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avocado-writing · 5 months ago

Text

pairing: logan howlett x reader x wade wilson

rating: E, minors dni, 18+ (mmf threesome; resolved sexual tension; sex pollen; unprotected p in v sex; oral [f receiving]; double penetration)

words: 6.7k

summary: you, logan and wade are on a stakeout after reports of a new drug which only affects mutants. but what happens when you accidentally get a hit of it yourselves…? (the sex pollen fic from the poll! thank you @eupheme for betaing for me, i owe you my life!)

“I spy with my little eye…”

“Wade, I swear to god…” Logan’s voice is a low rumble, a warning.

“Awww c’mon, peanut! What else do we have to do? Indulge me in my childlike whimsy.”

“Let me guess,” you say, shelling a pistachio before throwing it in the air to catch it on your waiting tongue, “you spy something beginning with R-D, which is the rising damp, which is the fourth goddamn time you spied it because there’s nothing else in this fucking place.”

Wade huffs and throws himself back in his chair.

“Killjoy,” he mutters, and goes back to carving obscene doodles into the side table with baby knife.

On the first day you were happy to play along, just to ease the boredom and tension which came hand-in-hand with this arrangement. Now it’s been five of them, stacking on top of each other and getting claustrophobic-heavy, the three of you crowded into each other’s space and on the razor’s edge.

Something is going to break, and you’re worried it’ll be Wade’s nose under Logan’s fist.

What a stupid fucking mission. You should never have said yes.

Ever since the whole Void situation was resolved you, Logan and Wade have been X-Men adjacent. Not part of the group exactly but happy to play along if needed. This most recent assignment had been a request from Piotr - there was something going on downtown to do with trafficking drugs which affected mutants, and someone needed to keep an eye on it. Couldn’t be anyone from the mansion, they’re all hands on deck at the moment keeping an influx of kids in check. But the three of you? With no jobs between you and an urge to do good?

It was a problem with an obvious solution.

It’s a stakeout. Which means sitting and waiting and holy fuck is it boring.

You can tell something is going on in the alley across the street but you’ve had strict instructions not to take action until you see the guy in charge: thickset man with a penchant for misdeeds and built like a brick shithouse. Once you have proof he’s involved, you’ll get the go-ahead to close in and shut the place down in whatever manner you see fit.

But until he comes in, your little trio has no choice but to stay put, watching petty criminals come and go with no idea they’re being monitored.

Life has revolved around watches from the dingy window. Usually two of you will stay up while one of you tries to get some sleep on one of the uncomfortable twin beds that have been provided, but it isn’t easy to drift off when it feels like the mattresses are made of cinder blocks stuffed with broken glass. It isn’t that you’re unused to being in each others’ spaces - if you’re not at their apartment they’re at yours, after all, you are friends - but this is different. You have the luxury of walking away from each other in normal day-to-day life when things gets too much. Here? Here, you’re stuck until you’re done with the job. You’re all tired, irritated, and desperate for entertainment. You’ve even considered chopping off your own hand to watch it grow back, just for something to do.

And the thing is that’s not the worst of it. Ever since the three of you returned from the Void there’s been something there. Something difficult to pin down, exactly. A niggling little feeling worming its way through your body. Something which thrums every time Wade flexes the muscles in his hand and you see his long, strong fingers; every time Logan grits his jaw and the tendons in his neck throb.

Oh, right. You sort of really want to fuck them both.

You don’t go through something that traumatic and not have deep-rooted feelings which surpass normal boundaries. You fought for each others’ lives. You’re bonded in a way people rarely are. And the more time you spend with them the blurrier the lines between platonic and fucking soulmate become. You’ve seen both of them stare at you - and each other - when they think you’re not looking, so you’re sure this isn’t something that only you are harbouring. It’s a secret desire harboured by all three of you.

Like you said, something is gonna break. And in this shitty little surveillance room? It’s gonna break soon.

A movement outside. The three of you sit forward to take a look at the evening’s street view, only to fall back into your chairs as it turns out to be a false alarm. Just a pedestrian walking by. You’re going to go insane.

You drum your fingers on your thighs just to keep them busy, then turn to Logan.

“You got a smoke?”

He cocks a brow at you.

“You want a cigar?”

“Nothing else to fucking do.”

“Whoa, hey!” says Wade, putting his hand on Logan’s arm as he roots around in his jacket pocket, “No no no, you quit last year! Don’t start up bad habits again unless I’m the one convincing you to, pookie.”

“Wade, c’mon. I’m gonna lose my mind if I don’t have something to do,” you groan. Plus, really, you’d kinda like something to suck on, just to relieve some of the ache in your belly.

As if Wade can hear your thoughts he pipes up again.

“Well if you’re that desperate to use your mouth, I know what we could play to pass the time…”

You and Logan groan in unison, and he balls his fist in a way which suggests it’s not long until the claws come out. Wade holds up his hands to signify peace.

“Whoa, chill out, honeybadger. No need to get scratchy. You don’t have to join in if you don’t want to… but it’s more fun the more people there are.”

Accepting there’s nothing else to pass the time, Logan lets out a long, exhausted sigh and lets Wade continue.

The mercenary licks his lips as if, for once, considering his phrasing. Then blurts out what he wanted to say anyway.

“We could play blowjob roulette.”

It was a foolish time to take a drink of your soda, because you spurt it out your nose. After a moment of mopping yourself up with your sleeve you manage a, “what?!”

“Well, oral roulette I guess, if we’re being PC about it.”

“Oh my god,” Logan groans, getting to his feet and stomping into the tiny excuse for a kitchenette, grabbing a beer and opening it with such gusto that the cap bounces off an adjacent wall.

“It doesn’t have to mean anything! We just spin the bottle and whoever it ends up pointing out deals out a round of Australian kisses for the other players. Relieves the boredom, and it’s fun to see how long everyone lasts.”

Your mouth is open, you’re sure of it. You’re looking at Wade in abject horror. This has got to just be part of his stupid bravado, right? Making an ill-timed joke?

Because the other option is he’s serious.

Logan drinks. You stare. Wade rabbits on.

“I’m just saying we used to play it at Sister Margaret’s all the time, when we were waiting for new marks to come in and didn’t have anything better to do! It wasn’t gay or anything except for, you know, the rampant homoeroticism of slurping everyone’s gherkin.”

“Did you… did you ever have to do it?” you ask, morbid fascination taking over. He scoffs.

“Did I ever have to… pookie, I’ve taken more loads than my building’s washing machine. Yeah, I’d say I’m pretty fucking great at it.”

He’s staring at you with an intensity which makes you feel like you’re on fire, but from embarrassment or enthusiasm you’re not sure.

“So?” he asks, quietly, putting a hand on your knee. Your body burns. You swallow. You look to Logan.

He sighs. Finishes his beer, but in a way which suggests he’s giving in. You see the way Logan’s teeth touch his bottom lip. The start of a fricative.

He’s going to say fine.

Movement out of the window. You bolt up, knocking Wade’s hand away. He deflates.

“Aww. But I really wanted to - ”

“No, guys - look!”

They quickly crowd you, following where you point. A huge man walks into the alleyway, flanked by underlings, the bulk of him taking up the small space.

“There’s our guy,” you say, “let’s go.”

You descend upon the alleyway in a flash of swords and claws. You tug your cowl up over your nose to protect your face, hand on one of your Brügger & Thomet MP9s as the three of you come face-to-face with the door you’ve been monitoring all week.

“So are we going in sneaky style, or—”

Logan rips the door off its hinges, throwing it down the length of the alley; he is desperate to be done with this. You exchange a look with Wade.

“Okiedokie, asked and answered I guess,” he sighs, grabbing his Desert Eagles from his holsters.

You both follow Logan who’s thrown himself into the middle of the lab claws-first. Two-thirds of the people scream and flee, the others stand their guard and grab their guns.

Fingers on triggers, you take a beat to examine the situation.

Equipment everywhere. Beakers and cylinders you can possibly guess the use for, set up on desks and synthesising something nasty. The boss is standing in the middle of the room, eyebrow cocked and mild annoyance plastered on his face. Bingo. You make a beeline for him, taking a couple of bullets in your flank as you go.

“Cover me!” you shout to Wade. He pulls his katana out of a guy’s head and throws you a bloodied thumbs-up.

“Got your back, pookie! Hate to see you leave, love to watch you spill entrails as you go!”

As if he was predicting your next action, you whip your knife out of your belt and stab it in an assailant’s belly, watching his warm guts slide onto the floor. He releases a strangled noise as he drops to his knees - you make a move to continue on your way to the boss only to feel someone pick you up.

“Shit!” you mutter as you’re hoisted into the air. Wade and Logan stop their onslaught to turn at the sound of your panic, their eyes both going wide as they see you restrained. With a twinned shout of your name they come running to help.

Aww, your boys. It’d be cute if you weren’t bracing yourself for the pain.

Your attacker launches you across the room. A couple of seconds go by as you fly through the air - and then into a table full of test tubes and pipettes.

A great cloud rises into the air. A cloud of spores?

Before you can get a chance to properly read the situation, Wade and Logan are at your side. Sturdy hands grasp around your forearms and you’re dragged to your feet.

Of course, it goes unnoticed…but all three of you take in a deep breath.

“You okay, baby?” rasps Logan.

“Yeah, I’m f— move!” you scream, shouldering him out of the way so you can sink your knife into the neck of the man about to spray bullets down his spine. As you rip through the soft skin at his throat something occurs to you.

‘Baby’? Where did that come from?

Not that it isn’t nice, obviously, but… it’s unlike Logan to show that much tenderness ever. Especially with pet names.

Oh well, no time to dwell.

Picking bits of glass from your biceps you tank a punch from a man closing in on your left, parry his next couple of blows, then shoot him in the dick. Wade has called this a ‘low blow’ before which isn’t incorrect but honestly, there’s no time for fighting fair when it’s 3-versus-30.

The boss has finally gotten involved. A pair of brass knuckles shines against his fist as he swings at Logan, a meaty crack filling the air in a way which you’re worried might actually have dented one of your friend’s ribs. Wade uses the distraction to stab a katana into the guy’s back, then another one a little further up - using him like a goddamn climbing wall. The boss roars like an animal and attempts to swat him off but there’s no use. His massive bulk is working against him, and Wade can be a fast little motherfucker when he wants to be.

Wade lets out a ‘peekaboo!’ as he pops up over the boss’s shoulder, pressing his pistol into the meat of his neck and firing. Blood sprays across the floor but somehow the guy doesn’t stop, not even when Logan picks himself back up and sinks both his claws into his stomach; it only elicits another snarl.

Okay, time to close.

You sheath your guns and go back to your knife, using Logan as a launchpad as you throw yourself off the arch of his back and into the air - stabbing down into the boss’s skull with a dull thunk.

A line of blood dribbles out of his mouth. He starts to fall.

“Uh oh - call me Ke$ha, because I’m yelling timber!” Wade warns. With a snarl Logan rips his claws free from muscle, snatching you off of the boss’s corpse as he stumbles forward under his own weight. Pulling you free you both lose your footing, and you crash down onto your friend.

You look at Logan.

He looks at you.

Suddenly, his hands clasp around your hips. Probably you move you off of him…

And then you’re on fire.

Like gasoline has made a line from his touch to your cunt, everything in you is set ablaze. Your pussy clenches and you’ve never felt so empty before - or at least not so aware of it.

There is a cock-shaped hole and it’s begging to be filled.

You expect Logan to freak out, you’re freaking out - you never thought you had a murder kink but you guess you’re never too old to find out something new about yourself - but he doesn’t.

Instead you just see him furrow his brow as if processing something; then acknowledge the press of his hardening cock rub against your thigh as he bucks up into you.

Oh no. Something is wrong.

When you feel Wade grab your shoulder and haul you back to your feet it’s the same, that delicious burning sensation rocketing through you… and from the way he moans as soon as his hands are on you, the feeling is mutual.

“Fuck. Fuck,” he breathes. Yeah. You want to, that’s the issue.

You stagger away from him with wide eyes and electric skin, a beat passing between the three of you as the people left in the lab decide to give up the fight now their boss is toast. Hearts racing, hands wanting to reach out and touch.

Logan is the one to break the silence.

“We should call in and let the others know we’re done,” he manages. You nod.

“Yeah. Can we… can we go back across the street? I don’t feel so good.”

“Oh, don’t you go Spider-Man Infinity War Part 1 on me,” Wade chuckles. You don’t have the energy to work out what he’s referencing, especially when a jolt goes through your body to your cunt when you feel his eyes meet yours.

Damn. This is bad.

“Yeah. Of course, honey,” Logan manages. He goes to put his hand on the small of your back and then thinks better of it, though you can feel its nearness like a magnetic pull. You almost moan when he retracts his touch instead. Wade whips his phone out and fires off a message to let someone know a cleanup crew is needed as you stagger out of the alleyway and back across the street.

You didn’t bother closing the door when you ran out, too desperate to monopolise on the chance of getting your mark. The three of you tumble back into the room you’d been dying to get out of just a scant few minutes ago, relieved to be in the privacy of its confines again.

A moment passes as all three of you adjust to the feeling coursing through your bodies.

“What’s happening?” you breathe, bracing your hands on the back of your go-to wooden chair and breaking it with the force of your grip. You wince at the sound of splintering, blood dripping down your palms before you feel it heal over.

“I’ve not felt like this since I first discovered how easy it was to masturbate to Good Housekeeping,” Wade groans, whipping off his mask as he flops down onto the battered-up-couch. Logan has made his way to the fridge again, practically ripping its door off to get to a beer which he downs in one swig. Fuck. It’s so sexy. You want to lick the muscles in his neck.

“It’s a pollen,” he states, voice rocky in a way which goes straight to the burning pit of your stomach. You and Wade exchange a look and then turn to him, waiting for further explanation. “Only has a reaction in mutants. Charles said it was something about putting the id into overdrive, like a fuckin’ adrenaline shot to the libido.”

“It… it makes you aroused?” you manage, attempting not to rock your cunt into the palm of your hand. Logan grunts.

“Was trying to be more tactful, but yeah, honey. That’s the idea.”

Honey. The pet name once again goes down your spine.

“Fucking sorry,” says Wade, “someone was manufacturing this stuff as a drug for what? To make mutants too horny to fight?”

Logan shrugs, still not tearing his gaze from his empty bottle, as if to agree it’s his best guess. Wade’s head falls back against the sofa’s arm.

“I mean, damn, they could have just shown me any frame from Magic Mike XXL and it would have had the same result. Seems like a lot of effort.”

Something about the way Logan talks sticks out to you, you circle back around to it.

“Logan, you seem to know a lot about this stuff… have you encountered it before?”

Another beer grabbed and chugged down, the forward hunch in his shoulders physical evidence of his walls raising.

“Once. Back in the day with the other X-Men.”

“How did you get through it? Does it go away?”

Logan doesn’t reply. Drinks.

The unspoken answer sinks in.

“Oh my god, you had to fuck it out, didn’t you?” gasps Wade. Logan doesn’t even growl. Jesus Christ he’s right. “Who was it? Storm? Beast? By the love of all things 100k+ enemies-to-lovers-slowburn, tell me it was Cyclops.”

Logan doesn’t dignify him with an answer, instead putting the empty bottle down with enough force you’re surprised it doesn’t shatter.

“It’ll pass. I just need to sit it out,” he reasons, the grit in his jaw suggesting this isn’t the optimal solution. You feel your eyebrows tug together, a crease of concern settling between them.

“But…”

“I’ll be fine.” The way he says it, he’s trying to convince himself more than anyone. With the room in the air practically throbbing he heads to the bedroom, leaving you and Wade alone.

Holy shit. You and Wade are alone.

Your eyes wander over to him, to find his gaze is already resting heavy on you. Your skin lights up.

“So, uh,” he starts, shifting himself awkwardly where his hard-on is trapped in his suit, “you read any good books lately?”

That does help to alleviate the tension and you find yourself chuckling, only for the relief to be ablated when your empty pussy pulses. You whine.

“Wade…”

As soon as you say his name he’s rushing over to you, helping you sit down on the ruined chair. You both moan as hot skin slides against hot skin.

“Look, it isn’t…” you groan as you slide your hand up his bicep. Fuck, he’s strong. “...it isn’t a crazy idea to help each other out, right? We’re friends. It’s just two friends giving each other a hand…”

Wade dips down to run the bridge of nose along the line of your jaw, letting his lips drop to the pulse in your neck.

“Just friends…” he mutters. You buck up into nothing. Oh, god. You’re going to die here. “Baby?”

Oh shit, oh fuck. You want him to call you that over and over again, stamp it into your fucking mind.

“Yeah?” you reply, the word ripped rawly from your throat.

“I wanted to do this before we even left this goddamn apartment, you think I might have changed my mind after the mutant viagra?”

He pulls back just enough for you to see the seriousness on his face. No, he’s not joking, not saying something dirty just because he thinks it’s funny.

He’s saying it because it’s true, and it’s both thrilling and terrifying.

“Can I?”

Oh, it’s so tempting to say yes yes yes… but the more tempting thing is to tease him. Just a little.

You hook your leg over his shoulder and he groans as you dig your heel into the muscle of his back. He groans loud and long.

“Wade?”

“Mmm?”

“Ask me properly.”

His breath hitches in his throat, and you’re pretty sure he’s making a mess in his suit.

“Fuck, can I eat you out, baby? Please?”

You nod so fast you fear you’ll break your neck.

Wade lifts you like you weigh fucking nothing at all, strong arms scooping you up and bringing you to the couch - desperate for more space. His hands move quick and roughly as he goes to the pants on your suit, so wracked with need his fingers shake just from the promise of getting to touch you properly. You help him as much as you can, toeing off your boots and helping him tug your underwear off along with your waistband. His eyes widen as he realises your panties are in his hands. He takes a moment to run his thumb over the cotton of them and he fucking moans. Oh, god damn it, you’re going to be fucking ruined.

“Fuck. Never seen a pussy look this good,” he breathes as he finds himself face-to-face with your dripping cunt. You’re already so wet that it’s embarrassing and, while it would be easy enough to blame on the pollen, you know that you’ve wanted this for months. When he drags his tongue up your puffy, desperate folds, you pretty much combust.

“Oh shit,” you groan, wrapping your other leg round his face to hold him flush against you - not that Wade needs any convincing though, because you’ve never seen a man so desperate to fuck you with his mouth before. He buries himself in you, scarred hands reaching up to dig into the soft skin of your thighs and keep you steady. He wants you at his own pace, it seems, and is strong enough to make it happen. Fuck, you are not complaining.

Wade’s eyes flit upwards to see how you’re reacting as he moves his whole face side to side to bury himself into your cunt deeper. It’s like he’s trying to find where your scent is the strongest and, honestly? With what you’ve heard about this pollen stuff? Seems right on track. He has no hair for you to bury your fingers in so instead you press your hand to the top of his head and pull him closer, because god knows you don’t have the ability to vocalise it. You sink your fingernails in so he knows, though.

Holy hell you’ve never felt so good. The pollen is heightening everything, each movement he makes into you shooting shockwaves through your nerves. Wade’s tongue is insistent in exploring every inch of you, pressing bluntly into your clit; lapping at the wetness seeping from you like he’ll die if he can’t taste what he’s doing to you; dragging down to your ass and toying with you there, too. Yes, fuck, anything he goddamn wants. When his teeth skim the needy folds of your cunt you jackknife into his mouth, almost breaking them clean out of his gums.

“Holy shit, babe. What’s gotten into you?” he chuckles, pupils so blown wide with lust that his eyes are eclipsed with black. You chase after him with your hips.

“Not you, and that’s the problem,” you harrumph. He grins and you see how covered with your slick he is and fuck you are going to die here.

