#the shadow is but a small and passing thing

[searchingforserendipity25]

it's a good thing conclave didn't waste any time on making the stories about catholic orders and their in-fighting. and probably i shouldn't either because i am not informed enough about it to go on at length. pls take all of this w a grain of salt.

but i know in my heart of hearts that aldo bellini is a progressive liberal jesuit, the holy father's specialest most progressive liberal italian-american jesuit.

look at him. look at his glasses. those are the glasses of a man who did his dissertation on reinterpreting loyola through a contemporary reformist lens. academic wunderkid. has sooo much beef w the editors of american jesuit weekly. possibly the events of conclave are occurring in a better more beautiful world where aldo bellini is the editor of american jesuit weekly.

the late holy father for sure was a progressive jesuit also. vr pope francis coded. and low-key set him up as a successor. for a while, that seemed nearly a sure thing in some circles.

but there is the fact. well. the fact that everyone is tired, done and tired of jesuits, progressive or otherwise.

this among other factors meant he couldn't consider him the best option, besides whatever character judgement and uncanny machievallien prediction he came up with.

adeyemi has that benedictine swag which makes his potential election particularly seem like a breath of fresh air + reliable + lots of influence. tremblay is giving dominican drip and dominican corruption. and dominican flop. his nespresso machine? it's giving dominican also.

tedesco has to be an italian-founded order member. most hypocrital salesian of all times maybe?? this is unrelated to the fact that i was nearly enrolled in a salesian primary school and the weirdly panopticon-ish playground didn't pass the vibe check. and also because: consider tedesco rising in the ranks of an order created to help migrant workers...someone kick him in the head for me pls.

who even knows about benítez. i want to say franciscan but that might be just too on the nose. cistercian?? honestly it would work well if he is also without affiliation.

this lens does make lawrence's homily being interpreted as a campaign speech more understandable (and particularly funny).

because, as far as anyone can tell, he's fully running as an independent candidate. zero platform besides - if i fuck up i'll apologize and do better and be held accountable, which is more than any of you probably would.

and because he stands alone, he can be held accountable. he can belong to all, and not one faction only. as far as anyone can tell, he's burning bridges with bellini and rocking the statues quo.

he is speaking to/from a place of frustration with institutional inertia and factionalism, he is using his position as dean to bravely promote a platform for internal change in the curia, he is offering doubt as an alternative to certainty, he is pulling an absolute wildcard move.

pity he didn't mean it.

pity the the only order lawrence is interested in joining is the most hardcore discalced carmelite experience possible.

you know how some people look into luxurious real estate listings like it's porn? that's lawrence w tiny monasteries. the sort of minuscule organization with not enough people for management to be necessary. too small for politics. as close to erasure as you can get in this world: no need to be useful.

serving god by existing only to meditate on him. a narrow slant of a life, at that. barely taking up space, barely casting a shadow.

his favorite is a decrepit wreck of a place in the middle of southern spain, nowhere. no wifi no speaking aloud no possessions. no shoes no food. no nothing, only prayer. and a big big sky overhead.

maybe that will fix his issues with reaching god. if that doesn't work he'll probably just wander into the tabernas desert and become an hermit. works for some people, supposedly; plenty of order founders seem to believe so, anyway.

[everythingacotarbxm1012]

Husband!Azriel x Reader Headcanons

A/N - Warnings include mention of war, major character death, suggestions of murder, guilt, and grief/mourning

Nobody knows, not even Rhys or Cassian

Everyone mistakes his interest in Mor for love

No, truth is that Mor is the only thing Azriel has left to remind him of his spouse and mate, of you

He lost your shared home, your things

All he has left is a small grave marker and Mor, a female who doesn't even know of his deep connections to you

He had done everything he could to keep you hidden away from the cruelty of the Illyrians, to save you from a sad fate like his mother's

But how could he even keep such a secret from the High Lord of the Night Court, someone with such power. He was only a Shadowsinger, protecting his spouse

The disgusting bastard didn't keep his promise

What was Azriel to do when he found you, dying

What was he supposed to do when the mating bond snapped moments before you passed

What was he supposed to do when he felt such a swell in his chest and then nothing at all...emptiness and anger

Even his shadows lose the joy they once had

Have people ever considered he has no mate because he already has had a mate?!

Why does Rhys get his mate?!

Why does Cassian get his?!

WHY DO THEY GET EACH OTHER AND HE'S LEFT STANDING IN THE GODSDAMN CORNER BARELY ABLE TO REMEMBER THE FEEL OF YOUR BODY?!

He still feels guilty

Maybe by saving Elain, he can feel less guilty about not saving you

It doesn't help, only reminds him of how he failed to save you

He visits your burial place often, making excuses to return to the Night Court late after a mission

You told him you always wanted to travel so he makes sure to bring you things, tells you about them, sings about them

He used to do that a lot before; he used to dance a lot more before too

Maybe when death finally takes him he'll feel at peace again–until then he's forced to live in the silence of his loss, with only his shadows for company

[wrathofrats]

This was supposed to be for kinktober but now it’s for my birthday happy birthday to me

You can wear the crown, but you're no princess

Phantom/rain

2.5k explicit, read under cut or on ao3 thank u to @divine-misfortune for microwaving this w me (:

Warnings for: extremely dubious consent, pervert phantom, rains says no but doesn't mean it, shadow fuckery, degradation, objectification, quintessence fuckery, dumbification. Yes there's aftercare I promise. Just be careful with this one folks

The glass was fogged, but phantom could still see the silhouette of rains hand working rapidly between his thighs. The small images of him pulling rain into his lap and rubbing up and down his legs flooded his vision as he got his magic deeper into rain. It was flattering, even if rain always insisted he didn't like it, he was touching himself in the shower to the thoughts.

There was a small bruise that was blooming on rains hip as he accidentally brushed over it, wincing at how sore it still was. Phantom was a hands little shit, always grabbing at him hard enough to leave a mark. The first time he chalked it up to phantom not understanding his own strength, but by now he was sure he was simply trying to mark him so he would think about him later.

He was a pervert. A gross degenerate that wouldn’t stop groping him and whispering dirty comments when he passed him in the kitchen. Hell, he caught phantom listening through the door one night while he was trying to get off by himself. Sure rain made him help since he wanted to be so nosy, but even if the attentions nice he wished he would just calm the fuck down sometimes.

Sure, a part of him encouraged it, even if phantom just wanted to play grabass with him. He was sick of the games honestly, at least that’s what he kept insisting without pulling phantoms hands from his.

The soap had long since washed and swirled down the drain, rain lost in thought and now just rubbing his hands along his body. Over his tits that were clean and slippery, down his stomach, simply teasing himself while lost in thought about how annoying phantom is.

His fingers skated lower, his back hitting the tile wall as he simply traced back and forth between his folds. Taking his time for the sake of taking his time. Sure, he was annoying, but at least he was useful. Enthusiastic and even when crude, the comments were flattering. Rain can’t get enough of the attention even if he tells phantom he’s a dirty perv everytime he grabs at his chest.

Rain gave a soft sound, sinking to the shower floor as he circled around his clit. The mindless thoughts of phantom telling him how much he wants to fuck him, how cute he is, all only making him work faster.

Phantom stood right at the closed door. A simple shadow that could be explained by the light from the window of rain was even paying enough attention to notice. Quint magic was a hell of a thing, able to wriggle just the smallest of tendrils into his brain through the icy mask he tends to wear to see what’s going on below the surface.

The glass was fogged, but phantom could still see the silhouette of rains hand working rapidly between his thighs. The small images of him pulling rain into his lap and rubbing up and down his legs flooded his vision as he got his magic deeper into rain. It was flattering, even if rain always insisted he didn’t like it, he was touching himself in the shower to the thoughts.

Rains thoughts are filthy, it’s nice to know how he really feels. Those silly boundaries he always insists upon, simply there to keep the illusion of modesty, just waiting to be crossed. Rain wants phantom to make him uncomfortable, wants phantom to stop playing games and simply take what he wants.

His magic pulsed in his temples, as if this is what it truly wanted. It wants to burrow into him and live there, take him completely, almost too much for phantom to control.

The lights flickered in the bathroom while rains too lost in his fantasies to notice. Phantom needs to sink his teeth into him, needs to push into his mind until he can take control.

The quintessence wrapped around rains hand, fueling him to go faster as phantom started to push his own ideas into rains head. Twist his fantasies, bend them into what he wants.

Phantom could just hold him down and take, pinned to the bed and gagged so he’s not too whiny like phantom knows he is. Fill him up real good so rain will stop complaining about how perverted he is, poor things no better.

Surrounded by shadow phantom slipped into the shower itself to watch the show he’s earned. He watched as rains thighs trembled while his fingers never slowed in his cunt as he rocked back and forth with his hips.

Desperate, breathing heavy with small whines you’d never hear unless you were right next to him. He’s a greedy little thing. Phantoms quintessence flowed down rains hands, not letting him let up until he could admit what he truly wanted.

Rain came around his fingers with his fist shoved between his teeth to muffle the pathetic cries while he pulsed. His hand didn’t slow, assumed to be the autopilot of working himself through his orgasm but it started to push further, the shocking jolt of overstimulation making him jump as he began to realize what was happening.

The lights were still flickering, a dark shadow sitting at the end of the shower with the water just on the painful side of too hot. His fingers wouldn’t stop, his thoughts wouldn’t stop, the filth was starting to get away from him and lean darker and darker.

The repetition of how slutty he is circled his mind without intending to, images of how phantom could ruin him along with all the words of how he’s asking for it, deserving of it.

Phantom takes the confusion as an opportunity to push all the way into his brain, forcing him to continue to touch himself to whatever filthy ideas he could make him think of. He wants him to say it, admit out loud how much he truly wants him. It would only be polite to give him what he wants since he’s been such a good audience.

The words bubble in rains throat. His mind floating and hazy with the thoughts of how much he wants phantom, but the conscious and more defiant part of him forces himself to choke it down. His mouth strains to keep closed, fingers still moving inside of him painfully with pathetic whimpers pouring from behind his lips. His pride is too much for himself, he can’t admit he truly wants such a desperate freak like phantom.

“Say it rainy” a voice whispered from all around him, no distinct place as the shadow in front of him started to scatter. Something pulled on his hair, forcing his head up and down like he’s nodding with the words want you so bad, need you phantom being muffled and distorted in his throat.

The lights go out completely, a figure slipped behind rains back.

Rain was horrified as he felt phantoms body meld to his with a hand pressed between his parted thighs.

“That’s it- you’re cutest when you’re honest with yourself rain. Been waiting for you to admit it, doesn’t it feel good?” Phantom whispered in his ear, pressing his hand against rains to cup his cunt. Hot and slick, clearly almost rubbed raw by now but rain groans anyways with the pressure.

“You’re such a sick fucking freak!-“ rain protested as phantom let him have some of his free will to speak back. He just wants to hear him be snarky, even in such a vulnerable position like this.

“That’s enough” phantom laughed before taking away his ability to talk again. He used the shock of rain not being able to speak for himself again to push into rain with both of their fingers. Desperate to feel what it’s like for rain to touch himself to the thought of phantom.

Four fingers are almost too much for him. Rain wants to tell phantom to stop touching him but it’s hard to get it out between moans from the tight stretch of their fingers combined, hard to get it out when he knows it’s not true. It’s almost an uncomfortable fullness, too much too fast with phantom completely invading his space and forcing his fingers inside of him, predatory with a filthy lilt to his voice as he whispers in rains ear.

“Don’t you sound pretty huh rainy?” Phantom mouthed at him while rain tried not to squirm like it hurts, or worse, that he fucking likes it. He’s not loosening up even with phantom moving their hands together like he’s trying to force an orgasm out of him.

No, phantom won’t give him the grace of being loose enough to relax. He uses his magic to keep him tight so he has to feel his finger stretch and push into him inch by inch, no give for the pretty thing. He really shouldn’t need it, if he hates phantom so much he wouldn’t be getting loose for him.

A part of it feels violating to be forced open, but only because it’s phantom doing it. At least with water running over him, phantom can’t see the tears of frustration and desperation from needing him to give rain more.

“You’re so tight rain, doesn’t it hurt? You feel shy now that I’ve seen how you act when I’m not around?” It’s odd. He can’t see anything in the dark bathroom except the glint of purple when phantom feeds him more and more magic.

“Tell me what you want rainy, loosen up a bit” rain can’t find the words to respond. The force of their fingers being too much for him to even begin to try and talk. He just spreads his legs further for some kind of relief, mouths please- because it’s all he can manage.

It feels too good, overstimulating, practically taking the air out of his lungs as the water pelts him. Phantom doesn’t know what he’s pleading for truthfully, more? To stop? For him? He would’ve hoped rain knew better than to let him assume.

“It hurts, please just let me-“ rain croaked, his throat feelings raw.

“Oh I bet it does babe, just hurt bad huh?”

“J-just make it better phantom, please”

Phantom loosens the magic a bit on him to let him enjoy how it feels to be nice and full. He wants him to know what he gets when he’s good, when he listens, lets rain melt into the pleasure as he is finally allowed to enjoy phantom stretching him wide.

“Oh fuck phantom-!” Rain cried weakly as the bliss kicked in. It could drive phantom wild, he almost doesn’t want to stop. He loves seeing him almost euphoric just because of how he touches him, could drink it in forever.

“Gotta tell me what you want rain, I’ve been such a good audience for you, it’s the least you could do” phantom crooked his fingers up, making rain arch against his chest. He could feel like slick almost pouring out of him, gushing around his fingers every time he hit that sweet little spot inside of him.

