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fallenhunnyapple · 17 hours ago

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Hello Hi time to talk about the Cyberpunk Dreams AU that haunts my waking moments.

I've posted drawing and comics and stuff but it doesn't really explain the World and the AU, as they just focus on the Relationship. So it's time to give a run down of the Universe and Lucifer and Adam's roles in it more Completely. Gonna try and avoid any explicit game spoilers, minimize that as much as I can. I play as Lucifer and @fallennumbskull plays as Adam and we have some of the things they experience influence the story we built, though ultimately the AU mostly focuses on them existing in the setting than following the game experience 1:1.

The world of Cyberpunk Dreams is one that takes place after civil wars and natural disasters have ravaged the US and have left it as a complete ruined dystopia. The main setting is in the city of Cincinnati, now just referred to as Cinci.

Lucifer and Adam both work for some mystery organization that have assigned them missions to fulfill in the City. They don't start off knowing each other and Lucifer gets there first and has a longer time to establish himself, hence why he's already a crime lord while Adam is still Hired Help by the time they start working together.

Their missions are as follows.

Lucifer:

Adam:

A couple of things to note: Lucifer and Adam both have Amnesia. This was done purposefully by those they are fulfilling the missions for. They don't remember anything explicit about their lives before, if they had friends, family, relationships, etc. It's all gone. They know Just Enough to get started and those lost memories are supposed to slowly trickle back in as they become relevant. There is no guarantee that they will ever fully remember their past lives. For one reason or another, they have both agreed to this.

The other thing: They are both Mutants. Mutants in this setting are designer, created on purpose. Uncovering the truth there is Adam's main mission. But regardless, they both have altered DNA that give them certain abilities and certain detriments, each of them having multiple mutations, but One that stands above the rest. Predominantly, Lucifer's main mutation is Vampirism. He requires blood or plasma to drink often, the lack of which prevents him from eating solid foods and if ignored too long can cause reckless bloodlust. But he is also faster, stronger, smarter, more charismatic etc etc, all those stereotypes about Vampires. He _is_ weak to the Sun and if he's out during the day he can burn. And he doesn't have any sort hypnosis or glamour he can use on other people. But he's Charming, so that still works in his favor. And on Adam's side of things, he has wolf DNA. This makes him strong, gives him heightened senses and allows him to talk to Dogs (very useful when they get their own puppy later, her name is Zwei). He is extremely loyal but also reckless and he tends to think of himself as an Alpha, better than anyone else. Well, almost anyone. There's only one person he will accept as being Above him. And on top of all that Adam is something called a 'transhumanist' meaning he's someone who believes that those with mutations and altered bodies are superior to regular humans. He considers himself to be the next step of evolution and has a superiority complex about it.

Back to the setting! Cinci is a mess of a city. You need to Command respect here otherwise you could end up with your brain splattered across an alley wall or your body sold for sex or organs. It's a dark and fucked up town and while there are pockets of more civil and safe zones, the majority of the city and where you spend your time is the Slums. Sure, there are people who just do their best to survive, but Luci and Adam aren't there for that. No, the people who Command respect, who make money and make a name for themselves, the people they need to be in order to progress in their missions are those known as Players. The ones with the money, the ones who work with drugs, prostitution, weapon sales, organ trafficking, the ones who can hire others to do their dirty work for them, the ones who can get access to any and all information they may need.

Lucifer has been there longer, is an established Player and has a large enough crew and amassed enough money to be Comfortable as he works on fulfilling his mission. He hires Adam, who hasn't been there as long and is still working his way up, to be his bodyguard. Lucifer doesn't prevent Adam from continuing to accumulate his own power while he works for him, so it's not an issue. But then they get involved and Lucifer opens up his own network and resources to Adam. They're partners in multiple senses and Lucifer not only promotes Adam to his lover, but he gives him jurisdiction of certain aspects of his business.

Some more about the setting: Mutants are despised. There are mutants out there in Cinci but they have to keep that part of themselves secret (not easy when some mutations are Visible). There is a policing organization called Tower whose policy is Shoot on Sight when it comes to mutants. And they are Indiscriminate about it. If you are a mutant, if Tower becomes suspicious of you, all you can do is try and stay in hiding, not go out during the day, until they lose interest. Otherwise there's no guarantee you'll make it to the next day. And the general population doesn't care for mutants and if they find out, they could either report you or simply refer to you as 'it', mutants being seen as Lesser than humans.

As both Lucifer and Adam are mutants, that makes their lives more dangerous. There have been times where someone from their crew would get Killed to send a message and draw them out for being Mutants. Of course, that person meets the ending they deserve, but it's still worrisome when people find out. Luckily, Lucifer is part of a Vampire Coven/Cult called Black Moon who has members, both vampire and non-mutants, who have infiltrated basically every aspect of society, even Tower itself. And as long as Lucifer does as he's asked and keeps himself from endangering the cult from being discovered, they will keep him safe. And as a rising member of their ranks, he has extra privileges and protections. And when eventually Lucifer brings Adam in as his thrall, Adam is also offered certain protections.

Additionally, there is a special secret sex club called Cluster that is Exclusive for Mutants. Their entrance is hidden and only those who are specifically invited gain access. It's a safe haven for mutants because while it is a sex club, it can also just be a place to relax and feel safe, knowing that there is no fear of being exposed and killed for simply existing as you've been made. Lucifer and Adam do go there frequently, sometimes together and sometimes not. Though they are exclusive in their relationship, there are other reasons to be at Cluster than just sex. Adam seems to disappear sometimes while they're there, but he never tells Lucifer where he went or what happened while he was gone. Lucifer is concerned but has accepted that he's not going to get any answers, no matter how much he may ask.

Just some fun extra notes:

Players go by Street Names and telling someone your real name is a Huge show of trust and is in itself a form of intimacy. Lucifer goes by Serpent and Adam goes by Exorcist. They call each other by their Street Names usually, but when they're alone they revert to their more intimate names.

Adam is a hypersexual adrenaline junkie who gets turned on by violence and Lucifer indulges him by letting him run wild, especially when there are people who need to be killed for one reason or another, and then takes care of him in private after. He also has metalphilia and craves the feeling of metal inside him, whether that be via piercings, implants or metal sex toys. Lucifer has also decided to indulge this part of him by getting dick piercings. It's a lot of work to keep his guard dog satisfied, but Lucifer is willing to do it.

Lucifer wasn't allowed to drink from someone outside of the cult so he never got to drink Adam's blood until he agreed to become his thrall and went through the joining ritual. And then he discovered that actually he really likes how Adam's blood tastes when his veins are coursing with adrenaline. He typically drinks directly from him when they're having sex after Adam fought and/or killed some people. Adam likes it too because he gets reminded how vulnerable a position he's in and how Lucifer could so easily kill him if he chose to.

Lucifer has recurring nightmares and has a tough time sleeping, but Adam can help him relax and sleep more peacefully. He's kind of a wreck if Adam has to leave him for a few days for whatever reason.

Adam is in charge of prostitution but essentially they just take over another pimp's turf (usually killing them in the process) and Adam gives the sex workers a choice. They can continue doing sex work but Adam actually takes care of them and doesn't enforce monetary quotas and while sex works still isnt the best, he's the best pimp they could have since he protects them from shitty johns and doesn't force them to do anything they don't want to do. Alternatively, they can choose to leave sex work behind and start working for Adam as part of his crew and doing odd jobs and such and getting paid enough to manage their own lives.

Lucifer works with a back alley clinic providing trafficked organs. Certain times if he has to kill people personally, Lucifer will siphon out their blood for later and get the corpse picked up by the clinic, no questions asked. They're on good terms and he relies on them if anything happens to himself or Adam and they need medical attention

Lucifer doesn't remember that he has a daughter. And he doesn't remember that his daughter is the one he's meant to rescue. That the reason he was willing to give up all of his memories was to be able to see his daughter again. But even though he doesn't remember, he does know that any of the sick shit that happens in Cinci that involves kids makes him ill and anxious, and Sometimes he will choose empathy because he gets the feeling that there is someone who would want him to.

Lucifer and Adam are in a Dom/Sub relationship. Lucifer awakened Adam's inner sub by domming him once and Adam's never been the same since. Adam would never let any other person top or dom him, Just Lucifer.

I think that covers most of it! I am, of course, open to any and all questions!

( @libby-for-life enjoy this long ass break down)

#hazbin hotel #adamsapple #lucifer x adam #cpd au #adam hazbin hotel #lucifer hazbin hotel #i am insane this is so long #my art

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hauntedbysmut · 14 hours ago

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Couldn't leave well enough alone, so it now has a second part. 😅

Sleep evacuated you in a rush as you sat up abruptly, looking around your deserted bedroom with exhausted, confused eyes. An oversized t-shirt, one of Caleb's old ones that you typically slept in, draped across your torso, and a pair of familiar cotton panties adorned your lower half. Your room looked exactly the same as it had last night. Rubbing your eyes to clear them of the sleep-haze that made your vision blurry, you checked each corner of your room carefully, scanning for any signs that last night hadn't been a wildly lucid dream. The only clothes on the floor were yours, the desk was untouched, and overall, everything looked exactly the same as it had before. The balcony doors were cracked open, creating a cool morning breeze through the room. Rubbing your fingers over your wrists, Caleb's dog tags were gone, if they had ever been there to begin with. A dream… Tears began to pool as the thought hit you with devastating clarity.

“Caleb?” The whispered plea sank into the carpeted silence. Flinging the blankets off of your body, you stormed over to your desk, pulling open the drawer you had hidden his dog tags in. You dug through the contents, hunting for the envelope you knew it was stored within. The tears ran hotly down your cheeks as you began to throw things out of the drawer, screaming in frustration as the envelope continued to evade your discovery. In a fit of unrestrained rage, you pulled the drawer from the desk and threw it across the room, sinking to the floor as it smashed against the wall.

That was where he found you, limp and teary on the floor in front of your desk. Kicking his boots off and putting the groceries on the counter of your kitchen and following the sound of your gasping cries, he rushed to your side and pulled you into his arms. “Pipsqueak!” His concerned tone pierced your sorrow and your arms snapped around his neck, legs locking around his hips as you frantically wrapped your body around him. His voice broke you further and you bawled into his shoulder for long minutes as he rocked you gently and rubbed your back and head with his hands. “What's wrong, love?” He nuzzled into the side of your head, dragging his face through your hair and inhaling your scent as you clenched your limbs around him to pull as closely as you could make yourself.

“You were gone again,” you wailed. “I thought last night was a dream.” He chuckled lightly into your hair and nipped your earlobe.

“I just went to get us something to eat for breakfast. Your fridge may as well be a wasteland for all the food you have.” He continued to grumble about you having a jar of pickles and a series of almost expired sauces as you breathed him in, letting the solidness of his body and the cadence of his voice lull you back into a sense of calm. As the tears began to clear and you sat up further to look into his face, arms still draped around his shoulders, you took in every detail of his face that had been hidden in the dark of the storm last night. His familiar purple eyes crinkled with new lines at the corners, and light, barely visible scars on his right cheek drew your hand to gently trace the curvature of his jaw and cheekbone. His voice trailed off as he realized you weren't listening and his eyes followed yours as they continued to trace his features. A glint of metal at his throat drew your gaze and you pulled until the familiar weight of his dog tags lay in your open palm. You closed your hand around them and looked back up at him, meeting his curious eyes with your own. His thumb wiped the remaining moisture from your eyes and his mouth curved up. “So dramatic,” he teased, pinching your cheek lightly.

“What was I supposed to think when I woke up all alone?”

“Maybe trust your own mind to know what's real and what's a dream?” He surveyed your room again. “I see you took out your frustration on the desk.” He sighed. “I cleaned up when I woke up this morning, as we made a bit of a mess. My boots were muddy after standing in the rain and climbing your building, which I tracked in. Then I figured I'd air the room out a bit after how stuffy it felt in here. You were shivering, so I put you in some clothes.” He looked back at you. “You didn't notice any soreness or… wetness when you woke up?” His eyebrow quirked upward as you shifted in his lap, taking note of the brief twinge when your hips stretched against his. As if on queue, the breeze from the doors brought your attention to a dampness along your innermost thighs. A blush rose to your cheeks and you looked away with the realization. His chuckle rumbled against your chest. “A little late to be embarrassed, love.” You pushed against his chest in annoyance, moving to stand before his arms locked you in place.

“Pervert,” you grumbled as you struggled. He tucked his head into your neck and nipped your exposed shoulder.

Your squirming in his lap was getting the attention of another part of Caleb's anatomy that was increasingly drawing your attention the longer you did it. Without thinking, you began to grind down on him, letting your eyes drift closed as you slowly rode him.

Caleb's eyes were riveted to your face. The glow of morning light lit you with a soft radiance as you chased your pleasure in his lap. Your quiet moans filtered through his ears and his hands itched to move, to take control, primal instincts screaming at him, even as he fought to stay still, enjoying the show you were giving him. With your hands planted on his shoulders and your head tilted backward, neck displaying some of his marks, he found it entirely too easy to believe that he had died and gone to some form of heaven. The gentle grind of your hips against his pants gave him a perfect blend of pleasure and pain, edging him as you began to push down harder and faster, breaths increasing in frequency as his hands shifted down to your hips to steady you. Your mouth hung open slightly, and Caleb found that his own lips were parted as if to take in your sounds from the air and make them his own. As your pace became more frantic and rushed, Caleb couldn't take his eyes off of you, praises and heavy exhalations falling from his mouth.

“Look at you. Like a goddess in this light. So gorgeous,” he groaned. “Take what you need, love. Take everything.” His words were like an aphrodisiac, driving you higher and higher as your body moved of its own accord. Your orgasm tore through you with devastating intensity and you screamed Caleb's name into the gentle morning air, riding out the pleasure as his hands continued to flex against your hips, fisting in your shirt. Caleb was frozen beneath you as you leaned in to kiss him gently, humming with satisfaction.

His thoughts were spinning a million miles an hour with a singular thought: you. He wanted to be inside of you again. He wanted to see the combination of your fluids leaking out of you. He wanted to be the only thing you could think about, feel, or smell for days. Weeks. Months. He wanted to consume you. Watching you take your pleasure had driven him into a primal frenzy, and before he could think about it further, he wrapped his evol around your body, making you weightless and allowing him to stand from his seated position, carrying you to the bed where he sat on the edge, you still wrapped around him, now kissing along his shoulders and neck. He pulled the shirt from your body, another jolt of satisfaction going through him knowing it was his that you had slept in for months. He adjusted his evol to lift you from his lap, a squeak of surprise escaping you, to pull his own shirt off, pulling your underwear from your legs and quickly divesting himself of his pants and socks before lowering you back into his lap, moaning loudly at the feeling of your skin on his again.

