#you'll meet them shortly

[a-wumper-on-the-internet]

Building on a concept that I mentioned in my nuanced!whumper appreciation post: Role Reversal.

The whumpee, very tragically, dies from their suffering, their wounds. Their caretaker holds them in their arms as they die, and something in them snaps. They drop the body, go rigid, emotionless, and then tracks down the whumper and fucking breaks them, because if they can't bring the whumpee back, they can bring hell upon the one who killed them.

Or the whumpee doesn't die, but comes back decidedly wrong, something fractured in ways that cannot be repaired, not even by their caretaker - the caretaker is doing their best, but sometimes the cracks in a person's foundations can't be sealed through love and care. Sometimes they have to be sealed through bloodshed - and their whumper has blood to spare. Might as well utilize what their whumper... taught them.

The whumper becomes the whumpee, and maybe this makes them see the error of their ways, maybe they become even more bloodthirsty as a result, maybe they get a victim complex, maybe it just breaks their mind further, or maybe they love it! Maybe this is fun for them! Maybe they appreciate their new whumper doing this for them, who knows!

I like role reversal because it allows for exploration of a character beyond their original dynamic - whump is all about the dynamic, of course, but I love character above all, and really think it shines when you mix it up.

[littlebatgames]

How to make a powerful, hot vampire you still want to hug

Hi tumblr! I'm Cyrus Nemati, creative director at Little Bat Games, and a voice actor you might know from games likes Hades (I did the really secure guy and the really insecure guy).

We're closing in on the release of our debut title, Vampire Therapist, and based on tumblr's response in the past, I think you might be interested in seeing our creative process.

Andromachos is our 3000-year-old vampire mentor you'll meet early in Vampire Therapist. He's a complicated character: he was an assassin and warrior for most of his 3000 years, but a personal crisis put him on a voyage of self-discovery in the 1800s. Therapy never existed in his time, but as it developed, so did he. We needed a character who expressed wisdom and strength, but also gentleness and compassion. And of course, he's a vampire in a sexy vampire game. He needed to look like a Mediterranean dream.

This was our initial sketch of Andromachos by art director Ruth Bosch (https://x.com/rthbosch). As you can see, he's already oozing confident vampire energy, and he clearly has the wisdom of 3000 years. This is someone you want as your therapist. Vampire Therapist is a game with specific needs, and a certain lightheartedness is one of them. This Andromachos is very much grounded in reality, and just might be *too* realistically sexy.

This was @nomnomroko's first test render for Andromachos before joining the team. Right away, she understood the *figure* of Andromachos and poise of a man who has lived for 3000 years, but this was a more villainous (albeit super hot character). We toned him down shortly after, and brought back in some of the more grounded humanity from Ruth's initial sketch. You can make fan art of this version, though, we won't mind. This version might come back if we ever do a prequel!

Here's his toned down version, already much closer to the Andromachos we see in the final game. He's lost none of his power, but is already the welcoming presence we needed to have in Vampire Therapist.

Body language is also a key aspect of our game. In a game about therapy, we are mostly sitting, so the ways we can express emotion and intention are more subtle. You can already see the strength of Andromachos's character here.

Which takes us to our final rendering!

I love Andromachos. Or Andy, as more familiar folk call him. And I think you will, too. To me, he's a perfect synthesis between Ruth's initial rendering and Sybille's test that fits the comedic, warm, and very human tone of our game.

You can check out our game on Steam and GOG, and your wishlists will make algorithms happy. As you know, everything is algorithms! Help us make Vampire Therapist 2?

Steam:

And GOG:

[awakenedevildays]

「The, not so, other woman」 Art Donaldson x F!reader

TW: smut! (badly written, but still smut), angst, cheating (not on reader).

Infos: Art and the reader are 26 yo, Art and Tashi's daughter doesn't exist here.

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"Promise you'll stay here tonight" he says , his thrusts slow and deep in you, his body tremble as his movements are too slow for him too "tell me you'll stay here with me" he stills inside of you.

"Art, please move" you beg under him as one of his hands push your hips down to stop you from moving up, he hisses, his eyes closing while he struggles to wait for your answer. 

He moans quietly and he leans down to kiss you deeply, but just as you are about to return the kiss he pulls away as a way to show he's not giving you any stimulation till you say what he wants to hear "tell me you'll stay with me" he whispers before planting soft needy kisses over your jaw. 

"I will, just- please" you moan and he smiles against your jaw. 

He starts to move at a slow pace, kissing over your face and down your neck as you finally get that friction back "god you're so needy" he whispers lovingly, giving you exactly what you need: he is so deep inside of you that it's hard for you to breath "I'm going to cum" you moan as your body trembles under him.

"Cum for me, come on baby" he nibbles your ear after saying it and he feels close too, his hand reaches your clit to stimulate it with his fingers in circular motions "god, I love you so much, you were made for me" he moans as you clench around him.  

You cum repeating his name like a mantra and he follows shortly after inside of your walls, his cock hits your cervix and your eyes fly to the back of your head when he stills there. 

"oh god" he moans and lays down on top of you, his body weight presses against your body pleasantly as he peppers several kisses everywhere he can reach. 

 You rest like that until he feels like his limbs can move again and and his breathing returns to normal, "you're so pretty" he says and you smile softly at him, your eyes almost totally closed peers at him and his smile widens "I'll be right back" he pulls out his softening members and you both hiss at the stimulation. He comes back from the bathroom seconds later, a towel in his hand to clean the both of you. 

After wiping the sensitive skin between your legs he throws the towel on the floor and takes your panties from the end of the bed to slide them on your legs until it rests against your hips, he wears his boxer too and joins you back on the bed.

His arms wraps around you, your back meets his chest and you feel so safe and comfortable against him. He presses soft kisses to each of your shoulders and up to your neck "I love you so much" he whispers almost shyly.

Your smile is bitter but you answer anyway, your answer genuine but full of sadness "I love you too" you say, your voice weak cause of the tears that threatens to escape and Art can feel your demeanor change. He holds you tighter in his arms but doesn't say anything, he knows there isn't something he can say to make you happy at the moment. 

"It's okay" he whispers and you hold onto his arms, your eyes burns from impending tears and he rubs your arm gently "it's going to be okay" he mumbles, more to convince himself than you, you don't say anything as you turn around in his arms so that your head rests on his chest: his hand around you continues to gently rub your shoulders after pulling the sheets over your naked bodies, he plants several soft kisses to your head, forehead, cheeks, nose, chin, anywhere he can reach without having to move too much.

He can feel you growing sadder and sadder and it hurts, but his arms stay wrapped around you anyway and he presses his body against yours as much as he can. 

"You should rest, we'll talk in the morning, does that sound good?" he comforts you, he keeps a steady but slow rhythm as he rubs your back. 

"mhm" you nod your head slightly, not having the energy to speak and his other hand goes through your hair softly until you finally calm down, until your breath evens out and you fall asleep a few minutes later together. 

The clock signs 4 AM when Art wakes up after hearing rustlings around the room and he sighs as his arms reaches to the other side of the bed to pull you to him only to meet the empty messy sheets still warm. He sits straight and his eyes bolts to the other side of the room, you're up, and you're dressing hurriedly in the dark.

His heart sinks in his chest and he watches for a moment as you put on your bra, you don't look at him as you move and he turns on the lamp on the nightstand.

He feels his chest tightening and he can barely find the courage to speak "you're leaving?", his voice small and breaking slightly already "yes I am" you answer coldly. 

"hey, come here..." he says as he sits on the edge of the bed, his elbows rest on his thighs and his hands run through his hair, you can tell from his tone that he's frustrated and you look at him, watching him for a moment as his hair messily covers his eyes, he bows his head, his body language is defeated and you just want to comfort him, tell him everything will be okay, but you know better than to give him false hope. 

"I can't do this anymore" you avoid his gaze as your eyes fills with tears again and Art's heart breaks in his chest 'why do I always have to make her cry?' he thinks as he stands up, but every step he takes forward you take one back. 

He blinks and freezes for a moment, his head snapping back up as his gaze meet your own—shock, confusion and worry all flashed through his eyes in that moment: he knows that this affair is wrong, that you deserve better than this half relationship he has given you for the past year, but seeing you giving up on this... on him, is shattering his heart. 

"w-what do you mean?" he asks even if he already knows the answer.

"I mean that this won't happen ever again" you say while you take your shirt from the ground.  

His heart sinks into the pit of his stomach and his breath catches in his throat, a look of almost disbelief cross his face. He feels cold all of a sudden as if a bucket of ice water has been poured over his head. 

He blinks and his mouth falls open for a moment as if to argue but he can't find the words to say "no, no. no, no—" he shakes his head and takes steps closer towards you "please don't leave". 

This sounds like a bad joke, he's wanted you for years, he yearned you like nothing else before and when you finally look in his direction, he finds out he is incapable of keeping you close to him ... fuck, he wants to cry. 

He is slowly losing you and he doesn't even know what to say to make you stay.

"Why don't you get it Art!? I want to get married! I want a husband that loves me and only me and I want a child, maybe even two... I want to be the first choice of someone, I want someone that can love me freely and that is proud of saying I am his wife, I don't deserve this" your hands gesture around the room "I don't deserve to be fucked in a hotel room only to find myself alone the morning after, knowing that you're already back with Tashi, going on with your life while I find myself in the same exact point I was a year ago" you cry out, tears now staining your cheeks. 

Art goes silent and he just stands there as he takes in everything you're saying. He blinks rapidly and his gaze flutters around as he tries to comprehend and process everything. His mind is spinning and his heart feels like it's breaking as he looks at you crying. He tries to open his mouth to speak a few times but nothing comes out, he has no idea what to say. Just imagining you with another man takes his breath away. 

"I'm not your first choice Art, and I deserve better" you sob as your arms wrap around yourself. 

Art watches you cry in front of him. He hates it, he hates this, he hates himself. Still, he walks until he is in front of you and his hands take your face softly "you're my.." he pauses and glances towards the wedding ring on his finger that shines in the light, before he shakes his head and looks back at you "you're my first choice..". 

You scoff and take his hands off your face "no I'm not Art, and I'll never be" you look around for your skirt.

"No." he mumbles and his hands grabs your hips, his eyes are filled with desperate tears and his mind is trying to find a way to make you stay "it's true! I'll divorce Tashi..! I'll divorce her..! Just stay with me, please.." he begs. 

You snort "yeah, right" you shake your head but when you try to move his hands tightens.

His jaw clenches at the snort and the words, his gaze hardening as he looks at you- you've never been so stubborn before, you never looked at him with such distain in your eyes before "why don't you believe me... you know I'd do it for you.." he whispers almost desperately, his gaze softening again in pure vulnerability as tears began to slip down his cheeks.

"'cause you never gave me a reason to trust you, Art! we've been doing this for a whole year and nothing changed, you expect me to trust you now only because I'm finally leaving?" your voice raises.

"That's not true..!" he argues back instantly, hurt flashing through his teary gaze despite the fact that you have a point, not much has changed this year. He didn't want this life to be this way, to be caught in a loveless marriage, with his wife fucking his best friend and with so much wrong happening in his personal life despite the fame he had gained due to his career. He just wants to make you happy, he wants to be happy with you. 

He sighs and takes a moment to calm down, his shoulders slump slightly as he lets go of your hips. "You think I wanted this?" he says quietly "I want to be with you, I don't want Tashi, I don't love her anymore, I feel nothing for her... please, give me a chance to make it right, I can be that man for you, I can be anything you want" he kneels in front of you "I'll divorce her and I'll find a new coach, she won't be in our lives anymore and we'll be happy" his hands wrap around your waist, his head resting on you hip. 

You look at him for a long moment, taking in the way he gazes at you as he rests against your hip, his hands tight around your waist as he waits for a response—the words he spoke bringing a sharp tinge of hope to you that you didn't allow yourself to feel until now.

You raise your hand to slowly comb it in his hair and he sighs at your touch, his eyes closing.

"You have to promise me Art, promise me you'll be what I need" 

He opens his eyes to look at you, while nodding furiously, his words coming out strong and desperate but also true "...I promise. I'll be everything you need..I'll do anything you need me to do." he gently leans into your touch and sighs in contentment when he feels your fingers rake through his hair, he looks up at you with pleading eyes and his hands rubs up and down your sides, "I'll do anything for you," he whispers.

You can see the sincerity in his gaze as he speaks, his words sincere and desperate. He's ready to give up everything he achieved if it means that he can be the man you need, the man that you want.

"Are you sure it's me that you want? You won't go back to tashi, will you?" he shakes his head quickly in response to your question, his grip on you tightens and tears continue to fall down his cheeks. He presses his lips to your stomach, still looking up at you when he pulls back to respond "it's you..I want you. I've only ever wanted you... you're it for me". 

His whisper comes out quiet again, hushed and vulnerable just like your entire relationship had always been.

He blinks and watches as his hands are pulled from your waist, a momentary feeling of fear rises in his chest and makes his breath stop before you catch his hands to pull him up to his feet, causing a small but relieved sigh to slip past his lips, his gaze meeting yours as he slowly returns the smile.

"I'm scared you'll regret it Art, I don't want you to throw your life away for me" your hands lay against his chest but his lips interrupts your thoughts immediately when they kiss away the tears on your cheeks. 

"This is anything but throwing my life away.." he laughs. 

He presses another kiss to your lips, softly, before he pulls back to look at you. 

"I'm just finally making the right choice" he whispers, his hands move down to cup your chin in his fingers: in your eyes there is a love Art never saw in Tashi's, is this what being loved feels like? he never felt so loved, so wanted in all the three years of marriage with Tashi. 

"I love you, I'll make you the happiest you can be" he promises and hugs you close to him, your eyes close and you finally feel like things will really change.

"I can't wait" you say, your smile finally sincere.

And so is his, eyes filled with hope and excitement. His mind is racing a million miles per hour as the gears turn to formulate a plan to make this happen. He presses a sweet kiss to your lips and he smiles against your mouth as he pulls back "I'll fix this, we'll make this work" and you finally believe him. 

━━━•❃°•°❀°•°❃•━━━

First time writing smut I'm sorry it's really bad lol.

(do not copy or translate).

[heartfullofleeches]

Yan Cheater + Cheater Reader

Yan Cheaters are funny lemme try-

Yan Cheater who sees their darling dearest out on the town alone. You should be with them, but they'll fix that shortly. You're the person of their dreams and after so many failed relationships they're happy to find the right one. On their way over, their entire world crumbles as you're seen hugging and chatting up some random with a closeness you've never showed them. The unfamiliar face slings an arm around your shoulder as you walk off together - laughing as if you were without guilt.

You heartless bitch. How could you? After they'd give you their heart - their everything. Fine, fuck you - they could do the same thing. After crying through the night and crying their eyes they hit up a past fling to forget all about you; aggravated that all they can think of as the look at their partner is features that remind them of you. They ignore your calls, block you on everything, and have the time of their life with whoever's available... And looks like you.

The first time you saw them with someone else you turned tail and ran, saving your tears for a better time and person. Good - run off. You know what you did. They won't chase you - no matter how red their heart bleeds after seeing you after so long. You meet again at a party a mutual friend left in the dark was throwing. You, for closure - them, looking for a new body to take home. They couldn't even hide their disgust as you stomped up to them, two lockets in hand.

"What the hell did I do to you...."

They scoff. Trying to play innocent? "You know what you did."

"No! No I don't! You ghost me for weeks and never seem to be home when I try to talk to you, but the second I see you, you have your arm around somebody else. As far I remember, we were happy together. What did I do to you to deserve this?!"

"Hm... I think it was roughly a month ago. You and that little whore you met outside that coffee shop that just opened."

"Coffee shop?... Wha-" Your eyes widen. Unable to control your anger, you slap them across the face so hard the blow rattles in their teeth. They clutch their jaw. You little-

"That was my cousin, asshole!"

You toss the necklaces to the ground, two sets of initials engraved on their fronts.

"You didn't even bother to ask me about it before you ran off. If you really loved me, you wouldn't say something instead of jumping to conclusions. I knew dating you was a mistake. You spineless coward."

Their tongue feels heavy, likely cut on their teeth from your blow - bleeding; just like the heart they thought they lost. In a way - they truly had.

"Couldn't get a refund since they were custom" You spit on the fallen jewelry as you turn your back to them. "Happy Anniversary."

They fall to their knees, crawling after you as you fall into the crowd - grabbing your ankle. "No, baby. Please, baby - I fucked up bad, I know, but I can make this up to you. Sweetheart please - I'll delete everyone in my phone right now, even my parents. You'll be the only one. You're all I need. Baby, see? I'm doing it - look. Look at me - I'm sorry. Angel? Honey? D- don't leave me... DON'T LEAVE ME."

You have to change your phone number the very next day from all the calls you receive from the burner phones they purchased that same night to speak their part. Jobs too - as they stand outside and harass customers since your boss refused to let them in by your own wishes - accusing everyone of trying to take you away from them. You return home one day to find your front door unlocked and before you can realize the danger you step inside - your ex waiting with a carbon copy of every gift you threw out and wearing everything you ever gave them.

"Darling... I'm wearing that shirt you bought me last Christmas. I honestly thought it was hideous - but...it came from you. I'm wearing that hoodie you thought you lost too. I lied because I wanted to have something that smells like you to keep. It doesn't smell much like you anymore. Only my tears. I'm sorry - I won't ever lie to you again. You're perfect. My sweet angel. Please...give me a second chance. I don't know what I'll do if you don't."

[sensitive-neuvi-enthusiast]

Day 8: Breeding

♤♡-Pairs: Zhongli x Fem!reader

☆☆-Warnings: mentions of cum, tummy bulge, mating press, messy, mentions of getting reader pregnant, horny Zhongli, enjoy (;

When you came home from your shift this evening, you hadn't thought you'd come face to face with your husband. Working at the Funeral Parlor, he usually came home at later hours. But instead you found him sat on the couch, legs crossed as he held a cup of tea in his hand. And he only simply nodded when you greeted him.

Maybe it'd been a long day.

He would talk to you when he was ready, so you made your way into the kitchen. Rolling up your sleeves as you set to wash your hands, prepared to start dinner. Little did you know, that dinner would be long forgotten. You felt a pair of arms wrap around your waist and a nose brush against the skin of your neck. "I don't need dinner tonight. I only want you and that sweet pussy of yours."

Your hand immediately paused, your eyes widening. Zhongli's tone was different...deeper, more primal. And you couldn't help but squeeze your thighs together, out of habit. He chuckled deep in his throat, pressing his lips to your neck. "Meet me in our room, undressed." You swallowed thickly before nodding, he gave you one more kiss before slipping his hands from around you.

You had never moved so fast in your life, quickly drying your hands, you made your way to the shared bedroom. Quickly shedding your clothes, lying down on the silk of the sheets. Heavy footsteps made their way up the stairs shortly after. You weren't sure why he made you come up first or why you didn't enter together. But that wasn't important. The door opened, his large frame entering the room. His eyes never left your form as he undressed himself. Eyes full of lust and want, they seemed almost...darker.

Soon, he was just as bare as you, knees settling on the mattress. Arms caging you in as he stared you down. "This is a rare occurrence and I think it's time. I'm going to pump this tummy of yours full of my cum." His words tapered off as he ran a hand across your stomach. "You'll be so full, there's no chance that you won't be bearing my children. Do you understand?" Heat pooled in your stomach at his words, you nodded unable to say anything. He smiled, were his...teeth sharper? And was that..

His cock, it had grown in size, both length and girth. He was already big to begin with, thick veins running along his shaft. Would you even be able to take that..? He answered your question by properly preparing you first. Sliding his fingers in his mouth before slipping them into your heat. Pumping them in and out, adding more to make sure you were stretched properly. Already, tears welled in your eyes from the pleasure. "You are going to look radiant swollen with my children."

Once Zhongli was sure you were prepped enough, both hands grabbed at your thighs. Pressing them up until you were practically folded in half. The length of his cock rubbed sweetly against your leaking sex. And he didn't waste anytime, he fed himself into you until there was a small bulge in your stomach. He'd reached your womb.

You whined, still unable to speak and you had a feeling that would be the case for the rest of the night. Looking down, you could see him inside you. He watched your face, watching for any discomfort before pulling back, thrusting back into you. Setting a pace that made the bed shake and smack against the wall. The sound of slapping skin echoed throughout the whole room. He groaned, deep and guttural as he pounded into you.

"Gonna fill you up nice, sweetheart. You'll be leaking my cum." His hips snapped forward, your breasts shook from the power. Your thighs shivered and cramped from the position but it was so delicious you couldn't be bothered to complain. All you could do was grip tight to the sheets and sob. Your breath catching in your throat as he used you like he wanted.