Rain can’t help but babble aimlessly, admit whatever dirty secrets he can just to see if phantom will finally give him what he wants. Pretty thing will do just about anything to get a cock inside him. It would be pathetic if it wasn’t so hot.

“Use me, make me your brainless sex doll, fuck me till I sob please”

Phantom can’t help but giggle a little at how whiny he sounds. His fingers don’t stop, don’t let up their assault on rains cunt while rain continues to beg and plead with phantom. It’s borderline sadistic, just watching the poor thing writhe in his arms.

He just lets him dig his own grave, the longer he doesn’t give him any validation and sits in silence the more rain begs and ramps up his ideas in hopes that phantom will just give him something.

“Stretch me out on your cock” rain cried “drag me to the common room and show them how sloppy i get for you”

“Oh? For me?”

“Only for you phantom”

Phantoms ears perked up at the plea. It’s cute, interesting at the very least. Prim and tidy rain begging phantom to fuck him till he’s too loose for anyone else is truly a sight to behold. Usually too good to be touched by him, claims he’s filthy and will taint his good image somehow. But this? Adorable.

“You can’t possibly mean that rainy, you’re much too proper for that-“

Rain almost trips over himself to tell phantom he’s wrong. Babbles he’s not above being used, not above being a plaything. It’s all he wants if that’s what phantom wants from him. He only wants what phantom does. It’s a dangerous ego stroke.

He should learn to be careful with his words if phantoms being honest. If phantom is this bad when he thinks rain despises his very being, then how will he act now that he has actual permission to use him up?

It’s too tantalizing, at least Swiss and aether act like they have some regards to rains safety and dignity when they play with him. But phantom? Phantom acts like he doesn’t care one bit, and it makes rains mouth water.

“Could just break you right open, leave you fucking gaping. What would the other me think seeing their little flashlight all stretched out and used up huh?”

“Please- please phantom I-“ rain struggled. He turned to grab at phantom, trying to pull his head down for a kiss while begging for his cock, asking him to tear him in half. His movements are clumsy, phantom won’t give him a single inch while rain paws to draw him closer. He feels like he’s burning up under the scalding water, and phantom might just fix his cluttered head.

It’s not fair, he keeps teasing him and it’s not fair. Rains begged, he’s done what he was told, and phantom is still laughing and taunting him. There’s the small face of a chase kiss on his lips as phantom leaned over him for rain to press against. He doesn’t kiss back, just lets rain make out with him while phantom stays still. It’s fun to let rain embarrass himself with being needy.

Rain finally was able to push phantom back enough to turn and straddle him. He grabbed at his cock, so close to getting what he needs.

It’s rude. Phantom could just smack him for being so forceful. He should be ashamed of himself for trying to push himself onto phantom like that, just a pervert trying to cop a feel because he can’t control his urges.

“That wasn’t very polite, was it rainy? You can’t just force yourself onto other” phantom grabbed his arm and dragged him out of the shower while rains too stupid to realize he’s nothing but a hypocrite. He feels horrible, embarrassed that he would act like that.

“I’m sorry- phantom please I didn’t mean to-“ rain stumbled over his apology through tears while phantom manhandled him onto the cold floor.

“Hope you still want to be used like a sex doll sweetheart”

——————

Some bonus after care bc that was a lot and I know it and fluffy raintom

“You alright rainy?” Phantom brushed his hand through rains hair, sliding it down to caress his cheek. His eyes were half lidded, body aching as he laid in his bed. He gave a weak nod along with a smile, reaching to overlap his hand on phantoms.

“I didn’t break you did I? Was it ok?” Phantom asked. It was a lot, a rough scene even for them. It made his heart flutter a bit when rain gave a small giggle.

“I’m fine, told you I wanted it didn’t i?”

Phantom climbed over him to settle under his comforter, snuggling close to rains cold body.

“I’m just checking, weirdly enough I love you and want to make sure you’re safe”

Rain shoved his face into phantoms neck, still laughing a bit.

“I know dork”

[aspenmissing]

I loved your writing about Viktor x Jayce's sister Reader! (aka cockblock brother Jayce xD)

Imagine Jayce leading Sister Reader to the altar and crying like he's going to loose his baby sister forever ;-;

ᴀ ʙʀᴏᴛʜᴇʀ’ꜱ ᴛʀᴜꜱᴛ

ʙʀᴏᴛʜᴇʀ!ᴊᴀʏᴄᴇ x ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ x ʟᴏᴠᴇʀ!ᴠɪᴋᴛᴏʀ || ꜰʟᴜꜰꜰ || 5301 ᴡᴏʀᴅꜱ || ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢꜱ: ʜᴀᴠᴇ ᴛɪꜱꜱᴜᴇꜱ ʀᴇᴀᴅʏ

ʀᴇQᴜᴇꜱᴛ ᴀɴꜱᴡᴇʀ: ᴏʜ ᴍʏ ᴅᴇᴀʀ ᴀɴᴏɴ, ɪ ꜰᴇʟʟ ɪɴ ʟᴏᴠᴇ ᴡɪᴛʜ ᴛʜᴇ ᴄᴏɴᴄᴇᴘᴛ ᴀʟʀᴇᴀᴅʏ! ᴀɴᴅ ɪ ʜᴀᴠᴇ ᴍᴏꜱᴛ ᴅᴇꜰɪɴɪᴛᴇʟʏ ɴᴏᴛ ᴄʀɪᴇᴅ ᴡʜɪʟᴇ ᴡʀɪᴛɪɴɢ ᴛʜɪꜱ. ꜱᴏ ɪ ᴅᴏ ʜᴏᴘᴇ ʏᴏᴜ ᴇɴᴊᴏʏ!

ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ | ᴠɪᴋᴛᴏʀ | ᴊᴀʏᴄᴇ

Years had passed since Viktor and Y/N first crossed paths, and despite the smooth growth of their relationship, there was one constant in their lives: Jayce. As much as Viktor had come to adore Y/N's older brother, the man’s persistence—his absolute inability to take a hint—remained an endless source of exasperation and amusement.

One evening, Viktor and Y/N managed to steal away for a quiet dinner at a local café. The atmosphere was everything they’d hoped for: warm, intimate, and peaceful. The flickering candlelight danced across the table, casting soft shadows on their faces. The hum of conversation from other patrons created a gentle buzz, but it was nothing compared to the calm, content feeling that washed over Viktor as he sat across from Y/N. They had finally found a moment to enjoy each other’s company, away from the chaos of work and the ever-present shadow of Jayce.

But as Viktor was about to pour them both a glass of wine, he noticed the subtle shift in Y/N’s posture. Her eyes flickered across the room, her gaze narrowing in that way that Viktor had come to recognise all too well. She wasn’t just looking around; she was searching for something—or rather, someone.

Viktor, curious but cautious, subtly followed her line of sight. At a table near the far end of the room, he saw him. Jayce.

Though he hadn’t yet been noticed, Viktor knew that unmistakable silhouette anywhere. There he sat, shrouded in the most absurd disguise Viktor and Y/N had ever seen. A trench coat so large it almost consumed him, a pair of oversized glasses that could’ve been made of magnifying lenses, and a hat so ridiculously oversized it seemed to defy all sense of proportion. Jayce was attempting his best impression of a secret agent, though it was anything but subtle.

Viktor’s eyes flicked back to Y/N, who was visibly holding in her amusement, trying not to burst into laughter. She leaned in slightly, her voice barely above a whisper.

"Do you see him?" she murmured.

Viktor gave a small, knowing nod, carefully placing the wine bottle back on the table, as he shifted in his seat. "I see him. He really thinks this is fooling anyone, doesn’t he?"

Y/N grinned mischievously, the corner of her lips tugging up as she settled back in her chair. She had no intention of calling him out. Instead, she had an idea—a wicked, playful idea. They could have a little fun with Jayce. He’d made a career out of ruining their peaceful moments, so why not turn the tables?

"We can’t let him get away with this," Y/N said, her voice low but laced with amusement. "Let’s mess with him."

Viktor raised an eyebrow, a glint of amusement flickering in his own eyes. He already knew Y/N was up to something, and he was all in. Besides, if there was one thing he knew well, it was how to keep a straight face while absolutely throwing someone off their game.

They both subtly leaned back in their chairs, pretending to ignore Jayce, while in reality, they were carefully observing him. Viktor casually sipped his wine, giving the impression that nothing unusual was happening. Meanwhile, Y/N, her face an open book of innocent indifference, kept her eyes just low enough to avoid suspicion but not so much that it looked unnatural.

Jayce, oblivious to the fact that they knew exactly what he was up to, leaned forward on his table, practically vibrating with excitement. Meanwhile, Y/N’s eyes twinkled with mischief. She leaned slightly forward, whispering to Viktor.

"We should really make him think we haven’t noticed him at all," she said, her voice thick with mock seriousness. "Let him keep thinking he’s got the upper hand."

Viktor’s lips twitched in the slightest of smiles. "Agreed. Let’s play it cool."

For the next several minutes, they carried on their dinner as if nothing was amiss. Viktor continued to engage in conversation with Y/N, his voice steady, as he occasionally shifted his position. Y/N played her part, smiling and nodding along, all the while secretly watching Jayce from behind her lashes.

Jayce, growing bolder by the second, began to “adjust” his disguise, as if he were blending into the background like a seasoned spy. He shifted his oversized glasses, adjusted the collar of his coat, and even stood up to stretch in what appeared to be a calculated move to “blend in” with the other patrons. His eyes constantly flicked back to Viktor and Y/N, watching for any sign that they had caught on.

But Viktor and Y/N remained impassive, not giving him so much as a glance. They didn’t acknowledge him directly. Instead, they carried on as if he was no more than a part of the restaurant’s décor.

As Jayce settled back into his chair, no doubt trying to figure out if he’d been detected yet, Viktor gave a quick, surreptitious glance at Y/N. She caught his eye, the two of them silently communicating the shared amusement.

Then, as if on cue, Y/N reached into her bag, pulled out a napkin, and without a single word, placed it carefully over her lap—just like she would if the entire restaurant were watching them. Viktor caught the movement out of the corner of his eye and immediately followed suit, placing his own napkin over his lap. Both actions were so exaggerated, so completely unnecessary, it would’ve been obvious to anyone with a modicum of awareness that they were putting on an elaborate show.

Jayce, who had been watching their every move, seemed to think this was a critical moment in the plan. His eyes widened behind his comically large glasses, but he seemed utterly confused. Was this a signal they were trying to send? Was it a challenge?

They continued this little charade for a while longer, each minute escalating the ridiculousness of the situation, Viktor's cane tapping quietly in time with the beat of a song that wasn’t playing. Meanwhile, Jayce squirmed in his seat, trying to figure out what was happening, all while completely unaware that his cover had long since been blown.

Finally, Viktor gave Y/N a subtle nod, and with a shared look, they both stood up to leave. Viktor’s cane clicked against the floor as he carefully made his way toward the exit, Y/N walking gracefully beside him. As they reached the door, they allowed themselves the smallest of smirks, knowing Jayce would be left utterly confused.

"Well, that was fun," Y/N muttered under her breath, glancing back to see Jayce still sitting there, his face contorted with puzzlement.

Viktor chuckled softly. "He’ll be stewing over that for weeks."

And just as they stepped out into the cool evening air, they could hear Jayce’s voice faintly trailing behind them, still trying to puzzle out what had just happened.

"Did they notice...?"

A few months later, Viktor and Y/N had finally managed to carve out a sliver of time for themselves. After weeks of work and endless interruptions, they decided to make the most of a rare day off. They planned the perfect, simple outing—nothing extravagant, just a quiet walk in the park, perhaps a light picnic by the lake. It was going to be their escape from the world, a chance to breathe in the fresh air and enjoy each other’s company without anyone else intruding on their peace.

They were confident. They thought it was safe.

As they approached the park entrance, the sun filtering through the trees and the distant sound of children playing filling the air, Y/N spotted a figure perched upon a bench near the entrance. At first, she thought it was a trick of the light—perhaps someone else, maybe a random park-goer. But then, as the figure straightened and adjusted his glasses, there was no mistaking it.

It was Jayce.

Y/N froze, disbelief creeping up her spine. She rubbed her eyes, then blinked several times, hoping she was imagining things. But there he was, unmistakably Jayce, in full disguise—an ensemble that made the previous attempts seem almost subtle in comparison. He wore a pair of gigantic, reflective sunglasses that would have been ridiculous even on the brightest, sunniest day. His moustache—no, that thing was not real. It looked suspiciously like it had been borrowed from a wax statue, perfectly styled but somehow out of place on a living person. And the fake beard. The beard. It was so elaborate it nearly touched the ground, a long, bushy monstrosity that clashed terribly with his clean-cut face.

Y/N’s shoulders slumped in disbelief, her heart sinking a little as she muttered under her breath, “Jayce...”

Viktor, who had been walking beside her, followed her gaze and groaned when he saw the familiar face. His exasperation was palpable, but he gave a small, dry laugh. "Of course," he muttered, more to himself than to Y/N. “I should’ve known.”

Jayce, spotting them, stood up and adjusted his absurdly large sunglasses, puffing out his chest with an almost theatrical flourish. His face, framed by the ridiculous fake beard, wore an expression of utter confidence, as if he believed his disguise was foolproof. With a dramatic wink, he gave them both a thumbs-up. “Hey there, you two!” he called out, his voice oozing with far too much enthusiasm. “Just checking in! Can’t let you have too much fun without me, now can I?”

Y/N didn’t even try to hide her irritation. She crossed her arms, eyes narrowing, and let out an exaggerated groan. “What is wrong with you?” she asked, voice dripping with disbelief. “What do you think you’re doing? We were supposed to have a peaceful day!”

