#this has been waiting to be done for so long

[satorena]

#INTRO2MUNCH101

summ. when suguru “eat it off the bone” geto actually turns out to be suguru “flaps the left lip until she calls it a night” geto, he finds himself questioning everything he thought he knew about his skills. . . talk about a rude awakening.

cw. explicit content. foul language. fem!reader. college!au. eventual smut (but not in the way you think. . .) mild modern lingo. allusions to music artists. cunningulūs. male masturbation. reader has a belly piercing. she’s also depicted mean by the boys. gojo cameos bc i can’t not mention him. tattoo artist!geto. substance consumption. lowkeyyy self-indulgent reader. 10k wc.

rena's note. this is a spin-off to p power, so i’d suggest reading that first to understand the correlation!

suguru geto is a simple man.

your pleasure is his pleasure. he’s always prided himself on being a pro at the art of cunningulus. honest— he’s always left with swollen lips, a heavily sprayed face and a solid five star ratings at the end of his work. his jaw feels tired out, scalp burning from consistent hair tugs, and his breathing uneven from lack of oxygen. but at the feel of plush thighs squeezing his face and the repetition of his name flowing into the air before getting squirted on, he remembers it’s always worth it.

no pain no gain, right?

wrong.

because here he finds himself, a hefty hour in since he first dove in between your soft legs, and there’s been absolutely no development. sprawled on your back on his sheets, arm slung over your eyes, and your breathing even. you look fucking bored, and his heart is sinking to his ass.

geto will use every trick he has in the book. he’s noticed overtime that girls have different bodies, therefore he needs different tactics to stimulate those bodies. he nips at your puffy bud, sucking on your clit for external pleasure. no use. fine, then he’ll push your thighs up some more for a deeper penetration of his fingers in your cunt— still no use. the only sounds being produced are his mouth slipping against his own saliva at your pussy because he can’t even get you wet enough.

the pit in his stomach grows larger. he wonders if maybe you’re just the silent type? he’s come across those before.

he’s getting nervous out of his mind, so shaky and uncoordinated that his hand slips and meets your lips for the umpteenth time— and only then do you release a guttural groan, the very first sound you’ve made in a long ass time. wait—

“did. . . did you cum?” he pants, pulling his sticky lips away from yours. his face feels moist, blood rushing all in his head and he’s lightheaded. but still, he has to know.

you push yourself up to your elbows, annoyance clear as day. he’s yet to seen this look on a girl after pulling every card known on the table, “yeah. . . to the wrong fucking house.”

oh fuck.

☆ ☆ ☆

he first spotted you chatting it up with your friends on the school’s soccer field, on a random tuesday afternoon, and he’s been hooked on you ever since.

the universe played a funny game, and he realized university truly is a small ass world. amongst your friends, he noticed a familiar face. one he’s been hearing and seeing of one too many times lately, on multiple separate and traumatic occasions— gojo’s girlfriend. suguru found himself bonding with her due to their familiar point of interest— that being gojo— and believes he can now make of her a friend.

geto watches his best friend’s eyes shimmer and he flashes his infamous million dollar smile. he really is obsessed with his girlfriend and she doesn’t even know— and geto finds himself wishing he had somebody he’d be this ecstatic over. must be nice.

“i’m gonna go say hi to my girl real quick,” gojo taps at his shoulder, and geto nods. he’s cool on it, he’ll wait back here until he’s done, or can make his way to his next class depending on whatever gojo and his girlfriend arrange. “you comin’?”

“i’m probably gonna head to our next lecture.” geto voices out, pulling his phone from his pocket to check the time. he feels gojo peeking over his shoulder, in which he assumes to verify if that would be necessary.

over forty-five minutes. damn it.

“that’s mad pointless, class doesn’t start till more than half an hour,” gojo says, and geto doesn’t see himself waiting around that long for a lecture. no way, “just come— her friends are chill.”

fuck it, he goes. naturally, gojo is all over his girl and her friends expect it. geto does give them a little wave when gojo introduces him. one of the girls mention having heard of him through a friend— something about a failed talking stage. mad federal, and the sheepish chuckle geto offers when you give him an unreadable look makes him want to crawl into a ditch.

so now you think he’s a whore. awesome.

and gojo’s smirk definitely doesn’t help him out. he doesn’t help out at all actually, so enamoured by his girlfriend that he leaves geto to fend for himself against a pack of wolves (read: nosy girls). he replies only when spoken to, nods when necessary and throws in a few “that’s crazy,” to which the girls fail to pick up he’s out of words to say.

well, everyone except you.

you’re quiet. in fact, the whole time, you haven’t said shit to him. you sit back and observe, occasionally typing on your macbook, or reapplying your lip combo. you didn’t have any words to say to him. even when your friends would talk to you, you gave them short answers and went back to listening to whatever was playing in your airpods. he could tell from that small interaction alone, you were the mean one out of your clique.

and fuck if that didn’t make him want you more. there was just something about mean women that made him want to break through their fake ass exteriors and watch them turn all soft and chummy for him.

blame it on his corruption kink.

gojo confirms his thoughts when they’re finally on their way to class. he kissed his girl goodbye and waved off her friends, to which they all (minus you) collectively cooed, “byeee gojooo!” which he found odd, but kept silent. he gave them a small nod before following his best friend.

they’re a few steps in the science building when the words slip before he can help it, ultimately cutting gojo’s rambling off, “yo, who was that girl?”

gojo glances at him before chuckling, “there was like seven of ‘em. which one?”

“the quiet one.”

it throws him off guard when gojo laughs hard. like, really hard. it attracts the attention of bystanders, who give him a crazy look but gojo ignores. as if they’d try to press him about his volume— the two were pretty adored around campus.

geto does find his reaction quite interesting, to which he cocks a brow and offers a chuckle of his own, “what?”

“oh, you definitely mean y/n,” when his laughter dies down, he finally answers. he lifts his shades to his hairline to swipe a tear. “she’s mean as fuck, bro.”

“right?!” geto laughs, tapping at gojo’s shoulder. it only charges gojo’s laughing fit back up, “i could tell from her vibe. she gives off those ‘men ain’t shit’ girlies on twitter. whole time, she’s probably laid up in bed with one.”

“you don’t even knowww,” gojo holds his shoulder and shakes him a bit. geto does in fact know, because he’s dealt with girls like her before. they’re always a good ass time. “she does men dirty. like, absolutely dogs them. heard one phone call too many.”

oh? even better than he expected. she’s probably the type that used to love hard before getting her heart trampled on and decided to seek revenge on all men. like, on some jennifer’s body shit. geto can’t help but smirk, “lemme see for myself. put me on.”

gojo falters in his step. his grip on geto’s shoulders loosen and his expression changes— not by much, but the once lighthearted smile switches to a skeptical one, “you serious?”

geto lets out a soft sigh, shrugging gojo’s hands off his shoulders. “don’t start asking too much. i did a favour for you and your girl, didn’t i?,” well, technically speaking it wasn’t like his comment had been the deciding factor for the two, but it did open gojo’s eyes. “you owe me one.”

“i don’t owe you shit,” gojo laughs, throwing his arm around geto anyways, “buuut you’re my boy and i’m not stingy. i’ll see what i can do, i know you’ve been getting a lil jealous of wifey and i.”

“shut the fuck up.” geto’s chuckles contradict his statement.

from that point on, it’s smooth sailing. gojo texts his girl asking if she’s seeing anybody. they have a little back and forth because his girlfriend assumes he’s asking for himself— which gojo gets all dramatic and throws geto under the bus for free. welp! it all worked out anyway since after he and gojo parted, you’d thought he was fine shyt. judging from your character, he doesn’t exactly take gojo’s words for what they are.

but he’ll take the opening, it’s as good as any.

time to plot.

☆ ☆ ☆

the second encounter was purely coincidental. and simultaneously embarrassing.

see, geto prides himself on his mysterious act— granted he was anything but. people see all that is gojo and automatically assume that geto has to be the cool one. it creates a perfect balance, no?

haven’t people heard of birds of a feather flock together?

so yes, he’s also a nerd. he typically enjoys spending his wednesday afternoons at dice board cafes because why not. it’s a chill, lowkey joint right off campus and not a lot of people gravitate towards, therefore the perfect spot to camp out before his evening lecture.

besides, his buddy choso works there and it gets him discounts. it isn’t the only reason he shows up, but it does help a lot on his pockets. being a student is awful, financially.

geto sips on his choco latte through a straw, browsing through the board games pamphlet as he decides what he’s going to play today. most of these games are pretty pointless if he doesn’t have an opponent, but he likes to think it helps develop his iq. he hears avenoir playing through the cafe and knows choso’s on aux.

who else could be playing this toxic ass shit?

he’s torn choosing between snakes and ladders or chess when he hears chimes at the front door, signalling somebody’s entered the establishment. he doesn’t think much of it, going on about minding his business when he hears choso say your name.

the latte enters the wrong tube and he chokes.

geto collects himself quickly, wiping any stray liquid past his mouth as his head snaps up. you’re propped up against the counter, and though he can’t see your face, he definitely recognizes your build. . . okay, yeah that sounds fucking pervy but if he stalked your page a few times, who’s business is it but his own? it’s not like you’d know. granted, he had got caught up liking one of your older photos but he took the like right back!

he debates on walking up to you. how would that even work without seeming desperate? you’ve been checking out all of his boxes so far— your face, body and attitude (question mark) are all tens. he does want to get to know you— at least be somebody in your life. but damn, why is he overthinking this? all he has to get up there and sweet talk you. he’s done this shit before.

“yo, suguru!”

shit.

purple orbs shift towards where his name was called, and lo and behold, there stands choso. and naturally, you look back to who was summoned, but god— social media does not do your face justice. he last seen you about a week ago, and had nothing but your instagram and his memory to rely on.

he makes his way to the counter and ignores you. doesn’t spare you a glance once— though he stands right at your side and watches you watching him through his peripheral. he nods at choso, “what’s up?”

choso, ever the genius, flicks his eyes between geto and you, before clearing his throat, “shoko just texted— somethin’ about a new client. how’s the studio looking?”

“booked all week,” geto answers truthfully, and he notices you’ve shifted your gaze, “little to no openings. why though?”

choso hums, jolting down online orders into a little notebook, “not even for a special friend?”

geto squints his eyes at that. there isn’t anybody he’d call a special friend that hasn’t already been booked or wouldn’t have his number to squeeze in an appointment. granted, he is a dnd warrior but even his friends know of that quirk of his, “depends. who’s the special friend?”

“me.” and he feels his heart skip a beat. fuck. he tilts his head over to the side, and good lord, your face card gave every girl on campus runs for their money. seriously, your facial features complimented you in a way that told aphrodite— the textbook definition of beauty— to go fuck herself, and hard.

“oh?” geto cocks a brow, and lets his eyes roam up and down your frame. shameless, yes, but he has a reputation to uphold. your rest in face makes his own look like child’s play, “didn’t realize we were on special friends basis.”

you click your tongue, “didn’t realize we were on lurking spam accounts but pretend we don’t exist the next day basis either,” you quip right back, picking at the white bow glued to your acrylics.

sassy. geto chuckles, now fully turning his body around to face you. you match his movements, and he toys with a ring on his middle finger, “guess you got me all figured out,” he pauses, shifting his gaze to choso, who’s already eyeing him. “sounds like you wanted me to reach out.”

“boy please,” you scoff, pausing your nail inspection. you let your hand hang, “you choked earlier because you heard my name. that corny nonchalant act isn’t the flex you’re thinking it is,” a huff escapes your lips, and geto feels blood rushing to his face. “your lurking ass was months deep into my page just a week ago— did you find any men ain’t shit vibes from the photo dump?”

choso stifles a laugh, and when geto looks at him, it dies into a cough. well damn, you really didn’t hold anything back. read him like a book actually— and it doesn’t help that gojo can’t keep his mouth shut for shit. it widens the grin on his face. he thinks he likes you.

“well,” geto smirks, “can’t say i have— means there’s still an opening.”

you furrow your brows, “oh? an opening to what exactly?”

“an appointment, of course,” he shrugs, running a hand through his hair. his locks are getting in his face, but the messy look always gets him compliments. might as well shoot his shot, “you know. . .” leaning his chin into the palm of his hand, “for a special friend.”

his double entendre definitely doesn’t go unnoticed by you. he watches how, despite the mean mugging, there’s a glint of mischief in your eyes. you’re squinting just slightly, almost as if you were weighing out the pros and cons. geto won’t break the eye contact first— he’s on a mission. he hopes the tired eyes look will be on his side this time.

tattoo or dick appointment— he would one hundred percent make an opening for you. anything to get his hands on your body.

“are we still talking about the tattoo parlour or . . .”

both you and he turn to choso, who’s watching the situation unfold. just count on him to ruin the mood, whether the obliviousness was feigned or not. choso tightens his brows at the look geto shoots him, “what?”

“i’m gonna head out,” you grab at your handbag, hopping of the seat. nicely played choso. you gather your items and slip them in your purse, sliding a few bucks across the counter. choso grabs the bills and stick them in the tip jar, nodding at her. “catch you in poly sci?”

“if you don’t skip again.” choso snorts and you flip him off, slinging your bag over your shoulder. you turn on your heel and make your way towards the exit, ultimately dismissing geto. that doesn’t feel too nice, he should probably stop that bad habit.

he rises to his feet before he can help it. his hand grabs at your wrist and notices how much smaller it seems in comparaison to his, and he hates the next words that leave his mouth, “what about me?”

you glance down at his hold on you, before looking back up at him, “what about you?” your face says everything your lips haven’t— you’re getting the ick.

he wants to wince. okay, yeah that was corny, “when do i get to see you?”

you drag out a mini hum, your gaze dancing over his silver chain around his collarbone, “dunno. you have my socials so i assume in the next hour.”

he tilts his head to the side, and the pad of his thumb grazes over your smooth skin. he doesn’t fail to notice the way your hand stiffens under his touch, “so if i slide in your dms in the next hour, i can expect an answer?”

a snort leaves your chest, and he can’t tell if it’s a condescending one or an amused one. what he does know, however, is that he’s going to be seeing you sometime soon. you take your hand back into your possession before laying it in the dead centre of his chest, pushing him back just slightly, “i’ll see you around, geto.”

his eyes trail over your figure, every step you take out of the establishment, slightly starstruck by the entirety of you— your boldness. the thrill he was beginning to feel felt like a high. he hasn’t met anybody this entertaining in a while.

“you’re so fucking corny.” he thinks he hears choso insult him from behind. he doesn’t pay him any mind, despite the middle finger that tips towards the ceiling. partynextdoor blasts in the cafe, specifically freak in you, and he hates how he finds himself relating to the lyrics,

room full of beautiful women but he only wants one.

☆ ☆ ☆

“you stalking me, pretty?”

“sure,” you nod your head, raking through the items on the clothing rack. you don’t spare him a single glance, picking a top off the rack and inspecting it, “if stalking means visiting the busiest thrift store on the busiest hour in the busiest city.”

geto lets out a small laugh, shoving his hands in the pockets of his cargos. you make him feel like a nuisance, like he’s a pest wasting your time. ironic, seeing as he wasn’t that much of a bother just last night, when you’d been indulging him in your inbox, “of course you’re the thrifting type.”

you pause your actions, price tag in your fingers as you side eye him through locks of your hair, “and you’re not?”

“didn’t mean it in a bad way, sweetheart.” geto shrugs, pulling off a cropped baby tee and bringing towards you. it has sequins sewn in the material, the gems writing out juicy couture. “this would suit you— belly piercing and whatnot.”

the top is cute, there was no denying so. a pretty shade of pink that suited your complexion, but letting his ego inflate bigger than it already was out of the question. he could tell your thought process from the judgmental look you offered, “oh god—you’re one of those fake ass, streetwearing fashionistas, aren’t you?”

geto blinks a few times, before letting out a sincere laugh. he’s been called a multitude of things before, but that one was new, “you got all that from me suggesting you buy this juicy couture tee? don’t all girls fiend over this vintage shit?”

“it’s that corny ass personality of yours,” you grab the shirt, throwing it in your cart. he wants to make a comment on that, but you beat him to the chase, “the phoney nonchalant act, the streetwear, your insta aesthetic— you’re so scripted.”

“my insta aesthetic?” he repeats, and doesn’t miss a step to catch up to you. your hands are back on the handle of your shopping cart, and if the way his elbows bump into your shoulders bothers you, you don’t make point in commenting on it. “who’s the lurker now, hm?”

you roll your eyes, pushing the strolley ahead, “don’t let it get to your big ass head. your feed screams you’re those toxic ass brent faiyaz wannabes,” he watches your fingertips rake through more clothings that pass your way, before you shoot him a glance, “let me guess— he showed on your spotify wrapped.”

his silence speaks volumes, and you click your tongue, “see? scripted.”

“and what about you?” geto counters when you make a pit stop. you pull away from your cart when a denim skirt catches your eye. you lift the skirt up to your eyes, before looking over your shoulder, cocking a brow.

“what about me?”

“the tweet reposts, the song choices for your highlights, the whole spiritual baddie persona,” he presses behind you, his chest meeting your back. he rests his chin atop your head, purple eyes landing on the clothing article that’s lowering in your hold, “if my page gives brent then yours definitely gives jhene.”

you’re mute for a second, and you chuck the skirt into the cart. you pull away from beneath him, spinning on your feet to face him, and you’ve got a scowl on your lips, “what’s wrong with jhene?”

“and you call me the toxic one.” geto pokes at your cheek. you swipe his hand away, and he laughs, “don’t get me wrong though— she makes good music. but let’s not act like she’s all innocent either,” his gaze lowers to your glossy lips, the fullness of the pair hypnotic, “a real freak. should i call you my pussy fairy?”

“do not,” you reply, weaving around him to make your way back to your cart. geto laughs, snatching a few things of the racks before dumping them in your stuff. you give him a deadpanned look and he whistles it off, feigning ignorance. “jhene’s a lovergirl. thought i was part of the men ain’t shit community.”

“you’re not gonna let that go, are you?” geto sighs. he owes gojo another thump in the head.

you roll your eyes, “thank your homeboy for that.”

“two things can be true at once,” geto fiddles with the hem of his jacket. he’s back at walking step by step with you, and you haven’t told him to fuck off yet, so he’s going to milk the opportunity out. “you’re mean but a lovergirl. you hate men but a real freak with them. right or wrong?”

you halter in your steps, and geto’s now a few steps ahead of you, so he looks over his shoulder to meet your bored expression, “i know you’re not trying to read me in the middle of value village.”

“no better time than the present,” he smiles, one that creases a dimple in his cheeks. “come on up— what are you waiting for?”

you stare at him some more, inhaling sharply, “mind you, i never invited you to join me,” you shake your head but comply regardless. cute, looks like you’re enjoying his company more than you’re letting on.

so he graces you his presence some more. he shops along with you, sneaks clothes into your cart when you’re distracted and asks you stupid questions. it’s a good time— to him at least, being able to get to know you some more without interruptions. naturally, you feign that his company is the bane of your existence, but he doesn’t miss the twitch of your lips when he taps his card into the reader at the check out.

hell yeah he’s got money to spend and is willing to show off if it means getting on your good side.

it’s only after he helps you bag your shit into your car, that he realizes this is where the both of you part ways. it annoys him slightly, but he doesn’t need to overstep his boundaries. he closes your trunk and makes his way to the driver’s side, where you’re already buckled up.

he taps at your window and the glass rolls down all the way, to which he leans forward. he’s in your line of sight now and you sigh, tilting your head sideways, “what?”

“do i get a goodbye kiss?” geto teases, honest, the boyish smirk he offers accentuating the playful undertone. the last thing he expects is you shifting in your seat, pushing yourself up and peaking your head out the window.

his smirk drops, brows jumping to his hairline. you’re really fucking close now, and for a split second he thinks you’re actually going to do it. he can see the flecks of colours swimming in your orbs, the tip of your nose bumps into his and your breath fans his cupid’s bow.

fuck, you smell really good. he bets you taste even better. his mouth is running dry, mindlessly darting his tongue out to wet his own lips. he doesn’t realize he’s let himself lean into your space, eyes narrowing on your mouth parting over his.

he’s pulled out of his trance when two fingers press at his forehead and push. he blinks his lashes, snapping back to reality as you sit back into your seat. you look amused— as if you’d played the funniest game right in his face and he’d been the star player.

“i’ll see you around, geto.”

and you drive off.

☆ ☆ ☆

“come back in a few weeks for a checkup. we’ll make sure the healing process is running smoothly. i’ll catch you soon.”

he lets out a tired sigh when the door finally closes, slumping into his seat and shuts his eyes. he’s exhausted— having woken up early for lectures and labs to back to back appointments with clients. this time around, the parlour is always booked and busy. students find it the perfect timing to get tatted to let it heal before showing it off in the summer.

it’s smart for them but idiotic for him. midterms are up, and the only time he has to study is in between appointments. he slides off his gloves and drags his seat towards his desk, redirecting his attention focus towards the blinding screen.

he feels a headache building at his temple, sipping at his iced coffee to keep him energized. contradicting, sure, but you didn’t have the luxury to be a beggar and a chooser when you were a full time student. the parlour he ran resided in his loft apartment, on the second floor. he enjoyed the comfort of his own home, spacious room and wide windows compared to outside stores.

his cat, nanako, purrs at his feet and he feels his heart swell. if there was one weakness he had in this world, it’d be her. he picks her up from the floor, presses her at his rib cage and nuzzles his nose in her fur.

“hi baby,” geto coos, and nanako lets out a sound. he continues to coddle her, fluffing her fur and rubbing at her ears, “it’s been pretty lively in here, hasn’t it? i knowww,” he coos, and as if nanako understands his words, she makes a pitiful sound that slightly shatters his heart.

geto decides to place her on his lap, her company serving plenty of motivation as he rolls back to his desk. he grabs the remote to his built-in speakers, turning the volume higher, before locking back in. exams are full of crap, and words are starting to jumble on his screen— he’s beginning to contemplate if this education shit is even worth the stress.

he’s an hour deep in jolting notes down on his ipad when he hears a knock at his front door. he scrunches his brows and glances at his agenda— he isn’t due for an appointment until another few hours. he sits it out, starting to believe he’d maybe imagined the sound. he knows it isn’t gojo since he’s celebrating an anniversary with his girl, and any other friend would’ve called to let him know they’re outside.

probably some jehovah witness shit, he thinks to himself, fingers hovering over his speaker remote to crank the volume back up. he turns back to his laptop screen, petting nanako mindlessly when his ipad flashes an instagram notification.

yourstruly.yn: open up

he jumps to his feet, chair rolling back. nanako flies to his desk, landing on all fours as she hisses at him for his suddenness. geto grabs her and kisses her ear, “sorry baby,” before sitting her on the floor. she walks off to her mini bean bag right at the foot of his desk, and he senses an attitude coming from her.

damn, he’d forgotten he squeezed you in last night in the midst of his sweet talking. that was truly a stupid move, he was already behind on studying, and because he likes to think with his head instead of his actual head, he’d fall even further behind.

he checks around the flat— picks up stray wrappers and fixes throw pillows, arranges his sheets. he was a clean man for the most part— he had been so distracted with his studies that there wasn’t much to dirty in the first place. his candles had already been lit so he knew the place smelled fine. he’s pretty positive his loft is clean enough to leave a good first impression.

he fixes loose hairs and straightens out his hoodie and sweats. thank fuck he’d showered not too long ago— he’s beginning to understand why his mother was always so insistent on being clean in case of random pop ups.

when he does finally open the door, there you stood. it was pretty chilly outside this time around, so he wasn’t surprised by the harsh wind flowing in and the clutch of your coat in your hold. your nose began reddening, and you sniffled, scowling from the cold.

you’re so cute, he sends you a smile, “hey.”

“hi,” you replied, sniffling again. “you ever planning on letting me in?”

“dunno,” he crosses his arms over his chest. he leans against the doorframe, ignoring the way he was starting to feel the frosty wind setting in his bones, “maybe if you ask nicely.”

you shoot him a deadpanned look, “move.”

“no.” geto smiles, “try again.”

“move, now.” a small pout is starting to form on your lips. he really liked testing your patience, since it always seemed to run low. you must’ve met your match— because geto always had time to fuck around.

“close, but not quite.”

“oh my goddd,” you groan, and that’s when he decides to let up. it really is colder than a bitch outside and he’d already kept you waiting while tidying up. he lets out a chuckle when you turn to the side, “i’m leaving— too damn cold for this.”

“alright, i’m playing,” geto widens the door. you stop your movements and glare at him. he aims an arm towards the inside of his loft, “don’t go, come in.”

you grumble something beneath your breath but comply, walking right past him. he follows behind you, shutting the door close and is immediately greeted back with warmth. you slip your shoes off and place them on the rack, before stepping in further into his apartment.

he slides his hands into his sweatpants’ pockets, catching up to you in the living room. your head is tilted upwards as you inspect the place though you remain in place. he stands beside you, bumping his shoulder into your arm, “so? up to your standards?”

you’re quiet for a while, letting your eyes roam around as the words build in your mind, “it’s typical,” you shrug but don’t elaborate. you’ve been staring at an art piece he’d done first year when he was fried out of his mind. you shift your gaze back to him, “where do i put my shit?”

“you can leave it in my bedroom, if that’s fine.” geto suggests and you nod wordlessly, to which he leads you to the second floor. he’s walking up the stairs and prays he doesn’t fall flat on his face— his socks can be a real bitch sometimes.

you both make it to his bedroom, with you trailing a little behind. he grabs a hanger from his mobile clothing rack, stretching an arm out to you, “i’ll hang your jacket here.”

you slide off the coat from your frame and hand it to him, to which he hangs on the rack. you circle around his bedroom with your tote on your shoulder, while he makes his way back to next to his desk. it’s pretty quiet for the most part, besides the music playing gently in the background.

your gaze lands on the cluttered items on his desk, noticing the half empty cup of coffee, notebooks and ipad on display, “did i catch you at a bad time?”

“honestly? yeah,” geto shrugs, before motioning at your tote bag. you slip it off and hand it to him, to which he sits at his nightstand, “but it’s my fault anyway, i squeezed you in a busy time. you know how exam season gets.”

“i can always reschedule,” you offer, checking your phone screen for the date, “it’s not that deep.”

“i don’t want you to leave,” geto slumps back into his seat and heaves out a sigh. he spins the chair around to catch you giving him a flat look. he leans back in his seat and spreads his thighs, smirking, “would you stay?”

“depends. are you going to be studying?” you quip, crossing your arms back to your chest.

geto ponders on what to say next. it’s not like he doesn’t want to tatt you up, but he really is caught in a bind. he also doesn’t want you to leave— not when he’s been wanting to see you since the last time he’d seen you. does he prioritize his wants or his needs?

he hums, “i’ll do whatever you want me to.”

you roll your eyes, scoffing as you make your way to his nightstand. for a second, he thinks you’re getting ready to leave and a weird feeling of disappointment settles in his gut. instead, you grab the bag and sit on the edge of his bed, pulling out your macbook and crossing your legs.

he smiles at that, “attagirl.”

“corny.” you mumble, chewing on your bottom lip as you begin typing away.

there’s a comfortable silence that fills the room. he’s back to browsing through his lecture notes, noting down valuable information and memorizing terminology. you don’t say anything either, but the sound of your nails typing at your keyboard blends well with his r&b playlist playing. sounds like you’re writing down an essay or report, depending on whatever your major is.

about half an hour into the silence, does he decide to break it. he looks over his shoulder to where you’re settled on his bed, “you good?” he checks up on you, and you let out a burnt out sigh. he knows exactly how you’re feeling.

“i guess,” you huff, twirling your necklace. your eyes are stuck on your screen, brows creasing into a scowl, “this shit is frying my brain though.”