A mess was being made, you knew this for a fact. Your ankles groaned from the tight grip he had on them, keeping them in place above your head. He slid in and out, over and over again until finally his hips stilled. Spilling his load inside your warm insides, but he didn't stop there. Almost immediately, he picked back up. The sound almost obscene with how wet it sounded. A mixture of your arousal and his cum, coating your thighs and pussy.

"Need to fill you up more, I need you leaking."

You sobbed openly as he did just as he promised. That night, he had cum so much inside you that when he finally pulled out. It immediately gushed, leaking on the sheets and all the way back to your ass. That wouldn't do, he'd have to keep his baby plugged up.

Safe to say, you slept with his cock still inside you that night.

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[kjupchurch-xx]

You're Mine (request on Tumblr for a jealousy filled fic featuring Tom Hiddleston)

WARNING: For those that do not like SMUT, I'm sorry, you can skip this one. This is a request I got on Tumblr and I do honor all requests... within reason, LOL. 

Today was Hugh and I's third anniversary. The last three years have been amazing to say the least. We met five years ago when I'd stumbled into his coffee shop, Laughing Man Cafe, a coffee and tea shop he owned, located in New York. Hugh had stopped in to sign autographs and meet a few fans, I'd stopped in for a coffee, not realizing Hugh Jackman owned it. 

We began dating shortly after, getting married two years later. I'd always been extras in films, but he'd help me kick start my career as being a lead in some smaller films. I was always apprehensive about doing bigger films, so I strayed away from them. Hugh would spend hours going over lines with me to prepare me for various roles over the last few years. I checked my email noticing a script my manager sent over to me. It was a bigger film, of course and I had managed to get the part after a stressful audition. I didn't bother reading the script before auditioning, but I knew it was a rom-com with Tom Hiddleston, who was well known for playing Loki. 

"Holy shit." I mumbled, reading over the script. Hugh looked over at me from the opposite end of the couch, wearing his glasses, "What? Did you get dropped?" He asked concerned. 

I rolled my eyes, "Why do you automatically assume I was dropped from a film?" 

He chuckled, "What's with the 'holy shit' reaction?" He sat his laptop down, scooting beside me to see my phone. 

I took a deep breath, "Uh, well... There's a sex scene with Tom and I." 

He shrugged, "It's just acting, babe. You'll do fine. Sex scenes are fun to film."

I cocked my brow looking at him, "Really?" I asked sarcastically. 

He laughed, shaking his head, "I don't mean it like that. They're awkward. You're wearing these little bags and cover-ups, stimulating sex for hours. It's weird, but the key is to make each other laugh." 

He would know. He's the man that's always down for a good sex scene. 

I continued skimming the email, "Holy fuck! We're filming it at 5." I said mentally face palming as I jumped up to grab normal clothes, rather than the sweats and over sized t-shirt I was wearing. 

Hugh looked at his watch, "Oh fuck, it's 3:45 now. Let's get ready and I'll take you. Tom's a nice dude, you'll be fine, baby." He said as he jumped up to change out of his comfy clothes. 

As we got ready and jetted out of the door of our home in NYC, we flew through traffic and made it to the set with 10 minutes to spare. When we arrived on set, I was greeted by my manager, Tom's manager, Tom and a few of the film crew. 

"Ooooh, she brought Wolverine with her, Tom. You better be careful." one of the cameramen teased. 

Tom chuckled, "I'm always careful." as he made his way to Hugh smiling, "Nice to see you again, Hugh." 

Hugh smiled, "Hey Mate, nice to see you."

The director walked over to us, "Okay Jackman, as much as I love your beautiful ass, you're not in my movie. Get off the set." She teased. 

Hugh laughed, throwing his hands up, walking towards the side of the set, "You knew it would cost too much to book me." he said jokingly. 

Tom and I sat in the middle of the set with the director as she explained the script and how she wanted the intimate scene to take place. "So, we're going to get you two ready for the shot, you'll both be wearing cover-ups, so you won't actually be naked, but you'll appear naked to the audience and to the cameras." We nodded in agreement. "Whenever she comes in, I want you to pin her to the door in a full on make out with second base type thing, but you'll both still be clothed for that scene." 

We nodded, "Alright." we said in unison while going our separate ways to get into our character outfits. After about 30 minutes of changing and fixing our hair, we met back on set. A door separating us. This was my first time doing an intimate scene in a movie. I'd had brief kissing scenes over the years, but nothing to this level. I could feel my anxiety building as I took a deep breath, staring towards the door. 

"And, action!" The director yelled, slamming a marker. 

I grabbed the door, pushing it open to be met with Tom, grabbing me and intensely shoving me against it, pushing his lips onto mine. The kiss was deep, it was messy, there were shots where you see his tongue forcing its way into my mouth. Tom wasn't a bad kisser by any means, I will say that. The director decided the scene wasn't her favorite and wanted to re-do it two more times afterwards, wanting Tom to be more aggressive each time we'd kissed. 

I glanced over to Hugh, who was on the sidelines, playing on his phone. I could tell he was getting annoyed, but being the professional he is, not wanting to show it. Tom shook me from my thoughts, "You know, kissing you is pretty fun." He said, winking at me. I chuckled, not wanting to cause issues, but also shaking off the uncomfortable feeling his flirting was giving me. Hugh is typically not a jealous man, but I knew if he overheard the flirting, he'd knock this dude's teeth out and make sure he never did another Marvel movie again. 

On the third shot of the kissing scene, I felt Tom's hand brush slightly across my breast. Not enough for me to really react, but enough for me to know he did it. Not knowing if this was truly a coincidence, I shrugged it off as we went to get ready for the sex scene. I was completely naked, besides a small skin colored cover-up that literally only covered my vagina. Tom was wearing a skin colored bag that hid his dick. 

We wrapped ourselves in robes while we weren't filming to meet the director as she explained how she wanted the sex scene to go and what her expectations were. This was my first big film, and I knew if I wanted to score a good career, I had to sell it regardless of how I was feeling. As we made our way to the bed and stripped our robes, we both laid on the bed, under the comforter. The director wanted Tom on top of me, so he climbed on top of me and looked me dead in the eyes. I couldn't force myself to look over at Hugh, so I blocked him completely out of my brain and continued looking at the guy that was on top of me. 

"And, action!" The director yells, slamming her marker. 

Tom looked down at me, "Is this what you want?" He asks seductively, moving his hips in a motion as if he were positioning himself to enter me, throwing the comforter off of us, revealing our naked bodies. 

I moaned, biting my lip, "I want you." 

Tom stimulated his hips as if he'd slammed into me while I stimulated the scene to make it look as if I were matching his thrusts as both of us moaned. He took one of my nipples in his mouth and began sucking on it while still pretending to thrust into me while I drug my fingernails down his back and cried out his character's name. 

The scene in the movie only showed the sex for about two minutes, before cutting to a scene of both of us cuddled in bed talking about how we couldn't let our spouses find out about what we'd done. 

Tom giggled, "We can't let them know. This needs to be our dirty little secret." 

I smirked, "I know, I know... But you fuck so much better than anyone I've ever been with. He'll be out of town working all week anyways." 

Tom leaned down, kissing my head, holding me, "Do you know how long I've waited to do that? How hard it is being around you two and having to hide how hard my dick gets when you're around me... We're horrible people." He chuckled. 

I rolled my eyes, "What they don't know won't hurt them." I said as I playfully trailed my fingers down his stomach, "I want more..." I said seductively. 

"Cut! That was perfect, guys!" The director exclaimed, running towards us with our robes. 

Filming for the day had ended and I hadn't looked at Hugh in hours. I was too afraid to. I know this is what actors do and he knows good and well how acting in films can be, but something in me felt like this was going to be a disaster. As I put my normal clothes back on and told everyone bye, I noticed Hugh was outside on his phone. He looked pissed.

I walked up behind him, wrapped my arms around him, "I'm finished, baby. Do you want to get dinner?" I asked sweetly. 

He glanced at me, ending the phone and walking to get in the car, "Not hungry." He grunted. 

I opened the door of the car, awkwardly getting in, "We're going home." He said coldly. 

"Are you okay?" I asked, reaching for his arm, only to have him pull away. 

He kept his eyes focused on the road, "What's wrong, love? You won't even look at me." I said, starting to tear up. 

He scoffed, "What's wrong? You enjoyed that! You were really getting into that wannabe Wolverine motherfucker all over you!" He spat. 

My jaw dropped, "Excuse me? What are you talking about? I was doing my job, Hugh!" 

He laughed annoyingly, "Really? Your job wasn't to look like you were shooting a motherfucking pornography movie. It was to do a two minute sex scene and you took it too fucking far with him. Do you want to fuck him that bad?" 

I couldn't believe what I was hearing. Was he really that jealous by me doing a sex scene in a movie he told me to audition for? 

I shook my head, "What are you talking about right now? I did exactly what the director asked me to do." I said in defense. 

He looked at me, "Really? Do you realize how fucking heartbreaking it is to watch a younger man, closer to your age all over you, sucking on your tits? Then you're both talking about good thing our spouses don't know. You know you were turned on by it. I know you."

I rolled my eyes, "Whatever, Hugh. Just get me home before I start walking. I'm seriously about to get out of this car." 

He scoffed again, "Yeah? Go ring Tom, I'm sure he'll pick you up." 

As we got home, he hopped out of the car, making sure he slammed the door and every door inside the house. He was being dramatic. Does seeing me stimulating a fake sex scene with an attractive actor that's younger than him bother him that badly? I'm literally doing what he does with other women, well maybe not that extreme, but does he forget that I have to see him kissing or flirting with other women onscreen in almost every movie or interview he does? I mean shit...Excuse me for just furthering my career. 

As the night went on, he seemed to calm down. I found him playing his piano, looking lost in his own thoughts. I walked towards him, "Are you finally calm?" I asked bluntly, bracing myself for the reaction. 

He shook his head cheekily, "I'm fine. Do you want to have a cuddle in bed?" He asked, smiling at me.  

I nodded, "Of course, love." I said, while grabbing his hand, leading him to our bedroom. 

As we approached the bed, he pushed me down, kissing me aggressively, biting and sucking on my bottom lip as if he were going to literally gnaw it off. "You really think he's better than me, huh?" He mumbled against my lips, causing me to roll my eyes. 

I brushed the comment off and continued the kiss, "Answer me." He growled while pushing his boner into my hips. "No..." I said lowly. "No, what?" He spat back, pushing himself further into my hips. "No baby, I don't." I said, looking up at him. 

"I sat on the side and watched him practically fuck you and touch you for hours. Do you know how fucking bad I wanted to rip his face off for touching my wife?" He asked as yanked my shirt off. "Watching him suck on your perfect tits... You're mine, do you understand that?" He said while pulling my pants off, leaving me in my bra and underwear. 

I nodded, "Yours..." He sat back up pulling his own clothes off as he climbed back on top of me, pulling my panties to the side, shoving his fingers inside me, while sucking on my neck. "This is my pussy." He whispered into my ear as his fingers danced inside me. 

I couldn't help the moan that escaped from my lips, "Oh fuck... Baby, don't stop." I moaned, while reaching for his boxers. "I want you." 

He pulled them down, revealing his hard cock, "You want me? Are you sure you don't want Tom?" He asked, cocking his brow at me as he rubbed my clit. 

I nodded, biting my lip so hard I could taste blood, "You're the only one I want..." I said as I reached for his cock, wrapping my hand around the length. 

"Show me." He said, pulling me on top of him. I slid down his frame, kissing every inch of his torso as I made my way down to his manhood. I felt him place his hand on the back of my head as I took him into my mouth. I sucked hard on the tip while letting my hand work the base as I felt him start roughly thrusting into my mouth as he threw his head back, his moans filling the air. 

"That's a good girl. Show me how much you want my dick." He moaned, as I began bobbing my head quicker taking his rough thrusts deep into the back of my throat. 

This was not like Hugh, but I was loving every minute of it. It almost makes me wish I'd taken more opportunities to push his buttons. I could feel him throbbing in my mouth as he pulled out not wanting to cum just yet. He glanced down at me, motioning for me to get on my knees. 

I did as I was told as I felt him push my panties to the side, entering me. His thrusts were fast and rough, not the sweet, romantic I was used to getting. He slapped my ass hard, "Is this what you wanted?" He grunted, "You wanted this cock, you don't want anyone else's cock, do you?" He gave a deeper thrust, "Answer me or I'll stop and you can go ring Tom instead." He yelled. 

I threw my head back, trying to form words as the feeling of euphoria overtook my body. "Fuck! Don't stop!" I managed to scream between moans, "I only want you." I said, trying to not let myself go this soon. 

He grabbed a handful of my hair, turning my face to look at him, "This is mine. All mine." He moaned. I could tell he was getting close, I could feel him throbbing inside me. "Cum for me, baby. Let me see how good I make you feel." He said while tugging on my hair. 

I let go and exploded on him, literally falling down to the bed as I felt him cum deep inside me. He collapsed beside me, breathless. "Do you feel better now?" I asked him chuckling, sounding a bit amused while trying to catch my breath. 

He chuckled, "I do. Are you okay? I didn't hurt you, did I?" He asked sweetly. 

There he was... There was my sweet baby. I smiled, "You didn't hurt me in a bad way, if that's what you're asking. Maybe I should make you jealous more often." I joked.

He laughed, pulling me closer to him, "Maybe so, love."  

[majorbuckegan]

prettier than a peach (john "bucky" egan x reader)

In which you're his favorite nurse, and John Egan tries his hardest to win your heart.

Words: 1.8K

Warnings: Bucky Egan is a warning all on his own. Fluffy, fluffy fluff.

Disclosure: Please do not copy my work on any other sites. I will be posting this here & on ao3 shortly. This fic is based on the characters brought to life in the Apple TV series Masters of the Air, not the real people the characters were based on.

Note: Peach!Reader is going to make many appearances, I'm going to make this a series. Without further adieu, enjoy.

It all started on a Saturday morning. It was early—really early. You hadn't really expected to have anyone walking around near the infirmary, but at half past 0300, you heard the sounds of heavy footfalls, with slurred speech and another low voice arguing.

 You get up to look out the window, and not a second goes by before the door swings open. You recognize the two men instantly: Major Gale "Buck" Cleven is half dragging Major John "Bucky" Egan into the infirmary. 

"Morning, ma'am." Major Cleven's blue eyes zero in on you immediately, and he offers you a kind (and apologetic) smile. "My buddy here had a bit too much to drink and got himself into a scuffle with some guys at the bar." 

Your gaze flickers to Major Egan, studying him with a calculating gaze. He's going to have a black eye, you notice, and he's holding onto the left side of his ribs. It's not the first time you've heard of the Major getting into a fight, but it's the first time it's happened on your shift. 

"Alright, Major." You're addressing Egan now, coming to his side to support his left side. "Let's get you settled in bed so I can take a look at those ribs." 

You are wholly unprepared for the absolute human hurricane that is Major John Egan.

"Tryin' to get me in bed already, doll?" His words are slurred from too much alcohol, but his voice is deep and husky, and you hate the way it makes you shiver. "I don't even know your name."

Major Cleven sucks in a breath and rolls his eyes. "John Clarence Egan." That accent drawls his friend's name, and his tone is very much annoyed. "You're in the presence of a lady—a nurse—for crying out loud. Behave."

"Oh, c'mon, she walked right into that one." He insists, "She thought it was funny. You thought it was funny, right, doll?"

Stormy blue eyes are suddenly fixed on your face. It's almost like time stops for you; of course you've seen him around before, but the moment you really look into his eyes, it's like you can see your whole life ahead of you. He's quiet now, just watching you, and he finds himself absolutely anamored with the delicate blush working its way onto your face.

"It was a little funny." You admit it, but you don't meet his eyes again. You're too afraid of what you'll see on his face, because while you're falling hard and fast at first sight, he's only flirting with a woman. That's all it is to him, you're sure of it.

His chest is warm when you open his jacket and roll up his shirt. You have to ignore how beautifully masculine he is on order to focus on your job. Your eyes flicker to his abdomen, and sure enough, there are wicked bruises starting to show on the skin that covers his ribs. You're pretty sure they're not broken, but you have to be sure.

"This may hurt." You warn him, your fingers prodding gently at his side, and he hisses quietly under his breath. You don't feel anything out of place, but he'll definitely need a few hours of rest and something to ease the pain.

"Your hands are freezing." He grumbles, and before you can say anything, he's got both of them in his much bigger, warmer hands. "There, that's better."

"You're unbelievable, John Egan." Major Cleven speaks up from behind you, his tone more exasperated than anything else.

You carefully extract your hands from Major Egan's, and you try to ignore the way he pouts when you're no longer touching him. "I'll keep him overnight for observation, Major Cleven. Make sure he rests and heals up a bit."

Major Cleven looks strangely relieved, but still, he frowns. "Are you sure? I can handle Bucky; I don't want him causing you any trouble."

His gentle demeanor makes you smile. "I appreciate that, Major, but I've dealt with far rowdier men than Major Egan here. You go on and get some rest; I'll handle this."

Major Egan looks irritated that you and his best friend were talking about him like he wasn't even there. "Just call me Bucky. Or I'll take John." He tells you, his tone demanding, his lips pulled into yet another pout.

"You behave yourself." Major Cleven points a finger at him, his face stern. When he turns back to you, he offers another warm smile. "You might as well call me Buck, too, since you're saving me from trying to sleep in the same room as that one while he's drunk."

You offer your name in return, and you offer a comforting smile as you shoo Buck off to bed.

It's quiet for a moment after the other Major takes his leave. You wonder if the alcohol has made Major Egan fall asleep. You're surprised to see his eyes open and staring directly at you when you turn around.

"Can't remember if I've ever seen you around before." He says, his words still slightly slurred as he speaks. You can't recall ever having heard a voice like his before. Gravely, warm and steady, even with alcohol in his system. "I'd remember that face; you're so pretty."

"And you're drunk." You answer, turning away before he can notice that you're blushing. You've dealt with flirty airmen before, but this is the first time it's really gotten to you. "Get some rest, Major."

He's quiet for a moment, and you're grateful for a reprieve from the flirting as you mark the log book with a pencil. The only noise for a few moments is the lead scratching against the paper as you write.

"I'm gonna call you Peach."

When you turn back, his lips tug into the most heart-stopping smirk you've ever seen. "You could just call me Nurse." You point out, and for some reason, that only seems to egg him on.

"Well, I like Peach. You're prettier than a peach. Sweet as one too; look at that blush." You're sure you've forgotten how to breathe.

"You're a menace." You answer after you've finally gotten a hold of your emotions. "And it's early; you need rest. Sleep."

"How about a goodnight kiss first?" You almost toss the log book at him. Almost. "Just one on the forehead, and then I'll sleep. Scout's honor, Peach."

You sigh, your eyes darting over his face for a moment. Sure, he's a flirt, but you've never heard of him ever harming a woman. So you walk over to his bedside and lean down.

His forehead is warm, an errant curl tickling your cheek as your lips press against his skin. You feel him shudder under the touch of your lips against him, but then his breathing evens back out as you lean away.

"Alright, Major, you got your kiss. Now sleep." He doesn't miss the way your eyes flicker to his lips and away again, but he does as he's told and rolls over onto his side.

After he falls asleep, the morning is quiet. Your shift at the infirmary ends at 0600 and the nurse who comes to relieve you doesn't seem surprised to see Bucky there. She rolls her eyes and huffs a laugh as you explain how he came to be in a bed in the infirmary.

He's shifting awake as you're leaving, and his blue eyes have just enough time to focus on your retreating form before you're gone. He was a little saddened; he'd been hoping for one more kiss.

Outside, the air is still cool, and the sun is just beginning to peek beyond the horizon. The inky blackness of the sky is lightening to a shade of blue that looks like Major Egan's eyes, and God, you have to stop thinking about him. You really didn't need to get attached.

You pass Buck on the way back to your quarters, and he waves at you with one of his dazzling smiles as he passes. He's wearing his uniform, and you know that means he'll be out in the sky soon enough. You return his smile and wave happily.

Exhaustion sweeps through you as you enter your quarters, and you make quick work of taking your hair pins out and wiping your makeup off. By the time your head hits the pillow, sleep pulls you under. The only things on your mind as you fall asleep are dark curls and blue eyes.