“Caleb… mmmm.” Your honeyed voice caused him to thrust up against you, growling lowly with the motion. The cold of his mechanical arm sent goosebumps skittering down your spine. He released his evol and you felt the full weight of gravity bring you into contact with his most sensitive parts. The pre-cum leaking from his cockhead mesmerized you as you watched him rub between your reddened friction-swollen lower lips. Knees on either side of his legs, you rocked against him again, looking up from your almost connected bodies to his stormy purple eyes. His lips were parted and teeth clenched. You had a moment of confusion before his evol took hold of your body again, lifting you into the air as gravity released around your body. Holding his shoulders, you watched him line himself up at your leaking opening, gravity increasing again after he had himself where he wanted. The gravity continued to press you into him until he was sheathed to the hilt, his tip pressing almost painfully against your cervix. You whined as his fingers tightened on your hips again, pressing into the bruises he had left last night.

His legs shifted under you as he repositioned himself, the feeling of him inside you increasing incrementally as he did. “Hold on tight,” he growled. That was the only warning you received before his evol lightened you again before slamming you back down. He leaned back on his hands, watching as your tits bounced with every lift and drop onto his dick, a predatory satisfaction blooming across his face as you were manipulated along his length over and over again.

“Oh FUCK!” The sensations were so intense. The squeeze of his evol as you dropped causing butterflies to explode in your stomach as he bumped your cervix on each push down driving your mind into a fucked out bliss you had never experienced. His moans crescendoed with your own, his evol never faltering as you were thrust down onto his cock with no mercy. You felt like a rubber band, stretched to its limits, your inner walls seemingly melding to the shape of his length with each subsequent thrust downward. Pain and pleasure melded into one. The slight shake of his dog tags against his chest drew your attention and a possessive zing moved through you with the realization that he was once again wearing your gift. His eyes watched as your breasts bounced with each movement. As he leaned forward, barely audible words began spilling from his lips.

“Gonna fill you up. Gonna make you mine. You're mine. Mine, mine, mine…” Each mine was punctuated by a sharp thrust.

“I'm yours, Caleb. All yours,” you couldn't help but say back to him.

His hands wandered your body, lips leaving a trail of fire across your skin. Both of you were straining toward your orgasms, the push and pull of your bodies a siren's song neither of you could resist. With a roar, Caleb grabbed your hips, released his evol and fucked up into you with abandon. You held on with everything you had, fingernails digging into his shoulder muscles as your vision blackened around the edges, consciousness fleeing your body as the final dive into pleasure took your breath. Distantly, you could hear the sound of both of your voices mingling together in bliss before everything faded from awareness.

As you returned to your body, you felt a gentle brush of fingers against your temple, a warm presence tucked against your naked back, a puff of breath against your shoulder, and heard a quiet series of sentences as Caleb eased you back to reality. “-good. Such a good girl. You're so perfect. Just like I remember you. Perfect for me. Perfect together.” He kissed along your spine as he spoke and you let out a hum of happiness. He pulled you closer to him, and you couldn't help but notice how perfect you fit into the curve of his massive body. His right arm was fitted beneath the pillow your head was resting on, while his left hand lay across your ribs, hand cupping a breast. “Made for each other,” he whispered.

You cuddled back into him, nodding against his chest.

“How are you feeling?” he asked, turning your head with light pressure to place a kiss against your lips.

You gave him a drunken smile. “Amazing. Fantastic. Phenomenal. Incredible. Per-”

“That's enough,” Caleb laughed, kissing you again. “You need to drink some water and eat something.”

You shook your head at him. “Not yet.” You turned in his arms to nuzzle your face into his chest. You kissed over his heart and then his dog tags. “If I fall asleep, promise you'll be right here when I wake up.” Caleb could feel your heartbeat pick up momentarily as you recalled the fear that had gripped you waking up alone.

“I promise, love,” he whispered into your forehead. “I'll be right here.” Your eyes closed as you succumbed to the heaviness.

When you woke up later, Caleb's heavy breaths made your hair shift and his heart beat steadily against your ear. Though sleep was no longer grasping you, you settled back in, content to watch him sleep and be safe in his arms until he woke once more. Welcome home, Caleb.

A humble offering for all of the Caleb girlies who have been waiting for months for gege to come home.

Full fic below the cut, or you can take the link.

Rain pounded the windows outside with a savage intensity. The roll of thunder and crack of lightning creating brief and blinding symphonies of light and sound. You sat on your bed, a blanket pulled around your shoulders, completely still even as the storm outside raged on. The turmoil in your mind matched the ferocity of the storm, yet your body was frozen in the moment, wracked with indecision and swirling theories that all coalesced into a single idea… He's alive.

The disbelief roiled inside of you once again as you reviewed all of the small moments you had witnessed in the last few weeks. Despite the explosion and death certificates proving his and your grandmother's death, a lingering awareness and familiarity had pricked your consciousness for weeks now. A quick peripheral view of a man with his build in the grocery you frequented, a flash of purple-hued eyes sliding past your view as you turned, a glint of his dog tags in the window of your room as you studied for your exams… all mere coincidence. Illusions brought forth by your mind to push you through the grief that still gripped you in your dreams. But lately, you had woken in cold sweats, swearing there were eyes in your room, watching as you slept, yet when you turned on the light on your bedside table, your room was empty of any other presence. Then there was tonight… a figure lingering just outside of view, stunning you into the stupor you found yourself in now, trying to rectify the continued hallucinatory visions your brain unhelpfully supplied you anytime you caught yourself thinking of him.

“He's dead,” you tried to convince yourself. “You're just wishing it was him.” You made eye contact with yourself in the mirror across from your bed. “Stop hurting yourself with these delusions!”

Another crack of thunder rocked through your room as the lightning lit up everything outside, and despite your verbal reprimands, you slid your gaze to the ground outside your balcony. As the light receded from the flash, a single boot caught your eye under a tree nearby. Your breath stuttered to a stop and your heart took up a furious beat. Eyes fixed on the point you had seen the boot, so familiar, yet surely not real, you stood slowly and moved closer to the windows, desperate for another glimpse. It felt like hours as you kept your vigil near the window, eyes beginning to water with how intently you focused on that single point of potential. Finally, another bolt of lightning lit the sky and the area was once again flooded with singular light. The boot was still there. You stumbled backward, tripping on your rug and landing harshly on your tailbone, hand flying to your lips in a gasp.

No, it can't be. Can it? The tornado of your thoughts narrowed to a single thought of desperate hope. It HAS to be him. He came back for me.

Using your bed for leverage, you pulled your shaking legs underneath you once more. Taking timid steps back toward your balcony door, you threw the doors open, wrapping your blanket around your shoulders again, tighter this time. With the doors open, the storm's fury became a roaring soundtrack for the sharp beats of your heart in your chest. You stood in the gap of the door, rain pelting the ground in fat drops around you, splashing onto your face and hair and quickly soaking your socks. With a pointed stare at the figure beneath the tree who remained out of view, you slowly backed into your room. “If it's really you, come out and show yourself,” you whispered into the darkness.

You pulled the socks from your feet and rearranged the blanket to cover your hair, making a cocoon for your impending breakdown when it was inevitably not him. You pulled your feet onto the bed and laid down, eyes fixed on the balcony's edge, waiting… for you didn't even know what. After an hour of nothing, you rolled to your other side, letting the tears pool in your eyes and begin to run down your face. Just another illusion… Pulling the blanket as tightly as you could around yourself, you turned your head back to the balcony for a moment, and a well-timed lightning strike illuminated the tree. The boot was gone. Turning back to the wall, you curled into a ball and let the sorrow consume you.

Outside, the figure beneath the tree stepped forward, boots splashing quietly in the puddles of rainwater. Under the dark hood of his jacket, his head tilted back to look at your open balcony doors. Judging the distance from the ground to your balcony ledge, he stretched his frozen fingers and silently jumped, gripping it and beginning to pull himself upward. As he hauled his body closer to you, he could feel the excitement of your reunion pulsing in his bones. The staccato beats of his heart matched the silent chant he recited, each thump a resonance of your name in his consciousness. As he quietly pulled himself over the rails, he stood, mere feet away from you, as he had been for weeks, watching, waiting, so close he could swear you saw him several times, but too obsessed with being close to you to care if you found out he was alive. His superiors would be pissed, but they could go to hell for all he cared. The only one who mattered was you… You, whose frame wracked with your cries. A smile curved his lips as he imagined you were crying for him, as he fed into the feeling that the two of you were meant for each other, false siblings hiding a deeper connection all this time… and he was tired of pretending. Tired of waiting.

He had made sure you got home safely every night since his return. Watching you go about your life with a listlessness that was so unlike you. He told himself it was due to his absence, that you had felt as deeply for him as he does for you, despite no feelings ever being shared aloud. Every experiment, every ounce of pain and anguish, every nightmare and dangerous mission, he pushed himself to endure for you. To get right here. To get back to your side.

One step and he was at the frame of your balcony doors, the gauzy curtains stirring in the wind. You didn't shift even slightly. Two steps and he was inside of your room. He was in awe that you didn't hear his harsh breaths or his heart beating as loud as a freight train in his chest. Three steps, and he could reach out and touch you if he wanted. His fingers grazed the blanket you used as armor slightly, and he held in a groan, thinking back to how he used to soak in your scent any way he could whenever you were near him. He breathed in deep, letting the familiarity of your space soak into him and relax him. It had been far too long since he had been allowed to touch you, but that would all be rectified soon enough. Tonight, he would show you he was yours, and make you irrevocably his. No more waiting.

The awareness of eyes on you had you wiping your tears away, trying to shake the feeling as you had so many times before. It felt heavier this time. Like the brief moment of hope you allowed yourself had put you right back to the day you lost him. A shuffling sound had you turning your head toward the balcony once more. As you turned, you saw the shadow of a massive figure next to your bed. Flinging the blanket from your shoulders, you rolled off the bed and grabbed your firearm from the underside of your bed frame, kneeling and pointing it at the intruder with deadly accuracy. The stranger didn't move. Their face hidden by a dark hood and standing as still as a statue.

“Who are you? What are you doing in my house?” you demanded. The stranger chuckled and you narrowed your eyes. Sounds so familiar… You shook your head and refocused. “I asked you a question. Answer me.”

Your mouth dropped open as the spectral figure spoke with the voice of your best friend, “What? Don't you recognize me… Pipsqueak?”

You stood, keeping your gun aimed at him even as your body began to tremble. “Caleb?” you whispered.

He raised his gloved hands slowly and pulled the hood from his head. His dazzling smile hit you first as you greedily scanned his face to make sure it was him. “I would hope you don't leave your balcony door open for just anyone to climb through,” he teased.

The shaking was taking over all of your limbs. You dropped your gun, thankful for a brief second that you hadn't taken the safety off, as your hands covered your mouth and your eyes filled with tears again. Your legs gave out from underneath you as you dropped next to your bed again. Caleb was instantly in motion, rushing around to your side of the bed before kneeling before you and taking your head into his hands. You flinched at how one seemed to be far colder than the other, but couldn't take your eyes off of his face. His amethyst gaze pierced you through the heart and you threw your arms around his neck, body wracked with sobs for the return of your dearest friend. He embraced you, tucking his head into your neck and inhaling deeply.

“You were dead! I have your death certificate. How?” You pulled back and pushed his chest back to see him better. “How?!” Disbelief and sorrow was shaping into anger as you pushed him again, forcing him back onto his heels. “How long have you been alive?” You pushed him again and stood abruptly, creating distance all of a sudden. His eyebrows furrowed at your sudden change. Why were you moving away from him?

You paced near the wall for a few minutes while he watched you, not offering a single answer. You turned and pointed at him, hand on your hip and fire in your eyes. “You were dead.” You repeated. “I have your dog tag and a death certificate with your name on it. That was all that was left.” His eyes were so intense. They never left you as you worked through the confusion of his reappearance. His lips didn't move even as you continued to throw accusations his way. “Did you fake your death? What about Gran? Did you give a shit that she died?” His shoulders tensed at the mention of her, but he still didn't move.

“Pipsqueak…” he warned.

The fire within you was an inferno now. You couldn't stop. “I buried your EMPTY fucking COFFIN, Caleb!” you yelled. He got to his feet. “You were dead!” You moved back over to him and pounded your fists against his chest. “Dead! Dead, dead, dead, dead…” your voice began to trail off as you continued to hit him with decreasing intensity. His hands came up to grasp your upper arms loosely. You dropped your head down and rested your forehead gently against his chest. Your arms dropped until they hung at your sides. The two of you stood like that for minutes, silently taking in each other's presence. Caleb sucked in deep pulls of your scent, his cock stirring as his hands tightened reflexively on your arms. Fuck, he had missed you in his arms.

You pulled away out of his hold again, moving to your desk as the quiet of the room was interrupted by another thunderous crash. You pulled open a drawer and rifled through papers before pulling a small envelope from the back of it. You opened it and a slight clink sounded as the contents fell into your palm. You stormed back over to him, grabbed his hand and dropped it into his palm. He stared down at his dog tags as you took a step back and crossed your arms over your chest. A sudden pulse of anger snaked through him as he looked back up at you.

“Why are you giving this to me? I left it for you,” he said. His body was still, muscles tense.

“That necklace has haunted me since you died,” you murmured roughly. “It was never meant to be mine. It was yours, and every day since you disappeared from my life, I have debated getting rid of it, one way or another.” He stared you down, brows furrowing. “I wanted to melt it down, or throw it into the sea…”

He took a step toward you that you mirrored with a step back. “You would throw me away so easily?” His voice was low and dangerous.

Your eyes filled with tears again. “I'm not the one who threw someone away, Caleb.” A tear slid down your cheek.

His mind reeled. You thought he left you. On purpose. He scoffed, but your face remained unchanged. He moved toward you again and you shook your head no. His gaze hardened, and he continued into you, backing you against the wall. Stubbornly, you kept your eyes cast downward and arms crossed. “Pipsqueak…” he tilted your chin up, even while you avoided his gaze. He grit his teeth in frustration. “Look at me.” He shook your chin lightly. Your shocked eyes met his and he smirked inwardly. “I would never leave you by choice,” he whispered. Your breath shuddered out as his eyes flicked and then zeroed in on your lips. “You're all I have left.” His thumb slid against your lower lip as your eyes fluttered. His body tuned into yours like a radio frequency. He could feel his careful control slipping as your proximity intoxicated him. He closed his eyes and leaned in until his body was aligned with yours. Every breath from his mouth trickled against your skin, his nose dragging across your cheek and down your neck. You could feel his pulse pounding against your chest.

“Do you know what I thought about all that time away from you?” he whispered. His tongue slipped out and made a short path from your neck to your ear, tracing the outer curve. You shivered beneath his attention, twitching against him with nowhere to run. You briefly shook your head no, feeling paralyzed in place as he continued to touch you lightly. Your head, for once, was blessedly quiet, even while the storm continued outside.

