#“you hold a knife like this cuts through an onion. hold a knife like this-” “eliot! she's eleven!” “and? she needs to know these things!”

[ghostlyarchaeologist]

Breanna, your Eliot is showing.

Leverage Redemption S01E06 The Card Game Job.

[eddies-ashtray]

white hot forever

Pairing: Logan “Wolverine” Howlett x Fem!Reader

Synopsis: Most days exhaustion plagues him. But tonight, with his last dregs of energy, Logan cooks for you. Though he’s hungry for something far more enticing.

WC: 5.6k

Category: Smut (18+ ONLY, minors dni)

Content: Implied (non-specified) age gap, kissing, Logan throws reader over his shoulder/carries her, cunnilingus, unprotected pnv, reverse cowgirl, dirty talk, petnames (baby, old man, etc), beard burn, 1 single spank, some light nipple play, spitting, kinda dom logan/sub reader, light teasing/mocking, a dash of humiliation kink, lots of manhandling, an inordinate amount of animal metaphor/simile, mentions of logan’s exhaustion/aging due to the adamantium poisoning.

His biceps strain against the thin cotton of his white button-down–the sleeves rolled up–as he finely chops a red pepper. His heavy hand lends to the particularly booming sound of the knife landing on the wood cutting board. But you don’t mind, content to observe from your ideal spot on the countertop of the island. 

A half empty wine glass sits in your palm as your gaze lingers on the smattering of dark hair beneath the low-cut tank he wears under the button-down. 

The kitchen smells of the sweetness of the cooking oil he used and the warmth of nostalgia. Faint memories from childhood of your mother bustling around the kitchen as she prepared dinner linger at the edges of your mind, brought on by familiar scents. When you breathe it in, you also catch lingering traces of Logan’s shampoo and, faintly, sweat. 

“You ever…Ya know,” you pause, swirling the white liquid around. “Use the claws to chop an onion or something?”

Doing your best to suppress a smirk when Logan looks up at you from beneath his brows and pins you with a stern gaze, you hold his eyes. 

You quirk a brow, waiting for his response as a snort threatens to bubble up. 

A smirk cracks through his intense facade, crows feet deepening slightly. With an endearing shake of his head, he huffs a laugh through his nose. Logan’s a bit of a grump—even more so now that his hair has greyed and he’s let his beard grow somewhat unruly—but he’s not without a sense of humour. 

“No,” his voice, though signed with a note of playfulness, is as gruff as always when he rests the knife on the cutting board. “But as you know, they’ve been useful for…other things.” 

The word ��other’ is loaded with intensity as the hand that previously gripped the knife handle lands deceptively gently on your right knee. It skates roughly up your thigh to thumb at the edge of your skirt. 

You only hum in response. Despite the warmth of the kitchen, a chill runs up your spine and you shiver involuntarily. You’re not sure how he does that. Dial things up to 100 before you can even blink. It keeps you on your toes, even a few years in.  

Now it’s his turn to quirk a brow–ever expressive–when his heavy gaze finally lifts from your legs.

Warmth begins to seep into your chest and stoke a small fire in your belly.

But the growing tension vanishes the moment a timer dings, shrill and intrusive. 

Pulling himself away from your skin to tend to the sound, Logan bends at the knees to pull a steaming dish from the oven. 

The crack of his joints is a quiet popping sound compared to the low grunt he releases when he stands back up to his full height to place the dish on the stovetop. 

He tosses a worn out dish towel over his shoulder–the same one he’d used to pull the food from the oven. 

Watching him carefully as he spins around in search of his whiskey glass, you remark, “You look handsome like this.” 

You pass him the liquor, his large hand wrapping around the glass. 

“Handsome like what?” he asks, a hint of a chuckle in his voice. 

It’s not often Logan has the energy for this. Long days drain him now. Like sweet syrup from a tapped tree, a slow drip that takes and takes.

“Just–in the kitchen with me. Cooking…Taking care of me,” you say. 

Another soft smile graces his lips and he presses a tender kiss to your cheek, a hand at your hip, and your face warms. 

Gulping down a healthy sip of his drink, his throat bobs as he swallows the auburn liquid. When the glass clinks against the marble as he puts it down, you notice droplets linger in his beard. Once you’ve placed your own glass down you reach to thumb away the beaded liquid.

“Hm?” he hums, though it’s more of a growl when he does it, the sound rumbling up from deep in his broad chest. 

“Just got some…” you trail off, expecting him to come to the natural conclusion himself when you lean in and cup his jaw. Feel the roughness of his beard against your palm as you swipe away the small droplet. “There.” 

Logan leans briefly into your touch to kiss the soft skin of your palm in thanks. The gesture makes your heart ache. 

You’re about to pull away, but Logan grasps your wrist in one strong hand, savouring your touch. He’s looking at you with an unexpected hunger behind his eyes as he feels the skin of your wrist beneath his rough palm. You can’t deny the way it revives the searing heat in the pit of your stomach. 

“What?” The word comes out more breathy than you’d intended. 

“Nothin’.” Logan shakes his head, holding your gaze. He releases your hand gently. 

The word lingers in the air between you. 

The way he says it–like it’s not really nothing–wires you right up again. You know he knows it too–his overly keen senses able to pick up the rhythm of your heart hammering against your ribcage. 

You need to expel the energy or let the tension snap but can only think of the intoxicating scent of whiskey on his breath. “You know, I’ve never tried whiskey.”

He’s quick to respond. “No? You want to?” 

“Okay.” It comes out in a whisper. The atmosphere feels too fragile for any other tone.

Logan grabs the crystal glass, just another sip or two remaining. He steals another as he steps in front of you, his left palm falling to your knee to push your legs apart so he has room to stand between them. 

He lingers above you and you lick your lips in anticipation, catching the way hazel eyes darken beneath furrowed brows. 

Then, Logan looks away and you watch as he places the glass down on the counter and his palms flat beside your thighs, effectively caging you in so you’re trapped in his space. Logan is all you can breathe, all you can see, all you can smell as your chest rises and falls with shallow breaths. 

Eyes finally returning to yours, his head tilts to the side–cocky, challenging. “Then give your old man a kiss.” 

A whimper nearly escapes you before you’re wrapping your arms around his neck and hungrily pressing your lips to his like it’s an order. It may as well have been, gruff as he is. 

Logan grunts in response to your quick action, pulling your leg around his waist so your heel digs into the small of his back. 

The roughness of his beard rubs your chin and cheeks, a pleasant sting against sensitive skin. Though you’re soon distracted when his hand leaves your calf in favour of greedily running up your thigh. They leave heat and tingling skin in their wake, and you gasp into the kiss when he gives the meat of your thigh a generous squeeze. 

His desperation for you is matched only by yours for him as you wind your other leg around his hips to tug him closer. Grunting at your forcefulness, Logan finally slips his tongue into your warm mouth.  

The whiskey on his tongue is overpowering as he kisses you like he’s starving for it–the meal he was making long forgotten. Warm hands brush up the length of your spine, eliciting a subtle shiver, before one of his large palms cradles your skull like you’ll shatter without the support. 

His nose bumps yours as he deepens the kiss, licking into your mouth with fervour now. When his spare hand coasts over your chest to grab at your tits over your top, you arch into his touch with a moan like he demands it. 

When you bite his bottom lip he growls, long and deep. A renewed sense of desperation claws at your skin as your kisses become increasingly wanton and sloppy. Tangling tongues generate sounds bordering on obscenity. 

His claws may as well be dragging down your body, leaving bloody marks in their wake with the way his touch makes your skin sing. You hope he leaves bruises when he grasps at the flesh of your hips, pulling your lower-half flush against his pelvis. 

You can feel him, hard and straining against his black slacks. It’s impossible not to moan, lips leaving his as your mouth falls open to release the breathy sound. 

For a moment, you grind against his cock with your forehead pressed to his, using your hands wrapped around his neck as leverage. Feeling back muscles flex under your warm palms. The delicious slide of your soaked panties against his hardness is enough to drive you wild. 

A gasp is pulled out of you when your clit catches briefly on his tip beneath clean slacks. Logan growls through clenched teeth, pressing you into him harder, fervently rolling his hips. The sound makes your pussy clench around nothing. 

“Logan,” you whimper, aching for him as you pant into each other’s mouths. “Please.” 

“Fuck,” he rasps before he’s scooping you up off the counter, hoisting you up over his shoulder. Squealing at the surprise demonstration of his great strength, Logan strides through the kitchen and towards the living room. 

Desire burns deep in your belly as he carries you across the house like it’s nothing. He’s all broad chest, bulging biceps, and thick thighs. It makes you dizzy. You can’t help but reach out and pinch the meat of his thigh. 

“Hey!” He barks. 

Unsurprisingly quickly, Logan delivers a sharp smack to your ass and you yelp in shock, jolting against him. “So fuckin’ naughty.” 

The lingering sting coupled with his gruff tone has you squirming in his hold, whining low in your throat. 

In a single sudden motion, Logan manoeuvers you off his shoulder, dropping you onto the couch. And suddenly you feel deliciously small pinned beneath his hooded gaze. He towers over you. His staggering height emphasized from your perspective where you lay against the cushions. 

He’s assumed that authoritative stance that has every atom in your body buzzing–his arms crossed over his chest. This paired with his hard gaze is a lethal combination. He’s got that look in his eyes, like what am I gonna do with you? 

“Sorry.” Insincerity bleeds through your tone. You like to get him like this. To rile him up until he is more animal than man. 

Hazel eyes narrow as he grunts, disbelieving your weak apology. 

“You wanna be sorry?” He asks with a quick flick of his chin in your direction.

Biting the inside of your cheek, you nod. His chest rumbles with a deep sigh.

Unable to avert your gaze from his face, you bear witness to the glorious sight of Logan shedding his button-down. Your hips wiggle subtly in anticipation–though Logan would call it impatience. The cotton article is tossed carelessly over the chair by the couch.

He crouches down with a soft grunt, nods. “Okay.” 

Swiftly, you are tugged to the edge of the couch by Logan’s hands on your hips. Your skirt gets rucked up your waist, exposing you to the warm air of the house. Though it feels far more jarringly cool between your legs where you’re hot and wanting, pussy weeping for the older man before you.

“So fuckin’ soaked already,” He mutters, more to himself than to you. The comment has pleasure boiling low in your belly. 

“Logan.” He glances up at you briefly then returns his eyes to your cunt.  

You watch with rapture as his nostrils flare, no doubt overwhelmed by your scent this close to your centre. A predator ready to devour its prey. 

For the briefest of moments, Logan admires the wetness seeping through your panties, presses his thumb against the clothed, leaking well just to see your hips jump. Biting back a pathetic whine is far more difficult when his lips twitch into a faint smirk. 

There’s a change in his eyes in a split second where brows lower and pupils dilate. It’s then that he rips your panties down your legs and you swear you hear the distinct sound of fabric tearing. Gasping, you toss your head back between your shoulders, panting and warm all over. 

His chest rumbles with a guttural sound, savouring the sight of you spread open wide and dripping for him. 

Logan’s rough hands rub up and down your thighs, hungry. When they pause you swear you can feel his gaze burning a hole into the column of your throat. 

“Eyes,” He demands.

You obey, catching a glimpse of him stuffing your panties into his back pocket from where he kneels on the floor between your legs. 

The anticipation eats you alive, hips flexing, unable to remain still. Logan pins them down in an instant. 

Everything quiets. Tunnel vision casts out any and all sound or sight besides him. 

“Don’t move,” Is all he says before he’s diving in and devouring you, tongue hot on your sensitive skin. 

“Fuck!” you cry, hands plunging into his hair. 

He’s groaning the second his tongue licks up your cunt, dining on your taste. He gorges on you like he’s been deprived of your taste for far too long and he’s hollow without it. 

You’re drunk and dizzy on the way his beard scratches against your skin. The way the thick hair rubs against your cunt and sensitive inner thighs. A carnal craving satisfied. He’ll pull away after and be covered in you, unable to kiss you without smearing your desire across your own chin. 

The rough tug you give his hair causes him to grunt into you. He eats you out with zeal, an energy that so often eludes him these days. 

“Feels so good…Shit…So-” you babble on, only half aware of the praise spilling from your mouth.

For now, you are not sorry about his overzealous approach. But you will be. After, when the burn becomes a sting. When you are unable to walk for a week straight without feeling the roughness of his beard between your thighs. When he’ll reach over while he’s driving and squeeze your thigh meanly as a reminder. 

For now, you moan unabashedly as he nips at your clit harshly. Free roaming hands find warm skin, grabbing fistfulls of you. Rubbing your thighs, grabbing at your hips, spreading possessively over your stomach. Soon, his hand snakes under your top to squeeze at your tits, and you gasp sharply when he pinches your nipple between thumb and forefinger. 

The fire in your belly rages on, burning bright, spitting ash. 

“Logan,” You whine, long and drawn out, when he shakes his head back and forth animalistically, coating more of his beard in your wetness, your scent. He grunts against your pussy at the sound of his name hot on your tongue, the vibrations it causes driving you mad. 

His roughness makes your cunt throb. You derive as much pleasure from the sensation of his tongue licking up your slit and circling your clit as you do from simply watching him like this. His eyes shut in concentration, locked in as he laps up your juices like it sustains him. Like he is taking his fill of you before he hibernates for the winter. 

Just the obscene sounds of his hunger, the slurping and the groans emanating from deep within his chest are enough to prompt your hips to grind up into the pleasure his mouth provides. And he accepts all of it enthusiastically. 

You get lost in it, his wet muscle prodding at your entrance, licking up your slit to spread the wetness he’d collected over your clit. He sucks it between his lips, causing you to groan. 

Briefly, Logan pulls away, and you whine in protest. But his pause allows you to glimpse the parts of his beard that are now matted down with wetness. The sight causes warmth to spread across your chest, equal parts humiliation and pleasure. 

“Taste so fuckin’ good, baby,” he pants against your thigh, warm breath fanning over your puffy cunt. “Look at you,” he slurs, thumb rubbing over your pussy, spreading the wetness all over. 

Your hips jump and you whine again. Logan growls a quiet, desperate sound before diving back in, practically making out with your pussy and inserting two of his thick fingers into your heat. 

“Shit! Lo-” his name gets cut off with a girlish moan, a high sound only he could pull out of you, body completely overwhelmed by the excess of pleasure. 

“There she is,” he drawls, voice muffled and thick with lust before enveloping your clit in the warmth of his mouth and sucking. Your grip in his hair tightens as your hips grind into his mouth and down onto his fingers. Fingers which curl up into the gummy walls of your cunt, languidly brushing that sensitive spot inside over and over. 

Soon, slow movements evolve into quicker, but still consistent and deliberate, pumps into your weeping hole. It is precisely then that the ever-growing fire in your belly begins to consume you entirely. The moment Logan’s jaw goes slack and he begins to desperately lap at your cunt with a near entire loss of coordination, your vision goes white. 

Your orgasm crashes over you, an all-consuming force as Logan continues to fuck you with his fingers. It’s like you are bursting at the seams, coming apart in his hands. Every cell in your body catches fire as you roll your hips into his hand, riding out the waves of your climax. 

You’re panting as you come down, hips slowing to a stop as your body becomes over-sensitive to his touch. You twitch as Logan slowly pulls his fingers from you, his head falling to rest on your trembling thigh. 

“You know…For an old man, that was-” 

You suck in a sharp breath, hips jumping at the harsh sensation of Logan intentionally rubbing his beard over your already burning inner thighs. He chuckles lowly at your reaction, but is quick to soothe you, laying tender kisses across heated skin. 

Your hands trail down from his hair, and stroke a thumb softly over his cheek. He allows the sweet touches to continue for several moments before he pushes off his knees with a grunt. Logan falls onto the couch next to you, legs spread wide. Eyeing him in your periphery, you can tell he’s just as exhausted as you; his chest rising and falling with shallow breaths.  

You’re still panting softly as you watch him, your limbs like Jell-O, skirt hastily pushed up past your waist, and top askew. The sight of him licking his fingers clean of you makes your clit twitch despite its sensitivity. 

Finally, he finds your eyes. 

“C’mere,” Logan rasps, patting his thigh. 

It takes great effort for you to crawl into his lap, and you don’t do it without some assistance. Logan’s hands grip your waist, pull you so you’re seated sideways over his thighs so as not to further irritate the burn. 

You wind an arm around his neck, tenderly stroking the hair at his nape. 

Logan rubs over the dough of your thighs, thumbs caressing between the split of them. Later, he’ll help you gently rub soothing lotion into them, but for now he’s all desire as he gazes down at where his hands press lightly into your legs. 

“How’s that feel?” he asks quietly. 

You can’t help but squirm in his lap a little, feeling him hot and hard beneath your thighs.

“Mmh,” you muse, staring down at his hands on you, legs raw and tingling. “Good.” 

You can feel his eyes on the side of your face, the warmth of his body beneath yours. “Yeah?”

You nod, meeting his eyes before cupping his jaw and scratching softly at his beard, feeling the lingering wetness there. Briefly, his eyes drift shut and he groans quietly. 

“How’s that feel?” you repeat his question back at him, teasing. 

Logan growls, grabs the back of your head, and desperately presses his lips to yours in answer. 

You moan softly into the kiss, holding his face in your hands as you lick into his mouth, tasting yourself on his tongue more than the whiskey now. 

Then you’re trailing your hands down his chest and pulling away only briefly to tug his white tank off before your fingers deftly begin to undo his belt. The metallic clink it makes, the sound of leather sliding against cotton as it comes off, only makes your pussy clench around nothing as you whine into his mouth. 

Your ardour makes Logan chuckle, breaking away from your lips in favour of kissing roughly down your neck. His hands now cup your jaw, allowing him to tilt your head back as his lips leave a trail of wet kisses across heated skin. You sigh as his beard tickles your neck. 

“So needy,” he mumbles into your skin. 

You groan and feel his smirk against the skin of your chest before he’s pulling your skirt and top off over your head and tossing them aside. 

Wanting hands find their way into his hair again when he pulls away from your skin momentarily. He enjoys having you completely naked in his lap while he’s still mostly clothed. You can tell from the way his nostrils flare when he drags in a deep breath, the way his tongue wets his mouth before he pulls you close and latches onto your nipple. 

He greedily licks and sucks and bites at one while palming the other in one large hand. 

“Logan,” you breathe his name like a prayer, pulling him closer with hands locked in his hair. 