***

Hours later, you blink awake. There's still sunlight flittering in through the curtains over your window, and you sit up to stretch your arms and shoulders. It had to be close to dinnertime, and your stomach rumbles as you slip out of bed and dress in your uniform. Sometimes you missed your dresses back home, but you always felt a sense of pride in your olive drab skirt and jacket. You make sure to swipe on your Victory Red lipstick before you leave.

Placing your cover under your arm, you slip out of your barracks just to come face-to-face with a man. Not just any man, either.

"Peach!" He's still loud, his face wide and warm and friendly. His breath smells like the peppermint gum he's chewing, and his eyes are clear. "Don't think I didn't see you slip out of the room before I could ask for my morning kiss."

He's smiling so brightly that it's like looking at the sun. He's all white teeth and dark curls and blue eyes, his cover tucked under his arm. He's got a single flower in his free hand. You've never seen someone look so devastatingly beautiful.

"Major." You greet him, and it's a good thing you didn't put on blush when refreshing your makeup because your face is hot now. Just from looking at him. "What brings you to the women's barracks?"

"I told you, Peach. Call me Bucky. Or John." His grin never falters. You want to kiss the corner of his mouth, nip at the jawline. He's got so much energy and vitality, and your heart beats so loudly that it's a wonder he can't hear. "Well, I came to offer you this gorgeous flower I found on my way over here and ask if you'd like to dance with me tonight."

You'd forgotten all about the party tonight. A crew completing their 25th mission—you hadn't really planned on attending, but you find yourself very tempted to go. "I'm not really the party type." You admit that, and that dims the light in his eyes a little. You regret the words immediately.

"Just one dance." He steps in closer, taking up more space. He's so tall and broad-shouldered; the man takes up so much room that it makes you feel small in the best way. "For your favorite patient? After all, you did give me a good-night kiss. That's gotta count for something."

Your mind rewinds to that moment, when he was fever-warm and shivering under your lips, when you'd wanted so badly to let him kiss you all over. If you weren't blushing before, you sure are now. "Alright, Bucky," You have to ignore the way he lights up when you use his nickname. "One dance."

[babesway22]

Art the clown x femreader.

“Silence” chapter one

Several part slow burn with eventual copious amounts of smut. Mentions of sexual assault and gore in this chapter.

Will be posted shortly on a03 under same username 🫶

The wind nipped at your knees, its icy breath making you shiver as you instinctively tugged at the fabric of your Halloween costume, only to find it stubbornly uncooperative. The chill in the air felt like a mockery of your choice, a playful reminder that perhaps dressing as a slutty cat might not have been the best idea for October.

“Aren't you the most seductive cat I've ever seen,” she cooed, walking backward as she mocked you. “Oh my god, I can't wait to meet the man that steals your morbid dark heart,” she laughed breathlessly, arms jutting out above her head as she spun back around, making dramatic flair to sway her hips back and forth. “You need to get laid tonight, seriously,” she called over her shoulder. She was right, but you couldn’t shake the growing frustration of navigating the dating scene. In Miles County, it seemed like every man you encountered was nothing more than a superficial himbo, charming yet vacuous, leaving you yearning for a deeper connection. The few who seemed promising were often more interested in games than genuine relationships, making it feel nearly impossible to find someone who truly understood you.

“Right, but I don't want to fuck random guys like you do, Jen,” you murmured, remembering in high school when she would bring a new boy home every week.

“Maybe you'll meet your Romeo tonight, and fuck you; I'm a dick connoisseur, not a whore,” A light-hearted giggle escaped her lips, bubbling up with a sound that danced through the air.

As she pushed open the heavy metal door, an overwhelming rush of pungent odors assaulted her senses. The sharp, unmistakable scent of marijuana mingled with the acrid tang of spilled alcohol, creating a thick atmosphere that hung in the air. Inside, the room pulsed with the vibrant energy of dozens of voices, laughter and conversation intertwining in a chaotic symphony of sound. Dark indie grunge music thumped from hidden speakers, its deep bass resonating through the space and merging seamlessly with the animated chatter. Jen gestured to the bar, words useless in such a noisy room, and held her fingers up, making a Square, letting you know to grab your ID. At some point, someone had taken this worn-down warehouse and turned it into a bar, having to know someone who knew someone to get it. After showing the masked bartender, you ordered straight whiskey, earning a nod of appreciation. Jen noticed the subtle interaction, nudging your ribs, and leaned over, shouting over the music

“He's hot; you should fuck him.”

“He’s not really my type,” you shouted, your voice barely cutting through the pulsing beat of the music. She turned her head slightly, rolling her baby blue eyes in a dramatic fashion. While you didn’t despise overly muscular men, there was something about their chiseled physiques that struck you as off-putting. You'd noticed that many of them tended to carry an air of arrogance, their confidence spilling over into egotism, making it hard for you to feel attracted to them.

“"You’d probably find yourself drawn to a serial killer or something equally twisted, you freak,” she teased, laughter dancing in her eyes as she tugged you toward the crowded dance floor. The music thumped wildly around you, each beat pulsating with energy. Her gaze quickly shifted, locking onto her next target—a man clad in a striking Ghostface costume, the mask gleaming under the neon lights.

“They probably fuck good,” You shrugged off the dark thought that had briefly crossed your mind, letting it dissipate as you took a long swig of the amber liquid in your glass. The high-quality liquor burned delightfully as it slid down your throat, leaving a warm trail in its wake. Your gaze flickered over to Jen, who was ensconced in the man's embrace. She smiled up at him playfully, her thick lashes framing her eyes like the delicate petals of a flower. You scoffed, honestly, it was impressive how fast she moved, like some otherworldly sex fiend. You were jealous of her ability to Flirt, something you were never good at.

You called out her name uselessly and pointed toward the bar regardless of whether she saw you and began weaving through the sweaty crowd, occasionally bumping into inebriated, faceless bodies. You inhaled deeply, allowing the cool air of the dimly lit bar to fill your lungs. Leaning forward, you rested your elbows on the slick, damp wooden surface, feeling the chill of the bar top against your skin. You signaled to the bartender and ordered three more shots of house whiskey, the amber liquid gleaming enticingly in the low light. You figured if you weren't getting fucked tonight, you could at least get shit-faced. You downed the first two, watching a couple of people start fistfights before you began to feel the effects, becoming more carefree as you nursed your third. As the warm glow of the whiskey coursed through your veins, it enveloped your body like a comforting blanket, dulling the edges of reality. The room around you now felt stifling, the air thick with the mingled scents of smoke and spilled drinks. You needed to escape, to find a breath of coolness to soothe the rising heat.

With a sense of urgency propelling you forward, you weaved back through the crowd, brushing past oblivious patrons lost in their own revelries. Finally, you reached the back of the room and flung open the nearest door, hardly registering its appearance or what lay beyond.

The moment you stumbled outside, a rush of crisp, cold air washed over you, a stark contrast to the sweltering atmosphere indoors. It kissed your skin like a refreshing embrace, instantly easing the sweat that had begun to bead at your neck and exposed breasts. You stood there for a moment, eyes closed, relishing the sensation. You finished your third and looked up to the sky, the large air plume from your lungs materializing like a cloud, swirling hypnotically. Lost in a fog of thoughts, your mind drifted through a haze, blurring the sounds around you. Suddenly, the deep blare of a horn shattered the stillness, piercing through your reverie. The jarring noise felt like a cruel wake-up call, catching you off guard and eliciting a startled scream that echoed in the air.

“Fuck” You gasped sharply, feeling the adrenaline surge through your body as you stumbled backward, the cool, unforgiving wall pressing against your back. Your heart raced as you turned your gaze to the source.

Standing before you was a tall man, cloaked in a striking black and white clown costume that hung off his lean frame. The silk fabric shimmered slightly under the dim light, contrasting sharply against the shadows that danced around him. His face, disturbingly painted in a ghostly white, was adorned with intricate black accents that framed his large, expressive eyes, giving him an unsettling yet captivating appearance. Atop his head rested a small, perfectly arranged hat that added a touch of bizarre elegance to his ensemble, making him look both regal and menacing.

“You scared me,” you laughed breathlessly, taking in the fake blood that saturated his fingerless gloves and the top portion of his costume. He tilted his head to the side and grinned, showcasing black teeth, seemingly stained with old blood.

“Nice costume, I like the,” you circled him with your finger. “Blood,” you finished with a hiccup, cursing yourself for being a lightweight. He pointed to you and then held up his hands behind his head, making ears. Then he bent at the waist, clutching his stomach, his body shaking in strange silent laughter.

“Oh, yeah, I'm a cat,” you trailed off when he stood back up, towering over you by at least a full head or more. You suddenly felt uneasy under his unwavering stare. His black grin was plastered in place, and his eyes had an unsettling glimmer that your foggy mind couldn't place.

“Are you a…mime?” you asked, the silence uncomfortable. He shook his head, no, a frown marring his sharp features, and pointed to his unusually growing smile. “A clown then? Are you mute or something?”

he nodded excitedly.

“That's pretty cool, actually; I mean, I don't know why you're mute; maybe there's a reason, like trauma…or,” you shut your mouth and looked up to the sky again, sighing loudly. Why would you say that? The drinks were clearly sinking into your nearly empty stomach. “Do you want to come inside with me? Get a drink?” you couldn't believe the words as they left your mouth; he was creepy and didn't seem to reciprocate your flirting if you could even call it that. He bent over again in silent laughter, wiping an unseen tear from under his eye. Even scary men didn't want you, great. He saw your face contort and mocked your micro expression, pouting his lips and crossing his arms dramatically.

“Right,” you smiled weakly, “well, it was nice to meet you,” you said, breaking him out of his mock impression of you. He reached down and picked up a large black

Trash bag and threw it over his shoulder, making it seem weightless despite its bulging appearance. You hadn't even noticed it before and became curious about its contents but decided not to ask after embarrassing yourself enough for one night. He held his hand and waved his fingers under his chin, making you giggle. You threw up your hand in a wave and turned around, opening the door, the sound of chaos filling your ears again.

“Where the fuck have you been,” Jen shouted over the music, barging right into you, making you sway on unsteady feet.

“Jesus, Jen. I got some fresh air,” you said defensively.

“Well, tell me next time, I got worried. My

Pal here,” she gestured behind her to the man in the ghost face costume, “has a friend who wants to meet you,” she gave you a look as if to say, ‘I'm helping you get laid’. You cast a fleeting glance at the man standing behind her, offering a feeble smile that lacked any true warmth or sincerity. Then, you turned your attention back to her.

“Whatever. I'll need at least two more drinks,” you finished, irritation clear on your face, but Jen was oblivious, squealing loudly. She linked her arms with yours, pulling you along like a lost puppy.

“So, he's charming, and I think your type. I don't know, though; your taste in men is questionable,” her lips pulled up in disgust.

At the bar, she ordered you two more drinks, this time fruity, overly sweet ones with little colorful umbrellas in them.

“Cute,” you rolled your eyes, plucking one from the drink and tossing it onto the ground.

“So, this is Maverick, Maverick, this is my super hot friend,” you heard her say. Turning slowly to face them, you eyed him from the floor up. He possessed a certain rugged charm that could easily be considered attractive, with strong features and a confident posture. However, the moment he flashed his self-satisfied grin, an air of smugness enveloped him, casting a shadow over his appearance.

“A cat, huh? Cool,” he smirked, sipping his drink. You glared at Jen before looking back at him. “Wanna walk around and chat?” he asked. He seemed nice enough, and you can't remember the last time you didn't have a hollow orgasm, your fingers only doing so much.

“You know what, sure,” you smiled tightly and began walking away with him before Jen grabbed your wrist, “Hey, me and ghostly are gonna head to my place. Will you be okay for the rest of the night with maverick? Just make sure to call an uber. Don't. Drive.” her mothering tone back in place. You had a flare of anger for her ditching you, but it was nothing new. It created a rift in your friendship, nonetheless. “I'm fine,” your voice took on a harsher tone as you ripped your wrist out of her hand. You heard her mumbled something to her boy toy of the week about you being an insufferable bitch, making you wish you never met her, the state of drunkenness in you both drawing real feelings to the surface. You turned back to Maverick, letting him lead you.

“A little quieter back here,” he hummed, downing the rest of his drink. You smiled as way of answering and looked around, taking in your surroundings. You were in an unfinished area of the building, the music faint but still seeping through to where you were. You awkwardly sipped your drink while holding the other, the condensation threatening to take it from your hand. You were too drunk.

“So,” he stepped toward you, your feet clumsily shifting back, stirring up dust. “You look real slutty. I love Halloween.” he chuckled, proud of himself. You couldn't believe what he said at first. It was all too much, and you regretted following him immediately. He stepped forward again, your back bumping into a cool steel beam.

“What are you doing?” you questioned some ire in your tone.

“I mean, you're asking for it wearing that, right?” he scoffed, taking a drink from your hand and sipping it.

“Hey asshole-” you protested before being cut off as a sharp slap across your cheek stung your face, stunning you into silence.

“Shut the fuck up,” he hissed, slapping you again, this time much harder. Making your face feel like pins and needles.

“Fuck you,” you yelled, voice taught with pain but cut off; again, as he put his hand over your mouth, you struggled against him, but he was too strong, and you were too intoxicated. He began pulling your costume up, exposing your thighs, stomach, and ass.

“Fuck yes,” he growled, tearing your underwear off with one hand and discarding it to the ground, his other hand moving to your throat, gripping firmly.

“Girls are so easy,” he said darkly, and it hit you that this wasn't the first time he's done this. He dipped his fingers in between your legs , only to be met with resistance and no lubrication, which seemed to anger him, another firm slap across your face, so hard it would bruise. Fat tears fell from your eyes dripping onto his hand as you shook your head no. You watched in fear as he pulled out his erection, stroking himself a few times before he let a despicable glob of saliva fall from his mouth onto his waiting erection. You struggled under him, but were held in place, your muffled screams reaching no one. He removed the hand around your neck and wet his fingertips, inserting them Into you, making you scream at the intrusion, your legs kicking out to land a blow, but it was useless.

“Fuck, yes,” he barked, flipping you around, your face slamming into the beam, nearly knocking you unconscious, a cruel, sinister thought crossing your mind that it would be better than being awake for the rape if you were just dead. He hiked up your dress again, pulling your waist so that your ass was presented to him, the head of his dick probing your entrance as another wracked sob left you, this time unhindered, as his hands were busy on your hips. You took it as an opportunity to yell for help and attempt to pull yourself free, hoarse screams leaving you.

“HELP…. Please, someone, HELP,” you begged to anyone who would hear.

Warm liquid spilled onto your back, making you flinch. You cried out, hoping he had finished already, meaning the worst would be over until you felt the warm fluid again and again. You turned your head, a guttural scream leaving you as you saw an old, rusted axe brought down onto his head repeatedly, the exposed bone of his skull and brain matter making you spill the contents of your stomach on the ground. You tripped over your feet and fell to the floor onto your knees, crawling on the dirty, unforgiving concrete. You turned in time and watched in horror as his body fell with a thud, splattering blood all over your face. Behind him, the monochromatic clown from earlier stood, chest rising and falling rapidly, a chaotic gleam to his black eyes, and wearing more blood than he was earlier. He looked at you then, sending adrenaline to your limbs, but you were frozen in place. He tilted his head, then smiled, his bloodied hand that was holding the axe raising in a seemingly harmless wave.

“Hi,” you said, your voice no more than a whisper. He seemed pleased you acknowledged him and turned back to the body. He pointed at the man's exposed genitals and raised his bloody pointer finger and thumb together, leaving little to no space between them, as if to say, ‘look how tiny’, throwing his head back in silent laughter, bloodied hand clutching his stomach.

“Please. Please don't kill me,” you began to cry again. He seemed annoyed at the sound and grimly looked at you with his chin pointed to the floor. Not seeing a smile on his face was most unsettling, making him look like a demon straight from the depths of hell. You scooted across the floor further away from him, watching as he took dramatic over, exaggerated steps toward you, smile back in place.

“Nononono,” you whimpered, looking up at him, shaking your head vehemently at his outstretched bloody hand. He offered it again, more persistent this time. You took

It but mostly out of fear of what would

happen if you didn't and allowed him to pull you up from the floor easily, quietly admiring his strength for only a moment. He motioned to your dress that was still hiked up around your waist, making you gasp at being so exposed in front of him. He laughed again, pointing at your face before mocking your expression like earlier.

“Stop, you're scaring me,” you told him, voice hoarse. He pouted and waved a hand at you dismissively as if to say, ‘no, I'm not.’ You watched as he crouched down and shuffled around the body, finger tapping his chin as if thinking what else to add. He dragged his black trash bag over and began to dig through it, ultimately settling on a dull, rusty butter knife, his mouth forming Into a perfect ‘O’ as he examined the dullness with his fingers. He smiled at you from the ground and began to hack away at the body's genitals. You gagged and turned just in time to spew the rest of your undigested drinks from your stomach. He stared at you, rolling his eyes before continuing. You began to feel dizzy, your brain spinning around in your head until you started to slump over. The last thing you saw was him waving to you, his dark smile lulling you away.

**********

The constant drip of water by your head startled you awake, your bare legs thrashing around on the ground until you sat up, your body buzzing. Your memories from last night came back at a neauseating speed. You were drunk, raped, and almost murdered in the span of several hours. You held your hand in front of you, willing it to stop shaking, although you weren't sure if it was from unanswered emotions bubbling over or the frigid temperatures you were currently exposed to. You stood, straining on your legs, remembering your badly scrapped knees. A clumsy hand reached out to support yourself on a nearby shelf. This wasn't the same warehouse from last night; you were moved. The room started to spin; next, muted browns and black from the room mixing together, disorienting you further. You reached a hand to your forehead and felt around until your fingers trembled over a large cut. That fucking clown, he saved you, but for how long you'd be spared, you didn't know, spurring you into action. You turned to leave the room but met a chest first, strong hands gripping your shoulders to keep you from falling. You opened your mouth to scream, but he clapped a hand over your mouth and turned you around so that your back was flush to his front. His body radiated cold, unmovable firmness that made you shiver. He stared down at you sternly, expression communicating, ‘Are you done.’ You nodded, eyes never leaving his. He released you and stepped back, his stare intense, making you shrink into yourself. He pointed to your head and held both hands, palm up. In your concussed mind, it took some time to realize he was asking about your head.

“Oh, um, it hurts still,” you spoke softly,

Your throat was sore. “I need to go home,” you were afraid to speak, but it seemed as though, for whatever reason, you were being left unharmed.

He shook his head no, pointed outside, then made his fingers walk on his palm, then put both of his hands together and held them to his cheek, his eyes closing before opening them again, nodding excitedly while pointing at himself.

“I don't understand,” you clutched your arms, a cold breeze ripping through the open window littering your skin with goosebumps. He stared at you exasperated and shook his head, jabbing a finger at his chest then pointed to you again, making walking fingers.

“You want to…walk me home?” the implication of that unsettling. “No, I, I'm cold and sore. I can just go,” you stumbled over your words, backing away without realizing it. He held up a finger telling you to wait and left the room. You shifted uncomfortably, looking for any potential exit if you needed to flee, jumping out of your skin when he returned with an old tattered blanket. He smiled, flashing black teeth, holding it out to you.

“Um, thanks,” you grabbed it from his hands, surprised at the cleanliness of the fabric. “Are you going to kill me? Why did you save me?” you asked, more urgently than you intended. You had to know; the feeling of the unknown was unsettling.

He shrugged, a playful glint in his eyes. Your eyes widened, and you shuffled back, his nonchalant response making you tremble.

“I-I don't understand, you're just toying with me?” frustration evident in your tone; you wished he would just let you go; your body was overwhelmed with pain and fear, the muscles in your neck stiff from shaking. He walked over to you, his sadistic smile growing wide as he watched your back bump into the wall. Once he was in front of you his hand reached out and patted the top of your head; silent laughter ensued when you flinched violently. He pointed to you, then the floor, waiting.

“You want me to sit?” you asked, having difficulties communicating with his silent movements. He nodded eagerly, head lowering with your body as you squatted onto the floor, watching you cross your legs and pull the blanket around you in a cacoon. You relished in the small comfort of warmth.

He towered over you, eyes narrowed as he took you in. You wish you knew what he was thinking; if he could talk, maybe you could manipulate him into freeing you. He turned to leave the room but paused in the doorway when you shouted for him, “PLEASE,” you begged, his head turning slightly to let you know he heard you.

“I'm scared,” you said, voice coming out broken, mouth dry. You weren't sure he heard you, and you couldn't compartmentalize why you told him that; your thoughts scattered like marbles across the floor, slipping from your hands when you tried to pick them up.

