eaton

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jamminvroomvroom · 2 years ago

Note

truly anything that involves lando and thigh riding would be 😵‍💫 that idea lives in my mind rent free 24/7

YES! yes yes yes YES

minors DNI! smut, 18+!! i’m not gonna lie i got a bit carried away and this is just… filth.

(literally wrote this and then it evaporated before my eyes lmao, hopefully the 2.0 is as good as the og 💀) wrote this in 10 mins so i hope you enjoy!

“yeah, baby, just like that.” lando groaned, eyes fixed on where you were sat on his thigh, grinding backwards and forwards.

watching him take his second place position on the podium at silverstone has awoken something in you, something wild and untameable, and the only solution was to drag him into his drivers room, push him back onto the sofa and straddle his spread thighs. you fiddled with the zipper of his race suit, his eyes darkening when he asked what had gotten into you. it only took one roll of your hips against his race suit clad thigh and a whimper to fall from your lips for him to be as far gone as you were.

your underwear was pulled to the side in seconds, his huge, strong hands forcing you down on him, pawing at you as you ground against him.

“come on sweetheart, i know exactly what you want. messy little slut.” he teased, eyes flitting between yours and the sopping wet patch growing on his thigh. you could see how hard he was, how much he must have craved your touch.

you didn’t know how long it had been, your body slick with sweat by now, your body aching and sensitive. when he groaned, guttural and deep, at the sight of you glistening, you lost it, the vibration from his chest and the sound of pure sex slipping from his lips.

“do you like watching me out there? is that what makes this little pussy so fucking wet? is that why you had to misbehave and take what you wanted?” and just like that, you came.

you tried to ride out your high, gradually slowing your hips, but it seemed as though lando had other ideas.

“no way, i’m not done with you yet.” he held you down on him, bouncing his leg, the sensation making your eyes roll back. “you couldn’t wait for it, took exactly what you wanted. so now, you will take what i fucking give you.”

you cried out at his words, your body going limp against him, but all he did was tweak your nipple through your shirt.

“do you understand, baby?” he whispered into your ear. you wouldn’t even focus on his words, earning another pinch to your nipple. “i said, do you understand?” you nodded weakly, trying to sit back up to continue. “use your words.” he growled, your jaw held in his hand.

“yes, lando. please, please, please.” you babbled, an absolute fucking state, utterly at his mercy. it was blissful.

you were shaking, whimpering, tears streaming down your face by the time he let you get off his thigh. he’d managed to get you out of your shirt, your chest covered in love bites. you’d lost count of the amount of times you’d cum, your hair sticking to you, his fingerprints branded into your hips. just as you tried to fix yourself up, he stopped you, flipping you onto your front, your ass in the air for him.

“you think we’re done? oh, darling, not even close. you couldn’t wait for it, so now we’re gonna show this entire fucking team what happens when i get on the podium.”

lando smiled wickedly, and all you saw was white.

#pete-parkour #lando norris #lando norris fic #lando norris smut #lando norris blurb #lando norris x reader #lando norris x you #f1 fic #f1 blurb #f1 smut #ask #writing things

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the-conversation-pod · 10 days ago

Text

The Untamed Episodes: The First Life

AND WE'RE BACK

It's been a hot minute since we dropped an episode, so we're back to talk about a project that has stuck in fandom for years. We finally got NiNi to watch The Untamed, so grab your snacks and come listen to her talk about everyone's hair along with our friends @lurkingshan and @neuroticbookworm. We'll be discussing censorship in media as we try to run through the big overview of Wei Wuxian's first life.

Timestamps

The timestamps will now correspond with chapters on Spotify for easier navigation.

00:00:00 - Welcome 00:00:55 - Introduction 00:03:55 - Censorship in Media: A Global View 00:12:37 - The MoDaoZuShi Phenomenon 00:24:33 - The Big Picture 00:33:36 - The First Life 00:40:07 - The First Life: Thoughts and Impressions 00:46:21 - The First Life: WangXian and Other Fucked Up Love Stories 01:01:17 - The First Life: Various Random Musings 01:11:02 - Outro: Notes From the Future

The Conversation Transcripts!

Thanks to the continued efforts of @lurkingshan as an editor and proofreader, we are able to bring you transcripts of the episodes.

Please send our volunteers your thanks!

00:00:00 - Welcome

NiNi

Welcome to The Conversation, the Queer Media And Brown Liquor Podcast.

Ben

I'm Ben, the media critic.

NiNi

I’m NiNi, the VIIBs queen.

Ben

And we are your drunk Caribbean uncle and auntie who are sitting on the porch in the rocking chairs.

NiNi

We’re here to talk queer film and dramas, with a special focus on Asian QL.

Ben

So if you like to dive deep into queer stories…

NiNi

If you like cracked out takes on art and commerce in queer media…

Ben

If you just enjoy simping for attractive people…

NiNi

We believe in simping!

Ben

Tune in!

00:00:55 - Introduction

Ben

And we're back. This week we're doing a little bit of a retrospective. We're gonna be covering The Untamed. Friend of the pod, pod team member, and troll of the pod, Shan—who is of course here.

NiNi

Say hi, Shan.

Shan

Hi, people!

Ben

Shan mentioned during our Diamond League episode that this was a huge oversight in the pod's discussion history and so we successfully bullied NiNi into finally watching it. And she managed to watch the whole thing.

Shan

I'm so impressed.

NiNi

It was a struggle. It was a lot. There were some episodes in the middle where I was just like, ooh, okay, I'm just gonna have to push through. But I made it.

Shan

You sure did.

Ben

Because The Untamed is such a large project to discuss, we brought an additional clown along with us. Everyone welcome back Bookworm.

Say hi, Bookworm.

Bookworm

Hi people!

Ben

Bookworm, despite how busy she is, has been following Shan's [laughs] recommended BLs list for like two years now. And then for about, like, a one month period, we completely lost Bookworm to reading all five of these books. And then during Christmas of ‘24, I think, you guys watched all of The Untamed in like a week.

Bookworm

We did it in two weeks, I think. Six episodes a day.

NiNi

That is commitment.

Shan

Bookworm has very short windows where she actually has a lot of free time. So we took advantage of the holiday season.

Bookworm

She trapped me between Christmas and New Year's.

Shan

I just strapped her to a chair, and said [Bookworm laughs] we're watching the episodes, let's go.

NiNi

She's good at doing that.

Bookworm

Sure is.

NiNi

That's how she got Ben to watch Goblin.

Bookworm

Wow, that was a moment. That was so good.

[NiNi laughs]

Shan

I'm feeling really proud of my accomplishments.

[NiNi laughs]

Ben

Goblin was at least better than Coffee Prince, ‘cause there was a moment when I was watching Coffee Prince, around like episode 10, where I'm like, I'm over this show!

[Ben and Shan laugh]

Shan

He was so mad because he was waiting for the turn and it hadn't come yet and he was getting so frustrated.

NiNi

Episode 10 of a kdrama? That's not when it happens. Come on!

Shan

He just didn't understand the rhythms yet. He pushed through, and then he came around and ended up loving the show.

Ben

Goblin did a much better job of not losing me during the episode 10 phenomenon because they had great Bonds Between Men content. Every time I'm like, “ooh, I'm getting a little tired of this modern angst shit,” they're like, “here's a scene from the past with that one guy you love.” There he is. There's my boy.

NiNi

I think that's a good segue into what we're gonna talk about here, Bonds Between Men, because this is a show that works on multiple levels deliberately because of details that we're gonna talk about. So let's dive into talking about The Untamed.

00:04:14 - Censorship in Media: A Global View

Ben

Normally on this show, as you all know, we would do like a “Ben, what the fuck is the show about?” and I'd give some kind of snarky blurb about it, and then we get into it. Because we're talking about the biggest Chinese BL that exists, we're gonna unpack a ton of the context around our understanding of Chinese censorship.

Shan, you've done a bunch of the background on this one. Take us in.

Shan

So first, just an acknowledgement up top that censorship exists in all media. That there are standards in every country that have to be met for anything that is aired, on public television in particular, in movies. This is not a thing that is unique to China. And most Asian dramas are censored to some extent according to whatever the social norms of their home country are.

That said, Chinese censorship is especially strict. It's considered one of the worst state censorship models in the world. The Chinese Communist Party monitors everything that comes out. They're very often concerned with curtailing political opposition and promoting Chinese nationalism—if you include more of it, you can get away with doing stuff they don't like. They want to prevent negative depictions of Chinese history. They're also very often just doing basic morality policing around sex, in particular. So, even in heterosexual romance media, this applies. You see very little sex in cdramas, even when they're het. Angle kisses, stuff like that still exist even in het media. Of course this is even more severe for queer media. Typically, you're not even gonna see things like onscreen kisses in queer media out of China.

They also put limits on things like magic, which is very relevant for the story we're gonna talk about today. It has to be depicted so as to avoid seeming more powerful than the state or promoting superstition. This is very often why characters who use magic are not really allowed to have happy endings. You can't show a character thriving because of their use of magic in Chinese media. So sometimes magic is changed out completely in these stories for quasi-scientific explanations, or magic is used and then the characters have ambiguous or sad endings in order to counterbalance that.

On top of those censorship norms, there's also law around pornography. Pornography is completely illegal in China. Technically, since the mid 2010s, homosexuality is not criminalized legally anymore in China, but there are a lot of really vague laws that still exist around abnormal sexual behavior, quote unquote, and obscenity, quote unquote, that allow for queer media to be targeted by censors.

In terms of Chinese BL shows, there were a handful of them prior to The Untamed that did make it to air. Most of them adapted from novels—we'll get a little bit more into that in a minute. In 2017, in the middle of the airing of Addicted, is when the censorship crackdown on BL really took shape. That show was very popular and was actually depicting things like kisses between men and it immediately got terminated, yanked off the air, and then the censorship laws got much stricter.

Y'all probably remember that, NiNi and Ben. I think you were around in fandom when that went down.