“I’ll take care of you. That’s what friends do, right?” he asks, putting emphasis on the word you’re both masquerading behind. When you reach out with a searching hand he threads his finger through yours wordlessly, using the other to grab a pillow so he has something to fuck up against. You feel a tiny bit bad for not offering to help but you know he’ll get his in time - in fact just thinking about sucking his cock your mouth begins to water.

He presses his palm into yours as he goes back to your cunt with his mouth. It takes only moments for him to start up his desperate pace again, tongue sinfully sweet, and you’re chasing and chasing…

Stars explode in your vision and in your blood. The noise you let out is feral, a euphony of pleasure and you don’t care who hears. Wade’s eyes drift close as he tastes your orgasm directly at his lips, drinking you down. You’re certain his hips stutter as he comes just from getting you off. Oh god it’s so hot.

Oh god, you’re not done.

Wade surges up your body and kisses you ferociously, you moan at the taste of yourself he gives back.

“Fuck, yes, do you taste that, baby? What did I do to you? Holy fuck you are the hottest thing I’ve ever seen…”

“Wade, I need you.”

“Yeah, fuck, okay. Let me get this stupid sexy suit off…”

Hands begin to fumble messily, needily at each other’s zippers in order to strip. You sit up to get a better handle on him—

And freeze when you see you have an audience.

Wade follows your gaze to where Logan is standing in the bedroom doorway. He’s managed to get his suit off and change back into his jeans, though you can’t imagine he’ll want to stay in them for long the way his trapped cock is staining dark blue denim even darker. He’s gripping the doorframe with such force that his claws have popped out, eyes a matching pitch black to Wade’s, chest heaving as he watches the show.

“You okay, honey badger?” Wade drawls, a cocky smile dragging across him. Logan grunts. Swallows hard. You go for a softer tactic.

“Logan, sweetheart, you wanna join in?” your voice is husky as you ask, oh so inviting. Logan squeezes his eyes shut and his fist tight, taking a chunk out of the wall.

“Get into the goddamn bedroom, both of you,” he growls. The two of you absolutely do not need to be told twice. Partially undressed you vault over the back of the dishevelled sofa, letting Logan lead the way. As soon as you’re within arms’ reach he snags you around the waist and pulls you in for a kiss.

Logan kisses like he wants to devour you. Rough, commanding, dragging his tongue into your mouth as if trying to claim you. Oh, you’ll let him a hundred times over. You mewl when his hand reaches down you cup your still dripping pussy, immediately swiping a thumb against your clit. It pulses as if Wade didn’t just pull an orgasm out of you.

“Fuckin’ needy little thing,” he snarls, delighted. You reach down to grab the bulge he’s rocking, squeezing hard enough to get him to groan.

“Look who’s talking,” you chuckle. He taps at the top of your suit, an instruction.

“Off,” he says, but that’s as much as he gets to say, because Wade grabs him by the beard and steers him in for a kiss. You pause for just a second to see what will happen but clearly you needn’t have worried - Logan moans into your friend’s mouth, grabbing a handful of Wade’s pretty decent ass and digging in his fingers. While they’re busy you finish stripping, going for the zipper on the back of the red suit and pulling it down. It’s such a goddamn stupid design having it at the back like a goddamn prom dress - but at the moment you’re kinda thankful for it because it means you get to kiss along the revealed plain of skin. Wade has such beautiful fucking back muscles, you’ve stared at them for long enough to memorise every damned one.

He steps out of the suit when you get to his feet - yeah, he did come just from eating you out earlier and holy fuck are you proud - and lets out a strangled noise when you bite the meat of his asscheek hard enough to leave a mark.

“Fuck, are you gonna rim me? Because if so I’m a thousand percent down,” he chokes, pulling away from Logan’s mouth and leaving a string of spit between them, evidence of a messy kiss. You shrug.

“You want me to, baby?”

Wade seems to have a crisis of faith as he considers this, letting Logan nibble down the length of his neck; eventually he shakes his head though.

“No, I wanna be inside you, like, yesterday,” he confesses.

“I’ve got enough room for two,” you state, so absolutely sure the pollen will accommodate that you don’t even need to think about it. Both Wade and Logan suck in a breath at that idea.

“Fuck, baby, aren’t you just perfect,” Logan drawls, grabbing you by the hips as you stand up and pulling you to the pathetic twin bed this apartment was provided with. Not how you wanted this first time to go down but hey, at least it’s going down at all. No longer just a dirty fantasy you bury your fingers into your cunt imagining but a real bonafide liaison (boner-fide liaison, Wade’s voice in your head pipes up).

You paw at his jeans, desperate to have all three of you naked and ready. There’s nothing to hide between you any more. Any boundaries have been not only crossed but decimated, absolutely destroyed beyond repair, and you couldn’t be happier. When his cock falls heavy into your palm you can’t help but suck air in through your teeth at its sheer size. Logan chuckles, gravelly and tempting.

“Oh it’ll fit, baby,” he coos, as if reading your mind. Fuck. Yep, it will. There’s no two ways about it. You’re having both Wade and Logan inside you if it kills you.

He wraps you in his arms before you can have any more thoughts on the matter and pulls you down onto the mattress with him, the pollen in your veins making you feel every touch like the end of a live wire - yet you keep coming back to get shocked. Logan positions himself under you, chest-to-chest, grinning at the way your nipples rub against the coarse and gorgeous hair of his chest. There’s a slapping noise and you realise it’s Wade’s hand on Logan’s thigh, encouraging him to move up the bed.

“Big boy, you know you have to scoot up if this is happening. I’m all for fucking the same pussy together but you have to be realistic…”

Obscured by your body, only you get to see the way Logan rolls his eyes fondly at Wade’s blabbering. He manouveurs you both to allow Wade room to kneel on the mattress behind you and you gasp at the feeling of their cocks bullying at your entrance.

“Oh my god,” you gasp, body on fire and desperate to be extinguished by them. Logan hums in your ear.

“I know, baby, I know. We’ll take care of you.”

“And each other. I got sex-pollened too, old man,” Wade harrumphs, rubbing his head against the slick lips of your cunt.

“Nobody’s forgetting you, princess,” he murmurs, “now be good and put me inside.”

Logan probably misses the soft hiss Wade lets out at that, but you feel the way the mercenary’s hand wraps around his cock and presses Logan to your empty cunt. You moan in pleasure as he follows the path Wade has laid out and pushes himself inside of you, no resistance given. It takes you only a couple of seconds to adjust to the pure size of him. Holy shit, if this were any other time you’d be falling apart by now, but the way your body pumps with desperation suggests one dick alone isn’t going to be enough.

“You okay?” Logan rumbles by your ear. You cling onto him for dear life, nodding.

“Yeah. Fuck, Wade, I know you’ll fit, you’ve gotta fuck me too.”

Wade doesn’t even have an answer for that. Instead you feel his thumb tug at your lips, stretching you for him - or just watching the way Logan fills you, getting off on the filthy way you’re plugged. Another cock begins to press at your already stuffed hole and you whine.

“S’okay, I gotcha,” Logan says through gritted teeth as he feels Wade’s length slide along his own, the feeling almost overwhelming for him. You drop your head to his shoulder and choke on your own spit as Wade forces himself inside of you. Your cunt feels like it is about to burst into flames in the most satisfying way possible, flowering open between them both.

“Fuck, never felt anything so goddamn tight in my life…” Wade manages. Eventually he bottoms out alongside Logan, both of them sitting snugly inside of you, sharing you, clutched in your warmth.

“There we go,” Logan growls. “You okay, baby?”

Not knowing if the question is aimed at you or Wade you both whine a yes. Logan laughs and you feel his chest move beneath you, all muscle and heat.

“I’m gonna move now.”

He drags himself out of you, inch by glorious inch, like a match striking against a box and sparking an ember. A deep ragged breath shudders through you at the feeling of it but it is nothing compared to how he slams back inside. Lights flood your periphery. You are going to fucking die between these two men and that is fine. Heaven, even.

Once Wade feels Logan’s rhythm it is too much of a competition for him not to match it. The mercenary’s arms fall either side of your bodies to support himself as he works himself in and out of you, sliding deep as Logan retreats to the tip. Your cunt makes a lewd noise as they piston inside of you and you have never cared about anything less in your life. You are bathed in light, high off this, euphoric over being fucked. A tiny rivulet of drool falls from the edge of your mouth into Logan’s chest hair and he curses at the glorious rawness of it all.

Above you, Wade has finally found his voice again.

“Look at you taking us so well. Oh, fuck, goddamn. I’ve wanted you like this for so long. Remember when we were neighbours, honey? Those guys who you used to bring home… fuck, baby… I used to give myself the old low-five to the sound of you getting fucked…”

You make a pathetic little noise which spurs him onwards. Wade’s mouth drops to your ear.

“...and I used to get angry because I knew I could do it better myself.”

“Oh my god Wade…” you whisper. Tears are beginning to pool in your eyes at the way you’re starting to get overstimulated, two cocks hitting that sweet spot inside you verges on being too much. Were the pollen not still in full force you’re sure you’d need to tap out.

“And you?” Wade’s hand grips Logan’s bicep, squeezing appreciatively. “Do you know what it’s like to wake up every morning and see you shirtless on my couch, and not be able to fuck you? You do it on purpose, peanut, I swear…”

Logan chuckles again, that deep honey-rich sound eked out in magnitudes.

“And what if I do, Red?”

Wade pauses in his thrusting, you don’t have to see him to know that his eyes are wide.

“Wait, what? For real?”

“Wade!” you whine, reaching over to slap at his arm, annoyed that he’s stopped moving. “Can we all just agree we’ve gotten off to the thought of each other and we’d have fucked eventually anyway?”

The men either side of you seem to think it’s a good compromise to come to and redouble their efforts. All you can do is to cling onto whatever muscles you’re able to find and ride the wave of pleasure. Fireworks go off in your synapses, brain a messy goo of euphoria, cunt fucked out and thoroughly taken care of.

They speed up, thrusts getting messy and arrhythmic and yet still somehow matching, and you know that they’re going to come together. What a fucking treat, how divine, oh god. Logan’s hands sink into your ass to keep you anchored as his cock goes faster, skin slapping on skin as his sac moves against Wade’s - causing the merc to let out a string of curses - and you’re suddenly flooded with his warm, sticky cum pumping inside you in jets. Wade whines at the feeling of himself being doused and follows Logan’s lead. The filthy cocktail of them drips around both their lengths and out of your hole, falling onto the pathetic mattress below. One last little nudge of the hips is all it takes to push you over the edge again. Your next orgasm is dragged out of you… but you know your body will demand more.

For now, though, respite. The urge to reach that peak again immediately has at least settled for the moment.

“Holy fuck,” you sigh. Logan hums an affirmative note, fingers playing with the small of your back as Wade peppers kisses across your shoulderblades.

“We should go on stakeouts more often, if this is the nice little bow everything gets tied up in,” Wade sighs, dreamily. You nod against Logan’s chest. His hair rubs your cheek deliciously. Your pussy throbs again, reminding you this dirty escapade needs to continue soon. “So what does this mean? Are we a little mutant charcuterie now?”

Your brow furrows as you try to parse what Wade has just said.

“Oh. Wade, baby, do you mean ‘coterie’?”

Logan bursts out laughing, a noise you’ve never properly heard before, and it has you grinning - and Wade, too, even though he grumbles a little at being corrected. Their cocks jostle inside you and you feel them getting hard again and, as you prepare yourself for round two, it’s nice to know that whatever the three of you face at the end of this will be happy.

Three days later, you’re laid across the couch, head in Wade’s lap and legs in Logan’s, all tangled together as you get the single worst telling-off of your life.

“Non-lethal mission, Wade! How many times did I have to tell you, it was meant to be non-lethal!” Piotr shouts down the line. Wade grimaces.

“Look, there were other things we had to sort out first, okay? We kinda forgot about the no-killing part. Besides the guy can’t traffic drugs if he’s dead,” he confesses. You can picture Piotr’s disappointed face.

“Other things!? WHAT other things, Wade?!”

“Okay so there was this horny pollen, and we all had to—”

Logan grabs Wade’s phone and hurls it across the room. It shatters into pieces against the wall. Wade gawps.

“Hey! That was new! Well, okay, not new, but it wasn’t cracked. Well, it was cracked, but it had all my best dick pics on there!”

“You can take new ones,” Logan states.

You smile. Yeah. The charcuterie is nice.

#my writing #james logan howlett x reader #logan howlett x reader #logan x reader #wolverine x reader #x men x reader #logan howlett imagine #marvel x reader #marvel imagine #marvel fanfiction #mcu fanfiction #mcu imagine #wolverine fanfiction #mcu fandom #Deadpool x reader #wade wilson x reader #deadpool x reader x wolverine #wolverine x reader x deadpool

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r-o-s-e-f-i-r-e · 2 months ago

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ok between evan buckley’s cultural black hole of an upbringing and his noted love of documentaries trivia research deep dives etc what i’ve been turning over in my mind palace the last few days is like

tommy logs into instagram once a week to like all of sal and gina’s pictures of baby lila and whatever memes chimney has sent him. he hits a button weird with his gigantic beautiful fingers and gets taken to an instagram reel about uhhh the irish potato famine it doesn’t actually matter what it is he just watches the first few seconds and goes !!! evan was talking about this!!!!! evan thing! thing for evan!!!! tommy immediately shows it to evan later like hey babe weren’t you just talking about this i found more Information for you 👁️👄👁️ and buck watches it and is just like what???? that’s not true. excuse me, he’s - he’s literally making shit up, potatoes are native to the americas, this is misinformation, there was food the english were just exporting it under armed guards it was starvation under colonial rule!!!! he doesn’t even bother to list any citations? that’s not what a primary source is!!!!! and then buck takes tommy’s phone and starts eviscerating some like podcast bro adjacent “real history” account (it’s a funnel into tradwife conspiracy theories and also the podcast bros MLM which evan will never realize because he doesn’t make it to the end of the video he keeps swiping and is like ALL OF THESE ARE WRONG!!! HOW CAN HE JUST LIE ON THE INTERNET LIKE THAT????)

anyway after tommy is like uh??? it eventually comes out that evan’s bubble boy childhood was the natural extension of both of his parents like. being tenured history professors at penn. the only music released after 1980 that he listened to growing up was paul simon’s graceland. they didnt own a television but he spent a lot of time sullenly swinging his feet back and forth in a corner of the special collections library while his dad gave public evening and weekend lectures about Petrarch and bookmaking and how to properly handle manuscripts and his mom edited what would become The defining collection of churchill’s personal correspondence and he Did Not Retain Much Of It out of spite but they drilled how to Accurately Research Anything into his 8 year old brain and it became a fundamental building block of his identity (and maddie’s duh) without them realizing how fucking weird they are. for examp he’s sooo annoyed he doesn’t have a date for the billy boils rodeo stampede in the hospital. the substack he found was run by a uc berkeley folklore MA who emailed buck scans of microfilms of contemporary newspaper articles abt boils & the gang after buck is like nice wiki template 🙄 tommy hears all of this and is like okay. cool. umm where do curses fit into this worldview. and buck is like you’d be a believer too if you’d had PhD students over for dinner every other week comparing traumatic field research stories while your parents nodded along sagely and said stuff like yeah that’s why you don’t fuck around in the catacombs after dark you idiots. ANYWAY that’s all thanks for stopping by

#this is not actually about the content here i know this is giving absolute nothing 👍#this is about trying to practice writeing again for the first time in ummm. yeah #bucktommy #mine

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ghostlyfleur · 1 year ago

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𝑠𝑤𝑒𝑒𝑡.

steve harrington x fem!reader

summary: the sweet progression of steve and his pretty girl’s relationship.

warnings: tooth-rotting fluff, idiots in love, oblivious!reader, shy!reader, inexperienced!reader. pet names (angel, baby, flower girl, pretty girl, princess, sweet girl). 18+ mdni, smut-adjacent. world building.

word count: ~4.5k

pre-relationship—

steve’s girl friend is a soft spoken, remarkably sweet, gentle soul. she’s shy, way too anxious, so inexperienced that she comes off as innocent. her wardrobe consists of flowy skirts and flowery dresses and soft sweaters and cozy knits, puts flowers in her hairdos like interwoven in braids or tucked in a half-up half-down mess, has this ethereal vibe to the makeup she likes to wear (ie. shimmery eyeshadow in soft colors, highlighter, sparkly lipgloss, white waterline pencil, fairy wing eyeliner designs, and slightly blushy cheeks), wears silver wire-framed glasses at home when not using contacts and steve thinks it brings out her gorgeous eyes even more. she always wears pretty dangly earrings with flowers, her nails painted with glitter nail polish or neutral soft colors, and steve thinks she’s an angel.

the rest of the people in town mostly think her to be weird and unapproachable, with the way she stops mid walk to crouch down and whisper softly to a ladybug she sees on the sidewalk, or when she accidentally bumps into a street pole and yells out a panicked ‘sorry!’ as if she would hear a reply back.

when steve first met his girl, he was enchanted.

she was so soft and beautiful and kind, but also very anxious; something he noticed the first time she walked into scoops ahoy, and steve was so excited to finally talk to the pretty girl that started working at the flower shop down the block that he’s been pining for. the pretty girl’s reaction to his flirting however was of shyness, nervousness, and seemingly scared silence… so steve decided to make a fool out of himself just to see her smile. it was worth it. steve felt as if her laughter was the equivalent of the skies opening up to let sunshine peak through dark clouds. they eased their way into each other’s lives after that. his girl started seeking him out, finding comfort and safety in his presence and caregiving personality, though remaining clueless of his feelings and just how much robin teased him for being a smitten fool.

“pretty flower girl” is how steve referred to her at the beginning, all heart eyes and dreamy sighs. working at a flower shop seems to fit her so entirely, like she’s in her own little world while surrounded by flora. she’s able to tell you the meanings, both positive and negative, of any flower imaginable, of different plants too! keeps a log book and a journal to track her flora friends’ growth, pressed flowers and polaroid pictures of different bouquets, photographs each beautiful arrangement she creates in a picture album.

her home is also completely taken over by pots and plants and gardens and hanging vines, secrets whispered to them while she waters her little friends as needed, full conversations kept that seem to make all the plants bloom and flourish even more. lots of natural light comes in from the many windows of her cabin, surrounded by greenery and trees and a small pond that wild animals often visit, knowing her safe haven is also a safe haven for any animals. the place always smells like whatever she’s baking, the decor homey and filled with crystals and incense and hand painted mugs and vases. greens, yellows, oranges, and tan colors. books balanced on any available surface.

she becomes steve’s girl best friend, and he loves her so much. worships her, really. steve makes it his mission to spoil and love his pretty girl, even if he hides it behind silly flirting and the pretense of friendship.

whenever they’re together, steve and his girl are all the other sees. the gang has a little bet on who will break first, steve or his flower girl.

her sit is always his lap.

steve swears off other girls as soon as he meets her.

he is very affectionate towards her, and she loves to kiss his cheeks.

they often have sleepovers just the two of them.

they’re so close they can just exist together and be at peace.

she’s so supportive of him too, always praising him and hyping him up.

steve is overprotective of her.

whenever one goes the other sure follows.

see, steve’s girl is so sweet on him it drives robin crazy. because robin knows the feelings are reciprocated, but she also knows both steve and his girl enough to know she needs to let them figure this out by themselves. it doesn’t mean robin isn’t their number one fan, though.

steve’s pretty girl bakes him sweets often to bring to him at work to “make your day a little easier, stevie”, she brings him flowers from her job that steve learns to preserve in his room, she gives him her favorite ring that he never takes off. but steve also does little things for his sweet girl— takes care of her and buys her chocolate because it makes her so happy and giddy he falls a little more in love each time. he also reminds her to drink water, buys her favorite snacks for movie night or when she’s on her period, takes her to the movies, drives her everywhere (because she’s his pretty passenger princess) to have some extra time with her.

oh! steve’s girl also has a bunch of homemade gifts that she keeps in a small glass trunk in her home because she’s too shy to give them to her stevie— handmade bracelets, handmade wire rings, pretty things she finds at thrift stores that remind her of her pretty boy, handmade necklaces, small gifts with pressed flowers, letters she writes down because she feels so deeply for her sweet boy that she needs to let it out somehow, and a bunch of other small gifts that she hopes one day she can give to her stevie to show him how much she loves him.

she’s so lovely to her stevie without even realizing, though. she’s demiromantic, you see, and after becoming friends with steve she started to slowly fall for him. the thing is, she knew very well what was happening, she’s very in tune to her emotions, and she fell for him willingly! whereas steve fell for her fast and kept falling.

imagine his girl never had her first kiss… she’s so inexperienced and her sweet persona and gentle demeanor make her seem like the softest person ever. steve is so mesmerized by her.

he flirts with her and is sweet to her and devotes his time to her and spoils her rotten and gives her kisses and hugs and cuddles and all the love he has to give— steve quickly decided that even if they’re ‘just friends’ he’ll still treat her like his princess, give her everything he can and shower her in his adoration until she catches up. and even then, even when it’s so obvious that steve is in love with her, that he blushes and stutters and gets flustered only for her, that he shows her every day just how much he loves her, she remains oblivious.

in her pov, she knows she’s in love with her stevie so she’s going to treat him like the most precious person in her world. which he is. the thing is that she gives him all of her love without ever once considering that he might return it, even as he flirts and quite literally says he’s hers and she’s his all the time, it never even crosses her mind to actually believe it. maybe because she’s trying to protect herself from heartbreak. she just decides that her stevie deserves the world so she’s going to give him all she can.

but she’s so soft with him! holds his face between her hands when talking to him sometimes like she’s holding her whole world on her hands, presses kisses to his cheeks all the time, gives him hugs. she always compliments him, isn’t afraid of telling him exactly what’s on her mind…

“you look so pretty, stevie”

“i’m so proud of you.”