That was hours ago, and the sun was starting to set, your breath making condensation in the air again. You heard him in the room adjacent to you, metal clinking and hammering. You stood on your feet, wincing when you took a step, your body sore and weak. You don't know why you didn't run or why you went to him, but you did, quietly following the noise and stepping into the room he was in. His back was to you as he sat bent over a decrepit desk, various pieces of metal strewn about, his hands stilling on a rusty pair of scissors.

His body turned in his chair until he faced you, legs spread open. You watched as he set the siccors down and placed both hands on his knees.

“What's your name?” you asked, taking another tentative step into the room.

He cocked his head, chin pointed down so he was staring at you through his brows, the black paint around his eyes casting his them in darkness. He waved his hand through the air as if to say, ‘come here’. You shuffled over, watching as his smile grew the closer you got. You stopped a few feet away, which seemed to annoy him, an overdramatic pout pulling his lips down. You smiled softly to appear submissive and stepped closer, eyeing the tools he no doubt has used on other poor souls. His eyes caught yours, and he turned to look at the table and looked back at you, shaking his head no.

“You won't hurt me. Is that what you're saying?”

He nodded excitedly, clapping his hands together, proud you understood him. Ironically the only sound you've ever heard him make. He stilled making an ‘O’ with his mouth, holding one finger in the air. You watched as he disappeared Into what appeared to be a bathroom conjoined to the room, returning a moment later with a tin can filled with strange liquid. He approached you, grabbing your shoulders and turning you to face a blank wall, parts of wallpaper peeling off, exposing mildew-soaked wood. You wrapped the blanket around yourself tighter and watched as he dipped a long finger into the can and began to draw on the wall, quickly realizing the liquid was old, coagulated blood. He stepped back, holding both arms out, clearly proud of his work.

“Art?” you asked, confused.

He nodded vigorously while jabbing a finger at his chest, saying, ‘That's me.’

“Your name is art? I like that,” you said, mulling it over, your lips pulling up in the corners. You looked up to see him already watching you, an unreadable expression on his face.

“Art,” you said again, his face becoming dark at hearing you use his name, his lips pulled down slightly. “Thank you for saving me last night,” you clutched your arms under the blanket, becoming uncomfortable. His face was terrifying when a smile wasn't on it.

“Um, id really like to go home, art,” your voice coming out weak at the potential rejection. He spurred into action, grin back in place as he strode past you, patting your head several times.

You couldn't be sure of the time when you left, but it was late, the cold cutting through the thin fabric of the blanket, short Halloween dress underneath doing nothing to keep you warm. The warehouse he had set up in had been here for years; parts of the building had fallen apart, leaving gaping holes, allowing some nature to make itself home. You remember passing by it as a child on your way home from school; oddly enough, it only sat a few blocks from your house, the one you inherited when both of your parents died the year after you turned 18. You looked up at art; his stride had a playful, mischievous bounce, eyes scanning the darkness for his next victim if you had to guess.

You rounded the corner of your street, your pace picking up upon seeing your home.

“This is it,” you breathed, shuffling up the steps and turning over a potted plant, the house key cold in your hands as you unlocked the door, warm air greeting you when the door swung open. You turned to face him, offering a smile. You weren't really sure how you felt knowing a crazy clown knew where you lived, but it was a little late for late, so you did the unthinkable.

“Do you…want to come in?”

He sat there momentarily, staring before playfully shoving past you into your house.

It was small but suited you. The living room was to the right as soon as you walked in, soft throws and pillows scattered about your couch. The kitchen was straight back, and to the left, a small island littered with bills in the center. He picked up a few before tossing them down, opening a few drawers, and rummaging around. You disappeared into your bedroom a few feet to the right and slipped into the bathroom. You stared at your face for a few moments, blood, dirt, and mascara smudged across it, a

A reminder of what happened. You let out a frustrated whine and grabbed a rag, letting the water get to an unbearable temperature before you started to scrub, your face clean but numb when you were done. You stripped from your clothes and pulled on an oversized sweater and sleep shorts, not able to bear being in the clothes you were raped in any longer.

When you entered the kitchen, a frantic voicemail from Jen was filling the room; you didn't have the heart to get rid of the outdated home phone and machine after your parents died.

‘Look, I know I was a bitch and ditched you, but some guy was murdered there last night, they couldn't even identify him. It's all over the news. Some crazy guy they're calling the Miles County clown. Anyways, I just want to make sure you're alive. CALL ME BACK’

You stared up at him, your head having to crane back, your shoulder brushing his arm. He flipped off the machine as if to say, ‘fuck her’

“Yeah,” you said, finding it funny you were silently communicating with him. Your eyes fluttered closed momentarily, your body leaning onto his arm, admiring briefly how unmovable he was. He tapped your nose a couple of times, making you gasp, your bloodshot eyes shooting open. You were beyond tired with a killer standing in your kitchen, but you weren't scared; you almost felt safe near him. Something you weren't sure how to feel about. You wanted to ask him why he was sparing you, but you didn't want to remind him that he could or should.

He looked down at you, making the sleeping motion with his hands again like earlier. You nodded the affirmative and watched as he walked into your bedroom, turning in a comical circle and taking in your quaint space. He caught your eye, wagging his eyebrows at you, his eyes trailing leisurely up your bare legs to your face. Your cheeks heated, no doubt a deep red blush spreading across them. He bent over

In laughter, slapping his knee and pointing at you. You scoffed and shoved past him, pulling the blankets back on your bed, too tired to know what to do with him. He shuffled around, facing you, with dark eyes watching your movements, making you feel like prey.

“It was very nice to meet you, art, but I need sleep. I have work in the morning”

He nodded and turned to leave, making hardly any sound on the worn-out wood floors.

“Art?” you called, watching as he turned back to face you, eyebrows raised expectantly.

”Will I see you ever again?" your mind swirled, the comfort of your bed seeping into your bones making you say things you didn't mean. You watched him shrug and disappear, not even hearing him when he left and closed your door.

You jumped out of bed and peered through your front window, but no black and white clown was in sight. You threw the deadbolt, the loud metallic thunk reverberating in the room. Although you were sure if art wanted to get in he could.

[willowsnook]

Hello hello!! Just found your blog and I’m absolutely in love with your writing. So if it’s ok I come with a bar order.. whiskey with lime in a tall glass please and thank you

thanks for the kind words :)

lando norris x bsf! reader

You are mine, end of discussion

------------------------------------------------------

"Dude I am so fucking excited for today," you said to Lando as you guys walked into the paddock. He gave you a weird look.

"I mean I'm literally starting P15 but I really appreciate your faith in me," he replied scratching his head.

"I don't care about the race," you quickly said before correcting yourself. "I mean of course I care and you'll be amazing superstar but did you hear who is in the Alpine garage today?"

He shook his head at you frowning. You were busting at the seams with excitement.

"Joe Burrow!!!" You squealed. "Pierre said he would introduce me and I might die."

Even though you had moved from the States a couple of years ago you still avidly followed American Football. Now the Bengals weren't your team necessarily but Joe Burrow...that man had aura.

"Were you that excited to meet me the first time," Lando asked pouting.

"I didn't even know who you were," you replied laughing and Lando's frown deepened.

When you met Lando you had just moved to Monaco and had spent a lot of days working out of a coffee shop next to your building. On a busier day, he had asked if he could sit with you for a second as there weren't any seats open. You'd hit it off when he noticed that you were working but also had your phone set up to watch the Masters. He invited you to go golfing with his friend Max and a couple of others and you just fit in so effortlessly to the group. You definitely had a crush on him in the beginning but nothing had ever happened so you brushed it off.

"I have to go get ready now, but I'll see you after the race," he said shortly and walked off. Confused you watched him go, you'd definitely pissed him off but you weren't sure how.

Spotting Pierre, you rushed over to him as he was heading to the garage.

"Can't believe Lando is letting you loose to meet Joe Burrow," he said as you fell into step next to him.

"I didn't realize I had to get his permission to go anywhere," you said sweetly and he threw his hands up in mock defeat.

"I just know that if Kika was this excited to meet another man, I'd have a problem."

"You do realize that Lando is not my boyfriend."

"Mmhmm," he replied giving you a wink.

The two of you walked into the garage and you were growing more nervous, especially when you caught sight of Joe talking to Esteban. He waved at Pierre, shaking his hand and then his eyes fell to you, curious.

"This is y/n, she's a good friend of ours," Pierre introduced and Joe took your hand shaking it.

"She's also Lando's personal attack dog," Esteban joked and you laughed along with Joe.

"Nice to meet you, y/n," he said smiling. "It's good to find an American here holding down the fort."

"Yeah I couldn't weasel my way into the NFL so had to settle for second best," you joked and he laughed while Pierre and Esteban protested.

"You know it is taking a lot to be civil with you right now because you broke my heart in 2019," you said seriously and he smirked.

"Let me guess, Clemson or Oklahoma?"

"Oklahoma," you admitted looking away.

"I would say I'm sorry but I'm definitely not," he said teasing. "Even if it made a pretty girl like you turn against me."

You flushed and saw Pierre shoot Esteban a look who just laughed turning away.

"Are you watching in here?" Joe asked. "I'd love some good company."

"No, I'll be in McLaren," you told him. "Lando will throw a fit if I'm not there."

"Well I'd actually love to meet him, so I'll swing by later yeah?" You nodded bidding them all goodbye and heading back to the garage.

"Is she dating him or what?" You heard Joe ask and you slowed to hear Pierre respond.

"It's complicated."

His answer confused you but you brushed it off.

The race was amazing. You were so proud watching Lando fight his way to P4 and seeing Oscar take home the win. Finding him after the win, he swept you up into a big hug.

"I'm so proud of you buddy," you said grinning. "But you stink."

He laughed promising to take a shower before you guys left.

"Hey man, great race," you heard Joe say slapping Lando's hand.

"Thanks," he said politely. He had his arm around your shoulder and you moved to get out but his grip tightened, holding you there.

"Would love to see you at a Bengals game sometime, both of you," he said and you nodded brightly.

"I think we're good," Lando replied shortly and you elbowed him hard in his side giving him a look.

"Stop being so rude," you said annoyed but Joe just laughed.

"No worries, I'd act the same way if I were him," he said cockily.

"What's that supposed to mean?" You asked confused and he winked at you.

"He knows."

You could feel Lando steaming as you followed him into his driver's room, ready to lay into him.

"What on earth is wrong with you?" You questioned. "That was so fucking embarrassing."

"Oh I'm so sorry for ruining your chances with Joe Burrow," he said whirling on you. "I'm sure you it'll still work out though and you can start going to all his games, wear his merch, and wait for him outside the locker room."

"You are literally insane," you seethed and he laughed humorlessly stepping closer to you.

"Your place is not next to him," he said, voice rising. "It's right here in this room, next to me at every race and every day for that matter. You are mine, end of discussion."

You stood there gaping as he walked into the bathroom slamming the door. What the actual fuck? You were pissed. This whole time you had thought he hadn't felt the same way because he never said anything and it took Joe fucking Burrow to figure it out.

Ripping the door open you stormed into the bathroom, not caring about Lando being undressed in the shower. You yanked the shower door open stepping in, letting the water hit you as Lando stared at you with wide eyes. He started to say something but you cut him off, slamming your lips into his, pressing him against the wall.

He took over the kiss, moving aggressively while pulling you closer to him. You pulled back for air and he smiled softly at you.

"I love you," he said and your heart swelled.

"I love you too," you replied. "But I still want to go to a Bengals game."

He rolled his eyes, bringing you in for another kiss.

[oikasugayama]

I love all your posts. In your dazai nsfw head canons, there was the thing with chuuya and I was wondering if you could write a fic on that? It's oki if not!! :)

tag-team

Inspired by letters I and W from my Dazai NSFW alphabet in which Dazai wants to fuck his girlfriend in Chuuya's office, and Chuuya gets to join in.

5.1k, jealous!dazai, afab!reader, cumming inside, cunnilingus, blowjob, fingering, soukoku bickering while fucking, etc. not soukoku but they do sexually interact, etc. not proofread bc i'm tired [click to read on ao3]

You urge Dazai to lock the door behind you, but he chuckles and shakes his head. “No baby,” he mumbles, sliding his hands past your hips and down to grab two handfuls of your ass. “He'll know something's up if the door's locked. If Chuuya catches us, we should be riiiight in the middle of things so he can't stop us.”

“Remind me why I let you talk me into this again?” you ask as he leans forward, chasing your lips even as you lean back and wait for an answer.

“Because fuck Chuuya. If I want to fuck my girl in his office, I will.”

“That's a terrible reason,” you gasp as Dazai slides one hand up your body and into the hair at the back of your head to pull you in for a kiss. His open mouth meets yours, tongues immediately gliding together with the same force as your lips. 

“But we're here, aren't we?” he asks after pulling back just for a second. “And I want you so bad.”

You whimper and let him reel you in once again. Your nerves will get the best of you if you have time to take in your surroundings; as it is your nose can't stop sniffing out the unfamiliar smells of luxuriois leather and some kind of smoke. If Dazai keeps leading you so confidently you'll be able to let go of yourself entirely and go along with this absolute ridiculous plan of his.

He kisses you faster and with more urgency than he does at home, making both of you breathless as you gasp into each other's mouths and lap at each other's tongues. 

His large hands glide over your body, up and down your back, hiking your top up and trying to dip into your pants. You follow his lead, reaching for the buttons on his vest and his shirt. He keeps kissing you through both of you martially undressing, his tops hitting the floor, yours following shortly after.

When he gets your bra off he makes you sit on Chuuya’s desk, and he leans down to suck on your tit. You lean back, tossing your hair over your shoulder, closing your eyes so you can focus on the feeling of Dazai's tongue circling your nipple as it perks and hardens at his touch. You make small noises, still shy in an unfamiliar place, but Dazai keeps working over you, suckling, kneading, teasing his teeth over your skin, until you're softly moaning his name and laying back, making him bend at the waist and lean forward to follow you down onto Chuuya's desk, ignoring whatever papers you land on. 

Dazai kisses lower eventually, and his deft fingers unbutton your jeans and start sneaking under the fabric.

“You're so pretty spread out for me on stupid Chuuya’s desk,” he says cupping your dampening panties in his palm. “I'm gonna make you feel so good the whole Mafia hears you screaming.”

Your eyes widen in panic briefly and you stutter out a no, but Dazai laughs softly and kisses right above where your panties cover.

“You're safe, baby, I promise. Not a single person here would be stupid enough to hurt a hair on your head.” He drags your jeans down your legs finally, and you kick a little as he pulls them over your feet. He grabs one ankle, kisses the inside of it, then holds your leg up and kisses slowly down, closer and closer to your crotch.

“These walls are soundproof anyways,” he says once he's near your inner thigh. “No one will hear you scream.”

You giggle softly and push his forehead away from you.

“Don't be creepy, weirdo.”

He smiles and lays his cheek against your thigh, his face so close to your clothed cunt. You watch him, desperate for his next move.

“There's my sweet girl. You really don't need to be worried, I promise.” You jump slightly when his finger presses just above your clit and pushes in as he drags it down, making your panties slightly stick between your folds. “I'd never put you in danger.” His voice lowers as his finger goes up again, still pushing in, now really emphasizing your cleavage. “You know that, right?”

You nod, giving a quiet “mhm.”

“Speak up,” he says, now tracing his fingers around the outside of your panties.

“I know,” you say, still keeping your eyes locked on his. “You'd never put me in danger.”

“Good. And do you know why?” His finger slips under by just a single knuckle, and he lifts your panties high, making the crotch pull taut and squish between your labia. You whine and try to push down to get some friction on your clit but it's barely there, he's holding your panties at just the wrong angle.

“Tell me.”

“Because you love me?” You guess, and he smiles widely.

“Exactly!” he says in his playful, excited voice. Then he rolls his head toward your crotch and licks a fat, wet stripe up one half of your exposed cunt. You make a startled little moan and he chuckles before licking the other side too.

“Now, do you want my tongue or my fingers?” he asks so close that you can feel his breath tickling your wet skin.

“Both,” you answer immediately.

“Both?” He sits up and tsks, slowly shaking his head. He stands upright and you whine, reaching for him, saying soft no’s.

“Greedy girl.” He looks down and spreads your pussy with his fingers, then readjusts your panties so they're right against your clit. “You must be so horny you could die. Being so greedy like that… Why don't you get yourself off then, baby? Show me how you play with yourself with no hands.”

He tugs your panties up slightly a couple of times, giving little pricks of pleasure to your clit. You get the hint and move your hips up slowly, getting another prick of sensation. You readjust, getting one foot up on the desk beside you so you have leverage to move. Then you start a slow rhythm, bucking upward against your panties so they grind on your clit and work you up. 

“That's it, baby,” Dazai coos lowly, petting your thigh with his free hand. After a while when your speed increases and you start whining his name, he unbuckles his belt, works open his button and fly, and pulls his dick out, giving it strokes that match the time of your grinding.

“Fuck, this is hot,” he sighs. “I could watch you get yourself off all day.”

“But I want you,” you whine. You start kneading and pawing at your boobs as well, staring right up at Dazai. “Fuck me,” you beg softly.

Dazai bites his lip but says nothing, watching you with his greedy, hungry eyes.

“Please,” you breathily beg, searching for more pressure that just doesn’t exist in your current predicament. “Please, Dazai, please. Please.”

“God, it’s so hot when you beg,” he finally says, letting go of his dick. He grabs your panties with both hands and pulls them down your legs before haphazardly throwing them over his shoulder to land somewhere else.

“I want you so bad, Dazai. Please. Please.”

“Shhh,” he coos softly, leaning down over you. His lips brush yours and he intersperses tiny kisses with tiny shushes as his fingers collect your wetness. You desperately chase his lips, but he keeps pulling away. He even has the audacity to chuckle in your face.

“Don’t worry, needy girl.” He hisses softly, and you vaguely get the impression that his arm is moving-- he must be stroking himself with your wetness. “I’m gonna make you feel so good.”

You nod frantically, wrapping your arms around his shoulders. He asks if you’re ready, and you keep nodding and nodding and finally he slips the tip inside and you moan into his face.

“Oh, fuck,” he moans, sinking further and further into you. “Love this pussy. It’s so fucking good to me.”

“I love you,” you whine and he chuckles again as he bottoms out.

“I love you,” he mutters against your lips and kisses you properly, not teasing or withholding anymore.

And that’s when the door opens.

“What the fuck?! Dazai!” Chuuya yells, scrambling for what to say next. Dazai sighs dramatically, letting the noise turn into a groan. He stands up without pulling out of you and turns his upper body toward Chuuya.

“What do you want?” he snaps. “I’m kind of busy here.”

“Are you fucking kidding me?!” There’s a scuffle and some noise from the hallway, but to your surprise Chuuya calmly calls over his shoulder “Don’t worry about it-- I’ve got it under control,” and then closes and locks the door behind him. He takes his hat off and hangs it on the back of the door then turns back to you two.

“I thought you were fucking joking, you dumbass.”

“I never joke about my lady’s pleasure,” Dazai says, and you narrow your eyes at him.

“What is he talking about?” Your whole body is flushed with embarrassment and fear and now confusion. Your heart is thrumming in your chest, afraid of being yelled at or in trouble with the fucking Port Mafia, but Dazai is acting so nonchalant, and all Chuuya does is tsk.

“You didn’t even tell her? How the fuck did you get her here if you didn’t tell her?”

“Tell me what? Dazai?”

Dazai groans and turns back fully to you, grinding against you, making you gasp. “I told you that you weren’t in any danger. Chuuya knew we were coming.”

“I didn’t know. You said it like a fucking joke.”

“Dazai, tell me what--”

“I asked Chuuya if he’d let us fuck in his office if he got to join in if he caught us, and he said yes.”

“I thought you were joking!”

“Join in…?”

Dazai’s eyes lock on yours but he doesn’t say anything. Your eyes are softer than he expected and now he’s starting to realize maybe he didn’t make the right call here. Now he’ll actually have to put his money where his mouth is and let his ex-partner fuck his girlfriend.

Dazai easily regains his composure and turns to look at Chuuya again.

“Well?” he asks. “Why are you still standing there? You caught us, so come here.”

Chuuya hesitates.

“She okay with this?” he asks. “Man, I don’t even know her name.”

“That’s because you haven’t introduced yourself yet, slug. Now come here.”

“Don’t boss me around,” he grumbles as he crosses the room. Finally he’s standing over you and his eyes lock purely on yours, not straying in the slightest to any of your exposed skin.

“Sorry we weren’t properly introduced because your boyfriend’s a fucking moron. I’m Nakahara Chuuya. Are you okay with this?”