His teeth graze your nipple, tugging it gently. Gasping in shock, your face twists up at the intense mix of pleasure-pain that swirls around in your gut. He releases your breast, breathing harshly over your now damp skin. 

Impatient and needy, you can’t help but squirm in his lap, rubbing yourself over his hardness. Surely, you’ll leave a damp patch on his clean slacks. The thought only spurs you on, movements becoming desperate. 

His cock twitches beneath you, tip probably an angry red and leaking sticky precum you selfishly wish to lick up. “Fuck, need to feel you, sweetheart.” 

The whine his proclamation elicits borders on pathetic, and in a rush you’re helping him tug his slacks down just enough that his cock can spring free. 

“So pretty,” you whisper, dragging your middle finger across prominent veins that run down his length, prompting him to twitch and hiss through his teeth.

Saliva begins to pool in your mouth, but you’re tugged back to Earth when Logan grabs your waist, ordering you to ‘turn around’. 

Body buzzing in anticipation, you allow him to manhandle you into the right position, savouring the feel of his hands manipulating your movements. 

“There ya go,” He praises, pulling your back flush against his chest. His hand sneaks up your chest. When it reaches your neck, he presses gently so your head falls against his shoulder. 

Your eyes meet as your chest heaves. 

“Open.” 

Eyes remaining on his, you part your lips. 

“Don’t swallow,” Logan instructs gruffly, brow quirked. He may as well have pointed a finger in your face, stern as he is. 

You nod quickly, and he leans forward slightly to spit thickly onto your tongue. It’s so obscene a tremor wracks through your body as heat spills into your gut. 

Hand below your chin, Logan closes your jaw for you, allowing his saliva to mix with your own before putting his hand in front of you, saying, “Spit.” 

You obey a little messily, some ending up dribbling down your chin. 

“Good fuckin’ girl,” he says, smearing the sticky mess over your already messy cunt. You whine, all high and breathy. Still slightly sensitive. 

Finally, he adjusts you, shoving you forward in his lap so he’s at the right angle to thrust into your wet heat. 

Tandem groans are released into the air the moment he fills you. A millisecond to adjust. To savour how deeply he fills you before his hands are at your waist to help guide your movements.

Using your own hands on his legs as leverage allows for slow, deep thrusts that make your body quake. Those first sweet drags of his cock against your slick walls are enough to make you shudder. 

Reaching a steady rhythm, you begin to pant, the exertion it takes to ride him like this tiring you out quickly. Though Logan is quick to help, supporting you with strong hands as he guides you up and down. Still, you’ve yet to lose your vigour. Entranced by the slow roll of your hips, the way his cock reaches the deepest parts of you in this position. His strong thighs bracketing your body. 

“That’s it…That’s it.” Logan grunts lowly, nearly delirious and wholly mesmerized by how your body takes all of him. How you stretch around him to accommodate his size. Hypnotized briefly as he hungrily watches the place where you connect. 

A gasp evolves into a moan as one of his hands leaves your waist in favour of seeking out the sensitive button at the top of your cunt. Clumsy fingers toy with your clit, slipping around messily. Flames lick at your nerve endings. On occasion he loses his place, unable to maintain a perfect rhythm from behind you, but just as quickly returns to circle the bud.  

Another hand moves to your belly, pulling your body backwards, his sweat-slick chest now pressed up against your back. You wish you could drag your nails down his broad chest, watch as he loses himself in the feeling. But the closeness this position allows is worth the sacrifice. 

Being nearly immobilized pressed up against him like this, giving him full control of your body, it feeds some deep desire. It’s the reason your head has gone a little fuzzy. He knows it too. He knows it when you let a whine slip past your lips. When you begin to grind back against him needily. 

“Feel good, baby?” he rasps. At the same time, he rubs his middle finger over your clit in time with a deliciously deep thrust. All you can do is throw your head back against his shoulder, another wanton moan clawing its way up your throat, directly into his ear. That’s all the answer he needs. 

Logan grunts in response. Pistoning hips setting a rhythm that is both intimate and punishing, making you dizzy. His closeness makes you dizzy. Those low grunts in your ear are enough to drop pearls of pleasure into the pit of your stomach. All of it contributing to the growing fog in your mind. 

You writhe against him, an arm wrapping around the back of his head, keeping him close with a hand buried in his hair. Your other hand remains locked onto his forearm as it flexes with each rub of your sensitive clit. 

Logan begins to grunt animalistically into your ear, unabashed about his desire for you. You feel it in the way his strong arms grip your body, ensuring your security. In the way he lets moans and grunts and groans rumble up from his chest, unafraid to let you hear what you do to him. 

His hands all over your body, the deep strokes of his cock that reach the deepest parts of you, his soft grunts in your ear–it all feeds the flames in your belly. 

“Fuck. S-so full,” you mewl, overwhelmed tears springing to your eyes. 

“I know, baby. I know,” he placates, tone edging on mockery. His voice sends shockwaves through your body. The sweet humiliation it brings presses into your skin like a brand, leaving it white-hot. 

More. You need more of him. 

Desperately, clumsily, you grind back into him enthusiastically, writhing in his grasp. The rhythm turns staccato and messy as a result. But it doesn’t matter. You just need more.

You whine, turning your head towards him and he gets the hint, meets you halfway and licks hotly into your mouth the moment your lips meet. Your hands twist in his hair. 

It’s messy and uncoordinated and your neck hurts twisted to kiss him like this. But then there’s the fiery taste of whiskey. And you. And him, his cigars. And the pain–it’s worth it. It’s necessary. 

When you break away, only a thin line of saliva connecting your mouths now, it’s to gasp. Your brows furrow, pleasure twisting your insides. 

You go cross-eyed trying to hold his gaze, and he grins. It’s a wolfish thing. A flash of his teeth, lips kissed red and puffy. The sight makes your pussy clench around him. 

A smile tugs at your own mouth, probably fucked out and hazy with pupils blown wide. It only grows when the hand gripping your waist skims over your hot skin. On its journey, he grabs at your tits, pinches your nipple. Every sensation now blends together, overwhelming you with pleasure.

His hand pauses at the base of your neck where it grazes over the stretched expanse of skin. 

A teasing squeeze. Once. Your brows knitting together. Twice. Your mouth dropping open. His grip not quite tight enough to cut off airflow and elicit that floaty feeling. But enough to make you whine low in your throat. You are at his mercy.

Eyes drifting shut, you cry out, feeling your climax building at the pit of your stomach. Breathy moans escape you with each rub of his finger over your sensitive bundle of nerves, edging on overstimulating. Each sharp thrust drives you closer to that edge, setting your body alight. 

“Y’gonna come, honey?” Logan pants, voice hoarse. 

These escapades exhaust him now. You’ve witnessed the way it sinks into his bones after. But there’s also the hint of a grin in his voice. Along with desperation. Desperation to feel you fall apart. An indication that the pleasure he provides, the pleasure he receives, is worth the exhaustion. It’s rewarding for him. 

Your answer is the most pathetic whine, high and wanton as overwhelmed tears blur your vision, threatening to spill over. “Uhuh.”

“Oh, yeah?” he asks, and you swear his fingers were made to make you come apart at the seams when he rubs over your clit like that. Like it gives him pleasure too.

“Yeah,” you say, breathless, barely moving over his cock as he pounds into you from below, his strong legs beginning to tremble. 

“Yeah,” Logan repeats. Mockery is thick on his tongue, a faux pout playing at his mouth. You lose it. 

Everything else falls away. Tingling heat spreads beneath your skin as you finally let go. Your body thrums with your release, the feel of his damp skin at your back, his hands on your body, how full of him you are. 

 Logan has little room to be cocky. Because the moment you begin to clench around him–cunt pulsing with each wave of your orgasm washing over you–he’s grunting curses into your shoulder, leaving bite marks on the tender flesh as his warm seed spurts into you. 

He shudders with his release. 

“Fuck,” he growls, grinding up into you, his grasp on your body tightening. 

In a flash, he removes his hand from your throat. And, distantly, past your post-coital fog, you hear the sound of metal unsheathing rapidly. You glance to your right.

Retracting claws reveal three deep holes pierced into the faux leather, showcasing thick wire springs and white stuffing. 

Blearily, you drag your hand down his arm, running over hair and slowly aging skin. Reaching his wrist, you bring his hand up to your mouth, cup it in both of yours. You smooth your thumb gently over the edges of his knuckles, watch for moments as the holes very slowly begin to close. 

You kiss his knuckles thrice. Once over each slowly healing wound. 

Eventually, the skin will mend. The wounds will be nonexistent. They will heal in time. But his body is exhausted. And every time the claws come out, the cracks in his skin take longer and longer to repair themselves. 

He collapses beneath you, rugged breaths pulled from tired lungs. 

Carefully, he slides out of you and you help him tuck himself back into his boxers. Press a kiss to his forehead. 

A whisper of, “Be right back.” against heated skin before leaving on unsteady legs to clean yourself up. His desire is a slow leak down your thighs now. 

If he were a younger man, still full of strength and agility, he’d have done this part for you. You know he wishes he could. Part of you wishes he could too. But you like to take care of him too. 

When you return, he’s still sunken into the couch, chest bare and sweaty. He accepts the glass of water you bring him, gulps it down thirstily. 

Cuddling up next to him now, you brush the sweat-damp hair back from his face. You’ll allow him to pull you close. You’ll hold each other, stroke the skin beneath his eyes tenderly. The fresh dark circles there. And he’ll press soft kisses against the lingering bite marks on your shoulder, whisper praise into your ear. 

When his honeyed eyes catch yours, you know he longs to spoil you. To scoop you up in his arms and take you to bed. 

But this takes a lot out of him now. It will be days–maybe more–before you’ll be able to do something like that again. 

So, you’ll take care of him. He’ll insist on having you underneath him. Begrudge the fact that the exhaustion will have yet to be leached from his bones. But acquiesce the moment your hands reach beneath his belt. 

Thank you for reading! Reblogs are greatly appreciated :)

[moonstruckme]

hello!

Could you maybe do poly!marauders x reader and the boys discovering she has a major praise kink!

It doesn’t have to be smutty or it can be whatever you think!!

(ps: you are such an amazing author and the way you write the marauders together and their personalities is impeccable 💋)

This was fun and funny, thanks for requesting!

cw: praise kink, suggestive ending (no smut)

poly!marauders x fem!reader ♡ 1k words

Remus makes a soft hissing sound. “Is that how you always chop onions?” 

You look at him sideways. “With a knife? Yes.” 

“Don’t be cheeky,” he says, smiling. “You’re going to hurt yourself.” 

You look down at your cutting board, still chopping but now bemused. “I don’t plan on it.” 

James, who’s appeared over your shoulder, makes a similar sound, hissing through his teeth. “No, sweetheart.” He places his hand over yours on the handle of the knife, silently prompting you to stop. “Rem’s right, you’re going to lose the tips of your fingers.” 

You feel a tad defensive of your chopping skills. “I’ve managed to keep them all ‘til now. What am I doing wrong?” 

“Here, let me.” James eases the knife from your grip, squishing in alongside you in front of the cutting board and taking your onion. “See, you want to curl your fingers in a tiny bit so the knife skims off them. Like a claw.” 

You lean over, peering at his hand. “It looks hard to keep a grip like that.” 

“It takes a bit of practice,” he allows. James slices through the onion a few times with smooth, easy motions, then passes the knife back to you. “Give it a try.” 

You try to hold the onion the way he had, looking at James for approval. He taps your pinkie finger, getting you to curl that one a bit more, before smiling at you. 

“There you go. That’s good, now try cutting down your knuckles.” 

“This feels scarier than my way,” you admit, though you do as he says, skimming the knife down your knuckles and slicing through the onion slowly. 

“No, you’ve got it,” James praises. “That’s really good, angel. You’re a natural.” 

Your cheeks are starting to warm from all the compliments. “Thanks,” you say in a small voice. 

“Don’t go getting shy,” says Sirius, coming in to steal a dry pasta noodle from Remus. He bites down on it with a crack that makes James grimace. “You were so vocal about how you knew the proper way a minute ago.” 

“I still like my way better,” you say, recovering some. 

“Right, well do it this way for our peace of mind, would you?” James’ hand warms the small of your back as he watches you work. “You have very pretty fingers, and I don’t think I’m being too presumptuous in saying that we all like them too much to risk it. Plus, you’ve picked it up so quickly.” 

The heat from your face spreads lower. It’s all you can do to squeak out a meek “okay.” You’re grateful when James leaves to return to his own task. 

A minute later, Remus comes over to check that you’re doing what you’re supposed to. He hums approvingly. “Good girl,” he murmurs, pressing a kiss to your hair. All the air in your lungs dries up. “Thank you, darling. That looks great.” 

“She learned from the best,” James quips. 

Remus hums and kisses his hair too before turning back to his work. It’s only a handful of seconds before they realize you’ve not replied. 

“Dove?” Remus looks at you. 

“Hm?” you hum tightly. 

“You alright?”

“Mhm.” 

James and Sirius have turned to look now, too. You keep your face downturned to the cutting board, but you can feel the weight of three curious stares on the back of your head. Sirius prowls over to you like a cat, taking you by the shoulders and turning you slowly. 

“Humor me for a moment?” he asks, smirking. “I want to test a theory.” 

You’re wound too tightly by this point to respond, his smug teasing pushing you to the edges of sanity. You barely have the wherewithal to set your knife down carefully behind you. 

Your boyfriend’s cold hands find your warm face, shit-eating grin only spreading as he takes his time feeling about your cheeks with his knuckles and fingers. Sirius isn’t always the most perceptive of your boyfriends, but unfortunately, humiliatingly, he’s the first to unravel this particular mystery. 

He asks smoothly, “Do you like it when we tell you how good you are, pretty girl?” 

You’re not sure if he can actually feel the flare of heat to your face at the words, but something about your expression must confirm it. Sirius laughs gleefully. 

“Awe, angel.” James comes over to wrap his arms around you from the side, also laughing. “I didn’t know we were winding you up when we talked like that. I was just trying to compliment what a quick learner you are.” 

“She is a quick learner,” Sirius says in a salacious tone. “You always follow instructions well, don’t you, gorgeous?” 

“Stop,” you plead, covering your face with your hands and forcing Sirius to move his. All three of your boyfriends snicker, James pressing a conciliatory kiss to your burning ear. “It’s not like it happens all the time, you’re just being so much right now. You can’t just call someone—call them—” 

“A good girl?” Remus asks you, and you don’t think he’s putting on a tone like Sirius is, you really don’t, but his regular voice is already so nearly pornographic that the heat in your core spreads anyway. 

“Right,” you say weakly. 

Remus chuckles. “I didn’t mean anything by it, sweetheart. Sorry if I put you in an…uncomfortable position.” 

“No, don’t be sorry.” Sirius is giddy, smugness dialed up to eleven. “This is a revelation. Just think what we could do with this. You’ve given us all a gift, babe.” 

“Oh, our poor girl,” James laughs when you try to hide your face in his shoulder. “Sirius is right, this is good! It’s always good for us to know what you like, right?” 

You’re too flustered to reply, but Remus agrees for you, humming contemplatively. 

“You know,” he says, “if I leave this to simmer for a while, we could make it up to you now, dove. I’d feel awful if I wound you up without giving you any payoff.” 

His tone implies he’s at least partly joking, but Sirius doesn’t take it that way. He has you all in the bedroom in thirty seconds flat, your chopping left to wait for your return. 

[hvhvmoc]

🖤🖤🖤

Characters : Art the Clown (Terrifier), afab!reader

Warnings/CW : kinda slowburn, Art almost kills you on purpose, funny stuff, rough smut, wall sex, spanking, hair pulling, overstimulation, choking, pussy slapping, oral (f! Receiving), multiple orgasms, you pass out mid sex, Art is stumped and confused, you're ok tho, talks about blowjobs, bit of fluff at the end, tell me if I missed anything

A/N : I have nowhere to go this Halloween ☹️ just stay home, write and take photos of myself

Its around midnight, you're in your kitchen cooking dinner. Usually you don't cook at midnight but you were busy all day and it just got pushed back. Plus, your boyfriend wasn't home yet. The infamous Mikes County Killer, Art the Clown. He was taking his usual time out there, spilling blood, guts, and pain, while you were home, working or being lazy.

You're surprised your still up with this much energy. You did wake up really late today, since you didn't have work that day. You took that time to organize the house, clean everything up, shower, maybe even trim your hair with a pair of random scissors you prayed didn't belong to Art- knowing what he does with them- and knowing that although he has okay hygiene, he doesn't properly clean his weapons like at all.

You switch between mixing and checking on the red rice, stirring the big pan of cooking chicken, stirring the smaller pan of cooking beef, and finally stirring the pan of cut up bell peppers, broccoli, corn, and onion. The rice finished cooking and so did the vegetables- the chicken and beef still needed some time- when Art busted through your front door, a scowl on his face, his leg and torso cut up a bit from (what you can only guess) a victim fighting back, and blood all over him. He drops his bag of weapons and goes to find you, the scowl not leaving his face.

That expression would've terrified anyone. But really, you were used to it. The more logical side of your brain knew it was only a matter of time before he treats you like any other victim of his; scalping, cutting, drugging, stabbing, torturing. But you decided to just play along with him. Maybe if you act nice and continue to treat him like this, he'll make your death less brutal. Hopefully. But truly you don't know. Nobody but him knows what's going on in his head. He's like a wild animal; sometimes you can get close and they look still- froze- waiting for you to get close and closer, before they pounce on you and attack. Brutally attack.

Art stands by you, not really doing anything but standing with the scowl on his face, staring at you. You smile and wave up at him, giving him a little "Hi baby", before turning your attention back to the food. There was silence, the only thing making noise being the food cooking.

You feel something cold on the back of your neck. You look up at Art and in the corner of your eye, you see his hand outstretched behind your neck. You can't really tell what it is he has but you will admit, it's scarring you. You tried not to show it though. You know Art loves when his victims show fear. If he has thoughts of killing you, fear will only fuel it.

He lowers his hand while you watch. Now you can see what he had pressed against you. A knife- which is probably the least painful object he owns for killing. You again, tried to show now fear. Your eyes didn't widen and your breathing stayed like before. But your heart is beating faster. That's something you can't control. You just showed confusion. Art drops the knife onto the floor- thankfully missing his and yours feet- and turn around, leaving and disappearing into your bedroom.