“i missed you lots today!”

“i saw this cute puppy and it reminded me of you ‘cause you’re just as cute!”

“i always prefer your company.”

flower girl is the most adorable sight steve has ever seen! she pouts so prettily whenever she doesn’t get the attention she wants from him, all soft lips and furrowed brows and plush cheeks crossed arms, and steve just wants to pepper kisses all over her face.

her love languages:

she bakes him cookies ; buys him things that remind her of her stevie ; plans these cute little “friend” outings that feel more like dates ; she’s never lacking in her affections though she’s very timid and shy when it happens ; will defend him no matter what ; makes sure to always praise him ; she gets all cranky if someone insults him even playfully ; she’s very shy so she often hides her face on his chest or neck and it makes his heart flutter ; she helps him babysit bc the kids love her ; she gave her stevie a special arrangement of flowers that she created just for him plus a little booklet of pictures of the two of them together that also had pressed flowers on it for his birthday ; she checks in with him every day even if they don’t see each other to make sure her stevie is doing okay ; will stay on the phone with him all night especially if he had a nightmare or a fight with his parents.

where steve’s best friend is all cute and pouty and sweet and clingy and loving but only to her stevie!!!!! and she’s a bit ditzy— talks to animals and plants and inanimate objects like they can answer her, her thoughts jump from one thing to another but steve always entertains her, she skips instead of waking a lot, she dresses all cute and coquette and always has glitter on her somewhere, she gives steve handmade gifts all the time with this shy little smile and blushing and sometimes when the gift is specially meaningful she’ll run away as soon as he accepts it 🥺 she trips over her own feet a lot too!!! so steve has to grip her waist to help her find her footing!!! and it makes her break out in goosebumps!!! and steve is so in love with her, with her ramblings and midnight ice cream cravings and true crime rants and the way she talks about murder and psychopath profiling and laughs at horror movies and has crystals and tarot cards and wants to befriend ghosts, how she gives her stevie little glass bottles with protection spells or anti-anxiety spells or how she always needs to hear his voice before bed.

and she’s so pretty and soft and kind and nice and laughs a lot and everyone loves her— but she never notices how so many people flirt with her, and never notices whenever steve scares possible suitors away, because really she only sees steve!!!!!! and it makes him crazy to see how she blatantly ignores anyone and everyone to focus on him!!!!!

but then one day steve’s girl starts feeling sad and heartbroken because she’s convinced herself that steve still loves nancy so she starts pulling away a little and steve doesn’t understand what he did wrong! robin has to spell it out for him that his girl thinks he still wants nancy when that couldn’t be further from the truth; steve now knows he’s never truly been in love before, not like he is with his angel, and that it was his angel that showed him he deserves someone who loves him just as much as he loves them. therefore, steve does his best to find ways to tell his girl that nancy is in the past, that she has nothing to worry about, but he has to do so while him and his angel aren’t together yet so he slowly breached the subject until he can figure out where his girl stands, if he can make a move, if she’s interested in him too, y’know? like those conversations filled with a deeper meaning and both parties trying to drop hints about their feelings but they’re still too hesitant to be more clear in their affections. for now.

imagine steve spoiling her and making her all giddy and happy and shy and giggly :( i want steve to treat his baby like royalty way before they even get together :( i wanna read about their first kiss and how it makes steve’s knees buckle and how she’s so giggly because it’s her first kiss and he tells her he wants to marry her right then and there and she tells him she never ever would consider being with anyone but her stevie :(

after they get together—

their first kiss happens in what steve considers to be the best night of his life to date.

it was halloween, and he was slightly nervous about going to the fair with not only the kids and robin and eddie, but his girl too. the year before, he stayed in with his angel and robin watching movies and eating junk, which was the perfect night ‘cause he got to cuddle his girl, but last halloween he went out to celebrate didn’t end up being very enjoyable for him… what with having your now-ex call you bulshit, bullshit, bullshit.

however, this is his girl he’s talking about. while it wasn’t a date, simply a hangout with their friend group, steve still considers his girl, well… his. and the fact she insisted on meeting them there herself had him slightly on edge.

she was dressed as a fairy.

steve has never seen anyone as pretty, as mesmerizing. and the way she treated this night, treated him, was driving steve crazy.

first, once she meets everyone at the entrance of the amusement park they agreed to go to, she insists on paying for both herself and steve. literally grabs steve’s wallet from his hand and only gives it back after she pays.

he, of course, only really allows it because she gives him her — in steve’s opinion illegal — pouty puppy eyes that she knows steve can’t say no to.

afterwards, once they all enter and the kids disperse to the various entertainment with the agreement of meeting up later to eat, steve’s girl drags him away from robin and eddie, who were both sporting knowing grins, to a shooting booth where she proceeds to win, suspiciously easily might he add, a stuffed frog for him.

and then she grabs his hand. albeit hesitantly, but she does. intertwining their fingers and everything.

the entire night was a dream for steve, and unbeknownst to him, for his girl too. she had a plan, you see. his angel was pulling out all the stops, even if she was shy and blushy the whole time— paying for the tickets for both of them was number one. followed by winning steve a stuffed animal, holding his hand, sharing fried oreos and cotton candy (again, paid by her), and going to the photobooth. the ferris wheel would be last, but it’s what happens inside the photobooth that matters.

once inside, steve made sure she was sat on his lap. she payed again. the pictures go a little something like this:

1st pic steve is laughing and she’s looking at him like he’s her dream come true which he is / 2nd pic she pushes forward not being able to wait any longer and quickly presses her lips to his a bit messily / 3rd pic is her looking all flustered and shy and doe-eyed while steve has this dazed look in his eyes and his jaw is dropped / 4th pic is steve grabbing her cheeks and kissing her fully, brows furrowed and all.

steve steals another kiss at the top of the ferris wheel, it was giggling and smiling more than kissing, though.

on the drive home, angel makes a stop at their self-assigned star gazing spot where she officially asks steve to be her boyfriend, all flustered and timid but oh so hopeful. another kiss, a resounding “yes” from her sweet boy, and dropping him off with a quick goodnight kiss ends the night, and steve has never been happier.

the fact she planned this whole night, took a chance, romanced the hell out of him, and was so genuine the whole time, looking to make him smile, just because, had steve on a high unlike any other. no one has ever taken the time to spoil him, to do romantic things for him. he’s not used to reciprocity in relationships, but here this angel is professing her love for him and not only saying it but showing him she means it. best night of his life.

and so their relationship begins.

steve harrington just worships his girl, spoils her continuously, and wants to do everything for her. he is overly affectionate and just obsessed with his baby, pictures of her and with her everywhere on his house, his car, his wallet, maybe even a locket he wears with a copy of the picture of their first kiss on it. steve took the photobooth strip and got the second picture, his angel kissing him for the first time, copied and altered to fit into the locket.

everyone in town just knows steve is entirely whipped and he does not care. he is definitely touch starved for his girl, quite a bit jealous, however, but trusts her so much that it just comes out as a sort of possessiveness that isn’t toxic but something both he and, secretly, his angel enjoy. steve always praises her and wants to take care of her because she’s his sweet little angel girl.

steve is also her first everything— first kiss, first date, first boyfriend, first time… and it drives him insane! something about knowing he’s the only one that’s ever had her and the only one she’s ever wanted just drives him up the wall and gets him so needy. so desperate. so whiney and pouty.

something else about steve as a boyfriend is that he’s his angel’s biggest fan — always praising, always encouraging, always in awe of her. will brag about his baby to anyone. randomly brings her up in conversation because she’s all he thinks about and he’s so proud to be hers.

buying her flowers whenever he can so she’ll give him this wide, square smile of hers that takes over her whole face like she can’t control it and her nose scrunches up a bit and he never wants to look at anything but her.

her stevie is really into pda too, can’t take his hands off of her, but nothing extreme; casual touches and pecks on her nose or temple or lips or cheeks, buries his face in her neck often, hand holding constantly!!!!!!, plays with her hair, is always playing with the delicate ‘s’ pendant on her neck that he gifted her and she never takes off (steve has this proud little smile whenever he messes with it).

then there’s the casual dominance— steve tucks her hair behind her ears, ties her shoelaces for her, adjusts the clasp of her necklace, puts her dainty jewelry on for her, braids her hair because she’s always clumsy with it and she prefers his braids over hers, gives her water so she stays hydrated, remembers her meds for her, adjusts her beanie on her hair when it’s cold and she’s wearing one, wipes chocolate from the corner of her mouth because his baby is a messy eater, pulls on her waist when they’re walking so she doesn’t bump into someone or something because she’s too busy talking and looking at him, spoon feeds her when she’s too tired and sleepy and pouty, brushes her teeth for her too when she’s being his cute little tired baby or is in subspace, brushing her hair and treating her like a little doll, his little doll, and loves to shower with her so he can do it for her, loves to drive her everywhere too. she’s his pretty passenger princess and they both take that role very seriously.

and whenever his pretty baby gets all glassy eyed and needy and blushy for him? he melts.

steve has a daddy kink. major one. and when he finally finds his baby, his person, he starts noticing things she might be into for the sole reason of wanting to be the absolute best he can be for his baby. the thing is, he knows she’s entirely new to this and still a bit nervous and hesitant and shy, so he starts by filing things away in his brain to make sure once she’s ready and the time comes that he can treat her perfectly, and give her everything and anything she wants.

his baby is probably a sub, she must be, with how pliable and soft she gets. for sure has an oral fixation, always giving him little kisses and little bites randomly and pressing his hand to her lips so she can softly mouth at them (but will shy away and get flustered when she notices she’s doing this) (she just loves his hands and he knows). steve’s girl also gets all flustered and her breath hitches when he jokingly calls himself ‘daddy’, so he takes that as a good sign because there’s nothing steve wants more in this world than to be her daddy. only hers. to spoil and care for and love his baby to the best of his ability.

she also loves when he manhandles her, he’s noticed— it’s just that steve really enjoys carrying his baby around, loves feeling needed and loves holding her and having her body pressed to his and have her hold on to him, but also he just wants to do things for his baby, doesn’t want her to tire herself out, ever!

she doesn’t need to walk around all the time because her stevie’s here and he won’t have his baby do unnecessary work when he’s around. whenever he grabs her waist and places her on top of a counter or something and stands between her legs? she gets all smiley. steve also absolutely loves how clearly his touch affects her; she hums and melts into him and gets a bit breathless and just tries to bury herself into him until they become one. lots of cuddles and hugs from behind and just being entirely wrapped in each other while wearing the coziest sweaters under the cuddliest blanket are common occurrences.

the main thing, though… is how steve’s shy little girlfriend quickly becomes obsessed with his bulge. loves when her stevie hugs her from behind so it presses against her, or when he has her sit between his legs with her back to his chest, or any time where her stevie is holding her close. he doesn’t even need to be hard for her to enjoy it, i mean, he shows through his jeans even when he’s soft! and she just always thinks it looks so…soft? and chubby? and she just wants it smushed against her at all times.

it takes steve a while to figure it out, but when he does? he’s relentless! pressing up against his baby all. the. fucking. time. just to see her blush and stutter and get all shy… but she also fucking sighs and relaxes whenever he does it, like it’s such a comfort for her? to feel all of him? like it’s all she’s waiting for at all times. and it drives steve crazy how his cute, shy, introverted, virgin girlfriend who giggles all the time and is always flustered by him and hiding her hot cheeks with her hands and is so… clumsy and tentative and nervous when it comes to any sort of affection (which she only accepts from her stevie) ((she definitely hates touch except his)) (((and he knows it too! was one of the things that proved to him his pretty best friend had feelings for him too when they were ‘just friends’))) can be so desperate to feel his bulge against her.

angel also loves that her stevie boy has huge hands! absolutely massive. could-wrap-one-hand-around-your-entire-neck massive, beautiful, strong, soft hands.. and yeah, both steve and his girl definitely have huge size kinks. huge. they haven’t said so out loud yet, but it shows through their actions. steve loves how obvious the size difference is when they’re holding hands, or when his hand is on her soft thighs. most of the time his baby holds his fingers instead because it hurts a little bit to intertwine their fingers for too long and steve thinks it’s fucking adorable. she’s shorter too, so 😵‍💫 her sweet boy goes crazy. teasing, best friend steve comes out sometimes too when he uses her head as an armrest to tease her, or when he full on picks her up to take her somewhere if she’s being a brat or is too lazy, too tired to move.

steve’s angel loves their size difference. so much. it shows when she hides herself against his chest when it’s cold, when she compares hand sizes because “stevie, the difference is just insane!”, when steve smushes her into the mattress when they start fucking later on. steve notices his angel blush or sigh or break out in goosebumps whenever his hands are involved— i mean, can you blame her? his hands are so pretty. she’s always holding and touching and tracing her fingertips over his palms and pressing kisses, biting softly, sucking on his fingers when she’s restless, fidgety, or sleepy.

using steve as a weighted blanket is a must; helps angel when she’s anxious or having a bad day.

to be continued…

── harmo’s footnotes:

please remember to show your support by reblogging!

masterlist. steve dreams.

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aangelinakii · 1 month ago

Text

A BREATH APART.

— kiss-blocked by a robin.

summary : ever since you'd been hired as bruce wayne's secretary, you'd always felt a tension between you. what happens when a moment comes so close, only to be taken away?

note : this is NAWT spicy but i tried to make the sexual tension very much there pls lmk if this could be baited as smut by the lead-up

working for bruce wayne was a dream; all you had to do was let him know when his meetings were, and apologise to the businessmen he was supposed to meet when he decided he didn't want to show up — an easy cycle.

your desk was posted right outside his office, a sort of gangway between the business world and... whatever he does in there.

and maybe it was the delusions talking, but you could swear there was something there — between you and bruce wayne, i mean.

apparently he was a womanizer — but aren't they all?

something felt different with bruce. something forbidden. something barely-there.

though you meant to or not, each time you dropped off a stack of papers to his desk, your fingers brushed feather-light against his, lingering for just a moment before you turned your back to hide your sheepish smile.

on countless occasions, in conference and board rooms, when the space was tight, he'd place a careful hand upon your waist or lower back, and squeeze past, uttering a soft apology. when you'd look up at his fleeting figure, dressed smartly in suit and tie, you're sure he'd glance back, but you'd never bring it up later; and that spot on your skin stayed fuzzy the rest of the meeting.

he'd even invited you to a few galas and balls, his hair gelled and sleek as ever, his jacket perfectly tailored to his shoulders — and, perhaps you were wrong, but each time you stepped out in your formal attire, dazzling but not show-stopping or over-the-top, bruce's eyebrows raised slightly, and a hand came to his chest momentarily, as if he were out of breath.

but he was bruce wayne.

you were his secretary.

there were many people he could go for, and you found it difficult to believe that he would go for you.

late into the evening, bruce had offered to have you round the manor whilst looking over some finer details in an agreement another company had sent over. they'd been trying to get bruce on-board for months now, and bruce kept declining; he didn't understand their aim, didn't understand what start-up he was supposed to be funding. but each time he got you to defer their offers over the phone, they'd give it a few weeks and then try again.

either they were badly desperate, or something was off with their terms.

you were sitting in a plush chair before bruce's desk in his home office, the old nature of it a start contrast to his work office, of which his desk sat small against thirty-foot windows, illuminating his back against the bustling city.

here, you could tell it was lived in; from the worn mahogany on certain edges of the desk, which otherwise was polished to a shine, to the crimson armchair in the corner beside a small little table, a stout glass shimmering with an unfinished liquer, telltale by the open bottle adjacent.

but bruce wasn't opposite you, no, although his presence felt increasingly strong.

mint-fresh breath fanned against the shell of your ear as you stared down at the papers sent to you by the small company requesting funding. it took the clench of your fist in your lap to force back the shiver that crept up your spine, knuckles whitening at the action.

one of his hands lay on the backrest of your chair, and you leaned forward over the papers so as to not recline into his warmth, of which radiated even through your clothes, as well as the rich oudy cologne he wore.

"i'm not sure what they think they're doing, really," his expensive voice came in your ear; he was the epitome of old money, even now as his word brushed against your skin.

in return, an airy chuckle came from your lips. with a shake of your head, you dared to turn around to look at him. "and it's the fact they're barely even a start-up, too—"

but your sentence cut short.

it seemed bruce hadn't been anticipating your sudden movement, for your nose whisped against his, causing the two of you to falter — but not move away.

his eyelids inched wider, lashes fluttering in surprise.

your knuckles paled as you gripped the arm of your chair; you swear his blue eyes flickered down, down to your lips.

you swear that, because that's what you did, too.

something sighed in the back of his throat, breathy, like he couldn't bear holding back anymore. just inch... a little bit... closer...

"BRUCE!"

knee jerking in surprise, a bang came as you hit it against the bottom of bruce's desk, who drew himself to his full height just as quickly. as pain shot up your nerves, you craned your neck around just as the door opened, revealing a dashing man with a strange similarity to bruce — raven black hair, although longer and more unkempt, and skintone more sun-kissed.

behind him a shorter boy, again with a likeness to your boss, was jumping into view behind his shoulder.

"dick? tim? what is the meaning of this?" bruce asked, clearing his throat momentarily to disguise his shock. he glanced back at you, but did not meet your gaze. "(name) and i are having a meeting."

as both pairs of eyes drifted to you, your lips pulled instinctively into a sheepish smile.

the taller boy at the front, carefully pulled the door to. "nevermind..." he muttered, turning away. "we can talk about it later; it wasn't that serious anyway." but there was a certain wariness that made your stomach squirm.

bruce turned around as if he didn't want to be alone with you again, and walked round his desk. "apologies," he sighed as he sat down before you. "my sons. there's always something going on in this house." he gave a light chuckle, though the way his mouth kept tugging itself softly to the side implied his attempt for comedy was to fill the silence.

oh, god...

so, his sons almost witnessed you two kiss. you — the secretary. he — the boss. bruce wayne.

but there was a silence, mostly induced by you, until you broke it with grabbing your bag by your feet. "you know what, bruce, should i just tell them no again? and that's the final word?"

bruce's lips parted as he watched you file the papers back in your bag, stunned, confused, aching for you to stay. he fumbled on his words before standing as you did. "yeah, yeah– sure. yeah..."

as you shouldered your bag, you stood before bruce, unsure what to say to him now the moment of tension had passed, and been broken so horribly.