“Hi, Chuuya,” you say softly. Your face is so warm as you blush; his formality makes the situation really sink in--you’re spread out naked with your boyfriend balls deep, and Chuuya’s hardly acknowledging it. “He is kind of dumb, but I like him anyway--”

“--Heeey--”

“I’m [Y/N], and yeah, you can join us. I mean, really it’s the least we could do…”

A smirk slowly overcomes Chuuya’s face.

“Oh, yeah? Gonna pay me back for the time it’s gonna take to clean my office by letting me use your pretty little body?”

Dazai grinds against you again, and you groan softly, biting your lip.

“Mhm,” you hum, nodding at Chuuya. “We’ll make it worth your time.” You reach out for his hand, and he allows you to take it. You guide it to your tit, and he chuckles.

“Right into it, huh?” he asks, massaging it gently. Dazai finally pulls partially out of you and thrusts back in, making you gasp again. Chuuya glances down at where your cunt sucks your boyfriend’s cock in, and he clicks his tongue.

“Damn, that’s kinda hot.” He pinches your nipple between his fingers, rolling it and squeezing, drawing extra whines from you.

“Isn’t she?” Dazai asks rhetorically, rubbing one of his hands across your belly and up your side. He pulls you by your hips until your ass is partially hanging off the desk. You wrap your legs around his hips and he starts his usual starting pace, fucking into you nice and deep because of the angle he has you at.

“Chuuya,” you say softly, but the way Dazai is fucking you makes everything you say sound like a breathy moan. Both of them turn slightly red from hearing you more or less moan to Chuuya. “Chuuya, take your pants off,” you add, trying to make it clear that you were trying to say this from the beginning. Dazai’s thrusts speed up and hit harder, and he starts grunting from the effort.

“Oh, fuck,” you moan, grabbing the edge of the desk for dear life. “Oh, Dazai, fuck!”

You hear the clinking of metal and turn your head to see Chuuya doing as you asked. He drops his pants, kicking them to the side after kicking his shoes off too. He unbuttons his vest and his shirt and strips until he’s only in his underwear and socks. You watch as he palms himself through his underwear, watching from a few feet away as Dazai fucks you relentlessly. Your tits jiggle, your breath shakes, your legs are trembling, and Dazai is huffing and moaning and panting above you. His head is down, his long hair hanging over his face as he watches where your cunt meets his cock--he told you once it’s one of his favorite sights, and when he gets so drunk on it like today, you believe it.

“Let me touch you,” you stumble out to Chuuya, reaching out to him again. He shuffles closer until your hand can paw at his crotch, feeling for the shape of him through cloth. He locks his hands behind his head and stands with his hips toward you, watching as you stroke him and feel him up as best you can.

“Take it off,” you huff, grabbing the elastic of his waistband. “I wanna see.”

Meanwhile, Dazai’s pace doesn’t let up. One of his hands gropes at your breasts, squeezing and almost using it as leverage to balance himself as he fucks you.

“Go on then,” Chuuya says without moving. You struggle to reach both arms over to him, but you manage to squirm away from Dazai just enough-- which he does not like-- to get your hands on Chuuya’s underwear. You pull it down a few inches and push it as much as you can until finally they drop.

His cock is a nice size-- it’s thick and when you wrap your hand around it, an inch or two and the tip are still sticking out. His pubes are thick but cleanly trimmed and with his toned, muscular body you have to admit you’re finding him really, extremely hot.

“Your hands are much softer than mine,” he grunts as you jerk him off. “Feels good.”

“She’s got an amazing mouth,” Dazai pants, finally lifting his head to watch you interact with Chuuya, though his pace never ceases. “Put on a condom and let her show you what she can do.”

“You use condoms?” Chuuya asks, glancing down at Dazai’s dick.

“No, but you will if you’re gonna put your dick anywhere near her,” he mumbles. “I don’t even like her hand on you bare.” He grimaces. “You still keep some in your desk, don’t you?”

“Old habits die hard,” Chuuya mumbles, gently touching your hand to make you let go of him. As he rounds his desk to rifle through his drawers, Dazai leans down and licks one nipple, then the other.

“I’m gonna cum in you,” he mumbles against your skin. “You’re mine. Don’t you forget that.”

“Yeah,” you moan as you agree. His fingers find his way down to your pussy, and you feel one partially slip in beside his cock, working a louder moan from you as it stretches you nicely. He pulls it out, presses in, gently stretching and filling you to the brim.

There’s a thud next to your head, and you turn to see Chuuya kneeling on the desk beside you, rolling a condom over his shaft. “Will you open that pretty mouth for me?”

You don’t even answer, you just whine and open your mouth, sticking your tongue out.

“She loves it,” Dazai says, and it comes out awfully near to a moan. “Love sucking cock, don’t you, [Y/N]?”

“Mhm,” you hum around Chuuya’s tip as he settles it on your tongue. You close your mouth around him and let him decide the pace. He goes relatively easy on you given how Dazai is still jackhammering away at your cunt, grunting and huffing though he’s far less talkative than normal.

“Yeah, look at you,” Dazai sighs blissfully. “Bet you like having two cocks, huh? Greedy girl.” His eyes are on your mouth, watching Chuuya tamely slide in and out of your mouth. He privately seethes at the way your shiny eyes stare up at Chuuya, but he’s determined to get your attention back by making you cum.

His finger, now sufficiently wet from fingering you while fucking you, slides up from your pussy to your clit. He rubs fast, wide circles over your clit. He relishes in the way your eyes widen and flicker over to him. You must have sucked in a breath and sucked harder on Chuuya, because he moans too and his hips stutter forward.

Dazai knows that you’re about to cum based on your frequent moans. He wishes he could hear them more clearly, but he also is starting to find a sick sort of pleasure in the muffled sound you make combined with the typical noises of having a cock in your mouth. Chuuya’s not too bad looking, either.

Finally it happens. You’re loud, even muffled as you are. You moan and whine, your breathing is heavy and struggles to escape through your nose, but Chuuya doesn’t retract himself to make it any easier on you. Your legs tremble, and Dazai feels proud because of it. The way your walls clench and flutter as your orgasm tears through you milks Dazai’s dick so good.

“Fuck, mm, fuck!” Dazai whimpers and drops his head, once again watching his favorite sight. He’s been fucking you so deeply, and you’ve been so exceptionally wet today, that there’s a sticky, white ring around his shaft and it only gets messier as he cums inside of you. He shoots thick ropes of white deep inside, continuing to thrust increasingly lazily as he empties his load. 

“Stop, stop,” Dazai says softly, touching Chuuya’s hips. Chuuya gives him a look but nods and backs up, finally freeing your mouth. Dazai slips out of you while leaning down to kiss you. You lick and pant into each other’s mouths, and when Dazai pulls away he slides two messy, cum-covered fingers onto your tongue.

“Taste us.”

You clean his fingers off with your mouth and try to sit up once he’s pulled his hand away and stood up himself.

Maybe it’s because of how calm and blissed out Dazai is because of his orgasm, but he lolls his head to the side and smiles lazily at Chuuya. “She’s the wettest she’s ever been,” he sighs happily. “You better get your dick wet before I change my mind. Take that stupid thing off,” he says, waving his hand at Chuuya’s condom-covered dick.

“You sure?” Chuuya asks, raising an eyebrow. He holds himself by the base, languidly stroking when his cock gives an interested twitch at what Dazai offers. Meanwhile, Dazai is helping you to your feet and peppering kisses across your face.

“Yes,” Dazai says, rolling his eyes at Chuuya, then he turns back to you. “Why don’t you take it off him, baby?”

You nod slightly and turn to Chuuya, holding your hands out toward him. He crawls to the edge of the desk beside you, observing the way your legs tremble after the pounding Dazai just gave you. You wrap your hands around him and roll the condom off, handing it to Dazai after which makes him laugh.

“Throw it away,” you mumble, then predicting what he’ll do, you quickly add on “in the trash not on the floor.”

“Yes, darling,” he coos, though it’s unmistakable how disgusted he is to be holding Chuuya’s used condom. He barely grips it with two fingers, holding it away from himself. “In the meantime, I think Chuuya should lay on the floor-- you’ll both like my idea, so just do it.”

You and Chuuya share a look as Dazai goes behind Chuuya’s desk to find a trash can, but Chuuya shrugs and gets down on the floor on his back, one arm behind his head, the other lazily stroking his cock as he looks up at you. His eyes trail down your body, from the hickeys and lovebites all over your neck and chest to your red, sore nipples all the way down to your visibly sticky wet cunt which has been slowly dribbling Dazai’s cum down your thigh.

“Fuck, that’s hot,” Chuuya hisses, fisting his cock harder when he notices the cum trail.

“Isn’t she?” Dazai asks, coming back to you. He gives you a few sweet kisses, keeping his eyes cracked open to make sure Chuuya is watching. Then he takes your hands and guides you the few steps over to his former partner on the floor.

“Lay down on top of him, your back on his chest.”

“But I’m gonna--”

“You’re not gonna squish him, he’ll be fine.” Dazai holds your hands as you kneel down, straddling Chuuya’s hips backwards.

“But if you touch him you’ll nullify--”

“He’s tougher than he looks, and he already looks pretty tough-- that’s the only compliment you’re getting from me, Slug.”

Chuuya’s hands grab your waist and help you sit on his hips and then lay back so you’re against his chest.

“Not even using my ability and you’re fine, babe. Don’t worry about your weight, I don’t care.”

“‘Babe,’” Dazai quotes with an edge of bitterness in his voice. You knew he’d get a little jealous letting his former partner in the mix, but it was his idea and you’re intent on seeing it through now. You’ll never tell Dazai, but you do find Chuuya incredibly attractive and once you saw his dick today you knew you weren’t gonna be satisfied until you got your chance to cum on it.

“Babe,” Chuuya says again, helping you readjust until your head is at his shoulder and you’d be able to look at each other or even kiss if you wanted-- not that Dazai would let you.

“Don’t get too comfortable, Sluggy dearest,” Dazai says, swiping some of his cum off of your thigh and spreading it over Chuuya’s tip. “You’ll never see her again after today, so don’t go falling in love with my girl or I really will have to kill you.”

“Like you could ever do that,” Chuuya snaps back. “I’d beat you to a pulp, even without gravity manipulation.”

“Bold talk for a man with my cum on his dick,” Dazai says in an overly playful tone with a shit-eating grin on his face.

“Dude, what?! You’re a freak, why did you do that?!”

“It’s gonna get on you anyway, dumbass,” Dazai says. He slides two fingers into you easily, your pussy still being open and wet and so needy for more. He collects some of his cum and your arousal, completely mixed together and unable to discern one from the other. You give a little whine at his fingers in you, and especially at them leaving you, and then Chuuya’s breath hitches and even though you can’t see, you’re pretty sure Dazai is rubbing your slick over his dick.

“Fuck,” Chuuya sighs, and you look over at his face. At first it seems like his eyes are closed, but then you realize he’s just looking at Dazai, and you look down and see Dazai smirking and giving absolute bedroom eyes at Chuuya. Your pussy clenches around nothing, another surge of arousal making you squirm.

Chuuya’s hands grip your hips, and Dazai’s eyes shift to you and he chuckles.

“What is it, baby? Use your words.”

“You’re so hot… both of you.”

“Oh, thank you,” Chuuya purrs in your ear, his hot breath tickling your skin.

“You think so?” Dazai asks, and you feel something tap against your pussy. You look down and manage to catch that Dazai’s hand is still around Chuuya’s cock, moving it now, making it touch you.

“Yeah,” you moan softly, biting your lip.

“You want Chuuya to fuck you?”

“Mhm…” you hum, nodding. Chuuya chuckles softly and lets one hand roam upward over your skin until he’s palming and kneading your breast. 

“He'll do a good job, too. Won't you Chuuya?” Dazai asks, rubbing Chuuya's dick between the folds of your cunt.

“I'm gonna fuck you so good.” He sighs at the stimulation, his hips bucking up slightly. “Better than that shitty mackerel does, I bet.”

“No chance in hell,” Dazai sneers.

“Let me show her. I'll prove it.” Chuuya bucks his hips up again, trying to get his dick to slip inside. 

“No chance--”

“--Please,” you moan, cutting Dazai off. His face changes from glaring to surprise.

“Oh? You want to find out if he’s better than me?” he asks bitterly, smacking Chuuya’s dick against your pussy.

“No, I want him to fuck me,” you whine.

“That’s not what it sounded like to me.” Dazai frowns, gloom overcoming him.

“Make her cum before I do then, jackass,” Chuuya says, largely ignoring Dazai as he plays with your tits. “Prove you’re better than me.”

“Make me cum, Dazai. Let me use Chuuya like a fuck toy.”

“God damn,” Chuuya says, bucking his hips up again. “I know that’s all I am, but fuck.”

“Yeah…” Dazai’s frown slowly turns to a smirk. “He is just a fuck toy. A big fuck toy that’s gonna fill you up with cum just how you like.” As you and Chuuya give Dazai identical confused looks, Dazai points Chuuya’s cock at your hole and guides him in. The tip drags against your inner walls so well and has you moaning and grinding down on him.

“Go, Slug. Fuck my girl.”

Chuuya’s hips immediately start thrusting up into you. He braces his feet on the floor to get a better angle and he loses himself fucking you. 

“Holy fuck you’re wet,” he huffs. “So fucking good.”

“Oh, yeah,” you moan, reaching up and around to hold the side of his head. “Oh, fuck. Chuuya.”

Dazai tries not to react to the way you moan Chuuya’s name and caress him. It’ll be over soon and he’s not about to let his jealousy take away from the incredibles view he has of your pussy being rammed by a nice, thick cock-- not that he’d ever say those words out loud for Slug to hear. 

He kneels between yours and Chuuya’s legs and runs his hands across your abdomen and belly and near your cunt, calculating how long he think the two of you are gonna last. He knows you’re already sensitive from cumming with him before, and Chuuya hasn’t cum yet at all, so maybe if Dazai gets your pussy clenching around him it’ll be over within five minutes tops.

Dazai leans down with that plan in mind and without impeding Chuuya’s thrusting, he gets his face right up to your cunt and uses the tip of his tongue to circle your clit. You whimper and buck your hips up, then push them back down to meet Chuuya. Dazai doesn’t even need to spit on you-- you’re plenty wet enough-- but he does it anyway, landing a glob right on your swollen clit. He uses the excess wetness to have his tongue gliding effortlessly in circles around your nub. Finally he gets your attention again, and you moan his name. The hand that isn’t in Chuuya’s hair slides down into Dazai’s, and he relaxes a bit now that you’re touching him.

The combination of Chuuya fucking you from behind and Dazai’s tongue now flicking relentlessly back and forth over your clit-- all the wet sounds, the smell of Chuuya’s cologne, his moaning in your ear, his hands still tweaking and playing with your incredibly over-sensitive nipples-- it’s too much. You can’t even talk; you can’t tell either one how you feel, how good they are. You can hardly moan, most of what comes out of you being only broken, stuttery noises thanks to the way Chuuya’s movements wrack your whole body and control the way even your breathing works right now.

I’m not gonna last. I’m not gonna last. I’m not gonna make it. you think, but you’re unable to warn either one of them. Chuuya must know it’s coming from the way your cunt clenches around him. He hisses and turns his head so his lips hover over your nose, moaning your name right at you.

Finally it happens when Dazai sucks on your clit and pushes a finger into your tight cunt alongside Chuuya’s cock. It’s overwhelming. There’s too much happening, too much going on from the both of them. You’re completely dumb on Chuuya’s cock, complete putty in Dazai’s hands.

You cum hard, arching your back up to let Chuuya fuck you deeper if possible. You squirt profusely, drenching Dazai’s mouth and getting a surprised chuckle from him.

“Good girl,” he praises, but you barely hear it over the way Chuuya shouts a string of swears next to your face. His hands finally leave your tits and grip your hips hard. He only thrusts a few more times before he’s cumming too, painting the inside of your cunt white for the second time. 

“Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck,” Chuuya chants as he comes down, his movements slowing until he’s finally completely still. Dazai sits up and smiles a shit-eating grin at you.

“We made her squirt, Slug. Did you feel it?”

“Fuck, that’s hot,” he groans, dropping his head back and turning it away from you. “I’m not cleaning that shit up, though.”

“Did you cum inside…?” you ask quietly as Dazai starts maneuvering Chuuya’s softening dick out of you.

“He said to,” Chuuya says flippantly.

“Think about it, baby,” Dazai says. “There’s no way his shitty little swimmers will beat mine. If you get pregnant, that's gonna be my baby in there.”

“It’s only ‘cause you’re a shitty mackerel. Fish swim.”

[syoddeye]

ghoap x reader. i'm simple. i see an awful joke, and i am compelled to bake it into something. ~800 words. barely edited.

cw: alcohol, verbal + sexual harassment

working in bars, you've heard it all. break ups. proposals. affair arrangements. funeral arrangements. gossip. secrets. and some awful pickup lines.

you grow a thick skin, working service. long behind you are the days when you smiled through the lewd comments and near-misses from reaching hands. nowadays, you give it to them right back or signal for the bouncer on duty to scruff the dogs who bark up the wrong tree.

your ears filter out most comments. you know you're nice to look at, that your tits are near bursting out the low neckline of your shirt. you can handle the harmless mutterings between horny customers queued up for drinks. it's when they breach that sacred boundary of the rail for anything other than fetching their drink or paying—that's when they earn a ticket to the curb.

tonight's no different. you see three drunks kicked out before midnight. light work.

the hours burn quick like cheap candles. a brief lull comes shortly before midnight, giving you time to clean and reset a bit. it's also when your ears snag on a conversation you quickly realize is spoken just loud enough for you to hear.

"yer right lt, look at that arse."

"tits match."

"big handfuls."

"think you can–"

you swing around abruptly, knowing you'll catch them off guard. you'll watch them stutter and stammer through their order and choke on their filthy little fantasies. tails tucked all the way back to hide in whatever dark corner of the bar they came from.

only. they don't.

"can i help you...gentleman?"

they go right on talking, as if you aren't right in front of them.

"–'andle 'er?"

"aye, she's my type."

they're quite the pair. massive specimens of strength sitting shoulder to shoulder. close enough to be thigh to thigh, too. the bigger freak wears a fucking balaclava, one arm draped over his companion. his big paw toys with a silver ring punched through the ear lobe of the other man. it's a weird, almost tender, and normal thing. if they shut up, they'd appear normal. but between their statures and the way their eyes roam over you—normal's the last thing you'd call them.

"i said can i help you," you snarl, snapping back to reality after the one with the mohawk makes another comment about your ass. "order, or move the fuck on."

judging by the crinkling of his dark eyes, the masked man grins, then turns and ducks his head. "you wanna order?"

"too fuckin' hard to think, sir."

that earns a creepy, breathy chuckle from behind the mask. his fingers abandon his companion's earring to ruffle his hair. he straightens on his seat, and drapes two thick arms on the rail. he levels his gaze at you, and it's worse than his leering. it strips you bare.

"got cider?"

the question does nothing for your unease. "yeah," you start to rattle off what's available before he interrupts.

"got woodnut?"

your nose scrunches. you've never heard of it. "wood nut...?"

"'cause i would nut inside ya."

it's easily one of the most atrocious lines you've ever heard. just bad. coming out of another man's mouth, you'd throw your head back and laugh. and yet.

years of working in restaurants and bars. years of horror stories and bad customers. a hide tough enough to weather the worst of the worst, and the bastard flays you alive. peels off your layers and leaves you exposed, completely clothed, and behind a solid oak bar.

it's not the childish vulgarity or the shock value. it's the naked intent in this man's eyes. that he means it.

his hands flex, and two knuckles rap quietly on the wood. you know it would be nothing for him to grab you by the collar, haul you across the bar, and bend you over the sticky silicone mat. beside him, his friend's eyes are wide, mouth stuck in a tight smirk. it'd be a group effort.

the air thins. a short eternity passes. cold dread meets blistering anger.

you don't recall the specifics of what you yell. only that you shriek like a harpy, indignant and scandalized. cheeks burning and palms sliced where your nails dig into them. you point a finger at the door, and the bouncer looks sheepish for the first time since you started. the men go freely, laughing to themselves. loosely herded by your coworker, who looks like a kid next to them.

your manager gives you a free fifteen for the trouble, but beyond that, he isn't too sympathetic. you dig out a smoke from the bottom of your bag and make for the staff door that leads out to the bins. a bundle of raw nerves. reduced to scraps, dignity shattered. obliterated.

there's a chill in the air. it helps some. you struggle with your lighter, sniffling and muttering. your thumb keeps slipping off the wheel.

somewhere down the alley, glass crunches.