“what are you writing?” he indulges, dropping his apple pen back onto his desk and spins in his seat to face you. maybe he’s also in due of a break— he’d rather be talking to you anyway.

“this crim report,” you answer, picking at your nail, “it’s not exactly hard but mad lengthy. i have to write a ten page report based on this article and how it contradicts societal norms.”

“ten pages?” geto whistles, rubbing at his chin. he’s settled deeper in his seat, naturally manspreading. you’re much better than him, he would’ve given up before even starting— reports were not his thing, “how far are you in?”

“i started this morning,” you hum, “so i’m four pages in.”

geto nods, “and when is it due?”

“tomorrow night.” you push your laptop off your lap. you close the screen shut and stretch out your legs, releasing a breathy moan as you relax your thighs. “i’ll do this shit later— my head’s starting to hurt.”

geto swears he’s never been so in sync in thought. he dismisses the idea of studying the second you had closed your macbook. probably a bad idea but at the moment, he couldn’t care any less, “want some entertainment?”

you cock a brow, “don’t say no stupid shit.”

“twenty one questions,” geto speaks nonetheless and finds himself beaming brightly when you scoff, “can’t a guy want to get to know you better?”

you ease yourself on his bed, slumping into his sheets as you exhale. you shift onto your side— a sinful curve at your side— tucking your knees and lean your head into your palm, “oh fuck off,” a breathless laugh and nanako makes her presence known, hopping right by you in the space between your body and the edge of the bed, “didn’t know you had a cat. she’s cute.”

“how’d you know she was a she?” geto wonders, surprised just slightly by how welcoming nanako was around you. she purred when you stroke at her fur, nuzzling further into your chest. nanako hated everyone— especially gojo, who unironically visited the most.

“instinct,” you shrugged but there’s a faint smile on your lips. not directed towards him, but his baby, “i also have a cat— he’s a fucking menace though.”

that’s one thing in common already, “like mother like son,” geto grins lazily when you flip him off mindlessly, and when you raise nanako in both your hands, he’s ready to warn you she isn’t a big fan of sudden movements— but when she mewls, the same sound she makes when geto brings home a new toy, the words die down in his throat.

he observes you both silently. you cradle nana as if she were a newborn infant, adoring and loving yet simultaneously careful and steadily. you’re cooing, calling her a sweet girl and rubbing at her ear, and nanako accepts you rather easily— too easily.

“woah.” was this those non-sexual turn ons people spoke about? for somebody so mean, you were oddly gentle with pets. he liked that— really liked that, so much that he pulls his phone out and snaps a photo of you two. but of course, because the universe loves to see him fumble, the flash goes off.

your head snaps to the side and he freezes. you narrow your eyes at him, slowly lowering nanako, “did you just—”

“so!” geto cuts you off, chucking his phone back onto his desk. it makes a loud cluttering sound, damn near knocks his drink all over, but ignores it, “my turn. what’s your cat’s name?”

“milo. and don’t cut me off—”

“milo the menace,” he cuts you off regardless, not wanting to have to decipher just what exactly possessed him to do that. he’s never done so, and he wasn’t about to explain why he’d done it just now. deflecting king! “i need to see the little guy. got any pics?”

you huff, extending a hand behind you to find your phone. when you clutch onto the device, you swing your legs off the bedside, always careful with nanako clinging to your lap. you lay her down on the floor, much to her dismay, before making your way towards him.

his eyes are stuck on your body before his mind can tell him to stop. not like it mattered much, your own eyes glued to your phone screen as you searched for the pictures he’d asked. you’ve got a matching tracksuit on— though the hoodie is cropped, thus exposing your navel piercing. he’d always had a thing for those, the pretty good jewel dangling below the button.

it didn’t help that your thong straps sat atop your waist.

he spreads his legs further open, and you stop right in between. for a moment, you’re stuck on your phone, and geto really wants to get those thighs straddling him. you look delectable— he’d pin your knees to your damn ears, sprawled on your back, and eat you out until you pleaded him to stop.

your hair was pulled back into a bun, and from this angle, he spotted scripture at the column of your neck. there was wording inked in arabic, and he made a mental note to ask you what it meant later.

geto leans back into his seat when you fold forwards, and he gets a good whiff of your vanilla scented perfume, tingling his senses in the best way, “found it?”

you nod your head, swiping through your gallery, “yeah, my bad,” you have a folder named ‘mimi’ and as expected, was filled off candid photos of your cat. he pays attention as you slide your finger on your screen, selfies of you both in the morning passing by.

“cute,” he isn’t talking about the cat, and his gaze flicks from the screen to your face. there’s still a considerate amount of space between you both, but he can see your eye colour much clearer this close up. you blink your lashes at him and he smirks, “anything else you wanna show me?”

you sniff, “don’t be gross.”

“i meant of milo,” geto definitely didn’t mean of milo. you cock a brow skeptically, and he mirrors the look, though the smile on his face grows, “what a cute lil thing,” his voice lowers and his words trail off. there’s a beat of a pause for a while, and his gaze falls on the plumpness of your lips, “you gonna let me pet your kitty?”

another beat of silence. you’re staring at his lips, and he wonders what you’re thinking. he can tell you’ve picked up on what he’s laying down (hopefully you in the next few minutes) but he can’t tell what your next move will be.

“depends. . .” a soft whisper, and he feels your breath fanning over his cupid’s bow. you flick your eyes back at him, and he finally understands the whole siren eyes shit. through lidded eyes, your stare is intense— simultaneously pulling him in closer while pushing him back. you’re toying with him, and the hand he slides up from your thigh to your ass is enough fuel. “you any good?”

he brings a second hand to the other ass cheek, and urges you onto his lap. you comply, looping your arms at the back of his neck. he feels your nails grazing at his scalp and he holds back a lethal shudder. your weight feels amazing against him— his hard on poking and making its presence well aware.

“i’d like to think i am,” he knows he is, but playing humble always goes a long way. he lets his hands run over the cup of your ass, trails back up to your hips, and slides a finger beneath the thong strap. when he snaps the material at your skin, your back arches and you press your chest against his own.

“well,” you exhale when he noses into the crook of your neck, right above your tattoo. he’s littering wet kisses at your hot skin, your taste ever so sweet against his tongue. god, you must taste divine. at your jugular, he’s able to imprint your perfume into his mind. “only one way to find out.”

geto hums at that, relishing in the way you moan at a particular suck, and focus on nibbling at that spot once more. you’re tilting your head for easier access, hips grinding against his own for better friction. your hands are soft and cautious— they trail from his nape down to his chest, and further down to his waistband.

he’s on go, ready for whatever timing you’re on. though, it doesn’t take a genius to figure out by the way your fingertip traces right above his pelvis, that you’re both on the same page. he drags his lips from the column of your neck up to your jaw, and stops right above your parted lips.

he has another cocky remark on the tip of his tongue, in typical suguru fashion, but you beat him to the chase, glossy lips pressing against his. the kiss is short and definitely leaves him wanting more when you pull back as soon as you’d leaned in— but you’re a mere centimetre away.

you whisper, not before another kiss, “don’t disappoint me, suguru.”

and he’s never ran into bed so fast.

☆ ☆ ☆

the door slams shut.

he’s left with a painfully hard reminder in his sweats that he fucked up bad. he thinks he dissociated a little between the labia flapping to the coat zipping. it’s only when he notices that instead of hearing lip smacking sounds, he hears bryson tiller’s lame ass (no shade, his ego is simply wounded), that you really left.

fuck.

geto rushes back to his bedroom, the walk of shame up the steps enough to make him want to jump off— as he takes out his phone, immediately goes through his contact list and presses on the name. it rings twice before the call gets picked up.

“yooo!”

“you still busy?” geto asks, voice hoarse as he flops down on the edge of the bed— his now empty bed. damn.

“nah, just dropped off wifey,” gojo replies. he hears music playing faintly in the back, as well as the sounds of honking. he must still be in the car, “why, what’s up?”

“i fucked up.” geto sighs, running a hand over his face.

“oh?” he isn’t surprised to find out gojo’s surprised. he’s still surprised by how the events turned out and it’s barely been ten minutes, let alone five. “say no more, i’m on my way.”

geto hangs up. he throws the phone away, before falling flat onto his bed. he picks up your scent on his sheets, your warmth slowly disappearing— another painful reminder he messed up. where he’s expecting a wet patch of anything on his duvets, he finds nothing. zip. nada.

his eyes fall shut, “shit.”

☆ ☆ ☆

“and that’s pretty much the gist of it all.”

he exhales a cloud of smoke. more silence. geto’s starting to get sick of all this silence. it was radio silence with you and now even more radio silence from gojo. his hand never stops to rub at nanako, who’s been serving as a cuddling partner in this grand moment of crisis. the only person to ever have his back.

so, geto knew that confiding in his best friend this secret of his would be risky for a multitude of reasons. for starters, geto never fucks up. this would be ultimate blackmail content for him, and geto honestly doesn’t blame him. for two, he was just giving gojo shit about never having eaten pussy. that’s just downright humiliating. and for three, he has a girlfriend who he doesn’t keep anything from. on top of that— his girlfriend is friends with the main culprit here.

overall a bad idea. he does it nonetheless, because satoru is his best friend despite it all. he isn’t too shocked when the silence is filled with bellyaching laughter, though.

“wait— i’m cryinggg,” more laughter. gojo’s now kicked his feet off the couch and is doubling forward. his shades bounce off his head and hit the leg of the coffee table. he doesn’t pause his laughing fit one bit, not even when geto throws a throw pillow his way.

it bounces off his big head and geto scoffs, bringing the joint back to his lips, “oh fuck off.”

“my fault man,” gojo apologizes though he doesn’t sound apologetic. he’s leaning forward to grab his shades back, and he’s back to swiping stray tears. “that was a good laugh— shit.”

geto hums at that, extending the blunt towards him,“glad to hear my misery has brought you entertainment.”

“see, you get it!” gojo jokes, welcoming the joint. seems like he got cocky, however, his laughing mood not quite over as he inhales. he quickly chokes on the smoke, which fades back into cackling, “oh shit—”

geto sneers, annoyance quickly rising, “quit fucking around or pass it back.” he was being pissy, yes, but his pride had been curb stomped. and it hadn’t even been an hour ago!

“nah, nah, i’m good,” gojo waves him off, despite his free hand tapping at his chest. he collects himself soon enough, and takes another hit. this time it’s successful. geto lowkey hoped it would get caught in his throat again.

“sooo,” gojo drags out, melting into the couch, “what now.”

“what now?” geto parrots.

“what’s the next move?” gojo elaborates, fingertip tapping at the blunt, and ashes fall into the tray. the end of the stick crumbles in the same way geto’s ego had earlier. “you’re gonna keep letting her think you suck at giving head?”

geto throws his head back and sighs tiredly, “what else is there to do?” he hears the sound of sizzling in the background, “i fumbled bad, bro. you don’t think she already posted about me in her girls’ private story?” more sizzling and exhaling, “i’m the storytime of the day!”

he feels gojo nudge his thigh with his foot. he looks back and the joint is presented to him. he gladly accepts it.

“what even happened?” gojo wonders. and oh boy, if that isn’t the question of the day. geto is still trying to find the answer to that. had it been out of nervousness? had he gotten too cocky? had it been her?

“i honestly wish i could answer that,” geto slips the roach into his mouth. “i didn’t feel nervous until after i realized she wasn’t fazed,” he drags out a hit and ghost inhales, “maybe it was a sign from above— to shut the fuck up sometimes.”

“maybe,” gojo snorts, throwing his legs over geto’s lap. nanako hisses at the intrusion, but the white haired man ignores her, “don’t let yourself go out sad like this. hit her back up— whatever happened to loving challenges?”

“what kind of fucked up ass challenge is this?” geto mumbles, mainly to himself.

“if i was in your shoes— which i’d never be,” because he’s gojo, he feels the need to add, “i’d put my pride aside and talk to her. like no homo shit, but you’re a great eater— yeah, no, i’m taking that back instantly.”

geto looks as horrified as he feels, “quickly, even.”

of course, gojo laughs but proceeds, “the point is, you know you’re good at it. everybody fucks up once in a while— don’t let it define you though. think of it as a minor setback for a major comeback— if you care enough, you’ll put your pride aside and do something about it. if you’re this down about it, then it must mean something to you.”

geto can’t tell anymore whether gojo’s talking about the failed pussy eating attempt or you. regardless, he knows there’s truth to his words. has to be the weed talking.

“and who made you the pussy connoisseur?” geto snorts, pressing the bud of his joint in the tray. it sizzles weakly as he kills it, starting to feel that high course through his veins.

gojo sighs dreamily, “why my lovely lady, of course.”

“looks like she taught you well,” geto relaxes himself into the tight space of the couch, settling nanako on his chest. it’s now his turn to nudge gojo with his foot, his sock-cladded toe digging at his jaw. “woulda never expected this from a rookie just a few months ago.”

“well duh,” gojo swipes his foot away, “i aced that course. got my phD in cunningulusophy and all. even won valedictorian.”

geto laughs, resting his lids. he was starting to feel sleepy, indica will do that to you, “enroll me in whatever class you took— i may need to slut myself out for extra credit. my prof’s a tough nut to bust.”

“intro to munch 101,” gojo nods his head, shutting his eyes close as well. there’s a comfortable silence that fills the air for a while. and despite the fact that his sight manipulated, he could hear the smirk dripping off his tone, “if you ever need a letter of recommendation, i got you— alumni’s honour.”

“oh fuck off,” a mixed harmony of laughter and vibrating chests.

☆ ☆ ☆

fun fact: suguru geto loves showers.

the aroma of cleanliness enhanced by thick fog. the scorching water droplets trickling down his skin, the vulnerability of his nakedness inside these four walls. he strangely feels most at ease, most raw in this moment of solitude.

he’s able to gather himself too. there isn’t much to accomplish in a shower once you’ve gotten rid of the day’s dirt. so, he likes to take the opportunity to think. to think deep and hard.

his mind’s all scrambled up. it’s been about three days since you were last in his apartment, two days since he’d thought about it, and a day since he last seen you (granted it’d been on your story, virtually, but still).

this has been the biggest feat he’s faced in a while. if he recaps it, this is what’s he gotten: he invited you over. you came the next day. he didn’t cater to you the sole reason you came. you didn’t mind. you both studied for a bit. he asked about your cat. you ended up on his lap. he ended up in bed with you. you ended up leaving with a chunk of his dignity.

that didn’t explain shit, but it did remind him of his failure. it reminded him that he’d finally met his match. it reminded him he needs to start backing his shit up. it reminded him of how good you smelled and tasted down there. it reminded him of how pretty you looked.

his cock twitches and he glances down. it also reminds him he never ended up cumming, too engrossed in his anxiety to jerk one out.

he feels as though the glass doors of his shower protect him from reality. he’s hard, though mortified, but still hard. he’d spent a long time (two days) suppressing the memory away, but there was no way to mistaken your taste on his tongue. how sweet you smelled. how soft you felt—

geto fists at his dick before he can help it. his free hand plants at the wall before him, and he works his wrist. he twists at his shaft slowly and closes his eyes— behind his lids are photographic memories of you on his lap. memories of you on his bed. memories of the scent of your panties. memories of your tits in his mouth.

sure, you’d made more sounds off the foreplay for the foreplay— but that didn’t take away how turned on he’d been. how his dick twitched in his boxers. how he’d humped the mattress. how he’d moan in your cunt.

“y/n,” geto moans your name, sinful yet hushed, his hand working faster. his thumb grazes his over slit and his gut drowns in heat. he wants a redo. he deserves a redo— you deserved a redo. ��fuckkkk,”

next time, he’ll get it right. and if he doesn’t, then he’ll want to try again and again and again— until it ends with your cunt clenching around his tongue and his face sprayed vigorously in your essence. until your thighs tremble around his face, your hand clawing at his hair and your back arched off his bed. until his name bounces off his walls and echoes so loudly his neighbours complain.

he wants a redo.

he jerks back as he paints the tiles white. the joints in his hand ache, the water from the shower head getting colder. geto pants heavily, chest heaving as his load is released from him. his cum drips from the wall and into the drain at his feet— but his dick is far from well spent. if he spends another hour in the shower, it’s nobody’s business but his own.

suguru geto loves showers.

☆ ☆ ☆

“oh. you actually showed.”

“redo,” geto pants, having sprinted from his apartment. he’d spent the next three days after his shower incident wallowing some more— at some point, it just annoyed him. though slightly underwhelming, he was on his phone in bed a few minutes ago, going through his camera roll when he’d seen that picture he took of you and nanako. his feet guided him to his car before he could help it. choso helped him out with the address.

“redo?” you parrot his words, leaning against your doorframe. you crossed your arms over your chest, and it’s only then he noticed your appearance— flimsy camisole and pink lace panties. fuck, he wants a redo now.

“i want a redo.” geto repeats, but is quickly hit with a gust of wind. he hadn’t brought a jacket with him in the midst of his impulse, and goosebumps were beginning to form at his skin. he shoots his shot, “you ever planning on letting me in?” talk about deja vu.

“dunno,” you play along, eyes narrowing. “maybe if you ask nicely.”

swallow your pride, he hears gojo somewhere in the back of his mind. he shakes that thought off quickly. this desperation had to be bigger than a pride issue— he was ready to get on his knees and beg her to let him in. pride? that had been drained to the sewers the second he busted all over his shower days ago.

“lemme in and i’ll make it up to you,” geto tries instead, taking a step closer, “please?”

that seemed to be the correct answer as you push open the door to your apartment further. you turn your back and geto lets himself drink up your backside— he hadn’t seen it last time but you had dimples sitting right above your perky ass. he watches your hips sway left and right, and even tilt your head back, a smirk etched on your face, “you comin’?”

you will be, “cute.” his lips twitch into a small smile, and closes the door behind him.

☆ ☆ ☆

fool him once? shame on him.

geto doesn’t allow himself to make the same mistakes twice. if one fuck up is enough to tear him down for a week straight then why the hell would he do it again?

you’re sprawled on your back, legs spread with enough space to fit his body in between. his hands plant on either side of your face, his bulge pushed up against your core. he feels your warmth through these layers of clothes, and he rolls his hips greedily, feeling himself already grow addicted. your chin is raised high, lids blown open as you stare at him all doe-eyed.

his brows pinch in the centre of his forehead. that faux look of innocence you’re offering is doing wonders to his dick. your tits sit beautifully beneath your top, arms back on him as you pull him in closer, and he lets himself fall prey to you. for a moment, the tip of his nose bumps into yours, lips ghosting over the other, hips colliding to meet yours.

“mhm, that’s it.” you let out a sigh, throwing your head back into your pillows. there’s an opening to your neck calling his name, and geto wastes no time to latch his lips there. he slips a hand beneath your tank top, fingernails grazing over your skin to creep up to your mounds. he flicks a thumb over the bud and you sigh blissfully again— he then cups the flesh.

he loves the way you squirm when he kisses down your body, “i got you, pretty,” stripped from your cami, his lips leave open mouthed marks all over your skin. from the column of your neck, to your breasts, down your torso and past your navel, “let me take care of you.” the lower he gets, the more intense your rawness reeks— and it’s a damned good smell.

he lands right above your clothed pelvis, and he inhales sharply. he won’t make the same mistake this time, he can feel it. there’s something lingering in the air, something indescribable— but he’s confident he won’t. because when he skips your cunt in favour to pamper your inner thighs, dragging his wet tongue all over erogenous zones, he spots dampening right where your clit would be.

bingo.

your hand cradles his hair, and the other props your body up by the elbow. he glances up at you, cock throbbing against your mattress. your beauty still renders him speechless— runs his throat dry and makes his tongue feel heavy. he doesn’t want to decipher what this means either, and decides to conclude he’s simply thirsty for you.

“suguru,” you call at him. he blinks and the hand in his hair snakes down his neck, and pushes him deeper. his nose nudges at your throbbing clit, and his tongue peeks out of his mouth to lick at the damp material before he can help it. two fingers hook at your panties and push them to the side, revealing glistening folds. your slick drips between your crack and stains your sheets. he thinks he hears his stomach growl a little.

another swipe of his tongue, this time in contact with the raw you, and a breathless moan rips from you, “don’t disappoint me this time.”

and he feasts.

☆ ☆ ☆

gojo’s woken up to a notification from his phone.

it’s still pretty late— or maybe early, and his pretty girlfriend is miles away in lalaland. she snores softly, cuddling into his side, and gojo’s ready to cuss out whoever dares potentially meddle with his girl’s sleep. he’s starting to get grumpy.

when his phone undergoes face recognition, he lowers the brightness immediately. he swipes through his notification center and notices an attachment sent by geto.

now that peeks his interest. he presses on the message.

suguboo: [1 attachment]

suguboo: passed intro2munch101 with an A+ 🫡

gojo can’t help the laugh that leaves him, though is quickly quieted down when he feels stirring at his side.

“well i’ll be damned.”

yes, gojo is obsessed with his girlfriend. also 10k words on geto???

[multific]

Between Doubt and Secrets

Emperor Geta x Reader

Summary: When Geta and Caracalla left to attend to their duties as Emperors, you stayed behind due to sickness. Geta returns he notices just how distant you are, a week passed and he thinks he knows the reason behind your coldness. 

The sound of his boots on the stone floor echoes in the quiet of the palace, each step bringing him closer to you. 

After what feels like an eternity, Geta is done with his daily duties. 

Normally, that would be a relief, a reason to smile.

But tonight, the air between you feels different. It’s heavy with a secret you’ve carried alone for far too long.

You stay by the window, watching the fading light of the setting sun. You were nervous. 

The day is ending.

The news of your child you have known for over three weeks now. The doctor confirmed your suspicion and your heart sank. 

A child wasn’t part of your plan. At least not now.

In truth, it’s thrown everything into chaos. 

But now Geta is back, and the tension in the room is thick.

When he steps into the room, his presence fills the space. 

His eyes immediately find you, but there’s something different about his look tonight. 

It’s not the warmth you’ve grown to know, not the loving look he only gives to you. 

No, tonight his eyes are sharp, suspicious. His brow furrows just slightly as he approaches.

“Where have you been today?” he asks, his voice even, too calm for the question. He was angry.

In the morning he did ask to see you, but you failed to.

For a moment, you stop. 

You weren’t expecting interrogation, weren’t prepared for it. His eyes are searching, like he already knows something.

“I was... outside. Just needed some air.”

He doesn’t immediately respond, but you can see the suspicion in his eyes.

It doesn’t take much for him to read you, to notice when something’s off. To know when you lie.

And for the last week he has been home, something has been off.

“You’ve been distant,” he says after a long pause. “Too distant. I’ve been gone for weeks, and it feels like you’ve shut me out.”

His words cut deep, though you know he doesn’t mean to hurt you. 

He doesn’t understand. 

He hasn’t seen the turmoil you’ve been living with, the fear that’s kept you awake at night.

“I’m not... I’m not shutting you out,” you say, your voice barely above a whisper. “It’s just... a lot has happened while you were gone.”

He steps closer, his eyes narrowing. 

“What kind of ‘a lot,’ exactly? Have you been seeing someone else while I’ve been gone?”

The accusation hits you like cold water. 

It’s not anger that fills his voice but hurt. 

The kind of hurt that makes your stomach swirl. 

You want to tell him that it’s not like that, that there’s no one else. But the truth is so much more complicated. And far more frightening.

“Geta, no,” you say, your voice trembling. “There’s no one else. I’ve been alone while you were gone. It’s just... I’ve been trying to figure things out.”

He watches you for a long moment, and you see the doubt still in his eyes. 

You know he’s not convinced. 

But you don’t know how to explain the truth. 

How could you tell him that you’re carrying his child when you haven’t even come to terms with it yourself?

How could you tell him that you have been inside all day trying to figure out how to finally tell him?

Especially when he specifically told you he is not ready for a child. Only the senators demand such a thing. And he doesn't want to give into their needs.

He had enough to care for already, the Empires, his brother and now this.

For a long moment, the room is silent. You tried to collect your thoughts as you played with the hem of your dress.

You and Geta loved each other. Your love was known far and wide for its fire.

Then, finally, you collect yourself. You took a deep breath and realized, you needed to say it.

“Geta... there’s something I must tell you.”

His eyes shoot up to yours, but he doesn’t interrupt, doesn’t say a word. He just waits, watching you closely, as if bracing himself for whatever you’re about to say. He prepared for the worst, he is scared you are about to break his heart.

“I’m pregnant,” you finally say. The weight now lifting from your shoulders but it fills the room instead.

The silence that follows is thicker than the air.  Almost makes in impossible to breathe.

His expression shifts from one of anger to one of pure confusion. 

He was a smart man, he probably connected the events already.

“Pregnant?” he repeats, voice low. “But... how? Why didn’t you tell me sooner?”

“I didn’t know how to tell you,” you whisper, your hands trembling as you spoke. “I wasn’t sure what to think, and... I didn’t want to disappoint you.”

“Disappoint me?” he shakes his head. “I... I don’t understand. I thought you were... I thought you were pulling away from me, that you found someone.”

“How can I find anyone Geta? I love you so much. I just didn’t know how to tell you. I didn’t expect this. I didn’t plan for it. And what you said about the senators... I was scared.”

He falls silent, staring at you for a long time, as if frozen in time. He realised it was all his fault. That day, he spoke out of anger, he didn't realise just how much pressure that put on you.

In reality, he always wanted a child with you, just on your own terms.

After a moment, he steps closer, his hands trembling as they reach out to you.

“Are you truly pregnant?”

You nod, and a single tear slips down your cheek. The weight that’s been crushing you lifts just a little.

Then, without warning, Geta pulls you into his arms. 

It’s a sudden and tight hug as if he’s afraid to let go of you. 

His embrace is tight, warm, and for the first time in what feels like forever, you allow yourself to believe that everything will be okay.

“I thought I’d lost you,” he murmurs against your hair, his voice thick with emotion. “I thought... you didn’t want me anymore.”

You pull back slightly to look at him, searching his eyes, you offer him a warm smile. 

“I do want you. I just... I was scared. This wasn’t how I imagined it would happen.”

He brushes a hand over your stomach gently. 

“You’re carrying our child, the future of Rome.” he says softly, the disbelief still evident in his voice.

“I am,” you reply, your voice catching in your throat.

His hand rests on your stomach, his fingers warm and protective. "I'm not leaving your side again. And what I said about the senators... I don't care for them. I care for you, I love you. I will protect you and our child. I promise."

For the first time in weeks, you allow yourself to breathe. 

“We’ll be okay,” you whisper, more to yourself than to him, but he hears it.

Geta presses a soft kiss to your lips, pulling you close again. His voice and heart beat fill you with hope. 

“I promise.” he whispered again. 

And you knew Geta always kept his promise.

Suddenly, your baby felt like a blessing. The future of Rome and you.

Gladiator II Collection

Taglist: 

@castellandiangelo @imagines-by-a-typical-fangirl @manduse @jacalineiscomingforyou

@mandoloriancookie @deliciousfestsalad @lilliumrorum @asgards-princess-of-mischief  

@fallout-girl219 @dracaryxzs @snowtargaryen @brevlada24

@mel-vaz @akamitrani @ange-olras @nicholaschavezslut69

~Masterlist~

ˇAO3ˇ

/YOU DO NOT HAVE PERMISSION TO TRANSLATE, TO STEAL OR TO REPOST ANY OF MY WORKS TO THIS OR OTHER PLATFORMS/

[kirammanswifey]

how would be the first time with arcane characters x fem reader (nsfw)

characters: viktor, jinx, vi, caitlyn, jayce, ekko, silco, mel and sevika.

writer's note: hi guys, this took me longer than it should have but it's finally ready and i'm pretty happy with the result. some smuts are more explicit than others, and not for any particular reason, it's just how my inspiration flowed and how i imagine the dynamic with each character's personality. as you already know request are open ;)

The room is bathed in the soft light of a lamp on Viktor's desk, barely enough to illuminate the blueprints scattered across the table. But this time, there are no scientific projects demanding his attention, only you. Viktor is sitting on the edge of the bed, his honey-colored eyes watching you with a mix of nervousness and tenderness.