“You,” he whispered. “I remembered all of the things we used to get up to as kids, all of our adventures,” he paused, “and misadventures.” His lips dragged against your skin as he spoke, leaving a trail of goosebumps in his wake. Your body felt like a livewire of feeling, each tiny movement he made a spark of electricity traversing your nervous system and lighting you up with heat.

“What else?” you whispered, eyes closing as you let your head tilt back against the wall.

Caleb smiled against your neck before continuing. “I thought about your laugh, your fiery passion for hunting, your… sass.” He chuckled darkly and one of his hands slid to your waist as his tone dropped to velvety softness. “I thought about the woman you became over our lives together. Your strength, your tenacity, your… assets…” he ended on a hiss, pushing back away from you and pacing the room. His control was dancing a razor's edge. His eyes were as dark as the storm clouds outside as he flexed his hands at his sides. His gaze finally moved away from you, voice louder and more urgent. “I thought about your eyes and the way your lips quirk up when you tease me. I thought about how I never got to hold you the way I wanted to or tell you how I really felt.” He was speaking in a frenzy, as if he couldn't get the words out fast enough. You were frozen against the wall. His temper seemed to be rising now, and like prey in a trap, you knew not to push your predator further.

His purple eyes snapped back to yours as yours widened at his words. “I watched you these past weeks.” His voice was deadly soft again as he began moving back toward you with a stillness that sent you shaking again. “As they tore me apart and put me back together, I thought about how your skin would feel against mine.” Dropping his dog tags on your bed, he pulled his gloves off, one finger at a time. “Or what's left of mine…” Your eyes dropped to his hands as he dropped his gloves.

“Caleb…” you whispered as the metallic shine of his right hand caught your eye. He raised it up, tilting it back and forth in the dim light. Lightning illuminated his hand and eyes at the same time, and for the first time, you felt a flush of fear release into your veins. Is this my Caleb? The thought occurred to you suddenly, and you tensed involuntarily at the thought.

He noticed your sudden change in demeanor and tilted his head to the side, the corner of his mouth quirking upward. “Did you honestly think I would always be the kindhearted boy from your childhood?”

The air felt like it was sucked from your lungs as the tension in the room grew to a fever pitch. “My time ‘away’ changed me, Pipsqueak,” he rasped. “But it didn't change one major thing.”

Your voice came out weak and thready, “What's that?”

“My feelings for you.”

His declaration was punctuated by a particularly deep rumble of thunder. The lightning that followed flashed through his eyes, making them look almost grey, dangerous.

“Caleb… What did they do to you?” He made no further move toward you. His whole countenance had changed. He was hard and unyielding where he had once been soft, and it felt like a punch to the chest as you began to notice more of the changes in his demeanor. He had looked the same at first glance, and your initial astonishment at his reappearance and subsequent anger had taken any observational skills you had honed and thrown them right out the doors he had climbed through. My Caleb. Your desperation for answers drove you forward. He stood stock still and waited for your assessment. Your hands reached out and began to pull at his hoodie. You took the hem, including his shirt, and began to pull it up, revealing inch after inch of his skin, toned muscle and a litany of scars entering your limited view as lightning gave you small peeks at the destruction he had undergone from the explosion that you thought took him from you. He helped you peel the wet fabrics from his body, and as his full torso flashed in the light, you felt tears slip down your cheeks once more.

The entirety of his right arm, fused to his shoulder, was made of metal. The skin of his right side, near his new arm was puckered and smooth in variation, the scars creating a tapestry of destruction where there was once unmarred skin. His muscles flexed as you ran your fingertips against the new skin that had grown where it had previously been flayed by fire from his bones. You cried silently as he let you continue to mark his differences. The metal was flexible, and he shifted the fingers of his metallic hand silently to show you the movement.

He could scarcely breathe as your fingers danced across his skin. Your touch was like a balm to his soul, even as his mind screamed for more of it. His heart and head took up the chant again, pulsing, mine, mine, mine, mine, as your tears cleansed some of the anger he felt before, soothing his fragmented soul. He wanted to touch you. To soothe you the way you were soothing him, even though you weren't aware of it. As your hands worked their way up to his neck, turning his head different ways to look at all sides of him, the possessiveness he had been clinging to forced its way forward. Taking your tearstained face in his bare hands, he wiped your tears from your cheeks. “Pipsqueak, I was always going to find my way back to you. Something as trivial as death would never stop me. It doesn't matter what I went through to get here.”

You turned your head into his hand, lips grazing his metal palm. “I missed you so much, Caleb.” Your teary eyes met his and with a last sob from your mouth, he pressed his forehead to yours.

With a gentle kiss to your cheek, he murmured, “I will never leave you again. Let me show you how permanent we are.” Your brief but fervent nod is all the answer he needed as he finally pressed your lips together. It was a light kiss and it unleashed something in both of you as you suddenly gripped each other more tightly and clashed together again. Lips and tongues began an aggressive dance, parting and meeting faster and faster as a frenzy began.

“Caleb,” you moaned into his mouth. You put your hands around his neck as you pulled him down against you. His answering groan had him pulling you up, hands hooked under your thighs and lifting you to nestle against him. Your mouths slotted together again and again. Caleb moved a hand to your neck, notching his fingers around your ear and against the back of your neck so he could move your head to his liking. Your fingers gripped his hair, pulling against the dark, soft strands. The heat racing through your veins turned to liquid between your legs, pooling against the fabric of your panties as you sought more. More touches. More friction. More Caleb. He was as needy as you are, as his hand against your hip tightened around your back and his hips canted up against your inner thighs, rapidly hardening length getting more and more difficult to ignore. His hips continued to move as your lips broke apart. You kissed his jaw and down his neck, sucking his skin and biting until your mark was against his skin. His moans echoed in your ears and his thrusts against you became more pointed.

“Need you,” he groaned. You moaned in response, kissing across his shoulder and collarbone. He turned you both to the bed and pushed you away from him until you bounced onto the center. You shifted to your elbows as you watched him undo his belt and push his pants down his legs. As they pooled around his feet, he grumbled, annoyed as he pushed his boots and socks off of his feet before his legs could be freed from his pants. His thick erection strained against his boxers and your mouth watered at the sight of him. It occurred to you that you're still fully clothed, and you urgently pulled your shirt from your body, pushing your own pants down and off your legs, leaving you clad in only your simple cotton panties and bra. Caleb stared at you, lust a raging swell of fire in his eyes. Your own rapid heartbeat filled your ears, even as shards of lightning blinked him in and out of your vision in bright clarity, before plunging you back into the soft darkness. The light wind blew through the still open balcony doors and tightened your nipples into peaks. A shiver wracked your body and Caleb moved to the doors, closing them tightly and locking them again. “Don't need you freezing to death before I get a chance to touch you,” he muttered as he came back to the bed.

The shiver that took you now was pure anticipation, and you reached out for him at the same time he moved his knees to the bed, crawling up to you. Placing his hands on either side of you, he leaned in and kissed you, the urgency tempered, but not gone. He shifted backward and took a long look, dragging his gaze from your bra down to your clothed pussy, noting the growing damp spot. You pushed your legs closed, noting his gaze, and a blush rose to your cheeks. His attention shifted to something else on the bed momentarily, and your confusion showed in your eyes as he lifted the dog tags back into view.

“I left these for you to wear, not discard,” he said, his voice a sharp reprimand, a contrast to his softness moments ago. Once again, you're reminded of how he has changed since you last saw him. He shook his head and smiled at you, but it is a sinister feeling that creeps into your spine, rather than a feeling of warmth. Your arousal cools slightly. A strange shift in the air had your body flattening onto the bed. Caleb pushed your hands above your head and the heaviness in the air grew, pushing them down too. You looked up at your own hands, unable to move your torso or arms, and watched as he wove the chain of the dog tags around your wrists, binding your hands and arms together above your head. The pressure didn't let up though.

He is using his evol to restrain me. The cooling in your body ramped back up to a dangerous level as you let out a gasp, pulling against the sudden gravitational push that kept your body where he wanted it. “Caleb,” you whined, legs shifting around in an attempt to fight it off.

“That's better,” he smirked. He licked down your neck and across your clavicle before making his way down your breastbone, passing your breasts entirely to continue his wet kisses down your stomach. Breathless moans passed your lips as you could only follow his downward movement with your eyes, squirming your hips. He settled himself between your legs, pushing your knees apart before kissing over the fabric covering your mound. “Fuck, you smell good.” He nosed against the wet spot and you keened loudly.

“Caleb!” He dragged his tongue along the spot next, groaning into your covered cleft as he lapped at your wetness.

“Waited so long to taste you,” he growled. His lips and tongue danced along the outside of your panties, pushing against your clit through the fabric. You tilted your hips against his mouth, trying to gain the right kind of friction. Caleb looked up at you, his purple eyes practically glowing. “Don't make me restrain your legs.” Your whine made him redouble his efforts.

His tongue was persistent, but you want more. “Please, Caleb. Touch me. Please.”

“Such a good girl, begging for me,” he practically purred. His fingers pulled your panties to the side and his hot breath ghosted across your bare cunt. “Good girls get rewarded.” His tongue dove back in and you cried out at the change in feeling. He tongued at your clit, two fingers trailing through your slick before pushing into your clenching channel. The pressure on your chest kept you from arching your back and moving the way you wanted to. He scissored his fingers in and out of you as your pleasure built, thrusting against the bed as his cock leaked pre-cum. He felt like he was going out of his mind with pleasure just from how responsive you were. The taste of you on his tongue was like nothing he'd ever tasted before. Even in his dreams of you while he was away, he never could have imagined you like this. He flicked his tongue rapidly as your pussy clenched around his fingers and his need grew even stronger. Your mewls of pleasure drove him higher and higher with you until he was thrusting against the mattress and groaning with you, watching your every expression. With a gush of fluid, you came all over his fingers and he moved his mouth down to scoop your cum onto his tongue with his fingers, the taste of you sending him over the edge. He shook as his cock twitched from his orgasm, his fingers stuffed in his mouth and licking them clean.

He looked back up at you and the blissful smile on your face made his heart quake with happiness. This was the way it is supposed to be. You and him. Together. Forever. He pulled your panties down your legs and released the hold his evol had on your chest. Your arms remained restrained above your head, and a primal part of him rejoiced at the fact he had your cum in his mouth and his tags wrapped around your wrists. A wild urge to fill you full of his cum gripped him and he groaned at the idea of seeing it dripping from your holes, covering your gorgeous body in it until you were absolutely covered in him.

You smiled at him lazily, feeling sated but still hungry for him. “Let me go?” You pleaded. “I want to touch you too.”

“Not yet, love,” he said, voice filled with promise. “First, I get to have my wicked way with you.” He grabbed the center of your bra with his cybernetic arm and with a hard tug, the fabric separated and fell from your body. You gasped at the pain of the fabric burning against your skin as it broke but his mouth was immediately there to soothe the pain, kissing and nipping along your breasts, sucking your nipples into his mouth with renewed fervor, and driving your body back into pleasure.

Sitting back on his heels, he pulled his underwear down his legs. It is only then that you noticed the strings of cum that pulled away with his boxers. “Did you…?” your question trailed off as the thick globs of his obvious pleasure became more and more evident. The thought of him coming just from licking you set you writhing beneath him once more.

His cock now freed, he straddled your chest and moved upward toward your head. “Clean me off?” You nodded your head enthusiastically and licked your lips in answer, straining your neck upward against your restrained arms to get closer to him. He chuckled darkly and pushed up until his cock was right above your mouth, a string of cum leaking off the side that you greedily stretched your tongue to reach for. His ragged breathing filled your ears as he pushed his semi-hard dick into your lips and you moaned around him. A hand went to the back of your neck to support it as you bobbed against him, tongue lathing his cock and bringing every drop you could find into your mouth and swallowing it down. He rocked your head slightly against him as you sucked him clean and you could feel him hardening again. “I'm not done with you yet,” he growled.

He shifted back down between your legs, hooking yours over his hips as he slid his cockhead through your folds. “You're so fucking wet…” His eyes locked onto yours and his voice took on an edge, “and it is all for me.” He started to thrust the head into you. “Look at me while I take you,” he demanded. You keened and bucked your hips against him, pushing against him, but you met his eyes, and the possession shining back at you made your skin break out in goosebumps. “I'm the only one who gets to see you like this, aren't I?” His voice was still hard and when you nodded, he pulled away. “Say it, love.”

Your throat clenched as you pushed out the words, “Yours. All yours.” Your heart sang with the declaration. Finally saying the words out loud freed the burden you'd carried since his supposed death.

With your verbal confirmation, he gripped his cock with his metal hand, reaching up with his other hand and threading his fingers through one of your restrained hands. “Don't take your eyes off me for a second, do you hear me?” You nodded and the two of you looked down as he gently fed his cock into your seeping hole. Your moan and his groan twined together with the gentle thunder that still filtered through from outside as you finally came together. Caleb pressed his forehead against yours, your hands clasping each other's and eyes searching as he made his first few shallow thrusts. Breath mingled and sweat slid together, but your eyes did not falter. You saw the depth of his emotion burning in the violet swirls of his eyes, and as his pace increased, your eyes fluttered, but held on his.

With a quick adjustment, he pushed your legs further up with his hips until your knees were bent up to your ribs, forcing him deeper into you until you could feel him hitting your cervix with each push inward. The drag of his cock felt even more intense as the new positioning gave him full access to pound your g spot. As the pressure grew, so too did the noise in the room. Both of you were lost to the pleasure, wordless sounds streaming from your mouths. Your lips met and parted aimlessly, eyes closing every so often as pure sensation took your breath and he bestowed it again through open mouthed kisses. “Give it to me,” he groaned. “Come for me, love. Look into my eyes and give me all of you.”

Tears pricked your eyes as emotion swelled within you, your climax ascending at an unprecedented rate. “With me,” you begged. “Come with me.”

“I'm with you,” he said, running his free hand through the sweat slicked hair of your forehead. “Together.” With several more brutal thrusts, your peak took you over and you screamed his name as he continued to work you through it, roaring his release and filling you with his seed. The tears leaked from the corners of your eyes and his evol dissipated, your arms able to pull down closer to your head as you curled inward, overcome by the sudden flood of feelings that came with your release.

Caleb wrapped his arms around you, cock still lodged deep within your walls and wrapping himself fully around you. “I'm here, love, I've got you. You're not alone anymore,” he whispered into your hair, “I'll never leave you again.”

You shook and let him hold you, gripping his arms with his dog tags still wrapped around your wrists, and letting yourself soak in his warmth. Here. He's here. You reassured yourself over and over that this wasn't a dream. You rubbed your face against his chest and your tears subsided with the gentle strokes of his hands. A peaceful glow settled over the two of you, your heartbeats settling into a singular rhythm.