[pastelhooman]

[WVW Exchange Event 2023!]

"The kisses on your lash, your ears, on the nose that keeps scrunching. The kisses on your hand, on your cheeks, and the exchanging soft words waiting for the break of day."

----- ID under break -----

A total of 6 pages of comics, starting with a close up shots of vash kissing sleeping wolfwood's nose, eyes, lashes, and he furrows them a bit. an overhead shot of the two of them in a motel room, on the bed with vash leaning over wolfwood from the left, laying soft kisses on him. their legs tangled. their normal outfits are thrown haphazardly on the floor, instead donning comfortable clothes. on the outside, the very first ray of lights are yet to shine.

"what a face you're making pfft" - vash says as he grabs both of wolfwood's cheeks, squeezing them a bit. wolfwood mumbles, "There's something that keeps landing on my face, it tickles." he grabs the hand that is on his right cheek. "Well you're letting it happens anyways right?" Vash muses, bringing the hand up to kiss on its knuckles. "Good morning Wolfwood. It's almost dawn"

"… Isn't it way too soon?" - wolfwood asks, but keeps to himself the prayers he's sending to god because the the boy on top of him was such a sight to behold. Vash flops down onto him, leaving the hand hanging and lace his own hand into Wolfwood's hair, peppering kisses to the side of his face. "Yep" - he answers - "But you woke up on your own tho" - facetiously. He giggles, saying that it was a joke after a beat of silence. A sigh, "don't make me upside you first thing in the morning." Wolfwood closes his eyes, hand combing through golden strands. "Heh, how merciful~" "We have a meet up with Milly and Meryl today, remember?" Vash reminds him, which does raise some vague memory. wolfwood hums, the other hand reaching around vash's torso, hugging him. " So, the sooner we arrive, the less likely she'll chew through my head." - Vash adds. "riiiight. And you were SO urgent in waking me up." in wolfwood's hold, both of them slowly turn to the right, towards the edge of the bed.

Well, you were just soooo cute, I couldn't help it! didn't thinkk you'll actually wakE UAA-!"

the bed creaks under the sudden shift in weight as wolfwood tosses vash over and under him, arms firmly hugging him, one at his back and one at his head, hungrily dives down to kiss. "!! Wolf-! Wait-!" Vash yelps, leg instinctively curls around the other's man hip to hang on, trying his damnest to grip on his shirt as HE is now half airborne, barely has any contact with the bed on his upper body. However, wolfwood seems to have another idea as he keeps deepening the kiss, pointedly holding Vash close, hands spread guarding the back of his head as both of them are sliding off the soft fabric.

"THUD!" a resounding fall, possibly enough to wake the room downstairs, followed shortly by laboured breaths amist wet smacks of lips. Heaves and huffs of air exchanging between the two bodies when the need to breath made itself necessary. They press close, cradling each other, and are lost to their own world. After a while they had to part. Metal arm shifts through black locks, caressing down to his nape and they hold eye contacts there, with lidded eyes, strands of saliva thins then breaks.

Wolfwood pushes up on his arms, looking smugly down at his now disheveled partner: "Now this is how it's done, Needlenoggin." he remarks. Vash tries to wrangle his thoughts back in order, but strings of Wolfwood's name and a wonderous question keeps filling his mind, of whether he should risk it all and have fun for a bit more. Regardless, snapping out of his trance, Vash sourly asks, with a wry smile and an aching head: "But did you really need to roll off the bed?" "Wrong side, whoops" - Wolfwood anwers unseriously, laughing as he finds the situation quite amusing.

----- End of ID -----

[ninjatrashpanda]

(Please say to Me) You'll let Me be your Man

Written for @bucktommypositivityweek Round 2! Day 3 is "Missing Moments." Read on AO3 here!

“So, what is your coffee order, anyway?” Evan asked, lightly bumping his shoulder against Tommy’s. He was smiling that brilliant, adorable smile that Tommy already could feel himself falling for, (He felt like a teenager, and found himself genuinely enjoying it. Maybe there was something to that Katy Perry song after all.) which almost made him a bit weak in the knees.

“Black, no sugar.”

“Ah, okay. So that’s a red flag.”

Tommy raised an eyebrow, feigning shock as he nudged Evan back, a playful grin tugging at his lips. “A red flag? Just because I don’t drown my coffee in cream and sugar?”

Evan laughed, the sound light, warming Tommy up from the inside. They were strolling down the street, neither of them having been willing to part ways after their coffee conversation. (Coffee date? Had it been a date? Had it turned into a date after they had cleared the air?) The sky was a soft, sunny blue, the kind that was usual for Los Angeles, but no less beautiful, and the gentle breeze blowing around them was just cool enough to counter the swelling California heat.

Tommy honestly could get used to this, could see himself settling down with Evan (and maybe that was a little hasty, considering that this was only their second date, but hey, he was forty and wasn’t getting any younger), and honestly, that thought excited him. After he came out, he’d at first thrown himself into the casual sex scene, Grindr profile and all. He’d already been in his early thirties by that point and figured he should make up for lost time. Plus, dating as a firefighter-slash-rescue pilot was a pain anyway. If there was one thing he’d never lied about during his Closet Era™, it was that while his scars attracted people, him getting them freaked people out. It had been true for the women he tried dating in his twenties, and it was true for the few men he occasionally tried to actually build something with inbetween hookups and friends with benefits situations.

But as the years went by, Tommy had started to yearn. He'd found himself longing for something real, something steady, something with someone he could see himself getting married to and maybe even raise a kid or two. Someone who understood what his job meant to him, who could handle knowing that every day bore a risk, who didn’t try to talk him into switching careers.

Someone who could see past the tough firefighter persona and not get weirded out by the guy loving RomComs, monster trucks and craft beer.

Evan seemed like that kind of guy. He was a fellow first responder after all, so he knew first hand how deep the commitment to the job could run, and right from the beginning, he’d just seemed so genuine and sincere that Tommy hadn’t been able to help the butterflies in his stomach. Of course, he had also thought Evan was cute pretty much right away (Just like a teenager. Katy Perry was actually a prophet.) but had brushed it off at first. There’d been more pressing matters at hand, never mind that he’d figured Evan was straight.

Even after they’d kissed for the first time, Tommy hadn’t allowed himself to get his hopes up. He’d been in these situations before, where things just looked right on paper only to crash and burn shortly after, and when Evan had very decidedly not been ready for a relationship with another man at their first date, well, Tommy had been able to shrug it off. Good thing he hadn't gotten overly attached, or Evan shoving him back into the closet the way he did would’ve hurt a lot more than that single, sharp sting in his chest that it had been.

When Evan had called him and asked to meet so they could clear the air, Tommy’s first thought was to decline. It had been less than a week, and it was bound to be awkward. But then he’d figured he kind of owed it to Evan to hear him out, and it had somehow ended with Tommy being Evan’s date to his sister’s wedding.

“Yes, actually, being a coffee demon is a red flag,” Evan said, wiggling his eyebrows with a smirk. “Everybody knows that those who drink it black are super pretentious. I bet you post on Facebook about all the young whippersnappers ruining coffee with syrup and whipped cream.”

Tommy chuckled, shaking his head at Evan’s quip. This was another thing he more than appreciated about Evan, his sense of humor, and the casual way he managed to make Tommy feel welcome. Tommy liked to think himself quite sociable, that he could make people comfortable with him, but Evan was in a whole other league in that regard. He seemed to have some kind of aura that put people at ease.

"Oh, you caught me," Tommy said, his voice dripping with mock seriousness. "Every morning, I log on and rage-post about how the youth of today don’t appreciate the subtle notes of bitterness in a proper brew and how society will crumble over it. It's part of my morning ritual."

Evan laughed again, the sound washing over Tommy like warm summer rain. It was amazing, really, how easily Evan’s presence filled up all the little spaces that Tommy hadn’t even realized were empty. “Besides,” he continued, patting Evan on the shoulder, which caused a pink blush to spread over his cheeks. “Chimney told me about one of your red flags. You don’t watch movies?!”

Evan scrunched up his nose and playfully shoved Tommy. “Hey, that’s not a red flag, it’s just… a quirk. Every time I sit down to watch a movie, I just get bored and want to do something else.” Then, with a slight smile, he added, “Unless I have the right kind of company.”

Tommy felt his heart do a little flip at that, a warmth spreading through him that was both unfamiliar and strangely comforting. Evan didn’t really like movies, but he wanted to watch them anyway. With him. Together. Probably cuddled together so close they’d be about to fuse into a single person. It took all of Tommy’s willpower to not throw Evan over his shoulder and carry him to the nearest movie theater.

“Oh, so now it’s up to me to educate you, huh?” he teased instead, nudging Evan again. He could already imagine it: the two of them on a couch, a bowl of popcorn between them, his arm around Evan’s shoulders, the two of them laughing or crying or raging over some silly RomCom Tommy would undoubtedly choose. (Not ‘Love Actually’ yet. Evan had to experience that movie during Christmas time, under a warm, cozy blanket with massive cups of hot chocolate with marshmallows.)

“I mean, you brought it up,” Evan said, his grin softening, eyes meeting Tommy’s with an earnestness that made Tommy’s breath hitch. “Plus, you actually know where to start. I’d have no idea.”

Tommy chuckled, shaking his head in disbelief at how easily Evan could tease him and be earnest all at once. It was this effortless mix of playfulness and sincerity that drew Tommy in. He'd spent so long compartmentalizing his own life—work, family, dating—and here was Evan, breezing into his world with the potential to make everything feel seamless.

“Alright, I’ll pick a good one for next time. Prepare for your mind to be blown,” Tommy said, his tone light but his gaze lingering on Evan’s face. He let the moment stretch, comfortable in the shared silence as they continued their walk. The city bustled around them, but it felt like they were in their own little bubble, untouchable by the noise and chaos of everyday life.

Evan smiled back, a soft, almost shy smile that made Tommy’s heart stutter, and tentatively reached out to Tommy’s hand, but then quickly pulled back at the slightest brush of their fingers. The contact was brief, but long enough for Tommy to feel a jolt of electricity run through his body. Evan, red-faced, cleared his throat. “I, uh, I’ll hold you to that. But just so you know, I’m picky.”

“Noted,” Tommy said, trying to sound casual, but he couldn’t help the way his voice softened. He hadn’t even thought about it, but now that it had almost happened, he really wanted to hold Evan’s hand. He fought the urge to grab it though. Evan had said he wasn’t sure what he was ready for. Showing PDA with a man might’ve been too much. “We can hold hands. You know, if you want to.”

Evan looked up, eyes widening slightly as if Tommy had read his mind. He hesitated for a moment, his gaze flickering between Tommy’s face and the space between them, before slowly extending his hand again. This time, Tommy met him halfway, their fingers brushing once more before finally interlocking. Evan’s grip was tentative at first, like he was still testing the waters, but when Tommy gave a gentle squeeze, Evan relaxed, his thumb brushing lightly against Tommy’s knuckles.

Tommy’s heart raced, and he could feel the slightest tremor in Evan’s hand. It was a small gesture in theory, but Tommy knew that this was monumental for Evan. He had only just discovered and come to terms with his sexuality, and had completely freaked out just a few days ago when their first date had been crashed by his best friend. Holding hands with another man in public was big for him.

“You good?” Tommy asked softly, glancing sideways at Evan. He tried to sound casual, but there was an edge of vulnerability in his voice. He needed to know that this was okay, that Evan was comfortable and not pushing himself too far too fast.

Evan nodded, his cheeks still flushed but his smile genuine. “Yeah, I’m good. Better than good, actually.” He took a deep breath, as if he was trying to solidify the moment in his mind, etching the feeling of their joined hands into his memory. “It’s…nice. Really nice.”

Tommy felt a swell of affection that almost took him by surprise. This was new territory for both of them, and it was exhilarating and terrifying all at once. He was used to charging headfirst into danger, running into burning buildings and flying into storms, but this, this simple act of holding Evan’s hand, felt like the bravest thing he’d done in a long time. It was vulnerable and honest, and it was everything Tommy had been afraid to hope for.

They continued their walk, the rhythm of their footsteps syncing as if their bodies had quietly agreed on a shared pace. The sun wandered further across the sky, casting long shadows that danced across the pavement, and Tommy couldn’t help but steal glances at Evan. He was struck by how natural this felt, like they’d been doing it for years, like they hadn’t literally just talked about how they didn’t really know each other maybe an hour ago. Tommy wondered if he should count this as a sign. He didn’t even believe in God, or any other deity, but still. The universe telling him he was doing something right was a nice thought.

Evan glanced up, catching Tommy’s eye, and gave him a sheepish smile. “You keep looking at me like that, I might start thinking you like me.”

Tommy snorted, squeezing Evan’s hand again. “Oh, I’m pretty sure it’s more than just ‘like’ at this point. But don’t get ahead of yourself, alright? We’ve still got a whole list of red flags to go through. Might be a dealbreaker or two in there.”

Evan chuckled, his eyes sparkling with a mix of amusement and something warmer, deeper. “I think I’m willing to risk it,” he said quietly, his voice almost lost in the hum of the city around them. “Besides, we’ve got time, right?”

Tommy nodded, feeling the weight of those words settle into his chest. They did have time, and it was a luxury Tommy wasn’t used to indulging in. His job was unpredictable, and he’d seen too many lives cut short, too many futures that never got a chance to be. But here and now, with Evan’s hand in his, the future felt like something he could reach out and touch, something he could build, slowly but surely, step by step.

“Yeah. We’ve got time.”

[crispy-armpit]

✧ 𝖎'𝖒 𝖞𝖔𝖚𝖗𝖘 ✧

ʏᴀɴᴅᴇʀᴇ ʀᴏᴄᴋꜱᴛᴀʀ x ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ

☆⋆｡🎧𖦹 °✩ 🎸⋆⸜♩

⭒ 𝘴𝘶𝘮𝘮𝘢𝘳𝘺: reminisce about your forgotten first meeting with Deimos 3 years ago. meanwhile, you've been invited to watch his concert after the previous events. (pt.2)

⭒ 𝘤𝘰𝘯𝘵𝘦𝘯𝘵: 𝘨𝘯 𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘥𝘦𝘳, 𝘺𝘢𝘯𝘥𝘦𝘳𝘦, 𝘪𝘯𝘧𝘭𝘪𝘤𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯 𝘰𝘧 𝘪𝘯𝘫𝘶𝘳𝘺, violence, implied stalking, reader gets called a bitch, (slight) sadism, kinda tame

⭒ 𝘸𝘰𝘳𝘥 𝘤𝘰𝘶𝘯𝘵: 1,495

⭒ a/n: dear lord i am simping for my own art... hope u all enjoy reading this! i'll be opening asks & make a short introduction in the next post ^^ ( yan jock makes an appearance here too!)

will you venture down this path?

where is he?

did I walk in the wrong direction?

am I lost?

... nope, this is the right place.

you are standing alone in a dark alleyway, looking around the location you agreed to meet your friend in. checking the virtual clock on your phone, you count the time you have left before you go on stage. 32 minutes.

time was ticking and he was still nowhere in sight. there's no way you could perform the duet alone. anxiously, you try texting your friend again.

You 》 17:28

bro where are u

i'm alr here

are u lost again

LIAM

liam

liam

liam

liam

liaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaam

fuck it, i'm leaving him. alleys are never good news. ever since you entered the place, your stomach has been in knots and the back of your head was tingling. it's almost as if... someone's been watching you.

typing on the small screen, you tell him you're going to meet him behind the stage instead. you speed walk towards the end of the tunnel, relieved you were leaving this place. you almost reach the exit until a rough hand pulls on your wrist.

a gruff voice speaks, "hey, you dropped this."

SHIT, I'M GOING TO DIE—

without thinking, you instinctively clench your fists into a ball and punch the unknown 'assailant' on the nose— effectively causing him to bleed. the stranger gasps out various curse words as you turn to scream and run away.

"I'M SORRYYyyyy—"

knuckles still bruised from the impact, you try to hide them as best as you can from the crowd's attention. Liam had managed to arrive on time, seconds before the performance. he claimed to have come across an old friend on the way who was difficult to shake off. but that was all in the past, and he has yet to notice your injured knuckles.

currently, you are performing on the stage in front of a sea of people. with your friend on the acoustic guitar, you both sang a duet that sang of two lovers, a confession of how one felt incomplete without the other.

it was a popular song, so Liam insisted on it. you were glad he did because in the end, the happy crowd's applause rang loud across your ears. a sound you'll always love.

now off the stage, you and Liam decide to explore the festival's offerings. the spring festival at night is beautiful— lanterns clipped across the starry sky and flowers and people littering the area. you approach one of the food stalls that lined the streets, purchasing a sundae of your favourite flavour.

as you are about to pay, you rummage through your pockets and realise... your wallet is gone. did i leave it at home?! Liam seems to pick up on your situation as he pulls out his own wallet, "i'll pay for them." you thank him and promise to pay him back. "it's alright, you don't have to." he smiles.

suddenly, a loud voice approaches the both of you, "Oi, Lili! ya did great up there, man." you turn to see a group of four people heading your way who were all dressed head-to-toe in punk clothing and carrying band equipment. they must be a band. a slim man holding wooden drumsticks pats Liam on the back, and he shortly notices you.

"oh? hello there, mx. the name's Vern." he grins and offers you a handshake, to which you politely return.

"y/n. nice to meet you, Vern. I'm a friend of Liam's."

"a friend of Liam is a friend of mine, y/n!" Vern heartily laughs, "let me introduce you to the gang, y/n— of course, you've met me, the drummer. that lady with red hair is Kyra, the lead guitarist. the young-looking fellow with shit for brains is Astrid, our second guitarist. and finally, our beloved lead singer and bassist, D—"

you don't have time to react before your face is roughly grabbed by a hand larger than your head, cheeks squished. you try to pry your face away from the thick fingers of the unknown man, as you shakily look up at his furrowed eyes. he's seething, and you don't know why.

"it's you. fucking bitch."

you don't know what you've done to this man to warrant such a reaction, you've never even met him before!... right? you think back to earlier in the day when you punched the stranger from the alley. shit, it's him.

though muffled by his palms, you still manage to voice out an apology. for the first time in your life, you feel a sensation rushing through your blood. dread and terror. in the corner of your eyes, you spot Liam being held back by a concerned Vern and Astrid.

you desperately try to pull his hand off your face while repeating apologies, but it's useless. he's too strong. the tall stranger continues to stare at you and you swear he was enjoying this. if not for the sick glint in his eyes or the soft panting from his pierced lips, then maybe for the light blush dusting his cheeks.

after what felt like hours, he finally lets go. you immediately massage your aching jaw and cheeks at his release. the stranger scoffs and hands you a familiar item... it's your wallet! "...found this in the alley. you throw a good punch." you gently take the small pouch off his hands and thank him.

a ghost of a smirk morphs on his face before he grunts and walks past you. the others instantly follow behind him like baby ducks trailing their mother, but not without giving you a sympathetic look. Vern checks up on you before joining his group, "woah, he's never spared anyone before. sorry about him, but i hope you'll still come to watch us?"

Liam, who is no longer held back, runs to your side and inspects your face. "are you alright?? fuck, I should teach him not to mess with you!" he angrily shouts. you're still recovering from shock. but that doesn't stop you from thinking how nice the stranger's smile looked. "do you want to go home? i'll drive you bac—"

with newfound motivation, you're able to speak again, "no, i'm fine. let's go watch the next show!"

you and Liam stand in front of the stage, somehow having managed to get past the current of people. there are way more people than before, and you notice some of them are holding signs. confused, you turn to the person next to you and ask her, "hey, what's with all the people? is a celebrity coming?"

she looks at you astounded, "you seriously don't know? Ares is performing next! they're like, all over social media right now." Ares? you don't think you've heard any singer with that name before. before you can ask who they are, waves of screams fill your ears as 4 pairs of feet walk on stage. you look back at Liam to see him clapping for the band, following his gaze, you accidentally lock eyes with a pair of heterochromatic eyes.

he acknowledges your presence with a lazy lift of his brow and faces the crowd again. this time, the audience shouts in union.

ARES!

ARES!!

ARES!!!

the electrifying sound of a guitar and drums booms through the speakers. the ground vibrates along with the rhythm, as your heartbeat follows along. the song begins, but it's not until you hear the deep bass of the leader's voice do you feel the aching throb of your core.

(R U Mine? - Arctic Monkeys)

I'm a puppet on a string

holy shit.

She's a silver linin', lone ranger ridin' through an open space...

his voice is intoxicating.