Viktor

"Are you sure you want to do this with me?" he asks in a low voice, almost a whisper, as his trembling hand caresses your cheek. You can feel the warmth in his touch, a warmth that contrasts with his usually reserved exterior. Viktor has always been so cautious, so focused on his work, that this moment feels as if time has stopped for the two of you.

You nod softly, but the knot in your stomach is inescapable. "There’s nothing I want more. I want to take this step. We’ve been together for four months, I think we’ve waited long enough."

However, the words taste half-hearted, and your mind starts filling with doubts. You bite your lower lip, the weight of a secret you've carried for years pressing against your chest. Should you tell him? Will it change anything between you if you do? A small voice inside you whispers that he may not understand, that he could see you differently.

The silence stretches, and you feel heat rising to your cheeks. "Viktor, there's something I need to tell you before... before we do this," you begin, your voice barely a murmur. You take a second, looking at your hands intertwined in your lap. "I’ve never… I’ve never done this before."

Lifting your gaze just a little, you see the confusion on his face, but there’s no judgment, only patience. You take a breath and continue, even lower, as if saying it aloud was a confirmation you've avoided for years. "I’m still a virgin."

The last word comes out as a whisper, and you wish you could hide from the vulnerability you just showed. You were twenty-seven and hadn’t had sex, hadn’t even thought about it. It had never been a priority in your life. But now that you were with Viktor, it was one of the things you couldn’t stop thinking about. You look away, your fingers nervously playing with a fold in your clothing. "I know it’s unusual for my age. I always thought... it should have happened before, but it just never did. It’s a bit embarrassing."

The room fills with a heavy silence, and you fear what Viktor might think. But then, his warm hand envelops yours, stopping your nervous movements. "You don’t have to feel embarrassed," he says with a tenderness that makes your heart relax a little. "Experience doesn’t define the value of a moment like this."

You look at him and find his eyes full of understanding. "I don’t have much experience either," he admits softly, a small blush appearing on his cheeks. "I’ve always been so immersed in my work that… I never had time for these things."

Your lips curve into a small smile at his words, finding comfort in the shared sincerity. Viktor has always been someone you can trust, and this moment is no different. You felt so comfortable.

"But," he adds, gently squeezing your hands, "I’ll do my best. I want this moment to be special for both of us."

A wave of emotion envelops you, dispelling the embarrassment and replacing it with something deeper: trust. Viktor, always so considerate, makes you feel safe, loved, and it is in this space of mutual vulnerability that you find the courage to move forward.

His lips meet yours again, this time with more intention. The kiss is slow, laden with silent promises and desires that have been waiting to be explored. Viktor’s hands slide over your body with a mix of curiosity and reverence, stopping to feel every curve, every line.

You do the same, letting your fingers explore his body, acknowledging the delicacy of his movements, the firmness of his chest under your hands. Every caress is a discovery, a reaffirmation of the connection you both share.

"Let’s take it slow," he whispers against your lips, his voice soft and reassuring. "I want us both to feel comfortable."

You nod, feeling more confident with every passing second. He removes your blouse, leaving you in your bra, leaning in to plant a soft kiss on your collarbone, savoring the smoothness of your skin. His fingers worked quickly, almost desperately, on the clasp of the garment.

"I didn’t know you were so skilled at this," you confessed with a nervous giggle as you felt the usual freedom in your chest, the straps falling but still covering your breasts, only to be uncovered by a gesture from Viktor, a gesture with a grace that could only be characteristic of him.

Viktor brushed the hair covering your right ear aside, leaned in, and whispered with his marked accent, "I work with machines, my dear, I’m especially agile with my hands."

Those words filled you with courage, and you threw yourself into kissing him, your bare breasts rubbing against the covered skin of his chest. You moved your hips frenetically, your body begging for more, pleading for that unknown pleasure you were dying to experience. You wanted to taste that forbidden fruit exclusively from Viktor's hand.

With Viktor, everything was slow, full of meaning, every touch, every whisper, a promise of eternal love. Both naked in bed. The movements become more intimate, more laden with desire. You feel his warm breath on your neck, his hands finding places that make your skin tingle, your heart race faster.

And when you finally cross that line together, it’s with a mix of awe and love, discovering that experience doesn’t define how special a moment can be, but the person with whom you share it.

"Do you dare to follow me?" Jinx asks, almost as if she isn't posing a question but throwing down a challenge. Her voice is playful, but there's something in her gaze that lets you know things could get much more intense than they seem.

Jinx

The sound of metal clashing against concrete is the only thing filling the air. The lights of Zaun flicker in the distance, creating an atmosphere that feels as electric as the chaos dwelling in Jinx's heart. You're there, standing in front of her, the adrenaline still coursing through your veins after a night of mischief and shared laughter. Her laugh, like her energy, is unpredictable, dangerous, and so contagious that you can't help but smile every time she looks at you with those bright blue eyes, filled with fun and madness. The kind of madness that takes your breath away and makes you crave more and more.

You nod, feeling your body tense with anticipation. This isn't the first time you've been close to her, but it is the first time the air feels charged with something different. The atmosphere, the closeness of her body, the way she subtly touches you while questioning everything you've done wrong in your life... it all gives you the sense that this is a point of no return.

You're nervous, but the thrill of being with Jinx, that unpredictable and uninhibited girl, quickly dissipates any trace of fear. Jinx is a whirlwind, and though you know you could lose yourself in her, you also feel there's something deeper, something you've never seen in anyone else.

Jinx moves closer, her mischievous smile never fading as she gently takes your hand. "Let's do it, toots," she says with that spark in her eyes that always drives you crazy. "This will be the most fun ride of your life."

The kiss comes unexpectedly, but perfectly. Her lips are a clash of energy, warm, quick, impetuous. You're surprised at how tender her touches can be, despite being so chaotic in everything else. Her hands explore your body with a mix of curiosity and desire, as if she's trying to disassemble you playfully. One of her hands slips under your skirt and brushes against your clit with her index finger, as if testing you, wanting to see your reaction, wanting to have fun with you.

A gasp of surprise is enough to make her laugh and move faster; before you know it, she has three fingers working inside you. You didn't even have time to think, and that's exactly what you shouldn't do with Jinx. With Jinx, you just have to relax and not fill your head with unnecessary thoughts. With Jinx, you just have to accept her and not question her actions.

And that's why you didn't utter a word when she bit one of your nipples hard enough to make you scream. She was pushing you to the limit, her fingers never stopping, never ceasing to stimulate you.

Your eyes rolled back from the pleasure, that mischievous, incoherent pleasure. Your first orgasm came without warning, juices running down Jinx's fingers like a broken fountain. The second followed, feeling like stepping on cool sand on an early morning beach, refreshing and necessary. After that, you lost count. You knew nothing anymore. You were just aware that you were enjoying it as if the world were ending tomorrow.

"Tell me I'm the best, tell me no one has ever made you feel as much as I have," Jinx whispered against your neck, covered in hickeys and bruises.

You tried to focus your blurry vision on Jinx, and in her eyes, there was a fragile layer of vulnerability that you could barely grasp but knew was there.

You took her face in your hands and kissed her with much saliva and a lot of uncoordinated passion, something that made the moment even more exciting. Because it was a kiss born from your instincts, from the vulnerability of your being, and the best part was that it hadn't been perfect. It was real and authentic, like your love for her.

"You are. No one has ever made me come so many times in a row. You're incredible, sweets," you admitted between breathless gasps, your body still sensitive but arching for more.

"I knew it, I'm the best," she patted herself on the shoulder, proud of herself.

You couldn't help but laugh, the tension in your body easing a bit. Jinx had a way of making what should be uncomfortable into something liberating, something you had never experienced before.

"Well, get ready, toots. This is just the beginning," she promised, going back to attacking your overstimulated clit.

Her lips trailed down your neck, and you felt how her body responded to yours with an urgency that made you feel alive in a way you never imagined.

From there, the night was filled with tender moments, sincere connections, and a vulnerability you only shared with her.

You and Vi in your room, she had sneaked through one of the windows in the middle of the night. And her excuse for waking you up in such an overwhelming and unexpected way, was that she missed you. And you couldn't scold her, you couldn't question her for her impulsive action because you missed her just the same. And you didn't say anything when she snuck under your sheets and started eating your pussy hungrily.

Vi

Her strong arms kept your trembling legs apart, her hair tickled your belly and her tongue, oh god, her tongue was so deep inside you. She was so dedicated to her task, she was trying her best, enjoying every lick. The air in the room was filled with the obscene sounds of her tongue and your muffled moans.

Every now and then you would bend your torso to get closer to her, but Vi would quickly push you back again, immobilizing you with her hand on your neck. She didn't want you to distract her, she didn't want you to interrupt her.

Even then you wanted to tease her, you wanted her eyes to look at you. You needed it. You'd always had a dangerous fixation on her attention.

"Did you really get past the security guards and climb up to my window for this? You must have really missed me." You commented in a mocking, almost contemptuous tone.

And you succeeded, her intense gaze now locked on your face. She pulled away from your pussy for a moment to talk to you.

"From down here it doesn't seem like it bothered you much," She bit the inside of your thighs, an area so sensitive it made you moan louder than you should.

She teased you and went back to her arduous task. And you, you were going crazy, it was the first time you two had done something like this. And it wasn't even half as good as you had imagined. It was much better. You could easily tell she was an expert, she knows where, how and where to touch to make you see stars in a clear sky.

“Why are you so sweet?” Vi panted into your pussy, sucking your clit between her lips and making light circular motions with her tongue. You were going to lose your mind if she kept this up.

You leaned down and the straps of your dress fell down, one of your breasts was exposed and Vi didn’t hesitate to take it in her hard hand to squeeze it.

“Don’t say things like that,” You squirmed into her touch, your hips moving forward as she moved away from your private part.

“Oh, are you embarrassed, little deer?” She said, her typical cheeky smile coming to the surface. “You don’t have to, you’re gorgeous and delicious.” You were going to complain, but you felt two of her fingers enter your hole and all rational thought went out the window.

“Fuck, Vi,” You panted as her fingers twisted around inside you, touching parts you didn’t even know existed or that would feel this good.

Vi licked her lips, tasting you, and squeezed your neck tighter.

"Shut up, we can't let your parents hear us," Her comment made a kind of glint appear in your eyes that she didn't miss. "Or do you want us to be discovered? What a dirty girl!" Her voice has that playful mockery, that challenging tone that always makes you laugh, but also makes you a little nervous.

"No... that's not true," you answer, your words now much more uninhibited. But your voice trembles a little, betraying the confidence you try to show.

"Don't lie to me, you liked the idea," Vi pulled you closer, pulling your hair with the hand that previously held your neck. "Your pussy squeezed my fingers." She whispered on your lips, teasing and humiliating you.

You tried to deny it again, but it felt so good, you loved that she treated you so roughly. That she wasn't careful with you. That she didn't worry about hurting you. Because she knew just what to do and what not to do. Vi was fucking perfect for you, and you were fucking perfect for her.

"I don't blame you, the image is morbid. The little girl from home who doesn't break a plate being ravished by the dirty and rude criminal from Zaun. That's what your prissy parents would think. They'd think I forced you, that I'm forcing you into this. Ironic, right?" The tone of her voice is brazen, almost defiant, but there's something else in her words that makes you blush. Is she challenging you? Is she provoking you? What does all this mean? You feel trapped in her gaze, that intensity that always accompanies it, as imposing as the sound of his fists hitting a punching bag.

And the intensity of her caresses didn't cease, they only increased in magnitude more and more, you didn't know how much more you could take.

"I would love to see their surprised faces when they see the reality, that their good little girl is a fucking bitch hungry for my fingers," her hot breath on your skin feels like a touch of fire.

“Shut up,” you barked, a knot forming in your stomach.

"Why? You're getting wetter, you're enjoying this too much," Vi teases you, continuing to penetrate you, taking you to the edge.

And finally you came. You could feel the energy in your body vibrating with the same intensity as your soul moved. It was magical. Everything around you, all you can think about, is her.

Vi didn't waste the opportunity and she went back down to your pussy, feeding on every drop of your orgasm.

"Shit," You cursed under your breath as you watched her.

When she finished she stood up with a triumphant smile, the back of her right hand wiping away the fluid left on her chin. The confidence in her voice and in her actions melts you inside. Despite her defiant attitude, there's something deeply protective in the way she takes you, in how she guides your every move with a mix of dominance and care. There are no doubts, no insecurities when you're with Vi, and you realize that even though your nervousness almost paralyzed you at first, now you just feel the need to be closer to her.

"Thanks, little deer. I was thirsty," She winked at you and laid down next to you.

She closed her eyes and held you close, falling asleep as if nothing had happened, as if she hadn't just given you the best orgasm in the world.

That night, everything seemed to be aligned: the fresh air of Piltover, the soft light of the stars, and the closeness between the two of you. You had gone to deliver a report, one thing had led to another, and now you were kissing as if your lives depended on it.

Caitlyn

You clung to her body like a magnet, not wanting to let her go; finally, your greatest dream was coming true. Since you joined the Enforcers, you had been attracted to Caitlyn, and not just because of her impressive physique and British accent. Everything about Caitlyn is serene, controlled, perfect. It’s hard not to admire the calm with which she moves through the world, with her well-mannered ways and always upright posture, almost like an unbreakable force. But in that same stillness, there’s something that draws you in, something that makes you want to know what lies behind her façade.

Caitlyn stopped the kiss, her hand holding your jaw in a dominant yet gentle manner. Her dark navy blue hair was tousled thanks to your restless hands, and she was catching her breath. She looked incredibly beautiful. You didn’t think you’d ever seen such a perfect human being.

The sound of the wind is the only witness to what’s about to happen. Caitlyn is there, right in front of you, her gaze fixed on yours, deep and penetrating.

"I think what we're doing is a bit... out of the ordinary, isn't it?" Caitlyn says, her voice soft, but with a tone that makes you feel like she’s watching your every move.

“Yes, ma’am,” you reply, nervousness pulsing through your veins, but you can’t look away from her. There’s something in her calm that soothes you, but it also challenges you. The fact that she looks at you that way, almost as if she’s expecting something, makes you feel a whirlwind of emotions you don’t know how to handle.

Caitlyn takes a step towards you, just enough for you to feel the warmth of her body near yours. She observes you in silence, as if she’s evaluating every small change in your expression. “I think it’s a bit much to call me that after what just happened. Call me Cait.”

And in that moment, you felt like you melted.

“Cait,” the way your tongue savored her name was timid and tender, like testing if you weren’t doing something wrong, but a half-smile from her confirmed the opposite.

She was your superior; it hadn’t been wise of you to steal a kiss, a kiss that she reciprocated, but you didn’t know if she might punish you for it. She could throw you out of the Enforcers or, much worse, ignore you and treat you with discomfort. Doubts were eating you alive. The fear of having done something stupid was tormenting you over and over.

“Listen carefully. Through the physical contact we shared a few minutes ago, I think it’s quite noticeable that we feel a mutual attraction,” she made a small pause, and your heart almost jumped out of your chest. “However, we cannot let it affect us in the workplace. Do you think you can separate the two?” she asks, and although her tone is calm, there’s a glimmer of something more in her gaze, something deeper.

You found yourself nodding pathetically fast, like an addict when offered their favorite drug.

She smiles slightly, a soft but confident smile, as if she knows what’s about to happen is inevitable. Suddenly, her hands touch your face gently, as if it’s the most natural thing in the world. The contact is electric, and though her touch is soft, there’s a strength in it that makes you feel exposed, vulnerable in a way you hadn’t experienced before.

“Don’t worry, darling,” Caitlyn whispers, slowly leaning in. “I’ll take care of you.”

And with those words, her lips touch yours once more, softly at first, but it doesn’t take long for it to intensify. The gentleness gave way to a burning desire both of you had been holding back. She quickly removed your uniform, amid passionate and sweet kisses, pushing you onto her bed. She gets on top of you, observing your naked figure, a look of approval crossing her face, and at that moment, you felt like the happiest person in the world.

Her hands, firm but delicate, trace your body, exploring every corner with a precision that leaves you breathless. It’s the perfect contrast: her external calm and the intensity that emanates from her touch.

Every movement of Caitlyn is calculated, but also filled with an emotional connection that captures you. There’s no rush, no fear, just a desire to be close, to discover what both of you can offer in this moment. She knows how to make you feel special, how to make your body respond to her touch, how to provoke a fire inside you with just a glance.

In an instant, you are completely lost in her, in her tenderness, in her strength. Caitlyn is not like the others. The way she touches you is not just physical but reaches your soul, as if she is baring your heart while pushing you beyond your own limits. Every sigh, every brush of her skin against yours, is a promise that there’s nothing she cannot expect from you, but also that there’s nothing you should fear while she’s by your side.

When she finally stops, her gaze meets yours, filled with desire but also with something much deeper. Caitlyn doesn’t need to say anything else. You understand everything in her eyes: this is a beginning, not an end, and what happens between the two of you will only build on trust, passion, and something much more genuine than just physical desire.

“I’d love to see how far you could go if you let yourself go,” Caitlyn murmurs, with a subtle smile that makes you blush, but at the same time makes you feel like the only person in the world to her. “Do you want to let yourself go?”

Once again, you didn’t hesitate to nod. You almost protested when she got up; you had already gotten used to the weight of her body, her hands on your skin, her eyes on yours. But curiosity formed when you saw her rummaging through the cabinet beside the bed, your eyes widened when you saw her walking back to you with a black dildo.

Everything was so surreal, you had so many nerves, so many questions, so many doubts, but it all vanished when Caitlyn's fingers danced along the smooth, curved surface of the dildo, teasing you with the promise of what’s to come. Her touch sends shivers of anticipation racing up your spine as she brings the toy to her lips, her tongue flicking out to moisten the tip. Caitlyn's eyes, darkened with lust, never leave yours as she traces the contours of her mouth along the length, her breath hot and heavy against the cool silicone.

"Let's get you nice and ready," Caitlyn purrs, her voice low and sultry. She takes your hand, guiding it to the base of the dildo, letting your fingers explore the textured surface. The weight of it, the solidity, is a thrilling reminder of the pleasure that awaits you.

Caitlyn's fingers curl around yours, both of your hands now wrapped around the thick shaft. Together, you slowly inch the toy between your legs, the head nudging against your inner thigh. The first touch against your most intimate place sends a gasp tumbling from your lips, your hips instinctively canting forward.

Everything was a madness, a kaleidoscope of sensations and feelings.

"Feel how wet you are," Caitlyn whispers, her thumb circling your clit with a feather-light touch. Your arousal coats the toy, making the glide easier as inch by inch, Caitlyn slowly pushes it inside you. The stretch, the fullness, is exquisite, your walls yielding to accommodate the girth.

Caitlyn sets a steady rhythm, the toy sliding in and out of you with practiced ease. Each thrust sends a fresh wave of pleasure coursing through you, your body trembling and shaking. The obscene sound of the dildo plunging in and out of your dripping sex fills the room, mingling with your wanton moans and cries.

She picks up the pace, the toy driving deeper, hitting that spot inside you that makes your vision go white. Your cries grow louder, more urgent, as the first stirrings of your orgasm begin to build. Caitlyn's free hand finds your breast, kneading the soft flesh, her thumb and forefinger pinching and rolling your nipple.

It was too much, too much, you couldn't take it anymore. The woman of your dreams was fucking you with a damn dildo in her fucking room. You thought you were dreaming. Hallucinating.

"Come on, darling, let it go. You deserve it, you’ve been a good girl," Caitlyn whispered in her marked accent, and you didn’t need anything more to let it flow.

Caitlyn held you for a moment longer, her hand resting gently on your back. Both shared a brief sigh, allowing the calm to fill the space between you.

"Are you okay?" she asked with a slight smile, her voice soft but firm.

You nodded, taking a deep breath and feeling the tension slowly dissipate. Caitlyn moved back a bit, giving you your space, but her gaze remained attentive, as it always did.

"Thank you," you whispered, feeling a bit lighter.

Caitlyn turned towards you, intending to ask why exactly you were thanking her, but stopped when she saw you already asleep in her bed, your breathing calm and relaxed. A soft smile formed on her lips as she watched you for a moment, appreciating the serenity on your face.

Without making any noise, she got up and took the report you had brought her. She sat on a nearby chair and, with the same calm she had shown you, began inspecting the documents, letting you rest in peace while she worked in silence.

Jayce's office is impressive, filled with blueprints and artifacts that reveal his brilliant and ambitious mind. You're there, beside his desk, watching him move, standing by the window, unaware of the way you look at him. There's something about his posture, something about the way he speaks with such confidence, that makes you feel an undeniable attraction.

Jayce

But you know, you've noticed for a while: there's something about him that calls to you beyond the professional. You move closer, silently, but somehow your steps resonate in the air of the office.

"Have you finished the meeting?" you ask, your voice soft but with a clarity that makes him turn towards you. Jayce looks at you, and for a moment, everything seems to stop.

"Yes, I have," he responds, but something in his tone sounds more relaxed than usual. The look he gives you is inquisitive, but also something more. He lets you know with a smile that hides a slight challenge. "Is there anything else you need?"

Without warning, you move closer, the space between the two of you narrowing. He doesn't say anything, but you can see the surprise in his eyes when you stand right in front of him, your fingers lightly touching his chest. The air becomes dense, heavy, as if you're waiting for him to say something.

But you take the initiative. You place a hand on his neck, forcing his gaze to yours. "Yes, actually... there is something I need," you say, and the way you say it makes him fall silent. The tone of your voice is firm, but it's charged with palpable electricity, something both of you can feel.

Jayce stays still, but you can see he's tense, slightly surprised by what you're doing, as if he's not used to someone taking control in a situation like this. But it's not like he's upset, rather, he seems to be waiting for you to continue with what you have in mind.

The hand that was on his neck now slowly moves down, sliding over his chest until it reaches his waist, delving into his pants. The touch is soft, yet confident. Your fingers touch his semi-hard cock, feeling how his breathing quickens.

"And that, Jayce, is for you to stop for a second and listen to me," you say, and with a smile that's part challenge, part promise.

Jayce is left speechless, but he plays along, letting you lead him to the edge of the desk. You have his full attention now, and the way he looks at you, the way he seems to be waiting for each of your moves, makes you feel incredibly powerful. He, the great leader of Piltover, is now in your hands, and you know it.

Without taking your eyes off him, you lower yourself to his lower part, maneuvering to unbutton his pants. And when you succeed, you sigh with joy, his impressive length bouncing against your face, ready for you.

You look directly into his eyes, seeing a slight tension form on his face, but there's also something else: desire. A desire hidden beneath his facade of power and control.

"I've seen you very stressed lately, and I don't like seeing that pretty face full of wrinkles. I'm going to make you feel good, my fellow" you whisper against his cock, blowing warm air on his large, leaking member.

He seems to take a deep breath, as if he's trying to process what's happening. But when your hands start to glide along his length, everything else disappears.

Your touch is gentle, teasing at first, barely grazing his sensitive flesh. You watch, transfixed, as a bead of moisture wells up at the flushed tip, tempting you to taste. Unable to resist, you lean in and lap at it with the flat of your tongue, savoring the heady, masculine flavor that explodes across your senses.

Spurred on by his sharp intake of breath, you take him into your mouth, engulfing the swollen head and suckling gently. Your tongue swirls around him, taking him deeper on each downstroke until he hits the back of your throat. You can feel him throbbing against your tongue, growing even harder and more insistent.

You pull back slowly, releasing him from your mouth with a lewd pop. A string of saliva connects your bottom lip to the engorged head of his cock. You look up at him with hooded eyes, your lips curling into a seductive smile. "You taste so good," you purr, stroking him faster now. "I want to make you feel amazing, golden boy."

You see him lose control, but it's different. He's more vulnerable, more human, more real. And you're there, enjoying every second of that power.

The brush of your lips over his cock makes him sigh, but this time, the sigh is a whisper of surrender. He is no longer the leader of Piltover, the man of steel and determination. Now he's just Jayce, the man who yields to you, the man who lets himself be carried away by desire, by the need to feel closer to you.

With every step, you take him further beyond his limits. And as you do, he also shows you, in silence, how much he wants you, how much he needs you. Everything else fades away, leaving only the desire you both share.

But then, a familiar laugh cuts through the stillness of the night. You turn around to see Ekko, jumping from one ledge to another as if it were the most natural thing in the world, landing beside you with a smile only he could offer. The mischievous glint in his eyes tells you this night is going to be anything but boring.

Ekko

It's a cool night in the Undercity, the moonlight reflecting off the crumbling walls of the buildings as you stand atop a rooftop, watching the city sprawled beneath your feet. From here, everything seems calmer, more distant, even though life continues behind you.

"What are you doing here without me?" Ekko asks, raising an eyebrow, never taking his eyes off you. "Did you think you could enjoy the view without me joining you?"

You laugh, knowing exactly how he plays, how he always manages to make situations feel fun and full of energy. "Did you think I'd sit idly by while you strut around like the king of Zaun?" you respond with an equally playful smile.

The closeness between the two of you becomes more palpable, more charged, as if every shared word heightens the tension between you. The cool night air feels light, but the heat growing between you is anything but.

Ekko steps closer, his eyes gleaming with the confidence he always has, but there's something more. Something that makes you wonder if this moment will be different from the rest. He stands in front of you, his breath now closer to yours.

"The good thing about being up here," he says, looking you up and down, "is that no one can interrupt us." His tone is soft but with a hint of something you know exactly where it's leading.

You follow him with your gaze as he steps even closer. The tension builds, almost like a non-verbal challenge, and you can't help the mischievous smile forming on your face. Something about him incites you to play, to see how things unfold.

"Oh, yeah? And what do you want to do with all this privacy?" Of course, you knew, but you were playing along, as that was the dynamic between you.

Ekko's gaze intensifies, his lips curving into a satisfied smile as he steps closer to you. His hands rest on your hips, lightly firm but without pressing, as if waiting for something. His eyes never leave yours, teasing with the idea of what the two of you could do.

"Why use words when there are actions?" he responds, his voice so low and deep it makes you shiver. Without warning, his hands slide around your waist, lifting you slightly and pulling you closer to his chest.

The contact is gentle, but it feels like an electric jolt, as if everything between you had condensed into that single moment. He caresses your back with his fingers, as if wanting to explore every inch, but in a relaxed way, without haste. His game is subtle, but you're sure he's enjoying the uncertainty you're both creating.

"I want you," he murmurs against your lips.

You smirk and touch his crotch, enjoying his soft gasp in response.

"I know, I can feel it," you say with a provocative air, marking the first victory of the night.

But Ekko wasn't someone who gave up easily. He slid a hand between your legs, brushing against your sensitive spot still covered. You moaned and dug your nails into his shoulders.

"Yeah, I can feel it too," his tone was teasing, but not in a bad way.

A few seconds of playing, of tension, and then you dare to take the next step. You give him a gentle push, not too hard, but enough to stop his movement and make him look at you, amused but also a little surprised. "Is that all you got, Ekko?" you challenge, unable to resist the provocation in your tone.

With a low laugh, Ekko responds, "You're right, how could I underestimate you?" Then, he leans close to your ear, his breath brushing your skin. "I think this night is going to be more interesting than I thought."