Ben

I sure was.

NiNi

I wasn't quite there yet, I watched Addicted after the fact and I didn't have the context.

Shan

You were confused, right? [laughs] You're like, why is this show such a big deal?

Ben

Both of those guys kind of disappeared from acting for years afterwards.

Shan

They got blacklisted.

Ben

They're only just now starting to work again.

Shan

Yeah. So that show got yanked off mid-airing right after the first kiss aired on TV. And then after that, you never saw anything like that. Even the few Chinese BLs that managed to get released after that, you don't see things like on air kisses or acknowledgement of sex at all.

It's hard for a lot of these shows to get made in the first place. Even after they get made, a lot of them don't end up going to air or they start airing and then get yanked off TV very quickly. There are many, many danmei adaptations sitting on the shelf in China. There are shows that have been made and will never get released. It's a really rough environment for creators who are trying to make this queer content and get it out in the world.

Ben

Let's add some additional context, if we can, about censorship outside of China. Since we have two Americans and two non-Americans here.

Bookworm or NiNi, do you have any specific cultural memories of censorship in media from your home countries? ‘Cause I have a few American ones I will of course bitch about.

NiNi

I'm gonna let Bookworm go first because India and censorship? This is a big one.

Bookworm

I know, right. So in India, the most prominent kind of censorship that I've noticed in media is almost a self-censorship by the creators themselves around things that deal with caste or religion, and we very rarely get homosexual depictions, but whatever we do get, it's almost always a tragedy. I've never seen a gay character have a happy ending in Indian media yet. When we have inter-caste romance depiction, for example, the story will struggle between the realities of how caste can affect these relationships and how it will be received and how difficult their lives will be made, and giving them a happy ending. In India, even though openly we say that it's bad and we shouldn't be clinging to the caste systems now in the 21st century, it's still there. And even though it's not said out loud, most of the powerful media producers and people who can fund this, they tend to be people who are from upper caste. So, if you make something that is openly against their caste, it's just never gonna come out.

So, when I watched The Untamed, it was very relatable to watch something where they wanted to do more, but you can see that they just can't.

NiNi

In Trinidad, we don't have a very big recorded media tradition. A lot of our art is theatre-based. And you can find pretty much most things in the theatre, but it's mostly for comedy sake so there's a lot of sex farce, that kind of thing. In terms of recorded media there isn't that much, but what there is, you don't really see, like, actors kiss that much. But that’s not a censorship thing because t's not like they would not be able to air that. It's just a question of the traditions being different. There's no standards boards or things like that, but we don't put very much on the air anyway.

Ben

In America they would just lie.

NiNi

All men do is lie. [laughs]

Ben

They pretend that the advertisers or the nebulous white midwesterner won't want to watch things like Pose, or if a gay actor says something out of line they hurriedly cancel their show despite the show being really fucking good. Having to pick up the scraps that the establishment here is willing to make each year is incredibly frustrating. There's a lot to be said about top-down state level censorship, but I don't think it's inherently worse or better than this.

Shan

Well yeah, there's state censorship and then there's censorship due to trying to attract sponsors and advertising dollars. But it ends up in the same kind of results of not having honest depictions in media. And I think American media is very susceptible to the latter.

NiNi

There's also some interesting things there between how sex is censored and how violence is censored in Western media. I wouldn't say that it's not censored, but you can get away with a lot more violence than you can with sex.

Ben

I have a lot of feelings about the MPAA, so we're not gonna get into that, but let's just point out that you can have somebody run through a building shooting up everybody and get a PG-13 rating as long as there's no blood. But if two gay people even look at each other too long, that's an R rating immediately.

Shan

Rated R, mmhmm. This stuff is not new, it is not unique to any one country, it exists everywhere. But currently, in 2025, China has one of the strictest state censorship models. And so that's the context under which Chinese BL is made. And, the context under which The Untamed was released.

00:14:54 - The Mo Dao Zu Shi Phenomenon

Ben

All right, now let's get into Mo Dao Zu Shi properly. This has been around for awhile.

Shan

So, danmei is the term that is meant to describe Chinese literature that features male/male romance within a whole bunch of different genres. It's a very broad term, danmei. It just means male/male romance. These typically are published as web novels, usually serialized, written mostly by and targeted mostly to a female audience.

Danmei exists in a kind of a gray space legally in China. It's both queer and pornographic, so it's technically not allowed, but there's not really an enforcement mechanism. The authors stay anonymous because of course, if they're caught publishing this stuff, there could be serious repercussions.

A lot of danmei novels have become available in recent years to an international audience. First, via fan translations that were done just purely out of love. And then those translations got passed around via the online whisper network of international folks who were interested in these stories. And this genre became so popular that there are now official English translations of some of these books being made. There's a publishing company called Seven Seas that has acquired the rights for many of the most popular danmeis and are publishing them over time. And so that is how this book, Mo Dao Zu Shi, aka Grandmaster of Demonic Cultivation, became much more widely available to an English speaking audience.

This book originally started in 2015 and the writer is Mo Xiang Tong Xiu. It was so popular that it has been, over the years, translated into over a dozen languages. It was first passed around the international audience via a very popular fan translation, and then became officially published in English starting in 2021. Made the New York Times bestseller list, expanded the audience for this story even further. This is a story that is set in a genre called xianxia which is a popular Chinese media genre about humans in historical China who are called cultivators, which basically means that they do martial arts enhanced by magic. They have paranormal, spiritual, physical powers that help them achieve immortality.

This story was so popular that it's had a bunch of adaptations. It's had a webcomic, an audio drama, an animated series and a spinoff to that, an audio book, a mobile game, and of course, The Untamed, the live action show, which we are gonna be discussing today. And there are additional adaptations still being announced. We just found out that there's gonna be a Japanese stage adaptation in the theater, which I'm very curious to see what that's gonna be like.

So this is an extremely popular story that has really gone global through fan word of mouth. It's a huge deal in terms of its reach and its enduring popularity with fans.

Ben

You have no idea how much time Shan and Bookworm spent trying to get all of these notes in order.

Shan

It's a lot to cover!

Ben

[laughs] We had a whole side thing with Twig about, like, a canceled international tour that was gonna happen before COVID.

Shan

I didn't even know about that.

Ben

Let’s establish when everybody came to this. So, I came to The Untamed through normal Tumblr BL sphere around episode 25ish of the drama, I believe?

Ben

Shan, when did you come to The Untamed?

Shan

It's hard for me to remember now. I've been so up in this story’s business for years now that it's really hard for me to actually untangle in my brain when I got to certain versions of it and how. But I didn't watch it live. I definitely binged it after the whole thing was out. So I think I probably first watched the series in 2020 or 2021, read the novel and then watched the series again. I was watching a lot of Asian dramas. I had started getting into BL and Netflix just told me to watch this. They put it right on top and I was like, “oh this is interesting, I haven't seen anything quite like this before.” It's kind of remarkable that I'm just sitting over here in the United States and Netflix is telling me to watch this Chinese BL web series.

This aired in China on Tencent Video. But it was so, so popular. It became one of the highest earning dramas of 2019. Over time, it passed 10 billion views. Netflix picked it up in late 2019, brought it to a much broader international audience. And that's how people like me saw it. This is a story that in both novel and show form spread fiercely by word of mouth. People just loved it so much that it kept getting picked up and brought to new audiences.

When did you first hear about this show, Bookworm?

Bookworm

I think I was just vaguely aware of a very long Chinese drama that was on Netflix. I possibly could have seen it on my recommendations before getting into watching BL at all. I started watching BL only in 2022. So I definitely was not in the fandom when this released live.

So how I was introduced to this, the time was December 2023. And I just went to Shan’s DMs to talk about how my BTS bias was going to the military. And she was like, here you go.

Shan

Something to distract you. [laughs]

Bookworm

“Here's a picture of this man who's so beautiful and always wears white for some reason. You can think about this man.” And it was like, “what do I do to know more about this man?” And she was like, “I know exactly where I should send you.” And she just directed me to all the books. So yeah, that's how I spent my 2023 holidays, just locked in my room like a gremlin inhaling all the books.

[Ben laughs]

Shan

I did not remember that I showed you Wangji because V was going to the military. [laughs]

Bookworm

That's exactly what happened. You trapped a freshly grieving army wife!

NiNi

it just amazes me how Shan is so good at tempting people. She knows exactly how to get people to do things. It's a little bit scary.

Bookworm

The whole thing was done in 10 days. I genuinely don't think I slept for more than maybe four to five hours. [laughs]

Ben

[laughs] You did not. You were talking to us in a haze. You screaming about sections.

Shan

The thing about Bookworm is she also likes to live blog her book reading. So we were along for the ride. [laughs]

Bookworm

That's right. Every time something happened, I bothered them. It's kind of their fault. Shan put me through it. Like, she has to suffer.

Shan

I had to be there for emotional support after doing that to you.

Bookworm

Exactly.

NiNi

That's the thing, Shan's gonna, like, be the temptress that is seducing you with the apple, but then she'll be right there with you when you fall apart. [laughs]

Bookworm

Exactly.

Shan

It's my duty.

Ben

NiNi, what did you know about this whole experience from just sort of seeing it in the background noise of BL constantly for the last five years before you sat down and engaged with it?

NiNi

So I don't think it's any surprise to anybody who listens to this show that I don't watch cdrama, but this show is sort of inescapable. I have friends who are not BL fans, who are not Asian drama fans, who watch this and rave about it and talk about it all the time. This thing is a fucking monster and completely inescapable. And I was just like, “eh yes, I know everybody says it's good. It probably is really good. I don't know how I feel about censorship like this. I don't know if this is something I wanna watch, if it's gonna frustrate me.” I was aware of it out there in the world and aware of how big it was. But, “eh, not sure it's for me.” And then after the Diamond League, I was basically Shan’d into watching it. [laughs]

We're gonna use Shan’d from now on, like to Shan somebody.