In my mind, when she's not right there beside me

I go crazy 'cause here isn't where I wanna be

your heart feels like it's about to burst out of your chest.

And satisfaction feels like a distant memory

And I can't help myself

All I wanna ever say is, "Are you mine?"

yes.

Well, are you mine?

Are you mine?

Are you mine? Oh, ah

i'm yours.

his deep voice that was once laced with anger and malice— now brings your own heart to tears. you could only think about what was going through his mind to sing a beautiful song in such a wrenching manner. and on that day, you swore to one day bring someone to tears with your voice, just like he had with you.

but what you did not know was that you'd already done the exact same thing to Deimos earlier that day. and for that, he'd follow you down every road until there comes a time when your paths meet again.

back in the present, you've been forced invited to watch Deimos' latest concert. like before, you sat at the very front row, right in front of his assigned position. the only difference from then was his lovestruck eyes that would never leave your figure.

in the end, he was yours.

[knockoffheart]

Neuman's Guard Dog (1/3)

summary: desperate times call for desperate measures. victoria neuman has procured a vial of compound V and intends to use it on you. she can't always be there to protect you.

warnings: drug coercion, hurt/comfort, graphic descriptions of bodily harm, murder, violence, blood, reader turned supe, body horror, neuman is not a good person (but we still love her), mentions of politics, general ‘The Boys’ show disclaimer, also NO SMUT (rip)

before you read: Reader is aware of Vic's blood powers. NOT aware of Vic's head explosions (ex. congress attack), relationship to Stan Edgar, The Boys (especially Hughie being involved). Sameer and Zoe do not exist in any of my AUs. Reader has been in life-threatening situations before, not a fan of them, but has been in at least two before.

Tensions are rising across the country, the world is getting more dangerous by the minute. There has already been two attempts on Victoria's life, she's made certain you are unaware of this; she's made certain you know nothing of Butcher and his "Boys". The risk of you being hurt because is far too high.

She promises she will make your relationship public after the election, but she's lying. If the world finds out about you, you're dead. Homelander, Butcher, Stan Edgar... they all have the power to kill you, they just need to see the big shiny target on your back first.

-

The hotel room you are staying at is lavish, it makes you feel like a celebrity — which is appreciated when you're really just the Vice President elect's paramour. In reality, you know you're more than that, but being sealed in this room doesn't make you feel like it. You're lying on the bed staring up at the ceiling, listening to a TV reporter cover the election in the background. You pull out your phone and check the voting map, it's more of the same. You groan and roll over, longingly awaiting Victoria's return. The monotonous voice of the reporter lulls you to sleep, only for you to be awoken shortly afterwards by Victoria’s gentle voice.

"I know I was gone longer than I said I would be," she closes the door behind her and sits next to you on the bed, "C'mere."

Victoria motions for you to lay your head in her lap and you oblige. She plays with your hair and stares at the television. Her silence causes you to turn on your back to get a better look at her face. Though her gaze is transfixed towards the screen, you notice her mind is elsewhere.

"You okay, honey?" you ask.

Victoria purses her lips and meets your eyes. Her serious expression causes you to sit up straight. Oh shit, she's gonna’ dump me. You shift uncomfortably, preparing for what's to come.

"I won't always be here to protect you. I- ... I can't deal with the thought of you getting hurt when I'm not around… I’m scared something is going to happen to you." Victoria takes your hands in hers, "I need you to do this for me."

She pulls out a capped needle full of blue liquid. You furrow your brows and gawk at her.

"W-Why do I need to... Vic, what is that?" you question.

The unnatural color of the liquid makes you uneasy. The only time you've seen that color is in TV shows about meth. Oh my god, does she want me to do meth? Your eyes widen even more. Why the fuck would she want me to do meth!?

"Compound V," she sets the needle down on the bed next to you. "It... It's what gave me my powers."

Not meth. You let out a sigh of relief, which is quickly replaced by a gasp of concern.

"Why do I need to take that!? What kind of danger am I in?" you yelp.

Victoria remains silent and looks away. You lean towards her, she's crying. Your stomach drops and you can't figure out what to say.

“Please. Just. Take. It." She places her hands on her face in an attempt to self pacify, "You'll be okay. I took it when I was a child and I'm fine. It is literally the only way for me to guarantee your safety, please." Her lip trembles.

You're speechless. She's never begged for anything before, let alone cried for it. You bounce your leg anxiously, working up the courage to do or say something. You grab her hand and pick up the needle.

"Okay. I-I will. I'll do it," you steady your voice, but your hand shakes as she takes the needle.

She sniffles and lets out an exasperated 'Thank you'. When she uncaps the needle you realize how huge it really is. Your breathing becomes more rapid and your whole body starts to tremble. You sit with your legs dangling off the front of the bed and she rolls up your shirt. You take in a deep breath and hold it, tears well up in the corners of your eyes.

"I love you," she presses a kiss into your shoulder as she injects the needle.

The second the blue fluid starts coursing through you, you feel like you should have asked a few more questions. That train of thought is cut off by a scorching pain. It feels like a wildfire is soaring through your veins. You cry out and collapse forward, supporting yourself up onto your elbows. Your whole body jerks from the pain. Victoria kneels down beside you and reaches for your arm, you pull away and stand. You sway unsteadily and stare down at her. Tears flow from her eyes but her face appears quiet, she knew how much this would hurt you. Your mixed emotions guide you to the bed and you throw yourself under the covers. You want to be mad, you want to scream and wail and kick until you see red but pain has sedated your anger. You can do nothing but sob and call for Neuman.

Victoria hurriedly joins you in bed, she pulls you close against her and pets your head. She kisses your forehead and whispers words of comfort. You choke on your cries and bury your face into her neck. You feel like you're dying. You find solace in the fact that it will be in her arms; and anguish in the fact that she will have been the one to kill you. At some point, your body gives out from exhaustion and you lie still.

-

The survival rate in adults injected with Compound V is an unsettling twenty percent. Victoria considered this, of course. She told you everyone in the company needed to submit bloodwork, for “insurance purposes”. It was a shit lie but you blindly followed her words anyway. She sent you to a Vought-owned lab and ran more in-depth tests. Your blood already contained slight traces of V, not enough for powers, but enough to give this new dose something to cling onto. This allows for a far less fatal outcome. She destroyed all evidence of the bloodwork afterwards, there's no need for you to know your own parents doped you as a newborn too. The powers you will gain can't be predicted, but she is satisfied with the guarantee of superhuman durability.

-

You wake up alone. You’re drenched in sweat but the pounding in your skull has ceased. I don’t feel any different? You slowly sit up and look around the room.

“Vic?”

You’re met with silence. You feel a pang of sorrow in your heart but chase away any forming tears. Upon getting up, you notice a water bottle and a small note.

‘ I swear I will make this up to you, I’ll be back as soon as a I can. I love you.

(If you feel up to it — counting is expected to wrap around 11, there’s an open bar!) ‘

You chug the water and drop the bottle letting bounce on the floor. You’re pissed at Vic. How much could she possibly care about my safety when she’s fully willing to abandoned my unconscious body… in a locked… fancy… You groan, she didn’t exactly leave you to the wolves but you’re feeling are still hurt. You trudge towards the bathroom, needing to wash off this whole event.

Thankfully, the shower makes you feel like a person again. You wipe the steam from the mirror and examine yourself — nothing seems different? You shrug and pat yourself dry. You find the oversized t-shirt you wore as pajamas last night and throw it on. Victoria’s red lipstick rests on the counter, it’s as sleek and polished as she is. The thought of her makes you smile, you are so quick to forgive. You pick it up to examine it but the sound of voices outside the door makes you stop abruptly.

Cautiously, you crack the door and call out for Victoria. It slams open and you’re met with two CIA agents, they stare down at you. You try to back up, but the taller man grabs your wrist and throws you into the center of the room.

Your body crashes into the floor, as you rise you notice two more people in the room; they’re hiding behind the kitchen island, a black-haired male and female in suits they appear uncomfortable in. Your attentions reverts back to your current attackers. The man who grabbed you squats in front of you.

"Care to explain what you're doing in Ms. Neuman's room?" he asks as the other man encroaches.

You remain silent and try to see what the two behind the island are trying to accomplish. A hard smack from the squatted man draws your attention back to the front. You still don't respond. He huffs and motions to his partner, who begins to draw his gun. You scramble back towards the wall, you can hear your heart beating and feel the hair on the back of your neck rise. An animalistic nature seems to be taking hold of you, all of your senses are on edge and there is a primal hunger creeping its way out of you. The click of the gun sets you off. You launch yourself off the wall and throw the armed man to the ground.

-

From behind the counter, Frenchie and Kimiko are left with their mouths agape. The harmony of feral growls and screams causes them to peer from behind the counter. They see you hunched over one of the guards covered in blood, the guards torso is torn open, rank viscera is splattered across the room. You spit out a chunk of red flesh and your eyes target the other agent. Frenchie reaches for his in-ear walkie and calls for Hughie. Kimiko watches as the remaining agent unloads his firearm into your body. Unflinching, you continue your stalk towards him.

"Hughie! It seems like Neuman has turned your little friend into some kind of junkyard mutt- SHIT!" Frenchie and Kimiko duck behind the island as a severed arm comes flying towards them. Frenchie speaks in a hushed shout, "Your time to shine, Mon ami!

-

The remaining agent is left in pieces, several of which have ended up in completely different areas. The room is quiet, aside from your panting and the shuffling in the kitchen. You stare down at your hands; they're covered in blood and you notice your nails have grown much longer and sharper. Though the room has filled with the stench of iron, you can still pick up the scent of your two intruders. You attempt to move towards them, but the lack of an immediate threat to your life (and possibly the several bullets you took) causes your adrenaline to drop - you collapse onto the floor. The pain of being thrown, beat, and shot catches up to you. You whine and dig into your wounds, trying to claw out the searing bullets. The duo stand from behind the counter and the man shouts to you.

"I would not to that if I was you!" He raises his hands out and steps towards you. You stare daggers back at the man.

Before you can shout whatever obscenities were slowly developing in your clouded mind, the door flies open. Hughie Campbell pauses in the doorway and takes in the scene around him.

"Jesus Christ..." he mutters.

"I told you, Victoria has fucked her!" Frenchie ushers Kimiko out the door and quickly follows, "Deal with this how you want, we must get back to the task at hand."

Hughie makes his way towards you and freezes when you look up at him, you are sitting on the floor like a wounded dog, blind from fear. Your eyes are completely black, your teeth resemble that of a well-fed wolf, and you’re absolutely drenched in blood. Hughie cautiously kneels down next to you and places his hand on your shoulder. He calls your name and directs your attention to his face. Slowly, you recognize the man in front of you and steady your breathing. He watches your eyes return to normal, the black slowly pooling itself into your dilated pupil.

"Hughie..." your voice is a whisper, "I-".

You finally take in the devastation around you, which stretches floor to ceiling, window to wall. The reality of the situation hits you and you burst into tears. Hughie hesitates before placing his other hand on your opposite shoulder and sighing.

"I can't believe she dragged you into this. I… I'm sorry."

"Oh my god- Hughie! I'm going to fucking prison," you whimper, "Oh fuck-“

You push away from Hughie and try to steady your breath. He backs off and stands.

"I'm actually fairly confident that won't happen," he gazes down and his face flushes red.

He turns away and offers his hand out to you, "L-Lets get you out of here, and get some pants on."

You clutch his hand and rise up, pulling the t-shirt down over yourself. He opens the drawers of the hotel's dresser and stops once he finds one with something in it. He holds out a pair of boxers, several sizes too big and extremely gaudy. You make a face and he tosses them towards you and turns around.

"They're better than nothing, okay? Everything else is fucking drenched in CIA agent…" he reasons.

He grabs a sheet from the bed and wraps it around you before heading out the door. You make your way to a utility van parked behind the hotel. Hughie slides open the door and you're met with a bearded man pointing a gun at you.

"JESUS! Butcher put that away!" Hughie bends over and catches his breath.

"No way that one is getting in here," his pistol remains focused on you, "Last thing we need is Neuman storming in here and popping all our heads."

Hughie starts to protest and Butcher cocks back the hammer. You place a hand on Hughie's chest and feed him a forced smile.

"It's okay, Hughie," you assure as you pull him into a hug. “Thank you, for getting me out of there,” you feel the barrel of Butcher's gun pressed against your temple. Your breath hitches and you pull away. Hughie hops into the van and it screeches away.

You are left alone in the parking lot and limp to a nearby alleyway. You hop around shards of broken glass and find an abandoned milk crate, you'll catch your breath here and then figure out a game plan. You sit yourself down and hear small clinking noises near the ground of the milk crate. The bullets previously lodged in you are being spit out of your skin, the craters they once resided in have filled themselves and you notice you're in a lot less pain. A sigh of relief falls from your lips and you shed the sheet wrapped around your shoulders. You feel a small prick in your neck and move your hand towards the pain, a needle resides in the crook of your neck, before you can turn around you go limp.

In your last moments of alertness, you read the lettering on the van you're being pulled in to.

'VOUGHT INTERNATIONAL'

Fuck.

|

authors note: part two is basically wrote in my mind already i just need to type it out <3 thanks for reading, after this next chapter im going to write for Maeve for a little bit and then possibly release a blank slate smut fic.. who’s to say really

[tip jar]

[rainyorca]

Flowers Don’t Bloom In Winter ❀ Logan Howlett x Reader

Content Warnings: F!reader, angst/no comfort, character death, kissing/make out, implied smut, mild gore, strangers to friends to lovers.

Summary: “Are you scared?” he asks, voice low but there's genuine curiosity in the gentle cadence of his voice. Your eyes meet his. “You could never scare me.” 

You'll wilt, all flowers die. But he'll bloom again.

Notes: I’ve been a wolvie fan since i was suppperrr young and I am so glad him (and hugh) are getting attention again. This is my second-ish time writing for him, I just got done rewatching the movies for the first time in a while so hopefully I did him a little justice. His hair in origins will forever be my favorite but in this you can think of him from any movie, there is no set one, no set timeline wolvie.

Words: 6,121

𖤣.𖥧.𖡼.⚘𖤣.𖥧.𖡼.⚘𖤣.𖥧.𖡼.⚘𖤣.𖥧.𖡼.⚘𖤣.𖥧.𖡼.⚘𖤣.𖥧.𖡼.⚘𖤣.𖥧.𖡼.⚘𖤣.𖥧.𖡼.⚘𖤣.𖥧.𖡼.⚘𖤣.𖥧.𖡼.⚘

You're not a weapon. 

You’re more human than everyone else.

Human was a funny word, to Logan at least. Being human meant a lot of things, mutant wasn’t one of them. Stuck as a mutant with the heart for a human, what a tragedy. Actually, did he even have a heart? Oftentimes he would spend nights trying to find his own heartbeat, a hand laying on his chest while he stared up at the ceiling. 

When he met you he wondered if you knew what he was, the way you stared at him when he came in and sat down at the bar made him curious. Most don't know, he looks normal on the outside, so how would you know? But he did have a hard time keeping his eyes off you too, you smelled human but there was something so sweet about your scent, it made you different from others. 

Wisteria, sandalwood, jasmine and maybe a hint of vanilla, he couldn't really pinpoint what you smelled like (however it reminded him of forests, nature, his old home) all he knew was that he wanted the scent to last forever, like a candle he could buy over and over again. He would only watch the stage when you got up there and when you're done, he would be too. 

You came to the bar shortly after to get yourself a drink, your eyes resembled a rabbit’s; innocence and beauty all in one, and they immediately found him. There was something else in your eyes, deep within like you were trying to figure him out. When you got closer to him your scent got stronger, so strong it was almost overwhelming. No human has ever had that effect on him before, at least not enough to make him physically react like he did, squeezing his glass a little tighter. 

“Hello,” you smiled brightly, like a blooming flower, voice gentle whilst you greeted him. 

“You must be new, I haven't seen you at the bar before.” 

“Just figured I’d try out a new place,” he responds, an attempt to try and be friendly despite his intimidating looks. You smile again, swallowing down the remains of your liquor and then putting the dish in the sink. “Glad you came to us,” your eyes travel down to his somewhat empty glass, “you want another?” 

Your kindness was obvious, but no one that kind is ever really okay. There was something off about you, something deep down was bothering you or maybe you just had some other problem he couldn't figure out. You're kind but in a calming way, not overwhelming. What's the word? Tranquil? That's what he thought of you. 

You knew Logan wasn’t human when you first met him. He looked human just like a majority of the rest of the mutants but you had a keen eye for finding them. It was a talent to some people, being able to point out who was ‘real’ and who was not. Logan was no exception, you could practically see that mutant blood underneath his thick skin as if you had x-ray vision. 

A human trying to befriend a mutant, what an odd thing to most of the world. You should be scared of him. People would say, many warning you to beware the mutants, stay away from the entities wearing human skin. He's only going to hurt you, stay away from him. 

Logan wasn’t an entity, he had a human heart just like the rest of them. But to you, he was a little more human than the others. To you, he looked like a winter flower, strong and capable of handling whatever comes its way, but flowers don't bloom in winter. He was too good to be true. 

You don’t really remember the details of how you met Logan (besides making small talk that first time), but what always stays in your head is what happened a few months later upon meeting him. 

There was a little dispute in the parking lot of your job. Being a dancer doesn't mean you do all the hard work at your job, that's up to the servers and bartenders. But of course you were always the one to go clean up after people. Your coworkers assigned you the role after you broke up a bar fight on your first night, so all the dirty work (dealing with rude customers or fights in and out of the bar) was left up to you. 

Kill them with kindness is an extremely real and full proof method, people find your kindness a little off putting (though you are unsure why). You don’t know what the guys were fighting about but it got messy quickly, they both started swinging at each other and when you tried to split it up suddenly you were the problem. 

Pushing you up against the car, threatening you instead of each other. Your coworkers who were once watching from afar were now safely back inside. You braced yourself for some hits, maybe you would get a cool scar out of the situation, a story to tell to your future children (if you even had any). But all that confidence from before was dropped as soon as the guy got on his knees, grabbing your injured face as you leaned lethargically against the car, making you look at him.

Your bare legs hurt on the asphalt, rocks digging into the softness of your skin, leaving marks. He held a knife up to your ribs, pressing and pressing until you felt a sharpness, the tip of the blade digging into your flesh. The other guy had run off, probably took his chance and instead let you take the beatings. 

You remember him getting ready to stand up, his face getting closer to you while he continued to threaten you, that was until he went silent. There was the sound of flesh ripping, or a knife sheathing you weren’t really sure. Blood splatters onto your face, the only thing you could hear was gurgling and a gruesome choking sound from the man. Slowly opening your blurry eyes, the sight in front of you almost made you scream if your throat wasn't so dry. 

The man had been silenced, three blades stuck out the front of his face, the tips of them so close to yours you could feel them poking into your skin. A shaky gasp escapes your lips when you see him move, his body lifting up. Standing behind him, the man's blood spilling onto his knuckles, was Logan (Haemanthus, in that moment). 

The look of fear on your face was clear in the dark, Logan could see it, hell he could probably smell it. You watch him toss the limp body aside and then he crouches down in front of you. Flinching away, you watch those metal claws slide back into his knuckles, the openings they tear closing almost immediately. Then he cups your face with that same, blood soaked hand, trying to wipe the blood that had splattered onto your face (useless, he was only smearing it). 

That was the first time you ever saw Logan use his powers and it was to protect you. What you should’ve done is run, call the cops or something but instead you stayed, you stayed in front of him, letting him pick you up and carry you back into your job. 

Humans are curious creatures, thirsting for an explanation of something they don't understand, even if that explanation could kill them. So, after that, you would stay after hours on your job, as long as he was there. After you got done closing you would ask him to show you, show you his claws so you could feel them, look at them. Maybe even worship them if you were that kind of person. 

“Does it hurt?” You ask, trailing your fingers up the blades. “When they come out?” 

“Every time,” he responds, watching you intently, no one has ever seemed to show this much curiosity over his claws, at least no human has. 

“There’s something sort of humbling about them,” you speak slowly, looking at your reflection on the blades, “the fact that you could so easily kill me, kill anyone, yet you choose not to.” 

Your fingers trail back down the blades until you stop at his wrist, wrapping your hand around it to feel them when they return into his body. You could feel his muscles move every time his bones shift to allow the metal to escape the cavity of his arm. His eyes stay locked on your face, watching every tiny change in expression. 

“Are you scared?” he asks, voice low but there's genuine curiosity in the gentle cadence of his voice. 

Your eyes meet his. “You could never scare me.” 