Jayce merely beamed, utterly unbothered by the frustration in her voice. “Ah, come on! You’ve got to admit, I’m a natural at this,” he said, gesturing to himself with a grand flourish. “I’m just looking out for you two. Can’t have you wandering off without a little supervision, can I?” He gave Y/N a knowing look, as if to say he was protecting his precious little sister. “And for my baby sister, of course.”

Viktor rubbed his forehead, a deep sigh escaping his lips. The air around them seemed to grow heavier with the weight of this latest intrusion. His cane clicked gently on the cobbled pathway as he shifted his weight, trying to muster enough patience to deal with this. "Why are you always... everywhere?" he asked, incredulous, his voice carrying the faintest traces of a chuckle despite the obvious frustration.

Jayce only shrugged, a grin spreading across his face. “Because, my dear Viktor,” he said, as though imparting some deeply profound wisdom, “I am your eternal shadow. A shadow that must constantly supervise and ensure your safety. What kind of brother would I be if I didn’t protect you from... well, everything? Can’t let you two have too much fun without me. I’ll just be here—keeping an eye on things.”

Y/N exchanged a look with Viktor, one of sheer exasperation. There was no point in arguing, not when Jayce was in full “protective big brother” mode. Viktor, already exasperated, mumbled under his breath, “I need to start carrying a spare disguise kit for these occasions.”

Y/N gave up entirely on the idea of having a peaceful afternoon. “Let’s just go somewhere more secluded,” she muttered, her voice tinged with resignation. She grabbed Viktor’s hand and began leading him down the path, away from Jayce’s prying eyes. But as they walked, they couldn’t help but feel that heavy presence still trailing them.

No matter where they went, Jayce followed.

At first, it was just a few steps behind. But as they made their way deeper into the park, Jayce didn’t even try to disguise the fact that he was shadowing them, maintaining an almost comical distance that felt just close enough to be uncomfortable. Every time they paused to take in the view or simply enjoy the serenity of the park, Jayce’s voice would inevitably ring out from behind them with some unsolicited commentary, often loudly enough for others nearby to hear. He would casually remark on the weather or offer unsolicited advice about how they should be careful not to get too close to the edge of the lake, as if they hadn’t known how to safely enjoy a walk in a park before.

Viktor’s patience was wearing thinner with each passing minute. He glanced at Y/N, who looked like she was about to pull her hair out, and without a word, he quickened his pace. But Jayce was relentless. He kept up, easily matching their speed, his fake beard swaying with each step like some kind of absurdly dramatic prop.

“Don’t you have somewhere to be?” Viktor asked after a while, his tone sharp and almost pleading. He had to make his voice carry, over the sound of Jayce’s increasingly loud steps behind them.

“Nope!” Jayce replied enthusiastically, as though this was the greatest adventure of his life. “I’ve got nothing but time. I’m just here to make sure no one tries anything funny.”

Y/N sighed heavily, her shoulders slumping further. “You’re insufferable.”

“I know,” Jayce said with a proud grin. “It’s my superpower.” He gave a mock bow, only to straighten and puff out his chest again. “You’re welcome, by the way.”

As they approached a small grove of trees, Y/N glanced at Viktor, the plan already forming in her mind. A quiet, mischievous smile spread across her face. She could see the trees and shrubbery up ahead, a perfect spot to escape from Jayce’s prying eyes for a moment. “You know what?” she said softly, her voice practically dripping with sweetness. “Let’s take a break. Just for a minute.”

Viktor raised an eyebrow. “You’re not actually thinking of...”

“Watch me,” Y/N replied with a wink, her hand gripping Viktor’s arm as they veered off the main path and into the grove.

Jayce, of course, followed. But this time, when he approached the grove, his footsteps slowed. He peered cautiously around the corner, expecting to catch them in the act of whatever “fun” they might be having. What he found instead were two people calmly sitting on a bench, sharing a quiet moment of peace.

But in the distance, hidden from Jayce’s view, Viktor and Y/N exchanged a knowing glance, their plan unfolding. They couldn’t escape him for long, but they could certainly have a bit of fun with his over-the-top surveillance.

"Viktor," Y/N whispered with a small grin, "I think we’ve lost him for now."

For a moment, everything felt quiet. But of course, as expected, Jayce's voice soon echoed from somewhere in the distance.

"Not so fast!"

The day Viktor had been planning for months had finally arrived. Every single detail had been thought through, from the perfect location to the exact timing of the sunset. The spot atop the hill was secluded, the perfect little retreat for just the two of them. The sky was bathed in soft shades of pink and purple as the sun sank lower, painting the landscape with a golden hue. The cool air carried the scent of fresh earth and leaves, a quiet stillness that felt like a moment out of time.

Viktor had poured so much of himself into this day, ensuring everything was just right. The ring, a delicate and beautiful thing he’d spent days designing, sat safely in his pocket, its precious weight a reminder of the significance of the moment. His heart was racing in anticipation, but as he looked at Y/N, he felt a calmness wash over him. This was the moment he’d been waiting for—the moment to ask the woman he loved to be with him forever.

His fingers brushed against hers, the warmth of her skin grounding him. He turned towards her, gazing into her eyes.

“Y/N,” he began, his voice thick with emotion, “You’ve become my world, and every day with you feels like a gift. I can’t imagine my life without you in it. You make me a better person, and I want to spend the rest of my life with you. To laugh with you, love you, and grow old with you.”

He could feel the gravity of the words in his chest, the sincerity of everything he was about to say. He reached for her hands, squeezing them gently.

“Will you—”

Before he could finish the sentence, a voice shattered the moment.

“Y/N! Viktor! What’s up?”

Y/N’s heart sank into her stomach as she slowly turned, knowing exactly who it was before even seeing him. Viktor, too, let out a groan, frustration and disbelief flooding him.

There, standing under a tree not far from them, was Jayce. He was decked out in full hiking gear, binoculars hanging from his neck like some kind of adventure-ready explorer, his mischievous grin shining through.

“Just wanted to see how the proposal was going!” Jayce shouted, his voice echoing across the hill. “Did you pop the question yet? I’m here for moral support! And, of course, to make sure no one’s pulling a fast one on my baby sister!”

Y/N’s mouth dropped open in pure disbelief. She immediately buried her face in her hands, groaning deeply. Viktor, despite the absurdity of the situation, tried to stay calm. His lips twitched, the corners pulling upward in a thin, controlled smile, though his patience was clearly thinning.

“Jayce…” Viktor started, trying to keep his voice steady, but there was no hiding the frustration creeping into his words. “You do realise we’re in the middle of something important, right? Like… a moment?”

Jayce just grinned wider, unaffected. “Eh, moments are overrated,” he said with a shrug, as if this interruption was a trivial inconvenience. He stepped closer, clearly determined to make his presence known in the most dramatic way possible. “But hey, I’m here to make this unforgettable! You know, wingman duties and all. Gotta make sure everything’s going smoothly for my baby sister, right?”

Viktor exhaled slowly, trying to maintain his composure, but it was becoming increasingly difficult. The beautiful moment he’d planned with such care was slipping away, the words he’d prepared now hanging uselessly in the air. It felt like the world was conspiring against him.

Y/N, still standing with her face hidden in her hands, muttered a defeated, “You’ve got to be kidding me.”

Viktor looked at Jayce again, his patience fraying. He couldn’t hold back the frustration any longer. “I—” he started, but the words stuck in his throat. The proposal had been completely derailed, the intimate atmosphere lost to Jayce’s absurd antics. What had been a carefully orchestrated moment was now reduced to a chaotic mess.

Jayce, blissfully unaware of the awkwardness he’d caused, just stood there, grinning. “C’mon, Viktor, you’re not gonna leave me hanging, are you? I came all the way out here to see this!” His voice was loud and cheery, like a child excited for a school play. “Gotta make sure it’s all good! No one’s messing with my sister!”

Viktor exchanged a glance with Y/N. She looked back at him, her eyes apologetic and resigned. She knew her brother was a force of nature, and there was no escaping him. The two of them shared a silent understanding: Jayce was always going to be around, no matter how much they might try to carve out private moments.

Y/N sighed, rubbing her forehead in exasperation. “You know, I think I’m just about ready to throw him off a cliff.”

Viktor chuckled, despite the situation. “Trust me, I considered it. I’m just glad you didn’t suggest it before I made it up this damn hill,” he said, gesturing with a little nod to the incline they had just climbed. Despite his cane, which helped him walk, he’d still pushed himself harder than usual to make this proposal perfect for Y/N. The pain in his legs had been worth it, but now Jayce’s antics had all but ruined the effort. Still, he wasn’t going to let that take away from the seriousness of his feelings.

Y/N let out a half-laugh, shaking her head. “You’d never catch me throwing him off, though I’m sorely tempted.”

Viktor smiled, his expression softening as he looked at her. He reached for her hands once more, his tone quiet and sincere as he continued, despite everything. “Fine, Jayce, you’ve ruined my moment. But I’m going to do this anyway.” He met Y/N’s eyes, that same warmth in his gaze, the love never faltering. “Will you marry me, Y/N?”

Y/N’s heart fluttered at his words. In that moment, despite the chaos, everything felt right. The sky, the landscape, Viktor—nothing else mattered. She smiled softly, the weight of his question finally sinking in. “Yes, Viktor. Yes, I will marry you.”

Behind them, Jayce let out a dramatic cheer. “Now THAT’s what I’m talking about!”

Viktor chuckled softly, his face lighting up with relief and joy. “You’re impossible, Jayce,” he muttered under his breath, but his tone was fond, resigned to the fact that his best friend—and Y/N’s older brother—would always be a part of the picture, no matter how chaotic.

And Y/N, her smile growing wider, whispered to Viktor, “You know, this isn’t quite how I imagined it, but it’s perfect.”

Viktor leaned in, pressing a kiss to her forehead, the overwhelming feeling of love flooding over him. “It’s perfect because it’s ours.”

The day Viktor and Y/N had long awaited had finally arrived—their wedding day. Every detail had been meticulously planned to perfection, from the delicate flowers that adorned the church to the soft, soulful music that filled the air. The sun shone brightly outside, casting its golden rays through the stained glass windows, creating a warm, ethereal glow inside. It was supposed to be the most perfect day of their lives, the culmination of years of love, struggle, and unwavering devotion.

Y/N stood in the back room of the church, a vision in her white dress, the delicate lace and flowing fabric hugging her figure with an elegance that took Viktor’s breath away every time he saw her. Her heart pounded with excitement, joy, and a touch of nerves, swirling within her as she took in the moment. This was it—the moment she would marry Viktor, the man who had captured her heart in ways she hadn’t even known were possible.

Viktor stood at the altar, looking every bit the handsome groom. He was tall, his posture straight as always, though there was a quiet tension in his stance. He adjusted his tie nervously, his fingers brushing against the polished cane that helped him steady himself. There was a quiet strength in him, but today, as he awaited his bride, even Viktor seemed a little more vulnerable than usual. His gaze flicked to the door, eagerly waiting to see her, to finally hold her, and to promise to spend the rest of his life with her.

=

The soft murmur of the congregation drifted through the air as Y/N stood just outside the church doors, her heart pounding in her chest. She could hear the music begin to swell, the sweet notes of the strings filling the space with their soft, lilting sound. She took a deep breath, trying to steady herself. Today was the day she would marry Viktor, the man she had loved for so long, the one who had captured her heart in ways she never thought possible.

Her dress felt like a dream, the delicate lace and silk flowing around her as she stood still in the vestibule, waiting for the moment when she would step out and into the life she had chosen. It was surreal, standing here on the precipice of forever, her life about to change in ways she could hardly comprehend.

And then, she heard it—the unmistakable sound of footsteps approaching.

Y/N looked up just in time to see Jayce emerge from around the corner. His expression was unreadable for a moment, but as his eyes met hers, it softened, and she could see the familiar mix of pride, love, and a tinge of sadness in his gaze. He paused in front of her, his hand resting briefly on the doorframe as he took her in.

“Are you ready?” he asked softly, his voice betraying a slight tremor, though he did his best to mask it.

Y/N smiled gently, her eyes glistening. “I think so. But I can’t believe it’s actually happening. It feels like we’ve been planning this for forever.”

Jayce chuckled, but it was a bittersweet sound. “Yeah, I know what you mean.” He stepped closer, the usual confident, protective older brother posture replaced by something more vulnerable. “You’re really going through with it, huh?” he teased lightly, though the jest was strained.

Y/N let out a soft laugh, the sound a mixture of joy and nervousness. “Yes, I am. I can’t believe it, either. I’m about to marry Viktor.”

Jayce blinked, clearly struggling with the weight of the moment. His eyes dropped for a moment, but when they met hers again, the intensity was unmistakable. “You know, Y/N…” His voice faltered slightly as he reached for her hand, his fingers trembling with emotion. “I’m really proud of you.”

Y/N squeezed his hand gently. “I know. And I’m proud of you, too, Jayce. You’ve always been there for me. No matter what.”

Jayce cleared his throat, blinking rapidly as he fought to keep his composure. He looked at her with a mixture of pride and something else—something almost painful. “I just… I never thought this day would come, you know? I’ve always looked out for you, always protected you. But now…” His voice trailed off, and he swallowed thickly.

Y/N’s heart ached for him. She could see the rawness in his eyes, the way he struggled to let go of the little sister he had always protected. She reached up to gently touch his cheek, offering him a soft smile. “I���m not going anywhere, Jayce. You’ll always be my brother. You’ll always have my back, and I’ll always have yours. That won’t change.”

A small smile tugged at the corners of Jayce’s lips, but it was laced with bittersweet emotion. “I know. I guess I’m just not ready for you to go yet. But you’re right. You’re still my sister. And I’ll always be there for you.”