Once he leaves, you sigh. What the fuck was that? This isn't the first time he's pressed a weapon against you but it still shakes you up everytime. And maybe that's what he wants. You bend down and pick up the knife, throwing it in the sink. You continue cooking, acting like your boyfriend didn't just hold a knife against you.

You taste test everything, ensuring that everything's thoroughly cooked. When the taste is up to your standards, you go to turn off the stove. As your reaching for it, you hear a loud "honk" right in your ear. You jump and turn around, more terrified than when he held a knife to your neck. Art is there, now fully cleaned of blood, and silently laughs. Hard. And buckles over in laughter and pointing at you. He then puts a hand of his heart and mocks your shocked expression and the way you jumped. You bend over the counter, holding your head and laughing too.

Art comes over and grabs a hold of your waist, wrapping both arms around you and lifting you up. He swings you around a bit and kisses your neck. You laugh as he does, now forgetting about the past incident. "Baby-" you laugh. Art perks up and looks at you. "Go sit at the dinner table, I'll bring out your dinner." Art rolls his eyes and gives you once last squeeze before he lets go and slumps over to his spot on the dinner table.

You serve two plates; Art has some chicken, beef, rice and vegetables, which yours has the same but less beef. You bring out his plate first, setting it in front of him and kissing him on the lips. And go back to get your plate and when you come back and set your plate down across Art, you notice his vegetables are gone from his plate and... on the floor, a very thin, useless napkin covering them.

"Babe." Now it's your turn to scowl at him. Art was some of the beef in his mouth. He looks up at you, dumbfounded. "Why the shit is your food on the floor?" Art shrugs and looks around at the floor around him and looks puzzled, like he's pretending the food on the floor doesn't exist. "Art." You glare at him and he just looks like he doesn't know what you're talking about, doing hand movements to tell you you're crazy.

You opened your mouth to speak but Art held up a finger, shushing you. He points to the beef and then his arm, his eyes questioning. "What?" He does the same again. You shrug, looking confused. Art rolls his eyes like you're the dumb one and points to the beef and then to you and him. "I dont-" Art rolls his eyes harder, throwing his body back in dramaticness too. He points to the beef again, and shrugs, looking at you like it's so obvious to know what he's trying to ask you.

"What is it??" You ask, trying to guess what he's trying to say. Art nods, happily and relieved that you finally got it. "It's beef. It's cow." You say and start eating, taking a bite of the chicken. Arts grin is quickly wiped off his face and he slumps. "What?" You ask and eat. Art does a handmovement to say "oh nevermind" and he starts eating. "I'm not cooking human, Art. Don't even think about it." You scold and Art mocks you in response. You just roll your eyes and eat, forgetting the vegetables on the floor.

🖤🖤🖤

After dinner, you two clean up the kitchen. Art washes the dishes while you put the dishes in the sink and wiping down the counters and sweeping the floor. You have music on, singing along as Art bops his head dances a little to the music.

After cleaning, you two go to your shared bedroom. As soon as your door closes, you pounce on Art. You wrap your arms around his neck and smash your lips against his. Almost like he was expecting it, Art instantly grabbed onto you and kissed you back, using tongue and gripping onto your pajamas.

Art pushes you against the wall, his hands still gripping your hips. Your hands reach behind his back and zipped down the zipper on his clown suit. Art starts peeling off your clothes until you're completely naked. You pull off arts clown fit until he's naked too, just his facepaint and mini tophat on.

Art flips you over so you're pressed against the wall. You open your legs a bit and Art grabs your asscheeks, opening them apart and angling his dick with your pussy. He spits on his dick and slowly slips into you, his hands moving to your hips. You let out a soft moan and press your cheek against the wall, looking back at him. Your full body is against the wall, your ass poking out a little.

Art starts slamming his hips against you, his pace getting rougher and rougher. Your body jolts and you moan louder. With every thrust, your thighs slap against the wall. Art reaches around your neck. He wraps his bare hand around the front of your neck and he flips you two over. His back lays against the wall, one hand on your hips as he continues to thrust into you. He pulls your head back by your neck, squeezing a little. Your hands reach back and grab onto his legs as his pace becomes almost unhuman.

Art slaps your ass hard as he does, grinning at your yelp in response. He trails is hand down, roughly grabbing your tits, then trailing fully down to your hip. He pushes down on your back to make you bend over and his other hand grabs a fistful off your hair and pulls your head back. Art grabs your thighs with the hands that was once on your back and opens your legs more. He then grabs your hand and places it on your pussy, and you start mastutbating yourself. All the while his pace stays harsh and rough like usual.

After a while you warn Art of your upcoming orgasm, to which he replies by slapping your ass harshly a couple more times until you cum on his dick; your fingers still circling your clit and Arts pace not faltering. Art abruptly stops his movements, planting himself balls deep into you. He lets go of your hair, his hands just resting on your hips. You slowly stand up straight again. Art grabs the hand you used to pleasure yourself with, pressing it against his lips and into his mouth, licking your juices off your fingers. His other hand pulls your hair back. He slowly turns to look at you, a grin on his face, and he dives in to kiss your lips.

He lets go of you and peels you off his dick, walking you to the bed and pushing you on your back, onto the bed. Art opens your legs, kneeling between them. He uses his fingers to massage your clit for a while before he raises his hand up and slaps your pussy. Not too hard but enough to sting. When he hears you moan and watches your legs jolt, he does it again. And again. And again. And again, till your pussy was wetter and red.

Art stops slapping you, then leans down and starts roughly eating your pussy. You moan loudly and wiggle a little as he does. He forces your legs open and keeps them there as he makes out with your pussy. You grab his head and push it closer to you, his large nose pressing against your clit.

You grind against his face until you cum on his face and he keeps eating you out. Your body spasms. He finally pulls away and licks his lips, standing up again. He lines his dick up with your pussy, instantly pludging himself into you and his expression contorts at the feeling. He starts moving his hips again, fast.

You cry out in overstimulation, your nails digging into his arms as his hands grip your hips tightly. A single tear runs down your face. Art sees this a grins, enjoying the pleasure- and pain- he's giving you. He licks the tear, biting your cheek a little before he comes back up. Your legs shake and tremble and your face looks disheveled. But Art loves when your helpless like this with him. Because of him.

Art winks down and at you and blows you a kiss. He then slams into you, hard, and stays there for a second, balls deep inside you. Then he does it again. And again. And again. He grins wider and wider with every moan you scream out.

He then wraps his hand around your neck, tightly, and starts up his fast, rough pace into you. Your hands claw at his arm as he chokes you, but not too hard. Well... not at first at least. After a couple more minutes, and a couple more orgasms pulled from you, he grips your neck tighter. Your face is now redder than it's ever been.

Art slams into you, cumming inside you, his grin not leaving his face, his eyes shifting from your eyes to your pussy. Even after he came, he kept going, moving fast like before. Like he had all the energy in the world. He squeezed a little tighter at your neck for a second, cutting your airways for only a second before he let you breath again as he fucked you.

Your body slowly became more and more limp, your eyes getting loopy and your heart racing. Your moans start getting fainter and quieter, which makes Art falter a bit but he doesn't stop. Seconds later your body goes limp and your eyes close. You passed out. Whether that be from the choking or from the overstimulation, you don't know. You just know you knocked out.

🖤🖤🖤

You woke up minutes later, now laying against a pillow on the bed. You have a blanket over your still-naked body and the ceiling fans on. You see Art sitting next to you on the bed, now in sports shorts and a T-shirt. He's looking down at you as you wake up, and you have a feeling he's been like that for the whole time you've been asleep.

Art has confusion and... fear in eyes. Fear for Art is rare. Rarer than rare. Someone like Art is never scared. Confused yes, he's sometimes confused, but not scared. He's watched you almost cut a finger off while cooking and his eyes looked more hungry and like he was holding back than scared for your life. But now he's scared. There's finally some human emotion in his eyes.

You two don't do anything but stare at eachother for some time. Didn't Art almost kill you when he got home? Why does he look worried now? It's like he's not even blinking.

Arts tilts his head, looking down at you. He slowly inches his hand to your neck, lightly touching the red marks of his hand left behind. You turn on your side, smiling tiredly as you look up at him. Art touches your face and raises his eyebrows, still confused on why you just knocked out mid sex. "Ya kno-" you stop talking when you hear your own voice. It's very very raspy. You clear your throat and go to talk again. That didn't help. Still raspy. But you talked anyway.

"A girl can only take so much, baby." You laugh. Art rolls his eyes and mocks you. He's back to his usual self. "Whaat??" You laugh again and wrap your arms around his waist. Art ruffles your already-messed-up hair, grinning down at you playfully again.

"Maybe if I wake up first tomorrow, I'll wake you up with a blowjob." You rub your elbow on his crotch and he instantly gets hard again. You get off him and lay back on the bed. He looks down at you with a frown. "Tomorrow." You remind him. Art huffs and rolls his eyes, getting into bed with you. You two sleep, clinging onto eachother.

🖤🖤🖤

HAPPY HALLOWEEN

[ourzeui]

student!vi x teacher!reader

note: vi's the same age as reader. this cookery class is just like one of those extra classes outside school during the summer. just imagine that being a cookery teacher is a part-time job you chose to do for fun! vi, abby, and ellie are a trio. they’re student-athletes!! (didn’t specify what sport they play) kind of ooc... very self-indulgent help this was inspired by earlier's incident of me accidentally cutting myself while trying to peel some mangoes. ALSO HAPPY NEW YEAR!!

warnings: mention of knife and blood, cursing, wlw, MEN DNI

Vi wasn't exactly sure how she ended up here—here, being in cookery class, standing behind a counter, holding a knife like it was about to turn on her any second. Normally, she’d be on a field somewhere, dominating a game, making the whole crowd cheer for her and her hotness. But today? Today she was faced with an onion, and for some reason, that was way more intimidating than any opponent she’d ever faced.

Her attention kept drifting to the front of the class, where you—the new cooking teacher—were walking around, offering advice and checking on everyone’s progress. Vi couldn’t help but watch you as you moved from station to station, effortlessly making your way through the room with that perfect mix of authority and ease. It made her stomach do flips. It wasn’t like Vi wasn’t used to being in the spotlight. She was the star athlete, after all. But you? You were different.

Vi snapped out of her thoughts as Abby, her best friend, shot her a smirk from across the counter. "You’re really gonna let an onion get to you? You’ve faced down entire teams, but you can’t even handle a fucking vegetable?"

Vi shot her a glare. “I’m fine. Just... focused.” She waved the knife, hoping she looked more confident than she felt. But the truth was, she could barely concentrate when you were standing just a few feet away, walking toward her group.

“You sure about that?” Abby teased, glancing up at you, who was now standing near their station. “You’ve got someone watching now.”

Vi felt her face flush, and for a moment, she forgot about the knife entirely. You were standing right there, close enough that Vi could smell the faintest hint of your perfume. It was enough to make her heart race.

"Everything good here?" you asked, your voice smooth and calm, as if you hadn't noticed the absolute mess that was Vi’s chopping technique.

Vi forced a smile, trying to sound like she had everything under control. “Uh, yeah. All good,” she managed, but the words came out much higher than she meant. She mentally cursed herself. Why am I so nervous?

You didn’t seem to mind though. You smiled warmly. “Great. Just remember to be careful with the knives, alright? You’ve got this, just focus a little more.”

Vi nodded quickly, praying she wouldn’t embarrass herself. “Yeah, got it.” She swallowed hard, trying to ignore how your gaze lingered on her for just a moment longer than necessary.

As soon as you moved on, Vi breathed a quiet sigh of relief. She was definitely acting like a mess, but maybe—just maybe—if she could pull it together, she could impress you. She tried to focus on the onion again, but the more she thought about it, the harder it became to cut.

Vi went for another slice—SLICE—but the knife slipped and, of course, she sliced her finger. Again.

“Well, fuck.” she muttered, clutching her finger immediately. Her thoughts were a whirlwind of embarrassment.

Ellie and Abby turned toward her in unison, then broke into laughter.

“Oh my god, here we go,” Ellie snickered, holding her stomach. “This dumbass can’t even cut an onion without turning it into a crime scene.”

Vi shot her a glare, but the pain was already subsiding. It wasn’t the injury that was bothering her, it was the fact that you were nearby, and she had just made a fool of herself.

You walked over to her station, noticing the cut right away. “You alright?” you asked, voice soft, yet concerned.

Vi barely registered the words. She was way too focused on how your presence made her feel like the most awkward person alive. “Yeah, yeah. I’m fine. Just... uh, an accident,” she stammered. Great job, Vi. Smooth.

You gently took her hand to inspect the cut, and the contact sent an unexpected shiver down her spine. "It’s small. You’ll be fine," you said, before reaching for a first aid kit. "Just a little more care next time, alright?"

Vi tried not to let her nerves show, though it was difficult with you standing so close. "I swear, onions are out to get me," she joked weakly, hoping to mask how completely flustered she was.

You laughed softly. “It’s all part of the learning process, don’t worry.” Your smile was warm and reassuring, and Vi’s heart skipped a beat. She’s smiling at me. She’s really smiling at me.

Vi managed a smile of her own, trying to act like she wasn’t completely losing it on the inside. “Yeah, I’ll try again. Just... don’t laugh too hard, okay?”

You raised an eyebrow, clearly amused by her flustered demeanor. “I won’t. You’ve got this. Just stay focused.”

As you moved on to the next station, Vi let out a breath, finally able to concentrate again. But she wasn’t sure how long she could hold it together now that you’d touched her hand and given her that smile.

“You’re totally crushing,” Abby whispered, leaning in with a teasing grin.

Vi’s face burned as she shot her friend a glare. "I’m not crushing. I’m just... trying to not mess up in front of our cooking teacher."

Ellie, who had been quietly observing, snorted. "Uh-huh, sure. Keep telling yourself that."

Vi rolled her eyes, but it was hard to hide the smile that tugged at her lips. If anything, maybe she’d actually get the hang of cooking—just so she could impress you. Maybe next time, she wouldn’t be such a disaster in the kitchen.

And maybe, just maybe, if she wasn’t so nervous, she could actually make a real impression on you beyond the onion incident.

[farfromstrange]

Fictober Day 23: Comfort/Crying

Fictober Masterlist | Main Masterlist

Pairing: Matt Murdock x F!Reader

Prompt: Comfort/Crying (🌼)

Summary: You’ve had a shitty couple of months, trying to hold on for the sake of everyone around you, but you can only take so much…

Warnings: Angst, crying, slight allusions to depression, self-loathing, hurt/comfort, not proof-read

Word Count: 982

A/n: This prompt hits differently now than it would have when I intended to post it, but now it also comes at the right time because I do feel like we have all cried a lot lately. I know I have, and I could use some good old Matty comfort right about now. Like, a hug would be enough.

Read Me On AO3! (coming soon)

You’re tired. 

You’re so tired.

Life has had quite the habit of beating you down lately, and you are so exhausted you just want to disappear. You are expected to function, but how can you when you’re already falling apart?

“Hey,” Matt says softly from the doorway. “You okay?”

You don’t look up from the onions you’re cutting. He just got home from court; the last thing he wants is to listen to you bitch and moan about what a shitty month you’ve had. 

You have to function because there are people who depend on you. If you’re not strong for him, what is the point? In your mind, at least, that makes sense, twisted as it may be—and it is incredibly twisted.

“Yeah,” you lie. “Just… making dinner.”

The vegetable’s gases burn in your eyes. You’re shaking, but that must be all the caffeine you had after yet another sleepless night. Matt is gone so much, during the day as this kindhearted lawyer who fights for the rights of the innocent, and at night as Daredevil, he doesn’t know how you keep tossing and turning when he’s not there. You can’t blame him for having his own shit to deal with; he’s a good boyfriend, and you love him to pieces, but you can’t talk to him. 

You don’t want him to worry because you know he would burn the world down if it meant you could be free of all this pain. He would find a way to exorcize the hell out of the demons in your head, wrap you in cotton, and keep you safe from the storm raging outside. He would let go of everything just to be with you, and you refuse to let yourself be this fucking selfish. Because people depend on him, too. 

But oh, you are truly falling apart at the seams. Too much to feel, too much to think about—it is a painful weight on your chest threatening to crush you. There is no reason behind it, just a myriad of disasters balled into one, and the avalanche is about to take you away. 

Matt reaches out, fingers brushing your shoulder. “You sure?” he asks. 

You swallow the lump in your throat. 

“You’re crying.”

“It’s the onions,” you say. “The, uh, fumes…”

“Okay.” 

He doesn’t have to acknowledge the fact that you’re crying to know something is wrong with you. He wraps his arms around you from behind, pulling you flush against his chest. 

He’s your sanctuary. 

His hand hovers over the one holding the knife.  “Let go,” he says. “Let go…” 

Your fingers loosen around the handle. Matt catches it, wasting no time to place it aside before you can hurt yourself on the sharp edge of its blade. His voice is a mere breath against your heated temple. “That’s it. It’s okay.”

You can barely breathe, your arms flailing around helplessly. Matt doesn’t dare let go of you, afraid you might fall apart if he loosens his hold, so he squeezes his arms around you until you are enveloped in a cocoon of him, and the world outside disappears.

He shushes in your ear. Gentle whispers of, ‘You’re okay. I’ve got you,’ course through your veins like a balm for your weary soul. You’ve been holding on for the sake of the people around you for too long; it rolls over you like a boulder. You can no longer stop it. 

His hands find yours, intertwining your fingers as he presses a soft kiss to your temple. “Let it out,” he says. 

The tears run down your cheek in an endless flood. It’s ugly, messy, and feels like too much, but Matt doesn’t pull away. He stands there, absorbing every bit of it, trying to work as a sponge to soak up what’s hurting you. He would rather have you take the pain out on him than suffer through any of this alone.

When you finally manage to suck in a deep, shuddering breath, you’re exhausted—wrung out. Wrecked. But there is a sudden emptiness where the crushing weight of the world on your shoulders used to be. 

You finally lift your head, tearful eyes staring back into his. “I’m sorry,” you whisper. 

He shushes you. “You needed to cry. It’s okay.”

You whimper at the tenderness in his voice. 

“It’s okay to lean on me.” He turns you around to him, pressing your face into his chest. “Just promise me you’ll come to me next time.” A kiss melts against your temple. “You don’t have to do this alone.”

A sharp breath burns the tender flesh of your lungs. “No, I–” you stammer. “I have t–”

He cuts you off, his own voice on the verge of breaking. “You don’t. You’re not alone, sweetheart. Not anymore.”