Bookworm

That is a good verb. We are gonna use that.

NiNi

We're gonna coin a new term, to Shan somebody.

Shan

I'm just here to enrich your lives with this amazing media that you need to see. And NiNi ended up enjoying this way more than I thought she would. So I was very pleased.

Ben

We're gonna jump ahead slightly and tell on NiNi. NiNi is now watching Word of Honor.

[all laugh]

Shan

She sure is!

Bookworm

She is!

NiNi

I am. [laughs]

Shan

The evil plan is proceeding very nicely.

NiNi

I will say though, Word of Honor is like the Passions to the Days of Our Lives that is The Untamed.

Shan

Yes!

NiNi

And anybody who does not understand what that means, I'm so sorry for you.

Shan

It's exactly right.

Bookworm

It's me. I'm the one who doesn't understand what that means, but it's fine.

Shan

These are American soap operas that NiNi is referencing.

Ben

American soaps that have been on forever.

[Ben and Shan laugh]

NiNi

Basically, Days of Our Lives is wild, Passions is lower quality and wilder.

Shan

This show, this story, the book, all of it. It's ubiquitous if you hang out in fandom spaces online. You cannot avoid it if you are in those spaces. It is one of the biggest fandoms. It's certainly the biggest BL fandom on the internet.

Ben

When we watched this in 2019, I was minding my own business, watchin’ shit like Until We Meet Again and Trapped. And then they started posting all these gif sets of all these Chinese boys with really long wigs and very clean outfits. There was a lot of screaming. I'm like, what the fuck is going on? Why is every goddamn lesbian on tumblr howling about this show?

Shan

Why are the girls freaking out?

NiNi

And we all know from listening to this show that Ben listens when lesbians talk.

Shan

That's right.

Ben

I was like, I don't know what is happening, but every goddamn girl in BL is losing their minds over a censored Chinese BL in 2019. Have we not learned? [laughs] And they wouldn't shut the fuck up about it. And I'm like, all right, that's enough. Around episode 20 to 25.

I got intrigued by the Bonds Between Men stuff. There are some gif sets at the time. Like, this looks like Man Angst. Hold on, I'm intrigued now. Let me go check this out.

I remember going through The Untamed loop. Being kind of overwhelmed with details in the first few episodes. And then we went, “okay, we're in a flashback sequence. Guess we'll be here for like an episode or two.” We weren't. And then I ended up catching up with where the show was around episode 38, which was great timing for me. Like, I ended up catching up to the show right around the time we got into the present. And I was like, “I have context’ and then watched the rest of the show [laughs] live with everybody else and had a pretty good time. And then like a week after it finished, I ended up watching the show again. Because I feel like I needed to reprocess it.

I don't think I was prepared for how sticky the show has been for fandom itself. I guess I shouldn't have been because fandom really loves to fill in the blanks on stuff. That's their favorite thing. I grew up watching a lot of Chinese action and a lot of wuxia films, so I had a good time, but I was not expecting this to be the show for everyone. I like the show a fair amount, but I was very surprised by this becoming one of the biggest BLs of all time.

Shan

It's not only the fill in the blank stuff, but it's also that there's just so many characters, so many relationships, so many dynamics that are just great fodder for meta and fanfic and just, thinking. There's just so much here and I think that's why it has endured for so long.

00:28:42 - The Big Picture

Ben

Okay, we are going to now attempt to talk about the show.

NiNi

I'm glad you said attempt, bestie, because there's just so much here.

Shan

Please don't get mad at us for whatever we inevitably leave out.

Ben

Let's just get that out of the way. We will not be able to discuss everything that happens in a 50 episode drama adapted from a five book complex novel series. We will be covering some highlights of things that are interesting to us and doing some comparisons along the way.

This is a pretty big story and at its core, it's a mystery. So, if you've been holding off on watching this and you feel some kind of way about spoiler culture—I personally don't subscribe to it—but we will be talking about the details of this show for the rest of the episode. So, if you'd like to resume this later, go ahead and pause, grab a shit ton of snacks, go watch The Untamed, [laughs] and then come back.

[all laugh]

Bookworm

Be prepared to not sleep for a long time.

NiNi

Two weeks is the bare minimum.

Ben

You have been warned. All right. So, The Untamed is primarily a story about a talented young cultivator named Wei Wuxian who was kind of in a high ranking role within one of these major clans that organize themselves around cultivation. They have a role in their society where they help manage supernatural phenomena and protect regular people from supernatural and ghost related bullshit.

There is an expected way that you're supposed to practice and study cultivation. The most powerful clan who wears a lot of red is like, “that's it, we're taking over everything,” and then begins murdering everyone. A lot of things happen. Wei Wuxian ends up developing demonic cultivation in the book, rediscovers it in the show—we'll talk about that later—and helps the not-red clan defeat them, after which we end up in the complex politics that follow after a major power shift.

Eventually Wei Wuxian dies in a major confrontation after he kills thousands of people, and then 16 years later in the show, he is brought back, reuniting with some of his close friends and allies—because this is a BL romance/not romance—as they go on an investigation to figure out why this cursed hand is trying to kill everybody.

That is the simplest overview I can give of a very complicated show.

Shan

You did good, bestie. That's about the best you could do.

NiNi

I did not look at the timer when you started talking, so I do not know exactly how long that took.

Ben

It was about three minutes. I was trying to do it under three. There are a shit ton of characters in this. Wei Wuxian is a very likable protagonist with very clear relationship dynamics with every character. So there's a lot to really dig into.

Shan

I think you should reiterate for folks what the experience of watching The Untamed is like. There's this very famous tweet that I think we should give some credit to that described it perfectly.

Ben

We'll post the screenshot and a link to it in the transcript. Gavia Baker Whitelaw, is a film critic who runs her own podcast, she has her own Tumblr blog, I'll link to hers on here, she goes by @hellotailor. I'm a big fan of Gavia's writing, I really like the way she engages with media. Gavia went through the same experience as the rest of us in early 2020 of like, “what is this show?!” [laughs]

So Gavia starts watching The Untamed and is live blogging on Twitter. “What is this nonsense that I'm watching? What is happening?” And the user who went by Dr. Kate Wild at the time writes, “There's three stages to watching The Untamed. Stage one, this is nonsense. This is very bad.”

That's like episodes one and two.

“Stage two, this is quite watchable nonsense.” That's around episodes four to eight.

And then “Stage three, I have never cared about anything more in my life.” [NiNi laughs] That happens for different people at different times.

Shan

NiNi, it was taking her a while to get to stage three. And I said, “Don't worry, NiNi. Stage three comes for all of us at different times. You will get there.” And she did. [laughs]

Ben

When was stage three for you, Shan?

Shan

Okay, so first of all, I am a Lan Wangji devotee. I love that man. He owns my heart. So from episode one, as soon as he appeared, I was like, “okay, hell yeah, that's my guy. I'm here, I'm seated.” But in terms of when the story kinda took over my brain, I think that really happened for me during the arc where Wei Wuxian is liberating the Wen prisoners of war and he meets Lan Wangji on the Qiongqi Path in the rain and they have a very sad and tense conversation before Wangji decides to let him leave with the prisoners, but does not leave with him.

That scene—which by the way is unique to the show—just drilled itself into my brain so deep and I was never normal again, ever, and I never will be. That was the point when stage three took root for me and I became obsessed with this media, and that obsession will last for my whole life.

Ben

I think it was during the cave arc when Wei Wuxian made Lan Wangji vomit blood. I'm like, “that's way too fucking gay. I have to watch this little man for the rest of the show.” [laughs]

Shan

I feel like most people are super in by that sequence, too.

Ben

That whole section is pretty good though, between the handling of the hostage arc, the blow up in the cave, and then the sacking of Lotus Pier. That's a really strong section for people who really like historical political dramas. There's a really strong sense of inevitability at the point at which Wei Wuxian in particular is thrust into the situation, because he's not a passive person. But you can feel the next 15 episodes about to unfold.

Shan

What about you, Bookworm?

Bookworm

For me I think it's different because I read the books first and the books are structured quite differently from how the show is structured. So the show does it very linear. Once you jump into the flashbacks you just keep going for 33 episodes and then you emerge, as Ben said, with context. But in the books it interweaves between the present and the flashbacks and the structure kind of gives way to the author releasing information in like very small amounts to keep the tension and intrigue going.

I'm just the kind of person who starts screaming from the very first moment a question appears on my book or on my show. Like if there is something that needs to be revealed, I need to have it. Just tell me. I don't care if it's a 50 episode show, I don't care if it's a 10 book series. I just start vibrating from the moment I see the puzzle that needs to be solved.

So in the books, Wei Wuxian, when he's in Mo Xuanyu’s body, people are not gonna recognize him as Wei Wuxian. So he was just like coasting on that and he was doing all sorts of shenanigans with Lan Zhan. But we get to a point where Lan Zhan calls him Wei Ying and he just freezes and he's like, how did you know that it was me? And Lan Zhan just tells him, “You're gonna have to think for yourself.” And that's it. That was stage three.

Shan

Classic. And that dynamic keeps coming up over and over again through the whole story.

Bookworm

I was like, “oh my god, how did he know? Just tell me, just tell me!” So that was my stage three.

What about you, NiNi?

Shan

NiNi’s came later, right?

NiNi

Mine came very late. Stage three for me came when Wei Wuxian is hanging off the cliff and Lan Zhan is trying to save him. And this implacable man just breaks and his face just completely changes. And I'm just like, “okay, I'm in.”

Shan

Yeah, it was definitely Lan Zhan’s emotional break for you, right?

NiNi

Oh, most definitely. From the outside, he appears controlled, even though it's very clear to anybody who's watching this show that this man is losing his mind at all times. And in this case, he just cracks. Because he's about to lose this man and he knows it. And that's when I was just like, “okay, I'm in.”