Y/N leaned in and kissed his cheek softly, her voice low and tender. “I’ll always need you, Jayce. Even if I’m married. You’re not losing me.”

Jayce’s hand gripped hers tightly, and for a long moment, neither of them said anything. They simply stood there in the quiet space before the ceremony, the weight of the moment settling around them like a heavy fog.

But then, just as quickly, Jayce let out a small, shaky breath, trying to steady himself. “Alright,” he said, his tone returning to something more familiar, though there was still a tenderness in his words. “I’ve got to let you go, don’t I?”

Y/N smiled up at him, her heart full. “I’m still here. And always will be.”

Jayce took a deep breath, standing up straighter, the vulnerability slowly giving way to a more confident stance. He nodded, wiping his eyes quickly with the sleeve of his suit jacket. “Alright. Let’s do this then.”

As Y/N turned to walk toward the doors, Jayce stepped beside her, offering his arm with a look of quiet pride in his eyes. “Ready?” he asked, his voice stronger now.

Y/N took his arm, squeezing it gently, and nodded. “Ready.”

=

With one final deep breath, they both turned toward the doors. As they swung open, the light from the outside world flooded in, bathing them both in its warmth. The congregation fell silent as Y/N, arm in arm with Jayce, took her first step into the church. The soft rustle of her dress, the faint click of her heels on the polished floor, and the quiet murmur of the music surrounded them as they made their way down the aisle, all eyes on them.

Jayce kept his gaze straight ahead, but his grip on her arm was firm, a silent reassurance that he was right there beside her, as he always had been. Y/N’s heart raced with anticipation, each step feeling like a dance between the past and the future. She looked ahead at Viktor, standing at the altar, his face a mix of emotion—love, pride, and a hint of nervousness as he awaited her arrival.

Jayce gave her arm a gentle squeeze, his voice barely above a whisper. “You look stunning,” he said, his voice thick with emotion.

Y/N turned her head toward him with a soft smile. “Thank you, Jayce. I’m glad you’re here with me.”

He nodded, his expression softening before it returned to the task at hand. As they neared the altar, Y/N’s breath caught in her throat, and she felt a flutter in her chest. Viktor’s gaze was unwavering, his eyes locked on hers with a mixture of adoration and something deeper, more meaningful.

When they reached the altar, Jayce gently placed Y/N’s hand into Viktor’s, his fingers brushing against Viktor’s for the briefest of moments. He met Viktor’s gaze with a look that was both intense and sincere, the years of sibling protection and love woven into the unspoken words that passed between them. There was no need for further explanation—just a single, resolute nod.

Jayce’s voice, low but unwavering, was the final unspoken seal on the moment. “Take care of her,” he said, his words carrying the weight of years spent watching over his little sister. His eyes softened as he added, “She’s yours now, Viktor. I trust you with her.”

Viktor’s grip on Y/N’s hand tightened just slightly as he returned the gaze, his own voice filled with a promise that could not be broken. “I will, Jayce. I will love her, protect her, and be there for her always.”

Jayce gave a final nod, his eyes flickering between Viktor and Y/N, as if absorbing the enormity of what was happening. He stepped back with a soft sigh, his usual bravado replaced with a quiet solemnity that came with the knowledge that his little sister was stepping into a new chapter of her life.

As Jayce moved to the side, he gave Y/N one last look, a mixture of pride, sadness, and love in his eyes. She offered him a small, reassuring smile, a silent promise that no matter where life took them, they would always have each other.

The ceremony continued, but for that brief moment, the only thing that mattered was the passing of the torch—Jayce’s silent recognition that Y/N was no longer just his sister, but Viktor’s partner, his responsibility to love and protect. Jayce’s role was shifting, but he would always be there, watching over them, a silent protector from the wings.

Viktor, now holding Y/N’s hand, looked down at her, his eyes filled with tenderness. “I’m so honoured to be here with you,” he whispered, his voice just for her.

Y/N smiled softly, her heart overflowing with love. “And I’m so glad to be here with you,” she replied, squeezing his hand in return.

As the ceremony unfolded around them, their hearts beat in unison, knowing that this was the beginning of a new chapter, not just for Y/N and Viktor, but for all of them. The ties of family, love, and protection had woven their way into this moment, and Jayce’s role, though changing, would always be part of the fabric that bound them all together.

And when the vows were exchanged, when Viktor kissed Y/N, sealing their promises, Jayce, standing quietly at the back, allowed himself a small, content smile. He wasn’t losing his sister, he realised. He was gaining a brother in Viktor, and that thought brought him peace as he watched them begin their life together.

[batboysanonymous]

Fragile King

Rhysand x Reader

Summary: When Rhys’s walls finally crack under the weight of his own pain, Y/N feels every moment of it through their bond, despite his efforts to keep her from it.

Word Count: 1.2k

──────────────────────────────

The room was too quiet. It was the kind of silence that pressed against Y/N’s ears and made her chest ache. She sat by the fire, a forgotten book in her lap, as the soft flicker of flames cast shadows against the walls of their shared living quarters. Outside, Velaris shimmered in its usual splendor—the City of Starlight carrying on with its peaceful hum, unaware of the storm brewing within its High Lord.

Y/N had felt it all day. It started in the morning with the subtle tension in Rhysand’s shoulders. His smiles had been polite but hollow, his laugh too forced. She had noticed the way his hand lingered on the edge of the table during breakfast, his mind clearly elsewhere. Then there were the small tells that only she, his mate, would catch: the way his gaze would lose focus for a fraction too long or how his fingers would tighten ever so slightly against his wine glass during dinner.

Rhysand was cracking, but he was trying his best to hide it.

The bond between them hummed faintly, a constant thread of connection that usually brought Y/N a sense of comfort and grounding. Tonight, though, it felt muted. Distant. The dull ache of Rhys’s emotions seeped through the cracks in his shields, brushing against her mind like a whisper of a scream.

It wasn’t the first time he had tried to shield her from his pain. Y/N understood why he did it—Rhysand was a king, a warrior, and a protector. He bore the weight of Prythian on his shoulders every day, and he did so willingly. But he often forgot that he didn’t have to bear it alone.

──────────────────────────────

As the hours passed and his absence from their chambers stretched on, the ache in Y/N’s chest grew sharper. Her mate was hurting, and the bond between them wouldn’t let her ignore it any longer.

Rising from her chair, Y/N draped a blanket around her shoulders and padded barefoot toward the balcony doors. The cool night air kissed her skin as she stepped outside, her gaze immediately finding him.

Rhysand stood at the edge of the balcony, his hands gripping the stone railing as if it were the only thing keeping him grounded. The soft glow of the city lights illuminated his silhouette, highlighting the broad expanse of his back and the taut line of his wings. He looked like a figure carved from marble—strong, imposing, and unbreakable. But Y/N knew better.

He must have sensed her presence, but he didn’t turn. Instead, his mental shields slammed up tighter, the bond going eerily silent.

“Rhys,” she called softly, her voice carrying through the stillness.

He didn’t respond, his head bowing lower.

Y/N’s heart clenched as she stepped closer, the blanket trailing behind her like a second shadow. “Don’t shut me out,” she said, her tone firmer this time.

“I’m fine,” he replied, his voice deceptively calm.

She stopped a few feet away, close enough to feel the faint ripple of his power in the air. “You’re not fine,” she countered. “I can feel it, Rhys. You’re shielding, but it’s not enough to hide everything. Please… talk to me.”

His shoulders tensed at her words, and for a moment, she thought he might lash out. Instead, he let out a long, shaky breath, his hands loosening their grip on the railing.

“I don’t want to burden you,” he said finally, his voice so low she almost didn’t hear it.

Y/N stepped closer, her hand brushing against his back. “You’re my mate,” she said softly. “Whatever weighs on you, weighs on me too. Let me help you.”

Rhysand turned his head slightly, just enough for her to catch a glimpse of his face. His violet eyes, usually so bright and full of mischief, were dull and shadowed, rimmed with exhaustion.

“You don’t deserve this,” he said, his voice breaking. “You deserve someone whole. Someone who doesn’t—”

“Don’t,” Y/N interrupted, her voice sharp as she stepped in front of him. “Don’t you dare finish that sentence, Rhysand.”

He blinked, his brows furrowing as she placed her hands on his chest.

“You are everything to me,” she said, her voice trembling with the weight of her emotions. “Do you think I care if you’re hurting? If you’re broken? You’ve given everything to this court, to your people… to me. Let me give something back.”

Rhysand’s hands twitched at his sides, as if he wanted to reach for her but didn’t know how.

“It’s not that simple, Y/N,” he said finally, his voice hollow. “The things I’ve done, the choices I’ve made… they don’t just go away. They haunt me.”

“Then let them,” she said fiercely. “But don’t let them destroy you. You’re not alone, Rhys. You never have to be alone again.”

For a moment, he just stared at her, his expression unreadable. Then, slowly, his walls began to crack.

The first sob was quiet, barely audible, but it shook his entire body. Y/N caught him as he crumbled, her arms wrapping tightly around him as he buried his face in her shoulder.

“It’s okay,” she murmured, her fingers threading through his hair. “Let it out, my love. I’ve got you.”

Rhysand clung to her like a lifeline, his powerful frame trembling against hers. The weight of his anguish poured through the bond now, unfiltered and raw. Y/N felt it all—his guilt, his fear, his endless drive to protect everyone at the expense of himself.

They sank to the ground together, the cool stone pressing against her knees as she held him. Y/N pressed kisses to his temple, his hair, his cheeks, whispering soothing words as he let himself break.

Time seemed to stand still as they sat there, wrapped in each other’s arms. The city below continued to shimmer, oblivious to the High Lord’s unraveling.

When Rhys’s sobs finally subsided, he pulled back just enough to look at her. His violet eyes were red and swollen, his cheeks damp with tears, but there was a softness in his gaze that hadn’t been there before.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered, his voice hoarse.

“Don’t apologize,” Y/N said firmly, brushing a tear from his cheek. “You’re allowed to feel this way, Rhys. You’re allowed to let go.”

He leaned into her touch, his eyes closing as he exhaled shakily. “I don’t deserve you,” he murmured.

“Stop saying that,” she said, her voice breaking. “You’re my mate, Rhys. My equal. My everything. And I love you—every piece of you, even the ones you think are broken.”

Rhysand let out a choked laugh, his lips curving into a faint smile. “You’re too good for me.”

“And you’re a stubborn idiot,” she shot back, her tone lightening as she cupped his face. “But I love you anyway.”

He pulled her into his arms again, holding her as if she were the only thing keeping him tethered to the world.

“Thank you,” he whispered, his lips brushing against her hair.

Y/N closed her eyes, the bond between them humming with a new sense of warmth and connection. “Always,” she replied.

The stars above them bore silent witness as the High Lord of the Night Court found solace in the arms of the one person who saw him—not as a king, or a warrior, but as a man who needed to be loved.

And for the first time in a long time, Rhysand allowed himself to believe he deserved it.

[joelalorian]

Under False Pretenses - Chapter Five

Stepdad!Dave York x f!reader | wc: 5014 | masterlist

Summary: A challenging mission, whirlwind marriage, and an unexpected yet captivating stepdaughter push Dave York to the brink as secrets, feelings, and loyalties collide.

Warnings: Explicit, 18+ mdni. Stepdad trope. Unspecified age gap. More yearning. Feelings are acknowledged. Soft, sexy, and intense Dave. Domestic Dave. Good Dad kink. We like thick thighs in this house and so does Dave. Nicknames and terms of endearment. Mummy is a whole lotta bitch. No use of y/n. No smut in this chapter, but the plot is coming out to play.

Series Masterlist

Ranger became your shadow, watching over you in the basement suite overnight, riding shotgun in the car during the day when you’d drop off and pick up the girls from school. He lavished the girls with attention just as you did, running and yipping with delight through the backyard as they played.

Knowing that Ranger would be your and his girls' constant companion, Dave trained him to be a guard dog and a pet. He hoped Ranger would protect the three of you when he could not. After connecting with a K9 officer he knew from his military days, he worked with the pup daily, teaching him commands that he also taught you. Within a few months, Ranger transformed into a diligent yet playful dog twice the size of the little pup you found in the park.

Your mother hated all of it – having the dog in the house, the extra time Dave spent training the thing, and how he and the dog gravitated towards you. Yet Dave wasn’t bothered by it. In fact, he took joy in spending more and more time with the girls and you and Ranger, finding moments every day to dote over the four of you, almost like he was rubbing it into his wife’s face.

You didn’t know what to make of it, their relationship. It left you morally conflicted, the initial crush on your stepdad evolving with each passing week and growing into strong feelings for the man you came to learn more and more about after a few months. How could you be falling in love with your stepfather?

They had therapists for this sort of thing, right?

On the flip side of that, you watched your mom grasp harder, tighter to a man who seemed less and less interested by the day – and you began to wonder how they even got together in the first place. As curious as you were, you didn’t have the stomach to ask either of them, not with the deep feelings you had for Dave.

As the holiday season approached, Dave started traveling for work more and more as the couple’s outings lessened. Unfortunately, that left your mom home with nothing to do but work and nitpick your every move, driving you crazy. And the more Dave was away, the less your mom wanted to do with the girls.

“I don’t think your mom likes us much,” Alice told you quietly one morning while you helped her get ready for school.

Your heart clenched for the young girl, knowing how she felt. Your mom was never very good with children, not even her own. She was too selfish to put another’s needs first all the time as a good parent did. You thought it might be due to having you so young, but she never grew out of it.

“What makes you say that sweetie?” you inquired, needing to know exactly how much of a negative impact your mom was having on these sweet girls.