In a swift move, he works on his belt, then pulls down his pants and underwear to his knees. But he doesn't stop there; he lifts you and raises your dress. In less than a second, he's inside you, large and warm, throbbing.

You gasped loudly and pulled his hair. Everything had happened so suddenly, so wild and erratic. But it was to be expected; you two had had immediate sexual tension from the first time you saw each other. Everyone knew it was only a matter of time before this happened.

The heat intensified, the electricity between you became palpable, your hips moving side to side, guided by his firm hands—it was a beautiful, coordinated dance. And before you can react, his lips meet yours in an intense but playful kiss. It's not rushed or desperate but filled with the passion you've both kept at bay, that spark that had always been there, waiting for a moment like this.

The kiss is deep, slow, as his hands explore your body softly but with a need for more. Ekko's playfulness doesn't fade, and you can feel how he changes the rhythm, how his caresses go from gentle to more demanding, as if challenging you to keep up.

"I knew you had something up your sleeve," he says, with a mocking smile between kisses. "But I didn't think you'd be this good at it." Ekko traced lines on your tense abdomen with his fingers while you rode him—you were a sight to behold. His muse. There, under the moonlight caressing your face, your body united with his, it was a masterpiece.

"It's just that you make me want to play at your level," you respond, riding him with a steady, confident rhythm.

Ekko throws his head back, allowing himself to let go for a moment, enjoying your delicious motion. His expression is a delight, mouth slightly open and brows furrowed—the face he makes when he's angry. And you've always had a particular fixation on angry Ekko, so you took advantage of the situation and kissed him once more. You needed it. You needed this. You've needed this for so long.

Every kiss became more frantic, every touch more necessary, every moan more intimate. On the rooftop, under the starry lights and the whisper of the wind, there was only you and Ekko. And that was all that mattered.

Silco

The atmosphere in the room is charged with tension. You've been close to him for some time, ever since that day he took you out of the brothel, that repugnant place that, for reasons you still don't fully understand, he allowed you to leave behind. Life with him is not easy, and you know he's watching you, testing, evaluating you at every moment. But you also know that, in some way, he's protected you, cared for you. And at this moment, that protection seems to be the foundation of what's about to happen between you two.

Silco, standing next to his desk, observes you in silence. His gaze is intense, calculating, but there's something more in it, something that makes you feel a warmth inside. You know you desire him, but you also know that in this moment, in this game between the two of you, you are not in control. And that's something that, strangely, excites you more than you imagined.

"I've been wondering for a while, dear," he says with his deep, controlled voice, "what did you learn in that unpleasant place where I found you?" His tone is cold, but there's something in his gaze that makes everything more intense.

You can't help a wave of shame mingling with desire. You remember that brothel, the looks you received, how you felt empty and worthless. But Silco didn't look at you like the others, he saw something more, something that made you feel important. Now, in front of him, you can't help but wonder what he thinks of you at this moment.

"I want to see how well you learned the lessons there. Maybe I can teach you some new ones." He takes a step toward you, his gaze now warmer but equally firm. "I'm dying to see what you're capable of doing with your hands, with your body."

The comment, though direct and unmistakably harsh, provokes you. And instead of feeling uncomfortable, you feel a surge of excitement fill you. You approach him, without a word, and with a bold gesture, your hands glide over his chest with a softness that contrasts with the hardness of his attitude.

He watches in silence, with that same look that always gives you the feeling he can see beyond the obvious. Silco takes your wrist firmly, without you resisting. He knows what he wants, and he's not afraid to go after it.

"Do you think you're capable of doing it, or should you keep waiting to be 'saved'?" The way he says it challenges you, and it's not the question that bothers you, but the way he throws it at you, as if demanding an answer no matter how much you hate or desire him.

At that moment, something inside you snaps, and you can't help it. You stare at him, defying him, knowing you want him, but not wanting to give in so easily. "Do you really think you can teach me something? I don't think so," you say with a playful tone but with that fire in your eyes that you know he likes.

His response is immediate. He grabs you by the waist and, in a swift movement, pushes you against his desk, bending your torso and pressing your face against the wooden surface. The distance between your bodies is minimal, almost nonexistent, as his hands find your underwear, in a brutal and demanding manner. There is no softness, no tender caresses; it's all hardness, passion, and control. Silco owns the moment, and you are his.

"I think it's time you see what happens when you act like a spoiled brat," he whispers, his voice low and almost dangerous. And you have the feeling you're on slippery ground, but that only increases the intensity of the moment. His cock enters you slowly, painfully slow, as if he were torturing you, and before you could say anything, he had already started fucking you hard.

Your body reacts immediately, feeling his dominance and the way his hands move over you with urgency. You don't resist because you know this is what you've been waiting for. In his thrusts, there is power, control, but also a palpable desire to possess you, to take what belongs to him.

Silco isn't afraid to show you his rough side. He caresses you firmly, no matter what you think, as if everything you have been until now fades away in the act. You are not the girl you used to be, the one who escaped from men who saw her as mere merchandise. No, now you are in front of him, showing him that you also know what you want.

"I should have fucked you earlier. You feel incredible. Now I understand why you were so expensive; you must have been one of the star workers," he says, with his rough voice, as his hands cling to your hips, pushing into you relentlessly, each movement more demanding than the last. "But now you're mine."

And though every word he says burns you, you know this is a game where neither of you is afraid to lose. Silco has taken over you, but the truth is you have also taken over him, and both are caught in this whirlwind of desire and power, where passion consumes everything.

When you enter, Mel greets you with a soft smile, her gaze as always, deep, calculating, but this time there’s something different in her eyes, something that makes you feel like you’re not in the middle of a negotiation or a political discussion, but in something much more personal.

Mel

"Stay close," she says with that soft but firm voice that always makes you feel like everything else disappears. There are no rules, no power tensions, only the weight of desire slowly building between the two of you.

The distance between you is minimal, but Mel doesn’t make the first move, she waits. She looks at you with those eyes that seem to see everything about you, making you feel exposed but, at the same time, as if it’s the most natural thing in the world. It’s as if there’s a tacit permission in her gaze, an understanding that this moment will belong to just the two of you.

The space between you fills with palpable energy, the room dimly lit by candlelight, creating a warm and inviting atmosphere. It’s not a place of power, but of calm, where the rules are different, and emotions are raw.

You gasp in surprise when you see her shed her robe, revealing nothing underneath. Her beautiful dark skin contrasted with the golden details she always wore as accessories. She was ethereal. That woman was ethereal.

Insecure, you undress as well, nervous about not meeting her expectations. Because you could never come close to her beauty and divinity. Once you’re naked, your trembling hands move to cover your body.

Mel steps toward you, her delicate but firm hands brushing against your face. "You don’t have to hide," she whispers, and the softness of her voice completely envelops you. For a moment, it seems like nothing else matters. The tension you’ve been feeling dissipates, replaced by a deep desire, something that pulls you toward her.

The touch of her fingers on your skin makes you close your eyes for a moment, allowing yourself to be carried away by the sensation. She gracefully caresses your breasts, tracing every imperfection. There’s no rush, no anxiety, only the slow rhythm set by Mel, allowing you to explore whatever is blossoming between the two of you.

"I want you here," she murmurs in your ear, taking your hand and placing it on her pussy, the warmth there sending a shiver through you. You begin to stimulate her, and she does the same to you. You can feel how her presence fills the space, how her words are not just a whisper, but an invitation to something deeper. In her embrace, in her hands on you, you find a calm you never thought you’d find, but also an intensity you hadn’t anticipated.

It doesn’t matter what’s between you, what’s happened in the past, or what will come in the future, because in this moment, the only thing that exists is Mel and you, and the connection that feels more natural than ever. She doesn’t need anything more from you, she doesn’t demand anything, but you know that what happens between you won’t be just a physical encounter; it will be a turning point, something both of you will treasure.

Mel leans into you, her lips, soft but filled with determination, meeting yours. The intensity of her kiss isn’t aggressive, but it has a depth that captivates you, wrapping you in a calm passion, where every move, every gesture, holds a meaning much greater than physical desire. Your fingers work harder to give her pleasure; you’ve become addicted to her moans, to the way her coded seriousness crumbles in front of you.

She holds you by the waist with one hand, while with the other, she caresses your cheek tenderly, as if, for once, she allows herself to be vulnerable with you. The softness of her touch is almost unsettling but so comforting at the same time. "I trust you," she says, and those words are all you need to hear.

You take control of the situation, pressing her against the nearest wall, your lips sucking on her skin, and your fingers never leaving her wet pussy for a second. She embraces you and lets it happen, allowing herself to be vulnerable with you.

The moment stretches on, and Mel, with her confidence but also with her vulnerability, guides you without rush, without pressure. There are no expectations, only the desire to share something genuine, something real.

Sevika

The alley is dark and silent, shadows are the only thing surrounding you after the mission you just completed with Sevika. Sweat covers your skin, along with the blood you’re not sure belongs to you or the men you took down with your own hands. Torn clothes and dirt on your face are reminders of what you just went through: more than 30 men, and only you and Sevika, emerging victorious from the battle.

Sevika stands by your side, her gaze fierce, her face as marked by the fight as yours. Yet, there is no fear in her eyes, only a determination that ignites something in you, a need for something more, something raw, whatever may arise at this moment. In the middle of the darkness, the air heavy with dust and adrenaline, the chemistry between the two of you is palpable, almost unbearable.

"Did you have fun?" Sevika's voice is rough, as if the battle left more than just physical marks. She takes a step towards you, her large, strong body invading your personal space in a way that makes you feel more alive than ever. It’s not just her presence that burns you; it’s the way she looks at you, as if she’s not afraid of what might happen between the two of you, as if she already knows that, at this moment, there’s only the two of you.

Your breathing quickens, not from exhaustion but from the tension building in the air. You don’t need to say anything; there’s no need for words. The silence between you fills with the mutual need that has been accumulating since the first second you clashed in that alley, fighting side by side.

"We did it, right?" Sevika almost challenges you with her words, her tone low and loaded with desire. Her body moves slowly towards yours, and when her hands grab your waist firmly, you realize there’s no turning back.

Your body trembles when her lips meet yours, rough and filled with unexpected passion. There’s no sweetness in this kiss, only hunger, a need that can’t be hidden. Sevika’s hands roam your back, pulling you toward her with force, as if she’s marking her territory. There’s no play, only the rawness of two people who’ve been on the edge of the abyss and now surrender completely to whatever comes. She makes you climb on her body, your legs wrapping around her hips.

The air smells of sweat, blood and hot skin, the atmosphere so charged that you can feel the heat of her body as if it were merging with yours. Sevika doesn't ask your permission to explore, to take what you both know you've been wanting for far too long. Sevika is strong enough to carry you with one hand and with the other to literally tear your underwear apart. She didn't wait for a yes from you, nor an invitation, because she was sure that you wanted her, oh and how right she was.

Her fingers pumped savagely in and out, the obscene sound of wet flesh smacking against flesh echoing in the close confines of the alley.

"Fuck, you're so fucking wet, little thing," Sevika snarled, her breath hot and ragged against your neck. She punctuated her words with a particularly brutal thrust, bending you nearly in half over her arm.

You could only whimper and writhe, impaled on Sevika's invading fingers, the rough brick scraping your back raw. Sevika's other hand gripped your thigh hard enough to bruise, squeezing and kneading the soft flesh as she fucked you with wild abandon.

It was pure, animalistic rutting, a savage taking of pleasure and seeking of release. Your moans turned to desperate cries, your nails scrabbling at her shoulders as the pleasure bordered on pain.

Every movement is wild, fierce, a whirlwind of sensations you barely manage to process. The sound of ripping clothes, the clattering of shoes against the pavement, and the labored breathing filled with adrenaline fill the alley. In this moment, all that exists is the way Sevika possesses you, with that unstoppable force, with the energy of someone who doesn’t ask permission but takes what’s theirs.

Her fingers never slowed, plunging in and out, stirring up your insides, until finally, with a hoarse scream, you came undone. Your cunt clenched and spasmed around Sevika's fingers, gushing fluid down her wrist and splattering onto the filthy ground below.

But she didn't stop. She kept fucking you through your orgasm, extending it, drawing it out until you were a boneless, mewling mess.

"I've been watching you all this time, you know what you're doing," she whispers between kisses, her deep voice filled with admiration and desire. "I love women who know how to fight."

Then she pulls her fingers out, bringing them to her mouth and sucking your essence from them with a low, satisfied groan.

"Tastes like a woman who knows how to fight to me," she grins wickedly.

The passion was raw, direct, an explosion of repressed emotions, and when it all ends, only the cold sweat of the battle and the warmth of her body still pressed against yours remain, the feeling that, despite everything, this is what both of you needed.

[gifsbysimplysonia]

Hola. Long rambling feedback behind the cut as well as

When he meets you, he hasn’t even thought of picking up a pencil in years. Ever since you’ve been at the mansion though, Logan’s fingertips twitch with the urge to start sketching your features every time he’s with you. It gets hard to ignore after a few days.

I think this is so beautiful. Anyone who is a creative knows how difficult it can be to find a muse. So for this person to inspire a twitch in Logan after YEARS? That's just a very beautiful thing.

He waits until he’s known you a few weeks, there’s no way in hell he’d ask if he could draw you. He’d probably embarrass you by asking, and embarrass himself by admitting he’s into fucking art. That’s not him.  Except, well, sometimes it is, when he’s inspired. And you’re nothing if not inspiring. 

And this is for BOTH 1) thinking it's not ok to be into art??? OK BUT CAVEMEN CARVED INTO WALLS, SIR and 2) "you're nothing if not inspiring" *screamingggggggggggggggggggg*

The first few drawings are shit, he feels like they’re almost an insult to you. It’s not that he’s accidentally drawing you ugly, it just doesn’t look like you. So he practises.  Logan Howlett sits down at night to practise drawing. 

I love that this fits with the Logan I know, the demand on self for perfectionism and the refusal to accept anything but. But it's especially important cuz he wants to do right by YOU/HER. *swoon*

And he totally knows that you’d never go for someone as rugged as him, that’s for sure. You deserve much more. So much more. 

Sigh. Oh Logan. Always thinking he's not worthy while he holds everyone he cares about up on pedestals. I both adore him and wanna shake him for these habits.

He doesn’t know what you’re doing to him; you’ve got him using social media.

He gets Rogue to show him Instagram for reference photos. HOW CUTE!

Logan hates how drawing makes him overthink, but he loves how it feels to create something other than violence with his hands for once – something that may even be the opposite. 

This is soooooooooooooooo beautiful. It is just a loud beacon of what Logan's heart really is. It's also really precious that he finally produces a drawing of her that he's satisfied with which then produces ANGST in him. Cuz he can't leave it out cuz what if people see? But he doesn't want to hide it cuz what if it smudges? Watching him go back and forth about it and the STRESS shows how much it means to him not to mess it up but ALSO, I think, how much it means to him to be back drawing. As a creative who goes through the longest dry patches, when a period of productivity comes up? OH DO I WANT TO HANG ONTO IT. And probably try so hard that I make it slip through my fingers.

He finally lets himself think the thought that’s politely been waiting to be allowed into his brain from the moment he decided he might take up drawing again.  He could give it to you. 

DO IT LOGANNNNNNNN!

Logan knows his drawing isn’t objectively a masterpiece, but if he’s proud of it he has to acknowledge that that probably means it’s at least decent. And you’re definitely the type of person to appreciate something like this. It’s weird admitting to himself that he’s even proud of what he’s drawn; he’s done so much in this world, who cares about a little drawing? 

YOU care, sir! And people who love you will SEE that and care too!!! Don't we all wish he valued himself and his opinions more.

The only thing is that Logan isn’t sure if he’s ready for anyone to see this side of him.

It's so precious to me, how relatable this is. Anyone who is a creative can relate, I'm sure. How nervous creatives are before they publish or they post or they even just share with someone they are close to. I wanna hug him.

He knows it’s stupid to hide but he just can’t. He decides he’ll leave the drawing in your room in an envelope, maybe a pink one to show you it’s not a creepy threat but meant as a sign of adoration, from someone who couldn’t resist but try to recreate your beauty. He won’t write his name on it, he just wants you to have it.  Sappy motherfucker. 

Some day, someone needs to tell him he can give himself permission to BE sappy. Corny is part of life and it's a blessing.

He’d doubt himself even more if he pussied out – a grown man who can’t even slide an envelope under someone’s door.  So Logan mans up and, like an idiot, kisses the fucking drawing before he puts it into the envelope. He licks the edges of it to close it and writes your name in the most anonymous handwriting he can muster and adds a little heart.  It’s soo stupid. 

It's annoying to read Logan's antiquated views on masculinity here. Completely understand that it fits with his character and how he has aged and evolved but omggggggggggg, it's just frustrating lol

You’re a friend and nothing more, and that’s fine. You probably don’t like him like that and he can deal with that.

The way we can convince ourselves of the worst possible outcome, eh? *smh*

You have one of those clear phone cases, filled with a bunch of tiny pictures and stickers (and is that your credit card?). But wedged in front of all of those is Logan’s drawing.  You turn around, giggling, “No, I don’t draw. And anyway, I wouldn’t be drawing pictures of myself. I got it in an envelope under my door yesterday, photocopied it because I was scared it would bend in my phone case. I don’t know who drew it.” 

SHE IMMEDIATELY TREATED IT AS SOMETHING PRECIOUS!!! SHE WANTED TO PROTECT IT JUST LIKE LOGAN WANTED TO PROTECT IT!!! BUT SHE LOVES IT TO THE POINT SHE MADE HERSELF A COPY TO CARRY IT AROUND WITH HER AT ALL TIMES!!!!!

“I don’t know, just, so beautiful. I’m not saying I’m not pretty or anything, but this looks… I don’t look like that. I wish I did. I can’t believe someone actually sees me like that. It’s stupid but I���.” You trail off and, conveniently, the toast is done at the same time and you move on to that.  But Logan won’t let you, “What’s stupid?”  You turn towards him with a shy smile, “I’m embarrassed.”

To see the similarities in how they DON'T see themselves fully is kind of sweet and makes me root for them.

“I cried when I first saw it yesterday. It’s one of the best gifts I’ve ever gotten. And it’s the nicest compliment I’ve ever received, for someone to perceive me in such an artistic way.”  The problem is that it makes him want to draw more, his stupid heart melting at your reaction to something he made– no, created. 

He thinks he’s sappy for drawing it but he doesn’t think the same of you for enjoying the drawing. 

This is HILARIOUS and KILLING ME because I also make rules for MYSELF that are different from the rules I have for EVERYONE ELSE lmao

He’s usually more of a silent carer but maybe that’s why he likes this. He’s not making it a grand gesture, not making it a thing that he’s the one drawing for you. It’s just for you to enjoy. 

Logan being an Acts of Service person makes ALL the sense in the world to me.

But of course now that he knows it means something to you, he can’t get anything right. He draws your hair too curly, then not curly enough. He draws your nose too big, then too small. Your eyes end up crooked. He can’t erase too much because it’ll look sloppy, so even the drawing he gets almost perfect, he ruins with a few final additions at the end. 

The curse of the sequel! I think a lot of creatives can relate to this type of self induced pressure which means nothing you produce is good enough.

“Good?” you take the frame from his hands defensively, “It’s beautiful.” He chuckles, “Sorry, I don’t know much about this type of thing. It is beautiful though.” He’s looking at you instead of his drawing.

She already has a frame for the new drawing cuz the frames came in packs of 2 and she will NOT STAND for someone not absolutely FAWNING over it and I love that from her. It's doing Logan's heart SO good to see how much she adores what he's created.

If there’s someone who’s worth it, it’s you. Seeing your pleased smile at something he made for you, he decides he’s never going to stop drawing you.

It was the stupidest joke of all that made you really laugh, some dumb comparison between Xavier and Caillou. You probably wouldn’t even giggle at it anymore now, but in the moment it was so funny you almost spat out your drink from the deep belly laugh he drew from you, holding onto his bicep so you wouldn’t fall over as tears formed in your eyes from how hard you were laughing. He wanted to engrave the image on his soul. At least he got your smile on paper.

Our man is S-M-I-T-T-E-N and I love that for him. Cuz look what it's brought back into his life?

“I didn’t know you draw”, you say without taking your eyes off it. “No one else knows.” You pretend to zip your lips, smiling, “It’s our secret.” Logan can tell that you like that. He likes it too. It feels much better to share a secret with you than to be keeping one from you.

This is so intimate. And he's finally comfortable all the way with her. She knows it's him and he's fine with her knowing it's him.

You don’t know how to put your feelings into words, so you’re kissing him instead. He pulls you down so that you’re not hovering over but sitting on his lap, and the mood immediately shifts to something different. Logan doesn’t want to overwhelm you, but if you’re ready then he’ll take anything he can get.

I appreciate that Logan is just the tiniest bit "selfish" here because this has been such an emotionally taxing ordeal for him. And she really really admires his talent and is THRILLED that it's him and that he sees her the way that he does.

From here the story slips into the Rated R portion of the story which is both hot and very sweet. The buildup means that I feel a genuine connection and intimacy between the 2 that feels "earned," if that's the right word. Cuz it doesn't feel forced or rushed or like we skipped a whole bunch of stuff to get here.

I also love that there's open dialogue. Often, the only talk between lovers is dirty - which I am a big fan of and absolutely fine with - but that here we have sweet confessions, constant check ins, and reassurances; these all fit with the journey we've been on with these two and I just really enjoy that aspect.

There's also good dirty talk, balanced give and take and praaaaaaaaaaaaise which I enjoy thoroughly. Logan also tends to take the possessive "my girl" over and over which just melts my butter!

@selfcarecap thank you so much for creating and sharing this! Thank you for following YOUR muse through to the end of this tale and then being brave enough to slip it under all our doors *bad dum tss* I really loved this look at Logan, his vulnerabilities, his abilities and desires beyond his powers / "job" and what allowing himself to create ultimately gifted him with. Well done smut that I also very much enjoyed too.

And thank you to K for putting it on my dash!

MUSE [L.H.]

Logan Howlett x reader

summary: Logan would never admit it to anyone, but over the course of his long life he has attempted to draw maybe once or twice. He hasn’t done it in years, maybe even decades, but he’s struck by inspiration when he meets you. Of course, no one can know that Wolverine draws, so he does it in the dead of night, sliding anonymous envelopes with the finished drawings of you under your door. When he sees how much you love them, he wonders if you could also love the person behind them. 

warnings: smut 18+ but with an actual plot for once (brief m masturbation, oral f and m rec, unprotected piv sex, kind of accidental (but consensual obv) facial; pet names: bub, baby, good girl, princess), soft!Logan but he won’t admit it, also soft!reader, fluff (although the summary makes it sounds a bit more dramatic than it is tbh), implication that reader has curly hair, implied mutant/X-men!reader, (obviously the pic doesn’t represent the envelopes Logan uses lol he’s not doing all that)

word count: 7.3k

also i feel the need to say something about the fact that it’s Hugh Jackman’s birthday today lol so uh thanks for being huge jacked man and for giving us our Logan yay <3 | gorgeous divider by @plutism

It’s everything Logan is the opposite of – he would never tell a soul – but over the course of his long life, Logan has attempted to draw maybe once or twice. It’s not really him, but he did have a phase or two.

When he meets you, he hasn’t even thought of picking up a pencil in years. Ever since you’ve been at the mansion though, Logan’s fingertips twitch with the urge to start sketching your features every time he’s with you. It gets hard to ignore after a few days.

He waits until he’s known you a few weeks, there’s no way in hell he’d ask if he could draw you. He’d probably embarrass you by asking, and embarrass himself by admitting he’s into fucking art. That’s not him. 

Except, well, sometimes it is, when he’s inspired. And you’re nothing if not inspiring. 

He gives in to the urge to get out pencil and paper again, waiting until everyone else has gone to sleep. The first few drawings are shit, he feels like they’re almost an insult to you. It’s not that he’s accidentally drawing you ugly, it just doesn’t look like you. So he practises. 

Logan Howlett sits down at night to practise drawing. 

He picks out a few other things to draw then, to ease the pressure that comes with drawing the woman he… is friends with. Yeah, you’re a friend. And he totally knows that you’d never go for someone as rugged as him, that’s for sure. You deserve much more. So much more. 

But after a few nights he feels more confident in his drawing skills again, but still, as much as he can picture you in his mind – he can do that absolutely perfectly – he’s not too sure he could really draw you accurately.

So he gets Rogue to show him how goddamn fucking Instagram works so that he can look at some of your pictures and use them as a model. 

He doesn’t know what you’re doing to him; you’ve got him using social media.

He can’t believe it, but the first time he seriously attempts to draw you, it’s perfect. It’s a small drawing, not even as big as his palm, capturing your gorgeous face. He thinks of adding another few lines to your eyebrows, or to your hair or another small one to the outline of your lips, but he doesn’t want to mess with it. 

Logan hates how drawing makes him overthink, but he loves how it feels to create something other than violence with his hands for once – something that may even be the opposite. 

He hides the drawing in between the pages of a book, and hides the book under a pile of random clutter on his desk that not even he would normally spare a glance at. But when he lies down to go to sleep, he gets all the stuff out again and gets out the drawing. He wants to see it again. And he can’t leave it there anyway, what if the pressure from all the items on top of it smudges it? 

But he doesn’t know what else to do with it. He can’t really have a drawing of you sitting in his room. What if someone sees? Then what is he gonna do with it instead? 

He finally lets himself think the thought that’s politely been waiting to be allowed into his brain from the moment he decided he might take up drawing again. 

He could give it to you. 

Logan knows his drawing isn’t objectively a masterpiece, but if he’s proud of it he has to acknowledge that that probably means it’s at least decent. And you’re definitely the type of person to appreciate something like this. It’s weird admitting to himself that he’s even proud of what he’s drawn; he’s done so much in this world, who cares about a little drawing? 

The only thing is that Logan isn’t sure if he’s ready for anyone to see this side of him. To see the side that has him staying up until 3AM to finely trace the lines of someone’s eyelashes and cheekbones and lips, the side that makes him feel calm inside. 

He knows it’s stupid to hide but he just can’t. He decides he’ll leave the drawing in your room in an envelope, maybe a pink one to show you it’s not a creepy threat but meant as a sign of adoration, from someone who couldn’t resist but try to recreate your beauty. He won’t write his name on it, he just wants you to have it. 

Sappy motherfucker. 

He puts the small drawing back into the book and carefully pushes it between his mattress and the bedframe to protect it during the night. God, who even is he – protecting a tiny piece of paper? He groans at himself as he turns around to go to sleep. 

He dreams of making a thousand drawings of you, with you as his live model. His muse. 

You’re his girlfriend in his dream, he thinks. 

He’s sitting in a chair in your room, drawing you as you tell him about your day. You’re lying on your bed on your tummy, elbows propped up to support your head. You’re gently kicking your feet in the air behind you, wearing nothing but a t-shirt of Logan’s, some silly graphic socks, panties with little cherries on them, and a bright, bashful smile as Logan attempts to capture your glowing features in a sketch block he’s dedicated to drawings of you. 

He wakes up with morning wood. 

Logan is no stranger to jerking off with you on his mind, so he spits in his hand and slips it beneath his boxers, stroking himself as he thinks of you. He imagines you on top of him as he jerks his cock, imagines you under him, or with your legs around his head, or you between his knees on the floor. He cums quickly and hard, leaving his boxers wet and sticky.

He goes for a run after he’s dealt with it and picks up an envelope on his way. He’s doubting himself but he knows he has to just do it. He’d doubt himself even more if he pussied out – a grown man who can’t even slide an envelope under someone’s door. 

So Logan mans up and, like an idiot, kisses the fucking drawing before he puts it into the envelope. He licks the edges of it to close it and writes your name in the most anonymous handwriting he can muster and adds a little heart. 