It was hard to say whether you really liked Logan after what happened, a part of you knows what he did was illegal, but he did it to protect you, maybe you could rule it out as self defense if the cops come searching. You took an interest in him honestly, this was your first time getting to know a mutant, your first time being saved by one too. 

But there was a part of you that wanted to protect him, keep him safe and out of harm from humans and mutants alike. Logan is stubborn but not as stubborn as you. You would do anything to keep him safe, even if it meant risking your own life, although he argues that you shouldn't do anything like that for him. Humans are much more fragile, at least that's what he would say to you. He compared you to a flower, prone to breaking, prone to destruction. He feared that he wouldn't be able to keep you safe. 

It's strange, just a few months into this little friendship and you already feel this instinct to take care of him, to nurture him, treat him like he's the most perfect piece of art in the whole world, and also the most breakable. Like he's the most precious, rarest flower you’ve ever seen. The type that you discovered, not some random traveler. Even a few months in he allows you to meet all the other mutants, the ones he calls his family. You hit it off with Storm pretty quick, she knew how to be your voice of reason, your help when it comes to figuring out your feelings for Logan. 

You also enjoyed staying at the mansion, being able to interact with all the students. This place was wonderful to you, but you didn't like having to stay behind when Logan went on missions. 

Every time you watch him walk out that door you feel like you're left with nothing but desperation, the desire, the need to go with him. All you want to do is help him. But you were also left with fear, strangely enough. No matter how many times he came back, everytime he left it felt like he was never gonna come back. They’re just missions, he’ll be back soon. That's what you always told yourself.

You don't know why you cared so much, you two weren't even dating. But you don't really know what to call the relationship you two had, you were much closer than just regular friends. Yearning was never your thing until you met him. Usually you try to avoid relationships, your fears always making it hard for you to stay with someone. 

I wanna be a part of you. 

You would tell him. Always touching him, that was your thing. He liked that about you, that you felt safe around him, comfortable enough to always be touching him, a hand constantly on his shoulder or fingers wrapped around his wrist. It was something you did every time you were with him, even if you were safe from harm. 

His most favorite thing was that scent of yours, it drove him crazy in all the good ways. He could tell when you had just been in a room and he could follow your scent out of that room if he so pleased. He remembers the first time Charles talked about you after you had left the room just a few minutes before he arrived. 

“She's quite a unique one,” he says, watching Logan adjust to your scent filling the room, “isn't scared of mutants, believes we are all equal. I'm glad you found her, Logan.”

“Yeah well, I knew she’d be good here,” Logan responds, leaning against the wall. Charles is quiet, but there's a growing smirk on his face. “What?” he asks a bit harshly.

“You like her,” Charles says, “I don't have to read your mind to tell.”

“Yeah well a mutant and a human won't really work out, so forget it,” Logan grumbles, pushing through the doors and leaving the room before Charles could protest.

The dynamic was weird (for a pair that wasn't dating), but considerably normal to the other mutants. Many seek him out for protection too, he's just the type of guy you gravitate to, despite that grumpy face and angry attitude. You know that's not who he is on the inside, he's much more gentle than what others seem to think about him (Hibiscus, a delicate beauty, Gypsophilia, pure of heart).

When Logan was out on missions, you would spend your time distracting yourself with flower hunting or spending money on bouquets just to make you happy. You would leave them around the mansion, around your work. 

You love seeing him in the audience when he returns, usually sitting at the bar. He leans against it, facing the stage, eyes only on you (Sweet daffodil, you're my only one. The sun shines when I'm with you). When you were done for the night you would run to him, wrapping your arms around him, finding so much comfort in those large arms. 

You imagine Logan would be a kind lover, gentle and caring. The type to freak out if he accidentally hurt you. The type to sit you on his lap during dinner even if there was a chair for you. You know he would take care of you, he's said it a million times before. 

“I’ll take care of you,” he says softly one night after you get off work. You're standing behind the bar, watching him drink the last of the whiskey. 

“You can't be near me all the time,” you hum, teasingly, unaware of his seriousness. You figured it was just him being a little flirty. 

“I can if I want to,” he responds, his smile often a little rare to see but present in this moment. 

He made it very hard for you to try and hide your flusteredness. Logan can be very flirty, more unintentionally than not. In all honesty, maybe you did want him, wanted to be with him. For once you can see a future with someone, something rare for you (usually trying not to look ahead). You could see the future where you live in a cabin with him, somewhere in the woods, probably in Canada or somewhere cold. He would get a normal job, you would make him breakfast and then kiss him goodbye before heading to your own job. Maybe it was a sad, pathetic thing to think about at night but you couldn't help yourself, it was the life you always wanted and you finally found someone to have that life with. 

The day you really realized it, was when he came back from a longer mission, longer than usual. For once you didn't work that week, taking a break to give the new dancer a chance to earn some money. You spent that week cleaning your place, organizing, doing the things you didn't usually have time for. That's when you received a call from the mansion, Ororo had called you, letting you know Logan was back. 

You’ve never driven so fast in your life, that long trip turns into a few quick minutes. The snow didn't stop you, instead it only made your adrenaline spike, your excitement. You practically slipped when you got out of the car, running to the front door of the mansion. 

When it opened to his handsome face you felt a tingle in your spine, electricity coursing through your veins. He starts to walk forward, snow starting to stick to his dark hair, his arms open waiting to catch you. 

In that moment, when you ran into his arms, feeling them wrap around you again and cover you in that familiar warmth, that familiar scent, you felt something more. More than fasciation, more than adoration, you felt love (A blooming orchid). 

“Miss me?” he asks with a smile when you pull away, your arms still wrapped around his neck. He sets you carefully back down on your feet.

“Always,” you breathe, tears pricking at your eyes. You don't know why you felt like crying, you blamed it on the fact of how much you missed him, or maybe you were just incredibly overwhelmed. 

You knew the problems with wanting to be with Logan. The major one you realized while rewatching Twilight (Ironic given your situation, Edward a vampire, Bella a human. You a human, Logan a mutant). Logan is practically immortal, honestly you don’t even know how old he is now. You’ll grow old, eventually succumb to your age or maybe even a sickness if you're lucky. Logan will still be living, just older, a little more grumpy. 

You’ll wilt, all flowers die. But he’ll bloom again.

But unlike Twilight, you won’t get your happy ending. Logan can’t bite you and turn you into a mutant like Edward does with Bella. His fangs are dulled, they don’t secrete any special type of life changing liquid. 

Unfortunately you’ll be human forever. What a curse it is to be human or to be living at all. 

… 

The first time you and Logan kissed was outside his place, surrounded by nothing but trees, fresh snow falling to the ground and sticking to your hair. You had embarrassingly fallen on your ass walking up to his house, he quickly rushed out to help you up, dusting you off and asking if you were okay. But when he picked you up you never let go, keeping your arms wrapped around his neck while he held you on your own two feet. There was that buzz in the air, the flutter right before a kiss, that tingly feeling in your spine knowing it’s going to happen. 

And when his lips graze over yours you practically shove his head down to kiss him, pressing your lips against his without even considering the situation. To your surprise, he kisses you back, wrapping his arms around you a little tighter and lifting you up so your legs wrap around his waist. 

It was like something out of a movie, just missing a mushy love song. You wished you could hold that kiss forever but your lips would get sore and you would probably get frostbite. 

When you pulled away he stared at you, eyes piercing into yours before he freed one of his hands. His fingers curl around the chain of his dog tags, and then he pulls them up and over his head.

Then he puts them around your neck, the jingle of them coming to rest on your collar bones makes you shudder, but from warmth, excitement. 

You hide them under your shirt most of the time, always toying with them to make sure they are still safely around your neck. It’s like he transported his warmth with them because they were always warm no matter how cold it was outside. 

Sometimes, if you see him before he leaves somewhere, he’d press a hand to where they hang, rough palm warm against your chest. It was like his little special way of saying goodbye, just in case he didn’t return (which you hated to think about). 

Logan eventually gave you the spare key to his place, allowing you to visit whenever you so pleased. And when he was gone sometimes you would curl up in his bed, inhaling his scent and usually getting the best sleep of your life. His scent brought you comfort, you always wanted to be surrounded by it, drowning in it. 

On occasion but rarely, he would come home to you still in his bed, buried under the covers and sleeping soundly. He’d pull the blanket back gently to see your face, sit down on the edge of the bed and stare at you while he waited for you to wake up. 

But usually you would be gone, his bed would be empty but he would always know you were there. Your scent would seep into sheets, the mattress drinking up your smell. He could smell you, like you were still present (Soft jasmine, beautiful wisteria).

Now the first time you two ever slept together was at his place of course, you were slumped from work, muscles aching, head throbbing. You’ve never been this tired before. You push through the door, unlocked as usual when he’s home. He’s already in bed when you're there, awake but he looks just as tired as you. He sits up when he sees you, turning on the lamp so you can see. You don't even say anything, instead you just drop your things by the doorway, tugging your shirt off over your head letting it pool on the ground. 

He doesn’t seem to care, instead he just watches you as you curl into bed next to him. “Rough day?” He asks a few moments later, turning the lamp off. 

“Don’t even get me started,” you mumble back, voice muffled by his pillow. You can already feel yourself relaxing, his scent like a calming drug (the smell of peaceful lavender).

He doesn’t hesitate, he turns to his side, wrapping his arms around you and pulling you into his chest. You let out a sigh, melting into his warmth. It started out as a normal night, sleep coming to you quickly. But it wasn’t until you felt Logan stirr, moving a little in his sleep. He lets out a quiet grumble, and then a louder one. 

Then you feel a sharp pain, agonizing, stinging, right in the back of your shoulder. You let out a yelp, jolting up, your movements pulling whatever it was out of your flesh. You look back, reaching a shaking hand back to feel the wounds. “Damn,” you groan when you see blood on your hand, Logan’s claws unsheathed, the tips covered in your blood. You can feel the warmth travel down your back, the sight of the blood trickling down your back and staining the sheets makes you feel dizzy.

Logan stirrs again, sniffing the air, eyes fluttering open at the scent of your blood. He acts as soon as his eyes land on your back, fear and worry clouding his head. “Fuck,” he curses, “fuck, fuck.” 

“I’m okay, I’m fine.” You breathe through clenched teeth, getting up to go to the bathroom. He quickly picks you up, carrying you to the bathroom. He sets you on the bathroom sink, maneuvering around you so he could clean your wounds. You open your eyes, staring at his face. He’s focused, brows furrowed, lips slightly parted as he continues to wipe the blood from your open wounds before finally getting them to stop bleeding. You watch as he slowly starts to wrap you up with the gauze and bandages. 

You reach up, softly cupping his face with your free hand, making him halt his actions. His eyes meet yours, your reflection so visible in his pupils. Unsure of how long you stared into his eyes, he had somehow finished wrapping you up without taking his eyes off you. You could feel yourself inching closer, getting closer and closer to his face until you can feel his breath. His lips graze over yours and you flinch back, as if you haven’t kissed him before. It’s been a few months come to think of it, but still you shouldn’t be nervous. 

Logan just has that effect on you. It only takes a few seconds until your lips meet, kissing him gently, your fingers finding their way to the nape of his neck. Fingertips brush the shore of his hair, almost like an invitation. 

And he takes it, kissing you with a little more vigor. His bloodied hand comes up to your face, smearing a little bit of your blood on your cheek. He’s careful with his movements, gripping your waist with his other hand to keep you up on the sink, to steady you. His kisses are starting to get more aggressive, pressing you a bit further back onto the sink.To make sure you don’t slip in, he reaches underneath you, his large hand coming to rest on your ass as he holds you still. 

You can feel that familiar heat start to pool between your thighs, and he can feel it too, or in other words smell it. Your legs clench around him, squeezing as if you're trying to pull him into you. He frees his hand from underneath you, feeling up the bare skin of your waist, his rough fingers leaving goosebumps in their wake. He pulls away, resting his forehead against yours while he stares down at your semi-bare body, debating on unclipping your bra to feel you more. His breathing is rushed but even, mouth open. 

“Logan,” you breathe, coming out more as a desperate plea. He hums, pressing your lips together again, open mouth kisses, tilting his head for better movement and access. There’s a thin string of saliva that keeps your mouths connected when he pulls away. 

He can see it in your eyes, the desperation, not only that but he could smell it too. Your scent was strong, if he got closer to your core it would be overwhelming, and he's not sure he’d be able to stop what he's started.. “You’re hurt,” he says quietly, “I don’t wanna hurt you anymore than you already are,.” 

“You won’t,” you respond, a smile on your kiss bitten lips, “Logan, please.” He kisses you again, slower and softer this time. “I can't,” he whispers against your lips, keeping them close even after pulling away again. 

“Why not?” you speak softly, scratching his scalp with your nails. He hesitates, his thumb rubbing your cheek. “You know why.” He smiles, gentle and small before licking his thumb and wiping the small amount of blood off your face. “C’mon,” he mutters, lifting you off the sink. 

… 

Logan gave you all kinds of nicknames but your most favorite came from you showing up to his place with flowers. You loved orchids, always have so you bought a small bouquet of them to put on his coffee table. He accepted gracefully, and then from then on he started calling you by that name. A simple nickname but it was lovely.

 Orchid, my little orchid. A nickname uniquely your own (Orchids, love, beauty).

It wasn’t long before you two had officially agreed to being in a relationship, having a label. And not long after that you decided to move in with him, a bold move but you spend more time at his place than yours anyways. At night the moon will shine through the windows, lighting up the room with its cool toned glow. You’ll lay your head on Logan’s shoulder, your hand resting on his chest. You’ll both lie awake in silence while you draw circles on his chest with your finger. 

Some nights you’ll sit on his lap while his back rests against the headboard, your hands cupping his face. On occasion, you’ll run your thumb over his bottom lip until he parts them for you, then you’ll feel his abnormally sharp canines, his fangs. You test them, pressing the pad of your thumb into the sharp point to see if it’ll make you bleed but he always stops you before you ever do. When you're asleep he’ll stare at your face till morning, gently rubbing his thumb over your cheek. He stares at his dog tags around your neck, always warm from your body heat and always safe. 

He admires your beauty, especially when the sunlight hits you just right. When you're hiking in that tank top and whatever pants you decided to wear that day, he stares at your backside, your silhouetted figure. And when you bend over to tie your shoe, looking back at him with a smile, his eyes not only fixate on your face, but your scars. The scars he left engraved on your skin. 

The scars you admired, the scars that comfort you, a reminder of him always. 

It’s past 11 pm, you’ve been in the bath for almost an hour now, the water starting to get cold. The room is dark, only lightened by the light seeping through the open bathroom door. You lean back, head resting on the edge of the tub, fingers toying with Logan’s dog tags.

The familiar sound of the front door opening echoes through the silent bathroom, Logan's heavy footsteps can be heard walking around, like he's looking for you. You slide down further into the bath, trying to hide yourself playfully, peaking over the edge while you wait for him. That's when he peeks into the bathroom, a smile creeps over his face when he sees you.

“Hi, gorgeous.” he says in that comforting gruff voice. He crouches down by the side of the tub, dipping his hand into the warm water. “Hi.” You smile, sitting up and resting your head on your hands, holding onto the edge of the tub. He brings a hand up to caress your face, gently rubbing the warm skin of your cheek. 

“What did you do today?” you ask, watching him reach for the loofa and dip it in the water. He grabs your arm gently, rubbing your skin softly with the item. “The usual,” he responds, staring at the suds on your skin while they wash away. You hum, sitting back in the tub again, making him let go of you and get further. “C’mere,” you beckon, tapping the edge of the bathtub. He complies, getting up and sitting down on the edge. He leans down so he could be close to your face. 

“I was thinking about you today,” he says softly, cupping your face, “I always am.” Smiling a little wider, you reach up with both hands, grabbing his face and pulling him down to kiss him. He kisses you back, much to your pleasure. You're quick to part your lips, giving him access to use his tongue. 

It's an aggressive kiss, open mouthed and borderline messy. He pulls away to say something but you block it out, too focused on the feeling of his lips to even notice. You try to pull him back down and you successfully do, he doesn't put up a fight or anything. The kiss becomes more vigorous, more violent but so passionate.

He slips, falling into the tub fully clothed, making the water rise and spill out over the sides. You laugh softly in which he responds with a small laugh too. He’s laying on your side, face inches away from you and just a little lower as he allows himself to slip into the bath more comfortably. Your lips graze over his again, his smile fades as he kisses you and then pulls away. 

You adjust your trapped arm behind his head, scratching his scalp as he gets closer and closer. Then he kisses you again, leaning his whole body forward and cupping your face with a wet hand once again. You close your eyes, but he opens his just slightly while his lips slowly slot against yours. Open mouth on open mouth, his lips never leaving yours. The only noise that fills the space is the quiet sound of water sloshing, soft breaths from the both of you while you kiss until practically sucking the oxygen from each other. 

Pressing his lips against yours a little rougher now, he eases on top of you. Your hands travel up and down his flanks and back, feeling him through his soaked clothes tight against his skin until you tug and pull at the bottom of his shirt. He sits back, breaking the kiss for once and taking his shirt off, immediately returning to your lips. A gasp escapes your mouth when you feel him press his hips against yours, his cock clearly wanting to be freed from the prison of his jeans. He can smell your arousal, your need for him. His lips move down your jaw and to your neck, kissing at the supple area while he struggles to grind against you. His fangs graze over your skin, making your body shudder at the feeling. 

Water spills out the tub with every erratic movement, but you can feel the warmth returning. He uses his other hand to hold the dip in your spine, making your back arch by habit, by command almost. Your eyes go all hazy and the more he presses his bare skin into yours you swear you feel like you're melting into his body. 

“I love you,” he whispers, into your neck. 

…

You loved flowers, always have. You loved what they represent depending on what type they were, you loved how colorful they usually work, how unique they are. You loved how they bloom again even after death, even after they've wilted and lost all their color. The petals turned into something wrinkled and rough, unlike their usual clear, softness. 

Even after they die, they still bloom again in springtime. Daisy, lavender, day lily, aster, they all bloom again. Flowers don’t mourn the dead, they respect it, embrace it. They become one with the dead, seeping into the ground and back into the earth in which a person is buried. 

To him, you were a flower. Delicate and soft, something he wanted to protect, to see everyday. Your color, he couldn't quite describe it but it was uniquely your own. Over 10 million colors and somehow when he sees you  and it's something separate from the million to choose from. When he thinks of you, that's the color he sees. When he thinks of you, he sees an orchid. 

But is a flower still a flower after all its petals have been ripped off, gored and left to rot and wilt on the ground. Is a flower still a flower after it's been torn out of the ground, roots ripped, its purpose gone?

You think of all the times you’ve woken up beside him, smiling when he opens his eyes, murmuring a soft “good morning” as he reaches up to touch your face. You remember the times where he would soothe you on your tough days, running a bath for you and gently rubbing the loofa on your skin. So many good moments, very few bad ones. 

Words of affirmation weren't your love language, at least not usually. But Logan had another super power, and it was exactly that. He knew what to say and how to say it at all the right moments. He was a generous lover, attentive, caring, when you were with him you felt like yourself. 

“Winter came early this year,” you hum, clutching the white orchids in your gloved hands, “my first one without you.” 

“I keep buying orchids for you, whenever I have the time. But even when I don’t you're always on my mind.”

You go silent, tears starting to bubble up in your eyes. “I just- I-” you stutter, voice breaking as you grip the flowers a little tighter. You fall to your knees, snow wetting your pants while your tears run down your face. Your sobs slowly pick up in volume every time you try to speak, only to get choked up and give up. “I just wanna see you,” you sob, pressing your face into the snow below, “I just want to see you.” 

You drag yourself further up the ground until you're met with the headstone, Logan’s name engraved on it, freezing to the touch. You press the flowers into the snow, laying down on top of them while your hands move to clutch his dog tags tightly around your neck. The snow and soil drink up your tears, and you can only hope they reach him.

 He was a flower, a dangerous one on the outside but oh so beautiful on the inside. But you seemed to forget one thing. 

Flowers don't bloom in winter.

𖤣.𖥧.𖡼.⚘𖤣.𖥧.𖡼.⚘𖤣.𖥧.𖡼.⚘𖤣.𖥧.𖡼.⚘𖤣.𖥧.𖡼.⚘𖤣.𖥧.𖡼.⚘𖤣.𖥧.𖡼.⚘𖤣.𖥧.𖡼.⚘𖤣.𖥧.𖡼.⚘𖤣.𖥧.𖡼.⚘

I don't know flowers that well so forgive me flower fans ahaha