"i'll– uh– see you tomorrow at the office, then, sir," you smiled.

before you turned, bruce's eyes flickered with something, but you were too quick, missing the emotion behind it.

work surely would be awkward tomorrow — unless you both woke up the next morning inwardly agreeing to never mention this again.

#aangelinakii #dc #dc comics #dc imagines #dc reactions #dc headcanons #dc universe #bruce wayne #batman #bruce wayne headcanons #bruce wayne x reader #bruce wayne imagines #batman x reader #batman imagines

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utahlive · 1 year ago

Text

Announcement

Hello UtahLIVE viewers, I have come before you today to talk a bit about recent events and how they will impact the future of this blog. Apologies this note is a bit long, but I would really appreciate it if you took some time to read this.

As I'm sure many of you know, within the past month Wilbur Soot/William Gold has been outed as an abuser. I want to make it clear right now that I no longer support him, nor do I accept his apology (mainly because it's not mine to accept in the first place). I stand with and believe Shelby and Alice 100%. This goes for any other victims that have or will come forward that I am unaware of, since I've been trying my best to stay offline. This aint about me!! But it's still hard when someone you look up to and who inspired you to create art turns out to be a shitbag. If you were somehow unaware of this, please go watch Shelby/Shubble's stream (VOD + transcript) and read Alice's post (and mind the CW/TWs) for more information.

This blog has brought me a lot of grief because of all of this. I do not want to support or perpetuate this man's image, but at the same time, I don't want to discontinue a story that I've put so much time and effort into. After a lot of deliberation, I've decided that I am going to continue this story until the end. I will also be adding a disclaimer in the pinned post, and I will no longer be tagging any of my posts from here on out with #wilbur soot or any adjacent tags. I don't think it's fair to myself or to anyone else who has enjoyed this blog to waste all the hard work that I have put in, because ultimately this is my project and my story, not his. If you disagree with this, I totally get it, but I ask you to just unfollow and/or block rather than sending me any hate because I promise you that whatever you say about me "supporting" Wilbur Soot by continuing this blog is something I've already considered myself. He is not (active) on Tumblr, he did not receive any of the money I got from stickers, I doubt anyone is looking at this blog and thinking "wow this Wilbur guy seems cool, let me go listen to his music and watch his vods".

Despite this decision, I'll probably still be taking a bit of time to myself to think about things and focus on school. Updates will likely resume in late March or early April.

I hope you can all respect my stance on this, and I want to reiterate how much I appreciate you all for supporting my work. Love you guys <3

#utahlive #4th wall break #dsmp #dsmp ask blog #dream smp #dream smp askblog #ask blog

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karlachismylife · 5 months ago

Note

Thots on how they would react if you got sick?

(totally not self indulgent right now)

Oh no, my lovely spouse is sick :( Get well soon, lovie, and here are some little speedrun headcanons for you ahead of everything, as a treatment!! Beware, there are some NSFW parts under the cut :) So MINORS AND AGELESS BLOGS DO NOT INTERACT I swear I get so upset every time I have to block some ageless blog. If it's so hard to put your age in the bio, just DO NOT TOUCH THE POST!! I'd rather keep you around to read my SFW pieces than block you altogether.

Okay sorry for yelling, here we go

CW: gn!sick!reader, reader is somewhat being stubborn about getting treatment at some points, sickness unspecified, but I wrote with something cold-adjacent in mind since we're in the cold season, a bit of controlling behavior from Ghost and Price.

Soap is Mister Indulgence. Any cravings you get, be it three kilograms of crisps for breakfast or his Mam's soup you suddenly want to taste at 2 am, he's getting his ass out of bed and runs to the store or puts on an apron to make the soup. You want some tea with sugar and lemon? How much teaspoons of sugar? What, you tried it and turned out you wanted a teaspoon less? No worries, he'll make it again. You wanna binge your favourite show? Listen to "your" song fifty times in a row? Cuddle and nap on his hot chest for eight hours? Whatever you want, bonnie, his Maw always said that good mood is the most important step in getting better, so Johnny would rather die than not keep you satisfied during sick time.

He might not be the most well-versed in medical stuff, but he definitely uses his Mam's knowledge (and she is one wise woman, I tell you) and whatever experience he has himself to get you both real treatment and some homemade remedies. Swears he doesn't get sick (ever, bonnie!) when you try to shoo him away worried he'll catch whatever you have.

Drops sick the very next day you finally are all good again (and behaves as if he's actually dying, even though he has like three times lighter symptoms than you cuz that man has an immune system of a beast).

Ghost is mean about it, cruel and ruthless. At least that's what you tell him when he wakes you up to make you drink some medicine or, even worse, change you out of your sweaty pjs, help you bathe and (this one is almost breakup-worthy betrayal) take you to a doctor. No amount of pleading, whining and pouting can deter him from making sure you're getting appropriate treatment.

Truth be told, he's probably blaming himself, because under his care you should've never gotten sick in the first place. This means he's probably checking your wardrobe and adding some warmer clothes and shoes (no more wearing old sneakers when it's already rain season!) to it, probably inspecting all the food you've eaten recently in case it was bad, proofing all the windows against drafts... and somehow he still finds time to be around you all the time, holding you in your fever-induced sleep, changing cold wet towels on your forehead and caring for you.

Might or might not catch the sickness from you, which reveals that he's an even worse patient than you, constantly grumpy, wrapped in three blankets and trying to put an indifferent face, but so, so pathetic when the fever gets actually high. He will be good if you promise to hold him in your lap and stroke his hair with cold fingers.

Gaz isn't as indulgent as Soap, but he gives you a lot of autonomy and trusts that you know best what treatment helps you. So if you say you don't feel like you need to call a doctor, he won't force you; he'll buy the medicine you tell him to buy, and if he thinks it's not the best choice, he'll just suggest an alternative, leaving the final decision up to you. Also has some homemade remedies ready to go if you're willing to try them, but leans heavily towards scientifically proven treatments.

He definitely tries to keep you if not active (no hikes or something, but maybe little walks around the apartment once the worst wave passes) then at least entertained, and not in "200 episodes of a dumb sitcom watched alone" way. Of course, if that's what you're feeling, get your sitcom fill, angel (he's not one to judge, he is keeping up with like a hundred series somehow), but if you're up to play some games, Kyle is more than happy to. Puzzles, card games, board games - maybe not so much computer games, since he wants you to be mindful of your eyes health, but a little bit? Sure. If you don't wanna play games, he still wants to keep you company so that you don't feel like you're missing out on life alone in your bed.

Probably the one who is the least likely to catch your sickness, because he ACTUALLY never gets sick, that pretty boy possesses some magic, I'm telling ya. Buf if he somehow does, he's the best patient who doesn't even need your help (but will accept it since he doesn't want you to feel guilty and it's just nice). For the three days that he's sick before he's healthier than ever.

Price is also very insistent on you getting proper treatment, but he doesn't go about it in Ghost's stern manner - no, he's a sly, smart dog, he's sweettalking you into thinking half of it is your own idea and he's just there to provide. If he needs to, he plays up his worried behavior and voila, you're already taking your medicine and days off from studies or work, simply because you don't want to worry your John's bleeding heart. Drops casually something like "good thing doc's office is on the way to the base, I can drop you off before finishing that bloody report they're wanting my head for and then pick you up, lovie" - and when you note that you actually don't feel like your sickness is doctor visit worthy, he sighs and tells you that he'll stay with you then. Of course now you have to agree, you can't let him get in trouble with the report simply because you didn't want to go to the doctor!

In all the other aspects he is absolutely doting and spoiling. Will casually look through fifteen stores until he finds the exact type of natural juice gummies you once mentioned your parents got you when you were sick. Absolutely no smoking around you or even in the apartment - and he also makes sure he doesn't smell too much of tobacco before coming into your room. Will baby you in whatever way you want (yes, he will read you your book aloud) or simply stay at your side to assist you with different things if you're not into that. But god forbid you try to get back to work or studying before John Price deems you recovered enough...

Probably catches the sickness, but pretends he didn't until it's too obvious to deny. Will do all the things he reprimanded you for: try to work, keep smoking, avoid doctor etc.

Hyena!141 bonus: they absolutely cuddle you in their hyena form and do not shift into humans when you need them to fetch something like a pillow or more paper tissues. They're your fluffy cuddle buddies that are there to grumble and purr for you soothingly, keep the chills away and lick your forehead, nape and wrists to cool the fever down. Shove their snouts in different places on your body to check the temperature (no thermometer needed!) and tickle you, give you paw massages if your muscles ache and suddenly get on their best behavior (yes, even Soap). Furry menaces who? Not them, they're the sweetest boys!

NSFW under the cut, once again, minors and ageless blogs DNI or I'll block you (and cry about it!)

CW: gn!reader, oral sex, fingering, brat tamer Ghost (so it's consensual in case I didn't make it clear enough), penetrative sex with Gaz (bottom!gn!reader).

Soap is also number one advocate of "sex is proper treatment", so if you're not feeling too bad and have some energy to spare, he'll gladly eat you out and unleash his oral fixation on you. As treatment, of course. Also maybe because you're so hot that you're practically burning his tongue and it feels as if he dipped his face into the sweetest, freshly-baked pie, when you squeeze his mug between your overheating thighs. He'll do more if that's what you want, but if all you want is to come on his face, he'll lick, suck and rub as much as you need - yes, he spilled in his sweatpants just from pleasuring you and grinding against the sheets, but can you really blame him for enjoying a warm meal a little too much? Will probably compare your "sick" taste to your "healthy" one. No, he does not know what the word "shame" means.

Ghost is reluctant to have sex when you're sick, because, well... you're sick, you shouldn't exhaust your body, because it needs all the strength to fight whatever it is you caught. But once you start getting better (and as a result much, much brattier, since now you have the energy to not just whine and pout, but also to be a little defiant shit), he is absolutely using his fingers to reward or punish you for complying or resisting the treatment. Are you being good, taking your medicine, measuring your body temperature and doing whatever else doctor told you to? Good, you deserve to cum on his fingers, lovie, just lean back and let him do all the work. What's that, you don't wanna drink your medicine, because it tastes bad, and you hid the thermometer? Well, love, he hopes you don't mind getting your temperature checked a little more old-fashioned way. And if you don't like your medicine, maybe having his fingers in your mouth, muffling all your protests, will change your mind. After all, that's what you wanted to achieve by being a brat, didn't you?

Gaz is already the king of gentle sex, but if you ask him to indulge you while you're sick, he'll be as tender as only molten marshmallow fluff can be. Caressing your feverish skin with his soft palms, making sure to avoid possibly hurting joints or muscles, going down on you with his sweet, honeyed mouth before even trying anything else. Can actually give you a perfect massage (even the normal kind) and add some lightweight petting and fingering to it. If you want to have penetrative sex though, he finds the best position (probably spooning, his arm cradling your head so it doesn't spin or hurt, and your body resting without any extreme stretches or strains) and takes you slowly and carefully. Doesn't let you worry about his orgasm at all, but if you feel like cockwarming him, he won't say no, that's for sure :) let him soak in some of that heat directly from you, angel, eh?

Price will probably need the most persuasion to engage with you sexually during your sick time, he is worrying about you too much, so the best you can get is probably his fingers and mouth closer to you already getting fully healthy again. He's just scared he'll go too rough on you regardless of how careful he's trying to be, lovie. But if he ends up catching you masturbating (and failing probably, since you're still too weak for such activities), he'll have no choice but to help you finish, careful tongue strokes and finger movements along with soft grumbling about him "leaving you just for five minutes, and you're already up to no good, love!" Don't let him fool you, he's the happiest man, because he both gets to pleasure his partner and because this means you're getting better.

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hom3landr · 3 months ago

Text

Writer’s Block

18+

In which Homelander thoroughly enjoys a quiet night in, his hand, and some ao3.

CW: Selfcest adjacent, Anal play, Masturbation,

“His hand wraps firmly around your throat as he bends you over your desk with a low groan. The hard bulge in his costume grinds against your ass and each filthy thrust causes your hips to bump painfully against the wooden edge. The various knick knacks and office supplies decorating your space rattle with the movement. His hot breath causes you to moan as he whispers into your ear.

“I can do whatever the fuck I want.”

Homelander groans low in his throat as he strokes his cock languidly. The leather of the couch that was cool at first is now growing warm from the heat of his body. His cock twitches in his hand and a drop of precum drips down his knuckles onto the cushion. He’s taking it slow tonight. He intends to draw out his pleasure now that he finally has the entire space to himself for the night.

Now that he has a son to raise, he’s had to stop being so bold about where and when he decides to take a load off and relax. Luckily he was able to pawn Ryan off on Victoria and Zoe for a sleepover. Vicky wasn’t happy about the surprise but he isn’t sure why. His son is a fucking delight. He plans to make the most of his free time as he reclines lazily and uses the remote in his free hand to scroll through the fanfiction on the screen.

He had found the stories maudlin and pathetic at first when he first stumbled onto the online community dedicated to writing about him. They made him laugh at how desperate and pathetic they were. Even the ego boost wasn’t enough to erase the disdain towards the nobodies of the world who deigned to think that he would ever want to fuck them. He’s so pristine in the stories. A white knight handsome savior to sweep them away from their problems. If only they knew the real him and not the puppet Vought made him into.

But that was when he had Stormfront on his arm. A perfect goddess to chase away the pangs of loneliness and who any ordinary mud person would pale in comparison to. When he lost her, he began to see the value in such pathetic fantasies. As he lost more and more control over his surroundings, it was comforting to disappear into this place where the world still revolved around him and he could see proof of devotion that wasn’t just the steadily dropping points tacked to his name.

People still wanted him.

And sure, things might be looking up for him now. He’s head of Vought and he finally has his beloved son by his side. He has an army of mindless fans ready to fight for him. But his bed is still cold and a man has needs. There’s an earnest quality to the writing that scratches an itch that isn’t satisfied by the subpar porn Vought churns out. This is personal.

He grips his cock a little firmer and he twitches as he runs his thumb over his sensitive slit. He continues to read.

“He can smell your arousal. It coats the back of his throat and he can taste it on the roof of his mouth.”

Homelander unconsciously licks his lips. It’s not hard for him to conjure up the smell of sex in his mind. His own pleasure is already heady in his own nose. He whines and brings two fingers up to his lips and sucks. The salty tang of his own slick is filthy and his whole body throbs. His hipbones ache as he imagines what it would be like to be bent over, to lose himself to pleasure completely, to have all the worries and concerns knocked out of his brain. He can understand why this fantasy would appeal to someone so insignificant as the author. It’s not a perspective that he would normally ever indulge in but there’s something so tempting about it.

“You struggle to catch your breath and muster any kind of defense as he continues to take up more of your space. One hand wraps around your throat and squeezes, cutting off your airflow even further. He can hear you clench around nothing and a smug smile spreads across his face.”

Still sucking on his fingers, his other hand drops the remote and wraps itself around his neck. He presses down cautiously and the restriction of his own airflow causes a wave of heat to flow through his veins. He bucks up into nothing with a low grunt.

“He presses hot and hungry kisses against your jaw as his free hand grabs the waistband of your work trousers and tugs. The fabric rips easily and you can’t even gasp in surprise as his fingers delve under your underwear to press against your hole.”

Homelander follows suit, taking his spit slick fingers out of his mouth and reaching down to tease around his rim. He gasps, sensitive. He’s no stranger to touching himself here but it’s like a shock every time just how nice it feels. He wonders what the inbred brain dead hicks who worship him would think if they knew their fearless hero liked a little ass play. Would they still grovel? Would they keep him on his pedestal? He laughs bitterly at the irony of his power over people still being reliant on fitting into the narrow insipid boxes they feel like putting him in. He has everything he’s always wanted but he’s still fucking trapped.

Tears prick at his eyes. He’d started this just wanting to feel good but now his stomach is uneasy and his erection is already starting to flag. Even alone, he can’t escape people’s expectations of him. He removes the hand from his throat and wipes at his eyes, self loathing building tight in his chest at how pathetic he is. He can’t even get himself off properly and now he’s crying over it. He grabs the remote and goes to turn off the screen in self pity but his eyes catch the next words.

“Tears prick at the corners of your eyes from the intensity of the situation. Everything is happening so fast and so much.

“Shhhhh” He whispers in your ear. “You might as well just let it happen. Let yourself feel good. It’s not like you have a choice.”

“It’s not like you have a choice.”

He closes his eyes and takes a deep breath. He can hear his own voice echoing in his head. It’s familiar and he follows where it leads. He brushes reality aside as he allows himself to sink back into the fantasy. He thinks about the ache in his hipbones and a body pressing him down and forcing him to relax. He puts his hand back on his throat, this time pressing harder until it borders on the hint of pain as his head swims. Idly he wonders where this written version of himself came from. How one measly author amidst the rush of saccharine romances managed to capture this raw real side of him.

He opens his eyes and squints so the world is a little fuzzy. The words on the screen blur but are still readable and as long as he has those he can block anything else out.

“Your body goes limp against the desk, becoming little more than a doll for him to play with. He dips his fingers into you, stretching you just enough to make you gasp before pulling back. He’s gentle but inescapable and there’s nothing that you can do except succumb to his touches. You moan pathetically as he finally takes pity on you, two deft fingers finally pressing in fully as they twist and curl until they find the spot that makes your legs tremble and shake.”

He whimpers as his fingers delve inside. It’s been a while since he’s had the opportunity to do this and he’s tight. He huffs and he can feel the bobbing of his adam’s apple against his hand. He can’t move yet as he focuses on relaxing his muscles until he’s no longer at risk of pushing his fingers right back out. The stretch feels good and his cock quickly swells back to its previous hardness. He’s torn between reaching down to stroke himself or staying put and following along with the whims of the story. He crooks his fingers slightly and a strangled yelp leaves his lips as lightning shoots up and down his spine.

“Touch yourself.” Homelander instructs as he continues to scissor his fingers and stretch you out properly. “C’mon, don’t make me do all the work.”

Homelander wastes no time. He’s eager now that he has permission. He wishes that there was a way to keep the pressure on his neck but he’ll have to think of something for next time. His cock throbs under his palm as he begins to stroke himself. The room fills with eager wet sounds and it allows him to sink deeper into the fantasy. He reads on, eager to know what he’ll do next. It baffles him why anyone would want to leave him now that he knows how good being with him feels.

He’d had an opportunity before, with Doppelganger. But it was wrong. It wasn’t him. It was just a pathetic needy imitation. So ready to please that it reeked of desperation. He’d seen something in “his” face that day that turned his stomach. He’d needed it gone.

This is different. This fictional version of him is perfect, strong, determined, and willing to just take what he wants. He’s perfect, like marble.

Homelander moans echo through the penthouse, filling up all the open space and desecrating the ears of the founding fathers. He has no need to be shy now that he has the place to himself again for the night. His cock is leaking all over his hand and dripping down onto the leather. The wet sloppy sounds of him working himself over are practically deafening to his sensitive hearing.

“That’s it, Sweetheart. Doesn’t it feel good to take some initiative. It’s a good thing the rest of the tower doesn’t have my hearing.” He goes quiet for a moment, allowing the sloppy sounds to echo through the empty room. “You would not believe some of the things I’ve heard go on around here. For example, do you remember fucking yourself in the bathroom after I surprised you in the elevator the other day?”

A wave of shame and panic floods through you as the memory of the elevator comes back to you. You were too flustered to say anything then. You had been surprised that he would bother with an elevator at all. The masculine vetiver scent of his cologne was subtle but in the confined space it seemed almost suffocating. You hadn’t said anything and he didn’t bother to even acknowledge your presence. He didn’t even look your way. Still, the strange intensity of the encounter had you running into the empty bathroom to relieve some stress. You wouldn’t have been able to concentrate otherwise.