With a sleepy yawn as you cuddled further into his arms, you let yourself believe that he was finally home and the sounds of the rain and his deep breaths lulled you both to sleep.

#caleb x reader #caleb x mc #caleb x you #lads #lnds #love and deep space #l&ds #lads caleb #love and deepspace caleb #lnds caleb #caleb smut

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lpn3rd · 21 days ago

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#when your dog eats something it’s not supposed to #kidding but Lupin does deserve to get bit for this #poor Jigen <3 #lupin iii #Jigen #my gifs #Lupin the 3rd part 4 ep 7

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the-game-spirit · 1 year ago

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I had to make me dog vomit TWICE today and frankly that is way too much worry for one day thank you

#the first time was because she managed to pull off and it a 3x3 denim patch #all i can say about that is the new patches i got are GARBAGE apparently #and the SECOND TIME #was because she ate a sock. again #urghhhhh #normally im not TOO concerned when she eats something shes not supposed to #shes a 95 pound lab mix itll take alot to really harm her #but fabric??? that scares me #way way way too much anxiety for one day #remember to keep socks away from your dogs and always buy quality patches i guess #spirit chats #ellie penelope #the worst thing about it is its sunday and tomorrows labor day so its fucking impossible to contact a vet

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maskedbyghost · 3 months ago

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arranged marriage with simon. yes i am talking about this again.

simon doesn’t talk much about the marriage at first, but his actions say it all. he insists on carrying your bags, walking on the outside of the sidewalk, and making sure you eat enough during missions. you don't ask him why, but it's clear he's claiming the role of protector, even if this was supposed to be temporary.

he won’t admit it, but simon begins to get used to the little domestic routines. you cooking dinner, him taking care of repairs around the house. it feels too natural, and although he never says anything, he’s already mentally putting the two of you into that “forever” category.

the first time you mention needing space or wanting to stay in a separate room, simon just gives you a look. "what do you mean, separate? we’re married." he’s not joking either. to him, this isn’t a temporary arrangement anymore. if you try to argue, he’ll just pull you close and mutter in your ear, "ring’s on your finger. means you’re mine." and that’s the end of the conversation.

he starts doing small things for you that a husband would—restocking your favorite snacks, making sure your gun is cleaned before missions, and slipping extra blankets on your side of the bed when it’s cold.

after some time, he’s not shy about touching you anymore—brushing a hand against your arm, holding you a little too close when you’re out in public. the more time passes, the more his touches become possessive, like he’s reminding you who you belong to now.

simon is up early, always. you’ll wake up to the smell of coffee, and he’ll have a cup ready for you without asking. if you take your time getting out of bed, he’ll mutter, "c’mon, mrs. riley. don’t make me drag you out." but there’s always a smile on his face.

when you share a bed, simon always pulls you into him at night. no matter how much space you take up at first, by morning, you’re wrapped up in his arms. if you stir in your sleep or seem restless, he’ll murmur, "got you, lovie," without fully waking up, his grip tightening as if to remind you he’s there, keeping you safe.

simon doesn’t open up easily, but after a particularly intense moment, he’ll lean in close, his forehead resting against yours, and he’ll whisper, "don’t care if it was for a mission or not. you’re the only one for me now." it’s not a grand declaration, but the sincerity in his voice makes your heart race.

simon will leave subtle marks of possession on you—his dog tags hanging around your neck, his scent clinging to your clothes, and his bite marks on your skin after an especially heated night. "need everyone to know who you belong to," he’ll growl against your skin, his lips trailing kisses down your neck.

he also has an odd obsession with your wedding ring. he’ll turn it on your finger, kissing it softly whenever you’re close. if you ever take it off for some reason, his brow furrows, and he’ll slip it back on. "keep it on, yeah?" his voice is low, almost pleading. "means something to me."

after a particularly dangerous mission where you were almost hurt, simon corners you in the hallway, eyes filled with emotion. "you’re not leaving me," he growls, pinning you against the wall. "ever. understand?" it’s a statement, a vow, and in that moment, you know you’re his forever, and he’s yours.

when you’re lying in bed together, his arms wrapped around you, simon will sometimes whisper, "mine," into your hair. it’s soft, almost inaudible, but you feel it in your bones. he needs the reminder just as much as you do—that you’re his, and he’s never letting you go.

#simon ghost x reader #simon riley x reader #simon riley x you #simon ghost riley x you #simon ghost riley x reader #simon ghost riley x female oc #simon riley imagine #simon ghost riley

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muntitled · 18 days ago

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Force-Fed

Pairings: The Salesman x Fem!Reader

Summary: You didn't need a job. Not when you only needed him.

Warnings: Dead Dove Do Not Eat, Language, Coercion, Standards Relationship, Abuse, Isolation, Gaslighting, Manipulation, Jealousy, Codependency, Stalking, Yandere!Salesman, Smut (+18) mdni, DDLG, Taboo Sex (she literally calls him dad), Freudian Slip, Daddy Kink, Dom!Salesman, Sub!Reader, Subspace, Slight!Age Regression, Choking, Degradation Kink, Praise Kink, Dacryphillia, Breeding Kink

A/n: If this isn't your vibe, leave the fic alone. Read something else. Like always I'm not responsible for the media you consume.

Installing a mobile tracker on your phone might not have been the most morally good thing to do, that he could admit. Perhaps even more incriminating is that the idea struck him while you were passed out on the floor, your body thoroughly spent from all his ravaging. He was nothing if not an inquisitive man and he needed to see what you got up to during the week, when you were without him. (Note: this started out as a precaution. For your own good. You ought to be thankful to have someone like him in your life).

Who knew that the tracker would bring him here?

His jaw is screwed shut as he leans down under the awning of a building, spotting you through the window of a tired coffee shop, donning a uniform he hadn't even known you owned- it set him alight with a certain level of possessiveness that was foreign to him.

He admits that before you, he'd never had much use for any pointless emotions like love or care. They were, at their very core function, just hormones injected into the brain in order to trick humans into reproduction. That's what he saw you as for the longest time: A means of reproduction. A conduit through which he could fulfill all his most absurd fantasies- fantasies that scared even himself.

When he hit you, fondled you, groped you or stretched your body beyond its tantalizing capabilities, he truly believed he was making you useful, and in return for your services you got to coast through university without having to worry about bills.

That's what it was supposed to be. Nothing less and certainly nothing more.

So what the hell is this?

Today is a Tuesday and your 'sessions' together are scheduled on Wednesday. He ought to just keep on walking and go about the rest of his day forgetting having ever seen you.

As far as your agreement was concerned, you were strictly expected to leave him to his devices throughout the week- it never occurred to him that he would also be expected to leave you to yours.

It makes him tsk, seeing you scrub the counters of a cafe... as if you didn't have him to provide for you.

Had he not provided you with enough?

Had you not gotten everything you wanted?

You were like a dog without a leash.

And his hand was itching to pull you right back to him.

He walks into the coffee shop before his brain is finished processing his movements.

"Good afternoon-" greeted the young man behind the counter. The place smelt like roasted coffee beans and debt. It's obvious in the very few patrons milling about that this business was doomed to fail. Your Salesman had a knack for spotting abject poverty and the owner- your boss, one Lee Junmin was teetering on the edge of financial ruin. It's a very good thing that your Salesman is here to save you from this sinking ship.

"Good afternoon," your salesman says stiffly, almost amicably.

He finds you mid-conversation with your coworker. There's a smile on your face as you crane your neck back, holding a cup under the burning faucet of a coffee machine. You're speaking amicably and you're still smiling. Genuinely. Not at all the robotic smile you reserved for the Salesman during your 'sessions'.

He realises now, watching you with a real smile plastered on your face, that you had been lying to him. You don't seem as broken as you claim to be. Seeing you here, assimilated into society. Sporting a part time job?

His knuckles clench around the handle of his briefcase. He was brimming with the need to punish you for it.

It's absurd.

To punish someone for being a fully functional human being. Not even his own psychological issues could adequately reason that.

The younger boy behind the counter rests a hand on your shoulder, finally letting your eyes settle on the tall Salesman behind the counter.

He can see the moment your breath catches in your throat.

How he wishes he had his heavy hands wrapped tight around that throat. He'd choke you for trying to get rid of him. For trying to... not need him.

"Could you take care of this customer? I need to go out for a break-" Your co-worker mumbles quietly and your heart drops like a bag of dipped in molten lava at the sight of him standing there on the opposite end of the counter. There's a smug sort of smirk playing across his features. I've caught the traitor, now it's off with your head.

You begrudgingly steel your nerves before turning to face your co-worker again, trying to even your breathing as you assimilate back into your easy banter, "And how many times have I told you smoking is bad for you-"

Your co-worker raises his tattooed hands, sporting a boyish grin. It's oddly refreshing to interact with a boy your age- someone normal who wasn't drowning in psychopathic tendencies or bullying homeless people for fun.

"Who said I'm going for a smoke break?" He asks, as you slide up to the counter. You situated yourself behind the barrier as if it was going to keep you safe. You knew nothing could keep you safe from the tense shadow hovering over your benefactor's eyes. The Salesman is livid as your co-worker finally makes himself scarce and after a few tense seconds, he finally speaks.

"I didn't know you did this." He says, staring you down the bridge of his nose.

Play it calm. Play it cheeky. Play it coy.

"You didn't know I make coffee?" That snooty remark doesn't earn you a single gratifying chuckle. It doesn't even earn you a soft, meaningless smile. In contrast, all it gets you is monotony. He's pissed.

"Worked." He spits out, "I didn't know you worked."

You only manage to stare up at him, silently before turning your attention to the screen in front of you.

There were a great many things he had already stolen from you- full autonomy over your body being the greatest loss. You'd raise up hell itself before you truly let him strip you of your independence.

"What can I get you for today?" Swift. Curt. Professional. As if you hadn't felt this man inside you. As if he hadn't choked you out until your vision was sparkling with stars. As if you didn't have his cock down your throat. No one here knew about your arrangement. In this coffee shop, you were safe from your history with the Salesman.

"Americano," You sigh softly, thinking he'll respect you enough to keep things professional. Poor, naive you.

“Tell them you quit." He says, forcing you to look up at his cold, dead orbs. "Do it now."

Your finger pause over the screen and your breathing picks up.

He couldn't do this. Not here. Not when you've finally found refuge away from him, his sadism, his demands and his reminders that he held the keys to you obtaining your degree. This coffee shop was the one place he couldn't reach you...

So why were you already on the cusp of giving in?

Your eyes flit over to the few patrons milling about before staring up at the man on the other side of the counter. Daylight was dwindling and beyond the windows, the city was drenched in an orange, almost pink late afternoon glow.

"Your order's coming right up."

"This place is going bankrupt soon. They'll fire you. It's better you quit now before they do." Your hands falter as you struggle to swallow that deeply authoritative veneer in his voice. That fatherly sort of guidance. Be careful, it said.

"Oh, this is you protecting me?" You hated that this was taking place at work, but business is indeed slow and the only other worker here is in the back of the building, smoking away his problems.

"Not protecting you." He says with a shake of his head, as a slow smile curls the ends of his lips, "Warning you."

You rolled your eyes then. It made his hand twitch with the need to correct you. To force you to submit to him. If there's one thing he couldn't stand, it's a rabid little girl.

"You can have a seat while you wait for your Americano-"

"Fuck the Americano." It comes out louder than he intended. It's a surprise, just like the vein popping out of his forehead. His mask was slipping.

"Tell them you wanna quit." He says in a much softer, more in-control tone of voice. He leans against the counter so that the words exchanged are heard only by the two of you.

There is deep anger and menace in his eyes. You can see the warning in them. Its blood-red and calling for you to just submit.

But you're feeling particularly brave. And so you immediately respond.

"Or what?"

"Or I’ll fucking kill you. You or that co-worker." His gaze fits to the door through which the boy disappeared as he sighed and said, "Remember the roommate's boyfriend?"

How could you ever forget?

There was blood.

So much blood.

Who knew humans were walking around with that much blood inside them?

"You want to threaten me out of having a job?" You were losing this battle and quickly. Desperation is the only thing you cling to as your eyes peer up at him.

"Want to?" He shakes, “Little Girl, I am threatening you. Quit now. Your co-worker would greatly appreciate it.”

He taps that counter once before taking a seat. "I'll get that Americano to go."

𓂃

Devastation.

A hyperbole of sadness and a pure manifestation of self pity that overwhelmed you in the taxi ride back to your apartment. Your mind replayed the confusion that graced your co-workers friendly face when you told him you 'just couldn't work here anymore'. The genuine sadness in his eyes had stopped you dead in your tracks. It triggered tears that you didn't even know you had because he actually made you feel loved.

Real love, not the fake stuff given to you by this hulking man seated silently in the taxi beside you.

The interior is flooded with neon lights and myriad little stars are plastered in the black sky.

"Fix your face," he grumbles without looking at you, "You're ruining everyone's mood."

You went the rest of taxi ride, sulking up a storm, until you arrived at your apartment building where you didn't look at him once, as you rode the elevator up, up, and up.

While you were contemplating genuine suicide, he, on the other hand, was one of the happiest- if not the happiest man on the planet.

He told you to correct your mood but the truth is he loved it. He loved seeing you so juvenile, as if you were teetering on the edge of a tantrum he so badly wanted to correct. He loved seeing you sulk like a child. It set his bones alight with a deep, uncomparable need.

He thought pain was the only thing that got his dick hard.

Perhaps he stands corrected.

"Take off your shoes," he hollers in that same tone of authority once you've entered your apartment building. You're like a ghost as you turn to kick your shoes off at the door before lugging your body deeper into the house. He watches you drop your handbag right there on the floor, before you're throwing yourself on the couch, face first like a sack of potatoes.

He attempts to hide his smile as he walks in along after you. He undoes the buttons of his blazer as he stands above you, eyeing you under a quirked brow as your shoulders begin to wrack with your tears.

He shrugs off the blazer before folding it on the nearest armchair.

You flinch when you feel his hand on your foot, lifting it up to make space for his large frame lowering onto the couch.

That infuriatingly warm voice is back as he quietly asks "Why are you crying?"

He extends his hands to the small of your back, rubbing dizzying circles while you cry and cry. He's comforting you after being the very reason you need comfort in the first place. Everything about this man is one big contradiction.

"I thought you'd be happy about this." Your voice is muffled by the cushion. You don't look up at him.

"What on earth would give you the impression that I want you to work?" He asks.

"W-Well," you attempt to rain in your sniffles and he attempts to not visibly grow a boner as your bloodshot eyes finally come into view. You're a beautiful mess for him. Your lashes are wet and your nose is runny and he wants to do so many vile things to you, its eating away at his soul.

He wants to play this game for as long as he can though, this sulking game that he didn't know hed enjoy so much. He settles for setting his hand at the back of your head as you talk.