The dam might be breaking, but he is right there to pick up the pieces before they can get lost in the current with the shards of your broken heart. He patches you up the only way he knows how: with his hands and silent declarations of his undying love. 

And it really is undying, you realize. He loves you when you’re put together, and he loves you when you’re broken. He loves you without a doubt or second thought. He loves you unconditionally, wholly, and he would go to the ends of the earth for you. 

You’re not alone. You might have been once, but not since you met him. Not since he walked into your life and turned it all upside-down. 

You filled each other’s empty hearts like it was the only thing to do.

You don’t have to deal with these demons on your own anymore because Matt will always be there for you, no matter how much you loathe your miserable self. He will always be there to pick up the pieces, and you will never have to be alone again.

@ebathory997 @the-b33skn33s @scoliobean @drmeghanjones @lanae111 @gpenguin666 @linamarr @itwasthereaminuteago @norestfortheshelbywicked @yarrystyleeza @littlenerdyravenclaw @etanordoesbullsh1t @thychuvaluswife @harleycao @schneeflocky @imjustcal @pipsqueakkitten @merlinbtch @sya-skies @thatonegamefish @amberritonicole @pigeonmama @bohemianrhapsody86 @a-gir1-has-n0-name @winkev1 @callsign-ember @chittaphonstar @buckyyyismahhlife @trublu2u @xnatyx @zomtart @ethereal-blaze @littleagxs @ravenclaw617 @lucienofthelakes @steve-chandler

[kneelingshadowsalome]

Quick! Info dump about your favorite blorbo!

König headcanons

NSFW content below the cut, 18 + only (These apply to yandere König as well, the toxic stuff is marked with a red flag 🚩)

Does like 50 crunches and 50 pushups first thing in the morning when he wakes up, as he has done since he was a teenager.

Will fix everything from cars to furniture. If the door is creaking he will oil the hinges immediately. Actually, he will treat every single thing in life as a problem... A problem he will fix.

He's great at math and physics and has vast amounts of knowledge about mechanics, thermodynamics, even things like quantum theory and other complex astronomy stuff.

He's completely clueless when it comes to following trends and memes. You have to explain every other tiktok to him. He rarely uses emojis but when he does, it's awkward and slightly intimidating because König doesn't know the hidden meanings behind them. If you send him an eggplant or peach emoji he asks if you need veggies from the store.

Loves your cooking (even if it's just microwaved mac and cheese). If you start to feed this man, you'll never get rid of him.

This is your classic mama’s boy who never had to learn how to cook and then went to the army and got used to the facility taking care of him so… yeah. Doesn't know how to cook but will try to help in any way he can! König is very excited to see you’re making food and wanders into the kitchen like “What are we making today?” You can try and give him a chopping board, an onion and a knife, but this poor man doesn't even peel the onion unless you tell him he has to remove the outer layer first...

Eats like a horse. Is secretly afraid that you run out of food. Goes to the fridge and if it's half full, he will not take the snack he was supposed to have, only comments: "The fridge looks empty." (It's not a passive aggressive statement, he's just worried.)

Also: everytime there's a crisis somewhere – he follows the news neurotically – König starts to prep. There's a month's worth of food stashed in one of the cupboards at all times. He also preps fuel, propane, medicine and the like.

Ruins all the fun when you're playing board games because he fusses about the rules so much. König holds the rulebook in his hand through the whole game and double-checks every single thing.

He's very clumsy, sometimes hits his head on the door frame when he's in a hurry or visiting a new place. He can't stay still either, always shakes his leg when he’s sitting. König needs a lot of exercise when he's not deployed to get all that energy and frustration out.

This has been discussed earlier but yeah, König even drops his mags sometimes in the field because he's too excited. He's a very capable martial artist though. Has done Savate, Escrima and Pekiti-Tirsia Kali and is very agile and precise with the double kali sticks he carries to field sometimes. Suddenly his clumsiness disappears when he has to knife someone, kick someone in the head or beat them to death with those sticks.

This is the reason König fucked up his sniper dreams too: having to control his breath, lie still for long amounts of time, then take aim and shoot a rifle vs. aiming during an adrenaline high, giving a tight spurt or two with his SMG… The latter just comes naturally to him! If you ask him how he managed to take down a human trafficking cell all alone König will say he simply "got carried away."

König goes to the gym a lot. Gets back super pumped and with an urgent need to make love. But not before he's had a cold shower! It's almost like a ritual: he has to torture himself with weights and cold water first before he can have his prize (= access to a woman)

Wakes you up in the middle of the night because he started to worry about petty, stupid things and then got a lil horny. Humps your leg or your back very, very slowly while grunting in your ear: "Hey... Hey. Are you sleeping…?" (Like. Yes, König, I was but I'm not anymore, thanks for asking)

Asks what kind of fantasies you have all of a sudden while you two are cuddling. Asks very detailed questions about them too. If you ask him what kind of fantasies he has in return, König will tense up and then say he doesn't really know, perhaps something like��� a blowjob in the forest… And somehow you just know that his real fantasies are so perverse you don't even want to know more about them.

If you "nag" or yell at him, he might get a boner.

If you notice and get offended, ask: "Are you even listening to what I'm saying?!' König will freeze and look at you with a bewildered, obsessed stare and go: "Ja..?" while the boner situation in his pants gets visibly worse.

🚩 Would never go to bed before you've settled your argument. The problem is that it's very difficult for König to apologize because he always thinks he's in the right and that you simply need some time to come to that conclusion too. If you give him the silent treatment he will eventually come to you, gets all touchy and asks surprisingly demurely: "Are you still angry with me?"

🚩 The minute you forgive him or decide it was a stupid argument anyways, the demure puppy act disappears. König thinks he won and that it's time for some makeup sex ❤️

Has like the longest cock known to man. He has actual trouble finding comfortable underwear to fit that beast into. It's beautiful but intimidating, uncut, smooth and sleek. Not too thick but certainly not thin either. He likes to keep himself tidy down there too so the lack of hair makes this murder weapon look even bigger.

You two occasionally break furniture while having sex. It's mainly his fault (he gets carried away). He's very upset about it afterwards though, looks at the destruction he caused, muttering "Scheisse…" while rubbing the back of his neck. Then he tries to fix it while you're still there with your legs shaking and in need of aftercare.

If you remind him that he has other duties first, perhaps whimper his name in frustration, König will apologize and carry you to bed. He gives you that precious aftercare with unwavering passion and attention every time you ask for it ❤️ He's just a little clueless sometimes (König is also neuroatypical, either has AD/HD or falls somewhere in the autism spectrum)

🚩 Hates condoms with an intense passion. You're practically forced to take birth control pills or whatever so that he can cum inside you. This man's whining will ultimately gain a level that's absolutely ridiculous if you don't.

The first time you do it without the rubber, he sounds like he's about to cry. He tells you a hundred times how good it feels, and won't pull out until he grows soft and is kind of forced to do so. For a man who's never even heard of a breeding kink, he seems vehement about keeping his load inside you.

🚩Grunts and whispers loving but obsessive things in your ear while making love to you. You're mine, Say it, Promise that you're mine, I don't want to live without you, Why do you feel so good? at first… but as he approaches his peak, König switches to German. You have no clue what he’s saying, but from the way he spits those sentences through gritted teeth you get the feeling that it must be something desperate and that perhaps it's a blessing you don't understand his native tongue...

🚩🚩If you leave your phone on the table he tries to stalk it and check the notifications. He's so jealous it's unreal, if he sees you receive a message from some other guy König will start a circus. He needs to know all about your connection with this man. After that, he wants you to go through your contacts and show him how many guys there are and tell him what your affiliations are with them. If you're on social media König wants to go through your friends/those you follow. You have to give an account who they are and why you follow them.

🚩🚩🚩 You get a feeling he's forming a list of people he has to kill if you don't tell him they're just a cousin or something 💀

[citruslullabies]

Yo. Prompt for Dogday

Y/N and Dogday were in love before he was turned into Dogday. (Kinda like the Rich Dogday x reader fic but not fully) this is before the hour of joy. Y/N was busy at home when all of a sudden a massive dog mascot comes into the house. Finding out that is her parted, they now have to get used to the new life(Sleeping in bed, going on outings, etc). They still madly in love, like a constant honeymoon phase-ish. This just looks weird going on dates and stuff.

Thank u

Yo yo! Of course I can do that!

Trigger warnings: descriptions of a panic attack, very short but still

Requested by: anonymous

Romantic/platonic?: romantic

Category: reuniting fluff + a sprinkle of angst

Ship (romantic or platonic): Dogday x reader

Word count: 688

Second Chances

The house had been empty since Rich left, leaving his spouse behind. You mourned and craved for his return and still, never moved on. You kept your wedding band on and kept his belongings in the very place he had left them, not daring to see anyone else since you were still devoted to him.

You were busy dicing onions up for dinner, making spaghetti which was one of Rich’s favorite dishes made by your loving hands. But he wasn't here to enjoy it anymore, and all you could taste when you ate it was his memory. You drowned your thoughts out with music the two of you mutually loved, listening to We’ll Meet Again as you moved onto cutting up olives.

You hadn't even heard the front door open, not heard the clicking of it shutting and the heavy yet quiet footsteps approaching the kitchen. You glanced up at the window above the sink and saw your reflection, and the glimpse of some.. creature. Your eyes immediately shot wide open as you turned around in a flash and clutched the knife you had been using dearly, breathing heavily as you gulped. What even was that thing?

“Get.. get out of my house!” You managed to choke out through your lungs threatening to collapse in on you, your mind going through fight or flight. Your knuckles turned white as you clutched onto your blade and your eyes so wide that they threatened to pop out of your skull. The big orange creature slowly approached, being cautious as it spoke. “Dear-”

it tried to speak softly, trying to reassure you in some way that you didn't understand. You looked around, looking for any way to get to the home phone quickly and get this thing out. You tried to dash off into the other room, not thinking clearly as your brain felt like an over inflated balloon. The monstrous dog-like thing quickly grabbed your arm and tried to pull you close.

“(Y/n)! Please listen, darling, Angel, it's me-” it tried to say, saddened by your wide eyes and the sight of your chest picking up in speed. You didn't listen and quickly used the knife in your hand to slash his arm, causing a loud yelp to erupt from it and it to immediately cradle his arm as you ran and stumbled. You were trying to quickly call for 911 or anyone, hands shaking but you let out a choked sob when the creature carefully dragged you away from the phone and had your arms crossed over your chest, holding you close to it.

“Shh.. shh.. please, please calm down. Darling, darling it's me.. it's Rich please..” he pleaded softly, watching as you shook your head through tears and tried to squirm out of his grasp. He carefully rocked you against him and let out a shaky sigh. “Angel.. it's me.. it's just me. I'm home.” He whispered softly into your ear, tears wettening the fur on his face but not as badly compared to your face that was drowning in tears. You dry heaved a bit, gulping down the threat of throwing up from such anxiety. You didn't believe it.. it sounded like Rich, it talked with Rich, but it didn't look like Rich.

After calming you down, the large canine say with you and held your hands throughout the entire conversation - rubbing his thumbs against your palms comfortingly as he explained everything. You broke down into further sobs and flung yourself at him, crying into his chest. He rubbed your back and peppered you in kisses, humming softly to the song you two listened to on your first date in a little restaurant to ease your anxiety.

Things finally went back to how they once were, the house back to being a happy home despite the pain that echoed through it's walls despite silence for so long. The married couple happily going through each day like it was their honeymoon again, loving each other despite well.. the odd circumstances. The couple happily asleep in their bed just like they were before.

Things were finally okay again.

Thank you for requesting!

[bellaxgiornata]

Stop, Just Breathe

Pairing: Matt Murdock x Fem!Reader

Summary: When Matt returns home from work, he finds you on the verge of a panic attack and quickly tries to calm you back down.

Warnings/tags: panic attack, emotional hurt/comfort, light angst, fluff & a soft Matty, Matt POV

Word Count: 3k

a/n: Just a short one shot I wrote when I was craving some Matt comfort myself. I thought it might be interesting to read this all from Matt's POV, too. Feedback is always appreciated!

From the moment Matt first stepped into the apartment, closing the door after himself and hanging his cane on the hook nearby, he could already hear the tension in your body. Something was wrong. Your teeth were grinding back and forth together, a grating, gnawing noise in his ears from a frustrated gesture you probably weren't even aware that you were doing. Though to him, the aggravated noise hit him the second he'd focused on where you were in the kitchen.

Matt slipped off his dress shoes before bending down and picking them up, taking three steps to his left and then placing them underneath the bench that resided against the wall. Straightening back up, he could hear the harsh and irritated way you'd just set what he presumed was a cutting board and a knife onto the kitchen counter, the sound practically reverberating in his skull. 

His concern for you rising, Matt gradually began to make his way down the length of the entryway hall, undoing the knot of his tie around his neck as he went. With every step he took he heard the uneven beating of your heart in your chest as you opened the refrigerator and retrieved a few things from inside of a drawer. He could instantly tell that your heart wasn't beating the usual steady rhythm he was used to hearing when he’d returned home from work, but rather something erratic and worrying to his ears. 

Brows drawing together in further concern, Matt removed the glasses from his face with one hand, his other dragging along the back of the couch to orient himself as he made his way through the living room and towards the kitchen. You were currently focused on beginning dinner preparations, placing what smelled like broccoli, bell peppers, zucchini, and onion onto the counter. As he neared, you made no sign that you'd even noticed he was home yet. That only further worried Matt because it meant you were deep in your head right now–and he knew how you could get sometimes. 

"Sweetheart? Everything alright?" Matt asked, carefully breaking the silence.  

You startled at his voice, your body jumping half an inch as you were taken off guard by the sound of it. He heard the air shift as your head rose up, darting directly towards him. Your reaction only confirmed what he'd suspected, that you'd been too far in your head and hadn't even realized he was home.

"I’m fine, Matty,” you said almost mechanically.

The lie registered in Matt’s ears easily; the sound of your heart even further beating irregularly as you’d said it was impossible for him to miss. Pressing his lips firmly together, his eyes narrowed as he focused closer on your body. Your blood pressure was rising and he could taste the increase in adrenaline and cortisol radiating off of you on his tongue. 

"I just–just had a bad day at work," you quickly added.

Your voice sounded off to his ears. Higher than usual with a bit of a tremble to it, which seemed like it was coming from something more than just nerves. Though what you'd said hadn't registered as a lie this time. But you must have noticed he was observing you and you were clearly trying to shake him off and get him to stop reading you so carefully. You always did that when something was really wrong. 

"You're not fine, I can hear your body," he replied gently. "What's going on?"

You inhaled a shaky breath, holding it for only a moment before roughly expelling it through your nose. The erratic pounding of your heart hadn't calmed as he continued to monitor it; if anything it was starting to become even more concerning with the rate each stutter of it was climbing. Though the moment he picked up on the sound of one of your fingers tapping like a nervous fidget along the countertop, all the little warning signs your body was sending off suddenly became clear to Matt.

Everything your body was doing right now was exactly what it did right before you had a panic attack. 

With that realization dawning on Matt, he knew he needed to shift his focus. It didn’t matter what you were upset about right now, he'd find out what was wrong later. Right now all he wanted was to calm you down before you spiraled into a panic attack.

"I said I'm fine, Matt," you snapped. 

Ignoring the warning edge to your tone, Matt made his way into the kitchen and over towards you, aware of the way your head was tracking his movements with each of his cautious steps. When he neared you, he placed his glasses onto the counter before he reached a hand out, lightly grabbing your elbow and drawing your fidgeting hand from off of it. Slowly, he  turned you towards himself, noticing how you didn’t fight the movement. Your heart, on the other hand, was beating ever faster and your breath was quickly becoming shallower.

"Sweetheart," Matt began calmly, "it sounds like you're on the verge of a panic attack. Why don't you come sit with me on the couch? Try to calm down?"

"I need to make dinner, Matt," you replied, your words picking up speed as you continued, that panicked tremble returning to them. "I don't have time to sit on the couch. There's a lot of vegetables I need to cut up and sauté and that chicken still needs to be seasoned and cooked. If you’re planning to go out tonight I need it finished so you actually have time to eat because I know you’ll just skip dinner otherwise and you’re always skipping dinner. You need to eat . And then I need to–"

"Hey, hey, stop," Matt hushed you, both of his hands landing on your shoulders and gently squeezing them as he cut you off. "Stop, just breathe. Take a breath, sweetheart. Your heart is beating alarmingly fast. Relax."

The scent of salty tears met Matt’s nose a second later, just as he realized you were blinking rapidly. You were tearing up and about to start crying. The frown on his face deepened, the corner of his mouth twitching. He could feel the uncomfortable prickle beginning in his own eyes.

Matt absolutely hated watching you go through these episodes. The fact that his heightened senses could pick up on everything you were experiencing–every little thing that was happening in your body–only pained him further. All he could do was offer you comfort and try to help you take calming breaths, nothing more. He always felt helpless and he absolutely hated it.

"I'm sorry," you whispered, voice breaking on the words. "Sorry you–you have to deal with me like this all the time and that I'm not normal and that–"

"Stop, breathe," he repeated gently, squeezing your shoulders again. "Let's go sit down."

One hand gently grasping your elbow again, Matt slowly led you out of the kitchen and towards the living room, right over to the leather couch. He could tell you weren't calming down as you made your way there, though. He could hear your heart still racing and the way your blood was rushing through your veins. If anything your breathing was becoming sharper and your muscles were beginning to tighten. He could feel the tension through the light touch he still had on your elbow as he lowered the both of you to sit down. Though Matt tried his best to push away the chaotic sounds of your body that were screaming at him so he could focus on helping you right now.

"Take a breath with me, sweetheart," Matt urged.

He demonstrated inhaling a deep breath in, holding it and listening to the way you'd taken one shortly after him. You'd only managed a half-breath though, and the shuddering sound of it hadn't escaped Matt’s notice, nor had he missed the way your left hand had yet again begun repeatedly tapping on the cushion beside you like a nervous tick. Slowly expelling the breath he'd taken, he listened to you following after him, lightly blowing out the breath through your nose. 

"Good, that's good, sweetheart," he encouraged, his hand sliding across the space on the couch until he grasped your own fidgeting one. Entwining his fingers with yours he said, "Let’s take another deep breath, okay?"