“Nothing? I could practically smell you during my meeting. I could definitely hear you rubbing away.” He leans down to nip at your ear.”

Homelander briefly lets go of his cock to massage his balls, groaning loudly. He wants to prolong this but he can feel himself reaching the end of his rope. His abdomen is sore from the clenching of his muscles and he can feel his heartbeat in every fiber of his body. His lungs can’t seem to get enough air as he gasps at the wave of arousal.

Something prickles at the back of his brain. The story ignites some synapse that sparks an unimportant memory. It’s not enough to draw him out of his fantasy but somewhere in his hindbrain he logs it.

He imagines someone hearing him right now and his cock twitches. He gives a comforting squeeze as he wiggles the fingers inside himself again.

Fuck

“The combination of his filthy words along with your eager rubbing has you coming undone before he even fucks you. You feel truly visible for the first time.. Homelander saw that embarrassing needy part of you and he wanted it. He tracked you down once the rest of the crime analytics team had left and bent you right over your desk.

“There you go. Doesn’t it feel better to come on my fingers instead of your own?”

FUCK

Homelander’s vision goes red and hot as his fingers hit the spot inside him juuuuuust right. He tenses, entire body locking up, balls tightening, toes curling against the floor. He hangs weightless for a single moment before the storm of pleasure hits like a tidal wave. Hot ropes of come splatter all over his thighs and chest as he frantically strokes himself, milking himself of every last drop of pleasure. He bears down on his hand as he rides himself through it. He can hear his own voice ringing in his ears, the perfect voice of his best self.

“Doesn’t it feel better to come on my fingers instead of your own?”

In his mind he’s bent over the desk with a warm body against his back. His hips are sore but his muscles are pleasantly relaxed for once. He feels safe and protected. A strong hand grips his hip to hold him steady as the other Homelander removes his fingers with a soft wet noise.

He slumps into the leather, pleasantly sated.

Once he’s regained his senses a bit, he reaches for the remote and clicks off the tv. He’ll have to remember to finish the entire fic later when his cock has recovered a bit. The black screen reflects his face and Homelander is surprised to see the pleasure drunk smile on his face. He can’t remember the last time he smiled like this. Probably not since… He quickly shakes his head and shoves all thought of her from his brain. He doesn’t need anyone else to get off. He’s just fine on his own.

The little brain worm from earlier returns now that the room is quiet and distractions are gone. His mind still itches. Homelander clicks the tv back on and scrolls back up with a frown.

Crime analytics?

Most of the fics he reads are mindlessly generic. Most depict a banal office atmosphere when the setting takes place at Vought tower. It’s very easy for him to tell when the author is an outsider. Name dropping a specific department is new. Not to mention, the way the office was described in the beginning was eerily similar to the large room where the crime department is located…eerily similar.

Homelander’s heart pounds as he puts together the pieces. The author works at Vought and he knows in which department. The author has likely crossed paths with him. In fact, Homelander’s stomach tightens as he skims the fic, the author has probably shared an elevator with him.

He checks the upload date.

One week ago…

The unimportant memory floods back.

One week ago, he’d frightened a mousy crime analyst when he’d stopped the elevator for a ride. The little analyst never even looked directly at him. It was typical and not even worth the effort to get annoyed by. The sound of a fluttering heart and the scent of adrenaline were common occurrences no matter where he went. The moment he exited was the moment he’d already begun to forget.

Homelander sighs contentedly as he closes his eyes and lets himself bask in the afterglow. Curiosity sated, he lets his mind wander. Maybe he’ll surprise his little writer tomorrow and let them properly enjoy the fantasy this time. It’s the least he can do.

He reaches down and touches his hip, the phantom soreness still lingering.

After all, he knows just how good it feels to be fucked by him.

#homelander discovers x reader fic #he reacts a little differently than you might expect #homelander #x reader #Homelander fanfiction #just a dude getting himself off #left the end open in case I wanna do a follow up

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smilepilled · 2 months ago

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Image Description abailable on ALT text, courtesy of @scr-ppup, the lord and savior of image descriptions. Kudos are sent to this individual en masse!

Amabopuryie 【 ❁ 】 A term for those who experience child-like whimsy && joys when they experience gender/species/orientation/existential/identity euphoria. This may be used for whatever specific reasons, under whatever specific circumstances, so long as they are safe/non-harmful. This generally applies to feeling the childhood-adjacent whimsy AFTER the euphoria, but the two can be interconnected.

Etimology: "Ama" was inspired by "Amor" (which means love) to represent the euphoria. "Bopu" was chosen due to sounding silly to represent the child-like positive aspects. "Puryie" refers to how pure and gentle the feeling is.

The gradient colours represents childhood, while the gradient format represents mixed fruit juice/jelly. The light creams represent sunlight and fun/whimsy. The nuller colours represent the general euphoria.

The flower represents growth, blooming, childhood/one's inner child, joy/euphoria/whimsy, and general good themes. The light cresm fish-eye stripes represent cozy, fluffy blankets && plushies.

Made with { @floraeth } for THE DAYS NINE+TEN (LINK) of THE MOGAI TEAM-UP EVENT (LINK) by { @rwuffles && @vampitsm } — our team is "THE SWARM" (LINK) !!!

FLAG SYMBOL CREDITS HERE (LINK) !!!

Note: extremely self indulgent, as usual! oomphie teammate was mesmerized so i think i cooked here... please enjoy!

Anyone may use my terms and flags, however, I will block as I deem fit for my wellbeing (LINK). Please only post this to WIKIs with appropriate crediting towards me (&& others involved with my creation). Do not repost to any other social platforms, ONLY WIKI PAGES. Thank you!

Taglist: @radiomogai, @lovesse, @lunentity, @rwuffles, @kiruliom, @nqvo / @cheruvic, @inknoidd, @h-halos, @puppfie, @gender-mailman, @hypnosiacon, @losergendered, @rabidbatboy, @acronym-chaos, @daybreakthing, @gengernoway, @lawslinger, @local-maneater, @scr-ppup, @sevvys, @puriette-archived, @floraeth, @sylviestial, @idwl. Please, feel free to ask to be removed from/added to the list. (You're also welcome to ignore this!)

{ BANNER IMAGE DESCRIPTION IN ALT TEXT }

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dilfartist · 2 years ago

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Missed - short

Pairing; Yandere Las Plagas Leon Kennedy x reader

Synopsis; after healing Ashely from the Las Plagas, Leon is unable to heal himself. Now fully infected with the Las Plagas, Leon returns home to you.

Reader description; Female/GN

Word count; 1k

TW;dark themes, Leon being crazy is so hot.

!Reblogs and Comments are greatly appreciated!

“Fuck, please start! Please start! Please start!” you cried ramming your car keys into the ignition. Regardless of the number of times you twist the keys, the car refuses to start. “No! Why, god!?” you choke, tears welling up and stinging your eyes.

You study the parking lot through the side-view mirror. Aside from parked vehicles, it was empty. Still, you felt the coil tightening in your stomach. Leon was bound to come any moment. And thanks to the abundance of entrances, he was free to enter wherever.

Instinctively, you press the lock button on the keys. All doors click reassuringly. Now you sit in your car, granting yourself the opportunity to settle your nerves.

What the hell had happened to Leon? One week ago you break up because of his constant absence, then today he’s pounding on your apartment building nearly taking the door off its hinges.

Leon pounding on the door wasn't too out of the ordinary, considering Leon, if given too much to drink, could be an obnoxious drunk. Nevertheless, his knocking was extremely harsh. Like he meant to knock down the door. Despite the clear red flag, you risked unlocking the door but completely halted when your cell phone aggressively vibrated in your pocket. Just as you answered the call, Leon’s banging ceased.

“Whatever you do, do not open that door!” a voice demanded urgently.

Without question, you compled. You simply backed away from the door. Again the voice commanded you sternly, “Grab a weapon. Use it if Leon manages to break in. And if he does, rush out of the door, do you understand?” you responded with an agreeing noise.

Leon begins pounding on the door once again. His muffled voice was audible, transferring through the door's thick wood to your ears. “I know you fucking hear me, (Name)! Answer this fucking door!”

You gape at the door. Leon never acted this way. Not even during arguments. Leon hated the idea of raising his voice at you, and even when he slipped, Leon corrected himself instantly. Something was terribly wrong. You reached over and clasped the largest knife poking outside the knife block.

Leon started hurling himself against the door, each hit included the sound of the door breaking. Before Leon could see you, you jumped into the closet adjacent to the front door. Not much after, Leon busted the door down; the door plunging to the ground with a deafening thud.

Placing your hand on your mouth, you watched through the thin closet slots as Leon stomped his way inside. Something undoubtedly was wrong with Leon. His peach-colored skin littered up to the bottom with visible dark veins. It looked unhealthy. Like Leon had been struck by lighting only a second ago.

He proceeded to your bedroom and you took the advantage. You bustled out of the closet, rushing out the door. Without looking back, you ran over to the elevator. Needing a distraction you pressed the down button on the elevator, hoping Leon would think you took the elevator and use the staircase beside it, whilst you utilized the exit on the other side of the hall.

The idea worked. The door slamming and footfalls descending the stairs was enough evidence.

So here you were in your car, chewing on your nails, fearing your ex-boyfriend’s arrival. You scanned the parking lot again, it stayed the same as the previous time. Just then your phone rang, startling you. Shaikly, you attain your phone from your pocket. The voice on the last call answers, “Miss. (Last name)?”

“Who is this? What the hell happened to Leon!?”

“I understand your stress, but please remember to keep calm.” the person advised calmly. “For starters, Leon works for us. Last week we sent him on a trip to Spain, unfortunately for Leon, he has obtained a virus. Fortunately for us, the woman he was sent to retrieve is safe and sound.”

“So?! I don’t care about the girl, whoever she is, I care about Leon!” you bark, voice quivering with anger.

“Well, when Leon returned to headquarters, he blacked out. It was impressive seeing how far he made it, evaluating the progress of the virus. We kept him safe, testing on him; and endeavoring to cure him. Sadly we haven't still. And that brings us to your situation. Leon, earlier this afternoon, escaped from containment. All week Leon spoke of his girlfriend, so we assumed he made his way to your apartment. We were right.”

“Now, I must warn you, Leon is dangerous. He’s not in his right mind at the moment. We’ll be able to further examine him, and help him if you lead him back to us. Are you able to do that?”

You shake your head, “No. The damn car won't cut on.”

“Alright, then we’ll send someone to your coordinates. Stay inside the car.” the person insists.

“Yeah. Okay, I will.”

The call ends and you are left gazing at the screen, slowly processing what was explained. You knew Leon worked in some secret agency, but this was on another level of strange.

“(Name)!” your name is roared malevolently. You shriek at the sight of Leon peering inside the car, hands pressed against the glass, red eyes meeting yours. “(Name), baby, open this door,” Leon spoke in his usual soft tone that only you experience. The tone that makes you malleable, and weak in the knees. “I’ve missed you. Been thinking about you all week. Those assholes kept us apart, but I'm here now.” Leon conversed with such sweetness it was beginning to make you physically sick.

Leon's visage also was painted with dark veins, his skin paler than before: Reminding you of how sick Leon really was. You wanted to help him. Wanted to hold him. But you wouldn't.

You shook your head, avoiding eye contact. “No, Lee,” you professed. “Y-you aren't okay, I won't let you in.”

Leon merely smiled. A sicking smile that sent chills dancing up your spine.

“Oh, but I am baby. Now open the door, I’ve missed you.”

Part 2

#leon kennedy #leon kennedy x reader #yandere leon kennedy #Yandere Leon #yandere resident evil #resident evil 4 #resident evil x reader #leon s kennedy #dead dove fic #yandere themes #yandere #las plagas! leon

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shokosbunny · 3 months ago

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CRAVE - chapter two

nav 𝜗𝜚 ⊹ ‧₊˚

masterlist 𝜗𝜚 ⊹ ‧₊˚ • previous 𝜗𝜚 ⊹ ‧₊˚

chapter warnings: use of profanity, age gap

the encounter with you at the club has yuta so fucked up.

seriously. who drops the ‘i have a man’ line just before kissing someone? if anything, that just means you’re being loyal out of obligation, because if you were really about loyalty, you would’ve told him you were taken before he started giving you bedroom eyes.

he simply takes this as a sign that you’re available, but reluctant to let go. but obviously, since he’s a good person, he decides the morning after to take it to his friends with varying levels of questionable morality, so they can validate his decision.

that revelation doesn't leave yuta’s mind for ages. nineteen and twenty-six? now, that was fucked up, considering that if he put things into perspective, your geriatric sugar daddy adjacent was legally drinking at clubs while you were just entering the double digits.

yikes.

but alas, it’s none of his business. you established a boundary, and it's his job to respect it until you explicitly indicate otherwise.

if he ever gets the chance to interact with you again, that is. megumi told him about your boyfriend’s jealous tendencies, and he would much prefer it if he wasn’t put in the hospital for something permanent at twenty years of age.

that night had you equally fucked up, for various reasons.

one being that you almost cheated on your boyfriend of a year. another being that you don't feel as bad about it as you probably should.

the worst reason of all being that the moment rewound and replayed itself in your dreams that night. except in your dreams, you actually get to feel his lips on yours.

blinking away the thought, you rummage your tangled duvet for your phone, opening your group chat immediately. nobara and maki probably went out to get coffee and left you to sleep, which you don't mind because it's too early and your head hurts way too much for third wheeling to even be fathomable right now,

you sigh and lie back down. you hate disappointing maki. it stings so much more. but deep down, you know she's right.

there's no reason to stay with this man. you don't live together, you aren't married, you don't have kids. if a close friend told you they were in your exact situation, you'd tell them to run for the hills in a heartbeat. so why can't you?

whatever, you sigh internally. you'll keep him blocked while you contemplate.

next 𝜗𝜚 ⊹ ‧₊˚

tags: @toniseweje @tsukuhoe @itsafairytalekay @ayla-1605 @moncher-ire @rikaroses @starrysho @blu3-l0v3r @number0netrash

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playboysaleen · 3 months ago

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Through Ash and Iron (12)

Jinx x Reader x Caitlyn

This is actually the last chap for a few days cause this is actually where i stopped (oops). So soak it in and reflect cause baby this writers block aint it- Summary: Through Ash and Iron plunges you into the heart of Piltover’s gritty streets, where you’ve always felt the weight of your family’s failures. Rejected from the Junior Enforcer Program, your anger burns brighter than ever—until one fateful punch changes everything. The eyes of Piltover’s elite may look down on you, but it’s the wild eyes of Jinx that truly see you. She’s chaos personified, and you’re drawn to the destruction she promises. But that’s not all. Caitlyn Kiramman, a poised enforcer with a soft spot for rebels like you, offers you a chance to rewrite your future—if you can control the rage you can’t seem to escape.Torn between the order Caitlyn represents and the dangerous freedom Jinx offers, you stand at the crossroads of two worlds. As your power grows, so does the tension between these two women. One promises a chance at belonging, while the other ignites a fire you didn’t know you had. But the choices you make will change everything—not just for you, but for both cities teetering on the edge of war. Who will you choose? And how much of yourself will you lose along the way?

Warnings: Violence duh, gay panic(lol), cursing, all that jazz (whatever you seen in Arcane is what you gon see here)This is also a slight AU.(She/her)

Cant even lie i cringed a bit on some of these things but fffffuck was i down bad these last two weeks for jinx and caitlyn.

Word Count: 9.3k

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The soft hum of your lamp illuminated the small trinket in your hands. It was a delicate piece, carefully crafted with intricate gears and a tiny painted bird that reminded you of Isha’s wide-eyed curiosity. The brush in your hand moved with precision, adding the final touches of vibrant blue to the wings. You smiled faintly to yourself, imagining the way her face would light up when she saw it.

The apartment was quiet, the kind of silence that felt comforting. You were alone, but not lonely. The promise of Jinx, Caitlyn, and Isha arriving later for dinner filled you with a rare sense of peace. For now, the soft clinking of your tools and the faint scent of fresh paint were your only companions.

But then, everything shifted.

It was subtle at first—a faint prickle at the back of your neck, a sensation you couldn’t quite place. Your heightened senses, a gift and curse of the shimmer in your blood, suddenly flared to life. The comforting silence was no longer still; it felt heavy, oppressive. Every sound, even from the distant streets below, seemed amplified. The faintest intake of breath, too close, too foreign, sent a jolt through you.

You didn’t hesitate. In a blur, you sprinted for the balcony window, your body moving on instinct as the front door exploded inward. A shimmered soldier burst through, their massive frame colliding with the doorframe as they entered.

The apartment became a war zone in an instant.

You vaulted through the open balcony window, your feet barely touching the ground as you scaled the adjacent rooftop. The soldiers followed, their movements unnaturally fast, but you were faster. The rooftops became your battlefield.

One soldier lunged at you, their hand swiping inches from your shoulder. You twisted mid-air, your boots catching the edge of a railing as you flipped onto the next roof. The sound of their heavy boots pounding behind you pushed you forward, your muscles burning but refusing to slow.

A second soldier closed in, their arm outstretched to grab you. You ducked low, sliding under a low-hanging pipe and using the momentum to kick their legs out from under them. The soldier hit the ground hard, and you didn’t wait to see if they got up.

The chase continued, your movements precise and calculated as you weaved through obstacles. You scaled walls, leapt over gaps, and sent two more soldiers sprawling with swift, brutal strikes. But then, you felt it—a sharp impact to your side.

The advanced soldier.

The blow sent you crashing through the roof of your apartment. The world spun violently as debris rained down around you, your body slamming into the floor with a force that knocked the air from your lungs. Pain radiated through you, sharp and unforgiving.

You tried to push yourself up, but your arms shook, and you collapsed back to the floor. Your vision blurred as the advanced soldier loomed over you, their massive frame outlined against the light filtering through the hole in the roof.

Before you could react, they grabbed you by the neck, their grip like a vice. You clawed at their arm, your muscles straining as you fought to free yourself. They lifted you effortlessly, your feet dangling above the ground.

With a roar, the soldier hurled you through the balcony doors. You landed hard on the handmade patio, the wood splintering beneath you. Memories of quiet moments spent here with Jinx, Caitlyn, and Isha flickered in your mind—laughter, conversations, warmth—all of it now reduced to shattered wood and broken glass.

You forced yourself to stand, your breathing labored. Your eyes burned with anger, glowing a fierce purple as the shimmer surged within you. But before you could act, the soldiers stilled.

Mel stepped forward from the shadows.

She was calm, poised, her golden robes catching the faint light of the shattered apartment. Her expression was unreadable, but the glint in her eyes was anything but.

“You really are extraordinary,” she said, her voice smooth and measured. “More powerful than I realized. I’ve seen you hold back time and time again. For them.” She gestured lazily toward the horizon. “For Caitlyn. For Jinx. Belittling yourself. Dimming your own light to protect theirs.”

Her words dripped with venom, cutting deep.

“Tell me,” she continued, taking a step closer, “how does it feel to give everything to two women who will never truly understand you? Who hold you back from being what you’re meant to be?”

The insult hit like a dagger. The anger in your chest ignited into a roaring inferno, and without thinking, you charged.

You moved faster than should have been possible, your body a blur of motion as you closed the distance between you and Mel. But just as you leapt toward her, the advanced soldier intercepted you, their massive hand wrapping around your neck once more.

You struggled, your hands clawing at their grip as you fought to free yourself. But they were relentless, their strength overwhelming. Mel approached you slowly, her gaze cold and calculating.

She reached out, her fingers brushing against your face, a gesture as mocking as it was intimate. “You’re wasted on them,” she murmured. “But don’t worry. Soon, the world will see what happens when the Commander of Piltover’s forces and Zaun’s most infamous rebel find out I have you.”