00:39:30 - The First Life

Ben

We gotta get into the overall set of arcs that we went through in the show. Wei Wuxian is our viewpoint character and we've gotten really caught up in the romance between him and Wangji. But at the core, this is a political power drama where there's a lot of different players vying for control. Wei Wuxian is the wild card because he actually doesn't value political power that much. We at least need to establish, like, what does everybody else give a shit about.

Shan

We're gonna divide this because there's two different time periods. So let's start with the first life of Wei Wuxian, the first time period.

When the show starts, we are dropped into the story in a very confusing manner. Wei Wuxian is resurrected. He's in a new body 16 years after he died. He doesn't know why the fuck he's back or what's going on. He runs into lots of friends and allies and enemies and frenemies and he is running around like a chicken with his head cut off. He's confused. We're confused. You're not really supposed to understand what's going on in those first couple episodes, but there's actually a ton of information packed into them. As Ben said, once you have context, if you go back and watch them, there's so much information in those first couple episodes.

NiNi

This is the “this is nonsense” stage.

Shan

Exactly. This is the stage one. Where you're like, “What the fuck is going on? Why are all these people running around like this? I don't understand anything.” [laughs] It's intended to be kind of disorienting.

Then you jump into this long flashback, which is about 30 episodes long. So you get the political power struggle between the great clans. There are five of them: the Jiang which Wei Wuxian is part of, the Lan, which Lan Wangji is part of, the Nie, the Jin, the Wen. That main political power struggle is driven by the Wens trying to do a hostile takeover of the other clans. They burn the Cloud Recesses, they storm the Unclean Realm, they sack Lotus Pier, and then the war—the Sunshot Campaign—is a response to that, the other clans joining hands to try to stop the Wens from trying to take over the cultivation world. Lots of complex dynamics between the clans going on there that we will not get into that culminates in this Battle of Nightless City.

Alongside that political power struggle, we have Wei Wuxian's rise to power and his fall from grace. He is incredibly smart. He's a cultivation prodigy. He is also not as reverent about the traditional ways of doing things. He's very interested in unorthodox cultivation methods, including demonic cultivation, which is very much looked down on. As the war played out and as the Wens take control, he was part of fighting them alongside his struggles with controlling his own power. He took great exception to the aftermath of the war, the treatment of the Wen prisoners of war, the more innocent Wen clan members who were not part of this, who are just regular folks or weak cultivators, medical cultivators who didn't actually hurt anyone but were treated badly because they were Wens by the other clans. So he intervened to protect those folks. That is what led to him retreating from the cultivation world to the Burial Mounds to live with the Wens, resurrecting Wen Ning and ultimately setting himself up to be a scapegoat and get ambushed by the other clans, because they were very unhappy with him.

Alongside that, we have a couple very personal storylines going on. One to do with Wei Wuxian's family relationships and the implosion of his clan family, the Jiang family. They are his adopted family, the heir, who is Jiang Cheng, and sister Jiang Yanli, these are his adoptive siblings. It's a very fraught family relationship. His adoptive mother resents him partly because of who his mother is and partly because he outshines her son, the sect heir. When Lotus Pier—their family home—is attacked, both of the Jiang parents die. The clan is basically decimated, Jiang Cheng loses his core, and Wei Wuxian decides to pull a real big noble idiocy. Sacrifice his own life, basically, for his brother, give him his core, tell nobody he did this, and then start cultivating on the demonic path to try to come up with another source of power as part of his survival. His relationship with his brother is, in particular, one of the most interesting and dynamic and complicated relationships of the show. And he has a very, very deep love for his adoptive sister, which of course ends up coming back to bite him when, as a result of him losing control of his powers and starting this battle at Nightless City, his sister is killed in the chaos. Huge traumatic event, causes him to go off the deep end and destroys his relationship with his brother.

Alongside all that, one more big storyline, of course, is the unfulfilled romance between Wei Wuxian and Lan Wangji. We get alongside all this political power struggle stuff, some actually really lovely moments of them. First, meeting each other as teens, Wei Wuxian very infatuated with Lan Zhan right from the beginning, but didn't really understand what his feelings meant. Lan Wangji, of course, did understand what the feelings meant [laughs] and was not happy about it.

NiNi

Oh he was so mad, friend. He was so pissed. He's like, “Why do I like this wastrel?”

[NiNi and Shan laugh]

Shan

“Goddamn it! Why is it you?”

So yeah, big gay panic on poor Wangji's side and big oblivious nonsense on Wuxian’s side. But then we see them over time bond over their shared values. They actually believe in a lot of the same core ideas. They end up doing adventures together. They defeat bad guys together. They survive together and support each other. They kind of develop, like, a deep friendship that on Wangji's side is always very consciously also romantic love and on Wuxian's side is a little bit more oblivious.

When Wuxian loses his core and starts doing demonic cultivation, there is a divide that comes between them. Wangji does not understand these decisions. Wuxian will not tell him why he's doing any of this stuff. So they end up in this very tense dynamic where they're fighting all the time, but they don't wanna be fighting because they really care about each other. They spend some time together and attempt to reconnect, but of course everything ends in despair when Wei Wuxian basically jumps off the cliff after his sister dies at Nightless City and gives up on his life. And that is how the first life arc completes.

00:46:32 - The First Life: Thoughts and Impressions

Ben

What I think works well with the drama, I personally like dropping us in and just being like, there's a lot of shit going on. You guys are gonna have to figure out a lot of shit over time. And I actually, in retrospect, like the very long 30-something episode flashback sequence. I think if they had tried to maintain the back and forth nature of the source material, the audience who maybe missed an episode or two here or there would be confused as hell.

I also think it's a pretty clever choice because you start in the present and there's way too much shit going on. And then they flash back like, “so anyway, they're in school.” And everybody's like, “okay, I understand school. Let's meet some kids.” I think that's a really smart adaptation choice. Everybody may not understand what's going on in the world of cultivation, but everybody knows what it's like to be bored in a classroom with a stuffy old man telling you to write a bunch of rules down.

NiNi

I kinda had the opposite reaction. I understand why they structured the story the way that they did, but for me, if they had started at Cloud Recesses, I would have been fine. And I feel like I would have had less of a who's on first kind of thing going. It took me a really long time to clue into what the story was even doing, because I was so confused. I didn't even understand that the Cloud Recesses stuff was a flashback at first. To me, if they had done the story more linearly, I would have gotten it. I understand why they did it the way that they did to set up a hook and to do this reverberation throughout the story of showing that these things happen over and over again. But for me, I would have been fine with a more linear narrative.

Shan

Part of that is also just your unfamiliarity with cdrama tropes and, like, the signifiers of things like age and timeline shifts and class stuff. One thing I think is really funny, NiNi, is that you cued in so quickly to what the hair was telling you, which I thought was just so funny. [laughs]

NiNi

This is the only reason I survived. I was reading the show and all the characters through the hairstyles. So I saw Wei Wuxian and his wild little tendrils and I was like, “okay, this guy's a rebel.” And then Lan Wangji with his very structured beehive. I was like, “okay, I know who you are, sir.” And then all the different characters, depending on how their hair was styled, I could get a sense of who they were as a character. If this person is mischievous, if they're playful, if they're, like, rules focused, I could get all of that through the hair. So that was actually really good. [laughs]

I could not remember anybody's names for the longest time. So I was in, like, the chat saying, “what is Beehive doing?” Or “Tendrils is acting a fool today.” And they would know exactly what I was talking about. [laughs]

Shan

It really worked for you.

NiNi

It really did work.

Shan

NiNi was tracking as Wangji's beehive was getting bigger and bigger.

NiNi

It was massive at one point. I was like, “oh, you are really trying to intimidate people now with this.” Like, that's what's happening here.

Shan

It's true. Like, their hair changes with their status and with their age, right? So as Wangji attains higher status in the cultivation world, his hair pieces get more elaborate and huge. It's actually a very effective visual language.

NiNi

It's like the Texas rule: the higher the hair, the closer to God.

Ben

I mean, you're genuinely not wrong.

Shan

No, it's real. I'm something that cued for you.

NiNi

It really paid off for me at the end when Wangji comes to Wei Wuxian and his hair is all down and soft. I'm like, “oh my God, he's so in love.”

Shan

That's when NiNi just started melting.

NiNi

I did, I absolutely did. He had no beehive. He was entirely defenseless, basically, in front of this man. It's a great visual language for when you have this censorship that you can't say certain things and show certain things. Showing what was happening between the characters through the hair was very effective. For me, anyway.

Bookworm

One of the key moments when NiNi really queued into the beehive and the tendrils thing was when, after Wei Wuxian was thrown into the Burial Mounds and Jiang Cheng and Lan Wangji was searching for him, he just walked up to the Wen headquarters and the reveal was just slowly, you see his hair and then he just keeps walking with his sword out and NiNi just was like, “Oh, he has the biggest hive I've ever seen. You guys are done for.” [laughs]

NiNi

Like, these motherfuckers are dead!

Bookworm

Dead.

NiNi

His beehive is up there, okay—

Shan

Beehive is up. The sword is out.

NiNi

He came to kill somebody, that's what's happening right now. [laughs]

Ben

I think what works so well for me with the show and especially on, like, secondary or tertiary watches, is because you start off being told this is a tragedy. It, I think, puts you in the right mood when you're watching the past stuff. The show opens with people literally fighting each other for a plot token. We're watching cultivators in the midst of a crisis literally stab each other to grasp what they hope will make them stronger than other people. So we're ready for everything that's gonna go wrong because of the opening sequence. It's very well structured and why I think the show got away with so much. We know Wei Wuxian’s gonna die. We know that his brother is gonna be furious with him at his death and we know that this guy who's wearing all these white clothes is gonna be very upset about it when that happens. This set me up very well to anticipate a lot of what was coming.

You end up meeting all these characters in the past and then some of these people are just straight up dead 16 years later. And it's like, well, how did these people die? I thought the war was over. And this leads to the next phase of power play stuff that's happening.

00:53:00 - The First Life: WangXian and Other Fucked Up Love Stories

Ben

While this drama is censored, there is all sorts of really fucked up gay energy all over this story.