“I don’t know.” The little girl shrugged with a heavy sigh, staring at her feet while you brushed her brown locks.

“You can tell me anything. You know that, right? I will never get mad at you,” you promised, fingers working Alice’s hair into two neat braids once the tangles were gone.

“Promise?” Her eyes were sad yet hopeful, searching yours. You melted, holding out your pinky to Alice.

When she curled her small pinky around your larger one, you winked. “Pinky promise.” You finished tying off the braids and Alice climbed into your lap, Molly soon joining you on the bed. “Tell me what’s on your mind.”

“Lisa got mad when we told Daddy we didn’t want to call her ‘Mommy’. He said we didn’t have to because she wasn’t our mom, but she yelled at us, saying we needed to respect our elders and call them what we’re told to call them.”

Mouth dropping open in shock, you hugged the girls tight. God, your mom could be such a bitch sometimes. What did Dave even see in her? Why did he put up with her bullshit?

“I’m sorry, sweeties. My mom can be… a lot, sometimes. But your dad is right. She’s not your mom and while you should be respectful, you don’t have to do everything she tells you. If you doubt something she asks or tells you to do or say, talk to your dad or come to me. Ok?”

Your hands ran over their heads soothingly and they clutched at your sides. Ranger whined at your feet as if supporting what you just told them.

“Ok,” Alice replied in a small voice, Molly nodding in agreement with her older sister.

After dropping them off at school, you texted Dave that you wanted to talk to him about the girls when he came home. He responded immediately, letting you know he’d be home that evening, and you could talk then.

You spent much of the morning and early afternoon tidying up the house and doing laundry, wanting there to be one less thing for Dave to worry about when he returned. Your mom came home from the office by early afternoon, and you immediately wanted a change of scenery just to get away from her after what Alice told you that morning. You weren’t in the mood for a confrontation, but you doubted you could keep your mouth shut if your mom provoked you.

Figuring you’d kill an hour at your favorite café before picking up the girls from school, you headed into town. It was a beautiful winter day, brisk yet the sun peeked through small breaks in the clouds as the scent of snow hung in the air. The kind of day you loved in the northeast.

The café was moderately busy with the late lunch crowd when you arrived, many of the tables occupied but no line at the counter. Placing an order, you glanced around for an open table when your eyes fell on a familiar broad form and the blood drained from your face.

His neighbor Roger setup this meeting then had the fucking audacity to not show up, leaving Dave sitting at a corner table of the café you told him about with a beautiful woman who was another major player in his team’s investigation.

On the one hand, Roger pissed him off flaking out like that – probably had a date with his mistress or some shit – but on the other? Who was Dave to complain about having a late lunch with a beautiful woman, even if she happened to be on the wrong side of the law.

As conversation went on, Dave flirted a little, ingratiating himself to the woman who served as the intermediary between the Russians and the traitorous military operator they were seeking to find with this operation. He wanted this mission done asap, so he’d do just about anything to get it over with.

The woman, Anna, made no attempt to hide her flirting, stretching forward across the table to run a long-nailed finger down his forearm before coyly sliding her chair around the table, closer to his side. A chill ran down his spine when she reached over, scraping those fire engine red nails through the thick hair at the base of his head. “Perhaps once our business is done, we could meet somewhere a little more… private.”

Quirking an eyebrow, Dave’s eyes catalogued her features – wavy, brunette hair artfully styled to flow around her shoulders, porcelain skin, lips painted ruby red, a small mole on her right cheek. Undisputedly pretty, yet he felt nothing but discomfort when she touched him. The idea of taking this somewhere private just to move the investigation along repulsed him. All he could think when he glanced between the ring on his left hand and this undeniably gorgeous woman was the fact that she wasn’t… you.

“Perhaps,” he finally replied, voice and brow pinched with confliction. Thoughts and feelings for you were beginning to interfere with his work. That was not good.

Out of the corner of his eye, Dave spotted a flash of something familiar, and his gaze slid past Anna toward the counter. He fought not to show any surprise on his face when your eyes met his across the busy café, momentarily forgetting about the woman’s hands still being on him. Fuck.

An inscrutable expression crossed your face, and you spun on your heels, clearly asking the barista for your order to go. Dave yearned to go to you, to insist that this wasn’t what it looked like, but he couldn’t risk it. He needed to gain Anna’s trust, to keep his focus on her for now. Even if he had zero plans of taking it any further than a business deal, he needed to give the woman the illusion that there could be more.

He watched, longing hidden behind his cold, dark chocolate eyes as you fled the café with hunched shoulders and coffee in hand, never looking back at him.

Anna noticed his distraction, tilting her head to search for whatever captured his attention. “Something more interesting than me?” she purred, her body matching her voice in the way she arched toward his side like a minx.

Swallowing down his thoughts of you, Dave returned his full attention to Anna. Forcing a chuckle, he shook his head. He couldn’t keep up the flirty banter, shifting back to business, solidifying plans for a meeting the following week.

The meeting came to its natural conclusion then, and Dave lifted Anna’s hand to his lips, placing a kiss on her knuckles to maintain the role he was meant to play. “I’ll see you soon.”

“I will have you in my bed this time next week, handsome. And once you’re there, you’ll never want to leave. I promise.” She glanced down at the ring on his left hand with a smirk while Dave fought back a shudder.

Once back in his SUV, Dave shed the mask and let the guilt wash over him for all the lies he had to keep hidden and the cover he had to maintain.

He arrived home expecting to find you there, yet your car was nowhere in sight. Dave groaned when he pulled into the garage next to Lisa’s parked car. She was home earlier than expected and he did not have the patience to deal with her right then.

He just really wanted to talk to you.

With your heart in your throat, you parked the car at the environmental park, relieved that you decided to bring Ranger as your wingman. He sniffed happily at the ground as you walked along the well-worn path trying to make sense of what you saw and how you felt about it.

That woman, with the body of a vixen, all glossy hair and painted lips… basically, sex on a god damned stick. Who was she? Why were her talons all over Dave?

Was he cheating on your mom?

It sure seemed like it. It also seemed like he wasn’t trying to hide it, letting the vixen paw all over him in public like that.

Why did it feel like a punch to your gut, like he was cheating on you?

Nausea bubbled in your stomach as Ranger led you along the path, and you gulped down a lung full of air to fight the feeling. As if the man could read your thoughts from miles away, your phone buzzed with an incoming text.

Dave: Where are you, Firecracker? We need to talk.

You left him on read, not yet sure how you wanted to respond or even what you’d say. Your emotions were all over the place.

All the strange things you noticed over the past few months started piling up, but you still couldn’t find logic in any of it. The only thing that made even a lick of sense to your mind was that Dave was a philandering asshole who just wanted to look like the good ol’ family man to his peers while doing whatever he wanted when no one was watching.

You worked yourself into a state by the time you picked the girls up and brought them home, having picked up pizza for dinner along the way. There was no way you were hanging out in the kitchen making dinner for everyone that evening. Fuck that. You didn’t even want to be in that damned house right now.

The girls were barely through the door when you dumped the pizza on the kitchen island and bolted with Ranger hot on your heels, skulking in your basement hideout as you heard Dave greet his daughters. His deep, rumbling voice – the one you got off to memories of just the night before – suddenly made you feel dirty. Like somehow, the thought of him cheating on your mom with some random woman seemed worse than the salacious thoughts you’ve entertained of him cheating on her with you.

For fucks sake. You were upset that your stepdad might be cheating on your mom with someone other than you. You wanted him to cheat on her with you, ached for it. What the fuck was wrong with you? You were an awful person.

Unable to sit still, you paced the below-grade living space under Ranger’s watchful eye, desperate for something to take your mind off the man upstairs… off your mother… and off the pitiful life you were currently leading. You needed to get out of that fucking house for the night, if not forever.

You heard the door from the hall upstairs open and rushed into the bathroom, knowing it was Dave headed down the stairs. You did not have the emotional bandwidth to deal with this situation. Feeling safer behind the locked door, you turned the shower on and picked some music on your phone, turning the volume up as loud as possible when you still heard the soft tap of his knuckles on the door.

On the other side of the door, Ranger whined, and Dave patted his head. Sighing when the music turned louder, he looked down at the dog. “Come on, bud. She doesn’t want to deal with us right now,” Dave told the pup. “Let’s go upstairs for dinner.”

He’d let you avoid him, for now.

An hour later, you slipped from the house using the private entrance. The crisp evening air made you glad you were dressed in jeans, boots, and a sweater beneath your winter coat as you walked the sleepy neighborhood streets toward the small downtown area. You’d get an app ride home if you drank too much, but for now, it was refreshing to walk. The movement helped to clear your mind of… well, everything.

You needed to make some friends in town, you decided. Too long since you last had a girls' night or even a close friend to bitch about things with. During your time together, your ex-boyfriend isolated you from your friends without you even realizing it until suddenly, you had no friends left and the only person you could turn to was him, or your mom. He at least allowed you to maintain that contact. Probably because he knew your relationship with her was tense at times. Once again single, and in control of your own life (well, mostly), you were eager for socialization.

Dave couldn’t stand it. He gave you some time to make sense of what you saw earlier, but a couple hours later he went in search of you, unwilling to give any more space or time. He needed to know what you thought you saw; what you thought you knew. And, whether or not you planned to speak to your mother or anyone else about it. He needed to speak with you ASAP.

Slipping from the living room where your mom sat watching some ridiculous reality show now that the girls were in bed, Dave ventured down to the basement. He searched the suite for you and came up empty.

You must have snuck out through the private entrance. Was it sneaking if you were an adult free to come and go as you pleased?

Frustrated with his wandering thoughts, Dave shook his head and pulled his phone from his pocket as his body sank onto your bed, laying back against your pillows. The scent of you enveloped him.

Using an app that he stealthily downloaded on your phone – you had a shit ton of apps, and he figured you’d hardly notice a new one in the mix – Dave tracked your location. It was for safety, his girls and yours, he rationalized at the time, that same rationale easing his guilt at tracking you down now.

In reality, he just liked being in control. And knowing where you were was one way of maintaining that control when he could do little else when it came to you.

The app showed you at McCready’s, a hip little pub in town Dave visited a few times. He could see you liking it there. Did you go alone? Were you there to meet someone? A man? Were you going to go home with whomever you met? Would you bring them here or go to their place?

Dave’s thoughts spiraled as your scent surrounded him until he finally jumped up from your bed. He couldn’t stay there, in your room, without your consent, not like this. He needed to see you, again he rationalized, as he rushed back up the stairs to change. Throwing on a pair of jeans and a henley, Dave slipped on a jacket and grabbed his keys.

From the kitchen, he called to Lisa, interrupting her focus on that ridiculous show. “I’m going to meet up with the boys for a bit. Keep an eye on the girls while I’m gone.”

Lisa’s expression transformed from annoyance to interest. “Where are you meeting them? Maybe I want to go too.”

“Nowhere you’d want to go. Besides, you can’t. You’re the only adult home.” Dave spun on his heels to avoid further discussion, ignoring Lisa’s demand to know where you were and why you couldn’t watch the girls as he slipped on his shoes and entered the garage.

Pulling out of the garage, he was surprised to see your car still in the driveway. Did you walk or catch a ride with someone? It didn’t matter. He knew where you were, and he was on his way.

The parking lot was full to bursting with the Friday night crowd, forcing Dave to circle the block before finding a spot a street or two away. He stepped out into the crisp night air, pulling his jacket tighter as a cold wind cut through the alleyway. The walk from the car to the bar was agonizing as his thoughts clamored about in his head. He hadn’t meant to track you down – at least, that’s what he tried to tell himself, but even he knew that was a lie – and now that he was outside the bar, there was no way in hell he’d turn back.

McCready’s pulsed with the low thrum of conversation and music playing from the overhead speakers, dimly lit by the warm glow of string lights. Dave’s gaze darted across the crowded area, homing in on you almost instantly.

Perched on a barstool, your body angled slightly away with an elbow resting on the counter as you twirled a half-empty glass of wine in your hand. The soft light of the bar illuminated your features, catching the faint sheen of makeup and the gloss on your lips as they moved in polite conversation with the man beside you.

Dave’s stomach twisted painfully. Was that a laugh? It was. He watched as your head tilted back, a smile lighting up your face, transforming the air around you.

The ache in his chest grew sharper. He longed to be the one, the only one, to make you laugh like that.

Dave froze just inside the doorway, his feet refusing to move for a moment. Forcing himself forward, Dave weaved through the crowd with practiced ease. As he approached your spot, he caught snippets of the man’s voice – a deep, gravelly tone trying too hard to sound charming.

You smiled again, soft and indulgent, but this time Dave caught the slight downturn of your eyes, the way your fingers tightened around your glass, knee bouncing. It wasn’t real, he realized. You weren’t charmed. You were merely entertaining the guy without any better options.

It didn’t matter. This guy didn’t matter.

But the knot in his stomach only grew as the man leant closer, his hand brushing yours on the counter. Every instinct in Dave’s body screamed at him to intervene; to stake a claim he had no right to make. Not yet.

Dave stepped closer, feeling a magnetized pull toward you, until he stood at your back, close enough to see the faint tension in your shoulders, to catch the faintest scent of your perfume over the haze of spilled beer and warm bodies. His chest tightened, the magnetism of your presence nearly overwhelming.

The man stood as tall as Dave, with a thicker build, light brown hair on his head, and facial hair shaggy and in need of a trim. Gray shot throughout it, along with crow’s feet at the corners of his eyes. The guy was older than Dave by a handful of years, it seemed (and less attractive if Dave said so himself). Could that be the type of man you were attracted to? Unkempt jackasses with dad bods?