Her words sent a wave of rage and hopelessness through you. You roared in defiance, your voice raw and desperate. But Mel simply nodded to the soldier.

The soldier’s grip tightened. Pain exploded in your head, and the world began to spin. Your struggles weakened as darkness crept into the edges of your vision.

Your body went limp.

Your arms fell to your sides, your fingers twitching once before they stilled. The last thing you heard before the darkness took you was Mel’s voice, calm and triumphant.

“Bring them.”

Jinx strolled next to Caitlyn with a rare calmness about her, her hands tucked into the pockets of her jacket. Isha walked between them, occasionally glancing up with her wide eyes, splitting her attention between the two women. For once, there was no tension. No insults. Just the quiet sound of boots and shoes hitting the pavement as the trio made their way toward your apartment.

“You know,” Jinx started, her voice carrying her trademark teasing edge, “this whole thing? Us hanging out together like one big happy family? I didn’t think I’d hate it as much as I thought I would.”

Caitlyn smirked, adjusting the strap of the bag slung across her shoulder. “Don’t get too comfortable. I still have a list of reasons why I can’t stand you.”

“Oh, yeah? Go on, Piltie,” Jinx shot back, her grin widening. “Make my day. Let’s hear it.”

“Where to start?” Caitlyn mused, tapping her chin dramatically. “The explosives? The chaos? The constant threats to my life?”

“Pfft,” Jinx waved her off, leaning down slightly to nudge Isha. “Kid, you think I’m a threat, don’t you?”

Isha giggled silently, her blue hair bouncing as she reached up and slipped her hand into Caitlyn’s. The unexpected gesture stopped Caitlyn mid-retort. She looked down at the small hand gripping hers, the soft, trusting eyes staring up at her, and something in her chest tightened.

Jinx caught the look, her teasing expression softening for a moment. “Guess the kid likes you, Piltie,” she murmured, her voice quieter now.

Caitlyn squeezed Isha’s hand gently, her lips curving into a small smile. “I like her too.”

They walked in comfortable silence for a while, Isha now clutching Caitlyn’s hand as Jinx walked slightly ahead, her gaze scanning the streets around them. “You know,” Jinx said after a moment, “maybe we should… I don’t know, do this more often? All of us. Together.”

Caitlyn glanced at her, surprised by the suggestion. “You mean… spending time together?”

Jinx shrugged, trying to play it off. “I mean, don’t get me wrong. You’re still annoying as hell. But… they like it. You know, being with both of us. And I guess it’s not the worst thing in the world.”

Caitlyn chuckled softly. “High praise, coming from you.”

As they approached your building, Isha let go of Caitlyn’s hand and started to run ahead. Jinx smirked. “Hey, careful, kid!”

Isha’s foot suddenly caught on something, and she stumbled, nearly falling. Caitlyn was quick, lunging forward to catch her before she hit the ground. “Got you,” she said softly, lifting the little girl into her arms.

Jinx frowned as they both looked down at what had tripped her. It was one of your tools—scratched, familiar, and out of place. Caitlyn’s expression shifted immediately, her sharp eyes darting toward your apartment building just a few meters ahead. Her breath caught in her throat as she saw it.

The patio.

Your handmade rooftop patio, the one where you spent countless quiet moments with them and Isha, was in shambles. The wood was splintered, the furniture overturned, and jagged glass glinted in the fading sunlight.

“God,” Caitlyn whispered, her grip tightening around Isha as her heart raced.

Jinx’s hands balled into fists as she stared at the wreckage. “No. No, no, no,” she muttered, panic rising in her chest.

They sprinted toward the scene, Isha clinging tightly to Caitlyn as the two women climbed the stairs and burst into your apartment. The devastation was worse up close. The door hung off its hinges, the walls were scorched, and debris was scattered everywhere.

“Y/n!” Caitlyn called out, her voice trembling despite her effort to stay calm. She set Isha down carefully and began searching through the wreckage.

Jinx was already tearing through the room, her hands shaking as she pushed aside broken furniture and shards of glass. “Where the hell are you?” she shouted, her voice cracking.

Isha wandered toward the center of the room, her wide eyes scanning the chaos. She picked up a small trinket—the one you’d made for her—and held it tightly in her small hands.

“Y/n?” Caitlyn called again, her voice more frantic this time. She was holding it together for Isha, but tears pricked the corners of her eyes.

Then, a faint sound broke through the silence.

“Mama.”

Both women froze.

Isha’s voice, barely a whisper, carried through the room as she clutched the trinket to her chest. She was searching, her small lips forming the word again. “Mama.”

Caitlyn turned away, unable to hold back the tears as she covered her mouth with her hand. Jinx scooped Isha into her arms, holding her tightly as her own tears slid down her cheeks.

“Isha…” Jinx whispered, her voice breaking. “We’ll find her. I promise.”

Caitlyn’s gaze fell on the broken glass near the balcony. Among the debris was a faint smear of purple blood, its unnatural glow catching her eye. Her stomach twisted, the sight confirming her worst fears.

“She’s hurt,” Caitlyn murmured, her voice hollow.

Jinx turned to her, Isha still in her arms. “What?”

Caitlyn pointed at the blood, her jaw tightening. “She’s hurt, and someone took her.”

Jinx’s expression darkened, her tears drying as a fierce determination took over. “I know who it was,” she said, her voice low and dangerous.

Caitlyn straightened, wiping her face as she stepped closer. “Who?”

Jinx’s grip on Isha tightened. “Mel.”

The scene began with a heavy steel door, the kind that sealed away secrets too dangerous to surface. Deep in the bowels of Mel’s tower, beyond layers of cold stone and mechanical locks, the air was oppressive, stifling. Muffled sounds seeped through the cracks, but as the door came into focus, the noise grew louder—violent banging, chains rattling, and primal screams that echoed with fury and defiance.

Inside, the room was cavernous, more like an abandoned auditorium than a cell. The floor was slick, faintly reflecting the dim light of a single, swaying bulb. In the center of it all, you struggled against heavy iron chains. They coiled around your wrists and ankles, tethered to thick metal anchors embedded in the walls. A heavy collar wrapped around your neck, its chain rattling every time you moved, forcing you into a bowed posture that left you vulnerable.

Your body was bruised, cuts lining your exposed arms, but it was your eyes that radiated defiance. The electric purple glow swirled like a storm, flickering with rage as you strained against the bonds.

Across the room, Mel sat leisurely in a sleek, high-backed lounge chair, her golden attire catching what little light the room offered. She crossed her legs elegantly, a goblet of wine in her hand. She observed you with a look of utter satisfaction, the corners of her lips twitching as if suppressing a smirk. She reveled in your fury, your unrelenting spirit, and the raw power you exuded even in chains.

“I must say,” Mel drawled, swirling her wine, “you’re quite the sight. All that anger, all that fire. It’s… intoxicating.” Her eyes lingered on you, tracing the lines of your tensed muscles and the veins that pulsed faintly with a purple hue. “Those eyes of yours—they glow so beautifully when you’re like this. It’s almost like they were made for me.”

You growled, the sound animalistic, as you tugged at the chains again. The metal groaned under the strain, and a faint creak echoed from the wall. “Mel,” you spat, your voice dripping with venom, “the moment I get out of these chains, I’m coming for you. You won’t make it out of this room alive.”

Her laughter was soft, almost amused, as she set the goblet down on a nearby table and leaned forward, her elbows resting on her knees. “Oh, sweetheart,” she purred, “you’re already mine. That anger? That hatred? I own it. And, by extension, I own you.”

She tilted her head, her golden eyes narrowing slightly. “Though, I wonder… what would dear Caitlyn think if she saw you like this? Or Jinx?” She let the names hang in the air like poison, watching with glee as the chains rattled violently when you surged forward.

“You don’t get to say their names!” you roared, the sound reverberating through the empty room. The chains tightened, straining against the metal anchors in the wall. The sound of creaking steel filled the space, and for a brief moment, Mel’s expression faltered. But only for a moment.

She stood, her movements slow and deliberate as she approached you. From her pocket, she produced a small vial of shimmering liquid, holding it up between two fingers. The vibrant purple inside seemed to glow unnaturally, swirling hypnotically within the glass.

“This,” she said, her voice dripping with mockery, “is what you’re meant to be. This little vial holds your full potential. The true you.” She stepped closer, her heels clicking against the floor. “But look at you. Cowering, leashed like a puppy.” Her words were sharp, designed to cut deep. “Isn’t that what you are? A loyal little pet for Caitlyn and Jinx?”

You staggered back, pressing yourself against the cold wall as if the shimmer itself burned. Your chest heaved with fury, your teeth bared. “I don’t need that poison!” you spat. “And I’m no one’s pet.”

Mel’s smile widened as she closed the distance between you. Her hand shot out, gripping your chin firmly. Her nails dug into your skin as she tilted your face upward, forcing you to meet her gaze. Her golden eyes roamed over your face, lingering on the fresh wound on your lip. Slowly, she swiped her thumb over the blood, the touch invasive and mocking.

“I wonder,” she murmured, leaning in so her breath ghosted over your lips, “how far your loyalty really goes. What would they do if they saw you like this? Would they still love you?”

You snarled, your body trembling with the effort to pull away. “Get your hands off me!” you roared.

Mel didn’t flinch. She stopped just short of kissing you, her lips inches from yours, her smile never wavering. “So loyal,” she whispered, her voice both mocking and admiring. “It’s almost endearing.”

Then, she stepped back, her hand falling away from your face as if releasing a toy she had grown bored of. She turned to the shimmered soldier standing silently in the shadows. “Show them how to behave,” she commanded, her tone cold and authoritative.

The soldier moved immediately, his massive frame looming over you. Before you could react, his fist collided with your stomach, the force knocking the air from your lungs. You gasped, your body jerking against the chains as another punch followed, this one aimed at your ribs. The sound of cracking bones filled the room, but you didn’t scream. You refused to give Mel the satisfaction.

“You’ll regret this,” you hissed through gritted teeth, your voice strained but defiant. “I’ll make sure of it.”

Mel watched from her chair again, her eyes gleaming with amusement as the soldier continued. “Oh, darling,” she said, raising her goblet in a mock toast, “I’m counting on it.”

The days passed in a blur of pain, rage, and exhaustion. The dim, cavernous room had become your prison, the chains your constant companion. Each day was a test, a battle against the oppressive weight of the restraints and the unrelenting presence of Mel. She visited often, her golden robes glinting faintly in the pale light as she lounged in her chair, always watching, always waiting for you to break.

You didn’t make it easy for her.

The first time she mentioned Caitlyn and Jinx, you lunged forward, the chains straining against the anchors in the wall. The metallic groan filled the room, the sound of your strength testing its limits. "Say their names again," you barked, your voice sharp and venomous, "and I’ll make sure they’re the last words you ever speak."

Mel only smirked, her chin resting lazily on her hand. "Oh, darling," she drawled, "do you think they’re even looking for you? Caitlyn’s busy saving Piltover, and Jinx?" She tilted her head, her golden eyes glinting with malice. "She’s probably found someone else to play with by now."

Your roar echoed through the room, a sound of pure fury. You jerked against the chains, the collar around your neck biting into your skin. But before you could lunge any closer, the shimmered soldier stepped forward. His massive hand struck like a hammer, slamming into your side and sending you crashing to the ground. The pain was sharp, but you didn’t cry out. You wouldn’t give her the satisfaction.

"Such a temper," Mel mused, standing slowly and approaching your crumpled form. "It’s almost... charming." She crouched beside you, her fingers brushing the edge of your jaw. You flinched, your eyes glowing fiercely as you glared up at her.

"You’ll pay for this," you spat, your voice low and seething. "Every bruise, every insult—you’ll pay."

Mel laughed softly, the sound dripping with condescension. "And yet," she said, leaning closer, "you’re still here. Still chained. Still mine." She straightened, her gaze cold and calculating. "But let’s see if we can’t find a way to teach you some manners."

She motioned to the shimmered soldier, who stepped forward again. His fists were like battering rams, each strike a calculated effort to wear you down. You took the blows silently, your body screaming in protest, but your eyes never lost their defiance.

It wasn’t until she mentioned Isha that something inside you snapped.

"That little girl," Mel said, her voice soft and deliberate, "I wonder if she even knows you’re gone. Or if she’s already moved on. Children are resilient like that, don’t you think?"

Your entire body tensed, the glow in your eyes intensifying as your breathing became ragged. "Don’t," you growled, your voice barely above a whisper. "Don’t you dare talk about her."

Mel’s smirk widened, sensing the shift in you. "Oh, but she’s the key, isn’t she? The one thing that keeps you tethered. Such a sweet little thing. It would be so easy to bring her here. To show her what happens to disobedient pets."

That was it. You roared, surging forward with a strength that surprised even the shimmered soldier. The chains rattled violently, the wall cracking slightly under the strain. Mel stepped back slightly, her composure faltering for a split second, but she recovered quickly, a glimmer of satisfaction in her eyes.

"Finally," she whispered, stepping closer as you slumped, exhausted but still defiant. She reached out, her fingers brushing against your cheek. "There it is. The fire. The rage. I knew you had it in you."

You jerked your head away, glaring up at her. "I’ll never be your pet," you hissed, your voice raw but steady.

Mel leaned down, her face inches from yours, her golden eyes boring into your own. "We’ll see," she murmured. Her hand trailed down your jaw to your neck, her touch invasive and infuriating. "Everyone has a breaking point. Even you."

When she finally straightened, she motioned to the shimmered soldier. "Teach them some respect," she ordered coldly.

You spat at her feet as the soldier approached, your chest heaving with fury. "You’ll never win," you snarled. "They’ll come for me. And when they do, you’ll wish you never touched Isha."

Mel paused, her gaze flicking back to you. Her smile was icy, her voice almost a whisper. "I think I’ll bring her here," she said, tilting her head. "Just to make sure you behave."

Her words hit like a blow, and for the first time, a flicker of true fear crossed your face. You struggled against the chains, yelling threats and curses as the shimmered soldier advanced, his massive fist raised.

But as the blows rained down, one thought burned in your mind, brighter than the pain, brighter than the rage: They will come for me.

The chaos within Zaun was unparalleled. Streets that once simmered with the quiet tension of survival now burned with uproar. Jinx stood atop one of the towering buildings, her purple eyes glowing with fury. The radiant hue pulsed, reflecting her emotions as she overlooked the city below. Her hands were clenched into trembling fists, her knuckles white, as her mind raced with thoughts of you.

Her voice carried like a storm. "No stone unturned! No corner untouched! Find them!" she bellowed to her people, her voice echoing across the jagged streets. "Anyone who knows anything, I want to hear it! NOW!"

Her loyalists scattered, even those who feared her more than they respected her. The sheer power emanating from her, the glow of her eyes, was enough to send shivers through the bravest. Even the rebels who had long opposed her rule bent under the weight of her rage, searching tirelessly for any trace of you.

On the other side of the city, Caitlyn’s office was a hub of frantic energy. Papers littered every surface, maps strewn with red markings of places searched. Enforcers came in and out, relaying reports of dead ends, but she refused to stop. Her pristine uniform was disheveled, the buttons at her collar undone, her hair tied back messily. Her eyes, dark with exhaustion, burned with the same determination as Jinx's.

"Double the sweeps in the lower districts," she ordered sharply, slamming her hand on the table. "Every alley, every abandoned building. If it’s big enough to hide a body, I want it searched."

"Commander, we’ve already—" one of the enforcers began, but Caitlyn cut him off with a glare that could silence a storm.

"Do it again," she snapped. "And again, until we find them."

The fire in her voice left no room for argument, and the enforcer nodded before hurrying out. Caitlyn leaned heavily on her desk, her hands gripping the edge as she stared at a map of Zaun and Piltover, her mind racing. "Where are you?" she whispered under her breath, frustration etched into her features.

Vi moved through the streets of Zaun with a purpose, her jaw clenched and her fists wrapped tightly. She was paired with Sevika, a partnership neither enjoyed but both knew was necessary. The tension between them was palpable, but they set their differences aside for one reason: you.

"You’re slowing us down, Vi," Sevika grunted, glancing at her over her shoulder. "Do you always walk this slow, or are you just trying to annoy me?"

Vi shot her a glare. "I could say the same about you, tin-arm. Just keep moving."

Despite the biting remarks, the two worked in tandem, questioning anyone who looked suspicious, chasing leads no matter how thin they seemed. Even Zaun’s most notorious dissidents, those who opposed the alliances you were trying to build, found themselves cornered and interrogated.

"If you’re hiding something, now’s the time to talk," Vi growled at one man, pinning him against a wall.

Sevika loomed beside her, her mechanical arm whirring ominously. "We’re not playing games. You tell us what you know, or I make sure you regret it."

Caitlyn’s quarters were eerily quiet despite the chaos outside. Jinx sat across from Caitlyn, her leg bouncing restlessly. The silence between them was thick, broken only by the sound of papers shuffling as Caitlyn reviewed reports. Isha sat in the corner, clutching the trinket you’d made her. She hadn’t spoken or smiled since you vanished, her wide eyes now dull and distant.

Jinx finally broke the silence. "This… waiting around. It’s killing me."

Caitlyn sighed, leaning back in her chair. "It’s killing all of us. But we have to keep our heads clear if we’re going to find them."

Jinx’s eyes flicked to Isha, her expression softening. "The kid… she’s not herself."

"None of us are," Caitlyn admitted, her voice heavy. She hesitated, then added, "They mean so much to her. To all of us."

For once, Jinx didn’t respond with a snide remark. Instead, she looked at Caitlyn, truly looked at her. "They mean everything to me," she said quietly. "I know it’s the same for you. So maybe, just this once, we try to work together without killing each other?"

Caitlyn met her gaze and nodded slowly. "Agreed."

A commotion downstairs snapped them out of the moment. Shouts and muffled arguments echoed up to the quarters. Caitlyn stood abruptly, grabbing her firearm. "Stay here with Isha," she instructed Jinx.

"Like hell I will," Jinx shot back, already following her.

They hurried downstairs, finding Vi and Sevika in a heated exchange with the enforcers at the entrance. "You’re not authorized to be here!" one of the guards protested.

"Let me through," Vi growled, her fists clenched. "I’ve got information."

Caitlyn stepped forward, her voice cutting through the noise. "Stand down. Let them through."

The enforcers hesitated but obeyed, and Vi and Sevika wasted no time stepping into the room.

"We found something," Vi said, her voice low. "Singed. He’s working with Mel. And…" She hesitated, glancing at Jinx. "They’ve got shimmered soldiers."

Jinx’s eyes widened, the purple glow flickering faintly. "And?"

Vi sighed. "I think they have them. In her tower. Deep down, somewhere."

Jinx was already moving toward the door. "Then what the hell are we waiting for? Let’s go."

Caitlyn grabbed her arm. "Wait. We need a plan. If we rush in—"

"We don’t have time for plans!" Jinx snapped, pulling away.

"Enough!" Sevika barked, silencing them both. "We move now. We can argue about strategy later."

Caitlyn reluctantly nodded. "Fine. But we’re doing this together."

They turned back upstairs to gather their gear, but the moment they entered Caitlyn’s quarters, the air changed.

Isha was gone.

Caitlyn’s heart dropped, her eyes darting around the room. "Isha?"

Jinx was already searching, her movements frantic. "No, no, no. She was right here!"

Caitlyn’s chest tightened as she noticed the open window, the faint breeze stirring the papers on her desk. She clenched her fists, her voice trembling. "They took her."

Jinx turned to Caitlyn, her purple eyes blazing. "We get them both back," she growled. "No matter what it takes."

—

The days blurred into a haze of agony and exhaustion. The shimmered soldier’s “corrections” had left you battered and weak, each session pushing you closer to a breaking point you swore you’d never reach. Your face bore fresh bruises, your lips split, dried blood crusted at the corner. Your arms, once strong and sure, trembled as you tried to remain upright. The chains rattled softly with your every shuddering breath, reminding you that you were far from free.