It’s soo stupid. 

He makes sure no one is anywhere near your bedroom, walks up to your door, and slides the envelope underneath. Except he didn’t check if you were in your room. As soon as the envelope disappears beneath your door, he hears a short creak from your bed and your soft footsteps. 

He hears the small and adorable noise of curiosity you let out – a confused hm? – and then he quickly and quietly makes his way down the hallway. He hears your voice about ten seconds later, an intrigued hello? as you open the door, but you don’t investigate further, closing the door behind you. 

Logan’s heart is beating so fast. He’s never doing this shit again. 

He’s antsy all day, waiting for some type of reaction from you. Except you don’t know that the drawing is from him so he’s probably not even getting one, and he can’t conspicuously come to your room the same day you receive an anonymous drawing of yourself. 

It’s also when the insecurity settles in. Maybe he should have added a few more lines or started the entire drawing anew. Who does he think he is pretending to be an artist? 

He shakes those thoughts off as he starts training with the punching bag in the gym. It’s not something that he necessarily needs to train, but it gets rid of some of that pointless energy. This isn’t him, worried about some lines he drew on a piece of paper – a scrap of a paper, really. Who cares about something like that? Certainly not him. 

He sleeps dreamlessly and wakes up the next day disappointed that he didn’t get to dream about being your boyfriend again. God, what are you doing to him? Making him think about being boyfriend and girlfriend. He’s pathetic. You’re a friend and nothing more, and that’s fine. You probably don’t like him like that and he can deal with that.

-

He’s not even thinking of the drawing anymore, truly, when he walks into the kitchen the next morning. It only comes to mind when he sees you, alone in the kitchen, leaning over the counter to scroll on your phone, your weird green coffee (“it’s Matcha, Logan”) next to you as you stir it mindlessly with a metal straw. 

“Hi,” you look up with one of those sweet smiles of yours, but redirect your attention to your phone. 

At least you don’t immediately say something like hey, you know that drawing you slid under my door? It was so ugly I threw it away. Since when do you even draw? 

Not that he was worried you would or anything. He hasn’t been thinking about it. Obviously. Why would he? And he knows you would never expect that it’s him; that’s the only reason he did it. He never would have given you the drawing if he thought you could have even the slightest inkling that Logan would be someone who draws. But he still wants to know what you think of it. 

“You want some toast too?” You ask, putting your phone down and turning to get some bread. He sits down at the other side of the kitchen counter and as his eyes flicker to your green drink (he still doesn’t get it), he sees it. 

“Is that–” my drawing, he almost said, “What is that?” He pretends to be confused, drawing his eyebrows together, trying his best to look inquisitive, “No toast by the way, thanks.” 

You have one of those clear phone cases, filled with a bunch of tiny pictures and stickers (and is that your credit card?). But wedged in front of all of those is Logan’s drawing. 

“Did you draw it?” He asks. 

You turn around, giggling, “No, I don’t draw. And anyway, I wouldn’t be drawing pictures of myself. I got it in an envelope under my door yesterday, photocopied it because I was scared it would bend in my phone case. I don’t know who drew it.” 

“Secret admirer?” 

Smiling, you say, “I don’t know. I won’t get my hopes up. But the person must definitely be fond of me to draw me like that.” 

“Like what?” He asks, unsure if he’s about to be offended. 

“I don’t know, just, so beautiful. I’m not saying I’m not pretty or anything, but this looks… I don’t look like that. I wish I did. I can’t believe someone actually sees me like that. It’s stupid but I….” You trail off and, conveniently, the toast is done at the same time and you move on to that. 

But Logan won’t let you, “What’s stupid?” 

You turn towards him with a shy smile, “I’m embarrassed.”

Logan stays silent. He can’t seem too pushy and draw attention to himself, but his silence makes you confess.

“I cried when I first saw it yesterday. It’s one of the best gifts I’ve ever gotten. And it’s the nicest compliment I’ve ever received, for someone to perceive me in such an artistic way.” 

Logan makes a noise of satisfaction and smiles, asking you to pass your phone so he can look at it more – pretending it’s his first time seeing it. If you think that way about it, maybe the three more lines he was going to add aren’t that important after all. 

The problem is that it makes him want to draw more, his stupid heart melting at your reaction to something he made– no, created. 

-

After a week, he figures he has to give in. Drawing another picture of you is on his mind twenty-four seven. 

It doesn’t help that he still catches you staring at the copy of it in your phone case lovingly more than once a day and you’ve put the original drawing in a special little frame on your nightstand. He thinks he’s sappy for drawing it but he doesn’t think the same of you for enjoying the drawing. 

This is for you. It’s not about him. He’s not an artist or anything like that, he’s just doing something kind for someone he cares about (which is honestly sappy enough but he tries to ignore that). He’s usually more of a silent carer but maybe that’s why he likes this. He’s not making it a grand gesture, not making it a thing that he’s the one drawing for you. It’s just for you to enjoy. 

He’ll just make this second drawing and silently put it in your room, and he’s the last person you’ll suspect. 

But of course now that he knows it means something to you, he can’t get anything right. He draws your hair too curly, then not curly enough. He draws your nose too big, then too small. Your eyes end up crooked. He can’t erase too much because it’ll look sloppy, so even the drawing he gets almost perfect, he ruins with a few final additions at the end. 

It takes him an entire month for the next drawing, and it feels more like him that it’s been making him so angry that he couldn’t get it right at first. Maybe he had the wrong picture of artists. They’re always talking about pain, aren’t they, and that’s what he experiences too (over a drawing. Who is he?). 

He takes another few days to keep track of your routine, to monitor when you’ll be in your room. He can’t have it be as close as last time. 

He ends up doing it in the evening. There’s a time after dinner when most of the team stays together to watch tv, just talk, or play some games. It’s normal for some of you to wander off, come back or stick around a bit longer. It won’t be suspicious if he leaves for a few minutes and comes back.

Logan wants nothing more than to follow you when you say that you’re going to your room for the night; he wants to see your reaction. But he can’t. All he can do is go up to his own bedroom fifteen minutes later, lingering in the hallway longer than he needs to.

Just as he’s about to give up and go to sleep, you walk down the hallway, coming back from the bathroom.

“Logan!” you call all excitedly when you see him, and his heart skips a beat. Do you know the drawing is from him? 

“Look,” you take his arm and pull him to your room, “I got another drawing!”

He breathes out in relief; you don’t know it’s from him. He smiles when you hold up the drawing, already framed.

“Were you expecting to get another drawing?” he teases.

“Noo, but the frames came in a pack of two. Isn’t it gorgeous?”

Logan looks at how your eyes sparkle, how proudly you’re showing him this drawing. All the work he put into it was definitely worth it. It’s another picture of your face, this time from a new angle, and with your hair styled differently, curls coiled another way from last time.

Logan clears his throat, remembering to keep up his act. “It looks good.”

“Good?” you take the frame from his hands defensively, “It’s beautiful.”

He chuckles, “Sorry, I don’t know much about this type of thing. It is beautiful though.” He’s looking at you instead of his drawing.

“It is. And you don’t have to know much about art or drawing to see how pretty this is. I still can’t believe someone would take the time to make these for me.”

Logan remains silent instead of saying what he wants to tell you. Of course he would take that time for you – and you don’t even know how much time it really took him. If there’s someone who’s worth it, it’s you.

Seeing your pleased smile at something he made for you, he decides he’s never going to stop drawing you.

-

He’s on a roll for some time. He’s better at drawing again now that he’s getting in practice, and he makes five drawings of you within the next weeks. Logan watches the collection of them on your nightstand grow fuller, along with your smile that somehow gets bigger every time you tell him about a new drawing.

It’s a wonder you haven’t caught on yet, but you don’t seem particularly interested in snooping around to find out who it is. You respect the person’s privacy, but you’ve confessed to him that you’d still love to know. 

“I won’t try to find out who it is. I won’t push it if they don’t want me to know… but, I mean, anyone would want to know, wouldn’t they?”

You’ve adopted the nickname of ‘secret admirer’ for this mysterious ‘they’, after Logan used the term about ten times. You were reluctant at first, because the person isn’t calling themself a secret admirer – you’d just be putting words in their mouth. But after seeing how much more beautiful the drawings get each time, you’ve accepted and admitted that, okay, yes, the person must be an admirer.

Your secret admirer Logan is particularly proud of his latest drawing, excited to bring it up to your room tonight. 

But this time he’s sloppy. He’s stayed for a few post-dinner card games with the team, and it’s risky, because you’ve been saying that it’s your last game for the last two rounds. But he also knows that you always say that, and never mean it.

Logan gets up to leave, and he hears Scott convincing you to play just one more round.

It’s stupid, really, risking it like that. Even if he’s gone from your room in time before you come upstairs, you could easily guess that it’s Logan. He’s the first one leaving the round tonight, so your first assumption could be that it was him.

Maybe subconsciously he wants to get caught. He’s seen how you light up at every drawing, and no matter how much you respect your admirer’s anonymity, of course you want to know who’s dedicating so much time and work to drawings of you. Of course it’s crossed your mind that the person isn’t just doing this because they’re a good friend. They’re drawing your face because they think it’s beyond beautiful.

Logan doesn’t really know why he hasn’t told you yet that he likes you. He’s good at flirting, and he’s attractive – he’s not blind. But with you it’s different, there’s a bigger risk, for the both of you. The older he gets, the harder it is to open up to yet another person. You’re friends, and you talk about personal things, but confessing that he’s in love with you is different.

Not to mention this stupid recurring dream he keeps having, in which you find out it’s Logan who’s been drawing you, and suddenly your opinion of the drawings changes. You don’t like him back like that, and suddenly the drawings feel creepy if you think about him staying up late drawing your face.

He rolls his eyes at himself and gets the thought out of his head, taking the small envelope out of the back pocket of his jeans, smoothing his hand over it. He looks around, making sure no one sees him.

Logan bends down to slide the envelope under your door as usual, but one of the corners of the paper catches against the wall, and he quickly opens it to check the drawing isn’t damaged. His heart is beating so fast, he feels stupid. 

He can hear footsteps, still far away, but he can hear them. Logan messily licks the edges of the envelope to close it back up, but it’s not sticking. He can’t decide between shoving it under the door like this or leaving now and bringing it back the next day. He can feel his heart hammering against his ribcage now.

Then he hears it. He miscalculated how far the footsteps were.

“Logan?”

He turns around slowly, and it feels like the world has frozen.

You come closer, looking at him and then at the letter that he must’ve dropped. It hasn’t made it under your door yet.

He says something before you can, “I’m delivering for someone else.”

“Who?” you ask, bending down to pick up the envelope. If he wasn’t petrified, he’d enjoy the view of you bent over in front of him.

He breathes. He can’t have anyone taking credit for his work, for his art (you called it that recently, he would never). But his heart is beating so fast he doesn’t know what the fuck to do or say. 

This is exactly why he never wanted to do any of this. He’s making a fool out of himself and that doesn’t usually happen, especially not over a piece of paper. Logan is confident, cocky even, he can admit that, and has no idea how to deal with things like being nervous; he never has to. This really isn’t him.

You don’t wait for an answer and look at the envelope. You open it so carefully, gently taking the drawing out with your fingertips. You’re treating it with so much care he immediately feels better. Again, this isn’t for him, it’s for you. (Well, it’s for him too but it’ll take him a while to admit that). 

He’s drawn your smile this time. You were happy in most of the drawings before, but he focussed more on the eyes, and your lips only ever tugged up in a slight smile. 

This one is a full-toothed grin, mid-laugh. 

You two were drinking last weekend. He barely felt it but your tipsy, giggly mood was contagious. He couldn’t imagine himself feeling any other way but blissful when you’re happy around him. 

It started when Logan made a casual comment about something silly Scott was wearing that night, and he had you giggling. He wanted to immediately hear that angelic sound again, of course, and so he gave you every joke about your shared friends he could think of – all light-hearted, but he was still glad you two were alone. 

It was the stupidest joke of all that made you really laugh, some dumb comparison between Xavier and Caillou. You probably wouldn’t even giggle at it anymore now, but in the moment it was so funny you almost spat out your drink from the deep belly laugh he drew from you, holding onto his bicep so you wouldn’t fall over as tears formed in your eyes from how hard you were laughing. He wanted to engrave the image on his soul. At least he got your smile on paper.

You look up at him now, eyes filled with tears. 

“You drew this?” you ask.

He nods softly. He can’t say it but he hopes the drawings convey how in love with you he is. 

Suddenly, Logan feels like his heart has stopped beating.

You’re kissing him. 

You’ve leaped up, wrapped your arms around the back of his neck, and now your lips are on his. 

He feels your mouth falter, probably because he’s being a fucking idiot and not kissing you back. Logan places his hands on your waist to pull you further towards him. Then his brain finally catches up and he can do what he’s wanted to for so long. 

He takes your chin with two fingers and angles you so you can kiss him easier. He closes his eyes and revels in the feeling of your soft, warm lips against him. You’re soft and warm all over. Your top has slipped up over his fingertips at your sides, and he slides his hands further around your back to support you against him even better. 

Logan’s tongue pushes at your lower lip, and you let out the sexiest, tiny moan of surprise as you part your lips for him, granting him access. 

His tongue touches the tip of yours and from then on your cravings intensify. You feel your way over his muscular shoulders, his big biceps and over the hard planes of his chest. When you’ve had a good feel there, your hands grip his shirt in desperation and Logan gets even hungrier for you. He gently bites at your lower lip, but then you shriek into his mouth and squirm out of his grasp. He opens his eyes wide. 

You grip Logan’s forearm for support when you bend down in a panic, picking up the drawing you just dropped. You let out a big breath of relief when you see it hasn’t been damaged. 

“You made me drop it!” You slap a hand to his chest; it doesn’t actually hurt and it’s not meant to, but it leaves a pleasant tingle behind instead. 

“I didn’t do anything”, Logan laughs, and you shake your head at him with a smile.

You take him into your room where you make him sit on the bed while you stare at the new drawing in awe. “I didn’t know you draw”, you say without taking your eyes off it.

“No one else knows.”

You pretend to zip your lips, smiling, “It’s our secret.” Logan can tell that you like that. He likes it too. It feels much better to share a secret with you than to be keeping one from you.

“I’ll only draw for you anyway, so there’s no point in telling anyone else.”

“You’re really good. I love the drawings.”

Logan gives a satisfied hum at your words, “You inspired me. Can’t have you walking around all pretty and not expect me to try and recreate it.”

You straddle Logan and hover over his lap to hug him, “They’re the best thing anyone's ever given to me. Do I really look like that?” You say the last question more quietly, and Logan wraps his arms around your sides, careful not to bump your hand that’s still holding the drawing.

“You’re more gorgeous than anything I could ever capture, but I think it comes close. I didn’t change anything about you to make you more beautiful. I couldn’t if I tried. I just tried to draw you as accurately as possible, that’s why it’s so beautiful.”

“I really love it,” you say again, happily staring at the details of the drawing. Hearing you say the word love so much tempts Logan, but he doesn’t want to move too fast. He doesn’t want to overwhelm you. He does, however, want to kiss you again.

Logan carefully takes the framed drawing and puts it on your nightstand. You push your mouth against his before he can initiate the kiss, and he grins against your lips.

You don’t know how to put your feelings into words, so you’re kissing him instead. He pulls you down so that you’re not hovering over but sitting on his lap, and the mood immediately shifts to something different. Logan doesn’t want to overwhelm you, but if you’re ready then he’ll take anything he can get.

Your chest is pressed against Logan’s, and you can feel the rise and fall of his chest when he breathes. You may or may not be pressing your boobs against his body on purpose.

“God, baby, I’ve waited so long for this,” he says, already breathless, as his hands trail down your back, leaving goosebumps behind.

“You’ve waited long?” you raise your eyebrows, grinning, “I’ve wanted to fuck you since the day I met you.”

You see the look in Logan’s eyes changing as he bites his lip, “Who says I didn’t want the same?”

You giggle, “Why did it take us so long?”

Logan chuckles, readjusting you so that you’re even closer to him, “I was too busy to actually talk to you, just been starin’ at you so I could draw you.” His cheeks have the faintest red tint, and you kiss them, hugging him.

You whisper into his ear, “Then it was worth the wait. And anyway, it’s not talking that I’m interested in right now.”

He pulls you back to look into your eyes, then at your lips. “Where do you want me?” he asks. You giggle slightly helplessly; you weren’t entirely prepared to have a man like Logan at your mercy like this tonight.

“You can do whatever you want,” you say softly, kissing him.

Logan’s lips are hungry against yours, strings of spit falling between you two, but he pauses the kiss to lie you on your back. “Wanna eat you out,” he husks, “Been dying to know what you taste like forever, bub. Can I?” He reaches for the hem of your top, and you nod so that he can pull it off you, admiring what’s underneath. 

“Sometimes I make myself cum imagining that I’m going down on you,” you confess somewhat shyly, but you figure he’s been so vulnerable for you that you can share a secret too.

Logan smirks, and pulls off his shirt, “Maybe we can make your dream come true then.”

You move to sit up, but he insists on eating you out first. You both take off all your clothes, staring at each other with huge smiles on your faces for a few moments. You’ve never seen Logan this happy.

“Look at you, baby. So pretty,” he leans down to kiss your lips, then down your neck, all the way to your legs. He spreads them, lying down between them as he all but drools at the sight of your wet pussy.

You get nervous all of a sudden. “It’s been a while,” you tell him. He looks up, taking your hand, enveloping it completely in his much bigger one.

“You sure about this? We can wait,” he gently kisses your knuckles, and a warmth spreads in your chest, slowing your heartbeat down a little.

“I’m sure,” you nod, and Logan comes up again to kiss you. The head of his hard cock catches against the space above your clit, and you both look down between your bodies. When Logan looks back up at you, his eyes are desperately begging you. You place your hand on his head, threading your fingers through his hair as he moves down your body.

“Such a pretty fucking pussy,” he mumbles into your thigh, kissing you there. You giggle, getting comfortable, your hand never leaving his hair.

Logan starts eating you out, his tongue gentle but determined against your clit.

“Taste so good, baby. Even better than I imagined.” You hum at Logan’s words, already feeling yourself come undone with his mouth on your wet pussy.

You sink further into the mattress when he starts sucking on your clit, licking into your pussy like a man starved every few moments, and your thighs squeeze around Logan’s head, and it’s even better than in his fantasies.

“Feels really good,” you tell him, pulling on his hair to stop yourself from moving too much, and Logan moans against your skin. Hearing your words motivates him even more, and he pushes two fingers into your wet pussy. He curls his fingers, rubbing up against that spot that makes you see stars.

Your back arches as you cum, Logan’s lips wrapped around your clit as your legs push harder against his head, and all he does is moan, revelling in the feeling.

Logan doesn’t stop licking your pussy until you’re tugging his head away by his hair, and he comes up for air with a grin on his face. You smile back, pulling him up to kiss him. You give yourself only a few seconds of recovery time before you make him sit down. You know you’d never have enough strength to actually make him get into a different position, but he lets you.

You push him onto his back, getting between his legs. You’re blinking up at him all prettily when you ask, “Can I suck your dick? Please?”

Logan huffs to himself because he can’t believe how hot you are, can’t believe that this is really finally happening. He tells you yes – he has no more words to describe how badly he wants this – and he watches you wrap your pretty lips around his cock.

It’s hard to grasp that it’s really you doing this right now – the woman he’s been into for so long. His cock is in your mouth and you look so gorgeous with spit running down from your lips, and all he can think of is all the dirty drawings he can now make of you, if you’ll let him.

He closes his eyes when you take him deeper, enveloping him with your warm, wet mouth. “Good girl,” he whispers absent-mindedly, too gone to say much more.

You’re not using your hands as you suck his cock, your spit trailing down on him, and you’re so eager. But it’s also late, and he sees you getting tired, eyes blinking slower as you pause to catch your breath every few moments. He also sees the determination in your eyes, and the absolute want, but he doesn’t want you to exhaust yourself. 

You look so sexy all fucked out, strings of spit connecting your mouth to his cock as you pull away another time, giggling up at him shyly when you realise that he’s noticing you getting tired.

“Just need a second,” you wipe your mouth, out of breath, and it’s not that you’re not incredibly hot like this, but he still wants to fuck you tonight and he’s not sure that will happen if you keep going.

“C’mere, baby,” he says, reaching out his hand.

“Huh?” you ask, taking his hand nevertheless.

“Get back here, baby. I’m gonna fuck you now, alright? Don’t want you tiring yourself out.”

You let him lift you and put you on your back, but you pout, “Wanna taste you.”

Logan grins, “I’ll cum in your mouth, princess. Promise.”

You smile at his answer, satisfied, so you lie back down, pulling your legs up to your chest. His cock looks huge as he jerks himself off between your legs, rubbing the tip against your clit, making you squirm.

“Don’t know if I can take you,” you bite your lip. You’re not entirely sure if you mean it or not. You definitely want to try.

“We’ll make it fit, baby, we’ll make it fit,” Logan assures you, leaning down to press a kiss to your mouth, a mix of your wetness and his precum between your mouths. You feel his cock at your pussy, “You ready?”

“I’m ready,” you nod desperately, letting him push his cock into your pussy. He pauses after a few inches, but you wrap your legs around his waist more tightly, and he goes deeper.

“Y’okay, baby? You can take it, right?”

You nod, unable to form words with your pussy stretched like this, a combination of pleasure and pain between your legs – but it’s infinitely more pleasure.

“That’s right. You’re my good girl, hm?” He kisses along your neck as he bottoms out, and you both moan when he’s got his cock fully stuffed inside you for the first time. He pulls out slightly when you whine at the stretch, but you scratch down his back to get his attention.

“I can take it,” you tell him, and you watch the look in his eyes darken.

He begins to fuck you, the pain subsiding more with every thrust into your wet pussy. You can barely take him, but it feels good. With your slight tiredness, you feel like you’re floating on cloud nine. 

You can’t believe that Logan – your super hot friend Logan who you’ve been fantasising about for so long – is fucking you. He not only feels the same way about you, but he’s been your secret admirer this entire time, taking hours and hours out of his day to make you smile. You’re the only one he wants.

And now he’s fucking you, fucking you well, and you feel so warm inside, not just from the sex but you feel warm in your heart, because of Logan’s care.

“You okay?” he asks, stroking a hand down your face when he notices you’re not entirely present. You nod happily, smiling up at him, and you can’t talk because you feel so good.

“Good, that’s good, bub, but let me know if it gets too much,” he says as he starts rubbing your clit, watches you nod while he’s fucking you so well, and he’s so big and so deep inside of you, “Squeezing me so tight, baby, feel so fucking good.”

You cum suddenly, letting the warm pleasure flow through your body as Logan keeps fucking you through it, rubbing your clit in just the right rhythm.

“That’s my girl, taking it so well,” he moans, breaths stuttering. You slump against the pillow after a few moments, with a soft smile on your face, and Logan pulls out.

“Gonna make me cum, baby,” he jerks his cock, and you sit up on your elbows immediately, looking him in the eyes with a smile as you stick out your tongue for him. He promised.

Logan moans when he cums, painting your face in his release, jerking himself off. He holds your head in place with his other hand, aiming for your mouth but you’re making no effort to catch his cum there.

“Such a pretty fucking face, princess, ’m cumming all over it,” he rasps, shooting more ropes of his cum all over your cheeks, jacking off onto your face.

You open your eyes when he’s done and breathing heavily, and you smile up at him. You open your mouth, taking the head of his cock between your lips to suck off the last drops of cum.

“Look at you, baby. Look so fucking pretty with my cum all over your gorgeous face.”

You hum, pulling your mouth off him and licking your lips, tasting his salty release. You brush a finger over your cheek, sucking it into your mouth to taste him more. Logan kisses you then, the flavour of himself mixing between your mouths.

He cleans you up gently, carefully wiping your face with a baby wipe and kissing every inch of your cheeks afterwards. You take his face to kiss him properly, and if you didn’t seem so tired Logan would be ready for round two immediately.

“Next time you could try to actually cum in my mouth,” you tease, making Logan grin.

“Sorry, baby. Got too excited. Couldn’t focus on asking you again if it was okay.” He presses an open-mouthed kiss to your lips.

“It’s okay,” you tell him, “I liked it.”

Logan grins, “Oh I could tell you liked it, baby.” You lightly slap his chest as you giggle, pulling him in for another kiss.

You cuddle for a while, not saying much because you don’t have to. You’ve both waited for this for so long that you’re just enjoying the moment, enjoying that it finally happened.

You slip out of his arms to sit on top of him. You’re in nothing but panties, the blanket bunching around your hips. You lean your hands against his chest as you tell him more about how much the drawings delighted you. And Logan cares, of course he cares to hear that, but he’s also just a man seeing the woman he’s into naked for the first time still. 

You become quiet when you realise that he’s not listening, and you giggle, “Distracted?”

Logan grins, “Just a little fucking bit, baby.” His eyes don’t leave your body, and you laugh as you bend down to kiss him. He grabs your ass, kneading the flesh. When you slightly sit up again, your tits are near his face, and he can’t help himself. He cups your breasts, playing with your nipples, making you hum.

“I should draw these,” he looks up at you, “Should draw every perfect fucking inch of you.”

“You wanna?” You adjust how you’re seated in his lap, and you feel that he’s already half hard under you again.

“Maybe after I’ve fucked you again.”

You smile, feeling yourself growing wetter on top of him.

“Tomorrow,” he continues, and your smile drops.

“But you’ve got to get more familiar with the inspiration, right? If you’re going to draw me.”

“That’s true, baby. But I think you’re too tired.”

You smile bashfully, ignoring how your eyelids were drooping shut just a few seconds ago, “Okay, but then I’ll have more energy for tomorrow.”

“That’s my girl,” he smiles, pulling you off him to cuddle you again. He tucks you in and kisses your head. 

You turn to your side, taking one of the framed drawings and looking at it for a while. 

Logan watches you looking at it, and the sparkle in your eyes never fails to make him feel all warm inside. “Now that you actually know about it, I don’t have to draw you from memory anymore. I can study my muse in peace.”

“Aww, I’m your muse?” you beam.

“Of course you are, princess. You’re the only reason I’m drawing again.”

“I love your drawings so much.”

Logan clears his throat, and looks at you. “Well, I love you. So, I think that went into them.”

You look at him, pouting and then kissing him. “I love you too,” you say into his mouth. He grins against your lips, pulling you closer to kiss you some more. He can barely grasp that you just said that, but he’ll have enough time soon to comprehend how lucky he is. 

For now, he takes your hand, and asks, “The question might be redundant now, but do you wanna be mine? Be my girlfriend?”

“I’m already yours.”

Logan grins, takes you in his arms, and you’re still cuddling when you’re both drifting off to a peaceful sleep.

P.S. reblog with a comment and let me know your favourite moment/what you liked to get a drawing from Logan under your door tonight and a facial <33

gorgeous divider by @pommecita

[ofbatsandballads]

please take this. I made myself cry writing it and I have nothing to say except that putting ya’aburnee and darling by halsey on my jason playlist was a brutal choice. also look up flower language if you want additional feelings.

There’s so many things you want for Jason Todd.

You want him to get a good night’s sleep for once. You let him close his pretty seafoam eyes and lay his head in the crook of your neck as you scratch gently at his scalp. It always calms him down, grounds him in the here and now. Your arms around him, your fingers carding through his hair, the rise and fall of your chest that’s synced with his–it all reminds him that he’s safe, that he’s home. You want that feeling to follow him into his dreams, to let him find true rest. So when his body goes tense and his breathing gets labored, you hold him closer and hum gently into his ear until whatever haunts him in his sleep is chased away by the comfort you bring.