Shan

Let's talk about how impressively they managed to communicate the romance without being able to show anything explicit.

NiNi

The romances, because I clocked about four romances in this thing and I was told that I was correct, so I'm so proud of myself. [Nandy and Shan laugh] There's two het romances and two queer romances. The het romances are between Jiang Yanli and Jin Zixuan—

Ben

I love that they low-key hated their brother-in-law. [NiNi laughs] Like, that's such an appropriate brother experience.

NiNi

There was nothing low-key about it, bestie. High-key hated.

Shan

Zixuan is very immature. He likes Yanli, but he's embarrassed that he likes her. And so he's kind of mean to her. And she, for some fucking reason that I never understood, just really likes him anyway. Which is why her brothers hate him. They do eventually get married and for their extremely brief marriage seem to be happy together.

NiNi

So brief, so sad. We'll get into that a little bit later.

Ben

Their marriage is arranged originally by their parents because their families have been allies for at least a generation or two and this is an attempt to strengthen that, and so the parents want these two kids to like each other. It's actually beneficial for the political goals of the families that in the end the kids actually do like each other. But there's complications. People never understand Wei Wuxian's relationship with Yanli, people constantly misread his relationship with her. And then there's the genuine issue of of Jiang Cheng and Wei Wuxian fucking despising Zixuan for being such a dick to their sister all the time.

NiNi

I keep thinking about the whole inn thing where he takes over the entire inn and they can't even get a room. It's so fucking dumb. And he's such an asshole about it. [laughs]

Bookworm

This is the storyline where I was glad that this was here because amongst all the fighting and the flying and the magical shit happening, like fighting a giant tortoise and being generals in war and all of that, this is where you're like, “oh, they're teenagers. Oh, they're so stupid.” [laughs]

NiNi

That's so true!

Shan

It's a good reminder that they’re all teenagers.

Bookworm

Every time Jiang Yanli gives a pass to that man, I'm like, “oh my god. What?”

Ben

I'm like, “girl, him, really?”

NiNi

You're like, Yanli, stand up! Stand up, girl.

Shan

It gets even wilder in the context of the political power struggle going on and the scapegoating of Wei Wuxian because that's her fucking brother and the Jins are going after him! So it's very wild to me that Yanli decides to marry into the family that is actively hunting her brother. Like, girl.

Ben

I get the sense that she never understood how serious that was and I think she felt like her one big tantrum solved the problem.

Shan

I do think that they set this character up well for that to be believable. She is not a strong cultivator. She is not very involved in sect politics. She is a very caring person who just loves who she loves and doesn't really want to deal with the idea that they won't get along. So she just doesn't allow it to be true in her head. And Wei Wuxian loves her. So, he was never going to say to her, “I don't want you to marry that man who's trying [laughs] to hunt me.” Because he wants her to be happy.

I think her character makes sense. But she's a character that I can never personally get on board with, because I'm just like, “girl, your choices are so bad.”

Ben

I feel for her the same way I feel about the messy hets in Coffee Prince. Like, we needed, like, another like pat but tragic het story to make sure that we could get away with this very queer story.

Shan

That's a good segue to talk about the other very subtle mini romance between Jiang Cheng and Wen Qing. Not in the books, by the way, this was added only for the show. And I think Ben, when we were watching, you commented that you thought it was really there to add an additional layer of heterosexual plausibility and plausible deniability for the show.

NiNi

I feel like that was part of it, yes, but that is also a romance that doesn't happen. Jiang Cheng is definitely in love with Wen Qing. Wen Qing feels sort of the same, but Wen Qing is also an incredibly practical woman and Jiang Cheng is not saying anything that is going to help her. Like at one point, after everything's gone down with the Wen clan he was just like, “You should leave your clan.” Which is basically him asking her to marry him, and she's like “Dude, really? How do you think this is gonna go? My clan killed your parents, you are the heir and then you're going to bring me there as your wife? That's not gonna work.”

Shan

I thought it was a really good way to illustrate the rock and hard place that Jiang Cheng was between for all of this show.

NiNi

Oh my god, I love this character.

Shan

Right? He did care about the Wens. He did wanna help. But politically, there was only so much he could do and what he could do was not enough. He knew that. She knew that. They had to accept that. Given the circumstances he was in with a mostly decimated clan, very young and suddenly thrust into having to lead and rebuild the Jiangs, he just didn't have the power and the resources to do something like offer protection to the Wens. He couldn't do it. And he was not willing to risk the total decimation of his clan in order to try.

That's why he and Wei Wuxian ultimately broke, right? Wei Wuxian knew that. Which is why he left the clan to do it on his own. It's really good conflict because you can see that people care and they wanna try, but they just can't do what they think they should or what they want to. Wuxian did do those things and he paid for it, big time.

Ben

See, and this is why I like it so much. If we're gonna have to do gay tragedy in a story, I need hets to suffer too. [laughs] Nobody's happy! The Jiang family relationship sucks. The leader of the Jin clan is a womanizer and an abuser who doesn't give a shit about all of his bastards he leaves all over the place. He's a gross, nasty man. The only happy heterosexuals we had died within a year of having their baby.

Ope, nope that's not fair. Mianmian’s doing okay. Good for her.

Bookworm

Mianmian’s doing great. How dare you! [Ben laughs]

Shan

She's the one happy het person in this show. [NiNi laughs] She's the one.

Bookworm

The only sensible one.

NiNi

Because—

Ben

She supported the gays.

NiNi

Mianmian stood up for the gays, exactly.

Ben

That's right!

Bookworm

Yes!

Shan

And because she left the clan. She said, “Fuck this shit, I'm goin’ rogue” and did her own thing.

Ben

One of the reasons why I think some of the other censored stuff fails is they just don't have enough hetero plausible deniability in them. You have to give the straight audience a bone if you're trying to get stuff past the powers that be.

Shan

Let's talk about the third love story that is technically never explicitly confirmed in book canon, but that's in my opinion only because the book is from Wuxian's point of view and he doesn't have the visibility to see it. That is, of course, Meng Yao and Lan Xichen.

NiNi

My God.

NiNi

The most tragic of all the tragedies.

Bookworm

Oh no! No no no!

Shan

Go off, Bookworm.

Bookworm

I just don't agree with the tragic part of it because for somebody in Lan Xichen’s position, he is so oblivious. He was played like a fiddle by this man. This is, like, dialed to a hundred in the show because the way Meng Yao was played in the show, you see him on screen just smirking around. And I'm like, “This man, he doesn't have good intentions. You can't trust him!”

NiNi

For me, that's the tragedy. The visual language and everything, like the acting is telling me this is a villain. But I trust Lan Xichen so much that when Lan Xichen trusts Meng Yeo, at first I'm just like, okay, well, there must be a reason. If he trusts him, maybe I'm reading this all wrong or maybe this is a plot because he trusts him so completely. And he is destroyed for that in the end. Like, absolutely destroyed.

Shan

I actually love that reflection, NiNi. I think that's a really fair way to read it.

Bookworm

I just want to quickly add that NiNi basically got Nie Mingjue’d into this. Like she basically did the same thing that Nie Mingjue did.

Shan

[laughs] That's really true. Nie Mingjue, their other sworn brother, who goes along with trusting Meng Yao—even though he clearly doesn't—only because Xichen asks him to.

Bookworm

And then he got his head chopped off for it!

NiNi

He got got. [laughs]

Ben

It's so fun watching people watch this show. NiNi's like, “ooh, I love this Dimples of Doom boy.” And I'm like, okay, she's falling for the dimples. And then he stabs the battalion commander in the middle of a battle. And NiNi's like, “oh, I guess I can't like this boy anymore.” [laughs]

NiNi

Then he had a really good explanation for it. And I was just like, “okay, maybe I can.” This is the thing!

Shan

He's good at what he does.

Bookworm

She saw that man stab the commander and then Mingjue called him into the room to throw him out of the sect, and do you remember what NiNi said? She said, “Can you at least treat this man for the stab wound before you throw him out of the sect?”

[all laugh]

NiNi

By the end, I was like, no, you should have killed him. Banishment was too good. You would have saved a lot of people if you had just killed this man in that moment.

Ben

I do not feel sorry for Xichen, because there were so many signs and he actively ignored all of them.

Bookworm

Yes.

Shan

We'll get into the second life arc, but like it took until the very, very end for him to accept, despite all the evidence he saw, despite everything he witnessed over two decades of being friends with this man.

To be clear, Meng Yao, who becomes Jin Guangyao when he moves up in the world, he's married to a woman. But Xichen is basically in this hopeless love with him. They're both clan leaders. They cannot become a couple in a real way, because of their position in society. And because of that love, he is so susceptible to manipulation. He just believes whatever Meng Yao tells him, even if it doesn't make sense. He will believe Meng Yao's words over his own lyin’ eyes.

Ben

Wangji and Wei Wuxian: “We have evidence that this man is the most evil.” Xichen: “Okay, but have you considered that I love him? Jot that down.”

[all laugh]

Bookworm

Oh, I hate him!

Shan

That is exactly what it is! It’s so wild.

Bookworm

Oh, my god.

NiNi

That is not even an exaggeration, that is almost exactly how it goes down.

Bookworm

I think it's a good connective theme between all three of these romances, that people have their own ways to separate the politics of the person that they like. And when they want to protect them, do they wanna choose diplomacy, do they wanna choose brute force, do they wanna choose compromise, what route do they take? You can see that Jiang Cheng, when he came to the proposal, he must know that that's not gonna happen. But you can see that there is this need to protect this woman who he knows is innocent. He also knows that he has this huge weight of clan politics, that he's now the clan leader and his clan is severely wounded and he has to make responsible choices to weigh between whether I choose my clan or whether I choose to do everything I could to protect this person, which is what I want to do in my heart.