“Since you’re new in town, we should go out sometime. I could take you to dinner and show you all the popular spots.”

You hummed noncommittally in response, and the man kept trying. Dave didn’t catch his name.

“I have a sailboat,” the man said, his voice tinged with smugness. “I could take you out for a sunset cruise. Just us, the water, and a bottle of champagne.”

Dave’s jaw clenched, his teeth grinding audibly. A fucking sailboat? Who was this guy, Captain looking for his Tennille?

“Oh, I love sailing!” Your voice was too bright, your laugh too easy. “My best friend from college raced competitively. I used to love watching the races!”

Dave barely heard the rest of the conversation, his vision narrowing as he fixated on the subtle tilt of your head, the way you played along, humoring the bastard. His fingers curled into fists, and for a brief, irrational moment, he imagined how satisfying it would be to plant one of them right in the guy’s smug face.

Then the man made his move.

“So,” he said, leaning closer still, “how about we get out of here?”

Fearing you would say yes, Dave lost all sense of reason. He moved before you could answer, his hand finding your arm, the firm grip startling you. “That won’t be happening,” Dave growled, his expression menacing.

You whipped around, wide-eyed and furious. “What are you doing?” you hissed at Dave, eyes burning holes through him.

The other man straightened, his brows furrowing as he glanced between you and Dave. “Is this guy bothering you?”

You couldn’t pull your eyes from the way Dave’s dark ones bored into you, pleading for you to speak to him.

Dave didn’t flinch under the other man’s glare. “No, I’m not bothering her. Nor is she leaving with you.” His tone left no room for argument.

Yanking your arm free of Dave’s iron grip, you heaved an exasperated sigh and shot Dave a glare before turning your attention back to the man you’d been talking to. “Sadly, no. He’s not bothering me. He’s… my stepdad.”

The word hit Dave like a physical blow, your tone drenched in bitterness. You were so much more than that if only you knew the truth.

The man blinked, clearly caught off guard. “So, you’re not—”

“Not a chance in hell,” Dave snapped, cutting him off. His gaze remained fixed on you, the weight of his dark chocolate stare unbearable.

“Jesus fucking Christ, Dave!” You slumped back against the bar as the other guy walked away, your voice trembling with barely contained anger, and maybe a hint of something else. “What is wrong with you? What are you even doing here?”

Stepping closer, Dave let his voice dip and soften. “Just looking for you… looking out for you,” he replied simply, the tension falling from his shoulders now that your focus was back on him. The cacophony of the bar faded to nothing, the only sound he cared about was your breathing, your sweet voice.

A pit of yearning grew in Dave’s stomach as your hooded gazes clashed. He never knew a feeling like this pull toward you and for all his reputed self-discipline, Dave was but a man powerless against a woman, when that woman was you. He knew how wrong it was given the circumstances, but nothing ever felt so right.

Dave York needed you like he never needed anyone before, not even his first wife. Visceral, this thing between you, and he thought – no, he knew – you felt it too. How could you not?

Giving in, refusing to question it any further, Dave slid his hand over yours, twining your smaller fingers with his larger ones, and ever so gently pulled you to stand next to him.

“Let’s get out of here.”

Mouth popping open slightly, a fire burned suddenly bright in your eyes, fingers curling tighter in his grasp. There was no mistaking it now. You felt it, too, this magnetized thing pulling the two of you together. A smirk crossed his lips when you nodded dazedly.

Now that he touched you, Dave could not bring himself to let go of your hand. He didn’t care who saw, not that he knew anyone in this crowd anyway. Skin soft and enticing, he wanted to touch more of it, more of you, until he mapped every square inch of your body.

The night air had grown colder while you were inside, sending a shiver down your body and Dave pulled you closer as he led the way to his SUV. Silence reigned during the walk across the parking lot and down the sidewalk, lingering during the length of the five-minute drive back to the house.

Mind whirring visibly behind your eyes, Dave glanced at you often. Finally, just as he pulled into the driveway, the house sitting dark as night as he eased the vehicle into the garage, Dave cracked.

“Penny for your thoughts,” he murmured once the ignition turned off.

“They’re hardly worth that.” Wide eyes met his, lips turned up at the sides into an almost smile. “I don’t even know where to start,” you admitted.

Nodding, Dave opened his door. “Come on, we’ll talk down in the basement.” Rushing out of the car before you even had a chance to move, he opened the passenger door and helped you out of the vehicle. Like magnets, your fingers entwined with his of their own accord as he led you through the private entrance to the basement.

“Are you cheating on my mom?” you blurted, body flopping down onto the couch and sinking back into the cushions, Dave beside you still grasping your hand. He refused to lessen his grip despite your gentle attempts to pull it away.

“No.”

A firm answer. A full sentence in one word.

You didn’t know whether to feel relieved or pissed off. His dark eyes darted back and forth between your own, searching for something, anything hidden in your gaze.

“Then what was all that,” you gestured wildly with your free hand, “at the café? That… woman… was all over you. Is that how you usually behave when no one’s around to catch you?”

Dave gazed at you with those big, brown, puppy eyes, yearning for you to see him, really see into the depths of him. “Of course not,” he insisted. “I can’t say much, but that was part of an assignment, a role I have to play to get this particular job done. Nothing has – or will – ever happen with that woman. I promise.”

You believed him, though you could tell there was more he wished he could say. “Ok.”

“Was that why you ran off and ignored me all day? Because you thought I was cheating on your mom?”

His voice was low, you shuddered at both his words and how they washed over you. Was that why you reacted so?

No, not really.

You couldn’t hold back the truth with the way he looked at you, his thumb caressing your knuckles drawing delightful chills to run down your spine. For a moment – just a brief moment – you allowed yourself to believe that he might feel the same way about you, might have a debilitating crush on you as well. That’s why you sputtered out the truth.

“N-no…” you stuttered, clearing your throat roughly. “No, that’s not why I ran.”

“Then why?” Eyes pleading, he squeezed your hand, encouraging you to explain.

“To be honest, I was hurt.” Pausing, your gaze dropped from his eyes to his lips, before darting back to meet the dark heat in his gaze again until you could no longer bear to look at him as you blurted out the dark truth. “Hurt that you would cheat with someone like that and not with… me. How fucked up is that?”

After a beat, then two of silence, you chanced a look at him. Your breath caught in your chest as his eyes widened impossibly further, pink tongue darting out to lick his plump bottom lip as he stared back at you, everything about him intense. Dave turned fully towards you on the couch, taking your other hand in his to pull you into his lap.

“That’s exactly why nothing will happen with that woman. She’s not you.” Dave leaned forward ever so slowly, placing the softest kiss upon your lips. It lasted only a second, but it changed everything.

tbc

Chapter Six

tag list: @imdrinkingpedro @lillaydee @ppascalrain @yorksgirl @missladym1981 @baronessvonglitter @slimybeth69 @mellymbee @untamedheart81 @inept-the-magnificent @wannab-urs @thundermartini @peelieblue @harriedandharassed @mysterious-moonstruck-musings @sunnytuliptime

[ttodorokiii]

hello!! i noticed that you said you lived writing angst, but i dont think you have any angst requests yet??

how about one where shoto and the reader are dating, but the reader is slowly falling out of love with him. he notices this but chooses to ignore it, trying to be a better boyfriend so reader can love him again. your choice whether to make it yan!shoto or not :D

or

shoto and the reader were dating, but broke up because the reader couldn't handle the hate they got from shoto's family (mainly enji). reader is friends with the bakugous and shoto sees them spending time with katsuki and his parents. just general angst aaaa shoto losing the only person who made him happy just because of something he couldnt control :(

note. Kind of wrote the second option. because it seemed more fun, but I hope you don’t mind.

warnings. yándèrè, yándèrè shótó, èx bf shötö, àngst and lóngíng.

•••

Shoto spots you before you see him.

It’s a crowded street in Musutafu, full with energy as people go about their day.

The chill of winter hangs in the air, snowflakes melting the moment they hit the pavement.

Shoto wasn’t supposed to be here.

He was just passing by, drawn by some meaningless errand to occupy the hollow ache in his chest. But then he sees you.

You’re standing outside a small café, bundled up in a scarf he recognizes. It’s the one he bought you last winter, the memory of your laughter as he wrapped it around you still haunting his mind.

But you’re not alone.

Katsuki Bakugou stands beside you, his hands shoved deep into his jacket pockets, that ever-present scowl softened by what can only be described as… comfort.

He’s speaking to you, gesturing sharply as you laugh, and Shoto’s stomach twists when he sees the way your eyes light up at whatever Katsuki just said.

And then there’s Mitsuki Bakugou, Katsuki’s mother, emerging from the café with a tray of drinks.

She nudges Katsuki out of the way and hands you a cup, her face breaking into a grin as she throws an arm over your shoulders.

Shoto feels like he’s watching a scene he doesn’t belong in—a family outing, the kind you used to beg him for, the kind his family could never give you.

His breath comes out ragged as he steps back, instinct telling him to leave before you see him, before you shatter what little is left of him.

But he can’t move. His feet feel glued to the ground, his body frozen as he watches the way Mitsuki’s warmth makes you relax, how Katsuki’s father, joins in with a quiet chuckle, handing Katsuki his drink.

It’s too much.

Shoto’s heart thunders in his chest, and he feels the familiar burn of his quirk threatening to spiral out of control.

His hands curl into fists at his sides, and he forces himself to breathe, to focus, to stop himself from doing something reckless.

But the sight of you so happy, so at ease, without him, is unbearable.

He can’t look away.

It should be him. It was him. You were his light, his salvation in a life plagued by shadows.

You were the only one who could make him smile without trying, the only one who made him believe he could be more than his father’s weapon.

But now, you’re here, standing with another family, looking like you belong in a way you never could with him.

Shoto’s mind reels, the weight of his loss sinking deeper into his chest. It wasn’t supposed to end like this. He tried—he tried to protect you from his family’s suffocating hatred, from his father’s venomous words, from everything that poisoned his life..

His jaw clenches as Katsuki says something that makes you laugh again, and it’s the kind of laugh that used to be his. The kind of laugh that made him feel alive.

Shoto steps forward without thinking, his mismatched eyes locked on you, his desperation clawing at his chest.

But then he stops.

What could he say? What could he do? Beg you to come back? Apologize for the scars his family left on your heart? Promise you that things will be different, even though you both know they won’t?

He can feel the heat rising in his veins, his right side instinctively flaring as if to burn away the helplessness choking him. He closes his eyes, trying to steady himself, but all he can see is you—

Your smile, your laugh once belonged to him..

Shoto turns away, his heart pounding in his chest as he forces himself to walk in the opposite direction.

Each step feels like a knife twisting deeper into his soul, but he keeps going, because staying would mean breaking apart completely.

And yet, even as he leaves, he knows he can’t let go. You were his happiness, his reason for trying to be better, his only escape from the suffocating weight of his family.

Without you, he’s drowning, and the thought of you finding solace in someone else—

Katsuki of all people….

makes his blood boil with a toxic mix of jealousy and despair.

Shoto clenches his fists as he disappears into the crowd, the image of your smile burned into his memory like a scar he’ll carry forever.

You may have left him, but he’ll never let you go. You’re his, whether you realize it or not.

[battinscnz]

𝑰𝑵 𝑩𝑳𝑶𝑶𝑴 // 𝑺𝑼𝑷𝑬𝑹𝑩𝑨𝑻 𝑺𝑻𝑶𝑹𝒀

𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐚𝐜𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐬: Bruce Wayne (The Batman) , Clark Kent (Superman)

𝐏𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠(𝐬): Bruce Wayne/Clark Kent, SuperBat

𝐖𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐂𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 39,038 (10/10)

𝐓𝐚𝐠𝐬: Bruce Wayne (The Batman) , Clark Kent (Superman), SuperBat, Bruce/Clark, Pattinson!Batman, Corenswet!Superman, Alternative Universe - Human

𝐖𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: Eventual Smut, Grief/Parental Loss

In Metropolis, flower shop owner Clark Kent forms an unexpected connection with Bruce Wayne, the enigmatic tattoo artist who opens a studio across the street. As their bond deepens into something more than friendship, Bruce struggles to keep his dark past from threatening their fragile relationship. Together, they must navigate love, trust, and the shadows that refuse to let go.

(The story was/were complete inspired by the artwork created by @day-dream-fever)

𝑰𝑵 𝑩𝑳𝑶𝑶𝑴 // 𝑺𝑼𝑷𝑬𝑹𝑩𝑨𝑻 𝑺𝑻𝑶𝑹𝒀

A few months had passed, and with the changing of seasons, the chill of winter melted into the tender warmth of spring. It was early April now, the air fragrant with the scent of blooming flowers, and Bruce found himself on the Kent farm, surrounded by the quiet hum of nature. 

It was a world apart from the noise of Metropolis or the shadows of Gotham, and every time Bruce came here, he felt an odd but welcome sense of peace.

Clark had invited him along to restock his flower shop, as he often did when the farm’s blooms were at their peak. Martha Kent’s garden was a masterpiece in itself, her careful tending resulting in a kaleidoscope of flowers in every shade imaginable. 

It wasn’t just about business—Clark loved supporting his parents’ small family operation, and it was easy to see why. 

Over the months, Bruce had come to understand just how much heart and soul went into the Kent farm. Every bloom, every petal, every blade of grass told a story of care, patience, and love.

Bruce leaned against the porch railing, watching Clark and Martha in the distance. 

Clark was crouched among the rows of flowers, carefully inspecting each one before adding it to the growing collection in his basket. 