"If I have a job that means there's less stuff you have to buy for me and-" You answer, sniffling cutely as you sit beside him. You're staring down at your hands fidgeting in your lap while his eyes can't leave the pathetic tears running down your face.

He doesn't think when he says it. He's not thinking about anything other than your body. How little you become for him. How sombre and sullen and sulky you are.

"And what if I prefer it?" He asks softly, "Taking care of you?"

You shake your head, trying to remove his hand ghosting behind you but he only weaves his fingers into your braids, keeping a wonderful grip on your scalp.

"You had no right to do that- you had no right to make me quit."

He leans over, sufficiently done with all these terrible games you've played and forced him to play. He was so dangerously close to combustion, his hands were trembling as he reached over to undo the buttons of your work polo shirt. You let him.

Of course you let him.

"Who was that then? You kissed him before?" His eyes find you before moving back down to the t-shirt. His fingers hook under the ends of the shirt as he lifts it up.

"Who was who? My co-worker?" You sound tired and dejected and you immediately hug yourself when nothing but cool air drifts over your naked torso. He moves a large hand over your breasts, marveling at the sheer size of it, comparing it in his hands. Your body truly was magnificent, he realizes. And all he has done this whole time is try to kill it.

"That... child," he breathes before dropping his hands down to your work pants. He undoes the buttons and you watch him with an intense look in your eye.

"You have a knack for calling every boy my age a child," you say shortly.

"That's because you're young," he admits before tapping your thigh slightly. You lift your hip and let him maneuver you out of the khaki pants, never to be worn again. The smell of coffee still hangs heavily over your skin but it's significantly less intense. Right now all he smells is you.

"And yet," you showcase to him the latest bruise along your collarbone. It's big and angry and hid very easily under the polo shirt. However, here under the overhead lights of your apartment, he could see them, "Look at everything you've ever done to me-"

He groans then. He actually groans.

His eyes flutter shut as his legs spread a little wider and he sinks a little lower into the couch. "Fuck," he whispers, head swinging towards you as he flutters his eyes back open.

"Come sit on my lap?"

His request only catches you remarkably off-guard. “Excuse me?”

"I said come sit on my lap," he replies so defiantly it nearly has your brain short circuiting. You narrow your eyes, not trusting it.

"Why?"

"What do you mean 'why'? Because I'm hard and I'd like you to sit on my lap."

"Is this another game?" You ask, still remarkably on the fence about the man who had been the pinnacle of sadism, suddenly force-feeding you his affections.

"If you don't sit on my lap I will bring out the cane again, don't tempt me-" before your able to make a decision, he makes one for you- attacking you with his large hands before you're able to protest any further. He wrestles you onto him, forcing you to take what he gave.

You're made to straddle his left thigh as he pulls you in close until your tits are pressed up against his shirt. He buries his head in-between the crook of your neck and you croak out a moan as he inhales you sharply. He hugs you towards him, bouncing you slightly on his knees. The feeling shoots straight to your cunt and you immediately begin to groan on top of him.

With his head over your shoulder, you can feel his fingers grace over the marks he'd left before. The marks from the cane. It scarred your back. Moulding the flesh in his image. Branding you as his

"You're young but you can handle it." He whispers, swiping his thumb over your scars before drifting his hands down to your hip. He slowly begins to drag your hips forward and you gasp, immediately searching for something to grab onto. You settle for his shirt. Your fingers curl around the fabric and he lets you ruin it as he pushes you back slowly on his thigh. He continues these torturous movements until your cunt gets the message and starts acting accordingly.

He watches with a slow nod as you begin to ride his thigh like he's conditioned you to.

"Jeez-" It was the sheer intimacy of the actual act that had your arousal dripping out of you and onto his thigh. You'd never had sex with him- purely for sex. It had always been an act of torture or punishment that had always led to sex. But never something so sexual being done so blatantly .

"Fuck yourself on my thigh-" he whispers hoarsely, almost pained as he urges you along. "You can do it, can't you? You can be a good slut for me?"

An equally pained whimper seeps out of your closed lips as you begin to ride his thigh like your life depends on it- spurred on by darkness in his glare and the bulge tenting his pants.

When you notice him undoing the buttons of those pants you realize you are utterly done for.

"Good little slut," he mumbles as he mindlessly reaches inside his boxers to uncover his cock already dripping precum.

"Open your mouth-" he's already shoving his fingers inside, flattening your tongue in order to collect as much saliva as possible before spreading it all over his cock. You watch in complete wonder as he begins to fuck his fist to the same rhythm you ride his thigh- it's so mesmerizing.

"D-Does this count as a session or-"

"Shh-" he says, squeezing his eyes shut as his hand squeezes the base of his cock.

He fluffers his eyes open again, only to state deeply into your lust-filled gaze.

"I don't think I've ever cum inside you with the actual objective of getting you pregnant." His words completely knock you off-kilter and he needs to bring his hand up to your side to stop you from slipping off his thigh.

He continues to stroke his cock, picking up speed.

"I've only ever just... did it.”

“Pl-Please stop talking-” you mumble, “I’ll cum,”

He doesn't listen.

“I cum inside you 'cus it's what I feel like doing in the moment," you try to stitch every piece of this moment to memory. The wrinkles lining his manic eyes, smile wiped clean from his face, leaving only a serious, aroused look of an incredibly grown, strong man.

"F-Fuck," your hips stutter on top of him as you softly whimper. "D-Dad-"

It cracks out of you.

And almost immediately you wish you could take it back but you're already cumming. And your words have his eyes widened as he lifts his hips from the couch fucking his fist deeper.

"F-Fuck I'm cumming-" he admits oh so gravely as his eyes squeeze shut.

"Me too-" you whimper as your own orgasm splits through you, soaking his thigh and ruining the fabric further.

Beyond a few shallow words, guaranteeing you that you won't be annihilated, he almost never initiates affection. In fact, you weren't even really sure if he was capable of it yet here he was, confessing the only way he knew how.

You're cumming on top of him as spurts of his cum land on his chest, making a mess on his shirt. You're both breathing heavily in the afterglow. The fog has yet to clear.

You sit up slowly, body wracking with aftershocks.

"This was nice but um- I need you to be rougher-" the words barely leave your mouth before he's clamping your throat shut with his fist. He's breathing heavily with his eyes still squeezed shut.

"You don't need anything-" he reminds you quietly, "You don't make demands, you take what I give you."

He squeezes and squeezes your throat like he did his cock.

"You're like a baby being forced fed.” He says, “My baby. My thing to take care of.”

#squid game #squid game x reader #squid game fanfic #squid game smut #the salesman #the salesman x reader #the salesman x you #the salesman smut #salesman smut #salesman x reader #gong yoo x reader #gong yoo

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entitled-fangirl · 5 months ago

Text

Direwolf.

Cregan Stark x wife!reader

Summary: Cregan's direwolf is spoiled by the reader.

A/n: Based on ask! Also I'm running a fever, so I'm praying this makes sense

Masterlist

.....................................

"Perhaps it was an idiotic thought from the start," Cregan mutters as he views the sight before him.

His sweet wife sat on the ground of the dining hall, lavishing their dire wolf in affection.

Well, Cregan's direwolf.

Well, it was supposed to be Cregan's.

He had found the wolf not long before he became the Lord of Winterfell. Now, after almost seven years with the animal, their bond was inseparable.

So when Cregan's wife joined the mix, Cregan was nervous.

But she had a love for Dark Night, as did the large beast for her.

"I find it sweet," the Maester said with a light smile. "It is important the two get along, isn't it? Better than fighting for your attention, I'd wager."

"That's the thing," Cregan sighed. "Neither of them needs my attention. They're content on their own."

The maester chuckled, looking at the sight of the woman and wolf before excusing himself.

Cregan walked to the pair, holding his hand out to his wife. "C'mon, sweet girl."

Y/n looked up with a smile and took his hand, brushing off dust from her skirt as she did so.

Dark Night let out a low coo, sitting up and nuzzling at her thigh.

"Seems I'll have to fight for even a moment with you," Cregan smiled as he tucked his face into her neck.

She let out a soft giggle. "Don't be so upset, Cregan. You know you always have my heart."

He chuckled with her, pulling away and leading her to the dining table, pulling out her chair before sitting across from her.

The two talked of mundane things as usual: their day, the problems of the North, ideas they had, anything and everything.

Finally, Cregan tilted his head with a furrowed brow. "What are you doing?"

She looked at him with wide eyes, as if caught in a horrid lie. "N…nothing."

He simply stared, his hands resting atop the table. "Are you feeding Dark Night under the table?"

She reaches to pick something off of her plate, lowering it below the table. "No?"

He leaned back in his chair with an incredulous look and a chuckle, "You little minx. He eats enough, you know that."

"Well, yes, but," she gave a shrug. "He just looks at me so pitifully, I cannot say no."

She reached up to grab more, but Cregan stopped her, "Don't."

She paused, "Cregan-"

"-Do not spoil that damn dog. He is fine."

Before long, Dark Night's large head weighed down on Cregan's lap from under the table, a longing look in the animal's eyes.

Cregan looked down at him with a tight lip and a shaking head, "Your methods may work on our sweet girl, but you will get nothing from me."

The wolf nuzzled in more, trying to get Cregan's attention still.

Finally, Cregan waved his hand out at the wolf, "Get. Go on. You have already been fed today."

Dark Night accepted the defeat and left the dining hall, an obvious annoyance in the way he walked.

"Now," Cregan sighed. "Let us try to speak again."

…

A few hours later, Cregan entered their chambers in pure exhaustion.

The day had been longer than he had hoped, and he wanted nothing more than time with his wife.

Seeing her curled up on the sofa next to the fireplace warmed something inside of him.

He came from behind, leaning down to place a kiss on the crown of her head.

She hummed, looking up from her book. "Hello, lovely."

A small whine sounded in the room.

Cregan's brow furrowed as he scanned the room for his wolf.

"Why is he on the bed?"

She leaned forward, looking over her shoulder to see that the wolf had indeed found a comfortable place on their bed. She shrugged, "He was there when I got here. I didn't have the heart to move him."

Cregan gripped her shoulders from behind, gently massaging them. "I've had this wolf years, and never has he even been allowed the notion that being upon the bed was allowed."

She smiled as she looked over her shoulder at Cregan this time, "He's been so wonderful today. Let him stay."

He leaned down to her ear, a teasing smile across his face, "Why should I?"

She let out a hum. "Please, Cregan."

"Please what?" He teased.

Her head leaned back against the back of the sofa, "You know what you're doing, Lord Stark."

He smirked, leaning up and moving to the bed, "Up."

Dark Night lifted his head to look at Cregan.

Y/n immediately gets off of the couch, "Cregan."

"I mean it," he complains. "That dog cannot run this castle."

"He's not," she comes as she moved to Dark Night, petting his fur.

"My love, he-" Cregan froze completely, eyeing the dog. "A collar? You've bought him a collar?"

She smiled sheepishly. "Perhaps."

Cregan crosses his arms, looking up at the ceiling for a moment as he bit the inside of his cheek in thought. "Gods, you're gonna be the death of me."

"He's being so sweet, Cregan. Look at him!"

Cregan looked down, seeing his sweet wife practically laying on the large animal.

He shook his head, a large smile coming across his face. "As long as there is still room for your husband."

"Oh, always, Cregan."

…

Cregan woke up in the night, pulling at the blanket that would not move. He leaned up on his elbows, seeing the giant dire wolf that laid on his wife's feet, holding the blanket down underneath him.

Cregan heaved a great sigh, but inside, he really didn't mind.

He was glad the two greatest things in his life cared for each other. It made his occasional absence to the Wall less guilt wracked.

He knew they'd keep each other warm until he came back.

.....................................

Taglist: @twinkletwinklenotastar, @kidd3ath, @yujyujj, @misswynters, @cosmosnkaz, @sithapprentice, @kaniromi, @lovemesomevesey, @its-jackie-bb, @8812-342, @thorins-queen-of-erebor, @kingdomzeldaquest @nyxbranwenn, @callsignwidow, @a1lexh-blog, @alyssa-dayne, @ethereal-athalia, @ashovertheriver

#fanfiction #cregan stark x reader #cregan stark x you #game of thrones x reader #game of thrones fanfiction #game of thrones x y/n #game of thrones imagine #cregan stark x y/n #house of the dragon #house of the dragon fanfiction #cregan stark imagine #cregan x reader #cregan stark #cregan stark fanfic #hotd cregan #cregan fanfiction #house of the dragon fanfic #hotd fanfic #drew drools over cregan stark

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yanderenightmare · 7 months ago

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TW: slight nsfw, omegaverse

gn reader

The big, strong Alpha who is super needy and clingy with his omega mate. Utterly infatuated by you—ecstatic you finally agreed to be his. Every day is a new honeymoon, wrapping you in his big arms and lifting you off your feet, squishing you tender. Telling you you’re gorgeous, nearly getting teary-eyed when gushing over how cute and bite-sized you are, even when you’ve got sleepy eyes and bedhead, wearing what you slept in—his oversized shirt.

He just can’t handle how baby you are.

Your mating mark has only just healed—the skin thin and tender, scarring nicely into a perfect print of teeth that are unmistakably his. And still, he wants to mark you anew every single day.

You’re trying to read. Lying on the couch with a book perched atop the mass of your giant Alpha boyfriend, who has you draped under him like a thick blanket. Your chin rests on the meaty muscle of his shoulder, peaking over the blade and his broad back to the book you struggle to hold open, arms only barely reaching around his waist in the position—it’s a little straining, but it’s the best you could ask for as you have no chance telling him to get off without him looking up at you, big puppy dogs eyes on the verge of tears.

His face rests in the grove of your neck, licking and sucking the healed bite he’d left there a couple of months ago. Grazing it with his teeth, he gives it a few lingering nibbles that cause a slight sting.

“Hey, you,” you warn, like an owner calling the name of their pet when they’re doing something they know they’re not supposed to. His movement stills, teeth resting in half a bite. “The doctor said to leave it alone.”

He hums and goes back to sucking again, only tenderly kissing it.

You continue reading, but it becomes impossible as his back raises. The link of your arms breaks, not long enough to sustain the stretch, and your book pays the price, lost in the struggle and falling to a close on the floor.

You sigh with a blank stare at the ceiling above, thinking—this is hopeless.

Meanwhile, he continues unbothered, mouthing along your artery up to your ear. You shy away from the tickle, and he moves on to your cheek.

“Hey—”

He eats the protest from your lips, replacing it with his tongue. You don’t push him away—it would only make him whine, so you indulge him. He growls softly as you open your mouth for him.

His hands squeeze your waist impatiently, slipping beneath the band of your boxer shorts and immediately grabbing both handfuls of your ass—lifting you and slotting himself between your thighs. The bulge is enough to make you moan.