Mel sat a short distance away, her posture relaxed in a lavish lounge chair that belonged more in a palace than this dank, hidden auditorium deep beneath her tower. She observed you with that maddening smirk, sipping from a goblet as if attending a show. She had made a sport of taunting you. Every mention of Caitlyn or Jinx brought your anger roaring back, every implication that they’d abandoned you sparked another desperate attempt to lunge forward. The chains would screech, and the soldier would punish you anew, leaving you wheezing and cursing.

“That temper,” Mel murmured, leaning forward with a feigned concern painted over her arrogant smile, “it suits you more than the docile hero they think you are.” She twirled a strand of hair around her finger, eyes half-lidded in delight. “You’re only stalling the inevitable. They’re not coming. They’re busy playing house, doing what they do best—forgetting.”

You snarled, your voice raw. “Shut your mouth. They’re looking for me, and when they find out what you’ve done…” Your threat trailed off into a cough, your strength waning.

Mel tilted her head, her laughter low and indulgent. “How adorable. Such faith.” She was about to continue when the heavy door groaned open. The shimmered soldier stepped aside as a Piltover enforcer tossed a small body into the room.

You felt your heart stop. It was Isha. She stumbled forward, confusion and fear distorting her usually bright eyes. Her small frame trembled, and she looked so out of place in this grim hall. The enforcer backed away, merely watching her, as if awaiting orders.

You strained against the chains, ignoring the pain slicing through your shoulders and wrists. “Isha!” you managed, your voice cracking. Your cheek was pressed against the cold tile floor, and you could barely lift your head, but you had to let her know you were here.

Isha turned at the sound of her name, her gaze sweeping the room until it caught sight of you, chained and broken. You watched her face crumple—there was shock, and terror, but also a heartbreaking relief when she recognized you. She clutched a small object in her hand, the trinket you’d made her before all this began. Quiet as ever, she took trembling steps forward, each one a struggle against her own fear, until she knelt beside you.

“Mama,” she whispered so softly that no one seemed to catch it but you. It broke something inside you—your anger wavered, your eyes stinging with tears. She pressed herself gently against your side, hugging you with all the might her tiny arms could muster. Your vision blurred as you tried to comfort her without words, your entire body aching to protect her.

Mel stood, approaching with slow, deliberate steps. You tensed, trying to shelter Isha behind you despite your chains. “It appears I’ve struck a nerve,” she said, her tone syrupy sweet. “Don’t worry, I won’t hurt her—if you see reason.”

You bristled, fury refueling your battered form. “You brought a child into this? You piece of—”

Mel raised a hand, and the shimmered soldier took a step closer, warning you to choose your words carefully. “Let’s talk arrangements,” she purred. “I want you. Your loyalty. Your hand… in marriage, shall we say? We can unite under one roof—a councilor and a… what are you again? A hero without a cause?” She laughed lightly. “If you marry me, I leave them alone. All of them. Jinx, Caitlyn, this precious little one.”

Your swollen eyes widened, horror etched into every line of your face. “You’re mad,” you hissed, voice trembling with disgust and anger. Marry her? The idea was so vile it choked you. You tried to shake your head, your neck chain rattling. You couldn’t form words.

Mel delighted in your shock. She reached out as if to stroke your cheek, a twisted parody of tenderness. Isha, terrified but brave, tried to stand between you and Mel, pushing at the woman’s arm with tiny hands. Mel snarled softly and slapped Isha away. The crack of that slap echoed like a gunshot in your heart as Isha tumbled onto you, clinging to your broken form, her cheek red and stinging. Your rage exploded into a roar, purple sparks flaring in your eyes. The chain rattled violently as you surged forward, but the soldier yanked it back, forcing you to choke on your fury.

Mel stepped back, her face calm but her eyes dancing with glee. “Isha, is it? She’s quite protective. Almost like a daughter.” She let that sink in, enjoying the despair on your face. “If you’d just cooperated, this could have been simpler. Marry me, and none of this would be happening. You’d be at my side, revered, adored.” She sighed theatrically. “But no, you cling to them—and to your misguided ideals.”

Your chest heaved. “I’d rather die by your mother’s hand than marry her filthy, corrupted daughter,” you spat with every ounce of venom you had left, your voice scraping your throat raw.

Mel’s hand lashed out, slapping you hard enough to snap your head to the side. The metallic taste of blood spread across your tongue. She grabbed your chin roughly, leaning in close so that your noses almost touched. “You will marry me,” she hissed, her voice low and chilling. “I’ll break you piece by piece until you beg for it.”

She released your chin and spun on her heel, robes whispering against the floor. As she strode away, she tossed an order over her shoulder. “Make sure they understand who’s in charge here.”

The shimmered soldier stepped forward. You braced yourself, shielding Isha as best you could, though you were helpless in these chains. The soldier’s blows rained down, each one a hammerstrike of pain. You grunted, your voice rising in furious oaths and hollow promises of revenge. Through the haze of torment, you managed to twist your body so Isha wouldn’t see the worst of it. She clung to you, trembling, tears falling silently.

“I’ll get us out,” you murmured to her between gasps, voice muffled and choked. “I promise.”

But the soldier’s blows only intensified, and you could do nothing but endure.

In the loading docks of Piltover’s industrial district, the air was thick with the smell of oil and metal. Wooden crates were stacked high, and the clank of moving machinery provided a constant, metallic soundtrack. A Piltover officer, helmet tucked under his arm, scanned the area with tired eyes. His name was Garrett, a junior enforcer known for his eagerness to please but never quite rising above mediocrity. Today, he wore exhaustion like a second skin—he’d been running checks on shipments non-stop, searching for any clue of your whereabouts.

As he moved between crates, he nearly bumped into a man wearing an unfamiliar armband—a deep gold emblem marking him as one of Mel’s own officers. The man looked worse for wear: disheveled hair, sweat staining his collar, and a certain wildness in his eyes.

“Hey,” Garrett said, steadying the man by the shoulder. “You okay? You look like you just ran halfway across the city.”

The officer shot him a glare, but it lacked conviction. “Not your concern,” he snapped, trying to maintain some dignity. But Garrett’s presence seemed to crack something in him. He glanced around, confirming no one else was close. “Had a… meeting,” he said, his voice dropping to a hush. “With her.”

Garrett’s brow furrowed. “Her?” He paused, lowering his voice instinctively. “You mean Mel?” The name carried weight—Mel Medarda was a councilor known for her cunning. Her involvement meant big trouble.

The officer rubbed the back of his neck, wincing as if recalling something painful. “Yeah. She’s got that hero locked down, deep in her tower. It’s… not pretty.”

Garrett’s heart sank. The hero. You. He remembered you—he had initially disliked you, or at least he’d claimed to. But now, hearing this, something twinged in his gut. He tried to keep his tone dismissive to mask his unease. “Huh. Good. If they were causing problems—”

The older officer gave a knowing smirk. “You say that, but you look a bit… pale. Too invested?”

Garrett’s spine stiffened. “I’m just tired,” he lied. “Long day.” He caught a few words as the officer continued: “If the hero had been married to a councilor—if this whole… fiasco is discovered—Piltover would burn. It wouldn’t be Zaun this time. It’d be Piltover at war with itself.”

Garrett’s eyes widened. Married to a councilor? His mind raced at the implications. If Mel was scheming something so twisted, it would destabilize everything. He forced a shrug. “Well, Mel’s plans, not my business.” Then he excused himself, trying to appear unconcerned, though his mind was buzzing.

A short time later, Garrett ended up at the main checkpoint, where the chaos of the joint operations between Piltover and Zaun was at its peak. He spotted Jinx there, pacing, her purple eyes ablaze with fury and desperation. He swallowed hard—she was not one to approach lightly, but he had to get this information to someone who could act.

“Jinx—” he began, stepping forward with hands raised in surrender.

Before he could finish, Jinx moved like lightning. She grabbed him by the collar and flipped him onto his back, knocking the wind from his lungs. In an instant, she was atop him, hair spilling forward, her eyes glowing fiercely.

“You’ve got some nerve,” she hissed, pressing a forearm against his throat. “What do you want? I know who you are—Garrett, right? You gave them grief before. Trying to talk to me now?”

His heart hammered. He’d never felt smaller, more terrified. “I… I have information,” he managed, voice strangled. “About them.”

Jinx’s grip tightened. “You think I trust you?” She seemed ready to snap his neck when a gentle hand touched her shoulder, and she froze.

Caitlyn stepped in, her eyes still carrying that cold edge but tempered with a calm authority. “Jinx,” she said softly. “Let him speak.” The tension drained slightly from Jinx’s frame as she leaned back, still straddling Garrett but no longer pressing down. She tilted her head toward Caitlyn’s hand, as if drawn by the simple kindness of the gesture. Reluctantly, she let Garrett up, though not without a warning glare.

Caitlyn crossed her arms, her voice cool. “Alright, talk. Make it quick.”

Garrett rose shakily, rubbing his neck. “I… I heard something from one of Mel’s officers at the docks. They said the hero is locked in Mel’s tower. They mentioned… something about Mel wanting marriage, a twisted plan to keep them under her thumb. If it gets out, Piltover might—”

Caitlyn’s eyes widened, shock washing over her features. “Marriage?” Her voice almost cracked. “She can’t be serious.”

Jinx practically snarled, pacing a few steps away. “That bitch wants to marry them?” She slammed her fist against a crate, splintering the wood. “I’ll kill her. I’ll tear her apart for even thinking—”

Caitlyn helped Garrett steady himself. “Thank you,” she said curtly, “You’ve done well. Now, you should prepare. I’m going to need every enforcer I can get.” Her tone suggested no argument. Garrett nodded, confused and a bit relieved, and hurried off to follow her orders.

Jinx watched him go, then turned to Caitlyn, frustration knotting her brow. “What the hell are you going to do, Cupcake?” She tried to mask her worry with anger, but the tremor in her voice gave her away.

Caitlyn ran a hand through her hair, her jaw set. “Something very hard,” she admitted quietly. “For all three of us. It’s risky. But it will save them—and Isha.”

Jinx took a step closer, tension thrumming between them. She knew Caitlyn well enough to understand the gravity of that statement. “Don’t keep me in the dark,” she demanded, but her voice softened. “I’m in this with you.”

Caitlyn nodded, meeting Jinx’s gaze with unwavering resolve. “I know,” she said softly. “We all are.”

They turned to go back upstairs to gather what they needed, only to find Isha gone. In her absence, the air thickened with dread. Jinx’s eyes flashed again, fury returning, while Caitlyn closed her eyes briefly, steadying herself. They would find you. They would find Isha. And somehow, they would stop Mel’s twisted plan.

You barely had the strength to sit upright, your body aching with every breath. The constant beatings had ceased for the moment, leaving you in a lull of pain and exhaustion. Your back rested against the cold stone wall, your head lolling to one side. Isha clung quietly to your arm, her small body pressed close as if proximity alone could shield her from this nightmare. You whispered faint reassurances, quiet words meant for her, but a part of you needed them too. You told her it would be okay, that you’d figure something out. Every syllable felt like a plea to the universe for mercy.

When the enforcer stepped out, leaving you and Isha alone in that hollow silence, you managed to crack open an eye. Isha began fumbling in her pockets, her tiny hands producing small tools and bits. Confusion mingled with amazement as you realized what she was doing—trying to pick the locks. With painstaking care, you moved your chain-bound wrists closer to her. She worked with surprising skill, her eyes narrowed in concentration. Each click of metal teased hope into the stagnant air.

You whispered her name softly, voice rough with emotion. “You’re so good at this… Jinx’s little minion, aren’t you?” The faintest flicker of a grin tugged at your swollen lips. Isha looked at you, her eyes brightening slightly, and she let out a small, breathy sound that might have been a laugh if it weren’t so cautious.

With a final, delicate twist, the chains fell away, clattering softly on the floor. Freedom felt unreal. You scooped Isha into your arms, hugging her tight despite your bruises. “Thank you,” you breathed, voice trembling. “We’ll get out of here, I promise. It won’t be easy, but hold on tight when we run.” She nodded, her silent determination shining in her eyes.

Hurriedly, you repositioned yourself, chains draped loosely around your ankles as though still secured, just in time for the enforcer’s return. Isha retreated to your side, feigning calm. The guard looked at you both and sniffed dismissively. He had no idea what was about to happen.

Isha, holding leftover scraps of stale bread she had been given as a meager meal, suddenly flung them at the guard. Her tiny arm’s throw was more defiance than danger, but it was enough. The soldier stiffened, scowling at her insolence. He advanced, intent on disciplining the child. The moment he reached for her, you moved like a coiled spring released, your newly freed hand snapping up around his neck. Purple sparks danced in your vision, fury ignited. He had no time to react before you lifted him from the ground by sheer, desperate strength.

Your voice was a snarl, low and dangerous: “Touch her again, and I’ll send you to hell myself.” With a grunt of pure rage, you hurled him against the nearest wall. The thud of his impact shook dust from the ceiling as he slumped, unconscious, crumpling onto the cold stone floor. Isha rushed to your side, her eyes wide, but you touched her hair gently. “It’s okay,” you whispered, voice tight with adrenaline. “Let’s go.”

You scooped her up again, holding her to your chest. She clung to you like a baby monkey, arms around your neck, face pressed into your collarbone. The shimmer in your blood surged. Pain became background noise. You were moving before you knew it, darting out the large cell door, your footsteps echoing through dim corridors. Guards shouted, startled, fumbling to raise their rifles, but you were a blur. They tried to form a line—too slow. You crashed through them, sending them spinning like toys. One’s gun clattered uselessly as you batted it aside. Another swung at you, but you ducked and used your momentum to hurl him over a railing. Your muscles burned, tears welled in your eyes from pain and fear, but you kept going. You had to.

You reached a grand hallway with a towering exit, only to stop short, your boots skidding on polished marble. A flood of soldiers waited at the main entrance, their weapons ready. Isha gasped softly against your chest, and you tightened your grip. Your heart hammered. You cast about desperately, spotting a staircase winding upward into uncertain heights. Without hesitation, you took it, each step a test of endurance as you carried Isha and fled from overwhelming numbers.

Outside the tower, chaos was brewing. Caitlyn, flanked by her enforcers, stood at the main gates, demanding entry. Her posture was rigid with determination, her face set in grim lines of fury. She barked orders, her voice echoing over the crowd, insisting they let her inside. Jinx was beside her, eyes ablaze with wrath and worry, a small throng of Zaunites behind her shouting insults at the guards. Sparks of tension danced in the air. The crowd hissed and spat, voices raised, fists waving. They wanted you back—every faction, every loyalty aligned for one cause.

Inside, a muffled explosion rocked the mid-section of the tower, sending a tremor through the ground. The enforcers at the gate hesitated, fear slipping into their eyes. They rushed back inside to respond to the new threat, leaving Caitlyn and Jinx on the verge of a confrontation with no one to stop them. The pair shared a look—dread and hope mingled. This was their chance.

You climbed higher, a frantic rhythm of footfalls. Bullets whizzed past, pinging off railings and walls. You threw open a door at the top, stumbling onto a broad balcony. The setting sun bathed Piltover in a golden haze. The city spread below like a jeweled tapestry. But you were cornered now. The soldiers massed behind you, rifles raised, their barrels gleaming. Isha whimpered softly in your arms, and your heart cracked. You tried to gauge your escape, your eyes drifting down toward the bay below. A dizzying drop. If you jumped, what then?

You glanced over your shoulder at the lines of soldiers. Mel parted them like a queen crossing a courtyard. She stepped forward, chin high, eyes bright with twisted pleasure. “This is it,” she said, voice cool as wind. “Surrender now, come with me. I can make it easy for you.” She paused, a hint of a sneer curling her lips. “Or refuse, and I’ll ensure Jinx and Caitlyn suffer. I’ll make them pay for your defiance. I’ll rip Isha from their arms, and you’ll watch, helpless.”

Your heart pounded, rage swelled. You bared your teeth, eyes blazing violet. “You can burn in hell,” you spat. “I’d rather die a thousand times than be your pawn. You have no idea what I’ve endured. You can’t break me.”

Below, in the gathering dusk, Jinx and Caitlyn had finally pushed their way into view of the towering structure. A crowd had formed, gasping at the scene above. Caitlyn spotted you first, high above them on the balcony, soldiers pressing in. Jinx saw Isha’s small form clinging to you. Panic gripped them both. Jinx screamed your name, voice ragged, and Caitlyn slapped a hand over her own mouth, tears streaming silently. They were too far away, too powerless, forced to watch as fate played out.

You glanced down at the crowded streets, saw the horrified faces. You looked at Isha in your arms, her big eyes filled with trust and fear. You felt Caitlyn’s soul from afar, and Jinx’s fierce love, pressing against your heart like an anchor. You whispered softly, voice cracking with tears, “I love you—I love you all.” Time slowed, and the world narrowed to a single choice.

The soldiers cocked their rifles. You snarled and turned, your muscles coiling. In slow motion, your body moved. A foot on the railing. A leap into empty air. Isha clung to your chest, her small arms locked around your neck, eyes squeezed shut. You twisted midair, determined to shield her from the impact as much as you could. A shot rang out, a soldier panicking, pulling the trigger. Mel shouted, “Don’t fire!” too late. The bullet hissed through the air, but you had already committed to your fall. The city’s roar muffled, replaced by the wind’s howl as you plummeted thirty stories down toward the bay.

Caitlyn and Jinx screamed, voices tearing from their throats. Caitlyn’s knees buckled and she sagged against a post. Jinx’s eyes were wild, tears coursing down her cheeks. The crowd below watched in dread, some crying out. In that eternal second, your body spun gracefully in the air, the shimmer in your blood igniting in a flash of purple radiance. But you could not fly. Gravity was merciless.

Your back slammed into the water of the bay like hitting concrete. The spray fanned out in a shimmering arc. Thirty stories, three hundred feet, a fall that no one should survive. Your figure vanished beneath the waves, Isha clutched to your chest.

Above, on the balcony, Mel stared down in shock and fury. The soldiers parted nervously, some looking unsure. Below, Jinx howled like an animal wounded beyond reason, and Caitlyn pressed her trembling hand over her mouth to stifle desperate sobs. The crowd murmured prayers and curses. The day dimmed as if the sun itself mourned, casting long shadows over a city that had just witnessed something terrible and perhaps final.

In that final image, as the ripples in the bay spread outward, everyone held their breath. The world paused, uncertain and grieving, as the sky darkened, and no one knew if you would ever surface again.

Sevika and Ekko skidded to a halt on the wet stone ramp by the bay, breathless and desperate. The salt spray and smell of rusted metal clung to the air, the water’s surface still rippling from the impact just moments before. Even before Ekko could reach the edge, Vi had already plunged in, the sound of her body hitting the water echoing in all their ears. Ekko followed without a second thought, his own heart pounding as he dove beneath the choppy surface.

A tense silence stretched, then Ekko emerged, coughing and sputtering, but victorious. He cradled Isha against his chest, the little girl choking on mouthfuls of water. Sevika rushed to them, her mechanical arm hissing softly as she eased Isha from Ekko’s trembling grip. She turned Isha on her side, patting her back firmly, coaxing the child to spit out the brine and breathe. Isha’s eyes fluttered, her small body shivering, but alive.

Moments later, Vi surfaced, her short hair plastered to her skull, eyes wide and frantic. In her arms, limp and pale, was your body. Ekko’s relief soured into dread at the look in Vi’s eyes—there was no spark of hope, only grim determination. She hauled you onto the ramp, water dripping from every seam of your clothes, your limbs hanging slack. A dark, ruddy stain spread across your back, and it didn’t take a doctor’s eye to see it was a bullet wound.