His face was lit with that easy, boyish smile Bruce adored, his laughter carrying softly on the breeze as Martha teased him about taking too long to choose. It was a side of Clark that Bruce cherished deeply—the earnestness, the way he found joy in the simplest things. 

It made Bruce love him even more with each passing day.

The memories of the past months filled Bruce’s mind as he stood there. 

Spending Christmas and New Year’s in Smallville with the Kents had been a revelation. The small town's charm, the warmth of Martha and Jonathan’s home, and the sheer simplicity of it all—it was unlike anything Bruce had experienced in years. 

The holidays had been filled with quiet moments by the fire, homemade meals that left Bruce wondering how he’d ever gone without Martha’s cooking, and a sense of belonging he hadn’t realized he was missing.

Martha and Jonathan had become important to him in ways he hadn’t expected. 

[helpmeimblorboing]

It’s Gorgug. Keep going

[imagymnasia]

personal yelling below the cut, feel free to keep scrolling. I just need to be sappy and hopeful for like two seconds before The Despair tries to take me again.

So first, some context I guess.

I've always loved books; always been a storyteller. And when I realized that writing was something anyone could do, the entire world opened up. (Shout out to my 2nd grade teacher, Mrs. Nutzman. I owe you my life.) And for a long while I wrote for the joy of it, you know? Just because I could. Just because I had stories that needed to be told. Sometimes the story was profound or about processing deep emotion, and sometimes it was making a self-insert OC and kissing your childhood cartoon crush.

You know. Like you do.

And then I graduated and went to college and learned about the world and (for a multitude of reasons that would take me a book to explain fully) I gave up. I lost it. My muse, my motivation, my spark, whatever you want to call it. It was just gone. I stopped writing, I hit the wall, and all that shiny-eyed wonder and joy and purpose simply vanished.

Years pass. I try again, sometimes, but it never sticks. I can't recapture what I had, but neither can I make it anew. I try again. I fail. I try agan, but with less optimism. I fail.

I stop trying.

Fast forward to the pandemic, and discovering a fandom that inspired me so much I started writing fanfic again. I hadn't written fanfic in 20+ years. Hell, I'd barely written ANYTHING since the early 2000s. And it feels good! I'm on a roll. I join zines, I slap stuff on AO3, I trade headcanons with my buddies. It was great! But it wasn't enough. People leave. Fandom fizzles. ButI keep trying.

And I burn out. Again. And I quit. AGAIN.

Then FFXIV took hold of me and I give it one last shot. Just a little; just a TASTE. It's not even writing, I tell myself, as I give my character backstory and watch as she slays gods and falls in love. It's just for me and like one other person, anyway. (Hi, Haj! You are the Newt to my Herman, the Sain to my Kent, and I forever adore you.)

And it's fine. At this point in my story, I'd given up on Writing, but I could play in my little sandbox. Whatever dregs of happiness I could find in my pretend world were enough. Honestly, I was just happy to be imagining again.

And THEN I found more XIV fans, and god help me but they cared? About my character? About her story? About ME? And the fans became friends. And then we started writing together. And then we made a small writing group together. And somehow in the two decades since I decided I was going to Be a Writer I was actually for-real writing again.

So here we are at present day and we're trading fics and talking about poetry and doing writing challenges and sharing prompts and building resources and ??????

[The writer pauses here because she is once again overcome with emotion because the profundity of what is happening hits her all over again.]

...

You know, I was trying to be witty and articulate about this but I just gotta say it: I'm so happy.

I'm so fucking happy it hurts, because this is all I've ever wanted. All I have ever truly wanted was to find a group of friends who love this as much as I do. Who want to write, who want to create, who care what other folks are doing and working on and creating, who cheer for each other and lift up the things we make and say This is Good. This Matters.

Not all of us want to be capital-w Writers (in fact I may be the only one? One of two? I don't know and I haven't asked and that's on me) but the fact that we all came together because this thing that brings me, personally, so much joy ALSO does that for the rest of us? It gives me hope. It is inspiring and beautiful and I am not at all exaggerating when I say that sometimes I am so overwhelmed with emotion just because our little writing corner exists that it brings me to tears.

I'm crying right now.

Community matters. Art matters. And for the first time in my life those two things have finally intersected in this wonderful awkward beautiful messy imperfect incredible space, with people I care about and trust with my whole heart, and I am so

fucking

happy

that I truly do not have the proper words to convey what it means to me.

I feel like I've found a little piece of myself again, a piece I have long neglected and ignored and told it didn't matter---all because it only ever mattered to me, and that just wasn't enough. Dreams long since dead are rising up again; for they were never dead actually, they were just sleeping and now that season is over and it's time to grow again.

So while I'm processing a lot of Big Dark Scary Things right now, I am also thinking of the Good, and holding to hope and defiance and beauty in the face of all that. And I'm going to keep creating, because to do otherwise would be to turn my back on the things that make me, me; to give up is to let Big Dark Scary win, and I refuse to let it take these things from me again.

I don't really know how to end this so I guess I'll just say it's really nice to have direction again, and to have people to share it with. I don't talk about this stuff irl and there are a myriad reasons why that I won't get into.

So. I guess if you're in the group and you've read this then thank you.

It feels weird to thank people for this but I'm truly grateful to each and every one of you. Thanks for being a bright spot in a dark world and giving me a place to actually, fearlessly, be my fucking self. It may seem like a small inconsequential thing but I promise you, it's not.

That's all.

I'm going to go have another cry and eat snacks, now.... and then? Then I will write.

Ioj out.

[aria0fgold]

It's 1: 30 am and I'm dealing with rat problems, goodness gracious. My life quality would greatly increase if my mom could just FIND A WAY TO GET RID OF THIS THING ALREADY!

[cockinator3000]

hey! what does it mean if sometimes when youre trying to fall asleep you keep seeing and hearing things that feel pretty real and most of the time the things in question are just reall scary nightmares but im likee half awake and conscious but also not like if i fall asleep theyll fucking get me and im sitting there thinking what the fuck are you talking ab but every time i close my eyes the if i fall asleep theyll fucking get me thougjts overtake me and suddenly i start hearing little girls saying some sort of variation of "im gonna get youuu 😝👻😝👻👻👻😝😝😝" and then i start jerking my body to wake up because for whatever reason i get PARALYSED??? when the visions come to me???? anyway so i start jerking my body so that they dont get me and then i realise that whatever the hell just happened was just a dream and then i try to fall asleep but it happens AGAIN and i cant fawking sleep unless i do something else first. lile what im doing now. everything that i typed JUST happened and im typing this out to get it ouf of my system in hopes of proper sleep.

the other time this happened some disembodied lady head with a kind of warped oni mask was saying the exact same thing those damn little girls were saying

saying some "im gonna get youuuu😝😝😝👻👻👻👻" shit fuck offff pleaaasseeee 😭😭😭

.....ive been awake since 5 a.m and its 7:30 am now

[oceantornadoo]

inspired by a dramoine fic i read! simon riley x f!reader

it’s the third time today someone has handed you simon’s paperwork and you’re starting to get confused. in fact, there’s the distinct feeling that you’ve missed a memo.

first, it was the visiting captain, so you couldn’t blame him for confusing lieutenants. but then it was johnny turning in his mission report, muttering something about “cannae be late this time if ah give it ye, lass.” which was odd, considering you weren’t his direct report (you were gaz’s). but what really sent you over the edge was getting called into price’s office and being met with a load of folders addressed to one Lt. Ghost (Confidential).

“sir, i’m a bit confused as to why you can’t just give these to him yourself.” price looked up from his desk, eyes flickering from under his boonie hat. “hav’ you seen ‘im today, lieutenant?” you nodded immediately while trying to scoop all of this paperwork (that was not yours!) into your arms. “yessir, i saw him before breakfast and then during training and then…what?” price had silently quirked an eyebrow, his beard echoing the movement. “i haven’t seen ‘im all day, so i figure it’s faster for you to deliver since you’re more well-versed in his movements than i am.” huh. “i’m sure he’s just doing his ghost thing, y’know? slipping into shadows and…”, price patiently gave you an exasperated look, “but i’ll get these to him, sir. see you later!”

the problem was, you knew exactly where simon was. in your office.

his own had an unfortunate ground level window near the track, so he was always complaining about nosy recruits until you offered to share some office space. temporarily, of course. it’s not like you were using all the empty space anyways and it made it much easier to get the opinion of your fellow lieutenant on a report by walking over to his desk, rather than going up and down stairs. that was the second point he made, and who were you to say no?

after pushing open your office door, you beelined for simon’s desk, dumping the stacks of folders on his desk. “wot’s this?” his mask was off so you could see his eyes widen at the mess of papers. “everyone now thinks i’m a drop off box for your paperwork, so i got burdened with all of this when i was doing my rounds.” he nodded thoughtfully, taking a sip of his tea. “cheers, love.”

“what do you mean, cheers? don’t you think it’s odd for them to give me your paperwork? and why do we even have so much paperwork? i swear im drowning in it this week.” he snorted at your last sentence, opening the first folder in front of him while you rounded your desk, sitting in your comfy chair with a hmpf. “yer out an’ about more than me, tha’s all.” well, that was true. the infamous ghost was not known to be a sociable person on base. “i guess…” you turned to your old radio, passed down by a retired captain, and turned on simon’s favorite classical station.

“ya want mess or the pub tonight, love?” another great thing about being on base with simon - you never had to pay for dinner. “actually, that thai place we like is doing a special tonight.” he gave you a half-smirk, one cheek ticking up. “bloody raccoon. we had thai two nights ago.” you didn’t respond, instead blinking your best impression of puppy dog eyes at him. simon sighed, then shook his head at his desk. “olrigh’. the things i do.” you smiled and winked, dipping your head back down to your desk. “thanks, si.”

-

two weeks later, you were prepping for a duo mission with simon. price had been grilling the two of you for the past three hours, making sure you had everything memorized. satisfied, he leaned back in his office chair and rubbed his temples, the feeling of a headache coming on. “one more thing.” both of you snapped your head up at price, desperate to leave and eat. you’d already missed dinner and your stomach was complaining.

“the safe house is pretty small, basically a shack. one bed, no couch. i assumed ‘s fine since y’r datin-“ “‘s fine, captain.” simon cut him off, an out of character move that had you frowning. “it’s fine, cap. not like ive never slept on a floor before.” now price was frowning at what you said. he turned to simon, who shook his head imperceptibly before becoming still again. price’s brow furrowed but he didn’t push further. he got up from his chair, eyes flitting suspiciously between you two. “i’ll see you at 0600.”

“what was that about?” you whispered to simon after as you walked down the hall. “‘s nothin’.” you were missing something but it was so unclear what. “he thinks that we’re datin-“ “said it’s nothin’, sweetheart. he’s an old man. let’s get some food in you, yeah?” you nodded, letting him guide you to the kitchen. price wasn’t that old. and you were not dating simon riley.

-

the mission was beautiful, your best one in years. it was the first duo mission between you and simon, so the nerves of pulling your own weight had settled in hard. thankfully, your skills balanced each other out and you’d gotten the target in record time. now, all you had to do was wait in the safe house for exfil.

“you were so good.” you whispered once he’d locked the door. he only hummed a response, checking exit and entry points while you set up your packs, scrounging up MREs and testing the shack for electricity. price wasn’t kidding - it was practically a studio apartment. one bed, a bathroom and a decrepit stove. the soldier part of you was fine with it, but that small soft part of you ached for the warmth of your apartment. memories of yelling at simon for using all your shampoo even though he didn’t live there, of him running you a bath after a long day of training.

“you were good too, baby.” he snuck up from behind your spot on the floor and lifted you onto the mattress that had definitely seen better days. you hadn’t even checked it for bed bugs yet. “c’mere.” he pulled you into his lap, unbuckling your tac vest as you pulled off your bandana. you tugged off his mask - the hard shell since you were on a mission - and ran your nails through his short haircut. simon started kissing your neck, wet and sloppy like he couldn’t get enough. the unrestrained want he displayed sometimes scared you. the respective pulsing in both your chest and cunt scared you more.

“so are you sleeping on the floor or am i?” he flipped you over, your back flush with the mattress as simon loomed over you. there was still eyeblack around his eyes, caught on his blonde eyelashes as well, and you couldn’t help the hand that reached up to brush some of it away. “y’r funny, sweetheart.” you grinned at that - a real toothy smile. he bent down to kiss you, scarred lips caressing your own. simon bit your lip and you moaned, sliding your legs out from under him to wrap them around his torso. when you tugged him in he went willingly, grinding into your clothed cunt. his tac vest was still on, scraping against your shirt, hardening your nipples.

“keepin’ you in this bed all night.” cold fingers dipped past the waist of your pants. you were already wet, his fingers sliding easily up and down your slit as they warmed up. that’s when you realized he still had his glove on, his movements harsher than normal. wide eyes met his own, and simon stopped so you could make a decision.

it didn’t take much as you dug your heels into his back harder, meeting him in a sloppy kiss as his gloved thumb played with your clit. “fuckin’ made for me.” he whispered, and you chalked it up to dirty talk because obviously, you weren’t together. he just knew exactly what to do, giving your clit the right amount of pressure as his other fingers teased your hole, the stretch burning more than usual. it only took a few flicks and you were off, your orgasm settling through your bones like a warm cup of tea. “jesus, si.” he grinned, his scarred lips pulling up to show a beautiful smile. “know ya like th’ back of my hand, huh?” you shook your head, capturing the idiot in another kiss.

-

after the mission, after debrief and a hot shower, you made your way back to your base office. thankfully, paperwork had only slightly piled up. one envelope stood out though - a thick card-stock with glossy, swooping letters. an invite to london’s military gala, addressed to a Lieutenant & Lieutenant. simon’s name was next to yours, connected by a singular symbol. you turned to him in disbelief. simon had been going through his own backlog, but his head snapped up under the focus of your glare.