“Geez…” you mumble once your lips part, speaking thickly with breaths “It’s like a never-ending rut with you.”

His voice is even worse off. “I can’t help it. You’re just so pretty.” A continuous whimper laces each syllable, all but feeding you the words, unable to keep his lips off you. “I need you so bad it hurts.”

Beneath the whining, there’s a rumble in his chest. You feel it as you put your hands on his chest, a low running growl pushed down and kept there as he does all in his power to hold back.

You cup his big jaw with both your hands, looking at his miserable face with a sigh, “What am I supposed to do with you?” You look him square in the eye with strictness. His hands all but quake, giving you the silent look of pleading, begging for your mercy.

You end up sighing again, this time in defeat.

“Okay, big boy. Fine. Once more before bed. But you better go easy—I wanna be able to walk tomorrow—”

He kisses your pout and moves downwards, smearing sloppy pecks down your chest, chanting, “Thank you, thank you—” and pulling your shorts with him as he goes.

♡ BNHA – Deku, Shoto, Denki, Kirishima, Hawks, Natsuo, stupid soft Bakugou ♡ JJK – Gojo, Yuji, Geto, Yuuta, Choso ♡ HQ – Bokuto, Miya twins, Kageyama, Kuro ♡ CSM – Denji ♡ AOT – Eren, Armin ♡ DS – Zenitsu, Tanjiro

♡ FEM x M INSERT masterlist ♡ GN x M INSERT masterlist

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disgustingtwitches · 6 months ago

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MDNI

Working at a restaurant with 141! (pt.2)

As the weeks went on, Gaz and Soap would constantly try to pull you into the walk-in. But Simon's stare made you stop dead in your tracks every time. You've resorted to going over to their place, it's always a surprise who's gonna end up on top of who. During breaks between rounds, you'll catch up on a show you were all watching or playing video games and eating snacks. It's light, fun, young, energetic.

"The boys keeping you satisfied?"

Price asks during one of your smoke breaks, he's leaning against the railing again. Your eyes dart to the floor, embarrassed.

"I could take proper care of you."

The words drip from his mouth and run up your legs, making you squirm. He chuckles, a deep rumble from his broad chest.

"I'll pick you up 7 tonight."

Flicks the butt of his cigar onto the wet cement before walking back into the kitchen. Your hand shakes as you finish your cigarette.

The outing was nice, he took you out on a real date. You wore a tasteful dress that he was obsessed with the moment he saw you in it.

Made you order something expensive from the menu.

"Gotta keep you well fed, hm?"

You couldn't argue with him, he held an air of authority even outside of the kitchen. Conversation was pleasant, he kept it appropriate. Actually, that whole time he was an absolute gentleman. Walked you up to your flat. You gave him an anxious kiss that made him laugh softly and you quickly slipped into your studio. You pressed your back to the door, heart pounding. You squinted through the peephole and watched as he turned around, walking away. As soon as you swung your door open, he was stepping inside your place and scooping you up. He gripped your ass while holding you up, his hands positioned in a way that allowed him to rub your folds through the thin fabric of your dress.

"Already wet? Knew you'd be a good girl for me."

You melted in his arms at those words. Gently laid you right on the bed, pulling back to slip off your heels and left kisses from your ankle to inner thigh. He moaned when you giggled from his beard brushing against your soft thighs.

"Fuckin dogs, markin you up like your theirs."

His lips grazed over the hickeys Gaz and Soap left on your hips and thighs. He pulled the dress up and over your shoulders.

"Those sexy fuckin eyes of yours, Christ."

He kneeled over you, taking you in. Your moans, touch, smell, all that was left was your taste. He sunk back down between your legs and had you coming faster and harder than Soap or Gaz. He was down there for hours, only coming up to briefly cram his thick dick into your tight hole just long enough to leave you being for more when he pulled out. So much restraint he had. Only reason he finally finished was because he had to get up early tomorrow. Painted your sore walls with thick ropes of his spend,

"G'na take it all like a good girl, yeah?"

He held your face to muffle your moans with his mouth while he finished pumping into you. Wouldn't even clean you up, just gently pushed whatever leaked out of you back inside. Then he held you close and fell asleep, effectively trapping you in his arms. He ends up driving you to work the next day, taking you in early so he can prep with Ghost. Simon seems more grumpy than usual (it's because he's the one who's supposed to drive you to work, creature of habit he is).

"I'll let you pick her up next time. Don't get mad at me for being a gentleman."

Price sighs while portioning out meat. You swear you see Simon huff.

The drive home was silent as usual, but there was a tension that wasn't present before. Sure, there's been an uneasy or awkward air in the car before, but this was different. You needed it to stop being quiet.

"...sorry for not telling you about John taking me today."

You sat on your hands, staring at the veiny hand gripping the gear lever.

"S'alright, he told me."

His tone was unreadable as ever. He parked in front of your building, looking at you with those dark, intense eyes. You shifted uncomfortably, about to open your mouth to say something.

"G'night."

He interrupted, you nod and step out of his car to your door. You fumble with your keys and turn around to invite him in, he's already locking his car door and headed towards you. Oh fuck.

He doesn't even let you take your shoes off, just flops you onto the edge of the bed and haphazardly pulls down your jeans and underwear, folding you in half.

"Open."

He grunts, shoving two fingers into your mouth, getting them slick with your spit. He roughly fingers your sweet spot until you are overwhelmed with pleasure, then he undoes his pants. You gasp. Literally gasp at the sight of his length.

"That's not going in me."

You blink at him. He looks at you, stroking himself.

"Alright."

He shrugs before slapping his shaft on your wet folds, then rubbing himself against you. He goes at this for what seems like forever, occasionally his tip catches in your entrance before he slides out and continues to grind against you. It's maddening. Finally, you break and beg for him to slide himself in. He does so with no hesitation or concern for your poor walls. Bullies his way inside you until you physically can't take anymore and pounds into you ruthlessly. He covers your mouth with a rough hand while the other toys with your nub. You squeal, yelp, moan. It's all muffled; only to be heard by his ears.

"Atta girl, takin it like a champ."

You were barely keeping it together, each hit to your cervix made you see stars. It hurt. It was heaven. Your eyes rolled back.

"Don't look away from me."

He grabbed your face, making you stare right into his brown eyes. That's what pushed you over the edge, he rode out your orgasm before reaching his. Your heavy breaths filled the room. That's when he finally decides to pull off your shoes and pants. He was surprisingly good at aftercare, made you both some tea (why did he know where everything was?), wiped you down, and put on some cooking competition show. He was into it. Very into it.

"How do you fuck up beurre monté?"

He says to himself, shaking his head while the contestant on TV cried about messing up a sauce. It goes on like this for a while, shitting on chefs choices and mistakes. Your stomach rumbles, he looks at you. Offers to make something. You remember how the food at the restaurant gets sent back. A lot. Decline politely. He walks to the kitchen, rummaging through the fridge and cabinets. You'd say something, but you know you can't stop him. Twenty minutes later he hands you a plate,

"Shakshuka."

It looks...edible. He sits at the end of your bed, eating and watching his show. You take a spoonful into your mouth. Fucking delicious.

"Best I could do with what you had."

He made himself home, slept like he paid the bills, splayed out and snored louder than a Harley. Pinned you right under his arm, mouth right next to your ear. You barely get any sleep.

The next day you drag your feet back and forth from the kitchen.

"Fuckin hell Simon, you kept her up all night?"

John shook his head, burning another steak. Simon grunted, plating the meat and placing it on the window. You served the food to the customer and walked back to the kitchen.

"That's my hoodie."

Soap pointed at Ghost. It was obviously Soap's, they were both well built but Simon's arms and chest stretched the fabric.

"So?"

Simon shrugged, sweeping the floor.

"So? I gave it to her."

"S'fine, she has enough of your shit."

Soap looked at you, betrayed. You shrug, you were too tired to even notice what Simon was wearing.

"Didnae ye notice yer favorite hoodie was gone?"

He looked at you, eyes sad and blindingly blue.

"Give it a rest Johnny."

"'But it's 'er favorite. Right bonnie?"

You nod (you don't have a favorite, but obviously he needs this) and he sighs in relief, smile plastered on his face. Pesters Simon to give him back the hoodie.

"Keep it somewhere safe, aye?"

He hands it to you, holding it like it was a damn fabergé egg.

While Simon and you were walking to his car, Kyle and Johnny run after you, insisting on seeing your place,

"What, only they get to see your flat? It's not fair."

So puerile, Ghost rolled his eyes.

They oohed and aahed at your flat, fawning over your decor. You're thankful for splurging on a king sized mattress. Gaz slept like an angel, but Johnny? Even in his sleep he was restless, kicking and talking. You make a note not to have Ghost and him over at the same time.

Two days later, Johnny almost drops to his knees when he sees Simon in your 'favorite hoodie' again.

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little-miss-dilf-lover · 2 months ago

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REDAMANCY. 18+

pairing. logan howlett x fem!reader word count. 3915 summary. you often worry you can never keep up with your husband's continuous acts of love and care, your attempts always seeming to come up short. logan catches on and shows you that there’s nothing for you to prove. warnings. 18+ only!! reader has a moment of inadequacy at the beginning, logan being attentive<3 quick description of thigh riding but it's not proper, titty kissing, fingering, cum eating? (licks his fingers) pinv sex. angst start, fluff middle, smut ending. mdni a/n. #needthat

Feelings of inadequacy seem to follow you like a stray dog. The constant, repetitive thought that what you do or say or think or feel may never be enough. But it was silly really, to be afraid of the contents of your own mind, especially when you had no reason to feel that way.

You thought these feelings were controlled, contained even. But as you anxiously twist your wedding ring upon your left finger, you can’t help but slip into that prior mindset you believed to be packed away. You beside the stove, mindlessly watching the simmering pot of tonight's dinner, staring at the vegetables bubble around in the sauce.

It was Logan’s favourite, and it was a token of your appreciation for yet another grand gesture of his love towards you – the thanks a slither of what he does for you on the daily. But as you watch over the chicken pie filling in the saucepan, you can’t help but notice something missing, something that’s supposed to be there but isn’t.

And when you blink from your fixed, hazed stare, you see exactly what you need on the countertop. The chopped up pieces of bacon on the board —his favourite part— sitting there like it’s mocking you, telling you that you’re terrible for forgetting it. And it’s not like you can add it now, it would be horrible and ruin it completely.

All you can do now is move on, move past it. Though now it feels like you can do anything but. The bacon a reminder of your apparent failures, inadequacies. It was silly to be caught up on missing meat, but it wasn’t just about that – it was like it was even more proof that you were out of your depth with Logan. That forgetting the bacon somehow made you a horrible, horrible person.

You stare at the board for a moment, trying so desperately hard not to let it get to you and then you see Logan walk past the window – a couple fresh chopped logs of wood under one arm, an axe and a bunch of wildflowers in the hand of his other. And somehow the sight made you feel nothing short of awful. His thought and care once again overshadowing your attempts.

You quickly wipe under your eyes, an act of precaution to make sure nothing had seeped from you while you beat yourself up over something so tiny. You follow the sound of the front door opening, the scuffling of his boots following shortly after as he places down the pieces of timber.

“Smells fuckin’ good,” he compliments, the warm, homely smell hitting at his nose immediately.

He walks over to you, right, flower-held hand tucked from your view as he moves to stand behind, free arm reaching for your waist the second he’s close enough.

“I got’ya somethin’,” he whispers behind you, punctuating his sentence with a kiss under your ear – his neck peering round and over your shoulder.

You turn into him, your back against the edge of the counter to see what you already knew to be in his hand. He pulls the flowers from behind his back, the stems cut neatly with the help of his adamantium tools. They’re beautiful, all hand picked from the surrounding forest around the cabin.

He guides them to your hand, noticing your unusual hesitation as you stare at the bouquet. He, too, pauses, looking over your face to understand your silence. Did you hate them? You never usually hate them.

“Do you…” he hesitates, trying to find the words. “Hate them?”

“No,” you say, word soft as you shake your head, the motion just as gentle as your voice.

Logan cocks his head slightly, angling to meet your eyes but you only divert them again, turning away from his gaze as you reach for the bunch of flowers. Only now they’re out of your grasp, his hand to his chest.

“You okay?” he asks, the withdrawal of the gift an attempt to make you meet his eyes.

“Yeah,” you lie with a nod, a small, faint, smile accompanying the fib.

“You’re not lying to me, are you?”

You look over him quickly, expression bashful as you shrug. He hates when you lie to him, especially about these things. It was only a white lie really, just a small, teeny tiny mistruth to spare yourself from embarrassment. But your silence doesn’t last long.

“I messed up dinner,” you admit, the confession pried from you by his prolonged, patient silence. Your words are quiet as you avoid his eyes, instead staring down to his chest.

He glances past you and into the saucepan, seeing no such fault. He faintly shakes his head, features quizzical as he tries to understand.

“It looks good to me,” he says, with a slight, but genuine shrug – unable to see what you see.

You close your eyes with a sigh, the noise light and airy as your head drops, gaze lowering.

“I forgot the bacon.”

His head cocks once again, the motion like he’s growing more and more confused.

“Yeah?” he prompts, trying to get you to say more.

But that’s all there is to say, you forgot the bacon – that’s it. It wasn’t like it was a pause or the beginning of some speech.

“It’s your favourite part,” you reply, defeat evident in your voice.

“Uh-uh?” he guides you through your confession, still unsure of what the issue is. He knew there was more, he just had to ease it out of you.

“It’s your favourite part,” you repeat, momentarily glancing up to meet his eyes. “It’s not your favourite meal if I forget your favourite part,” you cut yourself short as your voice begins to waver, a bubble forming in your the back of your throat.

He holds onto your short eye contact, following your gaze when your head goes to turn. “Come on now, talk to me,” he offers his comfort, speaking like it was a plea.

“I feel like I can never keep up.”

“Keep up with what?” he questions, desperate to keep you talking.

“With you,” you pause and place your hand over your opposite upper arm, the act a brief moment of self soothing. You exhale softly before continuing. “You do all these nice things for me— see? Look,” you point to the flowers in his hand. “Right there. You thought of me and you got them and they’re beautiful. Why can’t I do that?”

Logan opens his mouth to speak, though you’re keen to continue. The bandaid free and invoking all your feelings to come out at once.

“I make you desserts, I make a mess. I buy you something, I buy the wrong thing. I make your favourite dinner, I ruin your favourite dinner,” you pause, your vision growing blurry. “Sometimes,” you pause once more, wiping your eyes. “Sometimes I don’t know if you know how much I love you. Like, I can never seem to prove it and I don’t—” you cut yourself off, stopping yourself from what you were about to say. You didn’t want to make a further mess of things.

“You don’t, what?” he asks, his attention undivided as he listens to you. “You don’t, what?” he repeats, eyes boring into yours as he urges a response from you.