You want to make sure he’s protected. You wish you could deflect every hit, blade, and bullet away from his body. You wish he would see his body as something worth protecting. He would stop if you asked, would settle into a normal life as best as he could. You would never ask because to do so would be to deny the part of him you love most: his heart that beats to help others. So you protect him in the ways that you can. You stitch cuts and treat burns, you mend his jackets and help clean his guns. More than anything, you guard his peace of mind like it’s the most valuable thing in the world. You’re never cruel to him, never scream vicious words or toss him out into the cold night. You call Bruce and thank him for the first edition Jane Austen novels that arrived on your doorstep on August 16th when Jason just…can’t. You let him grip your hand brutally tight under the table when you go to the manor for Thanksgiving for the first time. And when it gets really bad? When he feels the burning of green waters that breathed life into him that he didn’t want, when hideous laughter echoes in a place it’s never been? You do something no one has ever done for him. You wait. You stay. You stay by his side until he can breathe again, until dawn breaks and he can see the light again. And always, always you, haloed in it like an angel he doesn’t think he deserves. He does.

You want him to have a good cup of hot chocolate. He told you about it once when he came home after a long winter patrol. Half delirious from exhaustion, he reminisced about how Bruce would make them both a cup of hot chocolate after particularly rough or successful patrols in December. How this specific hot chocolate had no equal—even Alfred couldn’t replicate the richness and warmth. You noticed the fondness in his voice, the longing so intense that it still makes your heart ache for him. So you do some light stalking and hunt down Tim Drake, demand that he give you the information you want or else you’ll disclose how he really lost his spleen to Bruce (why he was dense enough to tell Jason, you’ll never know). And that is how Bruce Wayne, billionaire philanthropist single father and the Batman, receives an email with the subject line “URGENT: Recipe Request” that reads as follows:

To whom it may concern,

I have been made aware that you have a remarkably compelling hot chocolate recipe that is hitherto unparalleled by cafes, franchises, and butlers alike. I am emailing you to inquire about my being sent this recipe post-haste. This is less a request than a demand. I will do my best to ensure that you, at some point in time not specified (it will take great effort on my part), are able to witness the consumption of the hot chocolate by the individual that will be receiving the product of the recipe.

Best regards,

Someone who loves your son.

Bruce sends the recipe the second he receives the email. He has to sneak his phone under the conference table at the Wayne Enterprises board meeting to do it, but he still manages to reply in two minutes and forty-seven seconds. And you make good on your promise. You don’t think you’ve ever seen Jason shine as brightly as he does that Christmas, lit up by the lights on the twelve foot tree as he sips his hot chocolate from the same red mug that’s been sitting in the kitchen cabinet since he last drank from it. The matching black mug is clasped in the hands of the hot chocolate connoisseur himself, who smiles softly like the magic of the season has returned to his life for the first time in ages.

You want him to heal. It’s a big ask; you know that. But you’ve never been one for giving up hope, and if anyone can manage to achieve the impossible, it’s Jason. So you tell him it’s a great idea when he jokes about getting a therapist. You wait for him in the car the first time he goes and you let him open up to you in his own time when he comes out of the appointment body tight as a bowstring and eyes bloodshot. You watch quietly and celebrate the little victories you see him win. He can call his father first now; he doesn’t do it often, but he can. He can talk to his younger brother without hating his hands and the blood that’s been spilled on them, without going out on patrol and intentionally letting all the worst hits make contact. He can go out to lunch with his older brother and his youngest, can laugh with them over that ridiculous thing Bruce did at a gala once to make them all laugh. He can bear his birthday a little bit better now, can accept the cake you bake and actually make a wish when he blows out the candles. But you’ll never know about the moment that you start to get what you want. Jason goes to visit his own grave on the anniversary of his death and finds a bouquet of red carnations, baby’s breath, and honeysuckle with a note in your handwriting that reads “Someone told me once that you were magic, that that was the best thing about you. I think it’s far more important that you were loved. I don’t know what you could’ve been. I don’t wonder about it like those that loved you did because all I know is who you became. He’s wonderful. He’s still magic. I think you’d be proud of him. I’ll do my best to take care of him for you.” He sits there for an hour in tears. Then he takes one bud of each flower and the note, goes home and presses them into the pages of his favorite book. He holds you in his arms in bed that night and feels, for the first time in a long time, a sense of peace down to his very bones.

You want—above all else—Jason Todd to feel loved. You want him to feel so cherished and wanted that he cannot possibly look at himself without realizing that he is something precious, something beloved. So you tell him that you love him and you accept his warm embrace as his way of saying it back. You make him chocolate chip cookies and sneak one into the pocket of his tactical pants when he goes on patrol (they’re soft, they don’t get crunched when he’s thrown from a roof). You read his favorite books to understand what he’s saying when he goes off on tangents about class and social hierarchy and how they governed life in the 19th century. You trace his scars and kiss away his tears when he can’t believe that he could be transformed from a being marred by brutality into a man revered with gentleness. You will love him until the day you both die. You will love him in death, until whatever atoms made up you and him come together again. You will love him until everything that ever is or ever was ceases to be in a supernova of light. And maybe, just maybe, you’ll love him in whatever is born after.

[remxedmoon]

your friends don’t know what to do.

so!! i redrew every single enemy in the game. in the span of like 9 days (excluding the king i made him right after the last update). that’s abbbout 79* drawings total, with only 3 custom ones for once!! i’m so normal. as always, these are free to use with credit!! go nuts!! spritesheets are included <3

got some notes under the cut, along with As Many Enemies As I Could Fit without making this post obnoxiously long. and i failed. i had to swap between the app and browser several times and i still couldn’t fit every drawing. open this post at your own risk (silly).

okay so first of all. what’s with the asterisk. well. I Drew A Lot More Than 79 Assets Actually. they’re getting posted separately, because this post is ABSURDLY long. you can find most of them in the miscellaneous folder, but for a bit of clarity, i added the teleport map and a bunch of ui elements that reference sprites from the icon sheet. and also the game over and loop back animations but i haven’t finished the spritesheets for those because they’re a pain in the ass so they’re not in the drive yet

if you missed my complaining a few days ago, a few enemies might look a bit crunchy in the actual game? specifically, calamité and désespoir were drawn at the wrong size, because their images in the files do not match the spritesheets! i avoided the issue with most of the other enemies, those two just blindsided me. sorry about that!

^sadnesses having inconsistent designs was actually a running theme with these. détresse rock has an unused design in the files (which i managed to catch before having to redo it thankfully), anxiété has extra spikes that don’t appear on the spritesheet (sorry i was too lazy to fix that one), even the version of the friend rescue in the files doesn’t match any of the frames in the spritesheet. hfjfhfj. sorry about the quality issues.

tangentially related to that, massive thank you to @riggedbones for grabbing the individual frames for the animations for me!! they made my life so much easier. vs friends would’ve been so annoying…

speaking of the animations! hi can you tell i’m not an animator. these were my first time doing Anything animation related since, like, middle school. super sorry for the Jank in some of these! the friend rescue looked way better when i drew it 💔💔.

bourdon’s hands also might act a bit odd, my apologies. the sizing ingame is SUPER inconsistent (why is one of the hands SMALLER than the other????). once i’m able to actually test the mod, i’ll try to fix it wauaua.

the 3 custom sprites are for the triplets! i ended up making two versions for each, one that follows the ingame art, and one with my personal designs for them. i like my own designs for them, but they’re a lot easier to tell apart? so if you want to use the ones that fit the gimmick better, they’re also in the drive 👍

this update. was originally going to have way more custom art. i’ve actually got an act 6 siffrin enemy asset in my art program! but school started and i decided it’d be better to just get the normal stuff done. so the mod can actually come out in a reasonable timeframe. promise that’ll all come out Later! sorry about the wait 😓😓😓

also adding this because i almost forgot: no i don’t know if these are compatible with sasasaap. i don’t have the game still and it’s not my main priority atm, apologies!

okay! that was a lot! and there’s a ton of art down here! thank you for reading all this, i’ll be back with the game over animations and teleport map pretty soon! like. within the weekend. enjoy!!!

[simmplerussiangirl]

The Fugitive

Ambessa Medarda x The Reader

Synopsis: It's very simple. You're Ambressa's wife and you were afraid you could kill her with your magic. So you ran away from the capital. It's about what happened after that

Word count: 1.2k

Author: Sorry, I'm really crazy about magic and Ambessa.

Three weeks ago during your training with Ambressa, you couldn't do anything. Your magic, your legs, your arms weren't working, it was like someone had replaced you. And so when you were once again working with a new spell, you couldn't hold the magic in your hands, and a large ball of pure energy exploded in your hands. It didn't hurt you, because your magic is an extension of you and it can't hurt you.

 But Ambresse... The woman managed to cover herself with her shield and didn't get badly wounded. But the magic hit her arm. You instantly ran over to her as you recovered from the shock. Her left arm was bleeding, and the cuts were in the shape of the runes you'd drawn so diligently in the air a couple minutes before.

« It's okay, Witchy « the girl wheezed and leaned on her other arm to stand up, drops of blood falling from her hand to the floor. « It's okay, I'm not going to die from these scratches. Don't worry, you didn't hurt me badly and the runes didn't go deep under my skin. You just cut my skin. Don't worry.»

 But I just watched in silence, unable to say anything. The thought flashed through your mind of what would have happened if Ambressa had been standing there without her shield as usual. Would you have killed her? Most likely.

 That night you fled the capital, hoping to shield your beloved wife from yourself and your magic. But, of course, you were found and brought back.

Now you enter Ambressa's office, where she has been negotiating with her people about the war. Your heart sinks as she throws the warriors out of the room she was talking to in a cold and menacing voice. As the men left the room not forgetting to bow to you and Ambessa, the woman stood up from the table and walked around it. Leaning her hips against it in front of you, she folded her arms across her chest. You could feel waves of displeasure from the girl, and she didn't even try to hide it. For a while, you were both silent. You because you were insanely ashamed of what you had done. She because she was waiting for your excuses.

 You looked at the hand you'd wounded and saw the scattering of rune scars and breathed heavily, raising your gaze to her eyes.

« I was scared» you swallowed and hugged yourself to your shoulders, trying to pull yourself together «scared that I might accidentally kill you with my magic. You're very lucky you had your shield on that day. If you hadn't, it probably would have ended very badly.»

 I lowered my eyes to the floor, unable to find the strength to look into her eyes, where you could see the depths of worry and boundless love.

« Villains can't have family and happiness. I knew that, but I hoped it wouldn't affect us, but it did.»

«You're not a villain» Ambressa said in a steady voice, not trying to comfort, but rather stating it as a fact.

« I almost killed you!»

«But you didn't.»

«But I could» I cringed even more at the thought of it «that's why I left, because I don't want to. I can't live with the idea that I've done you irreparable harm. Now you've led with your hand, but what if.... If next time it doesn't work out.»

 Ambressa was silent and only watched you standing by the door like a little battered kitten who doesn't know what to do.

«You can run around as long as you like. But I'm gonna find you wherever you are. I'll find you and I'll bring you back home to me. You're my wife, my responsibility and I won't let you think you're evil. Even if you destroy the entire Earth, I'll find a million excuses for you and make everyone believe it. Let alone the fact that you hurt me a little while you were practicing. It's just a scratch and you couldn't have hurt me worse.”

 Ambressa moved around the room like a predator. Her steps were slow and measured. Her arms were folded across her chest as she sat down on the couch near the fireplace. The fire danced across her face, making her features look more and more menacing. The girl didn't look at me, which made my heart whimper.

 She certainly was not angry now. She was never angry with you. Was displeased or pissed off, but not angry. At the moment her heart was gripped by anxiety. A vice gripping her heart at even the phantom possibility of losing you. She was terrified that one morning she would wake up and realize you were gone again. The thought alone made her clench her eyes, trying to push such a thing away from her.

«But...»

« No buts.»  Ambressa said it in a tone after which there could be no arguments. She cut off any doubts, causing a flame of hope and boundless love to erupt inside you. Seeing you slump your tense shoulders, the girl smiled and spread her arms, inviting you into her strong, warm embrace. «Come to me, my Witch.»

 And you came. Of course you did. Almost running, you threw yourself into her arms, wrapping both arms around her waist and hiding from the world in her neck. You greedily inhaled the pleasant scent of the girl's perfume mixing with her natural odor. It was such a familiar scent that you had missed so much in a couple of weeks that it seemed that if you hadn't heard it for a couple more days, you would have gone crazy.

 Ambressa's hand stroked your back in a soothing gesture. She kissed the top of your head a couple times and turned back to the fire, glad to have you around again. The demons inside her calmed down, no longer lashing out, wanting to kill anyone who looked at her the wrong way. The creatures quieted, and Ambressa sank into the long-awaited calm, clutching you to her.

 You, in turn, clutched her clothes in your hands, afraid to open your eyes and not see your beloved. At such an action on your part, Ambressa laughed a little, admiring your childish behavior.

«Have you had enough of running?» she whispered into the top of your head between kisses.

 You didn't say a word, but nodded affirmatively, drew your legs closer, and turned to the fire.

«You won't run away again?»  Ambressa's hand gently tousled your disheveled hair.

«Never again in your life.» You whispered, and rested your head on her shoulder, moving it slightly, like a cat wanting to be petted. « I thought I was going to die without you... I missed you so much. Waking up every day and not seeing you, not hearing your voice, not feeling your touch - it's my hell...»

« I love you.» You continued after a little silence. «More than anyone else in this world.»

 The clan head moved her hand to your shoulder and pressed you against her. Her heart ached pleasantly at your warm words, she literally melted when you told her how you felt.

«Me too, Witchy, me too.»

Thanks for reading. If there are any comments I accept criticism in a mild form. Don't break my heart :)

[sevikasbooyahh]

𝐍𝐎𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐄𝐕𝐄𝐍 𝐌𝐀𝐓𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐒

Pairing: Caitlyn Kiramman x Reader

Summary: It’s been a few days since the war ended, Caitlyn is recovering from her injuries. Despite that, she still has the responsibilities of a Kiramman that weigh upon her. Luckily, she has you to ground her.

A/N: Love my wife DOWN—this is a bit long cause I just love writing from her perspective (in a way). This is her late birthday present :3

She looked through the scope of the sniper with her remaining eye, focused on the target; the bright red spot in the middle of the silhouette head.

Bang!

The golden bullet soared through the air, the Kiramman crest implanted on it shining through the air. A quick swish interrupting the silent atmosphere.

It missed the bullseye, by a few inches.

Dammit.

She growled under her breath, looking down at her sniper. The sound of it slamming onto the ground echoed through the empty room.

She’s been in here for quite a while, hours. She didn’t get a single shot but was determined to stay until she got one. Talk about stubborn.

She’s known for her excellent shooting skills, one of the best in Piltover. And now…she can’t even hit a single bullseye.

What a disappointment.

What would Grayson think, seeing the girl she trained in shooting, not even able to hit the target?

What would her mother think? Her daughter had done so much damage. Went against her morals and now deeply regretted it, the amount of guilt she felt is a consequence itself.

What a disappointment.

She attempted to take deep breaths, a practice she’s been working on with you. But the feelings kept bubbling up, like an active volcano, on the verge of a damaging explosion. So caught up in her thoughts, the sound of your footsteps didn’t register.

“Cait?,” you tilted your head into the room, watching her stiff form slightly relax at the sound of your voice. She didn’t look back, shame settling in from her outburst.

“Baby, you’ve been in here for hours, it’s starting to get late,” you spoke to her gently, being careful not to aggravate her any further.

“I still have work to do,” the words came out in a cold tone. She turned her head in your direction, didn’t look at you.

A sigh is all she received in return. “Don’t stay up all night,” with that, you walked back down the hall; heading to the bedroom.

The room was incredibly spacious, its tall ceilings and wide walls created a relaxing environment. In the middle was her bed, a queen size, large enough for the both of you.

Her wealth was a privilege, she is privileged. She realized at a very young age, not everyone has what she has. And that always plagued her thoughts, especially when she first saw Zaun’s condition.

Do your part, help those who are oppressed under this system.

It was always felt like her responsibility.

—★—

In her office, Caitlyn stared at the letter in front of her, sent by the council. She hasn’t visited a meeting ever since she declared her position as a decorated officer; firmly explaining her objectives to take down the system in Zaun.

Dear Ms. Kiramman,

We call you to a mandatory meeting, tomorrow at noon. There are many issues to be discussed.

- The Piltovian Council

She bit the inside of her cheek, going over the words several times. Ever since her mother’s passing, the chair was passed onto her. Although, Mel, near a sister to her, advised that she took the time to grieve, so much for that.

The mage was going to leave for Noxus, it saddened her, even if she would visit and send letters; it wouldn’t be the same.

She isn’t completely lonely, she has her father, and you of course. It’s like an itch, it won’t go away.

Maybe it’s because the older woman was the sister she always wanted. Similar to how Jayce was the brother she never had. Now he’s gone…left another hole that she can’t fill.

—★—

It was past midnight, the cold air from the open balcony door provided at least a touch of fresh air. You forced yourself to stay awake, waiting until Caitlyn came back to bed. Even while in and out of sleep, she was the first thing on your mind; knowing she was cooped up in her office, trying to rush through paperwork that wasn’t due until weeks from now. She’s been working herself to the bone. You were afraid that if she kept pushing and pushing, her body would drop from exhaustion.

The door creaked as it slowly opened then shut. She stood there for a moment to test if you were awake; she got her answer when you turned around to look at her. The dark lighting of the room preventing you from seeing her features.

The sheets crinkled under you as you got up from the bed; taking her hand and leading her to her bathroom. “I know you haven’t been properly taking care of yourself. I can smell it,” you scrunched up your nose, attempting to lighten up the mood. The slightest smile traced her lips but faded as fast as it came.

You carefully undressed her, revealing her bare body, nothing you haven’t seen before. Your finger traced the stitches of where she had gotten stabbed; trailing it back to her eyepatch.

“You can take it off, you know?” You looked at the patch that matched her hair. You had to admit, it was adorable.

All she did was give a single nod, slowly removing it—the hidden eye finally seeing the light. Doctors had to perform a tarsorrhaphy, as her eye would not be able to close on its own.

It didn’t bother you because it ‘altered’ her appearance but that she would struggle. Her depth perception was poor, she wasn’t able to navigate how far away objects are. It hurts your heart to see that she’s been getting so frustrated with herself and having occasional outbursts.

You zoned back into reality when she turned on the hot water, steam soon filling the room. She didn’t like her showers just hot but boiling. It concerned you at one point of how her skin didn’t get irritated.

She stepped in and her shoulders slightly dropped, bowing her head down. Stepping in behind her, you grabbed her wash cloth and lathered it in soap.

You rubbed the cloth against her body, cleansing her skin. She moaned quietly out of relief, she really needed this.

—★—

A strangled gasp escaped her mouth; gasping for air as she awakened. The nightmare playing on repeat in her mind.

Jinx. Torture. Gun to her head.

She hardly talked to you about her time with Jinx. How deeply it affected her. Her mother’s death was the tip of the iceberg. What that girl did to her haunted her every night afterwards, she couldn’t even bathe by herself. It was you that got into the shower every night and protected her from the hallucinations that lingered.

You knew what happened as soon as you felt her jolt. Reaching to the nightstand and flicking on the lamp, partially lighting the room. You could see her clearly.

Her chest moving up and down with every breath she took. The sweat dripping against her pale skin. How her eye was wide and scanning the room as if cautiously looking for somebody.

She sighed, lying her head back down on the pillow. “I’m sorry..” she whispered, the words cracking like an object under pressure. “I—I know I’ve been distant as of late. I just…everything’s coming back to me. It’s overwhelming, like I’m suffocating.”

Pressing your body against hers, you held a hand to her cheek, gently stroking your thumb near the eyepatch. She leaned into your touch, her eye closing at the soft sensation of your palm—savoring it.

“You’ve been through so much, we both have, and that’s not stopping me from loving you.” You lift her head to where she’d meet your gaze.

Water swelled up in her eye, though she tried to blink it away, a tear still fell. You didn’t wipe it away, instead letting it linger.

“I’m here,” your soft whisper caused her to finally break. Her eyes squinting as she let out a quiet sob, burying her face into your neck. It’s the one place where she felt safe, secure. Your hand rested on the back of her head, stroking the deep blue hair.

“I…” she sniffled, “I don’t deserve you.” You never wanted to hear those words coming out of her mouth. Sure, maybe she didn’t deserve you, her actions needed to come with consequence. But from what you’ve seen, she’s been beating herself up over this.

And after all that she’s been through, you never gave up on her. Even if her grief led her actions, resulting in chaos.

You were determined, and that’s what she loved most about you.

“Nothing will stray me away, okay? We’ll get through this together.” You looked down at her for confirmation. She lifted her head, giving a small nod.

She slowly wiped her tears away, “I think I need a break,” she admitted with a humorless laugh. “I’ve been so focused on trying to fix everything that I set unrealistic expectations. I can’t do everything but…what am I going to do?” She looked into your eyes, searching for an answer.

“What you need to do is take it slow, progress doesn’t come immediately. Patience is the most valuable thing you can have right now.”

The words seemed to get through to her, thankfully. But all she really wanted—needed right now, is you.

You laid back down on the soft but firm mattress, pulling her down with you. “Try and get some actual rest,” her head rested on your chest, cheek pressed again it. Her long legs tangling around your frame, pulling you closer as to mold herself into you.

“I love you..” her muffled words vibrated across your body. “I love you too,” you smiled as your eyes began to close.

She couldn’t ask for anything better.

A/N: Definitely the longest fic I’ve written in a while, it shows how much I love her!

[quarterlifekitty]

can you write out or create the hardest fuck konig has ever given reader when they first move in together???

❤️❤️❤️

make it nasty if possible, thank you so much for everything you put out 🫶

so I started this about a million years ago, and it's not really what I'd call done, but I just wanted to get it posted lol

König loves coming home knowing that you’re already there. It just makes him feel so warm inside— to turn onto the street and see the lights on already. Sometimes he waits at the door for a moment before coming in because he likes to hear the tap of your footsteps coming his way— he knows you listen for his car, you like to come to meet him at the door. When he does open the door, he barely crosses the threshold before you’re jumping into his arms. 

“Happy that I’m home, honigbiene?” He can feel you nod, lifting his hood to kiss his neck. He finally sets you down so he can take a look at you. He’s pleased to find you freshly showered, sweet-smelling, and wearing one of his shirts as a nightie. “And what did my darling do all day today?”

“I waited for you to come home.” And suddenly you’re back in his arms, being swept away to your room upstairs. He’s almost trembling with how much he needs you. 

“Do you have any idea what it does to a man? To hear his woman say things like that, schatz?” He’s almost panting, his heart in his throat from how raw and scorching your words make him feel. He thinks about tossing you onto the bed for just a moment, but he decides he doesn’t want to be separated from your warmth for even that long, and neither would you. 

He wrenches his hood off so he can kiss you like he’s trying to eat you alive, his tongue stroking into your mouth. He wants you so bad he doesn’t even care to be self conscious about all of his scars on display. 

König pulls at his belt, though he’s tempted to just rip everything down and deal with the chafe later. He lays you down and parts just enough to push your shirt up, moaning at the sight of your cunt getting your panties so wet that they’re almost see through. He’ll pull those off— but leave his shirt on you. He can swear he sees strings of your wetness clinging to the cotton. 

“How long have you been wet like this, meine liebe? Since I came through the door?” He doesn’t pause his motions for you to answer, pulling his cock free and smacking it against your mound. 

“I dunno… maybe.” The smile on your face isn’t quite temptuous, but it certainly isn’t innocent either. He leans down to kiss it clean off of your face.

[4chensungs]

don’t kiss and tell

brothers best friend!jisung x fem. reader

after the incident of your brother finding out you hooked up with one of his friends, you promised to yourself to never look out for him anymore. but who says he’ll give up on you that easily?

wc. 2.8k

warnings. smut (mdni), jisung is down bad, body worship like crazy in here, tit sucking, fingering, ass slapping, unprotected sex

part 1 for context here <3

IT HAS BEEN one whole month since you last talked to jisung. one month since you saw him probably for the last time in a hot minute.

the last few weeks have been extremely unusual; you keep questioning yourself how was he doing, if he's even ever going to appear at your house again to hang out with you brother, like he always did. he's probably not.

and fuck jaemin, fuck him for screwing your bond with him. it's useless, pure jealousy and he's so stupid!, stupid for being this mad with one if his best friends of years, simply because he thinks you're still a child.

on the other hand, jisung is being not so subtle in the way he still wants you. he keeps liking the pics you post on your instagram stories, sometimes even replying to them. and it's the sad fact you're not giving him a single reply.

his mind wanders to the thought of you being already completely over him, wanting to distance yourself fully right now, thanks to your brother.

but your heart knows that's not what you want, and it keeps giving you a warning that the next time that you see him, these feelings will come back stronger than ever.

you miss him. so bad, thinking about him makes you sick.

you're laying in bed, scrolling quietly through your phone when the damn notification appears. why does he keep trying? you sigh out loud.

the__and.y liked your stories.

you ran your hands through your hair, turning off your phone to stare at the ceiling to collect your breath. you can't, your brother is still furious with both of you.

jisung ♡: why do u keep ignoring me in every existing social media

is he really going to do this? at this late at night?

jisung ♡: i miss you

you kept reading his messages and not replying. you didn't contact him for a month.

maybe, just maybe, things may have gotten lighter with jaemin. perhaps he's not really remembering this whole thing, yeah?

you: i'm sorry jisung

you: idk if this is right i really don't know

you: im confused

you turn off your phone again while waiting for his reply. let's give it a try.

jisung ♡: why wouldn't it be right

jisung ♡: jaemin can't control your life, you can do whatever you want

hm.

you: i felt bad that day and he's still so mad with you

you: idc if he's mad with me, he's my brother at the end of the day

you: i worry about you and how hes fucked up your friendship

jisung ♡: baby you know what's fucked up

jisung ♡: you trying to convince yourself that you don't want this because of him

jisung ♡: say to my face that you don't want it

you want this so fucking bad. to be in his arms again, and the thrill of being with him behind closed doors. god, that's all you want in every way.

you: ji

you: i want to see you

jisung ♡: that's right

jisung ♡: i've waited for this princess

jisung ♡: waited so long

you: i need you

you: i don't care anymore

you really don't give a fuck - your brother can hold his protectiveness instinct for himself, he actually can. you can't control what your heart aims for.

and it screams for park jisung.

"you can't ignore him forever, you know that?"

"who says I'm ignoring him? I texted him yesterday saying he should come this weekend." jaemin huffed, acting oblivious to the fact that the only reason why he invited jisung over was because of the boys' annual end of year party.

chenle deadpans at him with his stare, letting out a chuckle, "if you didn't invite him I would've done it myself." he paused, turning his head to look at the man, "that would be bullshit."

bullshit. jaemin swore he almost threw chenle out of the car in the harshest way possible - clicking his tongue in pure annoyance, "yeah, it was just fine when he fucked my sister behind my back."

"i'm pretty sure they did not fuck."

if you didn't then why were you both half naked. in his car. at your backyard?