“simon, are we…dating?”

-

this was fun!!! check out the fic i linked it was so good and i couldn’t put it down.

[theorphicangel]

thinking about bf! sukuna struggling to apologise with words after a small argument... he's not too good in putting his feelings into words so he does the next best thing...acts of service.

Specifically through making a fruit bowl for you.

Cheesy, he knows, but it's the one of the ways he wants to make it up to you.

One second you're busy at your desk, typing away at your laptop before you feel a shadow behind you. without turning around a platter of fruits are placed next to you as well as with a glass of water. the plate is colourful with strawberries, mangos, bananas, cherries, apples, oranges, pears, kiwis and more of your favourites.

you raise a brow, some of these fruits aren't even in season right now so you wonder how in the hell Sukuna managed to get his hands on any of these.

'how did you get these?' you chew on a sliced apple.

he merely shrugs, 'top secret.'

'right....'

a silence passes between the two of you, sukuna awkwardly standing next to you. you can sense he has something to ask you before he leaves, you want to ask what is it but remain silent out of fear of pressurising him.

it's okay though because he finally gets round to it.

'are you still mad at me?'

ah there it is.

you hum, looking down at the perfectly organised array of fruit.

'mhmmm, not anymore thank you 'kuna' you allow him to lean down so you can finally place a kiss on his lips, a kiss that he has long awaited for.

'finally, thought you were never going to speak to me again.' he mumbles once he pulls away. you pat him on the cheek with a giggle, 'you did good 'kuna'

[sceletaflores]

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.

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[the-dendrophile-bookdragon]

Perfect Size

Pairing: Daemon Targaryen x fem!reader

Warnings: reader is described as short, name-calling, swearing, Daemon being a horny menace, soft!dom! Daemon, talk of impregnation, talk of pregnancy, pregnancy, smut

Summary: It was Daemon’s life mission to remind you of your size difference, in every aspect of your shared lives.

A/N: This is part of the wonderful @targaryen-dynasty 3K celebration, congrats by the way!!!! I had so much fun with this prompt. Enjoy everyone and enjoy the other wonderful and talented writers' fics. 3K Celebration Masterlist

My masterlist

The gods make humans in their image. They make them grow until they see them as perfect. Or so your Septa used to say whenever you were frustrated about your small stature. And it was no help that the greatest rake of the realm, Lord Flea Bottom, the Rouge Prince himself, made it his life’s mission to remind you of how small you were.

As children, you had been a bit taller than him. He had a problem with it. The need to be bigger than a stupid girl was great. His growth spurt came and he nearly towered over you, looking down at you with a smirk on his lips. “How is the weather down there?” He would often tease. “Just fine.” You would retort back. “I hope your small brain will get enough air up there. A shame if you lost more of it.” Was your sarcastic comeback.

The older the two of you got, the taller he would get and you would only grow a few inches if you even grew at all. First, he was slightly lanky. His muscles had yet to grow. He would remind you of a newborn horse whenever he would stumble over his two long feet as he trained with his sword. Often giggling to his dismay.

“I will cut your head off, and then you will be smaller!” He would shout in anger when he saw you snickering. Daemon’s temper seemed to grow with every inch he gained. You enjoyed it immensely when it would rise because of you.

As young adults, it was fairly certain that you would grow no more. If you stood behind one of the large dinner chairs you could easily hide behind them. Everything seemed to dwarf you.

Daemon prided himself in the knowledge that he was taller than you. Towering over you like the Hightower in Oldtown. And he never passed down the opportunity to remind you. “Shouldn’t you be with your nurse, little one? I think you got the wrong room. The nursery is that way.” Or other things.

You would glare at him. Often kicked his shin when no one was watching. He would yowl in pain. Jump around and hold his leg. “You little pest.” “Maybe you should get your head out of the clouds.” You teased back.

But there were the times he would call you more affectionate words associated with your small stature.

“Why the sour face, my little love?” He mumbled into your ear as he stepped out of the shadows. He had been hiding from his grandmother and her attempts to put boring and plain noblewoman under his nose.

A huff of annoyance escaped your throat. “Mother forced me to wear this ridiculous gown.” You seethed. Your teeth bared like a wolf snarling.

Daemon found your discomfort rather amusing. You looked like a pretty doll all dressed up. Your hair braided into the style of the land you came from. The gown so unmistakably the colours of your house, shining in the light of the candles.

"Oh, no - you're a lady and you have to wear pretty dresses and jewels and oh no, how horrible!" He teased you lightly. He leaned his head on top of yours. A habit he adopted quite recently. Loving the way you fit under him.

You snorted, very un-ladylike. But he was used to your characteristics. You were not one of those up-tied, boring wenches who tried to turn his head. He would rather gauge his eyes out before he gave them a second of his attention.

His attention was only worthy of one woman. And she was right literally under his nose.

He leaned down, just next to your ear. His hot breath fanned over the sensitive shell. “Do you think it would fit?” You could feel the smirk in his voice. You turned to him with a confused look on your pretty face.  It stayed that way until you felt something. You felt it, him. Hard as a rock, pocking you through the fabric of your wedding gown.

Your face grew hotter than the flames of Caraxes. Your body stiffened as you felt him softly rub against your buttocks. He only laughed lowly. His chest vibrates, sending chills up and down your spine. “You scoundrel!” You lowly scoffed. Your heart beating faster.

Not from his antics. Oh no, you were used to them by now. About the whole banquet finding out about Daemon’s little innuendo. “Oh, little love. I am your scoundrel now. It was ordered by the Queen herself.” He chuckled darkly.

She hit his shoulder lightly. “Stop it!” You tried to reprimand him. But your words fell on deaf ears. “Oh, my little love. How funny you will look with my seed growing inside you.” He began to whisper his lewd words. “You probably won’t be able to walk, so large your belly will grow.”

Your body grew hotter and hotter. It didn’t help that he had you pressed to his chest. His erection pressed against the cheeks of your perfect ass. His hands wander lazily over the front of your dress. Stopping over your belly before wandering further down.

“Oh my little love, will it even fit in your little tight hole? Or will I have to mould your little cunny so only my cock can fit inside?” Your breathing hitched at his dark, lustful words. Daemon’s predatory smile grew at your body's reaction to his scandalous words whispered so softly into your ear.

He often wondered if he was unfair to his wife. She was small, her body had nearly strained from the weight of the beautiful two children she had already given him.

He was right at their wedding feast. Her swollen stomach looked too large for her body. It hadn’t been long before the first signs of pregnancy made themselves known.

From the small bump only three moons after they conceived. He still can remember how his hands could cover it until she was seven moons pregnant. She had been ordered to rest. To not exhaust herself too much.

Daemon, looking at the image of her laying in their bed, their little one nestled in her belly. The sight did things to him. Things where his darkest desires seemed light in comparison. Oh, how he had spent his days behind her, driving himself into her tight cunt instead of sitting in a boring small council meeting. His wife and unborn child needed him, and he needed them.

“Another one?” You looked at him from where you stood. Children’s toys in your arms as you helped your daughters clean the room for the day.

Daemon just shrugged. “Why not? Add another one to our hoard. What about you girls? Do you want another sibling?” He crouched down so he was level with Alyssa and Visenya. Both girls looked away from their task to clean up the solar, screeching with joy as their father spoke to them.

“They are tots, Daemon.” You protested. Picking up more of the girls’ toys. “They will agree to anything if you say it with enough enthusiasm.” Daemon chuckled. “Oh, I think they know what I am saying, elillus (honey).” He smirks softly. His eyes roamed her body without shame.

“It has been so long.” “It has only been a few hours. You had me in the morrow.” You snapped back. Cleaning your daughters’ toys from the floor. Putting it into the chest designated for their toys. “I did not mean our coupling, prūmȳs ñuhus (my heart). I meant another child. The girls are six and four.” He mumbled gently.

She looked up at him sitting in the armchair at the edge of the carpet where the girls were playing moments ago. His violet eyes were dark as he watched her like the hunter his prey. “I don’t know, valzȳrys (husband). You heard the maester's words after Visenya’s birth.”

Daemon saw the change in demeanour. He nearly had you, only a small push. “It is your choice, ābrāzȳrys (wife). I do not want to force you.” He stood up, kissing your forehead before helping you with cleaning the toys up.

You were tossing and turning in bed. Nothing seemed right. Thoughts swirled through your head. So many voices at once.

You wanted to scream. But you would only wake up your family.

“Tell me what is keeping you from sleep, ābrāzȳrys (wife)” Daemon's gravel voice rang through the room. He sounded tired. His back turned to you.

“It’s nothing.” You whispered. “Bullshit!” Daemon groaned. Turning to face you. “It feels like I am sleeping next to a bloody sack of kittens. What is it.” He tiredly glared at her. Knowing full well what was going on.

“You’ve gotten into my head, you menace!” You growled out. Pouting at him. His usual smirk grew on his lips, a soft chuckle escaping. “Apologies for that, ābrāzȳrys (wife).“ „You are not sorry, Daemon.” His grin widened more. “You know me so well.”

A huff escaped your lips. “Why must you torment me so?” Daemon sat up on his forearm, looking down at you. Your hair was splayed out in a messy halo. A bright smile adorned his face as he saw the light, tired glare and the pout on your lips.

“Oh, little love, I vowed to be the bane of your existence since we played with the small dragon figurines our daughters’ play with now. And ever since it was announced you would be my dear lady wife I swore to torture you even more.” He softly nipped at your collarbone, his large hands coming to rest on your rips, just under your breasts.

“Let me help you with your decision-making. Let me enter your little cunny and stay there when I cum. Let my seed fill your womb once more.” His imposing frame loomed over you. Covering you like a blanket.

“What if the maester is right?” “The maesters are cunts who want to see me unhappy and you in doubt. They told you after Alyssa you could not carry another child. Two years later they said the same after Visenya.” He kissed your shoulder gently before his expressive violet eyes stared at you. “What is your body telling you?”

You bit your lip gently, A small rumble going through Daemon’s chest at your gesture. But he restrained himself. “I want another one.” You whispered gently.

A smile broke greater than before out on his lips, his dimples showing. “I will not let anything happen to you. The moment your body is resisting, I will get you moon tea or whatever is necessary.” You nodded gently.

His eyes darkened with lust. “Now before we can even discuss the pregnancy, we must make it happen.”

He lifted himself so his arms were on either side of your head. “Oh my sweet, I longed to fill up your little cunny. Seeing it overflow with my seed. Stuffing it back in.” He laughed gently as you shuddered.

With haste born of his pent-up desire, he ripped all of your clothes off your and his body. You gasped softly, scolding him for literally ripping your nightgown. “I never liked it anyway.” He mumbled against the skin between your breasts. Slowly moving down to your stomach.

He worshipped your body, caressing your thighs and hips. Squeezing the flesh around them, even gently nibbling on it.

He kissed each and every lightning-bold-like scar. Mumbling with every kiss a small thanks. These were the marks of his children. Evidence of your brave sacrifice.

He went further down. His lips ghosted over the soft locks, his eyes watching you heave out breaths of anticipation.

A loud scream ripped from your throat when you felt his tongue plunge deeply into your wet core. The eagerness of his lapping overwhelmed your senses. His nose ever so lightly brushed against your pearl. Teasing it to shoot lightning throughout your body.

You came undone. His tongue, nose and two of his digits working in tandem to torture you. And it worked. Your back arched off the bed. Loud cries of his name and pleas for him to stop accompanied your downward spiral into the abyss of your pleasure.

He stared down at you hungrily. His vibrant eyes were dark with lust. He looked every bit the dragon he ought to be. “Little rabbit.” He growled out. “Sweet, little rabbit. Trapped beneath the large dragon.”

He leaned down again. Like Caraxes would decent upon his pray, Daemon came down upon you. Devouring you once more.

He held your thighs wide open as he ploughed into you. The wet sound of skin slapping against skin rang through the room. His large hand wrapped around your delicate neck, softly pressing against it. Your breathing coming out in small pants.

“You should see yourself, little darling. My large hand is like a necklace on your throat. I can nearly wrap it around.” He chuckled darkly.

His words elicited shivers to run up and down your spine. This action causes your body to tense slightly. Daemon roared as he felt you squeeze his cock. “Seven fucking hells, woman! Do you want to kill me?!” He panted out. Driving his cock deeper inside you. The stretch is a familiar pain. But not too unpleasant. He had prepared you for him. And he would hate for you not to enjoy your coupling.

He leaned down, capturing your lips in a soft, sensual kiss. It was so different from the way his hips moved. So slow and loving. “I am not hurting you, am I, my little darling?” He whispered. You shook your head. “Nothing I am not used to from you.” He grinned, nipping at your lower lip, “That’s my good girl.” He whispered.

He picked up his pace. His hands on your thighs clawing into your skin. His knuckles are white. He groaned and grunted, looking down at you with an intense stare. Your own moans and cries mingle with his. Creating a symphony of pleasure.

He came with a roar of your name, his face buried into your neck. Panting heavily next to your ear. Your own climax is triggered by the feeling of being filled with his potent seed. Both your eyes closed in bliss.

He stayed inside you even as his member softened inside you. The grip on your thigh remains tight. Like he needed to be grounded by you.

Your arms wrapped tighter around his neck, softly caressing his head. He hummed gently, letting you know he loved what you were doing. “Do not dare to stop.” He mumbled gently into your neck. You continued with your caress. Softly petting him like he was a dog.

He fell asleep like this. His spent cock inside you, keeping his precious seed inside you. His body acted like a blanket. Your hand in his hair.

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