My problem with Xichen is he doesn't really separate what the politics or the clan is going through and what Meng Yao is basically feeding him. You shouldn't be this gullible to a person who is basically another important figure in another clan that you know is doing just shady shit. You know they're having prisoners of war. You saw them use them for target practice. You saw them abuse the prisoners of war, beat them and kill them and all of that and this man is a part of that clan. Not just a part, he is pretty high up in the ladder.

Ben

He's also a known spy.

Shan

Yes!

NiNi

Exactly! Precisely!

Bookworm

I know! Exactly!

Shan

You're right, Xichen does not have an excuse. He witnessed this stuff with his own eyes.

Ben

I don't care how prettily he blinks in frustration. He's stupid. [laughs]

NiNi

Bookworm, I found what you just said really entirely fascinating because I think that one of the reasons, then, that Wei Wuxian and Lan Wangji works is that neither of them are directly in line to take over the clans. Wei Wuxian is an adoptee. He's not ever gonna take over the Jiang clan. So he does in some ways have to make his own way. And Lan Wangji is the second son. He also has to go his own way. So the politics for them, they're still the politics of clan loyalty and all of that, but they don't have the leadership responsibilities that all these other romances are involved with.

So what they can do and particularly what Lan Wangji can do to protect Wei Wuxian is far beyond what any of the other romances can do to compromise, protect, whatever. Lan Wangji just basically decides, that's my man, and nobody's gonna touch him. Even when I am mad at him, even when I don't understand what he's doing, nobody is touchin’ that man, ‘cause that's my man.

01:10:06 - The First Life: Various Random Musings

Ben

Before we leave the first life stuff, let's do a couple of quick hits. Favorite moments from the first life, starting with the school shit through the Battle of Nightless City.

Shan

My favorite moments tend to be tied to Wangji, of course, and his emotional landscape. So, the standout moments that feel really crucial to his character arc are where he reaches this emotional cliff that he falls over, and that happens for him several times. It happens when he is sitting with Wei Ying making a lantern—

Ben

I knew she was gonna fuckin' say that.

[Ben and NiNi laugh]

Shan

—and he draws him a rabbit on the lantern, which makes him smile. But the more important moment there is that he listens as Wuxian makes a vow for how he wants to live his life. And Wangji turns to him and looks at him like, “oh shit, I see you. I understand you now.” He agrees with the morality of the values that he holds. And that's a huge moment for him. They were in this stage where Wuxian was being a pest and Wangji was having his little gay panic and they were kind of adversarial with each other. And that moment really shifted things for him emotionally where he was like, “I understand him. We are actually on the same page about the things that matter. And I cannot go back to not knowing that.”

And then, as they have their adventures together and they get to know each other better, moments like in the cave with the tortoise, where Wangji kind of explicitly acknowledges his romantic feelings—not in a way that Wuxian can understand and receive, but he definitely does. And then the rain scene on Qiongqi Path, when he makes a choice to not stop Wuxian from leaving with the Wen prisoners of war, but also not join him. I think that was a huge moment for him where he came up against his own limitations about what he felt he could do for Wuxian. He was not actually willing to break from his clan and help him, but he didn't stand in his way.

And then of course that all culminates in his attempts to bring Wuxian back into the cultivation world that ultimately go sideways because of the machinations of the Jins, and the moment where he is forced to let him go when he is falling off the cliff. That is the moment where his heart just shatters. And then, we'll pick up with him 16 years later and all his regrets.

Ben

Alright, Shan, no crying yet.

Shan

I'm doing great.

Bookworm

Bookworm!

Bookworm

I will fight Shan for Lan Wangji if I have to.

NiNi

I think we all will.

Shan

Don't even try it.

Bookworm

Most of my favorite moments will also be tied to Wangji. Shan already mentioned a lot of them, but we still have a couple. After we see Wei Wuxian lose his core, get thrown in the Burial Mounds and learn demonic cultivation, when he shows up in that Yiling supervisory office wearing red eyeliner and a black robe on—

Shan

It just naturally goes on, the evil spirits put the eyeliner on.

[NiNi laughs]

Ben

It’s one of the many ghosts in the sword.

[all laugh]

Bookworm

Just full emo get up and gets his revenge on Wen Chao while Lan Zhan and Jiang Cheng is watching. That scene was very well depicted, it was very well shot, was very well acted. I really liked the tension of Lan Wangji realizing that something is different and you can see his heartbreak, you can see him calculating what's going on. You can see him just being so happy to finally see Wei Wuxian. He was gone for months and he just showed up in the middle of a war. And my man wanted to just, I don't know, grab him and kiss, but no, this guy wanted to murder. That was his first priority and it broke him. That is one of my favorite moments. I mean, obviously, I'm very normal. It's fine.

[NiNi and Shan laugh]

There was the moment after the archery competition. Phoenix Mountain Hunt. We see Wei Wuxian just lounging in a tree and Lan Zhan shows up and they finally, finally have this conversation where they try to ease some of the tension that they've been holding because of Wei Ying’s, like, reticence to engage with Lan Zhan, when he asks what is wrong and Lan Zhan going insane basically trying to figure out what is happening with Wei Wuxian, why he's not following the sword path, why he has turned to demonic cultivation. I think that that is one of the iconic moments in the show and of course it has a whole discourse about the “soulmates” translation.

Shan

I think the actual word is zhiji and it doesn't have a direct literal English translation. So, no translation is really capturing it correctly.

Bookworm

But it was translated as, I think, soulmate for the show.

Shan

Lifelong bosom companion!

NiNi

And they were roommates!

Ben

He's my boon companion.

Bookworm

I really liked that conversation and how it diffused a little bit of that tension that they were holding, and then of course everything goes to shit. But at least they were happy for a brief moment.

NiNi

I think for me, there's three things that tie together into a line. The two caves and then when Lan Wangji meets Wei Wuxian in Yiling Town and he invites him to come back to the Burial Mounds for dinner.

Ben

There were two caves! [laughs] Oh my god!

Shan

There were, that's legit.

Ben

Goddamn, there are a lot of caves in this fucking story.

Bookworm

The caves belong to the gays. It is what it is.

NiNi

I think those three points in the story form a very interesting line because the first cave is the Cold Pond Cave and they meet up with Lan Wangji's ancestor who developed the Lan clan's signature martial arts magic style and she basically explains to them their mission, what they have to do, this thing about the plot MacGuffin, the Yin Iron. But it's so interesting to me, when they came out of the cave, it's like Wei Wuxian instinctively understood that they don't tell anybody about what happened in the cave. I found that was an interesting change and dynamic to their relationship and also very gay.

And then when they're trapped in the cave with the Tortoise of Slaughter—

Ben

She really could not get over that fucking name.

NiNi

I could not. [Ben and Shan laugh] The Tortoise of Slaughter, okay. Yeah, so they're fighting this thing and Wei Wuxian basically goes into its shell and finds this sword which is the first step on the path to his demonic cultivation. Everything that happens from the moment he touches that sword took him directly to his break with all the clans and ending up in the Burial Mounds in the first place so that when they see each other after such a long time apart, after everything, and he's just like, “Hey friend, how are you? Come to dinner at my house. You're gonna go fight a monster? Fuck that. Come over.” It's, like, basically like the “Hey big head” text of all time. And I was completely into it.

Ben

Hold on, I just got triggered.

[Ben and NiNi laugh]

NiNi

It was such a romantic moment for me. You feel Lan Zhan's feelings the entire time, but it's really the first time that you feel Wei Wuxian's feelings for Lan Zhan and how they confuse him. He knows that he has these strong feelings and he wants Lan Zhan to be around him and in his life. But it's almost like, he doesn't know what to call it or at least he can't face what to call it.

Ben

I like moments in the past where people's personal ethics and loyalty to people who have helped them directly makes them ignore the responsibilities they may have to their clan. So, the first one for me is when Wen Ning poisons his own clan to help Wei Wuxian rescue Jiang Cheng.

Shan

I knew it was going to be about Wen Ning. Ben loves Wen Ning.

Ben

I really do. You mentioned him twice earlier and I held it in.

Shan

She did so good.

Ben

That moment's earned. Because Wei Wuxian showed him regard and kindness earlier and he returned it in kind.

The next big moment I like is Yanli's tantrum when she's like, you better keep my brother's name out your fucking mouth. Because that was really fun for a character who's been very reserved, who doesn't really challenge a lot of people. We have not really seen how all of the trauma they've survived directly impacted her. I really liked her in that moment, putting her foot down, like, “fuck you, I don't care.” You can see Wei Wuxian barely holding onto his control, and the only two things holding him back are his sister and his not-boyfriend. And then, like, within five episodes, neither of them will be present, and everything's gonna go to shit.

NiNi

Yep, pretty much.

01:20:53 - Outro: Notes From the Future

Ben

It's Ben and NiNi from the future!

NiNi

All the way in the future. So far in the future.

Ben

This episode is too fucking long. We're sorry, guys. We had a lot to say and we got Bookworm in the booth. It's also The Untamed. It's a very fucking long drama. So we're gonna take a pause here after the end of our discussion of Wei Wuxian's first life, and we'll pick up in the next episode with his second life. We appreciate you all for joining us.

NiNi

Yeah, we talk too much and so, there's gonna be two episodes. So see you guys in the next one!

Say bye to the people, Ben.

Ben

Peace!

#ben and nini's conversations #the conversation #mo dao zu shi #the untamed #podcast #lgbtq #bl series #chinese bl

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divine-misfortune · 1 year ago

Text

Mushy May, day 6. "You're blushing"

Rating: M

Pairing: Swiss/Dewdrop

Words: 1,155

Summary: A morning like any other, and Swiss just really loves Dew.

Contains: Nothing explicit - just Dew getting sorta turned on. Swiss being gross and lovely dovey.

As always 1000 smooches to @forlorn-crows for all of this <333

Pay no attention to what date anything is posted on anymore

Behind him the bathroom door creaked. Nudged open by a bleary eyed, disheveled multi ghoul. None of his locs remained contained within the elastic Swiss had drawn them into the night before, all in varying states of untamed with minds of their own. He shuffled his way towards the shower, mouth falling open to reveal oversized fangs as he yawned, idly scratching at his bare stomach.