“Want you to feel like you made a mistake,” you confess, voice quiet like you were ashamed for thinking such thing.

“Do you think I made a mistake?” he questions, flipping your moment of insecurity back on you. Though his words hold no malice, no intention of hurt – just simply speaking like he was trying to figure you out.

Your silence speaks louder than any words could. Your eyes quickly flickering over his face like you were anticipating what he may say in response. It could go one of two ways: irritated and angry or soft and hurt.

“I haven’t,” he says, voice as firm as his eyes. “I know I haven’t,” he repeats, trying to engrain it into you.

All you can offer Logan is a faint, flattered smile, fragments of disbelief just as evident within you as before. One thing about your husband you knew to be forever true, is his earnest nature. So you knew he wasn’t telling you what you wanted to hear only to spare himself.

Logan places the flowers on the counter to the right of you, laying the bunch neatly at your side. He keeps his attention on you, eyes fixed on yours as if he’s trying to prove his sincerity – his honesty.

His head drops slightly as he rests his lips against your forehead. “Do you believe me?” he asks gently against your skin, punctuating his question with a kiss to where he just spoke.

You wrap your arms around him as you tuck your face into his neck, hands connecting in the middle of his back. “Yeah,” you reply, word muffling into him.

It was a lie, a partial lie at that. You knew in your heart —deep, deep in there— that it was true, and that you believed it, but right now? You just couldn’t get it into your head. So you lied, not wanting to run around in circles with repetitive asks all evening.

But this is Logan, he knows your tells and when you’re lying. But he doesn’t poke any further, instead pressing another kiss to your forehead before pulling away, clearing his throat briefly.

“Why don’t you go lay in the tub,” he starts, usual gruff voice now soft, speaking like he’s trying to soothe you. “I’ll finish that off,” he gestures with his eyes, nodding to the stove top on the other side of you.

You turn to look at the ‘mess’ beside you and nod, accepting his help with no more deflecting or avoiding. And as you step aside, you stroke over his back where your hands laid just moments before, the act another one of your silent thanks.

His left, ringed hand brushes your left, ringed hand as you move from your placement in front of him, your fingers loosely entwining for a short, brief second before passing.

⎯ ☆ ⎯

Standing in front of the dresser in your shared bedroom, you change from your towel and into something a little more comfortable – opting for a robe and slippers. You give yourself a quick glance over as you pass the mirror on your way out the room, though you don’t take too much notice, instead flicking off the light switch as you set off to the living room.

The bath helped. It helped massively, actually.

Your slippers scuffle along the hallway of your cabin, the floorboards worn and creaky by it’s old age. Lingering in the doorframe, you look over at Logan on the sofa, elbows resting on his knees as he stares at the lit fireplace ahead – looking as though he’s lost in thought.

“Hi,” you start, capturing his attention.

His eyes flick up to you, a faint —his usual— smile welcoming you back. He clears his throat like he’s going to speak but instead he taps the empty seat on the couch beside him.

You look around the open space before your eyes land on the orange, warm light shining out of the oven and onto the tiles. The pie you started to make now sitting on the centre shelf. The rest of your messes cleaned and tucked away, all evidence hidden. And there he sits, asking for no recognition – no praise or approval for cleaning up after you. He’s just there, patiently awaiting you.

“How long’s it been in?” you ask, gesturing to the oven. “The pie,” you add, turning to look at him with a smile.

“Three minutes,” he reciprocates your warmth as he nods you over to him.

“Did you let the pastry warm up?”

He nods.

“And the—”

“Taken care of,” he interrupts, slipping his hand into yours. He guides you to stand between his legs, eyes honed in on you above. Like he’s anticipating you, he answers the question you’re about to ask – once again proving just how well he knows you.

“Cooked it in ‘nother pan then added it on top,” he replies, speaking casually.

You stifle a laugh as you shake your head – it was really a simple fix.

With his gaze still focused on you, he begins playing with your left hand, his thumb mindlessly grazing your ring – the fiddling an absentminded act. As if he’s reminding him and yourself of your marital bond.

“Thank you.”

He hums, the sound far more gentle than his typical rough ones. It’s like he’s acknowledging your appreciation without taking the credit for it.

You extend your free hand, reaching for the side of his face, touch light as you brush over his cheek. Your thumb traces under his eye, soothing over the tired skin as you take a step closer – silently instructing him to lean against the back.

Logan does as wordlessly asked, his hips rolling underneath himself as he repositions, sitting in a manspread for you. He follows your movements as you sit on his lap, straddling one of his beefy thighs, your arms briefly hooking around his neck as you do so. He looks up at you from your very, very slight height advantage, eyes keen as he gazes into yours – staring like he’s trying to read you. You seem far lighter, far happier than the last time he saw you.

One hand rests on his cheek, the other grazing through the shorts of his dark hair – your hold gentle and dear as you press a string of soft, slow kisses across the stubble of his beard. One by one you get closer to his mouth, reaching his lips by the fourth.

His hands move up you from behind, skimming across the cheeks of your ass until they’re resting on your hips, the presence of his hold noticeable through the robes' thin fabric. He begins a pawing – irregular, needy squeezes into you like he’s silently communicating his thoughts and wants, scoping out whether you feel the same.

“How much time is left on the pie?” you quietly ask, speaking against his lips. Your question also an attempt to scope him out.

His grasp around you tightens, the slight force of his hold making your grind against his thigh. “Enough,” he prompts, murmuring into your mouth – lips not yet daring to connect.

He grinds you over your thigh, the motion slow and leisured as he holds you over him, working you up little by little. Gentle exasperated breaths from you caught between your closeness.

Upon hearing those sounds he loves ever so much, he pulls you into him, wrapping you into a brief, momentary hug before turning and laying you on the empty space of sofa beside him. He adjusts, situating above you but to your side, weight anchored beside you.

You look up at him sweetly, eyes flickering over his face in the same way he does you – specks of admiration and lust forming within each of your glances. You adjust under him, the act like you were trying to redirect him, guide him to above rather than to your side. Wanting to feel him graze up against you.

Logan brings his free hand to the side of your face, touch heavy and desperate as he thumbs over your cheek, holding you there as he presses a couple lengthy kisses to your lips – the contact anything but brisk. And with that hand around the swell of your cheek, he’s grazing it down your neck, trailing towards your chest.

He parts the loose, flimsy material of the robe, parting the fabric so he can slip a hand inside. Cupping one of your bare tits, he pulls it out from underneath – the full weight of your breast held within his warm, large hand. All of it on display for him to marvel at from above.

Angling his neck, he reaches for your tit, tongue swiping over the nipple just moments before his lips encompass it. The warmth of his mouth making your stomach tingle and fingers tighten in his hair, a jolt-like roll of your hips accompanying your desperate micro actions.

He holds himself there for a prolonged moment, keeping his lips to your nipple as his fingers begin a very slight pawing around the lower swell of it. The motion like he’s rolling you within his hold. A streak of residual wet being left behind as he pulls his head up from your chest.

You look down to him between your tits, his face just mere inches from yours. One of your breasts still within Logan’s manly hold, the pad of his thumb rubbing over your priorly sucked nipple — the act a soothing caress.

“Where’d you want me?” he asks, voice quiet between your close distance. “What’d you want?” he adds, just as softly as before, speaking like his one goal is to provide service. Service to you.

You make a faint, disgruntled whine upon his questioning, your mind whizzing with thoughts of him, ideas of him. The feel of his cock growing hard against your thigh only making your head race faster.

He shifts above you, lips reaching for yours as his hand around your tit travels down and between your thighs. The warmth of his touch is nothing like your warmth. He slips behind the opening of your robe, his fingers itching to your bare cunt ever so slowly, moving like he’s trying to help you decide. Though he’s doing the complete opposite — making it all the more challenging to answer with your mind whirring like it is.

He lines the crease of your cunt with the pad of his finger, brushing up and down with the lightest, faintest of touch — his lips resting against yours so he can swallow your jittery breaths. The strokes from him are almost mindless, brushing over you like he’s unaware of the effects he has on you. Still has on you after all this time.

“This?” he whispers against your mouth while his finger trails up the slit of your pussy, grazing over your folds.

You nod against him in response, the motion gentle and careful.

Logan teases over your cunt’s lips, collecting the slight build up of slick to smear and trace over you — spreading your arousal with his light touch. Working you up the and more. He pulls away to look over you, wanting to watch your face.

And when your eyes find his, that’s when he slips his middle finger into you. Holding onto your gaze as he presses inside with the utmost of ease.

It was what you needed, not what you wanted. And he could tell — the knitting of your brows and slightly unsatisfied crumple of your nose telling him before you even got a chance. And as you open your mouth to speak, mere milliseconds away from asking him to add another, he’s already lining his ring finger up with you, slipping it inside to accompany his middle.

The steady rocking of him further blurs any sense of coherency in your mind, the slow massage-like fucking of his fingers against your g-spot loosening you up nicely for him.

Your hand in his hair moves to the side of his face, grip desperate as you hold him there, muffling incoherent words of thanks — each murmur being overshadowed by those blissed noises he can never seem to get enough of. And while you keep his face to yours, your other hand is reaching for his arm between your thighs, fingers struggling to enwrap the meat of his upper wrist.

The pumping of his fingers into you is steady, each graze of him from the inside coming from a place of leisure, like the concept of haste is the furthest thing in his mind.

Though, he’s only human and there’s only so much he can take. Especially when you’re squirming under him like you are. The clicking of his fingers in your pussy only making it harder on him.

So, he slowly retracts from the wet warmth of your cunt, strings of your cum remaining connected to him, until they don’t. And as he pulls himself away from you, he licks over his knuckles, lapping over the milky white band you left around him.

Logan sits on his heels between your thighs as he unbuckles his jeans, his dry hand tasked with the job of unbuttoning. He gives the band a hasty tug down, the act nothing short of pure desperation.

He digs down the front to grab a hold on himself, grasp tight around his dick as he pulls it out over the top of his jeans. Cock hard and heavy within his hold. And as he gives himself a few preparatory strokes as he leans back over you in his prior hovered position — weight anchored on his free arm beside your head.

Guiding his cock to you between the opening of your robe, he pushes his head through your lips, collecting your arousal like it’s his personal, endless supply of lube. And only when he deems himself ready, he’s lining up with you, the tip of his dick pressing up against you for a brief moment before he’s easing in. Slowly but surely feeding himself into your cunt.

Upon the entry of his thick, heavy cock, your hands fly up to his face, holding either cheek to keep him close, lips skimming like they did just minutes before. Breath being caught in your throat, the air almost trapped as you feel him sink further and further inside, filling you entirely with himself.

He stills, keeping the whole, full length of his cock plugged inside, the motion of his hips non-existent as he gives you a quick second to get reacquainted with his size. He lowers his head, pressing his forehead against yours while he catches his own breath, the suction-like feel from your cunt having the same effect on him as he does you.

You squirm underneath him and your knees cling to his sides, keeping him glued to you.

“Move,” you whisper, the word like that of pure need. “Come on.”

His lips straighten against yours, a subtle smile forming. “Thought’ya liked the buildup,” he speaks quietly.

The hand that was around his dick, feeding into you, now rests on your face — carefully manhandling you and keeping you put. Logan nips at your lips quickly, pressing a chaste kiss to them as he rolls his hips into you, bumping his cock up.

“That’s what you wanted?” he teases, pressing a kiss just under your chin, making you tilt your head back. Hand moving with the motion of him, palm grazing to rest at the base of your throat. “It is, ain’t it?” he continues with his teasing, muttering between kisses along your jaw. “Hm?”

You hum, the noise sounding like a whine amongst your other blissed sounds. The concept of formulating coherent speech seeming to be far too difficult with the way he feels inside of you. All you can do is squeeze your eyes closed and nod, unable to do anything more than that – just lay beneath him, taking his tender, loving fucking.

Logan’s one true goal: to replace all prior feelings of pain with pleasure, wanting to make you forget about your upset from before. And with the way his dick is winding into you, he’s getting closer to that goal.

⎯ ☆ ⎯

including the moodboard bc she’s cute

#logan howlett #logan howlett smut #logan howlett x reader #logan howlett x fem!reader #logan howlett x you #logan howlett xmen #logan howlett fanfiction #logan x reader #logan smut #logan xmen #wolverine x reader #wolverine smut #wolverine fanfiction #logan howlett angst #logan howlett comfort

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d3monslay3rmemes · 7 months ago

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Genya is so cute but even before eating demons he def put stuff he wasn't supposed to in his mouth and whenever Sanemi or his mom asked what he was eating he 100% chewed faster

LMAO he's like when your dog suspiciously stops barking at you for food and you have to chase him KNOWING he's eating something he shouldn't

#sanemi #sanemi shinazugawa #genya #genya shinazugawa #demon slayer #demon slayer memes #kny #kny memes #meme

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rqnarok · 4 months ago

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thinking about being old man!logan’s little housewife...

headcanons - cws/tags: sexual content, mdni! old man!logan. dom/sub undertones. age gap. both characters are of the age of consent. unprotected p in v. 18+ only.

logan’s all worn out. there is no justification made on depicting how done he is with the world. he lives his days in an accustomed routine - dread crawling on his scarred skin - digging the soil for his own grave.

when he meets you, however, the horror, the panic, and the terror begin to fade away from his blurry orbs—replaced by the sight of your sugary sweet smile. you kept him calm by easing down his drinking and self-destruction. and he just can’t deny you, not when his dick gets so fucking hard when you’re around.

you can’t help it either. the need to fix someone seems very familiar in your generation—so sentimental and at the same time, pragmatic. never accepting ‘no’ for an answer, including when he tries to back you down by saying “ya’ don’t want me, kid. i’m an old dog.” as if sunlight to a plant, it only motivates you. leaving him flushed red and burrows knitted after you whispered filthy remarks to his ear.

up to the point where he finally tears down his prejudices towards marriage and puts a shiny ring on your finger.

he turns a blind eye to anyone glancing at him weirdly at how much older he looks compared to you, his salt-and-pepper beard not helping either. when charles notices the changes in him—how he seems to smile more and how hickeys sprawled up on his neck—he just can’t help but make snarky comments about it. logan’s too old for you (or so charles told him), and logan finds himself balking at that.