On the upper walkway, a contingent of Caitlyn’s enforcers and Zaunites alike watched with silent dread. Some moved aside involuntarily as they saw your lifeless form laid on the cold, wet ground. When Caitlyn and Jinx arrived, Sevika barked an order, “Nobody passes!” The enforcers at first stepped in front of them, out of protocol, but Jinx snarled, and Caitlyn wielded her authority like a blade. Jinx’s purple eyes blazed, and Caitlyn’s voice cut through all objections. “Move,” she said, her voice edged with frantic resolve, and they parted like frightened animals before a predator.

Caitlyn stumbled down the slick stones, pushing past Vi and nearly knocking her aside. She dropped to her knees beside you. The world seemed to slow to a crawl—the muted thunder of the crowd, the distant cries and clanks of Piltover’s machinery fading into a dull hum. She placed her trembling hands over your chest, starting compressions. Water ran in rivulets from her uniform sleeves as she counted under her breath, her hair clinging to her cheeks. You were so still, so pale, the purple hue of your veins dulled to a sickly pallor.

“Come on,” she pleaded, voice breaking. “Come back to me. Please.” Tears blurred her vision as she pressed down rhythmically, her arms shaking with each push. “We need you—we all do,” she whispered, choking on sobs. “Jinx… Jinx loves you, and so do I. Isha needs you, she needs her—” Her voice hitched, and her words came out in a desperate tumble. “We can’t lose you now. Do you hear me? You can’t leave us!”

Jinx hovered just behind Caitlyn, tears carving silent paths down her face. She held Isha, who had awakened just enough to watch with frightened eyes. The child clutched Jinx’s shirt, still too weak to stand on her own. Jinx tried to calm her, tried to be strong, but a whimper escaped her throat. She’d never looked so vulnerable, the hot rage drained from her, replaced by raw anguish.

Vi tried to put a hand on Caitlyn’s shoulder, to steady her, but Caitlyn shrugged her off violently. “They’re not gone!” she shouted, voice hoarse. “Not gone, do you hear me?” She refused to stop the compressions, even as her muscles threatened to give out. Her tears fell onto your cold skin, mixing with the salty water. “Medics!” she screamed, her voice carrying over the hushed crowd. “Where are the medics?!”

At last, the medical team arrived, clambering down with their stretchers and gear. They tried to reach you, to place you on the stretcher, but Caitlyn huddled over you like a lioness guarding her cub. “No, I’ve got this,” she insisted through tears, pressing her ear to your mouth as if hoping to feel the faintest breath. She refused to let them approach, arms flung wide, even as her voice cracked, “I can save them—I can—”

Vi’s arms encircled Caitlyn from behind, pulling her gently but firmly away. Caitlyn fought, sobbing openly now, her cries muffled by Vi’s shoulder. “Don’t take me away,” she wailed, “I can’t leave them.” But Vi’s strength held her steady, tears glistening in her own eyes. “We have to let them help,” Vi whispered, her voice strained, “Please, Caitlyn… please.”

Jinx watched, teeth clenched, her own tears silent now as Isha pressed her small face into Jinx’s neck. The child trembled, clinging to the trinket that had fallen from your pocket. Jinx swayed gently, whispering incoherent comforts to the girl, but her eyes remained fixed on your limp form as the medics finally lifted you onto the stretcher.

The crowd parted, people craning their necks in horrified fascination. Some covered their mouths, others whispered prayers, and still others turned away, unable to bear the sight. The stretcher bearers hoisted you carefully, water still dripping from your clothes, blood seeping through. The medics’ faces were grim and focused, their steps measured in the silence that followed.

As they carried you away, the city seemed to hold its breath. High above, the tower loomed, its silhouette etched against a bruised sky. Below, the watchers—enforcers, Zaunites, Jinx, Caitlyn, Vi, Isha—stood suspended in a moment of collective despair. Each step the medics took with your body felt like an unbearable eternity.

Caitlyn, still cradled in Vi’s arms, swallowed hard. She watched the stretcher disappear into the haze of city lights and medics’ lanterns, her heart writhing in her chest. Jinx held Isha tighter, tears sliding silently down her cheeks. The child peeked over Jinx’s shoulder, eyes hauntingly empty, as if understanding too much for one so young.

The world moved in slow motion, every gesture weighed down by sorrow and uncertainty. The echo of your desperate struggle lingered, and the question hung unanswered in the humid Piltover air: would you return to them, or had Mel’s cruelty sealed your fate forever? --------------------------

So, yeah...

I read a post about someone explaining a fic pet peeve where they cant stand how an author can make a book about the main character having so much power, strength and all those things along the lines but makes them so weak and puts them through hell. Like whats the point of making them like that just to make them so small and weak. OKAY? Heros are not someone you can just put in a book and expect them to be this pretty little perfect thing. IMMA PUT THIS MF through some shit. Cause if you follow along and understand the show you already know this damn MAIN CHARACTER is going to go through some shit.

Sigh, it made me upset and hella insecure to keep posting cause damn? just.....keep scrolling? But even if i didnt fall in that, (i did.....LOL) Y/N baby you get no kinds of breaks. I mean you are dating the most dangerous (and insane if i might add) criminal in Zuan and the motherfucking Commandor of the goddamn Piltover Army. What you think I was gonna do? Put you up in the house to cook and clean? Baby this is Arcane! MF you gon see what its about when you fuck around (with jinx and cait) and find out. My case is closed. Thank you for reading. Working on the new chap as we speak. Thank youuuuuuh

#wlw #fanfiction #book #lgbtq #love #jinx arcane #jinx x reader #caitlyn arcane #caitlyn kiramman #caitlyn x reader

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covetyou · 1 year ago

Text

no shortage of sordid

ao3 ⋆ main masterlist ⋆ series masterlist

pairing: Joel Miller x f!reader, Joel Miller x m!OC (unnamed) rating: Explicit (18+ only!) warnings: very dubious consent (not from reader), oral sex (m receiving from m), voyeurism/exhibitionism, degradation, brief mention of food and allusion to hunger, unnamed m!OC, m/m, Joel is not exactly gay he's just a domineering asshole, drug reference word count: 3.1k summary: Your deal with Joel has changed into something else, something different to when you first came to his door asking for help months ago. But, when you try to take him up on your new arrangement, you're met with something you never expected.

A/N: this was originally a much shorter deleted scene from the start of the dark caress of someone else. I took it out because it was too much and after writing that chapter I told myself I would avoid writing threesomes for as long as possible, because god damn it there's too many body parts. well, me, fuck you, this is threesome adjacent and not technically a threesome at all.

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Six days. That's how long it takes for you to cave and admit you want him. It takes you another two to do anything about it.

The first time you make the trip to Joel's apartment, no pills necessary, you're faced with silence and a door that won't open.

With an hour break between your jobs the next day, you make another attempt. But, you barely make it through the market when you see him trailing behind Tess, hulking figure parting the crowd with ease. You don't stop to see where they're going, instead choosing to turn on your heel and head back the way you came. The less you know, the better. Using the cards he handed back to you nine days ago, you stop by a street food vendor on your way to your next job, eating your first hot meal not only of that day, but that week, the warm food soothing more than just the emptiness in your stomach.

It takes you much longer to convince yourself to try on the third day. Your thoughts hadn't immediately gone to Joel Miller that morning. You had toyed with going for a walk, with seeing if you could pick up more work. But soon your hands ache, bones creaking in their joints as you clench them once again, trying to stave off the want in your belly with the pinch of nails digging into your palms.

Fuck it. You're going. Whether he's there or not, the need to get out of this apartment far outweighs the desire to stay warm inside it.

So, one gray trudge across a gray Boston to a gray apartment block later, you're at his door. Again.

Only this time there's not silence on the other side.

You can hear a murmur - undoubtedly Joel by the heavy rasp of a wry laugh that follows it - and a garbled whimper.

And, of course, you could leave. You could turn your back and leave Joel up to whatever it is, whoever it is, he's doing in there, but you don't. You knock, wanting him to know that even if he's occupied, you showed up. You came to him, not for pills, but for sex. For want, for desire, for the ease of the ache between your legs and the itch in your palms that just won't quit no matter how much you make yourself come.

Even with company, he doesn't make you wait long.

So it's not that you're not expecting the shuffle of two sets of feet. Or the thud on the door, heavy and dull like something big had caught itself before falling down. You knew he wasn't alone and, after all, the only thing you could really expect when visiting Joel was that nothing would be as expected.

No, that's not what surprises you at all.

What surprises you is when the door drifts open a fraction, a disembodied hand reaching through and pulling you through the gap, dragging you inside. What surprises you is tripping over his shoes, only they're not his shoes, the feet turned the wrong way up to belong to the all too familiar man standing before you.

What surprises you is seeing a man on his knees in front of Joel Miller.

It surprises you so much, you don't even notice as the door clicks shut and the hand that dragged you inside pulls you once again to stand at his side.

From here you can get a full view. There's a man on his knees in front of Joel. Joel's pants are unbuckled and pulled low on his hips. And then, the entire scene becomes very, very clear.

There is a man on his knees in front of Joel with his cock in his mouth.

So, when Joel looks at you with a glint in his eye, you're suddenly rooted to the spot, staring between him and the man beneath him. A smirk from Joel tells you you've been looking a little too long so, embarrassed and not quite sure what to do with yourself, you spin around, turning to inspect the back of a chair as if it was the most interesting thing in the room, not the man currently bobbing his head up and down on Joel's length.

"Eyes on me, sweetheart," he drawls from behind you. "Ain't no fun for me if you ain't lookin'."

As you always do where Joel is concerned, you do as you're told, taking a deep breath as you turn back to watch the man swallow down Joel's cock. You'd seen this kind of thing before - turned down the wrong street at the wrong time more than once only to see someone on their knees for someone else, earning yourself a wink or an insult for the privilege. But you never stayed to watch. Yet, here you are, staying and watching either because it was Joel, or because he asked, you weren't too sure.

The why doesn't exactly matter, you figure, not when your cheeks were rapidly heating and the wet patch in your panties was doing nothing but grow.

"Think he likes the audience too," Joel is saying, nodding down to the guy on his knees. "Don't you?"

You can see that he does. There's a hard bulge in the front of his pants, a bulge that looks much harder than the cock currently in his mouth.

"Dick always so hard for a straight guy. Think you like being a cocksucker." Joel gives the man an awkward pat on the head and huffs out a laugh, looking away from him to look back at you.

"Likin' what you see, sweetheart?" he jokes, casting dark eyes up and down your body. He can't see much. It's still fucking freezing, which is no surprise for a February in Boston, and you're still wrapped up against the elements because of it. But you know his gaze is looking through all of it, seeing through the layers straight down to your flesh, to your hard nipples and the wetness between your legs. He raises that infuriating, knowing, eyebrow at you and you roll your eyes.

"'m serious, you gotta keep lookin' or I'm never gonna come," he says then, and you drag your eyes back in an instant. You briefly wonder why - how - he would never come from this until it hits you.

Having a man suck his dick isn't Joel Miller's idea of a good time. Whoever the man on his knees is, he owes Joel. Maybe just like you did, or maybe worse. It doesn't matter, because you're not witnessing a blow job, you're witnessing a fucking business transaction.

And so you laugh - not at Joel, or the man, not really, but at the entire fucked situation and the world that brought you to this place.

"Y'hear that?" Joel growls down at the man. "She's laughin' at you."

Pinching his eyes shut, the man groans, and you swear you can see a dark patch starting to form on the front of his pants. It almost feels wrong, looking at another mans bulge like this when Joel's cock is right there, disappearing in and out of the strangers mouth at a languid pace. You can't even ask his name - his mouth too full to get out more than a garbled moan. Maybe names don't matter either.

Joel's eyes haven't left you, and yours haven't left the thatch of hair at the base of his cock. He's harder now, softness completely gone now that you're here to witness it. Giving and watching a blow job are so much different to what you expected. There's a wet sound in the air, for one. That rhythmic, wet noise of a throat being fucked was usually masked by your own moans, made easy to ignore by the distraction filling your mouth. But here, several steps away, it is loud.

"That's it. Keep your eyes right there," Joel murmurs before pointing to your outer layer. "Unzip your coat, lemme see. Get those pretty tits out for me, sweetheart. Don't mind him. He ain't gonna look. Are you?"

The man groans again, keeping his eyes shut as his head bobs on Joel's cock, taking an impressive amount of him down his throat with each movement. There's a small shake of his head, and while you don't believe him, you find you don't care either. You don't know the man on the floor any more than he knows you, and you have a feeling he's likely to keep his mouth shut once he leaves Joel's apartment today anyway.

A fraction of a second later, you're pulling your jacket open and yanking your sweater up above your tits, baring them to Joel. He murmurs something to himself, fisting his shirt tightly as he holds it up, exposing his belly. It strikes you then how damn distracted you had been every time before now - Joel's fingers, or tongue, or cock working you in such a way that you were brainless and oblivious to the physical affects you had on him. Now, its obvious. Like a man possessed, he watches you with blown eyes, his cock in full hardness now as the man below him works him over with his mouth and tongue.

Dragging cool fingers down your exposed chest, you meet your already pebbled nipples, pinching them and holding back a soft gasp. It's as much for you as it is to get a reaction from Joel, and if he didn't know you were wet before, he does now.

"That's it, play with 'em. And keep watching, sweetheart. Want you to watch when I come down his throat."

It's a struggle to keep your eyes open, but certainly not a chore. The man has picked up his pace, sucking and moaning around Joel's length as he slurps it down. He holds back a splutter when Joel's hips buck forward just as you pinch your nipples harder again, squeezing the flesh of your tits in cold palms.

"Fuuck, that's it, keep watchin'. You like that? Bet you want a taste of this dick too, huh?"

You nod, words stuck in your throat as Joel presses the mans head further into his crotch, rocking his hips to fuck lightly into his mouth.

"You needy and dripping over there ain't you?" he growls. He doesn't wait for you to nod, he doesn't need to. "Yeah you fuckin' are. Dirty fuckin' girl, watching my dick gettin' sucked. You like watching, don't you? Say it. Wanna hear it."

"I like it. I like watching, Joel," you say, barely more than a whisper as you become more and more entranced by Joel's cock in the mans mouth.

"Shit. Keep watchin'. Gonna come. Need you to watch."

It's all you can do to hold back a moan, your panties now probably ruined by your dripping, neglected cunt. This was not what you came here for, but watching Joel mumble obscenities and growl filth to you and the man on his knees as he gets his cock sucked was something you never knew you wanted before now. Sure, you want to touch, to play with him yourself. But watching is getting you wetter and wetter without even a finger or the press of your thighs to help you along the way.

"That's it. You keep suckin'. Fuck. Gonna bet you want this load in you not in him, right?"

Nodding frantically, you move a hand to your waistband, a soft plea on your lips, ready to pull your pants down any second. "Please - "

"Fuck - shit - well too bad, sweetheart. You look at that dick gettin' sucked. Shit - gonna come. Look at me. I said look at me."

Your eyes meet his just as they flutter closed. Joel groans a curse, his balls starting to empty into the throat of the man in front of him until he's suddenly tugging the mans hair, pulling his mouth off of his cock. The man gasps, swallowing down what he can as Joel rapidly strokes his spit soaked length, jerking the remains of his spend over the mans face and mouth. His eyes immediately flick to yours, a soft moan having left your own lips the moment Joel started to come, and he groans again, a final spurt coating the mans chin, soaking his facial hair. It's filthy. Not the most filthy thing you know Joel's done, but the most filthy thing you've ever seen him do from the outside. You can't help but stare on in silence, too captivated by the spurts of milky white dripping over the mans face, his eyes still screwed tight. You're aching and desperate to stick a hand down your pants, to feel how wet you are, to touch your clit and make yourself come as you try to hold yourself upright on shaky legs.

Through syrupy blood pulsing in your ears you hear Joel growl down at the man, removing his hand from his hair like it's burned his palm. Then, he's looking to you again, deep brown eyes searching your own before falling down, down to where your hand cups your breast and your other fists the waistband of your pants in a tight grip. He knows - knows that even if you came here already wet and wanting, you were even more so now.

And it's with a smirk and a sharp snap of his fingers that he pulls you back into the room. The man's eyes are open now, avoiding yours as he wipes cum from his face with his sleeve, covertly licking his lips for any remnant taste of Joel. You can't blame him, fuck knows you'd done the same when Joel had swiped a taste of himself over your own lips, but you can't help the jealousy at wanting to taste again too.

It's then you remember your exposed chest, and you yank your sweater back down without another glance to the man on his knees. Joel shakes his head, a shit eating grin spreading across his face as he strides across the room. He goes to the cupboard where you know he keeps a small amount of his stock, rifling through for a second before coming back with a baggy and tossing it down on the floor at the mans knees. He scrambles for it immediately, climbing to his feet and grabbing the door. Joel doesn't look at him again.

"Say hello to your wife for me," Joel calls over his shoulder, and the man scurries away without a word.

Now it's just you and him, his unbuttoned pants the only remaining evidence of what just happened.

You hesitate, partly in stunned silence, partly your brain having turned to liquid between your ears, all coherent thought lost the moment Joel's cum spurted across the mans face. But there's still that unsatisfied ache between your legs, throbbing and making your hand twitch, willing you to reach for him now that he's so close.

Joel sees it, he knows, knows what you came here for and knows what you won't be getting.

"Not today, sweetheart. Couldn't even if I tried," he says gesturing to his spent already dick tucked back into his pants. "Gotta head out again too, so whatever you got goin' on in those panties, you gotta deal with it yourself." He finishes with a wink and a tap to your chin before grabbing a small gym bag from the couch. You hadn't even seen it there, brain too occupied by more interesting things happening in this room at the time.

So it's no surprise, really, when your mouth starts running before your mind can process what it's doing. There's only one thing you're thinking of. One thing, aside from the throb in your core, that you can't stop thinking about, that envy won't let you give up.

"Would you - " your mouth gapes, opening and closing like a fish while your mind stutters and stops. You shouldn't even ask. There's no answer that can satisfy that particular itch. Not as quickly as you'd want it, at least. If he said yes, he'd already said nothing could happen right now, and if he said no, well... there was something about the thought of him denying you that did something to you too. There was no winning.

"Would I what?"

Of course, Joel had already heard. Even as he potters about the apartment, dumping stuff into the bag from places you've not been paying attention to. He stops, prompting you to go on.

"Would you... Would you come in my mouth like that? One time?"

He stares at you with his mouth open in disbelief. "You want me to come in your mouth?"

You nod, your mouth suddenly so fucking dry you can't speak anymore. You'd been salivating, able to practically taste the phantom flavor of Joel's cum on your tongue just a moment ago. Now, it was like you'd been chewing on bricks, tongue sticky and dry and your teeth feeling like an awkward jumble in your mouth.

"Well, shit. Call the press. Respectable good girl wants to be my little cocksucker -"

"Fine, if you're going to make fun, I don't -"

"Woah, hold on, I'm fuckin' with you. I ain't gonna turn down shutting that pretty mouth up with my dick. Gotta do it more than one time though, sweetheart. You around tomorrow?"

Between jobs and your dad having a day off, it would be a few days before you could come back. Shaking your head, you offer up Thursday instead. It's only three days away. You can make it three more days. Right?

"Thursday works for me. Come by in the afternoon. I'll come in that mouth, and then I'll play with that pussy while I get worked up again," he says before adding, with a cock of his head, "Then I'll come in that too."

And you're dumbstruck - the fantasy you concocted in your own head far surpassed by Joel's own, seemingly thought up right on the spot as he maneuvers you out into the hallway.

"See you then, sweetheart."

He pushes you out of the door, fingers electrified where they touch your shoulder. You expect the door to snap shut behind you, like it has so many times before, but he follows you out into the hallway, locking the door behind him. With a wink, he stalks off down the corridor, legs carrying him out of the apartment block too quick for you to keep up.

Later that night, alone in bed and wondering how the hell you're going to last two more days like this, you rub yourself stupid to thoughts of Joel's cock in a mouth that isn't yours.

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