He heard the way you nodded in response and he sent you a smile, your fingers curling tighter around his hand before you inhaled again, this time managing to fill your lungs further. The smile grew wider on Matt's face as he took another deep breath in sync with you. If he could get you to take full, calming breaths, he knew he could help you circumvent a full blown panic attack. He'd learned from past experience that when you began hyperventilating, it was too late to avoid and you would both have to ride it out until your body could calm back down. And Matt hated that just as much as you did, but at least tonight it appeared that you might manage to avoid it. And that was a win.

Matt spent a few more minutes just breathing with you on the couch before he finally heard your body gradually begin to relax beside him. A weight felt like it had slowly lifted off of his shoulders the moment your heart began consistently beating its usual steady pattern in his ears. Even your breath had returned to a normal and even sound, your muscles easing as the tension slipped from out of them.

But he could still taste the faint and fresh salt of your tears in the air and that had a frown returning to his face. 

"I'm sorry, Matt," you eventually whispered. 

Matt’s face twisted into a look of confusion. He was unsure why your voice had sounded so sad and so small and why you'd apologized to him yet again. 

"For what, sweetheart?" he asked.

"For being like this," you said quietly.

Your voice was still so soft when you’d answered, and the hint of shame in it instantly registered in his ears. Something sharp twisted in his chest, and when you continued, Matt could feel his own eyes watering again.

"I'm sorry you have to deal with me and my anxiety," you whispered, a faint tremble still in your voice. "Sorry that you have to deal with me and my panic attacks like this. I know how hard they are for you with your senses. And I–I try to hide them from you because I feel like I’m just torturing you every time. And I hate that you’re left trying to help me through them. I wish I wasn’t like this. Wish that I could be someone better than that for you. Someone without–without all these issues.”

Matt’s left hand darted forward, his thumb catching the tear he’d heard about to roll its way down your cheek. Gently the pad of his thumb wiped it away from your skin, which he noticed still felt warm and flushed beneath his finger. You sniffled, the sound louder to his ears than it really was. Trying to swallow the thick lump forming in his throat, Matt’s hand tenderly cupped your cheek, his thumb still trying to catch the stray tears slipping out of your eye. 

“Don’t–don’t you dare apologize for that. I love you for exactly who you are,” he told you earnestly. “That’s why I married you, sweetheart.” He shook his head, a small smile curling up the corners of his lips. “We’re a team, you and I. Right? You’ve always been there whenever I needed you. Always . And there’s–” he paused, chuckling a little to himself, “–there’s been plenty of times where I’ve needed you, too. For a multitude of reasons. Usually ones involving patching me up and cleaning up the mess of blood around here. And I know how much you worry over me because of it, and I always worry that it’ll push you away, but you always tell me that–”

“I’ll never walk out on you, Matty,” you finished for him. “Because I love you for exactly who you are.”

Matt smiled as he nodded enthusiastically in response. “Exactly,” he replied. “And I love you for exactly who you are, sweetheart. The nerves and all. We help each other out. That’s what we’ve always done. And I’ll always be here for you, too. So please stop trying to hide your stress and your anxiety from me, alright? The only reason why I don’t like when you have panic attacks is because I hate seeing you hurting and not being able to punch someone and fix everything.”

You laughed lightly, the sweet sound causing Matt’s heart to flutter happily in his chest. He could hear the way your mouth was pulling into a smile already. You were feeling a little better because of him. That always gave him a sense of pride knowing that he could have such a positive impact on someone who was so good and loving and attentive as you. 

"You understand me?" he asked. "That's the only reason, sweetheart."

He heard the way the air around you shifted as you nodded. 

“Good," he said with an air of finality. "How are you feeling at the moment?”

You scoffed at his question, the sarcastic noise causing a grin to slip onto his mouth. You were certainly feeling better.

“You can read my body, Matt,” you stated flatly. “I think you have your answer.”

“Well I can’t read your mind,” he countered cheekily.

You expelled a soft sigh before nodding slowly, running a hand across your forehead. “Yeah, I’m–I’m feeling better,” you answered, the faint smile apparent in your voice.

“Good,” he said. “Do you want me to give you some space or–”

“No,” you immediately answered, your heart jumping in your chest briefly as you shook your head, your hand tightening around his at the question. “No, I don’t.”

On occasion he knew you liked to have a few minutes to collect yourself after moments like these. Usually he could feel you working through what felt like embarrassment when he left you alone, most likely because of how you’d broken down in front of him even though he'd often and repeatedly assured you that there was no reason for you to feel that way. But other times you desperately craved his physical comfort, and it seemed like that's exactly what you needed right now.

“Come here then,” he whispered.

Releasing his hold on your hand, he wrapped his arms around your shoulders and began to pull you in towards him. Eagerly you closed the small space between the pair of you on the couch, scooting closer to him before encircling your own arms around his waist, your hands resting lightly on the middle of his back. Matt’s eyelids lowered when you buried your face into his chest, hearing you inhale another deep breath. You were most likely trying to take in his scent, just like he was doing right now with his chin resting atop your head. Mutually finding comfort in each other, the thought growing his smile.

“I need to make dinner,” you murmured into his chest.

“Don’t worry about it. We can make that for dinner tomorrow,” Matt told you. “We can just order pizza tonight. Stay in and have the night together.”

“But I thought you were going out tonight?” you asked. 

Matt hummed out a noise of disagreement, lightly shaking his head. “No,” he replied. “Not tonight.”

“But–but isn’t Daredevil needed in Hell’s Kitchen?” you questioned next.

Matt’s arms tightened further around you, holding you even closer to him. The sound of your relaxed and steady heartbeat in his ears was comforting, and so was that warm and slightly floral scent that always seemed to linger around you as it filled his nose.

“He is,” Matt agreed. “He’s needed right here. With you.”

Your fingers fisted the fabric of his dress shirt, tightly balling it into your hands. He could feel the way your arms had tightened around him, pressing yourself closer to the front of him.

"Can I marry you again?" you asked softly, voice muffled against his chest.

Matt chuckled lightly, his heart feeling so full at your question. He heard the small smile that slipped onto your lips yet again, his own arms pulling you just a bit closer to himself. 

"I think that's what vow renewals are for," he pointed out in amusement.

"Maybe we should do one of those," you mused, fingers still firmly curled around his shirt.

"Sweetheart," Matt said with another chuckle, "we haven't even been married for a year yet. I think that's a bit too soon for a vow renewal."

You turned your head, resting your cheek against his chest now and making yourself more comfortable. Matt inhaled the scent of you once more, his eyes still closed as he relaxed against you. He loved these quiet moments with you, content just to be next to you. It always had him feeling at peace and he often hoped you felt the same.

"Well, I'd marry you all over again if I could," you told him, the words drawing forth a warmth throughout Matt’s entire body that only you could ever seem to fill him with. "Every single day."

Matt shifted above you, lowering his head until he could place his lips against the top of yours. He heard the corner of your lips curl even higher the longer his mouth lingered in your hair. Gradually he pulled away only to bury his nose into your hair next, grateful for whatever had brought you into his life all that time ago.

"So would I, sweetheart," he murmured softly. "So would I."

[harveywritings92]

[sick! Civvy! reader is surprised to see Ghost in her kitchen cooking]

Ghost, notices the look on her face: What, you think the only thing I know how to do is bust heads?

R/n: No! .....Well, yeah.

Ghost, cutting an onion: Look, hold a knife like this, cuts through an onion. Hold a knife like this, *Flips the knife around.* cuts through, like, eight bad guys in four seconds. Screams and carnage.

[the-record]

kissing lessons: 2

synopsis: ellie was your first kiss, but she moved away and you never spoke again. what happens when she moves back to town ten years later?

song: kissing lessons - lucy dacus

pairing: college!ellie x reader

warnings: mean moms, implied homophobia

a/n: uhm wow thank you so much for all the love the first part 🫶 yall are angels and i love u all! thinking this is a series!!!!!!

part 1, part 2, part 3, part 4

“damn. you grew up.”

you laughed, coming over and pulling ellie into a hug. “so did you, jesus.” you let go of her and joel pulled you into a hug of his own. “hi mr. miller.”

“jesus kid, how many times do i have to say not to call me that! its joel.”

the air was awkward as you pulled away from them both, memories of your childhood floating through your mind. “so, uhm, what are y’all doing back here? thought you wanted to be close to tommy?”

joel sighed and leaned on the cart he had been pushing. “yea, well, ellie wanted to go to school here.”

“they’ve got a great art program.” ellie interrupted. “didn’t think id get in, but i did on a scholarship, so we decided to come back.”

you smiled at her. “wow that’s amazing, you’ll have to show me your stuff some time!”

“absolutely, shes amazing.” joel said, throwing an arm around her shoulder. “what about you, are you still in school?”

you sighed and switched your basket to the other hand. “unfortunately, last year though!” you smiled.

“thats the spirit.” joel pat you on the shoulder. “we better get going, but it’s good to see you angel. hope we get to see more of you.” he turned back to the cart, looking at the list as he headed down the cereal aisle.

ellie cleared her throat before speaking again. “hey, can i get your number? y’know so we can catch up?”

“yeah, of course!” she slipped her phone into your hands, watching as you added your number to a new contact. “it’s really good to see you.” you said as you put your free arm around her neck in a hug.

“yea it is.” her arm squeezed your middle for a moment before you both let go, heading opposite ways. “see you around angel.”

“what’s got you so smiley?” your mom wondered as she chopped vegetables beside you.

you set down the knife your were holding, turning around to lean on the counter. “you remember ellie? the girl i was, like, best friends with in elementary school?” she nodded, her eyes flashing between you and the onion. “saw her and mr. miller at the grocery store. i guess they’re moving back so ellie can go to school here.”

she hummed, no reaction on her face. “will you get the chicken out the fridge for me?” she looked up when you didn’t move, just staring at her. “what?”

“you tell me.”

she sighed and set down her knife, getting the chicken herself. “i just… i never liked that girl.” she closed the fridge door and cut open the chicken, putting it in a bowl with some seasoning. “mr. miller is very kind, and his sarah is a sweetie.” she clicked her tounge. “but ellie seemed to be a bad influence on you. something off about that girl.”

you knew exactly what she meant.

ellie was a trouble maker. back-talking teachers, and pranking neighbors. and she was never the girly-girl the moms wanted her to be. too tomboy-ish for their daughters.

too queer for them.

“whatever.” you left the kitchen, grabbing your keys and walking out the front door like you used to all those years ago. you heard your mom call out for you as you left, but you ignored her, getting in your car and pulling away.

ellie had texted you earlier to give you her number, claiming she was always free.

e: hey angel its ellie 3:48

a: hey. glad i saw you today. 3:52

a: when are you free? 3:52

e: always 3:54

a: u free now??? 5:36

e: yea come over 5:36

e: sent a pin 📍 5:37

ellie raced down the stairs as you knocked on the door, yelling at joel “i got it” before he could get up.

he laughed and turned back to the tv. she’d done that as a kid too, never more excited than when you came over. she composed herself before unlocking and opening the door, a shy smile on her face.

“hey, come in.” she stepped back, watching you come inside and slide off your shoes along side hers. she took your hand, a habit she never dropped, and led you upstairs to her room.

“hey angel!”

you smiled softly, peeking around a corner and seeing joel watching the news. “hi mr. miller.”

“it’s joel!”

ellie rolled her eyes, pulling at your arm. you scoffed, letting her guide you. “now, my room is just bones right now. im only here temporarily so…”

she wasn’t joking.

her bed frame sat against a wall not put together, all her stuff in boxes. a suitcase sat by the closet with clothes and essentials. her mattress tucked in a corner with sheets and a pillow. walls bare and books hidden.

“this is boring.” you teased as you flopped onto her mattress face first. when you looked over to ellie she was standing awkwardly at the door, hands at her sides and eyes on the floor. “what the hell are you doing?”

she shrugged, shuffling forward. “ ‘don’t know. feels weird.”

you laughed, staring at her incredulously. “you just yanked me up your stairs to your room, and now it’s weird?”

“you’re right.” she stood at the foot of the mattress before falling on top of you.

“jesus!”

ellie gasped and rolled off you. “do not say the lord’s name in vain missy! can you imagine what your mother would do if she heard?”

she felt the energy sour at the mention of your mom. “you okay?”

she watched as you sat up and followed suit, sitting criss cross in front of you. “i hate living with her. she finds a way to ruin everything.” you picked at the hole on your jeans, pulling at the white threads.

“let me guess,” ellie said, leaning onto her hands behind her. “not so happy to hear im back in town.” you looked at her with a guilty expression. “she never liked me. none of the moms did.”

“yea, well, theyre all idiots.” you huffed and picked at her jeans instead. “she just… any time im excited she has to find a way to ruin it. i just wanna move out.”

you were both silent for a minute. ellie watched as you picked and twisted the the strings on her pants, separating them just to pinch them back together. “move in with me.”

your head shot up to look at her.

[inquisimer]

L: What, you think the only thing I know how to do is bust heads? D: No! Well, yeah. L: Look, hold a knife like this, cuts through an onion. Hold a knife like this, cuts through like, eight Venatori in four seconds. Screams, carnage. L: People are like knives, everything is in context.

based on this

[butchcarmy]

Omg Carmy teaching you how to cook your favorite food😭 I imagine he’d be so patient with you walking you through every step, showing how to properly prep and slice.

I wanna kiss his face 😭😭

WEH YEAH I think he would be so sweet!! I'm imagining the two of you set at your kitchen counter, a cutting board and knife for each. In my head, he's teaching you how to make spaghetti, because I think that would be a funny situation to put Carmy in (man who is trying so hard to not make spaghetti).

"You hold the knife like this. Your fingers should be at the base of the blade." He shows the grip on one of his own knives he brought to use. Your knives are way too dull, he had scolded when he came over earlier. Most people's knives are. He watches you copy his form. "Yeah, just like that. Good."

It's kind of intense, the way he watches you. You can't help but feel a bit self conscious, and I think he notices.

"Sorry, I don't think I know how to take this less seriously," he realizes, a bit embarrassed, but you just shake your head. It's fine, you tell him. "I think you're doing great. You've got the form down well, and your slices are pretty even." He nudges through the finely diced onions on your cutting board. They're more choppier than the ones on his side, but of course they are.

"Y'think so? It's weird getting used to the new grip, but it feels better," you say, and he lights up.

"It does, doesn't it? People have no idea how to hold knives. They think all of it should be on the handle, but it's more dangerous that way. And the handles on some of these knives--" He stops. "We can talk about that another time. Let me show you what we're gonna do with the sauce. You ready?"

"Yes, chef!" You chirp back, and your energy makes him laugh.

Okay if I keep going I'm gonna end up writing a whole in depth piece about every step of making spaghetti. I'll spare you the pain and leave you this gdfhgdjf

[sopebubbles]

Eleven

Master List

Synopsis: in a world where alphas, betas, and omegas live along side modern humans as second class citizens, you've fallen through the cracks of a society that wants to take everything wonderful from you. Luckily a timely encounter with the boys just might save your life.

Chapter summary: You get close with Jimin. Hobi teaches you about nesting.

Warnings: um, a super high likelihood of you dying of cuteness, crying, screaming, throwing up. A tiny bit of angst.

WC: 8k

"It's a nice house," you murmured when Yoongi stopped the car out front. 

Something quiet and grumbly started low in Yoongi's chest. "It wasn't our choice."

You looked over at him. "What do you mean?"

Jimin gave him a playfully disapproving look and then turned his eyes on you. "Hobi and Jin kind of…blindsided the rest of us with the move. Believe me when I say Yoongi and I really wanted to be there and wait for you to come like we hoped you would. But Hobi thought this house would have a perfect room for you, and at least in that way he was right. Are you ready to go inside?"

You looked up at Yoongi, but his expression betrayed no expectation. He would wait out here with you all night until you were ready to go in. But you swallowed and nodded. Might as well get it over with. "Is everyone home?"

"It looks like everyone but Jungkook," Jimin answered as he got out and held out a hand for you. 

"He must be mad at me," you said softly.

"Why would he be?" Jimin asked, genuinely unaware of your worry. 

"Because of last night." You hesitated on the sidewalk, waiting for Yoongi to come around the car before you went any closer. When he got to your side, he had your bag over one shoulder and his hand casually brushed yours away when you tried to reach for it.

"He's not mad. No one is. He was just doing his job," Yoongi told you with a reassuring hand on your shoulder. 

Jimin gave you an encouraging smile and led you up the steps to the front door. The door had been unlocked, but as soon as the three of you walked through you heard Yoongi shut it and turn deadbolt. You followed through the hallway back to the kitchen and living area until you saw Hoseok and Taehyung in the kitchen. The omega looked up and between the three of you expectantly, and when his eyes came to rest ultimately on you, you guessed that he was waiting for some information. 

"I guess I'm staying," you said quietly.

Hoseok put down the knife he was holding and started to come around the counter, but he stopped a few feet away and looked at Yoongi. "Permission to hug the shit out of your omega, alpha?"

Yoongi tried to suppress his smile, but it was evident in his sparkling eyes. "Sure. Be careful, she's very delicate."

"I am n–" Your protest was cut off by the bone crushing grip the other omega caught you in while the other three men around you laughed.

"I'm so happy you're staying. I missed you," he said quietly. The admission left you with an odd mixture of guilt and joy.

"I'll go put your bag in your room while you help Hobi with dinner," Yoongi said as your feet touched the ground again. You nodded obediently, and he rewarded you with a pat on the head.

"What are we making?" You asked, walking deeper into the kitchen.

"Do you like spaghetti?" Hobi asked and you nodded. Jimin joined Tae at one of the barstools and they watched their omegas attentively. "Then you can brown the meat and onions," he smiled.

Yoongi ascended the stairs, but instead of going straight to your room, he left your bag on the floor of the hallway and entered the pack's nest room. Namjoon and Jin must have gotten home just before your trio, because the two of them were both in the process of changing their work clothes for something more comfortable. Yoongi ran a finger over the back of one of the books on the nightstand by Joon's side of the bed. The man read two to three books a week, on a slow week, and he had the habit of turning the ones he completed on their covers in a separate stack. Today, there were two turned over next to another one laying face up.

"Do you want Y/N to take these to work with her tomorrow?" Yoongi asked nonchalantly. 

Namjoon looked over at him from the walk in closet between the bedroom and the bathroom. "If she doesn't mind," Namjoon shrugged.

"Where does she work?" Jin asked innocuously. Namjoon froze.

"Joon?" Yoongi prompted. The other alpha merely shook his head. "Jin?"

"I asked. How would I know?" The leader responded. 

"She works at the library, Jin," Yoongi explained. "How come Joon knows that and you don't? And more importantly, how come no one told me?"