“if she doesn’t want it, she would’ve left already.”

he’s right. if you didn’t want it, you would’ve left him. oh, but you stayed. and not only did you stay, but you also took care of him. letting you eat out the palm of his hands.

greeting logan when he comes back from his blue-collar work, cooking and baking his favorite foods, ironing his work clothes and spraying the fabric with a lovely scent, kissing his bloodied knuckles, putting the prettiest outfit for him as a show, warming his cock when he sits lazily on the couch, nuzzling his thighs while you wait for him to get harden again, and letting him have you anywhere and anytime he wants.

logan keeps a polaroid of you while he’s away. a reminder to himself that he has a home now. he’d keep it in his wallet or his jacket pocket or hanging it on the car’s rear-view mirror. how empty was he to be so full of you now?

he never thought he would live a life like this—like how it is supposed to be. without you knowing, logan added one or two hours into his shift so that he could earn more extra pennies. the money he’ll use to pamper you, to make you feel comfortable and content. let you buy anything you want—all things on your shopping list are checked out by the end of the week.

and y’know, he’s an old man who’s not as strong as he used to be. so you pay for all this hard work by burying your face in logan’s neck as you ride him on the sofa. his head tilts slightly to catch your red-kissed lips with his - logan breathes something about how good you’re making him feel, “such a good little wife f’r your old man.”

he loves to tease you—telling you that you’re making him feel younger than ever when he’s with you, “gettin’ tired already, baby? need me t’do it for ya’?” his murmurs get to you as his large palms cup your ass, getting a handful of the plush skin before guiding you up and down his girth.

logan knows how tired you can be, especially when you start whining desperately like this, so he gives one or two light smacks for encouragement, “there ya’ go, kiddo. fuck. don’t stop now. doin’ so well, baby. so good.”

how you always ask for kisses from him ignites that taboo, perverted part of him he did not even know existed. anything that reminds him of how needy you are for him — feels so fucking wrong. but again, it gets his dick so fucking hard, too. he cannot help but to give in.

“bet no one has ever fucked this pretty pussy like i have, huh? need a real man to do it.”

he’s so fucking smug of himself since he had you. knowing those boys your age wishes that you choose them instead. but he’ll know that would never happen because when he says something like “look acha, drooling over an old man like me. gonna let me fill ya’ up, hm?” your walls manage to grip his girth tighter - squeezing him in so deliciously logan wonders what kind of a heroism act he did to deserve you.

makes you do a little ‘fashion show’ for him in the living room, parading yourself wearing all kinds of clothes that he bought. logan spreads his muscular thighs wide as he reads the newspaper—and the sight of him wearing his glasses that rest at the tip of his nose is holy to you, waiting to be worshipped.

you’d come out with a white lingerie that barely covers anything, “do you like it, lo?” whilst you giggle and twirl in front of him, you almost miss how he adjusted his seating position to palm himself through his trousers. telling you, “c’mere here, baby. lemme take good look at’cha, gimme some sugar.”

by ‘taking a look’ he means hiking up the sheer cloth to inspect your glistening mound, “hm. such a perfect pussy you got here, sweet’art.” probing his thick finger on the wet slick, humming at the dirty squelching sound. the look that he has makes your legs tremble - his untrimmed greying beard - his vague-looking face scars.

oh, coming home to you is the best part of his day. always. he’d see you heating the soup you made earlier and loses his fucking mind. turning off the stove in quick movements before hauling you up in his arms.

skin meets skin slapping fills the room and praises come out of his mouth so naturally, “f-fuck. gon’ stuff ya’ up, darlin'." you’re vulnerable and bare, you can’t even think when he’s got you like this.

logan would intertwine his fingers with yours. placing them side by side to see the wedding rings. a legitimate reminder that you’re his and he’s yours—forever.

“good little wife. my good little wife.”

#logan howlett #wolverine #logan howlett x reader #logan howlett smut #old man logan #old man!logan #old man logan x reader #wolverine smut #deadpool and wolverine #headcanon #logan by nina <3

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satoruxx · 7 months ago

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pairing: wolf!toji fushiguro x reader summary: wolfhybrid!toji, grumpy x sunshine again, animalistic behavior, bickering rheya’s note: man i couldn’t stop thinking about guard dog toji so it turned into a hybrid au! i can’t see him as anything but a wolf/dog tbh. anyways i will def be writing more for this au hehe <33

you’ve been hearing noises.

it sounds strange, but you’re sure that there is something lurking in the normally deserted alleyway next to your apartment. at first you brushed it off as people traveling through, but now you've noticed the sounds are constant—every night.

you’re eating dinner when you hear the sounds of scuffling, followed by the yowl of a cat and realize you’re probably dealing with a stray looking for food.

so after you finish your meal, you put a bit of leftover fish in an old plate you seldom use, and take it outside. when you peer into the dark alley you don’t see any cat—it’s empty and quiet. you do notice a few scrapes on the walls and a couple of trash bins overturned, which means there definitely was some animal here.

maybe it’ll come back, you think as you bend down and place the plate on the pavement. with one last backward glance at the deserted alleyway, you head inside and go to bed.

a fond smile stretches across your face when you notice the empty plate as you’re leaving for work the next morning.

it becomes a daily routine after that. every night before you go to bed you go out and leave a little plate of fish for the poor cat. and every morning you’re met with a licked clean plate.

even though you never do see the cat, you do feel a strange combination of accomplishment and affection for the poor thing. and your little routine runs smoothly for a couple weeks—you have no complaints.

and then one night, when you’re going to drop off your little ration of the day, you see him. despite being hunched in a corner, he looms infinitely large—heavy shoulders and muscles straining as they fill with tension at your presence. his eyes are strangely bright, crystalline jade narrowed into slits as they appraise you, teeth bared in feral anger. they snap and snarl at you in warning, and you freeze almost immediately.

he’s terrifying—in a strangely gorgeous way.

dark furry ears are pointed up straight, twitching with the sound of your movements, and a warning growl bounces over the walls.

you raise your hands, ignoring the tremble, the instinct to run. “i just…” you keep your voice low, choosing to lightly shake the little plate you have in your hand. green eyes dart over—another snarl, a flick of a tail.

you slowly crouch and place the plate onto the ground, before backing away—you’re not trying to get attacked by a clearly feral hybrid.

he snarls and growls until you are well out of sight.

when you’re back in the safety of your apartment you almost laugh, heart pounding with disbelief. you thought you’d been feeding a stray cat—but no, it’s a hybrid. a big one, predatory in all aspects. you couldn’t see much in the dark lighting of the alley but the ears looked distinctly canine—with the addition of the teeth, claws, and tail, you’re almost sure he is some kind of dog or wolf or whatever.

dangerous for sure.

sensibly, you should probably stop feeding him so he doesn’t stick around. but stupidly, you can’t help it.

the next night you leave another plate. he’s not there this time, but you leave it just in case he’s lurking.

the following night his green eyes remain narrowed on your figure as you return—still snarling as he watches you.

you’re not fazed.

(tell that to your racing heart.)

over the course of the next few weeks, you repeat this process, not really sure what you’re expecting. you suppose you should be grateful that he doesn’t growl as much anymore, seemingly becoming accustomed to your routine presence. it becomes clockwork, so much so that you can always expect him to be sitting in the alley, ears flicking at the sounds of your footsteps.

the plate has now been saved for his little nightly meals, something you don’t necessarily mind. you notice that he is always clad in the same tattered clothing, a dark shirt that is far too loose even on his large body—it is littered with dirt and holes and you wish it was easier to offer some more comfortable items to him.

but you’ve only just gotten him to stop viewing you as a threat; you’ll take it slow.

you don’t notice that he gradually waits closer and closer to where he knows you leave the plate, the distance diminishing in a display of semi trust.

you think that this is all you’ll really get from him. which is fine—you’d rather he remain silent and alive than dead from starvation in your alleyway.

he surprises you one night.

“no more fish.”

you pause in your tracks, a few measly centimeters away from putting the plate on the ground. your eyes dart upward to see him already staring at you, jade slits narrowed. his tail flicks lazily in the shadows. your voice is breathless when you ask, “w-what?”

“fish,” he repeats. “no more of it.”

his voice is a low rumble, deep in richness and timbre despite its evidence of not being used in a while. you glance down at the plate in confusion—he had eaten it all for these few weeks?

he reaches for the plate, digging into the fish with practiced ease. you watch his canines dig into the flesh and tear away like it’s mere paper.

(should you be scared that the fish could also be your throat?)

“you uh—” you clear you throat, staring at him. “you don’t like fish?”

“i can survive off it,” he spits out in between bites—his pupils find yours. “but it’s not great.”

you don’t know why you’re so eager to make him happy. “then what would you like to eat?”

he quirks a brow at the enthusiasm, but answers gruffly. “meat. real meat.” he pauses to run his tongue over his lips, satiated—you can see a scar cutting over them. “like lamb. or beef. i don’t care really.”

“i can do that!” you’re seriously embarrassed at how keen you are, but the progress you’re making excites you. “i should’ve considered what you’d naturally like to eat. you’re a…?”

“wolf,” he grunts, still focused on his meal.

“right.” you nod, grateful to have confirmed the species. “makes sense you’d prefer real meat.”

he doesn’t answer. you don’t mind.

“then i’ll get you something different tomorrow.” you turn to leave. once again he doesn’t answer, but you can feel his eyes boring holes into your back.

you don’t tell the wolf hybrid that you stayed up researching his species just to figure out what he’d like. you just place the plate down the next night, hoping that it is enough to make him feel a little more comfortable with you.

(you’re sure he could kill you with just one bite, but you try not to think about that.)

the wolf watches you present the plate of lamb meat, some pieces cooked and some raw—his tail slowly thumps against the ground.

“i um…know that wolves like deer and stuff, but getting deer meat nearby is a little difficult. i can probably go find some places over the weekend,” you say hesitantly, watching his expression. he reaches a large palm out, claws tugging the plate closer, and digs in. you’re not sure about the taste, but you can see the rise in enthusiasm as he gobbles the meat down—a smile twitches at your lips.

“it’s fine,” he mumbles in return. “deer’s expensive. i like lamb and chicken. beef too.”

you nod, surprised at the consideration for the money you’re spending.

“do…do you prefer it raw or cooked?” you wait for him to click his tongue or indicate he’s getting annoyed by your presence, but he’s feeling forthcoming tonight.

“either’s fine.” he licks up the pinkish liquid that has dripped down his chin while biting into the raw pieces. “i’m used to raw meat.”

you nod, slowly taking a seat on the pavement. his eyes flicker up to watch what you’re doing, but he doesn’t protest. he just picks up another piece of lamb and takes a bite.

“you cook this?” he grunts, waving one of the cooked pieces. you grimace, nodding sheepishly.

“yeah. i wasn't sure if you'd like raw meat or cooked so i brought both. i can just bring raw pieces from now on.”

he peers at the cooked meat in between his claws, before shaking his head gruffly. “it’s pretty good.”

“the cooked meat?” you ask in surprise. he nods.

“yeah. tastes good.”

you can’t help the grin that stretches across your face.

“the fuck are you smilin’ about?” he narrows his eyes at you, ears pointing upright. you drop the smile hastily, shaking your head with a start.

“nothing!”

he snorts, continuing to eat. you watch him do so, strangely content. he doesn’t comment on how you’re seemingly inspecting him, eyes unblinking. he keeps his mouth shut because the taste of meat is heavy on his tongue, and at this point you’re a godsend to an animal like him.

so if you want to observe him like he’s in a fucking zoo, he’s fine with that.

you do have horrible survival instincts though. he wonders why on earth you seem so comfortable around a predator like him, especially a species that is so known to be violent. you’re just sitting there, a mere five feet away, watching him tear into raw meat with stars in your eyes.

(he could tear you apart in a second if he wanted to.)

he doesn’t leave a morsel on the plate, and you give him that same silly smile again.

“i have a little bit more cooked lamb leftover if you want?” you question him, and his eyes lazily roam over you. he thinks about telling you that he could devour meat for much longer if the supply was endless, but instead he huffs.

“did you eat?”

you blink. “me?”

“yeah you,” he replies harshly, rolling his eyes. “did you eat?”

you awkwardly scratch at your arm. “not yet. i was gonna eat some instant noodles later.”

“why the fuck are you worried about a stray like me then?” he snarls, crossing his arms—you’re so fucking naive. “go eat the cooked lamb and worry about yourself, for fuck’s sake.”

while his harsh tone would’ve definitely scared you on day one, this time, you feel more ticked off than afraid.

“i’m a grown ass adult. don’t tell me what to do. if i wanna worry about the noisy stray in my alleyway, i’ll do that,” you shoot back indignantly, mirroring his crossed arms.

the wolf’s demeanor changes, hackles rising. his ears go erect, straight and tense with frustration. he bares his teeth at you, a warning growl coming through them. “lot of talk for someone so damn tiny,” he barks. “don’t you have any self preservation instincts? i could just fucking eat you instead.”

you go a little slack jawed at that, a flicker of hesitation, but then you retort. “maybe, but i bet humans don’t taste as good as lamb or deer!”

“i’ll make do,” he growls back, canines pulling into an evil smirk.

your bravado dies down, and then he has to deal with the disturbingly wounded pout on your face. you don’t say anything more and he sighs heavily.

“i’ll eat more if you eat,” he grunts, glaring at the pavement. even then, he can feel the way you perk up.

“i’ll be right back!” you grab his plate and hurry into your apartment, eager, and all he can do is sigh, wondering what on earth he’s doing interacting with a fragile little human like you.

you come back with more cooked lamb in his designated plate, placing it in front of him before taking a seat on the floor again. he watches you stab at the pieces with a fork and chew on them, so dainty compared to the way his canines dig into his own share.

he can feel the curiosity thrumming through your veins, no doubt burning with questions—the need to talk to him. but you stay quiet as you eat, the sounds of chewing echoing through the alley. he concedes.

“you make it a habit to feed strays?” he mutters. you look up, once again sporting that silly look of surprise at his attention, but you recover quickly.

“no not really. you were just…really loud.” you sheepishly grin when he pins you with a glare, raising your hands innocently. “i just heard a lot of rattling around out here. i thought you were a stray cat.”

he takes offense to that.

“i ain’t no damn cat,” he scoffs, rolling his eyes as he bites into the flesh of another piece. your grin widens.

“clearly.”

the rest of the short meal passes in silence. he finishes up before you do, and for the first time you see him stand to his full height—he’s tall and hulking.

“well,” he grunts, shoving his clawed hands into his dirty pockets. “y’should go inside and finish that.”

he nods at your bowl before turning away. you briefly wonder where he sleeps; perhaps the park nearby so that he can rest on soft grass rather than cold stone. the thought makes you pity him more than you did.

his retreating form suddenly pauses, and he turns to stare over his shoulder—his jade eyes glow in the darkness. “see y’tomorrow.”

a wide smile stretches across your face, and you wave back, giddy. “sure! see you tomorrow…” your voice trails off at the end. the wolf rolls his eyes heavily, before turning around and continuing his walk.

“toji.” he finishes for you, voice low and yet still clear.

you bite back a laugh of disbelief. “toji,” you repeat, and it rolls off your tongue like butter. his ears twitch at the sound, surprisingly pleasant, and he grumbles in return, vanishing into the night.

he ends up keeping his promise.

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