Dew watched the way he moved, practically on autopilot in the still foggy edges of the mirror. Still yet to even acknowledge his existence in the room at all, likely because his eyes were barely open enough to see what was in front of him, and Dew didn't have the heart - or the balls to break him from his sleepy stupor. Swiss was, for all intents and purposes, a bear in the morning. Waking him was treacherous. But also he looked kinda cute when he was tired like this. A dangerous teddy bear.

His eyebrows raised minutely as he caught a glimpse of the deep red welts raked down Swiss’ back when Swiss bent at the waist to fuss with the old stubborn faucet. He winced sympathetically and glanced down at his hand, mentally noting to file down his claws at some point lest he maul another poor unsuspecting victim. Swiss hardly seemed bothered by the battle scars as he braced his hands on his lower back to stretch. Dew tipped his head, morning routine momentarily forgotten when Swiss let out a low half purr-half groan of satisfaction. The sound itself was innocent in nature but still managed to kickstart something hot in his gut but the sway of his tail and the second full bodied yawn of the morning did something far worse to Dew. Warmth deep in the confines of his ribs and an unwilling curl to his lips, Dew exhaled fondly. Endeared and amused by the sheer act of being him.

The small space grew warmer as the shower began to heat up, trickling water white noise as Swiss puttered back and forth aimlessly gathering his things with a practiced ease.

Dew remembered a time where Swiss shifted uncomfortably at the prospect of moving some of his things into Dew's bathroom - afraid of intruding, of taking up space in places he claimed weren't his but Dew had laughed at his initial nervousness. Places that weren't his, as if he didn't wake up in Dew's bed most mornings, as if his sheets didn't carry the rich smokey scent of the multi ghoul even in his absence. That bed was Swiss’ as much as it was his. Arguing his point with Dew was a waste of breath, he'd already emptied out the drawer for his things long before the conversation happened. Now Swiss rummaged through the bathroom like it had always been his.

“Hey cinder…”

Swiss sagged against him abruptly and Dew braced himself against the counter to keep himself upright, only hissing a little when Swiss laughed. His voice was low and rusted, husked by sleep but tinged sweet. Perching his chin on his shoulder he fixed him a smile in their reflection, lazy but entirely genuine, before slotting himself properly against his back. He'd finally blinked the sleep from his eyes despite his lids sitting heavy, rings of gold peeking out from under dark lashes.

“Hey yourself,” he hummed and continued working his fingers through the ends of his damp hair. “Didn't think you'd be up for a bit - don't tell me I somehow managed to wake you.”

“Oh nothin’ wakes me darling.” Strong arms snuck around his narrow waist and Swiss turned to tuck his face into his hair. Dew bit his lip, admiring the way his embrace just seemed to envelop him. Sure, he was small but Swiss always managed to make him feel it and it made his stomach do flips. “You smell good.”

“You're gonna tangle my hair again,” Dew hissed half heartedly and he opted to hold him tighter. A subtle reminder that the multi ghoul could keep him however he liked. Part of Dew hoped he did just that.

“Oh don't be such a priss, that's Rain's job” he snorted and pressed a chaste kiss to his bare shoulder. Careful to avoid the sore imprints of teeth leading down his neck like a true gentleman. “Just wanna hold my baby a little, can't really deny me that now can you?”

Dumbfounded, Dew once again paused in the motion. Fingers still tangled in his hair, he knit his brow. The action of embracing him, the pet name - not to mention the casual ‘my’ prefixed to it, he felt hit brain skitter to a halt. Swiss laughed again, not necessarily at him though. An amused exhale too close to his skin that makes him shudder.

“Your baby?” He repeats with reluctance, heart rate picking up speed with each suspicious syllable. The smile he's met with is too much teeth, like Swiss might just eat him alive but not to revel in his agony. Like he might devour him to savor him in entirety, an act of reverence as opposed to violence.

“My baby.”

An involuntarily whine rose in his throat, eyes flitting away as to not watch the pink color his cheeks. Swiss was certainly watching.

“What's wrong?” He squeezed his middle and nosed lightly against his pulsepoint, likely feeling the way it stuttered.

“You're being weird” Dew's voice went soft as little kisses were pressed to the hinge of his jaw. The heat in his belly was undeniable now but he still tried to distract himself, washing his hands in icy water.

“And you're cute when you're all bashful like this, sweetheart.” Another kiss followed by a playful nip, the faintest catch of teeth against already bruised skin. Dew's eyes nearly fluttered. “You like it, know you do, love when I'm sweet on you like this.”

Mouth opening to protest, Dew’s brain struggled to provide the words and he was left standing there stammering while Swiss continued to lightly bite and kiss along the column of his throat. He was turning to putty, dick beginning to twitch with interest. Every sappy, tooth-rotting whisper close to his ear aided it in fattening up much to his humiliation. The fire ghoul screwed his eyes shut when Swiss hummed curiously, mortified when his palm pressed to the front of his boxers. Dew whined again, distress and need mixed into one desperate sound.

“You're blushing, beautiful…Prettiest shade of pink, wonder if it will be just as red when I get my hands on it.”

“Fucking hells, you're gonna kill me,” he warbled and grabbed his wrist, unsure if he wanted to add to the pressure against him or pull him away.

“Just love you baby, let me love you.”

Dew swallowed and cracked an eye open to take in the sight of them. He almost wanted to commit it to memory.

“Y-Yeah, okay…Love you too.”

#writing #void writing #mushy may 2024 #nameless ghouls #swiss ghoul #dewdrop ghoul #swissdew #dewdrop x swiss #swiss x dewdrop #the band ghost #ghost the band #the band ghost fanfiction #ghost bc

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whisperwritingstuff · 24 days ago

Text

got some more reverse untamed beasts for y'all

-----

"What do we do." Hissed words, piercing the veil of Grian's sleep. He tries to ignore them.

"Do we have to do anything? He doesn't seem bothered." A calmer voice.

"Of course he doesn't seem bothered! Do we seem bothered when-"

"Dunno man, he's like. Clearly awake."

"He's also clearly not right."

"No, I mean-"

"Did you hear him? Hell, maybe I can wait until after he takes another bite out of me- No, no, that's. I shouldn't. Right? I shouldn't?"

"I really don't know why you keep asking me as if I'm the morals of this operation."

"But I want to and that's. Ugh. Have I been being too hard on him? He. Like, he wasn't happy, but he did bring you back like. Basically as soon as I managed to ask him."

"Do you even have the faintest clue how to undo any-"

"I want him. I want him! I want to keep him."

"Then keep him."

"I can't."

"You can. There is no one to stop you."

The following drawn out shout of frustration is rather difficult to ignore, finally convincing Grian that he's not going to get back to sleep. Whatever.

He decides that instead of caring about whatever they were arguing about, he's going to see about making the den feel more homey. What to do, what to do... It doesn't smell enough like his magic, he decides.

The part that comes next Grian isn't entirely clear on. He presses his palms together, and kinda sideways focus-unfocuses. For sure something is happening, he can feel the flow of his magic up through himself, compressing into something solid between his palms.

Grian's not sure how long he stays like that, but when the flow of magic stops and he blinks his eyes open he's holding a crystal about the width and length of his forearm close to his chest.

"Pretty." Grian murmurs, watching the play of purple and gossamer blue glittering through the facets of the crystal.

The bed jolts with the force of Scar startled yelp and jump.

"I told you he was awake." Cub deadpans, before moving closer. "Now, what have you got there?"

"Crystal, for our den." Grian holds it up to the light for Cub to see, and is treated to Cub's pupils instantly dilating while Cub's wings beat like they're trying to outpace a hummingbird.

"Hey whazzat?" Scar pops up from behind Cub's shoulder, leaning heavily on him to peek as well. A couple blinks and then Scar gives a long wolf-whistle. "Wow, I didn't know you had it in you to proposition Cub like that."

"I- What?" Grian's voice clicks in high pitch.

"I think even you'd need some prep to get that in you, Cub." Scar clicks, cheerfully.

Cub's breath stutters.

"I just wanted our den to smell like me! You two don't have to be so weird about it." Grian snips, defensive. It's probably too much to hope that Scar has missed the way a flush tries to creep up his neck.

"Grian, buddy, that's like. Okay how do I put this. Like, a normal crystally magic thing? Is maybe the size of a small marble. That's fine for a den. What you've done is like." Scar searches for words, hands patting at Cub's cheek while he thinks.

Cub hasn't looked away from the crystal in Grian's arms.

"Like if you had a hundred thousandy wings for your little bird dance things or something." Scar finishes with a nod.

"That makes no sense." Grian can’t help trying to imagine it, if he’d unfolded more and more wings for a courtship. The mental image doesn’t come together.

"Exactly!" Scar nods even more. "That's unreasonable. Excessive. Powerful beyond all belief. So, you know, laser targeted at Cub. Isn't that right Cub-Cub?" Scar nuzzles Cub's cheek, getting a kind of hum-click out of Cub.

"We've played with magicy crystals kinda like that before." Scar carries on his chattering. "Oh, but we've never had a crystally magic that big to play with. Mm, just imagine it sliding in-"

A hungry keen escapes from Cub.

"You can't- Just say that?" Grian tries, as if he hadn't, briefly, been enraptured by Scar's words himself. Conjuring images of pressing Cub down into the bed, taking his sweet time to tenderly work Cub open-

Had he even thought of Cub like that before?

...how could he not, with Scar just openly talking about it and Cub looking at him like that?

"Why not? It's a lot more fun than talking about boring stuff like how your brain's still all kinds of shuffled up. How did you even know how to do that? Did he teach you?" Scar runs his hand up Cub's neck until he can hook a couple of fingers into Cub's mouth, idly pressing them in and out as he speaks. Cub loosely suckles at Scar's fingers.