Jin's eyes went wide and his mouth hung open. "I didn't know, Yoongi. I swear I didn't. I would have told you, if I did," he defended. Yoongi nodded, wanting to believe him. Both men turned toward the closet. "Joon?"

The youngest of them shrugged. "I have a better sense of smell than Jin does. Maybe that's why he didn't notice."

"Namjoon, don't beat around the bush. Why didn't you say anything? Even to me?" Jin's genuine confusion did the job of convincing Yoongi of his ignorance. 

Namjoon looked like a deer in the headlights as he struggled to come up with a reason. "I-I just…I don't know," he stuttered.

"Try again," Yoongi said, his face as stoney as his tone.

"You knew Yoongi was desperate to find her," Jin said when Namjoon continued to flounder.

"I was afraid that if they found her, Yoongi and Jimin would leave us for good," he said quietly.

Yoongi scoffed. "Please, if anything that only would have made you tell us sooner."

"What's that supposed to mean?" Namjoon fired back. 

"Keep your voice down," Yoongi growled quietly. "What I mean is, I'm sure you wouldn't miss a chance to get rid of me."

Namjoon looked genuinely wounded by that notion. "I don't know why you would think that, Yoongi, but it isn't true. I don't want you gone. I would never…"

Yoongi shook his head. "Maybe not. But that's not the reason you didn't say anything, is it?"

"Hobi–"

"Don't even! Hobi has wanted another omega more than any of us. Again," Yoongi ordered. 

"Just tell us the truth, Joon," Jin added, more softly. 

"Fine," Namjoon sighed. "I didn't want another omega distracting Jin!"

The man in question scrunched his face. "What do you mean?"

"I just…after the last year I wanted more of your attention, not less, okay? And things have been so much better recently for you and me. I didn't want to ruin it by bringing her into the mix. What if she gives you pups? What if she changes everything?"

"Namjoon, that isn't going to happen." Jin approached the other man in a soothing gesture. 

"Damn right it isn't," Yoongi interjected, stopping him in his tracks. "Both of you listen to me. Y/N is staying here for as long as she wants. If she chooses to go, then Jimin and I will go with her. I hope she'll choose to stay here, and we can be one big happy pack. But for now, she's my omega and she's Jimin's omega, and until she decides, until she asks for that to change, you'd better remember that. She's terrified that either of you could kill her without batting an eye, so I recommend you don't even look at her the wrong way. And as far as pups goes," Yoongi paused to stare Jin directly in the eyes, "I gave her my word that no one in the house would breed her, and if I catch you even thinking about it, there will be hell to pay. No one lays a hand on her without her explicit permission. Is that understood?"

The other two alphas only managed to nod sheepishly, but Yoongi felt assured he had made himself clear. Still, he stepped closer to Namjoon so he could speak directly to his face. "If you ever keep something important about her from me again, or if you ever try to get rid of her, I will never speak to you again."

"Yoongi," Jin's voice came out low and commanding, but gentle as he placed a hand on his chest, "don't say things you don't mean. I know you're angry and you want to protect her. I get that. I already told you I'll respect whatever you want to pursue with her, however you want. But you're still part of this pack, and Namjoon is still your packmate. Go take care of your girl and cool off for a bit."

Yoongi huffed and turned away to leave, but Namjoon's voice stopped him. "I'm sorry, hyung. If I had known she would get hurt…I should have told you."

Yoongi bit back another sharp remark and left the room. 

You should be doing that. 

"Tae and Jimin always do the dishes together," Hoseok told you as he watched you shift nervously at the edge of the kitchen. "It's one of their ways of spending time together."

You let out a soft whine, which had Yoongi's ears perking up. "Alphas don't do dishes," you whispered. 

Hobi scoffed. "Mine do. Who told you that?" When you didn't answer, he could only guess. "You'll get used to it. Our alphas aren't like others, I promise you that." When you peered up at him uncertainly, he took your hand and tugged you to the stairs. "Let's go get you settled in your room."

Yoongi hesitated as he watched the two of you head upstairs. He still didn't want to let you out of his sight. But he didn't want to hover, and he wanted to give you the chance to nest in peace with Hobi's help, if that's what you wanted. He resigned himself to sitting on the couch with Jin and Namjoon to watch TV.

In your new room, Hobi turned on several lamps with the click of a remote and you were able to take in the room in the soft light he had designed for you. The light greens and creamy whites combined for soothing vibes. 

"You took apart the nest," you observed softly after taking a look around the room. 

Hoseok went over to lift the lid on a chest at the end of the bed. "I thought you might want to do it yourself," he said when he revealed the blankets that were stored inside like treasures. 

You recoiled slightly at the thought of how badly you wanted them. "I'm no good at making nests."

Hobi frowned and walked closer to you. "Yoongi told me what happened last night. I don't think you're bad at it. I think you just need more practice in a safe environment. You'll always be safe to nest in my house, Y/N. In fact, it's strongly encouraged."

You knew he meant it, but you couldn't help feeling uneasy. "Don't you need these blankets?"

He shook his head. "We've gone tons. I could make each of them their own nest. But these should be enough for you. Besides, this one is yours," he said, lifting a light purple one off the top and holding it out to you.

"Mine?" You gripped the soft fabric under your fingers. It was softer than the one you had coveted last night at Kate's. 

He nodded. "It's the one Yoongi gave you last night, but you probably couldn't see it. He said it's a courting gift, or it was supposed to be but he wanted you to have it last night regardless. He'll definitely get you more though if you like it. Do you want pillows for nesting? You'll have to tell him. He'll get you anything you want."

"I don't really know," you mumbled. You wanted to start trying, but you couldn't bring yourself to do it. The voices in your head had been mostly quiet since your conversation with Yoongi and Jimin earlier. Not gone completely, just quiet, like whispers you can't make out when someone is talking about you behind your back. Then again, maybe it was just that Hoseok made you nervous in the way it was intimidating to be in the kitchen with a master chef. You had no idea where to start, and he was a pro. Would you do something silly and end up looking foolish to him? 

He'd never think so. Each nest should be whatever the omega who made it wanted. But he understood that it was intimate and maybe given your difficulties, him being there only made it harder for you. "I can leave, if that would help you feel more comfortable."

"Maybe," you breathed, afraid of being rude.

Hoseok smiled brightly, hoping to put you at ease. "Oh! Before I go," he moved to the other side of the room to the armoire. "You can hang your stuff in here or put it in the dresser. Make yourself at home. This is your home now."

Your bottom lip trembled so you bit down on it and took a deep breath through your nose. "Thanks, Hoseok."

He reached down to tousle your hair gently. "I'm glad you're here, pup. And you can call me Hobi." He offered you another shining smile before he left you on your own. 

You decided to unpack your things first, casting sideways glances at the blankets waiting to be arranged for comfort. The problem was, you didn't have much. One small bag of worn clothes that you'd bought at the second hand shop at True Life Ministry. You'd never tell anyone but most of it was found in the children's section. After you changed, there wasn't anything left to distract you from the task you had subtly been given. 

You did your best to recreate what you can remember from the previous two nests that Hobi had made for you. You'd slept better those two nights than any other time in your life. And if that was what Yoongi was used to sleeping in all the time, then it was the standard you'd have to aspire to.

Not that Yoongi would want to sleep in your nest. 

Maybe the voices were coming in a little louder than before. It wasn't so hard to let them in when you are alone and it was quiet. You were just debating with yourself about stuffing Yoongi's mustard yellow hoodie somewhere in the folds and wondering about pillows when a knock on the door pushed it from cracked open to just wide enough for Jimin's head to pop in.

"Hey, Y/N. Are you okay?"

You coughed and shoved the sweatshirt into the mess of blankets. "I'm fine. What's up?"

"I was hoping maybe you'd be interested in some cuddle time. Yoongi said not to push, and I don't want to overwhelm you on your first official day with us, but I think it would be nice." 

Yes yes yes

Did he know his smile was so charming? You cleared your throat. "Now?"

Jimin nodded. "We're about to watch a movie downstairs. There's a big chair in the living room. I think the two of us could get very cozy there. We'd be separated from the others."

You agreed, though he could see you were visibly nervous. You joined him at the door, but he didn't move. 

"You can bring your new blanket if you want," he offered softly. You agreed and grabbed the fluffy purple blanket you had been saving for the top of your nest before following him down to the living room. 

Downstairs, Hobi and Jin were cuddled up on a puffy leather loveseat. Namjoon and Yoongi sat at opposite ends of a long couch where Taehyung had taken advantage of Jimin's short absence to lay his head in Yoongi's lap while his feet stretched into Namjoon's. All five sets of eyes followed the two of you as you passed by the tv to get to the oversized chair on the other side of the room. Jimin sat down with just enough room to his side for you to sit, but you hesitated. Instead of waiting for you to figure it out, he simply grabbed you by the hips and pulled you down. 

"Jimin, behave yourself," Yoongi warned when you let out a surprised yelp.

"I am, hyung," Jimin grinned as he manhandled you into a comfortable position. You weren't quite sitting on him, but when he pulled your legs over his and your thighs were touching, you weren't exactly not sitting on him either. He helped you spread the blanket over your legs and wrapped an arm around your waist. Your chests were pressed together just barely. "Breathe," he whispered to you when he noticed you were holding in your breath. You did as he said, taking in his faint lavender scent as you breathed deep, and you felt yourself relax into him. You thought you would feel uncomfortable, but it was the opposite. You fit perfectly into him and he seemed perfectly content to have you there. 

For several minutes after the movie started, he simply let you rest there and get used to the closeness. Soon his thumb began to stroke softly where he held your side. You were facing the TV, so you couldn't see, as Jimin could, the way Yoongi watched the two of you with envy. Jimin knew what he was thinking as clearly as if he could read the alpha's mind. There was room enough on the chair for all three of you, if Yoongi were in the middle and the two of you on his lap. 

After about fifteen minutes, your focus was solidly on the plot unfolding on the screen, and although Jimin's thoughts had been almost completely on you, he could tell you were no longer thinking about the ways your bodies were touching. You seemed fully comfortable, and he decided he could push it a little further. He knew Yoongi disagreed by the dark stare and slight shake of his head that he gave, but Jimin was undeterred. He leaned into you, pressing his forehead to your temple to get closer to your scent. 

"Do you know you have such a nice scent, pup?" Jimin whispered into your ear, smiling when he felt the chill go down your spine. 

"I think it's just okay," you breathed back. Barely making a sound, you held completely still.

Jimin shook his head. "It's so fresh and crisp. But it's even nicer when you get warm and sweet." He snapped his teeth close to your scent gland, and to your surprise, you giggled.

"Jimin," Yoongi warned in a deep voice, not quite a growl, but very commanding. 

"Trust me, hyung," Jimin responded quietly. "You're alright, aren't you, pup?" 

Jimin's nose nudged at your ear, and you began to feel fuzzy and warm around the edges. As he nosed at your hairline with soft sniffs, you felt yourself go from relaxed to boneless. His lips unintentionally skimmed your jaw as you turned your head to look at Yoongi. 

"S'okay, alpha." Those little words and the deep dark look in your eyes were all the reassurance he needed. 

Jimin loved to sweeten his partners' scents. All it took was some careful touching, some gentle prodding to get them soft and warm. Doing it to Hobi was one of his favorite things to do before bed. To get Hobi all warm brown sugar sweet made the nest perfect for falling asleep. The omega always got particularly hazy when Jimin got his way, but it worked for the alphas, too. Taehyung especially got cute and giggly whenever he and Jimin cuddled and the beta got access to his neck. 

Now, he pressed his lips into the soft warm spot under your chin. It wasn't quite a kiss, but only because the intention was clearly not sexual. It was no less intimate though. You'd never known anything like this kind of touch. You knew, or instinctively trusted, that his actions were intended to soothe you. You let him nuzzle into your neck and smiled as you sank further into him. 

"You smell as sweet as apple pie, pup. Like pup pie," he cooed, and you giggled in unison. 

Yoongi deserved an award for the self-restraint he was showing in letting Jimin have you all to himself, but he wasn't alone. Hoseok also watched your every move while wanting to pick the two of you up together and plant you in his nest so that your warm apple scent could soak into every layer. 

"She almost smells as good as she did in heat," Taehyung remarked to Yoongi, which earned him a pinch on the side. 

Jimin settled a little, wrapping his arm around your legs and pulling you closer. He tucked your head under his and let you rest against his shoulder. "Do you feel happy?" He asked so only you could hear as he scent marked the top of your head. 

You hummed contentedly and nuzzled into him in response, and that's where you stayed until the end of the movie. 

"Time for bed, princess," Yoongi said softly with his hand on your shoulder. You hadn't quite fallen asleep, but you hadn't been paying much attention to the movie after Jimin had gotten you all gooey and warm. You blinked up at the alpha just as the lights came on and stung your eyes. "Do you need me to carry you upstairs?"

You were still too fuzzy to feel any real shame, but you denied his offer nonetheless. You accepted his hand to help you up and off of Jimin and found your legs a little shaky, but you insisted you could make it on your own. Slowly and carefully, you made your way up the stairs and went to brush your teeth while the others cleaned up downstairs. Yoongi met you in your room shortly after you emerged, holding your blanket. 

"Hobi said it was a courting gift," you said softly when you took it from him. 

Yoongi cleared his throat nervously. "Well, yeah, that's what I had wanted it to be. I didn't think it would be a good idea to bring it up last night though, and you needed it then, so…" he trailed off shyly. 

"I love it. Thank you." You stepped closer to him and reached on your tippy toes to kiss his cheek, but barely made his chin. "I'll definitely use it in the nest," you added to cover your awkwardness. 

"You made a nest?" He smiled. 

"I tried."

"It's great," he assured you. He couldn't tell you just how lovely it looked and how much he wanted to give it a try. Even if Jimin thought you could use a little push—even if he had been right—Yoongi wouldn't push his way in with you. He would court you properly and wait for you to set your boundaries. "I hope you sleep well and have sweet dreams," he said as he stepped in and gave you a hug with a subtle mark to the top of your head, so you'd feel at least a little claimed. "Goodnight, Y/N."

With that he left you on your own. You stood by the bed for several minutes, listening to the pack turn off lights and shuffle upstairs before you finally heard their bedroom door click closed. 

We told you he wouldn't want your stupid nest. 

With shaking hands, you grabbed the bottom of the blankets on your bed and pulled them onto the floor. 

It's really pathetic that you even tried. 

You pulled your purple blanket over your head to muffle the voices and sank to the ground beside the ruins and tried to keep your tears silent.

The house was quiet and still when Jungkook got home, but something about it felt off. After he removed his shoes, he checked each room on the first floor carefully for anything amiss before he ascended the stairs. He could hear Namjoon's snoring through the bedroom door and assumed all was well, but the light from your bedroom poured into the hall still. Within your room, he found your figure hunched on the floor, draped in soft lilac while multicolored mounds of fabric lay beside you. 

"Y/N?" He asked and you turned your head over your shoulder just long enough for him to see your red puffy face. "What happened? What's wrong?"

But you only hid your face from him, and he knew that whatever was wrong with you was beyond him. So he went to get Hoseok. 

The omega nearly jumped out of the nest when Jungkook grabbed his foot, but he didn't want to have to go over the other packmates to get to Hoseok in the very center. 

"What's the matter with you?" Hobi hissed when he recognized the person who intruded in his sleep was only Jungkook. 

"Sorry. I'm sorry, but there's something wrong with Y/N. I think she needs your help," Jungkook whispered back. 

"What's wrong?" Yoongi asked, his concern not disguised by the sleepiness in his voice. 

"I'm not sure. She was crying."

There was suddenly a lot of movement around the room as several packmates got up from the bed and tried to locate a decent amount of clothing. Hoseok led the way, but Yoongi wasn't far behind. Jungkook and Tae lingered closer to the door while the omega crouched down beside you and gently tugged the blanket down from your head. 

"What's the matter, pup? What happened to your nest?"

"Bad nest," you muttered, turning your face away from him. 

"No, sweetheart. I'm sure it was a fine nest. Would you like me to help you fix it?" He stroked softly down the back of your head to soothe you.

You shook your head vehemently. "No point. Nesting is bad. No one wants my stinking nest."

Hoseok felt his heart breaking at those words, so hideously wrong. "That's not true. You need a nest. It's very good. I'm sure your alpha–"

"Alpha hates it. Took one look and walked away," you muttered. 

Hoseok looked over his shoulder at your alpha, who appeared stunned. "That's not true. I didn't–I…" Yoongi took a step further into the room, but Hobi held up a hand to stop him. He sat fully on the floor and pulled you against him.

"Sweetheart, I'm sure he doesn't hate it. He would never. Did you ask him if he would like to come into your nest?" He wondered.

You scrunched up your face. "No."

"Ah," Hobi replied, understanding where you had gotten mixed up. "Then you see, he didn't reject it. You have a very good alpha. He has good manners. A good alpha knows they have to be invited into an omega's nest, at least the first time. I'm sure Yoongi would have loved to get in your sweet little nest, but you'll have to ask," he explained gently.

You looked over your shoulder at the man in question. "Do you want to sleep in my nest?" You asked abruptly. 

"O–" 

Hoseok redirected your attention with a hand on your cheek so you looked him in the eyes. "Not tonight, little one."

"But–"

"Shh," he soothed you while he wiped your cheeks. "He will say yes, anytime you ask. Don't worry. But I think I should teach you about nests from scratch. You don't know anything, right?" You shook your head shamefully, but he smiled at you. "I'll teach you everything I know about making nests and you'll be a pro. I promise. How is that?"

"Okay," you breathed tiredly. "You'll make me a good omega?"

"I think you'll be the best. Even better than me," he cooed.

"Nooo," you pouted, looking particularly puppish.

"Yes, you will. Look at you. So small and cute. You'll be so good. You just need to learn a few things."

"I'm kinda dumb," you whispered, and if you were a little quieter you might have heard the hearts around you break. 

Hobi shook his head. "Not at all. You've been taught too many wrong things, but that isn't your fault. You'll unlearn them soon, and everything will be okay," he promised as he wiped away the last tears. 

"Y/N, I'm so sorry," Yoongi stepped forward to apologize. You couldn't see just how much his heart was in your hands, but you looked from him to Hoseok, who shook his head slightly.

"It's okay, Yoongi. It wasn't your fault," you murmured.

"It wasn't yours, either," he frowned. "Can I at least give you a hug?"