"i'm telling you, I saw it. she was literally on top of him and she was fucking moaning his name, chenle. that's fucking wrong." your brother spat while still not looking at his friend - eyes focused on the road.

chenle keeps going, "cut this off, jaem. you can't see her as a baby anymore. let her live."

jisung is indeed coming to your house again - sooner than you thought. but it did take some days for you to find out, tho. you brother wasn't the one who told you.

in the same day, the last messages jisung sent you before you went to sleep.

jisung ♡: dress up prettily for me tomorrow

jisung ♡: will you?

you: what??

you: you're coming???

jisung ♡: jaemin told me to go and yeah i didn't expect it as well

jisung ♡: dreaming of you again

jisung ♡: kissing your sweet lips holding you so close to me

jisung ♡: it'll be all mine princess

you: go to sleep ji

you: silly

jisung ♡: i'll show you what's silly tomorrow

—

the sound of the boys laughing and loud pitching talking in the living room did quite mess with your head, anticipating the moment when he comes. it's crazy how you got so dolled up for him only, he's the reason why you're even going out of your room this night.

if it wasn't for jisung, you'd probably just greet the guys and come back to your own quiet place, drowning in your thoughts, alone. just like you always used to do before he appeared in your life.

a knock was heard on your door just right after you finished your makeup. unexpectedly, you meet a very tipsy jaemin.

"what the fuck is this outfit?" he spats, crossing his arms in front of his chest - his body unbalanced. for a split second, you closed your eyes and thanked all the existing Gods under your breath. he's drunk.

you smiled, "felt pretty today. you smell like beer, don't talk to me."

"hey, hey, hey." he grabbed your arm before you could close the door and kick him out, "come say hello to my friends. don't be rude."

you fixed your hair and outfit and went to the living room, being find with chenle, jeno and donghyuck's figures sat around the big table, nestled with all the different kinds of drinks and alcohol.

your breath hitched when jisung was nowhere to be found.

after greeting the guys, you decided to wait in your room - not sure on how, or when will jisung get there and you'll finally get to release all of your wants. show him how much you miss him and vice versa.

not much time had passed before another knock was heard on your door. you were sprawled on bed, dim lighting decorating the ambient.

"come in."

you said that because you thought it was your brother. jisung carefully opened the door, eyes peeking first to check on you.

that scene truly felt like a movie. you slowly got up, a smile starting to pop up in your lips as you walked to him.

your voice trembling, "hi, ji."

you opened the door fully for him to enter your space, he wasted no time to step in and pull you into a hug.

a mess was happening in your head, so ridiculously dizzy from him - the masculine smell of his cologne filling your nostrils, his hands holding your body flush to him while yours gripped his black t shirt, so simple and casual but yet made him look so attractive.

or maybe that’s just because you miss him a lot.

jisung leaned away from your embrace, gently taking your hair out of your face while holding eye contact - hands flew to your hips.

"you look gorgeous. more than ever."

your arms secured their hold around his neck, feeling your cheeks burning red from his words, "just for you." you announced.

he nodded, "all for me."

you both smiled like two idiots in love as he leaned down to kiss you, mouths melting so sweet at first - tongues brushing here and there, hums being heard throughout the kiss, "so pretty in this dress." he mumbles in between.

his back hits the door as he closes it, left hand leaving your hips for a mere second just to lock it.  making absolute sure that no one will be able to interrupt.

jisung grabs a hold of your thighs to help you walk further into your room, so familiar to him.

all the times you've sneaked out, when jisung slept by and left jaemin's room in the middle of the night when he was in a deep sleep. all behind his back with so much carefulness.

when he lays you down he's quick to trail his wet kisses down to your neck, firm hands caressing your whole body, going up and down in motions.

you arch into him, playing with his black hair strands as his face rests on your chest, meanwhile his lips keeps smooching your hot skin.

you sigh in contentment, knees pressing together - trying to give him a sign that you're needy, so painfully needy for him.

"jisung i want- mhhm" your words get cut off by your own whine when his hand grabs the top of your dress to pull it down, hanging it just below your bra.

"don't want to take your dress off.. youre looking too beautiful like this." his deep voice quietly said.

you smile at his sweet comment, holding back all your whines combined with the feeling of his fingers messing with the lace of your white bra, throwing your head back with no shame when he pulls the fabric down to expose your breasts, still not taking it off your body.

"so pretty, princess. i could admire you all day."

cool air is fast to hit but it's soon replaced by jisung's hot mouth, circling your breast with his tongue, hand massaging the other while his mouth does wonders on your soft flesh.

when he reaches for your nipple you whine even louder, his saliva pooling and soaking your whole breast when he sucks it into his warm hot mouth, humming nonstop.

"you're crazy ji-jisung."

"should i stop?" he teases, leaning his mouth away from your nipple and replacing it with his finger, rubbing it.

"no for fucks sake.. but I'm trying so hard to keep quiet." your voice trembled slightly.

jisung looks at you then laughs, “they’re so wasted right now, no one’s conscious in that room, love.”

you pout at him, he softly traces your bottom lip with his thumb before kissing you again, “I promise you, it’s okay. but I need you to tell me it’s okay with you.”

his soft and caring voice did turn you on even more, it shouldn’t, but it made you wetter. eyes holding so much love and appreciation looking at yours - “I want this. I want you, ji.”

jisung smiles one more time, giving you a nod and resumed his work, mumbling a deep “fuck” under his breath when he tested the waters, hand went under your dress to feel your core.

he pulled the ends of your dress up to your stomach, your thighs ridiculously pressed together. you should be ashamed of how wet you were, but you’re not, not even a single bit.

he gives your thighs a caress, “let me spread them, hm?”

your breath hitches when he brings your knees to your chest, spreading you all open and full for him. jisung mentally coos at the scene in front of him.

just like your bra, white lace panties with a wet dark patch decorated in the middle, like a gift for him. it drove him crazy.

“did you miss me that much, princess?” you can only moan as response when he touches the wet patch with his finger before pulling the lace to the side, holding it in place with one finger, while his middle finger travels up and down your cunt.

wet, so fucking wet, “fuck. love, i might cum just by looking at this.” he cursed and cursed again, eyes wide open and looking straight at your puffy displayed cunt, so wet just for him. he knew that and so did you.

“oh fuck baby i can’t-“ jisung’s fingers spread you open to admire you better - in love, genuinely in love with how your pretty pussy shines for him, glistening and begging to suck him in.

he leans down fast enough to give your clit a quick kiss, “can’t stop thinking about how beautiful she is.” still caressing your core.

you moan his name desperately at his nasty but sweet comment, tons of whines and “jisung” ‘s leaving your mouth.

“ji please. want your fingers.” you manage to say.

“of course, gotta prep my beautiful girl.” he smiles, an expert finger circling your clit before diving down into your entrance. covered with slick, your cunt invites him just as soon.

experienced fingers pumping in and out continuously, you whine with your eyes closed at the sound of wetness.

jisung’s in complete awe, stoping his staring at your hole to kiss your face, first at the corner of your mouth, then at your lips, shutting your whines off.

“you’re perfect.” he leans away to say.

nothing’s more perfect in this world than the sensation of his long and thick fingers inside you, scissoring you and reaching the deepest and most sensitive spots ever. you’ll say that to him later.

you try to smile but you soon harshly bite your lip when he curled his two fingers inside, you yelped, “jisung! oh my god-“

he kisses you again, and again, until he’s satisfied and thinks you’re ready to take him. jisung’s fingers leave you empty, and you let out a cry - his eyes make their way to between your legs to see how you’re pulsating.

“never seen my princess this wet..” deep cocky voice says.

you reach out to take off your dress, “i’ve missed you.”

when your dress was discarded to the floor, he was quick to unbutton his jeans as they went to the same destination of your clothes.

you could see his erection through his boxers, and as much as you want to such him off right now, you’re needing him inside. now.

your panties were about to be discarded before jisung grabbed your hand and shook his head, “want them on, baby. s’ pretty. keep the bra too.”

knowing how he likes it with you, you turned around and pinned your front to the bed, arching your back and your ass in the air.

“fuck, just like that.” he pumps his cock at first, cooing you while you wait for him.

jisung’s hands flew to your back to arch it even more, then to hold your hips. he rubs the head of his dick on your entrance, how your pussy almost sucks him in just from the rubbing.

when he enters you, you let out a little too loud moan. hands clutching the sheets and tears filling your eyes.

he’s completely focused on how you keep clenching around him - the amusing view of your cunt sucking him all the way in, then out again.

your hips were pressed to his shaft, feeling him so fucking deep into your womb.

jisung coos again, “you don’t know how I’ve been dying for this.” he slaps your ass.

“jisung! jisung fuck, jisung.” you whine like a baby, lost in the pleasure. ass stinging from his big hand slap and cunt begging to be filled until you get sore.

“my love.” another slap, “fucking made just for me.”

his cock is so big and it leaves you like a babbling mess, so big that it almost hurts from how good it is, hits you in all places.

you both were getting closer, his thrusts started to get sloppier and messier, slower as he pulled away to release at your back.

your own release dripped down your pussy and thighs, while his hot cum painted your back down to your ass cheeks. what a scene.

“want them all to see this mess.. jaemin needs to see how you’re good to me.“ he admires the sight of your cunt clenching and unclenching around absolutely nothing but the air, “can’t believe you’re mine and no one can ever change that.”

you tiredly laid back on your back again, trying to fix your hair. jisung’s sweaty body joined you after tossing the dirty sheets aside, he breathes heavy, but still with that cute smile on his lips.

“do you think they heard something?.” you look up at him, voice low.

jisung thinks for a second, furrowing his brows, “i honestly don’t think so, baby. but you need to change these sheets..”

“of course i will, ji.” you laughed fondly. there’s still some questions hanging in the air, with what face will he come back to the boys?

“and if they ask you where were you this whole time and what were you doing…?”

“then i’ll just say that i was fucking the prettiest girl in the family and i don’t regret it.”

—

© 4chensungs

[torchwood-99]

Eomer and Eowyn only talk to each other once in the films

but they communicate so much.

When Eomer first returns with a wounded Theodred, an entire dialogue is shared between Eomer and Eowyn without a single word passing between them.

This mutual look of concern, they're both on the same page.

Eowyn then goes on to look at Theodred's wound. It's interesting that Eomer now looks curious above all things, he's waiting on Eowyn's judgement.

Eowyn looks at the wound and grimaces. It's bad. Theodred isn't going to survive this.

She looks to Eomer, who looks back at her in grim resignation.

They go to Theoden to inform him of the situation. As Eomer walks by Eowyn, he doesn't speak to her or interrupt her, but he puts his hand on her back as he passes. Even when the focus is on other things, he is giving her that gesture of support and fondness. That it is done without fanfare shows that this sort of affection is commonplace.

They both stand before the throne, both of them united in their attempt to reach through to their uncle. They're a team, a unit.

Eomer throws down proof that Saruman, who Grima is trying to protray as a friend to Rohan, is sending his soldiers to terrorise their people.

Eowyn gives Grima a death glare, challenging him to refute her brother's accusations. She's on Eomer's side, Eomer's team.

Eomer sees Grima looking at Eowyn, and knows what he wants. It fills him with fury.

Eowyn sees her brother choking Grima against the wall. She looks on in cold silence, then walks away.

When Aragorn reveals that the beacons have been lit, Eowyn rushes into the throne room, drawing to a stop at Eomer's shoulder. They wait together for Theoden's judgement.

When it comes, and Theoden sends Eomer to muster the troops, Eomer bows, but even before he has fully straightened up, his eyes go to his sister.

Again, no words exchanged, simply a look of common understanding. They both know what the risks are, they both know what is at stake, for the world, for their country, for their family.

Before Eomer leaves, he touches Eowyn's arm, before walking away.

With Eomer gone, we see a steely determination come into Eowyn's eyes. Now there's something Eomer's missing, now Eomer's back is turn and there's something about sister that she's keeping from him. She's riding to battle.

The one time they speak to each other, they're in opposition. About Merry, about Eowyn, about war.

The words are harsh. Eomer is stern, Eowyn is defensive.

But Eomer puts his hand on Eowyn's shoulder. He doesn't say "I don't want you to get hurt, I don't want you in battle", but that hand on her shoulder, tells the audience that's exactly what he's saying.

Those small moments of physical affection culminate in one great moment, when stern, stoic Eomer discovers Eowyn on the battle field, and breaks down in tears, cradling her and rocking her like she's a child.

And his devotion to her ultimately shown in him sitting small and hunched, tucked in on himself, crouching down in armour for what seems to have been a lengthy space of time, as he sits by her side, waiting for her to be healed.

This is such an effective way of showing to an audience that two characters love each other, when there is a limited time window. The movie needed to crack on to cover the ground it needed to cover, and with so many important dynamics to reveal to the audience, the creators needed to be time effective. Eomer and Eowyn don't share much screen time, but the looks exchanged, the passing moments of intimacy, tells us clearly that these are two people greatly fond of each other, and have been fond of each other a long time.

The lack of spoken dialogue almost enhances it. Little is said between them because little needs to be said. They already know. The one time they do speak, it's when they're quarrelling, because that's the only moment when they need to use words. The rest of the time, a gesture, a look, is enough.

[simonsrileyhusband]

AAHRRG I NEED TO HEAR YOUR SIMON SHARING READER WITH PRICE IDEAS and maybe a little ghostprice in there too just maybe

🙏🙏

nsfw:

simon is jealous... no, possesive, you are his and only his. but before he met you he meet price and his captain means a lot to him.

so when he sees the way price eyes you up at the tiny reunion the 141 had at his house, he starts thinking. thinking why wasnt he angry, why didnt he punch him in the face like he has done before with random guys on the street?

"yer joking, right?" price was sitting alone with simon on the tiny office of the house, a quick drop off something simon forgot at base turned into a small talk session and drinking.

"i never joke like that." his voice is harsh, dry and determinated. simon looked at his captain death in the eyes, waiting for an answer.

"i mean..." the older man speaks, drinking a bit of the whiskey, nervous. "if he is up to."

simon hums and stands up, leaving the glass on the tiny table and walks off the room.

"wait-..." he tries to complain but its too late, price hears how a door opens from afar and how the two of you talk, far enough to not be able to actually pick up any words.

after a good 10 minutes simon walks in, you walk behind him shyly, grabbing his hand you hide behind his strong frame.

"you already know eachother, no needs for introductions." he pulls you into his lap, sitting besides price. "if you wanna stop just say, m'kay?" you nod softly, wiggling closer to simon, watching price carefully. he is hot, big biceps and a bit of tummy, just like your simon, big thighs and husky voice...

"words baby." he whispers, and you nod again, lost in the way price stares at you while he finishes his drink. "i-... yes." you finally speak and your boyfriend hums.

"go on. sit on his lap baby." you obey, crawling into his lap, facing him. "hi, love." he mumbles, placing his hands barely above your knees. you whisper a little hi back. "can i... can i kiss him?" you ask shyly, while looking at simon, your cheeks blushed. "you can do anything, lovie, as long as you are comfortable." you nod and turn back to price, whose hands were a bit higher on your thighs now.

you kiss him, not like you would kiss your boyfriend, you hold back a bit, tasting the alcohol on him. but he is older, he has experience, he knows how to make someone feel good, you feel his hands rub your legs and waist, squeezing just enough to make you want more, and when you feel his bulge grow you cant help but grind on it, moaning softly into his lips.

"enough, on your knees, now." you quickly pull back, and look at simon flustered, yet, you do as he says quickly, kneeling in front of the two men. "jesus, ya got him trained well."

"he know he gets a reward if he's good."

you look up at them with desire, a burning sensation growing inside of you, sinful images filling your mind of all the things they can do to you. both of them undo their belts and unzip their pants. you perk up and pull down simons boxers. instinctively grabbing his dick. "not so fast, be a good boy and do the same with john."

a little whine scapes your mouth, and you do as you are told, pulling down his boxers too, both of your hands start to move up and down their hardening cocks, you look at them, how theu grunt and pant, how they stare down at you like hungry lions waiting to eat their prey.

"suck." a simple word, a command that came out as a grunt. you lean in and kiss his tip lovingly, you lick and kiss all over his lenght, taking your time to take all of it inside. you continue to jerk price off, who was lost in the way you moved your head up and down, how your eyes water and how good simons voice sounds when he is whispering naaty praises to you.

your mind is blury, you dont know how lomg you have been sucking their dicks, being yanked by the hair and cheeks to be shoved into their aching dicks. but when they get tired of that and need more than just your mouth your mind is already gone.

"its okay baby, relax f'me" you hear your boyfriends husky voice sooth you, face down and ass up on the couch they were once sitting at. your hole dripping and your breath heavy. simon pats princes arm, "ye' can go first, but no cumming inside of him, that’s only f'me."

price says something that you dont quite graso because a heavy hand falls harshly into your ass, making you whine. "do you want me to fuck you, mhm? tell me honey, tell me how badly y'want your boyfriends friend to fuck you."

[mimiii-3]

I love your stupid Pizza Steve pfp and the sabateur drabbles.

I was wondering, what if at first Batsib was sabotaging Darling out getting attention out of Bruce; however, after a while, Batsib starts craving the Darling's attention?

Every time Darling gets punished, it's Batsib who comforts them. All of their attention is on Batsib. Any form of attention given is what they want. It's what they crave.

Batsib pretends to be powerless, unable to do anything to help them. Like really playing up the defenseless submissive softboy/girl/person(?). While in secret, is fully smitten with the idea of having complete control over Darling, enjoying the fact that he is needed by them, and is wanted more by Darling than the people who actually kidnapped Darling.

I can imagine the confrontation where they find out why they keep sabotaging and mentally fucking Darling, would be interesting.

Thanks!

…

Saboteur: Two Most Wanted Prequel Pt.1

Yandere Platonic Batfam x GN Neglected Reader

Notes: typical yandere themes, platonic relationship between batsib and darling, I’m writing this w/ a massive headache rn

…

What if batsib realizes that Darling’s attention is all they need…

🦇 - there’s a sick sort of satisfaction you get from knowing that the family’s darling loves you

🦇 - you’re their shoulder to cry on, their only sense of reprieve, and the closest thing to a real sibling

🦇 - after being punished nonstop by Bruce for things they may or may not have done (looking at you batsib). Darling can’t help but make you their designated friend

🦇 - Darling hugs you every time you hide them in your room from Dick’s obsessive behavior

🦇 - they scribble drawings of you and them on post it notes. You purposefully leave the drawings out so that the batboys have to see

🦇 - Darling goes on long tangents about what the two of you can do once they’re free. They roll around on your polka dot rug, detailing future trips to the mall or swimming at the beach

🦇 - you tried to stay strong. Denying the warm feeling in your chest whenever Darling affectionately called you their sibling

🦇 - it wasn’t until you’re birthday that you realized you loved Darling too. Maybe even more than your brothers

…

Your birthday was a quiet one. Alfred had served you a slice of cake and presented you with a wad of cash. It was impersonal but at least he remembered.

You took the rest of the cake to your room and ate in silence. The tv played one of your comfort shows but it did nothing to ease the heartbreak. How could your father and brothers forget your birthday? After all you’ve done for them…

Your silent brooding is interrupted by an excited knock at the door. Whoever’s behind the door doesn’t wait for an answer and swings it open.

Darling peaks their head in and smiles. They enter your room and shut the door with the heel of their foot. Before you can question their presence, Darling breaks into song.

Darling sings some horrible rendition of ‘Happy Birthday’ and you can’t help but laugh. Their antics lift your sour mood. Darling, pleased with their work, plops down in front of you. They’re holding a small, brown box with a yellow ribbon tied around it.

“I know it’s small but is the best I could do,” Darling chirps. You eye them curiously before opening the gift.

You feel tears well in your eyes at the contents of the box. It’s a wooden duck, no bigger than the size of your palm. No one has ever spent so much effort on you.

You look up at Darling, “Did you whittle this yourself?” You turn the duck in your hand, the detail is impressive. You wonder if one of the knives you caught them stealing was used to make it.

“Yup! I made you a duck because they symbolize family and love!” Darling grabs one of your stuffed animals and begins to play with its ears.

The guilt overpowers you. You’ve been treating them like crap but this whole time they cared about you.

You don’t say anything and lean forward to hug them. “Thank you,” you whisper. Darling hugs you back, oblivious to your previous betrayal.

You decide right then and there that you’ll make a change. They’re your new sibling. Who cares if Bruce and the batboys don’t care about you. You don’t need them anymore. You have Darling now.

…

Extra notes: my head hurts😫

Tag list:

@jjsmeowthie @shawty-a-lil-baddie @butratherbutrather @shirp-collector-of-fixations @stove-top96

[shanastoryteller]

They destroy a hundred seals in thirty days, which feels like good progress until Sam realizes even if they can keep up this pace, it’s going to take them nearly two years. “There has to be a faster way to do this.”

“It took three hundred thousand years to set the apocalypse in motion,” Castiel says dryly. “Patience is a virtue.”

“It took a year from first seal to last, don’t exaggerate,” he says, pacing the length of the motel room. Cas may not need things like food and sleep, but Sam is still human at the end of the day.

He’s refusing to touch the virtue bit. No one’s keeping track of those and they both know it.

Cas gives him a bitchy look that Sam tells himself he’s not growing fond of. “Yes. Sixty six seals took a year to open. We’ve destroyed nearly twice that in a month. You are not being reasonable about this.”

Maybe not, but they don’t have time to be. Can’t Cas feel it? Like something’s bearing down on them, hot breath on the back of their necks. If there’s one constant in Sam’s life, it’s that he never gets enough time. He doesn’t see why this should be any different. “What if we killed Lilith? She’s the last one, right? As long as the first seal hasn’t been opened, killing her destroys the seal. If the last one can’t be opened, Lucifer can’t be set free. Right?”

Cas tilts his head to the side. Sam kind of hates how quickly he’s picked that up this time around, but he’s only realizing now that it’s a gesture Cas learned from him, not Dean, and the first go around they hadn’t exactly spent a lot of time together in the beginning. “Likely correct. But even if we could find her, I’m unsure of your capabilities.”

“Fuck you too,” he says without heat. “I killed Azazel. I killed her before. I can do it again.”

“She wanted to be killed, last time,” Cas says. “She knew her death would grant Lucifer’s freedom and she did not fight you with all her strength. Killing Azazel is not killing Lilith. They are different beasts.”

“Wait,” he says, “are you telling me that Lilith is stronger than Azazel?”

Having killed them both, that’s really not what he would have guessed. Which means that Cas is probably right. Damn.

“What is stronger, blood or bone?” he asks. “She is Lucifer’s firstborn. There is power there.”

Great. “I’m more powerful this time,” he points out. Azazel’s blood – Lucifer’s blood – is still buzzing under his skin, not quite as hot and pounding as it was at first swallow, but not fading and sputtering out like Ruby’s blood always had. Something in between, maybe, except those first few drops of blood as a baby hadn’t had any immediate affects either. It’s probably a good thing he won’t live another twenty two years. Who knows what Lucifer’s blood will have done to him by then.

“Yes,” Cas says. “I just don’t know if you’re powerful enough.”

And if he’s not, Lilith won’t even kill him. He needs to be alive for Lucifer to wear, after all. No, whatever she does to him will be much worse.

Sam.

He turns, even though he knows they’re alone. But his name had been so clear.

Sam, please!

He looks around uneasily. “Do you hear that?”

Cas blinks. “No.”

“Seriously?” he demands.

Sam, please, please, I’ll do anything, I’ll give anything, please help me. Help her. Sam –

He moves, not entirely sure what he’s doing, shifting from one place to the other, not entirely sure where he’s going until he arrives.

He’s standing in an empty apartment building, a ghost howling in front of him that looks sort of familiar. What the hell?

“Sam!”

Taking his eyes off the ghost is probably stupid, but he looks behind him anyway and finds Ellen on her knees, tears streaming down her face. Jo is clutched in her arms, skin pale and eyes open and unseeing, bits of plaster in her hair and a gaping hole in the wall behind them.

“Holmes?” he asked incredulously, turning back to the ghost who’s getting steadily closer. Last time they trapped him in the basement and cemented him inside. Last time Sam hadn’t spent years researching how to banish the worst sorts of evil.

The incantation rolls off his tongue easily, half Latin and half something older than that, and Holmes screams as he burns up in whisps of smoke.

“Sam, please,” Ellen begs. “Please. You have to help her.”

How does Ellen even know him? They’ve never met before. Not here. He kneels across from her, heart clenching at Jo’s body. He’s supposed to be making things better, leaving and destroying the seals is supposed to fix things. Except he guesses he and Dean weren’t here to find Jo this time and Ellen got there too late. “She’s dead, Ellen.”

“So?” she asks fiercely. “Jim was dead. Caleb, that girl, Meg. They were all dead. You brought them back.”

He stares. “How do you know that?”

“Please,” she repeats. “She’s all I have left. Please, Sam. I’ll do anything. I’ll give anything. Just bring her back.”

Sam knows that desperation. He’s felt that desperation, those miserable four months when hell tore his brother apart.

But he doesn’t have the same overfull, burning power he had with the taste of Azazel’s blood in the back of his throat.

Ellen, proud, tough Ellen, has tears down her face and begging him.

She lost her husband because of his father. He can try and save her daughter.

He reaches out, gripping the back of Ellen’s neck, and pulls her towards him. She opens his mouth for him, kissing him back without hesitation. He bites her tongue, blood hot and salty, and she doesn’t so much as flinch, doesn’t pause, just holds Jo between them and lets Sam take.

When he pulls back, his mouth is full of blood. He leans down, pressing his lips to Jo’s, letting her mother’s blood slide between her lips and presses his hand against her chest, trying to quicken something in her that will bring her home.

She gasps under him and he pulls back. Her eyes dart around, cheeks flushed, and stutters, “What – who–”

Ellen lets out a sob and clutches Jo to her, letting out a choked litany of scolding that has Jo patting her back and making soothing noises that Sam doubts Ellen hears at all.

He sits back on his ass, rubbing a hand over his face and wondering if anyone will care if he just lays down and takes a nap. Resurrection is exhausting.

“How?” Ellen asks, looking at him with red eyes and a puffy face and so much gratitude he can barely stand it. “There’s nothing special about my blood.”

“There’s power in sacrifice,” he says, wincing at the roughness of his voice. “Not a lot. Not enough. But,” he shrugs. He’s spent a lifetime making something out of not enough.

“What did I sacrifice?” she asks. It’s curiosity, nothing more. He can tell that she doesn’t care about the answer, that it really good be anything ant it would still be a bargain well made as far as she’s concerned.

This is how apocalypses are started.

“Nothing I’m going to collect on,” he says tiredly. “But it’s not a trick that works more than once. So be careful, okay?”

That last bit he directs to Jo, who’s just staring at him with huge eyes. “You’re Sam?”

“Yeah,” he says. “How do you know who I am?”

Jo and Ellen share a look, then she says carefully, “I met your brother.”

“How is he?” he asks, almost before she’s finished speaking. “Is he – I mean,” he cuts himself off, grimacing. Sam made out with their possessed father, killed the demon, and left. It’s a real toss up about what messed him up the most. “You shouldn’t hunt on your own,” he says, switching tracks. “You need a partner, one who can show you the ropes if you’re going to keep this up. See if you can talk Dean into it. I think you two will get along.”

Jo swallows. “Uh, okay. You’re not what I expected.”

What had she expected? He’s sure the rumors about him are nothing good, if not outright setting a bounty on his head. Ellen might have been desperate enough to seek him out with Jo dead, but that doesn’t mean anything. He and Dean both ran to demons when they lost the other.

There are footsteps down the hall and he tries to muster a smile for them before he’s leaving, returning to the motel room he’d been in with Cas.

“Where did you go?” he asks.

Getting back here had taken the last bit of energy he had. He flips Cas off and collapses face first into the bed, barely managing to kick of his shoes before he falls asleep.

Dean would have taken them off for him, but Dean isn’t here.

~

When he wakes up twelve hours later, it’s to Cas standing above him and staring.

He groans, rolling over and away from that piercing blue gaze. “Don’t do that.”

“Where did you go?” he asks.

Sam tells him. It doesn’t take long, but his voice is still strained by the end of it.

“You heard her prayers?” Cas asks.

“No,” he says, then frowns. “I don’t know. I guess. Can I do that?”