"I just did it. Nobody taught me, it wasn't even that difficult, really." Grian watches, unable to look away from the casual show.

"You've really got a case of vex brain, haven't you? And that doesn't seem weird to you at all?" Scar presses.

"Why would it be?" Grian protests, reflexively.

"Because you're not a vex." Scar answers, as if it should be obvious.

"Now that can't be right." Grian's frown has an irritable edge to it.

Scar groans and rolls his eyes, throwing his head back for good measure. "Grian, come on." He flops his head back down to look sidelong at Grian. Which really, is entirely unnecessary.

"You come on, Scar." Grian clicks impatiently at him.

"Listen to yourself. I miss your chirpy-chirps." Scar pouts, pulling his fingers back out of Cub's mouth with the faintest of pop sounds. He dries them on Cub's labcoat, as if it were nothing.

Cub's eyelids dip and flutter slowly, his mind clearly a million miles away from the conversation.

"I chirp just fine." Grian rolls his eyes then clicks- He clicks. Grian click- He stops and frowns.

"See?" Scar sounds unusually unhappy to be right. No, not right. Temporarily under the impression of being right.

"Shut up." Grian touches his own throat, probing with fingertips and magic. He takes a slow breath in, and then with a very deliberate and conscientious slowness, Grian chirps smugness.

Scar slumps onto Cub's shoulder, boneless in what looks to be relief. Such an overblown reaction again. "Okay. Okay good. That's good. I haven't- You can. Good."

"Of course I could, like I'd let you stop me." Grian rolls his eyes.

Scar gets a moment of glint in his eyes, before shaking his head. "Wow I hate being responsible. How does Cleo do this every day?"

"They don't." Grian supplies.

"Oh, that makes sense." Scar nods. "Anyway, that's good to know, that you can shake that off yourself. Maybe this will just like. Wear off on its own, you know? And we can just kinda. Enjoy it in the meantime, yeah?"

"I'm doing just fine with enjoying life, you're the one twisting yourself up in knots about nothing." Grian shrugs. Whatever, he's a Vex right now, that doesn't really worry him. His brain doesn't feel like it's trying to cage match a bobcat over every little thing he's doing with regard to his Vex at the moment, so Grian's taking the victory where he can.

"If you really think it's nothing..." Scar sounds rather willing to be convinced.

"It's better than the past few days have been, I'll give you that." Grian turns away, looking for a good place to settle the crystal in their pillows and blankets. There's really no way to make something so large and hard comfortable, but he does his best.

"Been a rough one, huh? Yeah, I guess it has. Been a year of a week." Scar chuckles.

"Mmf." Grian scoots himself over and flops across Scar and Cub's laps both, now that his hands are free. "Thought I knew a lot about you." He murmurs, sullen.

"Compared to anyone but this guy." Scar jerks a thumb at Cub, scooting more to lean properly into Cub's side, and giving Grian a better angle of lap to sprawl over. "You did. You do."

Grian steals Scar's hand, holding it in greedy claws. "I want all of it. All of you." He presses little kisses to each one of Scar's joints and knuckles. Each one of his scars.

"Do you want it enough to give all of you?" Scar asks, tone soft and slipping toward fae.

"I-" Grian's words are cut short by Scar's finger pressed to his lips.

"I want you to truly think about it, Grian. You aren't fully bonded to us. You could still walk away now."

Grian makes a protesting noise.

"I mean it! If you agree to this, that's it. I could do anything with you. I could take Cub away from you. Or I could make you set yourself on fire for my amusement. I could clip your flight feathers and ban you from ever touching an elytra. Anything. Everything. So don't answer me now."

A growl works its way loose of Grian at the thoughts of having his Vex taken from him. He won't- But would Scar? Can he trust Scar not to? Displeased with the weight of those questions, Grian presses his face into Scar's stomach.

"I'll ask you again later, and I want to know that you truly, wholly mean the answer you give me. With all of your self." Scar rubs Grian's back, still allowing Grian to clutch his other hand. "Until then, rest."

Grian shakes out his wings, then tucks them close to his back. It's more comfortable while laying here, he thinks. "Jus' woke up." Grian complains.

"Then indulge in being a little lazy." Scar winks.

"Mm, nah, that's your job." Grian sticks out his tongue, only pulling it back in so Scar can't boop the tip of it. He giggles at Scar's pout.

Grian doesn't want to sleep anyway, he wants to appreciate this. Seeing them now really throws it into stark relief for him, how uncomfortable the pair have been with him the past few days. Grian wants to soak in the way they've relaxed back to being weird and silly, and he can't do that during a nap.

"My only job right now is making sure Cub doesn't steal your not-so-little pretty-shiny." Scar says.

"He can't have it! It's for our nest." Grian huffs, sternly. He pokes at Cub a few times, before relenting a little. "If he's so greedy for it, I'll make another one just for him."

Scar's delighted and scandalized little gasp comes at the same time as Cub crumpling to fold limply over on Grian's legs. Hm. Warm.

Scar pokes Cub's cheek a couple times, to no response. "Wow, I think you short circuited him. Neat!"

"Serves him right." Grian says loftily. He's decided he likes the Cub blanket on his legs.

"I'll have to show you some tricks for shaping how they form, later. Oh we're gonna have so much fun with this!" Scar bounces under Grian, jostling him.

Grian hums, then bites Scar's leg. Too Movement. No more of that.

Somehow, this has the exact opposite effect, resulting in Scar jolting Grian right off his lap. Grian crankily flaps his wings, clicking discontent.

"Warn a fella, hey?" Scar takes advantage of everyone's disparate sprawls to instead rearrange them all.

"Nah. You get what you get." Grian grins toothily. He tucks happily into Cub's side, after Scar lays out Cub, with Scar settling in behind Grian.

"What if I get this?" Scar asks, entirely too much eagerness in his to-

Grian's brain turns into melting static.

Everything hangs in suspended sensations, the clamping of sharp pressure over some part inside of him that he doesn't understand how to feel. Pinpricks in the fabric of his soul, letting shivering purple light through.

And then it stops, his whole brain unceremoniously schlorped back onto something resembling working order inside his head. Scar's face pressed to his back, nuzzling.

"You're good, you're safe. You taste so good, my pretty." Scar purrs sweet words to him.

Grian makes a sound that is almost word-shaped, but isn't actually any kind of a word. His tongue knows how to make sounds but stringing them together coherently takes a couple minutes to come back into focus.

Thankfully, Scar seems perfectly content to nuzzle and purr soothing noise to him in the meantime, not giving Grian's brain jar any further shakes.

"Sneaking dessert early without me?" Cub's voice, amused.

"No, I would never." Scar wheedles, pressing a hand to his heart. Grian can feel Scar's arm tucked up between them.

"Not that you'd admit to, sure." Grian teases.

Scar muffles dramatic wounded noises into Grian's back, groaning and whining pitifully.

Which only makes Grian curl his wings backward-inward to buffet Scar with them. He giggles about the way it makes Scar stutter and sputter.

While Grian was distracted with that, Cub had taken the moment to roll to face him. Which Grian discovers when he feels careful claws card through his hair.

Something not-forgotten in the back of Grian's thoughts croons sweet contentedness at the sensation. He lets himself relax under the touch, something warm even beyond Scar's body heat curling up his spine at the thought of Cub willingly preening him.

Simply natural, really, for Grian to then smooth his hands down over Cub's labcoat. It may be silly to smooth the wrinkles out of it while they're laying here like this, but the motion brings little peeps of bubbling joy to Grian's lips, and that's enough reason for him right now. Being accepted by his pack, being preened by his flock, being attended to by his vex. Whatever tangle of instincts now lives in the back halls of Grian's mind, this scratches all of them pleasantly.

One of Cub's hands slides down to cup Grian's cheek. "Has Scar been keeping this cute side of you to himself all this time?"

"More like he's trying to advertise-" Grian protests, glad for the cool feeling of Cub's hand on his all-too-warm cheek.

"I've got a spare Cuteguy outfit." Scar chimes in, bright and cheerful.

"Why." Grian deadpans.

"You never know when you'll need the power of cuteness to save the day!" Scar eagerly answers.

"I've got plenty of that power on my own, thanks much." Grian rolls his eyes.

Cub chuckles, rubbing the pad of his thumb back and forth over Grian's cheek. "Cute, tasty, and powerful. Is there anything you don't do well?"

"Nope. Suffer my perfection." Grian straightens his spine, a hint of haughty note creeping into his tone.

"I might do that. I just might do that." Cub says, nodding slightly.

And what is Grian supposed to say to that? No, better to just drag Cub close and tuck his face in Cub's shoulder, rubbing Cub's hand between his cheek and Cub's shoulder. Like food for a starving chasm of want hiding inside of Grian.

Scar snugs his arms steady around Grian's waist, pressing light little kisses to the back of his neck. The whole situation feels illegal, somehow. Something Grian isn't supposed to have. Something he wants. How badly? How much is he willing to risk for this?

Pebbles and sand clattering over a cliff's edge. The sky spread out below him, bright and welcoming.

Is there something about those long drops that calls his name? Something in the never quite knowing if he'll get his wings out soon enough, strong enough, to catch himself?

Something illicit in the thrill of binding his own wings and seeing if someone else will catch him?

Cub eventually works his arm out from where it had been pinned between himself and Grian. Grian reluctantly but willingly lets it go. He still has Cub's shoulder to nuzzle into, after all. Soft fabric, cool pillow. "Good." Grian murmurs.

Maybe Scar was on to something, not that Grian plans to say it. His slide down into drowsiness says enough unto itself already. The urge to just drift here, in their safe den, in their safe nest. The familiarly warm current of Scar's breath over the back of his neck, and the comforting brush of Cub's fingers returning to his hair.

Sleep claims Grian with a gentle embrace.

#reverse untamed beasts au #slowly but surely they're getting somewhere #as always comments appreciated #come yell abt the disaster dorks with me : 3

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