This time when you looked at him, Hoseok nodded, and you rose to your feet, bones cracking after sitting crouched for so long. You shuffled closer to him, your safety blanket dragging the floor behind you. You were so cute it was almost enough to heal the hurt inside of him. He closed the distance and pulled you into his chest. You wrapped your arms tightly around him and nuzzled into his warmth.

"Remember to tell me when I upset you," he whispered after inhaling from the top of your head. You weren't as sweet as you had been earlier and he had half a mind to drag Jimin half asleep from the other room to make you so again.

"I'm sorry," you answered, realizing you hadn't done one of the few things he had asked of you. "Can we talk about it tomorrow?" You asked sleepily.

He kissed your forehead. "Of course, princess. You need to sleep. It's late. We'll fix it all tomorrow."

You nodded and he let you go, wandering back to Hoseok. The omega had been placing the nesting materials you had used before back in your bed, arranging and fluffing each one carefully. 

"I thought it would be easier if I did it for you one last time, since you must be exhausted," he said after everyone left the room. 

"I always sleep better in yours anyway."

"Have you ever slept in one of your own?"

You shrugged. "A couple times. I used to try. Before, with my old pack, but they didn't like it when I nested, so I stopped."

He fluffed the last blanket just right and gestured with his hand for you to get in. You settled yourself in the middle and let him tuck your blanket in around you. 

"Can I tell you a secret about nests?" Hoseok asked. You nodded eagerly, if tiredly. "Nests don't really matter to alphas." He smiled when you cocked your head in confusion. "They'll sleep in them…most of the time. But what alphas like is sleeping with omegas, they don't really care where. Nests are for omegas. It's about you feeling safe, not them. You're going to learn to make them for yourself, and when you've got it just how you want it, then you ask your alpha in."

"What if I don't feel safe? What if I can't get it right?" You yawned.

"You will," he assured you. "And when you do, Yoongi will get in without hesitation."

Hoseok stayed on the edge of the bed until you fell asleep, which didn't take more than a few minutes, and then he went back to his own nest. His alphas would get grumpy if he wasn't there all night, and he needed sleep, too. 

"Is she okay?" Yoongi asked as Hoseok shuffled back into his spot between Tae and Jin, except now it was Tae and Jungkook. 

"She's sleeping," Hobi answered. "It's a good thing you came to get me," he said to Jungkook. 

The beta cuddled closer. "It seemed like an omega problem." 

Hobi hummed. 

"I really was trying to do the right thing, Hobi. I didn't know that I'd hurt her," you said, his voice thick with emotion. 

"I know, Yoon. You didn't do anything wrong."

"I told you, hyung," Jimin mumbled, his head on Yoongi's chest. 

"Told me what?"

"You gotta push her boundaries a little more than you would because she doesn't see them."

Yoongi's silence was curious, but he said nothing. 

"He's right, Yoongi. She doesn't know any of the rules. It's good for you to be respectful and easy with her, but she can't appreciate it if she doesn't know why. She's kind of like a child, or maybe that's how we need to approach it. She's really like a pup who needs to be taught the right ways. There's so much to undo, but we can do it."

"Do you think we can make her happy?" Yoongi asked, and Jimin cuddled closer to comfort him. 

"Of course we can. She was happy earlier. We'll just teach her how to do that too," he mumbled before drifting back to sleep. 

You woke up early the next morning, before Jin, Namjoon and Jimin had left for work, and you helped Hobi make breakfast and lunches for them to take. You let Jimin get you smiley and sweet–not as much as the night before—before he demanded a scent mark to send him off "so everyone will know I have a sweet new omega."

Not long after, Yoongi came down to the kitchen for his first cup of coffee looking like he hadn't slept too much after you'd woken them up last night. You told him to sit at the table, to let you get his coffee for him, and seeing your eagerness to care for him, he couldn't refuse. He just couldn't pass up the opportunity to watch as you moved around the kitchen that you were still getting used to.

"Will you come sit with me?" He asked when you set a mug of steaming coffee in front of him. 

"I'll make you breakfast," you offered instead.

"In a minute," he argued and reached for your hand, which you gave him. You moved to sit in the chair beside him, but he pulled you to sit on his lap instead. "Can you sit here?" You nodded meekly, unable to meet his eyes as your cheeks heated. He sighed. "Jimin thinks I need to push your boundaries a little, the way he does." He dropped your hand, so it was clear you could get up if you wanted to. "But I don't want to act like that. I won't force closeness on you that you don't want, and that's why I didn't get in your nest when you didn't ask."

You turned in to face him and looked into his sincere eyes. "I know that now. I'm sorry for getting so upset. The truth is, I expected you to reject my nest, like the others did. My past alphas, they never wanted me to nest. They said it made me lazy and dirty. They would tear up my nests if I chose to sleep there instead of with them, and so I stopped trying. It's never been…easy or safe for me. I wanted to make a really nice nest for you, but Hobi said it's best if I learn to make them for myself before I let you in. Is that okay?"

Yoongi smiled, and tucked your hair behind your ear. "Hobi knows best when it comes to omegas, but I will wait as long as you want or need. I just want you to feel safe and happy. I hate that you were treated that way in the past, but I appreciate you telling me. You can rest assured that the moment you ask, whenever that is, I'll be there."

You smiled back at him cheerfully. "And I like the way Jimin treats me. He's right. I can use a little pushing. I liked what he did last night. I didn't know that was a thing I could have and I wouldn't have been able to ask for it. I don't know what's normal, Yoongi. I have all these–"

You stopped yourself abruptly, but that only made him curious. He wrapped an arm around your waist and held you securely. "All these what?"

You swallowed and looked into the narrow space between your bodies. His warmth radiated around you with a light orange blossom scent, like he was trying to soothe you on purpose. 

"I'm not crazy. I just–" you hesitated and he chuckled lightly, but waited patiently. "It's not like I'm hearing voices. I just hear…it's like people from my past, talking to me, telling me that things are right or wrong, but they're always against me. They tell me nesting is bad, they tell me not to trust you, they tell me I'll get hurt if I'm part of a pack. It's like they're trying to protect me and I've listened to them for so long. But now I don't think I trust them anymore. But they're still there."

Yoongi looked thoughtful for a moment. "Did they tell you to leave before?" You nodded. "What are they telling you now?"

"Nothing. They get quieter when I'm talking to you," you admitted.

His grip on you tightened the tiniest bit. "Then it's a good thing I'm here. Whenever you hear them, you can ask someone and we'll let you know if it's right or wrong. You don't have to figure it out alone anymore."

"Okay," you agreed softly. Unexpectedly, Yoongi pulled you tighter against him in a hug. After a moment of shock, you let your arms wrap around his shoulders and rubbed your cheek against his neck. "Do you still want breakfast?" You asked after a minute.

"I think we have some time before I drive you to work," he murmured into your hair, but didn't loosen his grip for you to move away. 

"Are you going to pick me up too?" You asked with a smile.

He sighed and pulled back. "I have to work. It's a long shift. I won't be home until morning. Would it be alright if Taehyung and Hobi pick you up?"

You tried not to pout your lips and nodded. "I'll make you some food for later in your shift, too," you told him before getting up to do just that. 

It was probably a good thing he wouldn't be home tonight, you decided after some consideration. It would give you lots of time and freedom to work with Hobi on your nesting without the temptation of having Yoongi in your nest, since it wouldn't be a possibility anyway.

You didn't know what you were expecting, but it wasn't Tae and Hobi pulling up in front of the library in a minivan. 

"Sorry we're late!" Tae called out the rolled down window.

"Have you been waiting very long?" Hobi asked, clearly worried. 

You shrugged as you approached and the door to the back slid open on its own. It was only like five minutes, but you would be lying if you said you hadn't spent most of that time wondering if they were going to leave you there. "It's fine."

Once you were in your seat and buckled in, Taehyung turned around to look at you seriously, pulling down his sunglasses so you could see his eyes. "Hey, Y/Nie."

"Hi, Tae," you responded, feeling flustered. You hadn't received such focused attention from him since the first time you met and it made your palms sweat and your heart beat fast.

"Can you do me a favor?" He asked. 

"I can try."

"It's nothing just…don't tell Yoongi we were late? It's just that neither Hobi or I have ever been to this library and we got a little lost. We didn't mean to worry you."

You sighed in relief and smiled. "There's nothing to tell," you agreed. 

"So, Y/N, how are you?" Hobi asked, turning to look at you as Tae put the car in drive. "You look tired. No offense."

"None taken. I'm exhausted actually," you admitted. 

"I can't imagine. You couldn't pay me enough to get a job," he groaned. 

"House work is…well, work. I'm cleaning all day too, it's just somewhere else."

"Yeah, but I can stop and take a nap whenever I want. And all the scents. Honestly, never mind all the strange alphas and betas, I just think saps smell so off. I couldn't be around it all day."

You frowned as you considered it. "I guess I've never really thought about it. I kind of learned to tune it out. Like, sense of smell is one of the things we have since we're young right? And it sets us apart from saps, so like, when I figured out that it wasn't normal, I learned to shut the hell up about it, yknow? And I guess I'm just so used to being around saps that I don't notice it as much."

Hoseok turned around again to look at you. "Y/N?"

"Yeah?" You'd gotten a little lost in your train of thought but he pulled you back. 

"There's nothing abnormal about our sense of smell."

You stared at him innocently, slowly blinking. "Right."

"I know you were raised with them, and they probably taught you that you were different, but it goes both ways. To us, they're different," Hoseok told you pointedly.

"Yeah. That makes sense." You felt tears warm your eyes, so you looked down at your knees. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to…"

Hobi reached a hand out to touch yours while you picked nervously at your fingers. "Hey, it's alright. I'm gonna teach you everything you need to know. It's a clean slate, Y/N. From now on, you're one of us."

But what if I'm no good at being one of you?

"Anyway, it's good that you're tired. The nesting will come more naturally that way," he said after turning to the front. 

"The nests I've been making for you have been meant for emotional comfort, because you needed that," Hobi explained as you stood in your bedroom. "It's okay if you want to keep sleeping that way. But if you want to get more comfortable and confident and eventually let Yoongi and Jimin sleep with you, you'll have to figure out how you want your nest on a day-to-day basis. Personally, I'm all about textures and scents, but you might find other things comforting."

You stared blankly at the bare mattress like a blank canvas before you. "Then where do I start?"

Hobi thought about it. He'd never actually taught someone to nest before. He couldn't say anyone had actually taught him, step-by-step. He'd just picked things up from the nests he had as a child and his own experimentation and then tried new things as his nest always seemed to expand for new packmates. "Well, I like to have a nice thick blanket or a comforter as a base. It gives you something to sort of…I don't know, wiggle into? But a future tip: Jimin is a furnace so it's best to avoid fleece when he's around, unless you want to be drenched in sweat."

"Mmm…won't you miss them in your nest, if they come over to mine?" You pondered shyly. 

Hobi patted your head. "Believe me, I have plenty of boys to keep me warm at night." He went into the chest at the foot of your bed and brought out a light blue comforter. "Here, give this a try."

You laid it over the bed and looked to Hobi for what's next. 

"This might be a personal preference, I don't really know, but this would be when I build a perimeter. The perimeter determines how big your nest is. It doesn't have to be defined, necessarily. You can just say, 'this whole bed is my nest, and that's the end of it.' But I think that's kind of the part that's most important to alphas if they're sleeping in the nest. They need to know what's inside and outside the nest and who can and can't pass through. Especially during heats and ruts. Even during your heat, Yoongi might get antsy about the security of your nest."

You blushed at the idea. 

Would Yoongi be coming into the nest by my next heat? 

It could happen anytime, since he made you go off the pills. 

They're bad for me. 

"Y/N?" 

"Uh, sorry. What would make a good perimeter?" You pushed your voices aside to focus. 

"Anything you want. I usually do bunched up blankets and things that have been scented by the boys, including clothes, especially if Jungkook or Yoongi is going to be out when we go to bed."

You twisted up a thinner blanket and arranged it near the edge of the bed, but Hobi could see your uncertainty. "Here's how I do it," he offered, and showed you his technique. 

"Why don't you get in and see how it feels?" He said after you had set your perimeter. You climbed into the middle and laid on your back, looking up at the popcorn ceiling. "How does it feel?"

You shouldn't be doing this. 

"Fine."

"Pup, there's no point in being vague or dishonest. It's your nest, not mine. Make it for your comfort. Take a minute and think about how it feels," he instructed. 

Empty. 

"It feels empty," you sighed. 

Hoseok nodded. "You can pull in the perimeter, and it probably won't feel so empty if someone else is with you. But honestly…"

"What?" You wondered when he hesitated. 

"I think you might just be a pillow girl," he shrugged. 

"A what?" 

"A pillow girl. I think you might just need lots of things to cuddle with. Lucky for you your tiny pack is very into that, but in the meantime, you need pillows."

"Tiny pack?" You questioned with a lifted brow. 

"Yeah. The three of you," he brought his thumb and forefinger close together. "Tiny."

"I mean, yeah I know I am, but they aren't," you defended. 

Hobi looked at you adoringly. "Sure, pup. You sit tight. I'm going to get some pillows." He rushed out of the room. You stayed in the nest and listened to his footsteps rush down the stairs and around the house. Eventually he came back and dumped several pillows on you.

"Sorry, I know they smell like the pack. But just test them out and if the feel is right we can wash them."

You felt the fabric under your fingertips and puffed up one of the pillows. "I don't want to take all your pillows."

He waved his hand at you. "Most of these are from the couches downstairs. Oh! Wait!"

He left again and you began arranging the pillows around you in an oval shape. Ones that smelled more like Yoongi, Jimin or Hoseok you put toward your head, while the others you put toward your feet. You already felt more comforted by them, less empty. You were about to start snuggling into them when Hobi returned.

"Here," he said, holding out two pillows. "They're Jimin and Yoongi's."

"But they need pillows."

"Give me yours and I'll replace them."

You frowned. "But then my scent will be in your nest…"

Hobi smiled. "Duh."

Your cheeks heated as you took the pillows and exchanged them for yours. He took them and hugged them to his chest as he watched you settle in. You wiggled around a bit, fluffing pillows and adjusting them just right. It didn't take long for Hobi to see that it was working. You made small rumbly noises and little chirps as you got everything perfect for you. Pretty soon it seemed you had forgotten he was there entirely as you rubbed your face into Yoongi's pillow and relaxed against the nest.

"That's a good lil pup. I'll make sure to tell your alpha you need pillows, not blankets. Rest for a little while," he said softly, not really wanting to disturb your peace. You smiled at him hazily before he left the room, and in minutes you fell asleep.

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[chargeeboltz]

˖⁺‧₊˚ ♡ ˚₊‧⁺˖ shoto todoroki x reader word count: 1773

pretty boy shoto todoroki is viewed as unattainable - not just to you, to everyone who ever sees him. his eyes pierce, his skin almost glows, and his demeanour is arguably cold. that's why your admiration of him is purely that. you wouldn't be stupid enough to develop a crush on him, surely.

wrong, actually. he's agile, lithe, and terrifying, but the current obsession of your brain. always hanging around izuku, or studying, or training. you never really had the time to have made any progress on your friendship aside from being picked for group tasks, and even then you had struggled. social situations are never easy, but they're another realm of difficult when it's todoroki you're socialising with. that's why your hands shake as you cut mushrooms, his voice in your ears as he discusses the latest assignment.

"how are you finding it?" shoto asks, voice void of any emotion as he converses with izuku. izuku laughs lightly and shrugs, admitting he's also struggling, his green hair tied back in what could almost be called a manbun, though it's more of a hopeless ponytail.

"mm, i could be doing better!" he laughs, turning to you. "how are you coping?"

you pause for a second to face him, avoiding shoto's gaze at all costs despite the way he's looking at you like you could qualify for the most interesting thing in the world. "i'm almost done, i just have a few things to finish up, and then i've gotta get it under the word count," you grimace. "i have about 2000 words but it's supposed to be 1500,"

shoto quirks an eyebrow at that. "already? have you been working on it since the second it was assigned?" he asks, leaning back in the chair to look at you. you laugh nervously, suddenly finding the meal you're preparing very interesting.

"i mean, yeah? i don't like being.. behind on things i suppose," you mumble, embarrassed at how little sense you're making. but shoto, the beautiful devil, nods like you made the most sense in the world. his face softens and he stands up, making his way over to you and gently taking the knife from your hand.

"go get it, i'll help you cut down on words," he offers, resuming your chopping of vegetables like it was his job in the first place. you shake your head, but you don't dare to take the knife back off him.

"oh it's no worries! the deadline is like, a week away!" you fret, reaching over him to grab the garlic and mincer. "i need to read over it anyway before i even try to reduce words!" you laugh, and izuku grins at you, noticing the pink of your ears.

shoto frowns and gently crowds your space, all to aware of the way you'd move if he got too close - and you do, moving out of his way and letting him have free reign of the kitchen. "i'll read it, and i'll help you cut down on the word count." he argues, looking you dead in the eyes.

any argument you had dies on your tongue, you just nod and head to your dorm to grab your laptop, baffled about the turn of events today is taking. before presenting shoto your laptop, you quickly make sure everything other than the document is closed, not wanting anything that could incriminate you there - such as the messages between you and ochako about how terrifyingly attractive the boy is. with a huff, you make your way back to the kitchen and place the laptop on the desk. "now let me cook," you say, holding out your hand for the knife.

shoto looks at you and smiles, like he's somehow humoured by your boldness, and he is. he didn't expect you, the girl who stares so intensely at him that he learned to tell your gaze from others, to be so bold with him. he hands you the knife, but also takes your hand in his and guides it to the green onion he was chopping for you.

"here, let me show you how to dice it," he hums, starting to manoeuvre you through the motions, before lifting his hand. "your go," he steps back, crossing his arms over his chest. you make the mistake of turning to look back at him, heat dusted over your cheeks and eyes wide, and your mouth goes dry at the way he's watching you

your hands shake a little as you copy his motions, but it must have been good enough for todoroki because he lets out a little pleased hum and heads over to your laptop, sitting in front of it and starting to read. izuku just grins, wandering over to help with the cooking.

you end up engrossed in a conversation about cooking with izuku, both of you working seamlessly along each other to prep your meal. somewhere along the line, you triple the portion size, intending to give both shoto and izuku a bowl in payment for helping you, and izuku notices this when you go back to chop more mushrooms.

"aw, are we having a triple date?" he teases, and you laugh at him, loud and clear, and it draws shoto's attention back to you for a second.