Cas is learning human expressions one by one. Judgement had come quickly and easily.

Whatever. Apparently he can do that now.

“You said Azazel was a prince of hell,” Sam says. “Does that mean there are more of them?”

“Three,” he says warily. “Why?”

He shrugs. “Think they’d be willing to part with some blood in exchange for their lives?”

Sam’s not going to survive this. He knew that from beginning. It doesn’t really matter he has to do to himself to finish it.

There’s power in sacrifice.

“This is a terrible idea,” Cas says, which isn’t a no.

Apocalypse Never

They help Dad into the cabin, more coherent than he was when they first broke him out, and Sam heads back to the car for their bags, for the Colt, and tries not to think about how everything has gone so quickly to shit. Mom and Jessica’s killer got away, again, but they’re all alive. That’s not nothing, that’s –

The pain hits him so completely and suddenly that he has no chance to brace himself for it. Usually it builds, first prickling pain then greater, but this is something else. It feels like nails are being shoved into his skull, images coming almost too fast for him to follow. He doesn’t realize he’s screaming until it stops, until he comes to with his head in his brother’s lap, Dean’s arms pinning him down and his face white and terrified above him. “Sammy? Sammy, you’re bleeding. What’s wrong?”

His throat is too raw and tight to speak even if he wanted to. He does want to, but he can’t, he can’t say a goddamn thing.

I saved the world for you, he thinks wildly, and I didn’t even get to keep you. How fucked up is that?

~

He doesn’t know if his future self couldn’t send it all back any further, or if he thought that this would give Sam less time to fuck things up.

For a couple terrifying minutes, Sam had taken control of Lucifer. For a couple exhilarating minutes, Sam had the power of an archangel.

That sending the knowledge of the future back four years in the past was the best thing he could think to do with it leaves Sam with a poor opinion of the man he became. Then again, he had saved the world, so. There’s that.

He doesn’t want to think of the him that had fallen into the pit with Lucifer and Michael. He hopes he can save him by making different choices, but maybe he can’t. Alternate universes, or parallel ones, or whatever. Maybe that Sam is damned for good and the best he could do was save a different version of himself, a different version of his brother.

There’s not much point in wondering about it. He’ll never know either way.

It’s memories with no emotions, thank fuck, because just the knowledge of it all is enough to drive him to his knees, to edge him to weeping and whimpering and slitting his wrists if he lets it.

He’s not going to. He has work to do. There will be time to fall apart after, when the world is safe. When Dean is safe.

Dean after Dad had died and given him that ultimatum had been bad enough. Dean after forty years in hell had been nearly unrecognizable.

He wipes the blood from his face, ushers Dean back inside, and tries not to think too hard about what he’s about to do.

Dean figures out it’s Azazel in Dad’s body and they’re pinned to the wall and Sam waits until Azazel is hovering over him, hand next to his head as he tilts his head back and breathes over Sam’s lips. It’s a torture and a powerplay, to let the want in his eyes come out in his father’s face, to make it John’s body that’s pressed so nauseatingly close to his own.

Sam isn’t the same person he was four years ago, ten minutes ago.

Breaking out of Azazel’s hold is easy. He’s using the equivalent of a single finger to keep them down, like pinning down a butterfly, and it's only enough until it isn’t.

He grabs Azazel’s face and pulls him close, hears the beginning of his laughter before Sam seals their mouths together. He’s making a deal here, selling his soul sure as anything, just not with Azazel.

Azazel leans into it, just like Sam knew he would, shoving his tongue in Sam’s mouth and getting off at his instinctive flinch of disgust, of the way Dean’s screaming bloody murder behind him. Azazel hasn’t hurt Dean yet. Sam’s going to make sure he never will.

He bites down hard. Blood fills his mouth and he sucks on his tongue, drinking as much as he can. It doesn't tase like iron, not like it should, instead it's sweet and thick like honey. He thought Azazel would pull back now, but he’s still laughing into Sam’s mouth, even bites the inside of his cheek to add to the blood from his tongue, and he just lets Sam drink his fill. Of course, he doesn’t know what Sam knows. If Sam had done this the first time, the only thing the blood would have done would be to get him high and useless.

It means he gets more than a mouthful, that it’s long minutes of keeping his eyes closed and swallowing and trying not to think too hard about how it’s Dad’s hands on him and Dad’s hard on at his thigh and Dad’s tongue he’s sucking on. He’s already got four years’ worth of nightmares in his head. No need to add more than necessary.

His skin is buzzing, feeling stretched out over him like his body is too big for it suddenly, almost like the aches of growing pains but more electric. Azazel pulls back and licks up the side of his face, leaving blood and spit behind, and breathes into his ear, “If you missed me feeding you, boy, all you had to do was ask.”

Yeah, that’s enough of that.

He shoves Azazel back without moving his hands, hard enough that he stumbles, and he has to move fast, before he gets a smart idea like snapping Dad’s neck or bursting his heart. He raises his hand and he’d settle for an exorcism, but power is lying heavy and thick in his veins. Destroying Lilith nearly killed him and Azazel is more powerful than Lilith and the blood he drank shouldn’t be nearly enough.

But fear sparks in Azazel’s yellow eyes and he starts choking, black smoke leaking from his ears and out his mouth. “How-”

Sam doesn’t let him finish. He remembers killing Samhain, killing Alastair, killing Lilith. He knows what to do.

Azazel dies screaming. Mom and Jessica are avenged. It’s not as satisfying as he thought it’d be.

Dad is on his hands and knees, taking in deep lungfuls of air. Sam knows from experience that being possessed isn’t pleasant.

“Sammy?”

He forces himself to look over, sees his brother approaching him with hands outstretched. The fear hasn’t gone anywhere even with Azazel dead, even with Dad alive, even though he doesn’t have any of the devastating injuries he sustained last time.

He doesn’t have the emotions to go along with the memory of the first time Dean saw him drinking demon blood, but he imagines it was something like this. “I’m sorry.”

“Sammy,” Dean says again, but Dad’s getting to his feet, Dad’s looking at the Colt, and Sam can’t die yet. He still has work to do.

It’s not a conscious thought, not something he actively tries to do, it’s just one minute he’s there in a cabin with his father and brother and the next he’s in the middle of a field, the night air crisp and clear and a million stars shining above him.

He couldn’t do that before.

There’s something wrong, he thinks, because he doesn’t remember what drinking demon blood felt like, but he remembers describing it, and this isn’t right. He should be drained after that, should feel almost normal again, but instead it’s like there are bees pinging around inside him, like there’s molten lava in his veins, like he’s dying.

He’s dying, he realizes suddenly, the power threatening to eat him alive. He looks down at his arms, like he’s expecting to see them crisping up beneath moonlight, but they look normal, like skin. Of course it’s not killing him, no matter what it feels like. He’s Lucifer’s perfect vessel. There’s no power his body can’t contain, none except God’s, maybe, and it looks like he’s long past making house calls.

It won’t kill him, but it hurts like hell, and he can’t think, he needs to burn it off somehow. He’s never had this problem before, not even when he drank all that blood for Lucifer.

He’s standing in Bobby’s living room and he doesn’t understand why until he sees the body on his kitchen table wrapped in a white sheet. He doesn’t know how Bobby got rid of the paramedics, if he’s maybe holding the body for her family, but Sam thinks he knows how to get rid of some of the itching along his skin.

Sam died a lot, in those weeks he and Dean were apart. Lucifer was true to his word. Sam came back every time.

He pulls down the sheet, sees the ways Meg’s face has settled into death in the past day, how decay has started to take hold and left her blue and cold and her skin slack. He leans down, presses a kiss to her cheek, and thinks that this is the least he owes her, for what she endured because of him, for trying to help him even at the bitter end.

She gasps to life beneath him, warmth flooding her skin and air stuttering into her lungs. “Sam?” she asks, fear and confusion and a pain that’s not physical.

Maybe she won’t want to live, considering everything she’s been through, but at least now the choice is hers and not a demon’s. There are footsteps and he turns to see Bobby standing in the doorway, gun pointed to the ground and mouth open in shock. Sam doesn’t have time to worry about it, instead he’s gone, the same burning still clawing its way out of his bones.

Caleb lies slumped in the chair Meg had tied him to, throat slit and eyes empty. Sam puts his hands on his shoulders, presses his lips to his bald head, and feels the moment his heart starts beating again. He sends the ropes falling with barely a thought and he’s gone the moment he hears his first confused groan.

Pastor Jim is laid out in his home, church workers Sam vaguely recognize huddled around him in prayer, his final send off. He’s just glad he got here before they burned him. They start screaming when they see him but he leans down, internally wincing at how Jim’s going to explain his way out of this one, and kisses his forehead, a reversal of the paternal tenderness Jim had shown him as a child.

His chest rises and his eyes open and his eyebrows push together. “Sam, what-“

He doesn’t stick around to hear the end of that question, figures it’s not anything he can answer anyway.

It takes him a long moment of staring out at the snow covered peaks and too close sky and the brilliant sun hitting his face even though it was just the middle of the night for him to place himself, even though it shouldn’t be enough, but he knows where he is even though he shouldn’t.

The air’s too thin and he’s going to give himself altitude sickness if he lingers and he should probably be freezing to death but his blood is still running too hot. Not burning, not like it was before he brought three people back from the dead, but still far from comfortable.

Still. He can’t say he ever thought he’d ever get to see the view from Mt. Everest.

“Castiel,” he says. “It’s Sam Winchester. We need to talk.”

Nothing. Typical.

“I know about God’s plan, about Lucifer and Michael, about my role as his vessel. I know about you, Cas. You’re going to want to hear me out.”

There’s the rustle of wings behind him and he turns to see Cas, younger than he looked before. Jimmy Novak younger than he’d been before. He wonders about that for a moment. He’d half expected Cas to show up as a sherpa rather than nip to America for a vessel, but Cas had kept the shape of Jimmy Novak even after his physical body perished, so maybe there’s a deeper preference there than just convenience.

His face is as cold as their surroundings. “You have strayed from God’s light.”

“Yeah, well, what good has he ever done me?” he asks tiredly. He used to believe. He believed yesterday. He prayed this morning. Even when he met Cas the first time, he believed. “I can’t explain. Can you just read my mind? We don’t have time.”

His eyebrows push together, but Cas has to be curious, otherwise he wouldn’t have said anything. He steps forward and presses two fingers against Sam’s forehead. He doesn’t feel any different, but when Cas lowers his hand, he’s lost his stoicism. Shock, despair, and anger chase themselves across his feature and Sam can’t blame him.

He’s not the only who lost his faith in the future.

“You said there were thousands of seals,” he says. “How many exactly?”

His eyes snap to Sam’s. “What?”

“God loved Lucifer,” he says. “It’s why he imprisoned him rather than destroying him. It’s why he left him a way out. Maybe it’s why he set up the apocalypse in the first place. I don’t know, I don’t care. All I know is that I’m not letting him out, ever. So we’re going to destroy every seal we can.”

Some can’t be undone, like the first one, a righteous man torturing an innocent soul in hell. But there are plenty that can, hopefully enough, hopefully most. If there are less than sixty six seals available, then Lucifer is never getting out of his cage.

“There were originally ten thousand seals,” Cas answers and Sam gets lightheaded for reasons that have nothing to do with thin air. “Only two thousand and thirty four seals are still viable.”

Okay, that’s better. Not great, but better. “Let’s get that number down to sixty five.”

“You are different,” Cas says.

Of course he’s different. His father’s alive. His brother never went to hell. Sam has never known the utter desolation of being completely alone, of grief and guilt so heavy he’s surprised it didn’t break his spine as surely as Jake’s knife in his back. He doesn’t actually remember feeling it, which is no small mercy, but he saw the effects of living with it, which is almost as bed. He'd thought what he’s feeling because of Jessica is as low as he could get. It’s not even close.

He wants to dig up her bones and breathe life into them, but at almost a year dead he thinks that’s beyond even this strange new power. Even like this, he’s failing Jessica one more time.

“Got any ideas?” he asks. “It wasn’t like this before. With the blood.”

He’d drank Ruby nearly dry more than once. It had been a high and then a crash and never did it give him access to this type of power.

“Azazel is – was a prince of hell,” Cas answers.

Sam frowns. “I thought he was king?”

“He was regent,” he corrects, “but to be a prince is separate from being ruler of hell. Lucifer created Lilith from bone, as Adam and Eve were made. The princes were created from his blood. Azazel’s blood is, in a way, Lucifer’s.”

Lucifer’s blood. Sam, his vessel, drinking down Lucifer’s blood, as a baby and now. Except as a baby he’d only had a few drops. He’d consumed a lot more than that back at the cabin.

Demon blood always wore off. The few drops of Azazel’s blood he’d gotten as a baby never had. He probably should have taken that into consideration, but there hadn’t been any time.

“Lucifer is evil but he is not a demon,” Cas continues.

Sam realizes suddenly that he did have power like this once. When he locked away Lucifer inside of him and took his power for his own. It’s not the same, not even close, but it’s similar. “This is what angel blood does?”

“No,” he says. “This is what Archangel Lucifer’s blood does to his perfect vessel. I believe. This has never happened before, so I cannot be certain. You are, as always, one of kind, Sam Winchester.”

It’s not quite a compliment, but it’s not as combative as he remembers Castiel being in the beginning. He’ll take it. “Guess we’ll figure it out together, then. If you’re sticking around to help prevent the apocalypse.”

If he’s not, this is going to be more than difficult. Tracking down all the seals without an angel on his side isn’t going to be impossible, but pretty damn close. And he doesn’t know how much time he has. Hell is going to be pissed about him killing Azazel. Heaven is probably going to take notice once he starts destroying seals so they can never be opened. Not to mention, he’s definitely going to be on hunters’ radar. Even if Dad can keep his mouth shut about him drinking demon blood, which he knows better than to rely on, him bringing back people from the dead is going to spread quickly. He’s going to be hunted at all sides, just like last time.

At least last time he had Dean, even broken, even when he was broken himself. He still had his brother.

But this is the price for saving him. For making sure that Dean is never in the position to kick off the apocalypse in the first place, to make it so Lucifer never again walks the earth even if heaven and hell reincarnate him and Dean and try and start this all over again.

He’s going to be killed for it, he knows, by demons or angels or hunters. But that doesn’t matter much in the grand scheme of things.

“Yes,” Cas says. “It is better for us all if the future you saw never comes to pass. I will help you.”

He grins, clapping Cas on the shoulder, and only laughs at the glare he receives in return. They have to get out of here before the altitude makes him loopy. Maybe it already has.

He’s going to save the world for his brother and he’s not even going to get to keep him.

How fucked up is that?

[fear-is-truth]

i don't know if you've already done this (if you have, i haven't seen it), but, how would the evans do with a girlfriend with a high sex drive? how many times a week, how many rounds, etc. i don't know if some of them could keep up-

-🫐

⋆𐙚 ₊ the evans x nympho!gf .ᐟ | nsfw. mdni

ft. tate langdon ‧ kit walker ‧ kyle spencer ‧ jimmy darling ‧ james patrick march‧ kai anderson

i love this idea sm anon, kissing ur brain rn mwah

⟢ 𝐓𝐀𝐓𝐄 𝐋𝐀𝐍𝐆𝐃𝐎𝐍.

tate wouldn’t exactly be keeping a tally, but he’d totally match your libido. it’s like he’d been waiting his whole (after)life for someone like you, so he’s not complaining. three times a day? no problem. repeat the same routine every day of the week? sign him up. he’s got nothing but time.

he’d thrive on the attention. tate’s got a lot of insecurities, and having someone who genuinely wants him that much? it’s a massive confidence boost, even if he doesn’t admit it. he’d also loves that it’s your idea most of the time—takes the pressure off him and makes him feel wanted.

verdict: several times a day, so it’s honestly hard to account for.

rounds/stamina: probably 2 rounds per session when he was alive, very clingy afterwards. as a ghost he can’t physically burn out, and he’s just as clingy so you’re in luck.

notes: tate wouldn’t just indulge your high libido—he’d love it and go along it.

⟢ 𝐊𝐈𝐓 𝐖𝐀𝐋𝐊𝐄𝐑.

kit walker is 100% a giver—like, he’s all about making you happy. if you’re a nympho, he’d try his best to keep up. (plus he’s a horny mf too..)

sure, he might get tired after a long day at work, but if you look at him a certain way or tug him towards the bedroom, he’s done for. he might jokingly tease, “darlin’, you’re tryin’ to kill me,” but he’d always be down to fuck, no questions asked.

he’s so husband about it. he wouldn’t just go along with your needs—he’d cater to it. need him to be sweet and slow? check. want things a little more kinky? he’s on board. he’s the type of man to always check in with a soft, “this okay for you, baby?” and genuinely mean it.

he’s probably in awe of your energy. he might be embarrassed the first time he realises how…enthusiastic you are, but once he gets used to it, he’s all in. he’d see it as a sign of how much you love and trust him, which melts his heart every time.

if an “oops” happens, he’d take full responsibility and raise the baby with you lol.

while he’d try to keep up with you, there might be nights when he’s genuinely exhausted from work or parenting duties. in those cases, he’d pull you into his arms and offer a compromise: “how ‘bout i cuddle you tonight, and tomorrow, i’m all yours?” he’d always want to make you feel loved, even if he’s too tired to fully match your energy.

overall, kit would be so sweet and attentive, completely willing to cater to your needs while cherishing how much love and (spiritual + physical) connection you bring into his life.

verdict: he’d love to indulge you as often as you want, but realistically, it would average 6-7 times a week. kit is a family man who wants to make you happy, but he also has a job to manage.

rounds/stamina: 2–3 rounds per session. kit is physically fit and has great stamina but wouldn’t push himself to exhaustion. his priority is making sure you’re satisfied first and foremost.

notes: kit is all about making you feel loved and satisfied, but he’s also very attuned to your comfort. you guys might unintentionally add a new member to your family if you’re not careful—just saying lol (just hope you don’t get snatched by aliens)

⟢ pre death .ᐟ 𝐊𝐘𝐋𝐄 𝐒𝐏𝐄𝐍𝐂𝐄𝐑.

kyle spencer is the definition the golden retriever boyfriend—sweet, attentive, and always eager to make sure you’re happy (in every sense of the word).

as a frat boy who’s physically active (probably from intramural sports, he’s not a gym bro but still works out), kyle’s got the energy and endurance to keep up with you. if you’re in the mood, he’s down. and he’s definitely very thorough about making sure you’re satisfied—he lives for the gold-star boyfriend role.

there are definitely times when he’s more focused on studying or finishing up a project for class. during those moments, he’ll be sweet about letting you know: “babe, i have to hand in this paper tonight. rain check?”

he’s the kind of guy who’ll compromise, though. he might take a quick break from studying to give you some attention (a quickie or blowjob, depending on time), then dive back into his books after.

post-study reward ! if he’s been putting you off all day, he’ll make it up to you later with extra enthusiasm. kyle’s not the type to do things halfway, so when he does finally focus on you, it’s all about you.

verdict: 4–5 times a week. kyle is sweet and eager to please, so he’d do his best to keep up, even if it means sacrificing some of his study time.

rounds/stamina: 3–5 rounds per session.

⟢ 𝐉𝐈𝐌𝐌𝐘 𝐃𝐀𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐍𝐆.

jimmy has a naturally high sex drive and would match your energy without much hesitation. growing up in the freak show, he’s not exactly a stranger to their… unconventional lifestyles, so he’d embrace your enthusiasm wholeheartedly. “you wanna go again, doll? yeah, i can do that.”

despite his willingness, jimmy would draw a hard line when it comes to anyone else at the freak show getting involved, especially knowing how open and uninhibited the other performers can be about their sexual escapades. while he doesn’t judge them for their choices (cuz he low-key used to be like that), he makes it crystal clear that you’re his and only his.

as for elsa mars, jimmy knows how manipulative she can be and how far she’s willing to go for her ambitions. he’d be paranoid about her trying to use you in one of her schemes, especially after what happened with penny. he’d warn you about her, telling you to steer clear of any “favors” or “opportunities” she might offer.

he’d prioritize your needs above his own, even if it left him worn out. he’d take your super high sex drive as a challenge, always wanting to prove himself capable of keeping up with you. and he’d probably brag about it just a little.

verdict: 8–10 times a week. easy, no problem.

rounds/stamina: could keep up for least 2-3 rounds in a single session, especially when he’s well-rested. however, if he’s had a long day or is emotionally drained, one round might be all he has in him.

⟢ 𝐉𝐀𝐌𝐄𝐒 𝐏𝐀𝐓𝐑𝐈𝐂𝐊 𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐂𝐇.

james patrick march is the definition of indulgence and excess, but he’s also a man of particular tastes and high standards—so an energetic, nympho of a partner would definitely be met with mixed feelings.

he’s indulgent, but not always approving: james would absolutely adore the attention and relish in how much you crave him—it would feed into his ego and his possessive streak.

however, he’s also a man of control, and your frequent advances might make him pause. “my darling, while i am most flattered by your… boundless enthusiasm, even i must draw the line somewhere.” (sometimes a man just wants to murder his hotel guests. let the man indulge in his hobby)

he’d appreciate your eagerness, but he’d always make it clear that he sets the terms. if he’s in the mood, he’ll more than rise to the occasion and keep you thoroughly occupied.

oh, when he decides it’s time, he’ll absolutely make you regret pestering him earlier. james is nothing if not thorough, and he’d turn your enthusiasm into a marathon session (picture that scene with the countess… yeah). “now, my darling, this is what happens when you beg a man of my caliber for attention.”

verdict: depends. i’d say at least 10 times a week if he’s really obsessed with you.

rounds/stamina: unlimited, technically. he’s a ghost and doesn’t have the physical limitations of the living. however, he might limit himself for your sake.

notes: james would enjoy your enthusiasm and entertain your requests pretty often. however, he’d insist on keeping things “in moderation” and not letting it interfere with his other pursuits (murder)

⟢ cult leader .ᐟ 𝐊𝐀𝐈 𝐀𝐍𝐃𝐄𝐑𝐒𝐎𝐍.

okay, let’s be real—kai absolutely has the stamina to keep up with a nympho gf. dude’s wired on adderall and his own ego, so when he’s into it, he’s really into it. could probably go all night if he’s in the mood.

here’s the thing: kai’s got a lot on his plate—councilman duties, plotting world domination, a cult to run. so if you really pushed him, interrupted his plans one too many times, or just kept teasing him when he was trying to focus? he’d make you pay for it later—like, to the point where you can’t walk straight for days.

smug as hell about it too, tossing out things like, “maybe next time you’ll think twice before being such a needy little bitch, huh?”

but if he’s in a petty mood—or just wants to watch you suffer—he’d force you to hump his thigh while he’s not lifting a finger to help. or even outright forbid you to even touch yourself…and the bastard would enjoy every second of it.

but he’s not completely heartless, not when it benefits him. when he’s too busy to fully cater to you, he’ll let you sit on his lap and cockwarm him while he’s working at his desk. it’s his way of keeping you close while staying focused on his agenda.

if kai has a rare moment of downtime, you’re all he’s thinking about. he’d probably find your enthusiasm flattering (in an “of course you can’t resist me” kind of way) and give in with a casual, “alright, i’ll let you tire yourself out on my dick.”

verdict: 3–5 times a week. sometimes more. he’d only indulge your high sex drive when he has time and isn’t busy scheming or running his cult.

rounds/stamina: 3–4 rounds on average, but on rare occasions, he might go 5–6 rounds in one night just to prove a point.

notes: he’d alternate between indulging you until you’re begging for mercy and withholding just to torture you. a shitty boyfriend but the sex is bomb.

[noirsdoll]

your mouth washing work is so good! what if curly was the one scheming the baby trapping on captain reader, like taking the condom off mid stroke (jimmy is fs the one that pushed him to do it, devil on his shoulder)

thank you so much what?!? i think curly would baby trap because he doesn’t want to lose you while he’s gone… (i didn’t see captain!reader until i was done writing it SORRY)

cw for baby trapping and a sprinkle of manipulation!! also some filthyyy smut and curly breeding kink!!

Piloting the Tulpar is like therapy for Curly. The gentle hum as the ship drifts through space, the dreamy green glow of the controls and diagnostics. He sits back in his chair, watching the blinking screen that displays the Tulpar’s trajectory.

They’re on the ending branch of their cruise, on their way back to Earth. Curly’s only thinking of one thing— you. He’s excited to get back and see your gorgeous face in person again.

Jimmy’s beside him, picking the dirt under his fingernails, tongue poking out of his mouth as he does it with utmost concentration. He’s bouncing his leg like he has somewhere to be.

“I’m thinking of putting a ring on her finger,” Curly says into the silence, “when we get back.”

“Cool.” Jimmy doesn’t look up, but he frowns, wrinkling his nose.

The quiet drags, Curly tips his head back against the seat, sighing in content. He has the whole thing planned out. He’s gonna take you to your favourite restaurant and ask them to bring over the band and play a song you like. He’s even got a whole speech that’s he knows by heart—

“That’s not gonna stop her from cheating on you.”

“What?” Curly turns to look at him.

“Yeah, well, I mean, what do you think she’s doing while she’s waiting for you to come back?” Jimmy snorts. “It’s not like you’re there to fuck her when she wants.”

Curly’s unsure of what to say. He’s never thought about it like that.

“We were gone, what, a little over a year this time?” He reclines with a creak, grinning. “Who even knows if she’ll still be there waiting for you?”

Curly frowns. “What could I do?” Jimmy’s right, what if he comes back to you and you’ve moved on or you’ve grown bored of waiting?

“Knock her up,” Jimmy says, like it’s the most obvious solution.

His eyes widen. “I couldn’t do that— We haven’t even talked about kids yet.”

Jimmy scoffs. “Then don’t talk to her about it. You want the relationship to last, right? This is the best way.”

The way Jimmy talks to him sometimes makes Curly feel like he’s looking at the world through a whole different lens, like Jimmy is expanding his horizons. And Jimmy’s right. You wouldn’t be able to leave with your belly all swollen with his kid.

So Curly does the unthinkable. When Curly gets home and you both have your habitual fucking that is more humping and groping than anything meaningful, he puts his plan into action.

Curly’s lips slot with yours, he kisses you messily. Your nails drag over the broad planes of his back as he lays you down like he has been wanting to do all this time. He thinks he almost cums just from slipping his dick in, the way your pussy clamps down on him is tighter than any hug you’ve pulled him into.

You both stare at each other for a moment, catching your breath, the air is hot and dizzying and there is so much want coursing through both of your systems. And then Curly sets his pace.

It’s sweaty and sloppy, shallow thrusts as he doesn’t want to leave your warm cunt for too long. He holds you down with one big hand spread over your stomach, fucking into you like it’s life or death.

His dick “pretends” to slip out of you, like his fat head could ever miss your cunt— it’s practically muscle memory. As he goes to realign his cock, he slips off the condom, sandwiching it into the pleats of the tousled sheets behind him.

You don’t notice, too busy moaning and whining and drooling into your pillow as Curly’s rhythm turns damn near brutal. God, he’s gonna breed you, he’s gonna fucking breed you. He can’t go back now.

Wet strings of your slick connect his hips to yours as your pussy leaks all over itself. The sounds it’s making are almost pornographic. Curly’s thumb slips on your soaked clit as he makes you cum alongside him. He read somewhere that it helps get you pregnant too.

You’re too fucked out to notice that creampie he just gave you, thick, milky cum dripping out of you. He reaches down with one finger and pushes his cum in deeper. He doesn’t want you wasting a drop.

Maybe this was a net positive, Curly thinks as he cleans you up, peppering kisses along your body and praising you for your hard work— laying there and taking it.

Now you have something to keep yourself company the next time he’s gone.