"no! i just thought i'd make you guys some too, since you're both helping me. it's just soba, it won't be anything too spectacular, but I just, i mean, you don't have to have it!" you laugh, gently nudging izuku, and shoto feels his chest tighten at the combination of you cooking his favourite meal, and cooking him a portion too. you look wonderful to him, hair tied back for cooking, sleeves rolled up, and a defensive look on your face as you bicker with izuku. he swallows, forcing himself to get a grip, and turns back to your paper, trying to drown out one of the prettiest sounds he's sure he'll ever hear - your laugh.

by the time you've finished cooking, shoto has finished reading through your paper and he's cutting the words down for you, so he jumps a little when you place down a bowl of soba in front of him with a soft smile. "there you are, i hope you enjoy it," you murmur, sitting down beside him with your own bowl. izuku has took off to his dorm with his, excusing himself to also work on the assignment.

shoto's mouth waters at the smell, and he smiles graciously at you. "it looks wonderful, thank you," he hums, setting your laptop down to eat. you just beam, a sight that makes shoto's stomach flutter, and tuck into your own food. at the first taste, shoto swears he's fallen in love, and his little groan at the taste makes your stomach do somersaults and your brain go fuzzy for a second.

it's at this moment, you both realise you're utterly fucked. something changes in the air, shoulders pressed against each others as you eat in silence, occasionally exchanging comments about the assignment, or the food, or izuku. before long, you're leaning into his side and he's subconsciously raising the temperature of his left side, and your eyelids are drooping as you relax further and further into his embrace. shoto's hand rests politely on your hip, and he's murmuring to you quietly about your paper, but you're honestly not listening.

he notices, because of course he does, and he just laughs. "something on your mind?" he asks, not really expecting a committed response from you, so it shocks him when you nod.

"why are you, someone so.. unattainable, helping me? you're miles smarter than me, stronger, everything. what do you get out of this?" you ask, a hint of insecurity creeping into your voice. shoto is taken aback, looking at you like you've grown a second head.

"i don't help you because i expect something in return. i helped you and you cooked for me. that was more than i ever expected." he murmurs, gently squeezing your side where his hand lies, and you squirm a little, but you laugh. that's good enough for shoto. "and the food was incredible," he admits.

your stomach flips again, and as you look up at him, you find him looking back at you with a sincere expression. it's enough to give your silly heart hope that he could just maybe like you back, if you were to admit you liked him. luckily, it doesn't come to that, because shoto huffs lightly and squeezes your side again, much lighter

"if you want me to ask for something in return, i can," he murmurs, and you nod lightly, not quite trusting your voice at this point. he just nods back, a subtle and gentle movement so as not to ruin the spell you're both under.

"let me kiss you," shoto asks, his brows pinched together a little, like he's terrified you'll say no, which he absolutely is. you inhale, holding the breath while you process what he's just asked. unattainable, untouchable shoto todoroki has just asked your permission for him to kiss you. as though you'd say no, as though this isn't exactly your dream scenario, as though your daydreams haven't been plagued with thoughts of what it would be like to be the one person who has attained shoto todoroki.

you don't quite give him an answer, but you do lean up and press your lips against his. it's tentative to begin with, but shoto kisses you back, and it doesn't take long before he's pulling you closer and kissing you deeper. the spices from the soba dance across your tongues, and you're pushing him lightly against the couch in an attempt to get impossibly closer to him. he's panting into your mouth, the kisses increasing in intensity before you both pull away for air, staring at each other and seeing him in a way you never have before.

he groans lightly, and this time he notices how your ears turn pink and your breathing quickens, and it takes less than a second for him to tug you back in, kissing you like a starved man. you're both lost in your own worlds, hands roaming slightly, his up your shirt and on the small of your back, and yours gripping his bicep. you only pull away when you need to, and shoto just laughs breathlessly.

"if this is what cooking for you gets me, i'll be your live-in chef," you whisper, huffing out a laugh, and shoto just grins, pressing a gentle kiss to your forehead.

"you could always just be my partner instead,"

[smittywing]

Marriage 101: Part 4

Earlier parts here or on AO3: 1 | 2 | 3

And without further ado:

“Are you cooking?” Tim asked Jason, who was in the kitchen, surrounded by pots and pans and ground beef and tomatoes and Tupperware.

“Gosh,” Jason deadpanned, cleaving an onion in half with a bang. “It’s like you were trained by the World’s Greatest Detective.”

Tim shut his mouth in his next question, which was going to be <i>what</i> Jason was cooking, and surveyed the ingredients. Ground beef, chopped onions, tomatoes - “Chili?” he asked hopefully.

“Yeah and if you want any, you’d better get in here and get to work,” Jason suggested. 

His tone was only slightly menacing but Tim got in there and said gamely, “Okay, what do you need me to do?”

“These onions aren't going to chop themselves,” Jason said, sliding the cutting board in front of Tim. He turned to the stove and started unpacking the ground beef. 

“Okay, cool,” Tim said to hype himself up. Then he searched YouTube for an onion cutting tutorial. 

“Are you for real?” Jason asked as Tim watched it on 1.5 speed. “Have you never had to cut an onion before?”

“It turns out it's much safer to let your kids microwave their meals instead of letting 9-year-olds use butcher knives and gas stoves, “ Tim said mildly and started making clockwise cuts through the onion like the person in the video. 

At the first cut, Tim’s sinuses ached. He winced, eyes burning. He scrubbed at his eyes with the back of his wrist and tried to open them to look where he was cutting. <i>Tear gas</i> he realized, slamming the knife down. How had it gotten in his kitchen?

“Jason,” he shouted. He couldn’t see but Jason had only been a few steps away. He reached out - 

Jason was laughing like this was fucking hilarious.

“What the fuck?” Tim managed. He staggered sideways and the burn in his eyelids eased a little.

“Whoa, kid.” Jason’s big hands clasped Tim’s shoulders. “C’mon,” he laughed. “There’s no crying in cooking!”

“Ha,” Tim said, squinting up at him with watering eyes. “What?”

“The onions did you in,” Jason said. “Hold on a sec.”

Tim pried his eyes open wide enough to see light and then squeezed them shut again.

“Here.” Jason pressed a damp cloth to Tim’s face. The burn eased and finally Tim was able to shutter his eyes open. Jason grinned ruefully at him. “You okay?”

“Ugh,” Tim said. “Why didn’t you warn me?”

Jason shrugged. “It doesn’t hit everyone like that.”

“Oh, I’m just lucky.” Tim dabbed at his eyes and glared at the offending vegetable on the counter.

“If you take over the beef, I’ll finish the onion,” Jason offered.

“Maybe,” Tim caged. “What’s it gonna do to me?”

“The worst it’ll do is burn if you don’t keep it moving,” Jason told him.

Tim took over stirring the ground beef and breaking up the pieces. He watched from a safe distance as Jason sliced up the onion and started in on a green pepper.

“Did you pick this up from Alfred?” he asked, shoving the ground beef around the pan.

“Some of it,” Jason said, scooping the onion and pepper into the stock pot and slicing into the tomatoes. “I sometimes made stuff when my mom wasn’t feeling well. Most of it came out of a can, though. Alfred taught me about real food.”

There was an awkward silence as Tim realized this was the most Jason had ever said about his childhood in Tim’s company. He poked at the ground beef.  “When I was a kid, we had a cook named Mrs. Mac. Mrs. McIlvaine. Everything she made seemed to be a casserole. Except lasagna. She made a really good lasagna.”

“Isn’t lasagna kind of a casserole, too?” Jason asked, taking the pan of beef away from Tim and draining it in the sink before scraping it into the stock pot.

“Yeah, I guess,” Tim said after due consideration.

“What happened to her?” Jason asked. He glanced over at Tim as he was adding chili powder and Tim wondered if he should be concerned that Jason didn’t feel the need to use measuring spoons.

“My dad had to let her go when he declared bankruptcy,” Tim admitted. “She went back to Ireland to live with her sister.”

“That sucks,” Jason declared, moving on to a half dozen other spices. “What’s it like going from riches to rags?”

“It wasn’t that big a deal,” Tim said because for him what came later was so much worse. “We moved to an apartment downtown but we were only there a few months before - “ He shrugged. “And then I lived with Bruce full-time before I bought the Nest.”

Jason slowed in his stirring of the chili.  “Yeah. I always thought you were lucky, having parents longer than any of the rest of us. But what happened to your dad was shitty.”

“Thanks,” Tim said, because that was actually pretty empathetic for Jason. 

“Here, taste this,” Jason said, shoving a spoon in Tim’s face. Sharing time was apparently over.

Tim mouthed the chili from the spoon. “Needs more garlic,” he said.

“It doesn’t even - “ Jason stopped and dipped the spoon back in the chili. Tim winced, but only a little. Whatever finally took him down, it wasn’t going to be his own germs. Jason stuck the spoon in his mouth.

“You’re right,” he declared, and Tim shrugged, trying not to be too pleased.

$

It was weirdly easy to avoid Bruce these days. The most important thing to remember was to not be weird about it. Tim showed up for roll call and patrol assignments, showed up for work at Wayne Enterprises, showed for training. 

He made it through August and most of September in this fashion, and then Bruce said,

“Tim, you're with me, tonight.”

Stephanie kicked him in the ankle.

“Ooh, what did you do?” she stage-whispered and Tim played his part, rolling his eyes and hissing back,

“Nothing!” He kicked her ankle for good measure and tried to look innocent and attentive when Bruce glanced back their way.

When everyone split up to go their separate ways, Tim drifted over to Bruce’s side.

Jason hadn't shown up that night, not that Tim was surprised. He had his territory and he didn't need to be told to patrol it. There was no citywide emergency thus far and no reason for Jason to be hanging around. But if Tim was going to get called out on his marriage of convenience, he wanted his co-husband along for the ride.

<i>Don’t be weird,</i> he reminded himself and lingered in Bruce's shadow.

Bruce kept it broodingly silent as they got into the Batmobile and accelerated quickly through the long tunnel that took them out to Gotham proper. Tim, who paid attention to the briefings, made a pertinent remark about the night’s stakeout plan and received an approving nod.

“I haven't seen much of you since classes started,” Bruce finally said. “I know you've been busy. Do you need anything off your plate?”

“What? No!” Tim’s brain raced through his to-do list and tried to remember if there were any balls he'd dropped. Maybe he didn't always do all his reading and maybe he was a few HR trainings behind at WE but his case files were up-to-date and he hadn't been taken hostage in literal months. 

“It's not a criticism,” Bruce said mildly. “It's just a matter of delegating some of the responsibilities you've outgrown if necessary.”

“Oh, um, no,” Tim said. “I mean, there's that ethics training I haven't done yet but - “

“I’ll make that go away,” Bruce said. 

“It’s <i>ethics</i> training,” Tim protested. “I’ll…just play it in the background while I’m in a meeting or something.”

Batman side-eyed him. “Tim,” he intoned. “It’s <i>ethics</i> training.” The corner of his mouth twitched and Tim knew he was good to let out the laugh that had been lurking behind his poker face. Bruce didn’t seem to have any unusual suspicions about his marital state. Good.

“What about next week’s board meeting?” Bruce asked. “I can ask Lucius to cover it if you need.”

“I got it,” Tim said confidently. This was the one thing he shared with Bruce that was just his. Dick wasn’t interested in the business and Jason could care less - at least Tim assumed he could care less. He was starting to question his assumptions about Jason these days. Damian had tried to insert himself into the workings of Wayne Enterprises but middle school had (thankfully) diverted his attention.

“Hm.” There was silence while they surveyed the streets of Gotham and then Bruce said, “I’ve heard Jason has been taking classes, too.”

Tim was used to long silences. He worked with Batman, after all. He knew long silences were designed to make people want to fill them. So he would. But carefully.

“We actually have a freshman English class together,” he said casually. “I gave him a key to the Nest in case he wants to crash.” In case he wanted to crash every weeknight so far. 

“That’s generous of you,” Bruce said slowly. “So you and Jason are getting along?”

“More or less.” Then, before Bruce could express any sort of concern - “More, really. He’s pretty chill when it comes to class.”

“Hm.” Bruce’s mouth twitched. It wasn’t quite a quirk, not quite a concession to a smile but Tim could tell he was pleased. “And you?” he asked. “Getting all your reading done?”

“Oh, yeah,” Tim scoffed. “Absolutely.”

$

Between his day job and his night job and school and being married to Jason - which didn’t actually take up any time but was hell on his concentration - Tim hadn’t gotten around to the assigned reading. He wasn’t worried though. He’d read The Great Gatsby when he was a freshman and he had good recall.

“Mr. Drake, what did you make of the subtextual indications of Nick’s homosexual experience?”

“The what?” Tim answered, because he sure as hell did not recall gay sex in The Great Gatsby.

“Ha!” Jason said from the next desk over. “I knew you missed that when we were talking about it last night. What did you <i>think</i> he and Mr. McKee were doing in their underwear, looking at pictures?”

Tim’s mind raced, landing on the party scene. “Holy shit.”

“While Mr. Drake digests this revelation,” Professor Worthington said dryly, “Mr. Peterson, please elaborate.”

“McKee comes with a wife,” Jason said, “but doesn’t go home with her. The last we see of her, she’s doing something with Myrtle’s roommate, who is the obvious pairing for Nick. Instead he takes Nick to his apartment, there’s a time skip, McKee’s in bed in his underwear, another time skip and Nick’s in Penn Station.”

“To what purpose?” Worthington asked. 

“Small-scale, to establish Nick as an unreliable narrator,” Jason says, his words coming fast with his thoughts. “He claimed to be an honest man but here he’s lying by omission, he’s skipping time on purpose, leaving things out.”

“And broad-scale?” Worthington prompts. 

“It calls into question the entire narrative,” Jason said. “Nick’s in love with Gatsby and sees him through rose-colored glasses, paralleling how Gatsby sees Daisy. Everything is built on perception, everything is artificial, even the perspective of the text itself.”

<i>This</i>, Tim realized, staring at Jason’s mouth. This was why he had married Jason in a court clerk’s office, hacked into the university system to put himself in a class he otherwise never would have taken, actually showed up for class. To have the chance to watch Jason argue passionately about the role of gay subtext in a narrative that was otherwise pretty PG. He wanted to crawl into Jason’s lap and kiss the words out of his mouth. 

“Okay,” another student piped up. “But last week you were saying that Jay and Nick were the same person, like in Fight Club. If Nick’s gay, why is Gatsby in love with Daisy?”

“Because Nick’s the truth and Gatsby’s the lie,” Jason shot back, turning slightly in his seat and Tim bit his lip against the sigh that wanted to escape when the muscles in Jason’s shoulders bunched under his shirt. “Nick’s a failure to his family - 25, busted career, still single. But he has this, this ideal in his head, of what people want, and it’s Gatsby. Made his money illegally, but he’s still respectable, a man about town, fancy parties, the works.”

“So you’re saying,” said another girl, “that Daisy’s a beard?”

“More like a delusion.” Jason shrugged. “She’s an ideal, too, unattainable, which means he won’t ever actually have to fuck - uh, sleep with her.”

“But he’s attracted to Jordan,” someone protested as the bell rang. “Maybe he’s bi?”

Jason snorted. “Jordan’s built like Tim,” he said, glancing over. Tim tried to look casual. “She has a boy’s name, and she’s a professional athlete in the 1920s. She’s the beard.”

“We’ll pick this up on Thursday,” Professor Worthington cut in. “Good discussion. Mr. Drake, please have your husband explain the nuances of subtext to you.”

Tim flushed. “I just - “

“He’s an engineer at heart,” Jason said, suddenly in his space and resting a big, warm, hand on the back of Tim’s neck. “He likes plain meaning.”

“I like subtext,” Tim protested, but Jason just laughed and Professor Worthington smirked. 

“I like noodles,” Jason said. “Let’s get Thai for dinner.”

“Is that subtext?” Tim demanded, only half joking. 

“Not in front of the teacher,” Jason chided softly and crap, maybe it actually was subtext.

Jason nudged Tim out of the classroom and tangled their fingers together as they walked down the hall. “Did you even read the book?” He asked when they were out of Professor Worthington’s earshot. 

“Yes,” Tim insisted mulishly. “Just. It’s been a while.”

“You’re eighteen,” Jason pointed out. “What’s a while?”

“Like three years,” Tim mumbled. 

“Oh baby bird,” Jason said, voice pitched low, “even I knew whose lever Nick was pulling when I was fifteen.”

$

There’s minimal subtext in pad thai, but Tim has trouble keeping his eyes off Jason’s lips when they purse around the ends of his noodles. 

“Thanks for the save,” he said, picking at a piece of chicken with his chopsticks. “Between Clock King last night and a shareholder meeting today, I’m toast.”

“No problem,” Jason said, picking out a sprout. “Why are you taking this class anyway?”

Tim’s throat suddenly burned. “Requirement,” he managed.

“And you picked this one?” Jason asked. “I’m actually surprised they want you to take required classes now. I figured you’d just take the computer engineering ones to set you up to transfer to MIT or CalTech or somewhere.”

“Nah,” Tim said, frowning at his noodles. He had an answer for that. “I’m probably staying here. The job at Wayne Corps pays well and it’s a good cover for, you know, other things.”

“You never wanted to get out of here?” Jason asked and the tinge of wistfulness in his voice surprised Tim. 

“When I was younger, maybe,” he said. “My parents were always somewhere more interesting and I thought I’d like to see that. But I have and - “  The next thought didn’t lend itself easily to articulation.  He finally settled on, “Gotham is home.”

Jason’s eyes were on him and Tim memorized the layout of his noodles, bean sprouts, and crushed peanuts. 

“Yeah,” Jason said eventually. “I wanted out when I was younger too. But things are different when you have...power isn’t exactly what I mean, although it sure works for Bruce.”

“Autonomy,” Tim offered, forgetting that he wasn’t looking at Jadon. 

“Yeah,” Jason said. “That’s it.”  

He glanced down at his food and Tim studied the way his lashes fanned across his cheekbones from that angle. 

“Do you think it’s weird that I’m married to a guy and can’t recognize gay subtext in anything?” he blurted out. 

Jason laughed around his noodles, no more than a slight cough in the beginning. Tim was never, ever that lucky. 

“Absolutely,” he said. “But entirely in character.”  

This time Tim choked on his noodles. “Hey!”

Jason thumped him on the back, which didn’t actually help at all, and then left his hand resting between Tim’s shoulders. 

Tim didn’t protest.